#no one turns this exhausted and bitter w/ out a reason
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don’t talk 2 me if u ignore sae’s side of the story n mental state in their fallout w/ rin
#mind u im saying this as the biggest rinnie girl ever#literally just !!!!! PLEASE#they were both just kids#:((((((((#no one turns this exhausted and bitter w/ out a reason#they make me want to cry i could talk abt them for hours#but i prob won’t only bc i would end up crying over them lol
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any chance of a part 2 of opportunities arisen? perhaps tighnari finds out who we are? or someone else comes after us? 👉👈 i love him sm and ur characterization of him is perfect, that fic is 100% canon in my mind for every imposter au now
prime fortune
a/n: hope this one didn’t absolutely destroy your expectations anon. it took a hard left turn halfway through and i couldn’t bring it back—
word count: 3.1k oh wow-
-> warnings: minor spoilers for sumeru archon quest (3.0-3.2), dubious medical facts that you should not follow, likely ooc cyno, excessive use of the word ‘something’ with little reasoning to show for it, cyno’s excellent humor
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie
<< part 1 || < masterlist >
adapting to life in the forest was easier said than done.
you’re often paired with collei, who’s in the middle of a bad eleazar flare that keeps her confined to the village, and though she teaches you the different salves and plants, a lot of it goes over your head.
you’re interested, you are! the liveliness with which she speaks, and the animated gestures from tighnari as he explains proper safety when preparing medicine easily capture your attention, but when she hands you two mushrooms and asks her to tell you which one is morchella….
by some strange luck, you often guess correctly, your intuition knowing more than you do, but when she nods with a smile and asks you to repeat the differences…
your mind falls blank.
something about the density of the fibers inside the mushroom floats through your mind, but you can’t remember whether the true or false mushroom is heavier.
collei’s smile falters, and yours turns sheepish. when she takes you out on walks, slowly walking up the paths so you don’t strain your ankle, you can point at the differences between portobello and death caps, you can pick out holly and honeysuckle and marigold, but here…
you pass the field practice with flying colors, but your basic by-the-books forest ranger tests always end in failure.
tighnari picks out two plants from a small case, holding them up in front of you.
“you come across amir sitting just off the side of a path, clutching his stomach. after some questioning, you determine he has a stomach cramp from dehydration, and spot these two plants nearby. you’re about a 15 minute walk from the village; what do you do?”
one of the plants has many flat white flowers blooming from the top, with yellow centers, while the other has orange petals that form a ball shape on top. you know one of them is yarrow, but not which one…
you pick the latter on a whim, spinning it between two fingers as you think. “pick the petals and crush them into a paste, taking care not to overwork them. give him about a spoonful, which should be most of it, then help him up. report to shirin once we return.”
the blank mask on his face falls into confusion. “how do you even mix up marigold and yarrow?” he asks, picking the flower—marigold, you now recognize—from your hand. “you got the procedure correct, at least, but marigold is bitter and will only worsen his aches. oh, and additionally, the leaves of yarrow—however small they-“
the door to the cottage slams open, jars rattling on their shelves, and tighnari whips around to face whoever it is, one hand steadying a stack of reports.
“and just what do you think you’re- w- collei? is everything alright?”
collei’s violet eyes were wide, her shoulders heaving with breath, when she spoke, exhaustion was evident. “m-master tighnari! the matra are here on behalf of the akademiya! i tried to tell them to wait so i could get you but they just-..”
emotions flashed over tighnari’s face faster than you could catch, eventually setting on a sharp determination. “alright collei, calm down. go find amir and do your best to delay them, but don’t seem too suspiscious, okay? just remember what we planned, i’ll take care of things here.”
her eyes flicked to you, worry evident, but she quickly turned away.
the moment the door closed, you and tighnari sprung into action. he collected the plants from your test and tucked them into their proper places, you standing to help return a mint plant back to its place.
he caught your wrist, taking the pot. “don’t. take your bag and go, don’t worry about this.”
you hesitate for longer than you should, then nod. he lets you go and returns to his case, and you move to crouch by the bed. feeling under it, your hand eventually brushes against a cloth handle, which you grab. you take a step to unlatch the window with one hand and sling the pack over your shoulder with the other, leaving with your good leg first. as you carefully close the window behind you, you can see tighnari moving to hide all the notes you’d taken, the only sign of his worry being his tail lashing behind him and the slightest flick of his ears.
with a soft smile, you turn away.
tighnari checked over his room once more, ensuring that every trace of your presence was scrubbed clean. your laundry was out and mixed with the rest of the rangers’, but your notes and records were carefully hidden under patrol logs and his own personal binders. he knew everything was tucked away, he had explanations lined up and answers to every conceivable question the akademiya could have, but his heart still beat frantically against his ribs. even as he pulled apart and neatened up a stack of patrol logs, repeating the action to look like he was doing something whenever the matra came to his hut, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed something crucial.
he had to fight to keep his tail from betraying his emotions, the energy not going into mussing up and then fixing the papers spent on hiding the symptoms of his distress. he knew he didn’t miss anything. the moment you told them the sages were on active lookout for you and he knew you weren’t a threat, he had memorized the plan. he was foolish to worry.
he hasn’t known you for long, barely over half a year, yet his mind is clouded with the same worry as when collei collapses out on patrol. the same numbing sort of adrenaline, the icy feeling in his bones even as his skin starts to burn up, the apprehension in every movement, as if at any moment-
somebody knocks on the door.
tighnari takes a steadying breath and fusses with the papers a final time. “come in!”
the door creaks open and he taps the papers on the table, turning slightly to speak over his shoulder. “sorry, you caught me in the middle of something.”
“no matter,” a familiar voice says, and he can’t stop the way his body freezes at the speaker.
he carefully tucked the papers into a folder, finally turning around. “general mahamatra. to what do i owe the honor?”
cyno crossed his arms, red eyes surveying the room. “oh, nothing at all. just somebody from vimara village reporting somebody that looked suspiciously like the primo fortuna walking around with collei when they’re supposed to be in liyue.”
tighnari stares. the primo fortuna…? he thought they were after you, but you couldn’t be…
“are… are you suggesting somebody is attempting to imitate the creator?”
sure, he wouldn’t deny you shared some features—you had the same shape of nose, you were around the same height and build—but for you to be the creator? no, it wasn’t possible. your eyes were much kinder, you stopped and helped nasrin when she couldn’t find the proper forms, you directed shirin to the area of the forest where you and collei found nilotpala lotuses, you were nothing like the creator he saw at pardis dhyai. you didn’t stare with glazed eyes as padisarahs and sumeru roses were brought forth, you listened in earnest when he spoke about the differences between the various kinds of ferns.
if anybody were to meet you, they’d know in an instant you were not the creator.
his heart itched within his chest. he ignored it as worry.
“that’s exactly what i’m implying. as i’m certain you know, their identity is hallowed, and anybody attempting to infringe upon it needs to meet justice.” the golden eye on his headpiece flashed, the sides beginning to narrow into eyes before he shook his head and it passed. “but in truth, that is not why i am here.”
tighnari stared. despite having a fondness for jokes, cyno was never one to laugh about his duties. “what do you mean? collei told me you were here on behalf of the akademiya.”
“the matra are here on behalf of the sages,” he clarified. “i… i am here for other reasons. personal ones.”
his eyes flicked around the room again, and tighnari’s narrowed. “well, don’t hide behind double meanings, then. what is it?”
cyno’s jaw flexed as he chewed at nothing, his arms uncrossing. his eyes focused somewhere around the bed, and he seemed lost in thought. whatever it was, it had to be a big deal, but for him to hijack the matra’s arrival instead of coming on his own time…
“the one on the throne is not our god.”
he said it with such conviction that tighnari found himself agreeing, waiting for whatever had gotten him worked up, and it was only when cyno’s eyes closed as he braced himself that it registered what he said.
“what?”
“i have gathered evidence across many sources, both academic and religious, common and exclusive, and i can’t bring myself to kneel at their feet any longer. i have been ignoring my own mind for too long for the sake of my conscience, and i am confiding in you now what has been brewing in my mind for months.”
in the silence that stretched, tighnari almost wished he hadn’t spoken.
the way he spoke, from his words to his tone, reminded tighnari of when he reported to the sages, like he wasn’t tighnari to him and was instead an authority.
“cyno, i don’t.. is this why you didn’t go when they were at pardis dhyai or sumeru city?”
he nodded. “i can’t be in a place where they’re being worshipped when i’m so conflicted. i thought about pulling you aside in the city, but…”
tighnari didn’t think he’d ever seen cyno so meek in his words, none of his normal power behind it. he’s… tired, a quality he knows he’s felt but has never seen on him, the almost nervous way he keeps glancing around the room edging on alarming.
“alright.. uh, moving past that for a moment, what does that have to do with why you’re in gandharva ville? wouldn’t you want to not be involved?”
cyno’s eyes dragged from where they were locked behind him with uncharacteristic slowness. “the person you’re hiding may be the real creator.”
the simplicity to his words had tighnari believing it, even as it didn’t fully register in his mind. he knew cyno attached a religious aspect to his work, to the point the people in sumeru city sometimes calling him an extension of their judgement—even as it was more like the akademiya’s, most time—so he knew that whatever he said on the topic was both well thought out and reliable.
which is why he was silent even after it clicked.
“what are you saying, cyno?”
“they’ve been staying here, haven’t they? in this room?”
“this is my and collei’s-“
“don’t tell me you haven’t been able to feel the difference in the air? the way it seems to flow slowly, lingering, like it has something to wait for? there’s no heavy blankets on the bed, and yet everybody else is talking of how cold the weather’s been lately.”
“that’s because this is an insulated room, and we’re right up against a cliff.”
the quick pace to his heart was back, this time less of worry and more of confusion. you couldn’t be the creator, not when you bore so little resemblance to the one on the throne. you were good at what you did, plants thriving under your care even if you forget to water them. call him selfish, but tighnari almost wished the creator could go back to wherever they’d been, since they’d been much kinder there, both to their vessels and the world.
you weren’t them. they weren’t even close to being you.
“you’re considering it.”
he crossed his arms, forcing himself to still. “i’ll admit—not that you didn’t already know it—that we have taken a refugee into the village, one the sages might call a criminal-“
“that’s not what i mean, tighnari, and you know it.”
“can you give me a minute? you can’t just drop a massive load of information on me like that and expect me to continue like it didn’t happen!”
“you’re reacting oddly.”
“well of course i am, you’re telling me the same person i took in and sheltered from your bosses is somebody you want to take away back to them, and that’s not even covering their injuries- they’ve barely been able to walk outside of the village, and you want to take them to the city?”
“when did i say anything about the sages?”
tighnari stopped, his chest heaving. his hands froze mid-air, his tail still flicking in a mix of irritation and stress, thoughts moving quicker than he could understand them.
“what?”
“i never said anything about the sages. i never said i would take them.”
“w- well it’s implied, if not in your words then-“
“i don’t deal in implications. you know this.”
he did.
he knew cyno. he knew how he spoke and acted, he knew that the small emotion in his eyes was indicative of empathy and not ruthless justice. he knew he held reasoning in high standards, he knew that if he stopped and thought about the words coming from his mouth then he would agree.
but he couldn’t think.
all of his usual composure had faltered and faded, leaving him grasping for a hold as his thoughts swam like a raging river around him, even standing a struggle amidst the tide. all he could do was watch, his head racing and hands shaking, as cyno stood on the bank of rationality, with his crossed arms and cool eyes that dared him to step forward and sink beneath the waves.
he had no real reason to fear so much for you. by now you were gone, by now you were safe and far past the statue of the seven by the chasm, hidden in a place where even cyno would struggle to find you. you were crafty, clever, and you had more than enough supplies to last until he could go to find you.
he had no reason to be afraid.
yet his heart still raced a rhythm he couldn’t follow, his mind tripping and skipping with worry.
why?
his tail wrapped around his side and he picked out a cluster of petals from it, mostly just to give his hands something to do.
as he did, he noticed it was a full flower, likely knocked off one of the samples on the desk. it was small, blue, with smooth petals, and he recognized it after a moment’s pause.
“this is a hydrangea. what is it used for?”
the flower quivered in your shaking hands. “root and stem are for… for medicine. petals are tea.”
collei nodded, smiling brightly. “exactly! you’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”
you smiled sheepishly, trying to hand her back the flower, but collei held up a hand, closing her pack with her other hand.
“no, you keep it. take it as a congratulations for all your progress!”
you were hesitant to accept it, that much was clear, and tighnari tied off the small parcel in his hands before speaking.
“you really have done well. you’ve only been here for a few weeks, but you’ve learned a lot.” he set down the packed herbs beside where he was leaning on the table, directing all of his attention to you. “i know it’s mostly for safety, and you’re not going to be a ranger-“ too much paperwork was required, he couldn’t risk it “-but still. i’m proud of you.”
you smiled.
it likely wasn’t the same flower—that ‘class’ was months ago, now—but it dragged a realization to the surface of his mind.
in the short, fleeting time he’d known you, he had come to care for you as he did collei.
even then, only after a week or two of you being there, a certain fondness had taken root in his chest. something bright, something that bloomed like a rose yet without any of the thorns. something that he watered every time you winced when you walked, something you fostered when you helped treat collei’s eleazar when he was out clearing a withering zone.
something that grew as he realized the poultice you had made had helped clear the pain faster than anything he’d made, even as you both used the same recipe, something that lashed out when kamran questioned your place in the village. something that spurred him to action when he thought you were in trouble, even if it was only cyno.
something that burned bright, something hot that blurred his reasoning even when he knew it was wrong, something that made him want to bare his teeth and keep you safe by his side.
something that should be impossible for him to feel towards you, as it was a golden and warm feeling that did not exist in teyvat, only ever glimpsed at altars.
tighnari looked up from the flower and into cyno’s knowing eyes.
“alright.”
relief washed onto his face, a small nod the only other sign that he’d heard.
“i’ll report nothing to the team—i trust you’ve gone over this, given your reaction?”
he let the comment slide. “yes, everybody here knows what to do in the case of the akademiya or the millelith coming here. it was collei’s idea, actually, and she took care to make sure that everybody had it memorized.”
cyno nodded, taking a step towards the door. “good. and if you ever need to collei matra, just get me instead.”
“…”
“do you get-?”
“i got it, cyno.”
#this is not the norm but i am having Thoughts[TM] about cyno so…. here#genshin sagau#sagau#genshin#genshin impact#self aware genshin#sagau impostor au#genshin imposter au#tighnari#tighnari x reader#sure why not#sagau tighnari#collei#sagau collei#cyno#sagau cyno#to anybody that’s wondering: a hydrangea symbolizes family/familial love. so. there’s that for all you tag readers#‘primo fortuna’ is just prime fortune—probably the title of this piece; depends—and has been bouncing in my head for a while#while i believe cyno would swing more for ‘prime /justice/‘… i didn’t think of that and this sounded cooler#actually cyno might fuck with the ‘first law’ title. ‘divine balance’ -> ref egypt mythos: anubis weighed hearts on a scale.#may or may not do a thing touching on preferred titles of the vessels bc this got me thinkin#this piece reminds me of that clip where it’s like ‘she’s doing girlboss shit!! all in the name of allah of course’#dunno why. it does though.#me pointing at cyno and tighnari:#‘they are gatekeeping; they are slayqueening; they are doing all of this in the name of allah of course;#but! they are doing girlboss shit!’
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Ego Death
I've decided I worked too damn hard on this to not share it publicly, so here's a tidbit of story related to our good friends, oblivious Mr. Poole and temperamental Mr. Becker :')
Warning for swearing, and for Mr. Becker overall being really mean
“Wait, Mr. Becker— Ira, please—”
Nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled along the polished courthouse floor, Mr. Poole reached out in desperation to catch the arm of the prosecutor, who was all too quick to jerk himself away, halting and turning fast enough that Poole nearly crashed into him.
“What, Poole, what more could you possibly have to say?” His tone sharp as a blade, his eyes sharper, Becker fixed the other lawyer under a glare that made him flinch.
Swallowing hard against the dryness in his mouth, Poole took a quick step back, clasping his hands together in an attempt to hide their trembling.
“I—I just… I wanted to apologize. For— For what I said, I didn’t mean to make light of an… uh, exhausting trial, I was just trying to be lighthearted, you know, I didn’t mean any offense—”
“You don’t have a clue what you’ve caused, do you?” Becker’s words suddenly cut like a knife through his words, and Mr. Poole found his voice dying in his throat, his face paling.
“S… Sorry—?”
“I needed to win that case.” Becker’s voice was low, dangerous— it set a shiver crawling up Poole’s spine. “He was guilty, Poole. You know he was. And you let him walk.”
“Mr. Becker, I—I don’t… Th—there was no way for you to prove that, not beyond reasonable doubt—”
“He was guilty.” Becker repeated, interrupting him. The look in his eyes was nearly murderous, his jaw set tight as his words came through clenched teeth. “And you let him fucking walk.”
“I didn’t let him do anything.” Mr. Poole quickly retorted, though his tone was hardly assertive, wavering subtly as he fought to hold Becker’s gaze. “The jury declared him innocent. My duty is to protect the rights of my clients, and I did my job. That’s all. That’s all.”
“Oh, spare me, Poole, I’m not a fucking idiot. You think I don’t know what this has all been about?” Becker took a step forward, and Poole instinctively took one back. “You think I don’t see right through you, through your fucking charade?”
His stomach twisting into a knot, Poole’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words to respond.
Becker didn’t give him the chance.
“I don’t wanna hear you talk about your duty. You don’t give a shit about your clients.” The prosecutor spat, his eyes blazing. “You don’t give a shit about justice. All you care about is yourself, and the little power trip you get from winning over me, from taking every goddamn opportunity to undermine my work and make me look incompetent.”
“What— incompetent?” Poole sputtered a nervous sound that was something between a scoff and a laugh. “Ira, please, it’s not like that at all—”
“No, ‘course not. You’d never admit it if it was, but regardless of whether you’re willing to say it out loud, you know it’s true. And that murderer got away with what he did because of it. Because you were too damn focused on beating me to give a shit about anything else.”
“I wasn’t— Ira, it’s my job. If there was evidence to convict him, you would have presented it— but you didn’t. So he was acquitted. End of story. I-I don’t know what you want from me.”
Poole didn’t miss the way Becker’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working tensely as he regarded the other in a small moment of bitter, uncomfortable silence, a storm brewing just behind his eyes.
“...Is that how you ease your fucking conscience, Poole? Is that what you tell yourself— that the blood is on my hands? That I should have tried harder?”
“W-well, I mean…” The defense attorney hesitated, a few seconds too long. “You were the prosecutor…”
It was a simple statement, nothing more than a fact, and yet in the moment immediately following, he saw Becker’s expression darken to something wholly unreadable, the tension in his shoulders building as his fists clenched at his sides, and felt that it might have been the most foolish thing he’d ever said.
“That’s— I didn’t—” Poole stammered quickly, the words spilling from his mouth before he could catch them. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Then how did you mean it?” Becker hissed, the question almost accusatory, as if he were daring Poole to answer. “Enlighten me.”
“I—I only meant, uhm—” He took a quick breath. “Sorry, I just— All I’m trying to say is that it… it isn’t my fault that you didn’t have enough evidence to convict. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t— uh, doing your best, or anything like that, you just— you had no case. It was my job to make sure the jury knew that. And that— that’s it.
“All I can do is represent my client to the best of my ability, and I did. I’m sorry you didn’t get the outcome you wanted, but, uh… you know, that’s… that’s the job. It’s nothing personal.”
“It’s nothing personal.” Becker echoed him through a mirthless chuckle. “And yet you had the balls to gloat about it to my face after the fact. To make a goddamn joke of it and act like it didn’t fucking matter.”
Poole opened his mouth, a weak protest already half-formed on his tongue, but before he could speak, Becker continued, his voice rising slightly.
“And now you have the fucking nerve to stand here and lie to my face, like I didn’t see the look in your eyes every time you thought you caught me slipping, like the pleasure you get isn’t so obvious. You’re an embarrassment.”
Staring at the other lawyer in stunned silence for a moment, Poole wasn’t sure how to respond, a flurry of indignant protests swirling through his head, his mouth dry, the lump in his throat keeping him from making a sound.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Poole.” The prosecutor spat the other’s name like a curse. “What you’re doing isn’t justice. Not even close. And if you think that I’m going to just... let you pretend that it is just because you’ve convinced yourself ‘it’s just a job,’ then you can go fuck yourself.”
And with those words, Becker sharply turned and started down the hallway, leaving no room for Poole to protest, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the polished tile as he stomped away.
It was all Poole could do to not collapse where he stood just then, his legs weak and unsteady, his chest constricting painfully around his thudding heart. He felt nauseous, his stomach churning with a kind of hollow, numb dread.
He wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear.
But there was something else, too— something that kept him grounded in that endless moment that burned in his throat much hotter than shame or guilt, rising in his chest like bile and choking the air from his lungs, saving him from the urge to come apart at the seams. It was unfamiliar, ugly— it left a foul taste in his mouth, made him cringe— but he was all the same entirely consumed by it in that moment, possessed.
And as he stared blankly after Becker’s retreating figure, his thoughts racing nearly as fast as his pulse, the feeling bloomed in his heart and erupted, searing his tongue as it did.
“I—I—I don’t get you, Ira, you know that!?”
The words rushed from him almost involuntarily, and the sound of his own wavering but defiant voice piercing the tense silence nearly made him flinch.
Becker stopped. Tensing as soon as he registered the words, he went rigid, the faintest hint of movement in his shoulders the only thing giving him away.
But he did not turn.
Even so, the fact that the other had heard him was enough for Poole to blunder forward, stumbling over his words as an angry warmth rose in his cheeks.
“All I’ve done, all I’ve ever done is try to be on good terms with you, to try to be friendly, and I— I can’t understand how you manage to take even that and… twist it into some sort of personal attack. I’ve tried so hard to understand you, to make peace with you last, but you won’t have it. You don’t even want to try. I-it’s like you’re determined to hate me no matter what, like in your eyes, everything I do is somehow wrong when all I’m guilty of is doing my job the best way I know how— just like you.
“I m-mean— why is it so wrong of me to want to succeed, to put my clients best interests first, but it’s perfectly fine for you? Why is it so immoral when I try as hard as I can to win when that is exactly what you do, what any lawyer does?”
Poole stopped for a breath, a momentary pause during which Becker still did move nor speak, standing eerily motionless, as though he were carved from stone.
“A-and you know what, Ira, while I’m on the topic of hypocrisy— you say that I’m the one obsessed with winning, but maybe you should take a look at yourself! You lose one case to me and—and all of a sudden I’m an embarrassment, I’m the scum of the earth and I should be ashamed because it’s somehow all my fault instead of yours. Like I went out of my way to make sure you’d lose, just to spite you. For what? What exactly do you think I stand to gain from making an enemy out of you? I admire and respect you! I always have! I’d never deliberately do anything to humiliate you or sabotage your work or— or anything else like that.
“I m-mean— yes, I’ll admit, what I said to you after today’s verdict was inappropriate. I was excited, and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have tried to joke with you. But you know, I don’t think that’s what got you upset, no. Y—You want to know what I really think? I think you’re just a sore loser.”
Poole fell silent then, trembling, a little out of breath. His eyes stung, tiny beads of frustrated tears going unnoticed as he stubbornly willed himself not to fall apart under the pressure of his own boldness.
He would come to regret what he’d just said— it was the one thing he knew to be certain in the long, fragile seconds that followed. Before him, Becker was perfectly still, the air surrounding him thick and heavy, tense. It was impossible to tell how he was taking the words Poole had carelessly flung at him, how damaging they might be to their already shaky dynamic, to any future relationship they might hope to have.
“A sore loser.” When the prosecutor finally spoke, he repeated Poole’s words slowly, his tone empty, dull, devoid of any inflection. Within it, a concealed darkness. “Yeah. You’re absolutely right.”
Poole felt his stomach lurch, and held his breath, watching stiffly as slowly, very slowly, Becker turned, facing Poole with a stare so empty that for a split second he was unrecognizable. Then, unpredictably, he laughed, a low, mirthless rumble, carrying an audible edge of resentment, of grief, lifting off his lips like a whisper.
“You still don’t get it, do you? Tell me, Poole, are you the one who had to apologize to the victim’s family? Are you the one who promised them justice, only to have a jury of good, smart people decide to free a killer anyway? Do you have any idea how that feels?”
Poole didn’t have an answer, staring in stunned silence instead, feeling his face grow pale. Becker shook his head, the barest hint of a smile still ghosting his lips, rueful, sardonic.
“A murderer walked free today. You understand that? I gave everything I could to try and stop that from happening. I went after him as hard as I could. And it still wasn’t enough. He got away. Every goddamn effort I made, everything I worked towards, it was for nothing.”
“Ira—” Poole began softly, instinctively.
“So yeah, I am a fucking sore loser.” Becker ignored him, almost as if he hadn’t even spoken at all, his voice rising as he took a sudden step forward. “If nothing else, that is exactly what I am, because I do nothing but fight my damned hardest to help make the world a better place, to keep this shithole from getting worse, only to constantly fail and have you treat it like a fucking joke.
“I’m fucking sick and tired of it, Poole, I’m sick of all my hard work being constantly thrown back in my face by a spineless dickhead who can’t be bothered to grow the fuck up and take anything seriously, a piss-poor parody of a lawyer whose head is so far up his own ass he can’t see the damage he’s done— can’t even begin to understand, or care.”
“That’s…” The defense attorney murmured, and nearly choked on the words, feeling his face grow warm with indignation as he fought to keep his composure. “Th-that’s hurtful.”
“Hurtful? You wouldn’t know hurtful if it came up and spat in your smug fucking face. You want to know what’s hurtful? Do you have any idea how painful it is to have you constantly up my ass, pretending you give a shit about me when after all the work I do, all the sacrifices I make trying to bring a scumbag to justice, you fuck me over and then celebrate when I fail?”
“I didn’t celebrate—”
“You did!” Becker roared, the rage hiding just behind his tired, bitter eyes suddenly breaking free as he took another step closer and shoved Poole as hard as he could. In that precise moment, stumbling back, Poole could smell smoke. “I saw you today, after the verdict. I saw the way you looked at me, with that cocky glint in your eye, and I know that I wasn’t imagining the self-satisfaction in your voice when you ran your mouth at me, because you somehow think it’s funny to look me in the face and act like this is all just a stupid game, knowing that my work is everything to me. That is what’s fucking hurtful.”
“Wh—what do you want from me, then?!” Poole cried, a raw, wavering sound. “I tried to explain, to apologize, but you made it rather clear that anything I could possibly say means less than nothing to you!”
“And why shouldn’t it?” The prosecutor shot back. “Why the fuck should I believe a single word out of your pathetic mouth when all you have ever done is string me along?”
“B—Because…! Because o-of our hist—...”
Poole silenced abruptly, as though he’d caught himself on the cusp of saying something unspeakable, something he couldn’t take back, color rising in his cheeks before he quickly looked away.
Eyeing him guardedly, a fleeting confusion passing over his face, Becker found himself perceiving in the other’s expression what had gone unsaid after just a short moment of search, and immediately scoffed.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Poole, I know you’re not that stupid. What makes you think I give a rat’s ass about our so-called history?—”
“S—Stop it—” Poole quickly said, his tone sounding a little more defensive than he intended. “Whatever you’re going to say, you’re wrong. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you, maybe you want to act like it doesn’t matter, but I know that it matters, and so do you.”
Exhaling a shaking breath, Poole risked returning his gaze to the others, and found that Becker’s steely gaze had narrowed slightly at him, studying him almost warily. Behind his eyes, a strange flicker of emotion, an unnameable turmoil, betrayed itself, and in the very same moment, something else took the place of rage in his expression. Something equally unpleasant, but subtler, harder to understand.
“I can’t forget what happened between us that night,” With another quivering breath, Poole went on, squirming vaguely under Becker’s eyes working to dissect him as he spoke. “I tried to— I know that’s what you probably… w-wanted me to do— but I just can’t, because what you and I had for just those few hours was real, whether you want it to be or not.
“What I feel is real. And I know you believed me when I told you that night, I saw the look in your eyes when I said it, Ira, y-you knew it was the truth. How does that not lend any weight to the sincerity of what I’m trying to tell you now?”
The prosecutor averted his eyes. As if reluctant to acknowledge even the memory, there was a brief period in which he stared wordlessly down the hallway behind them, his mouth set in a hard, stern line.
“Look, I... I know you don’t… really understand me.” Poole ventured, his tone softening, his heart aching in a way it couldn’t bear to name. “But if nothing else, after what happened that night, you at least know that the last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.”
A heavy silence fell over them then.
Where anger had once been was now a tense, palpable void— a mutual reluctance that settled in the space between them, thick with something bittersweet and unfinished. Though it shook his resolve, Poole did not look away.
Before him, Becker had grown stiff where he stood as though the other’s words had physically pained him— his gaze sharp and cold, a hollow quality to his face that made it impossible to know for certain what it was he felt, if anything at all.
He was silent for what felt like a long time, his jaw set, his stare fixed intensely on nothing as the storm behind his gaze raged on, hidden, sapping the fire from his eyes until nothing was left but a terrible coldness. And when he finally spoke again, Poole wasn’t sure which he hated more— Becker’s rage or the emptiness that had replaced it.
“...You know something, Poole?” He asked, his voice almost toneless as it rumbled between them. “What good does knowing your feelings do me now, after everything you’ve done? What good is your sincerity to me when you and I will never be on the same side?
“Maybe I did understand you, once. Maybe I even trusted you. Maybe I believed you were capable of doing the right thing. But I sure as hell don’t anymore, because I have no idea who you are, or what the fuck is going on in that head of yours. All I know for certain nowadays is that you only care about yourself, and you can’t even begin to imagine how sick that makes me feel. I really do wish you could see that through your fucking naivety, because every word that comes out of your mouth means fuck all to me when you’ve proven time and time again that you’re a goddamn walking contradiction.
“You’re a fraud and a coward, Poole, a selfish, spineless liar with so much damn gall that you can stand there with a straight face and pretend I ought to be moved by anything that you have to say after all the ways that you have trampled over the last shredded fucking scraps of respect I may have had for you. And yet that still isn’t even the worst thing you’ve ever done to me, is it? Is it?”
An awful, wrenching moment passed in which Poole did not— or perhaps, simply could not— respond to those cruel words. His heart twisted, a familiar stinging welling in his eyes against his wishes.
He held his breath.
“No,” Becker said quietly, a subtle pain coloring the sound of his voice. “The absolute fucking lowest you have ever stooped, Mr. Freddie Poole, was somehow getting me to actually care about a shameless, two-faced prick like you.”
“Ira…—” Poole pleaded desperately, fighting a losing war to choke down the lump that now ached painfully in his throat.
“Save it— you need to listen to me very fucking carefully now, because I’m only going to say this once. Don’t come near my office, don’t come near my cases, I don’t even want to see your sorry ass in this fucking courthouse. I want you out of my goddamn life for good. Do you hear me?”
Shakily exhaling, struggling against the tears gathering in his vision, Poole found himself in that precise moment going wholly numb, as though something within him had just then given out, had died. It was a moment of unreality, an abrupt shift as the weight of those final, decisive words washed over him and took hold.
“Y... You don’t mean that,” Poole whispered tremulously, a feeble denial. “You can’t.”
Becker, however, did not humor him, did not even hesitate, delivering his next words with a cold, unfeeling finality as he turned and began to walk away.
“Try me.”
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My departure all those years ago had worse ramifications than I realized.
Things came to a head between us three weeks in. Three weeks of barely communicating enough to function in the field, then failing even that as we unraveled into fights that made a dragon want to be anywhere else. (As large and deadly as Serendigos is now, he looked for all the world like he was doing his best to become a very small and uninvolved boulder.) Then, after the last and worst Primalist scuffle, we just…stopped. Ran out of steam, I think, after the adrenaline died down and we made sure Seren wouldn’t lose his wing. I was exhausted from pouring everything I had into the mending (crude, clumsy work—it did the job, but barely) when Kerrius surprised me by breaking the ice first. Calmly, even.
He wanted to know where I’ve been all this time, and why I didn’t try to write when I was back in Feralas.
Everything ran cold for me. It had never occurred to me back then that others would know about the small group effort to rehabilitate Eldre’thalas, or that I was there however briefly. It makes sense word of the slaughter would have rushed back to Darnassus—and the old bird made sure to specifically implicate me in his “witness” statement, after all. Kerrius’ mentor, it turns out, was one of the investigating Sentinels into that mess. It took more than ten years for it to occur to me that I never bothered telling my brother anything after I left, even to seek comfort or let him know when I was safe. Nor did I once ask what he was up to, until just months ago.
I told him everything. About the old man and his insidious dismantling of my autonomy, the attempts to make a new arcan’dor, the morrowgrain, the addiction, Mythandos, the disastrous last portal and how I ended up a part of the Fence. I’m sick by now of recounting the details, but he deserved honesty from me. To my (selfish) relief, he at least looked properly horrified by the time I got to the end of our time in Dire Maul. He’d earnestly assumed I’d found myself a cushy job somewhere as a scholar or portal mage and went on to live a comfortable, safe life without concern for aught but myself. He hadn’t known that my current stability and wealth were only very recent acquisitions perched atop a precarious pile of actual traumas. No wonder he’s been bitter—it very much would appear from his perspective that I’ve been flaunting my apparent good fortunes in the face of his loss. It’s good that we’ve cleared the air in that regard, then.
I’m afraid it was still too little, too late.
He’s not sure now what he thinks, or whether he still wants to have contact with me. I may have tried mending this bridge out of genuine remorse and a desire to reconnect with my brother, but we both know now that I treated him rather poorly towards the end of our time together (regardless that it wasn’t outright malicious intent on my part), and I failed to realize just how badly I hurt him when I abandoned him. As of yet I haven’t given him enough in the way of reason to believe my sincerity or that it’ll last. After all, it was made clear before how little I thought of leaving him by the wayside—how can he trust that I won’t do it again? He likes the Fence enough now that he doesn’t mind helping with mercenary jobs once in a while, but he’s asked that I continue to leave him alone for the time being, at least until he sees enough proof of my own change to want to try and be siblings again. There’s a non-zero chance he may decide he still doesn’t want anything more to do with me.
I’ve only arrived home a couple hours ago. I briefly considered crossing the street to wake Charlotte, but the hour is far too early for diurnal folk, and in any case I’m still too raw to want to unload any of this onto anyone else. When I couldn’t get to sleep, I found myself digging through my satchel; now I have all my old journals gathered around me, and tea for clarity of mind.
I won’t be able to rest until I have a better understanding of what other times I’ve been so thoughtless, and who else I’ve inadvertently hurt. If I’m going to become better, I need to first identify where I consistently fail.
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@nightmarecountry: ‘♬ GIMME. I love seeing you wax lyrical about Johnnyboy. — SONGS I LOVE
blood of angels - brown bird! THE john constantine song for me, actually!! the lyrics, the frenetic pace of the backing track, the clinical delivery that explodes into desperate rebellion on the chorus, the undertone of seething disdain and secret self-recrimination born of exhausted cynicism!! this is the song of someone who's cycled all the way around from deep depression to a motherfucking god complex, and if that isn't john constantine in a nutshell. you have lines like:
i drank the blood of angels from a bottle / just to see if i could call the lightning down / it hasn't struck me yet, and i would wage my soul to bet / that there ain't no one throwing lightning anyhow
which make me think of his tendency to just ride the synchronicity highway and trust it'll put him where he needs to be, and let him do what he needs to do. also, his general 'well if god was gonna kill me he'd have fucking done it already' attitude towards risk-taking and making bets on a bluff. also, he has literally snorted santa claus's bones to hype up his magic, so like, he would actually drink angel blood if he had reason to. then there's:
too many tries at tempting fate to call it over / and you get to thinking fate's got different plans / like maybe, i'm not born to die but to bring darkness to the sky / and pull that goddamn sun down anyway i can
which make me think of the laughing magician arc, where constantine learned that his twin was supposed to have lived in his place and his being born instead cursed the world, and his reaction to this — and to his twin saying that if constantine let him take over his body, the world would be fixed — was 'fuck you and fuck that, i can live with a damned world as long as i'm the one living in it'. constantine is someone who's gone his whole life being told he should have died, shouldn't have existed, shouldn't have been born, should've taken someone else's place. of fucking course he resents it, of course he's bitter about it. but if the universe wanted him dead, it should have tried harder. that's where this comes in:
you could be right, they might come for me at night / in angry mobs with torches bright outside my door / for all my spite, i might never win the fight / but i will rage against the light forever more
he is a survivor against all odds, against death and fate and destiny, and he will continue to survive against all odds. he doesn't have to be liked. he doesn't have to be wanted. his purpose is to keep up the fucking fight, no matter the cost, and that's just what he's going to do. and finally, the part that kind of breaks my heart:
don't try to come 'round here spreading sentiments of cheer / you told your last white lie, everything is not alright / you hope, you pray, you love the light of day / but there's no one up there listening tonight
the way this is sung, it feels like constantine's exhausted-ass friends telling him to fuck all the way off after he's done something he can't fix, but also? constantine expects the worst, but he does also hope for the best. i think there's a part of him that genuinely, genuinely wants things to turn out okay in the end, and it takes a piece out of him every time he can't make it all work out for everybody. he knows magic has a cost, he knows the price is steep. he knows he can't save everybody and that some people get exactly what they went asking for. he knows the world is dark and full of terrors and horrors beyond human imagining but within human hands to reach and craft. but he still hopes. he still finds joy and love in the little things in life. and it still hurts when it doesn't last.
+ song for the corinthian: okay evil eye - franz ferdinand not only gives me general corinthian vibes, but also fucks heavy specifically for our dark mirror relationship w/ corinth and constantine, like:
well, i have the evil eye / well, i, i, i see your soul / you wear it on your face / it's warning what you do
also i mean. you do wear eyes on your face, so if he wants your soul, all he's gotta do is take it off ya. also, "don't believe in god, but believe in that shit / (not me!) not me! i'd like to bring them down" is giving corinth vs dream to me? very rebellious kid talking shit behind a parent's back in a way. all bravado as long as they're out of sight, the kind of rebellion born of missing something in that relationship.
#nightmarecountry#hello have my blood of angels doctrine that i lose my SHIT over#also i imagine the scream from the beginning of 'evil eye' playing in that one ask response where constantine grabs the mirror shard#john: you want an eye? come and get it#corinth in the distance: WAAAOOOOOW#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS.#( answered. ) THIS IS JOHN CONSTANTINE. FUCK OFF.
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Tales From Iacon - Part 5: The End of the World
A/N:
-Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
-HOLY CRACKERS ITS BEEN OVER A YEAR IM SO SORRY LMFAOO
-help what--no actually why is the plot of this chapter sdjdsjsdj yes its silly please dont laugh at meeee o////o
-yes by the way. despite the very long gaps between chapters, this series is definitely ongoing, I do have plans for future chapters I just....have to write them........... :'D
-BRUH this one is so long, I'm sorry, I'm bad at making things like. Not Drawn Out lmao--
-If you haven't read the other parts, and just as a reminder, this and all future chapters are set in the aligned continuity (tfp) oh and also! this is the first time ratchet meets megatronus; a bit anticlimactic maybe, but I thought it would be better to just have them meet sorta by coincidence. I do like the idea the three of them are friends, perhaps another reason why Ratchet is so resentful and bitter of Megatron later...anyways.
-at the end of the day, this and all the things I write are just for fun. If you think it's garbage or you just don't like it, that's valid...just scroll on by please ;w;
-ummmmmmm I really don't have anything else to add other than to have mercy on me with typos and the like, I'll edit them as I reread at later dates. and I hope you enjoy! :D
///
One fine evening—early morning, really—Megatronus received the worst news anyone could receive at such an ungodly hour.
Megatronus had passed out on his berth, having a much-needed rest for his sore, battered body after a particularly trying match against twin, rogue Insecticon prisoners.
About maybe an hour earlier, the huge mech had stumbled exhaustedly into his room and flopped down on the bed, huffing a relieved sigh as he felt the throbbing in all his limbs begin to dissipate.
Within moments, he’d fallen asleep.
His arm hung off the berthside, fingertips gently grazing the edge of his immobile, silent holopad. Everything was, for this one time, so still and peaceful.
So, when the device went off with a sudden and violent buzzing, Megatronus was instantly jerked awake—ripped from a calm rest in the realm of absolute nothingness, not even a dream.
His arm shot away from the floor, coming to rest uneasily on the bed with the rest of him.
Since the room had no light source, if the lights were off, it was pitch black inside. This little holopad had by itself, lit up the entire room, painting it with a decidedly eerie, turquoise light.
For a few moments, his optics blearily fixated on the object—glowing electric blue, emitting a frustratingly repetitive buzzing noise, and vibrating.
Vaguely, he recalled sending Orion a message about this to ask if he could turn that feature off.
And after Orion had in fact, explained this process...Megatronus had forgotten entirely, and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
Of course, now he was being reminded of what had annoyed him enough to even ask about it in the first place.
Tomorrow. I’ll fix that infernal beeping tomorrow.
Still only half-awake, the large mech remained still, simply continuing to stare at the holopad. He felt a twinge of annoyance as exhaustion quickly crept back into him, as his whole body was taking a moment to remind him how tired and sore he was.
Frag it—who the scrap is calling me at…
He squinted at the screen to see the time, printed in a neat, short, white font.
“—3 in the morning?!”
He groaned, rubbing his face and hefting himself off the bed.
It would keep ringing if he didn’t do something about it. Like take the call.
“Primus give me patience,” he muttered as he picked it up…a little too late.
Or, I could have waited for the damned thing to quiet itself. He’d forgotten that was a thing, too.
He watched as the screen went dark again for a couple moments, then lit up to read “missed call.”
Megatronus registered the profile picture and the name written beside it.
Orion?
Okay, so it was either important and life-changing, or something very strange.
Megatronus thought for a moment, feeling a bit more awake as he considered the possibility of something terrible soon to take place—or perhaps something unexpected in general.
That piqued his interest some.
Now I must know what he’d wanted at an hour like this.
The device started to buzz again.
Megatronus glared at it.
I’d like a round in the pits with the guy who designed this sound.
It had a particular way it bothered his audio receptors.
He sighed and tapped the ‘pick up’ button. Then, dropping it beside himself and lying back in his bed, the gladiator chuckled a little as he started speaking. The device darkened its screen again, leaving Megatronus to eye the darkness of his room once again.
“By the Primes, Orion—it’s 3 in the—”
“Megatronus.”
Instantly, he stopped, unnerved by the solemnity of his friend’s whispery tone.
His eyes searched the dark nothingness of his room as he waited in silence for whatever his friend was about to say.
“What I am about to say, you may not believe….but it is something that could affect all of Cybertron…something of great magnitude—something…very dire…”
“Is…is that so?”
He felt uneasiness begin to well up from the pits of his stomach. The thought of this being a joke flashed through his processor before he reminded himself this was Orion making this call.
He happens to be a terrible liar. I would know if he was messing with me.
Orion exhaled shakily over the call, filling the silence.
Megatronus tensed and slowly sat up, hearing the crackly sound of paper being unfurled from his device.
His confusion deepened, but interest locked his jaw shut as he waited.
Then at last, Orion told him.
“Megatronus, I—I found….a prophecy—a scroll. In it, the writing states…” A sharp rustling noise sounded from the holopad, “…it—it said our world will crumble away to…to nothing on the next full moon—the smaller one.”
Megatronus had…no idea when the full moons were to happen.
He did know, however, what “crumble away to nothing,” meant, and felt an apprehensive worry start to stiffen his body, turning over the revelation in his mind as Orion spoke more about the scroll.
“And…the time in simpler terms would be?”
A long pause, as if the archivist did not want to reply.
“…I-In…two days.”
Megatronus was suddenly not as tired and sore as before.
///
The sun was shining very brightly in the sky, causing all the shinier structures and objects in sight—built from their reflective metals—to glint and shimmer. On a day as bright as this, it was like the streets of Iacon city, and all its things, became as jewels.
Yet such beautiful sights were not so eye-catching to Orion Pax today.
Instead, he had his optics trained on the ground below his feet. His figure was slumped over and seated on a lone park bench, head leaning on his palm. He tapped his foot to no particular rhythm, but more as an anxious motion to keep his mind at bay.
The buildings and the nature around him were only more distressing, actually, for Orion could only think about the immenant end of it all….set to happen a mere two days from the present, and counting.
He checked his holopad again, seeing the time and sharply sighing.
He’s late again…ohhh, we must do this today or never!! Come on, Megatronus, come on…
Footfalls directly behind Orion caused him to shoot upright and turn with a hopeful gaze—
“There you are!” He exclaimed.
Megatronus came around and took his seat, apologizing for the wait.
“Kaon is a long way, and bypassing the security is no easy feat…” he paused, “Though doable all the same.” He flashed his friend a confident smile, but it faltered when he realized Orion had gone back to staring at the ground in thought.
Now is not the time for jokes, He reminded himself, trying to sober up. End of the world. Destruction. Right.
Megatronus found his optics wandering from one bot to the next as they bustled by. He was used to this kind of silence, as the two often met in this park to talk, or to simply share each other’s company to contemplate things.
After a few moments of silence amidst the noise, Orion at last spoke up. His words were brisk.
“I’ll take you to the Hall of Records and show you the scroll. While there, we must gather resources, find a means of escape, and craft a message to send to all the cities of Cybertron—”
Megatronus turned sharply at the last part.
“All of Cybertron?!”
“Yes, Megatronus!” Orion sounded as if it had been obvious. “We can’t just—”
“But—all its citizens, in all its cities?” He interjected. “Orion, it’s not possible!”
“Says who?”
“Logic!!”
“Logic is not the answer all the time, Megatronus!” Now, he was getting annoyed.
“No, Orion—” Megatronus found himself getting frustrated as well. “Be realistic!”
“I’m being realistic, and fair,” Orion fired back, leaning a little closer.
Now he really was upset. Megatronus grimaced.
“What other heartless arguments have you, Megatronus? You want to leave this planet alone and let everyone else just…die?!”
Megatronus felt his blood start to simmer.
Heartless? He was anything but heartless. The gladiator took a deep offense to that.
If there was anything he knew, it was what it felt like to be brushed off—as the “others” to be trampled on, overlooked, forgotten…left for scrap.
But he also remembered that it would be impractical to fight with Orion at this moment—more specifically, it would be a waste of time in the face of this great danger.
Orion….for all your book-smarts, you can be a fool all the same. You must be aware you can’t save everyone…or do ideals build for you kingdoms in the sky that you trust as reality?
“Perhaps…I am not seeing things from your perspective,” he yielded, in a quieter voice.
“That’s what I thought,” Orion snapped, then drew back and stood up. “Let’s go, Megatronus. There’s no time.”
Calmly, the burgundy-silver mech stood up and eyed his friend with an odd kind of gaze.
“I thought I’d have to tell you that,” he said.
Instantly Orion opened his mouth to respond, then realized his own mistake. Instead of owning up to anything, however, he huffed and turned on his heel, starting down the smooth sidewalk.
Megatronus watched him for a moment, feeling a little triumphant.
The world as we know it ends in two days…there really is no time.
He strode after Orion.
///
“The fools are the ones with knowledge, and the fools are the ones without it….in essence, my friends…”
Ratchet turned the page.
“…we are all fools. Fools convinced of knowledge and science, but fools all the same in the greater scheme of things. We will never know it all…so let us resign ourselves to that fate, and strive to learn all we can.”
Ratchet stared at the last few words and let them sink in, trying to understand on an abstract level what it all meant. They were the final words for a novel he’d elected to read and write a report on for one of his university classes.
Yes, he was studying medicine and science and all that, but philosophy and studies on the mind and life couldn’t possibly hurt. In fact, Ratchet was convinced that he could only add more to the things he knew—the more to think on, the merrier.
His gaze lingered for a moment more on the final page, then he shut the book gently. Folding his servos, he let them rest lightly upon the sturdy, leather cover.
Wind swayed the leaves above him, so he let his head tilt back to stare at them, as if it was also moved by the breeze.
Fools in this universe, huh?
Ratchet let his eyes close.
Perhaps now he would be able to finally catch up on the hours of sleep he’d missed with his late-night cramming nearly every night of this week….
“All of Cybertron?!”
Ratchet snapped forward at the loud voice, instantly annoyed.
Who the scrap is yelling and disturbing the peace of this park—
“Orion, it’s not possible!”
“Says who?!”
“Logic!!”
Ratchet made a face, realizing he knew those voices.
“Logic is not the answer all the time, Megatronus!”
Turning slowly, Ratchet found he was indeed correct. He watched as Orion and Megatronus heatedly conversed for a few more minutes, then stood up to leave. Orion stiffly marched out, Megatronus had remained standing for a moment before following at a quicker pace.
The two of them had been visibly annoyed with one another, he noted, only Megatronus seemed to be doing a better job of hiding it.
And that was as expected—Orion was known to wear his spark on the outside, so to speak. His emotions were upfront and clear most of the time.
Or at least, that’s how almost anyone who knew the mech would describe him.
“Orion,” Ratchet muttered, watching them finally fade into the crowds outside the park grounds. “What on Cybertron are you up to with that gladiator friend of yours?”
He sighed, rising from the bench and gathering his things.
Yes, he more wanted to sit in the park and continue enjoying his free afternoon.
No, Ratchet had no worries about anyone’s safety.
But something in his spark tugged on him, urging him to follow them. Plus, Ratchet was a curious bot. He had to know what was up.
He made his way out of the park on the same path Orion and his friend had left.
It couldn’t possibly be something minor if it involved ‘all of Cybertron,’ after all.
///
“It’s back here,” Orion said, taking a left and heading into a side room.
Megatronus squinted with some effort and followed Orion into it, as the blue luminescence of huge computer screens and shelves upon shelves of active tablets was left behind them.
The room ahead was almost pitch black, for nothing in that room was alive but himself and his friend. After a few moments, his optics adjusted to the room, and he began to see the shapes of the room’s contents.
Megatronus found it interesting that there were so many physical documents left after all this time and modernization.
It was assumed most everything was coded and left on holopads these days; transcribed, moved to a digital form, archived on a device of some kind, and yet…what seemed to be hundreds of scrolls—and even stone artifacts, he noticed—lay before Megatronus.
He looked from left to right with every step forward, silently and in awe.
Orion previously explained that there had always been means for these things to be written in digital form, yet there was no real reason why these documents were not.
It was thus theorized by elder scholars that the authors of the stories and accounts had simply not had said tools at their disposal in those moments, and decided to note their experiences and observations with whatever they could. Either that, or for unexplained reasons, had chosen physical documentation over digital.
Up ahead, Megatronus could make out a small desk and chair, and heard Orion’s footsteps speed up as he made his way to it.
Well, as an aspiring archivist, he must know his way around without the lights. No wonder he walks ahead with such ease…
A sharp click sounded.
Very suddenly, everything was visible. Megatronus uttered a small noise and squinted again, this time slightly in pain. He had just gotten used to the darker lighting but…oh well.
“Now, we’ve got to put together our transmission message,” Orion started almost immediately.
Megatronus watched him begin the speedy ‘cleanup’ of his messy desk—shoving things in drawers, moving the stray papers into piles and crushing them into an open science textbook. A few things clattered accidentally off the reddish wood, while others plummeted off the surface quite intentionally.
It is somehow…cute to watch him scurry about like this.
Orion eyed some papers tacked to his wall, then removed and relegated them to the floor as well.
“I see you keep a tidy workspace,” Megatronus observed with an innocent tone.
Orion threw him a look, but the larger mech could see the suppressed edges of a smile before Orion turned back to his desk and began opening files on his computer.
After a couple moments of quiet except for the typing, Orion motioned for Megatronus to come closer so he could help out. It was then that he noticed one paper had been left on the archivists’ desk, rolled shut.
Staring at it, he asked, “Does this paper tell us of our doom?”
Orion nodded, beginning to type out what was probably his evacuation plea—or a draft of it, at least. So Megatronus carefully picked it up and turned it over in his servos, handling it with as much care as he could.
Then, he opened it.
What he found, however, was not a terrifying prophecy. What he found was—
“Orion, what the scrap is this?” He muttered, holding it closer and squinting at it. He let it roll shut again and placed it on the desk. “It’s all meaningless scribbles! And you mean to tell me you got ‘the world ends soon’ from it?”
“It does say that,” Orion muttered back, continuing to type. “That’s old Cybertronian.”
Megatronus blinked. He didn’t even know there was an ‘old Cybertronian.’
“Which I can read…” Orion finally stopped typing, seeming to realize something. “Or, well, that’s to say…”
The gladiator raised an eyebrow. He didn’t like the sound of that unease in his friend’s voice. He was about to ask another question when the two of them heard someone was coming down the hall.
And sure enough, someone Megatronus had never seen before poked his head through the doorway.
“Ratchet!” Orion exclaimed, perking up and waving. For a moment, Megatronus observed, all the apprehension had seemed to disappear.
Megatronus frowned in thought, watching the mech pick his way through the piles of scrolls until he was next to Orion’s desk. Finally, it hit him, where he’d heard that name before.
“And you are…the medical student?”
Ratchet broke off what he’d started saying to Orion and looked him up and down. He then nodded.
“And you must be Megatronus, the…warrior from Kaon,” he returned looking very serious.
“Gladiator. Though I enjoy the title of ‘warrior.’”
“Right.”
There was a short pause.
“Though I am by law not allowed in these streets, I’ve found the law to be quite shabby at their job of keeping those like myself…out.”
“Seems these days we’re all figuring something out about our…illustrious leaders, and their idea of a functional society,” Ratchet said sarcastically.
Orion leaned back in his chair to look at them both, worrying they might be sizing each other up or something.
Then, Ratchet grinned.
“Well, Megatronus, I don’t have my degree yet, but if you’ve anything you’d like me to take a look at…” He offered, extending his servo.
Megatronus chuckled, and shook it firmly.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve only heard your name from Orion, after all.”
“Same here.”
Thank the Allspark, no hostility.
Orion sighed quietly, then got back to work.
He’d let Megatronus get to know Ratchet a little better rather than demand any more of this focus for this. Besides, Orion wanted to write the transmission himself.
He scanned the place he’d left off, his second paragraph, reading it off in his mind to get back into the writing flow.
‘Though it may seem hard to believe,’ he typed, ‘I can assure you that this is a very real threat. One that I believe we must heed. Fellow Cybertronians, we must remember that our race is one of change. Moving homes is a large leap, but it will be necessary—’
“‘—if we are to survive what our elders have warned’…” Ratchet’s voice startled Orion, quickly realizing he and Megatronus had quietly moved to watch over the archivist’s shoulder as he was writing. Finishing that sentence, he stopped again, having lost concentration once more.
He turned to request that Ratchet not read over his shoulder like that, and then to ask what Megatronus thought of the announcement so far, but Ratchet spoke first.
“Orion.”
“Ratchet..?”
Megatronus took a small step back, curious to see what was about to happen.
The university student had an expression on his face that read something of a mix between confusion and amusement. Orion stared back at him with full seriousness.
Ratchet wordlessly leaned closer and scrolled up the screen to read the draft in full, murmuring quietly each word while Orion sat back and began to fiddle with his fingers again.
And then, finally, it seemed Ratchet had read all he needed because when he drew back, he rested his face in his palms for a second, then started laughing.
No, really laughing.
It went on for a little while before the young archivist finally cut in with an inquiry as to what could be so funny. He was starting to look more embarrassed than indignant. Megatronus had no idea what was going on, but was too amused to interrupt.
Funny, if I’d laughed at him again, we might be arguing right now.
“It—it’s—” Ratchet struggled, still laughing. He fell against the wall, trying to compose himself. Orion turned around, rolling his optics and starting to type again before Ratchet finally turned to Megatronus.
“You—you’re aware of this, aren’t you?” He caught sight of the scroll lying on Orion’s desk. It was like he already knew. “And what do you make of it?”
Megatronus shrugged.
“Can’t even read it, ‘old Cybertronian,’ or something. Truth be told, I’m not very adept with reading anyway.”
“Hm. But Orion said he…can?”
Suddenly, the gladiator realized where this was going.
Orion stopped typing again, but didn’t turn around. Meanwhile, Ratchet reached over and picked up the scroll, unraveling it.
“Well, I can,” Ratchet murmured, scanning the text to confirm his suspicions, “and it seems Orion...has misread the entire text completely.”
///
Ratchet finally returned from the shop and handed Megatronus and Orion their respective cups of warmed, sweetened Energon, shaped as crystals for some seasonal event.
Megatronus received his and thanked Ratchet, Orion took his in silence, still not meeting anyone’s gaze. The three of them walked in silence to the edge of the street and stopped.
Then, finally, Megatronus broke the silence, “Oh, Orion, it’s not the end of the world!” He tried a playful jab.
“Indeed. If you’re worried, no one’s upset with you,” Ratchet added, placing a gentle servo on his shoulder. “It’s better that you misread it, actually.”
“Exactly! Our world is safe.”
“No crumbling, no destruction…” Ratchet paused, sighing. Less excitedly, he continued, “And I can finish getting my degree.”
But the archivist merely took a bite out of his treat, optics still trained on the ground, absolutely silent.
As it had turned out, Orion had been reorganizing and archiving the roomful of old physical documents, in place of Alpha Trion (who was attending to an important matter in another city), and he had seen the scrolls in the dark of early morning. Naturally, he’d not slept, and was tired. In addition to that, he didn’t even know old Cybertronian well enough to decipher the entirety of the text, which had stated…this scroll was merely a draft for a story. Orion was self-taught, so he could read some of it, but well...he needed more practice with it.
What he might have done—had he not decided to read its contents and simply file it by the code on the back—would be to place it on the shelf for old texts by famous or unknown authors. Instead, he misinterpreted it to be a real prophecy, spelling out doom, coincidentally falling on their current year.
Thankfully, before he and Megatronus had made fools of themselves by sending an 'overdramatically poetic evacuation notice'—as Ratchet had worded it—Orion's friend had read over the transmission, the scroll, and clarified what was actually written there.
It was then also that Ratchet had finally seen the value of that required class he’d taken his first year of university, learning old Cybertronian. It was boring, but it had finally come in handy.
As one could guess, however, Orion was incredibly embarrassed. It seemed he had no intention to speak for the rest of the day.
Ratchet and Megatronus exchanged looks, then moved closer to their friend. They really didn’t want him to feel bad.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have lost it like that earlier, Ratchet thought, inwardly cringing at the memory of his laughter in the silence of the room. After all, the two had been fully convinced this was a very real threat.
“Orion, you can’t possibly take a vow of silence for life,” Megatronus tried again, in a joking tone. He bent down to look him in the eyes, and finally Orion met his gaze.
And finally, the archivist spoke.
“I…um…” he shifted to the side, as if debating whether to turn away from his friends or remain facing them. “I…apologize for…the confusion I caused.”
“Oh, Orion, it’s not—”
“And the panic. And…” he reached out and touched Megatronus’ shoulder plate. “For snapping at you in the manner I did. Even in a real situation of danger, I must learn not to lose my composure like that, and I must learn on my own, not through hurting my own friends first.”
He dropped his arm again and took another bite of his treat. Megatronus and Ratchet followed suit, and the three shared another moment of quiet thought.
“Hey,” Ratchet prompted, a little awkwardly. “I owe you an apology too. I should’ve handled it with a little less…” he sighed. “I should have been more charitable towards how you were seeing it.”
“And I shouldn’t have joined in,” Megatronus added. “You were probably embarrassed and…had got the point already. In fact, you haven’t much to apologize for, Orion.”
Orion regarded both Ratchet and then Megatronus before he started down the street again, looking at the sky. His friends followed.
“No, Megatronus, I have things to apologize for. But…” he looked at them again, this time with a smile of his own. “I suppose I see now the humor in it all.”
And the trio shared the rest of the twilight hours together, traipsing the streets of Iacon. At nightfall, they said their goodbyes. Ratchet and Megatronus left together for the city gates, since they were both leaving Iacon. The medical student offered to help get Megatronus past security, and the larger mech accepted with a grin.
Orion watched them go, pleased with how it seemed they had befriended one another. Afterward, he headed back down the path they’d come, deciding along the way that archiving the rest of those scrolls could not be completed unless he was in the right mindset—and that required some much-needed sleep.
As he walked, he continued to look at the sky, at the moon not yet full, chuckling to himself as he remembered just how panicked he’d been only hours ago. But more than embarrassment was relief.
Cybertron will continue to be my home for millennia to come. I will see the faces of my friends and mentors, and have the privilege to gaze upon the wonders of life and the universe for just as long.
He heard shouting from another street and stopped to watch as a group of similarly shaped bots emerged from a restaurant, shouting and whooping, arms together and surrounding the one in the center, who looked bashful, but happy. As he gazed at them, he noticed each had scratches, chips, and one even had a couple wires hanging from their arm.
Laborers. This must be a communal establishment.
Orion also noticed what looked like a bouncer standing behind the window, arms folded and features grim. The large mech was glaring at them, looking ready to shove them off the street and into the road if they lingered any longer.
The giddy group, however, made their way off and down the street, and the bouncer-looking bot nodded, heading back into the mass of Cybertronians in the building.
Orion continued on his way, still thinking.
Life is not so perfect as one might imagine. Ideals must be relegated to thought, they are not reality. But...rather than worry about finding a new home, we may all continue to work towards peace and equality. Towards a Cybertron where no bar must be “communal” or “private” for one to go in and celebrate something with friends.
There was hope yet for their world, in more ways than one.
And for that, I am truly grateful.
///
I actually hate this chapter help it was more interesting in my head--
#transformers prime#tfp#transformers prime fanfiction#transformers prime fanfic#tfp fanfiction#tfp fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#writing#kuniwrites#tales from iacon#tf#transformers fanfiction#maccadam#megatronus#orion pax#tfp megatronus#tfp orion pax#orion pax and megatronus#story#for fun#<3#ratchet#tfp ratchet#transformers prime ratchet#transformers stuff
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(same anon) personally, I think ppl who ship i/modna are
a) deluding themselves bc you've already SEEN what c/r does. how has it not taught you anything? how are you still hoping that by some miracle they'll do smth different this time? I have to pity you your naivete. you're going to get burned again there's no two ways abt it
b) also should NOT face such utter backlash like. you know from the getgo that this was an attempt at an b/j apology ship. you just know it. I'm sorry to these so called Pseudo-intellectual Meta-Writers but if something as simple as pattern recognition as this doesn't get through to you, then I fear you aren't as Nuanced™ as u think you are lmao.
also, it's very funny that b/j fans who now go to i/modna are going to get harassed by the b/y crowd. like, I find the entire deal w c/r incredibly exhausting. but it's somehow very funny to me to see how threatened the b/y crowd still feels by b/j. when all we've done is literally nothing lmao we left. and YET you guys are still thinking about us. Still intent on making us the villians lol. Its hilarious house fear works on a subconscious level where you have to dehumanize us by making shit up abt us to feel validated in hating us. (remember the extremely harmful false info they spread abt b/j fans being trsnsphobic when literally a) all b/j fans I know are trans b) we are all so in on the trans b/j agenda like I remembered my friend & I being they/them beau truther and trans jester makes So much sense in a commentary about embracing femme it makes me heart sing. its so vile to say such absolutely untrue shit about us when we are literally all trans people having a good time w our trans b/j headcanons. imagine calling *us* t/erfs with nothing to back you on that gross misinformation.)
its very funny to me that b/y fans had to resort to calling *us* names when literally the actors marisha and ashley are the ones who equate lesbianism w pussy™ and constantly joke about genitalia. the sheer obsession w grossly sexualizing lesbians at every turn and pretending it's the height of romance. eugh.
no wonder something as organic and developing and emotionally competent (unlike the emotionally constipated b/y) threatens them. they couldn't BE beaujes. that's what bugs them to this day I think. why being canon still doesn't satiate their upset. because being "canon" doesn't erase that most of their speculation and fan-theories abt b/y is just that. all in their head.
anyway, enough of me talking down to b/y. the hangup they have from b/j shows on i/modna bc they didn't get to harass b/j fans enough. they gotta take it above and beyond to c3 to feel validated in the leftover anger they still have at b/j.
I have nothing to really add to your ask, anon, because you’ve pretty much said it all. But I do want to address the ‘a)’ at the top of your ask.
I made my own rant post about this very thing: seeing a bunch of BJ’s gleefully running back to CR because of Im/odna, and being frustrated and confused by it. Wondering why they would willingly go back to a thing that hurt them. And I said stuff about me not seeing any solid evidence that they’d take it to a romantic place and that there’s a higher probability that they’re just fucking around. That they’ll essentially ‘gal pal’ it.
The thing about that stance though? I don’t want to be proven right. I don’t want to continue being right about terrible shit. I WANT to be proven wrong. I want CR to be better now than it was in C2. I want the cast to be more respectful towards their audience and not end up going “Ha ha! Psyche! We didn’t really mean it!”
I actually DO want this all to work out for the better. And for two reasons 1) because I want the BJ’s who are all-in for Im/odna to have something good to look forward to for once. Something to celebrate. And 2) I want them to be able to say to all of the bitter BY bitches, “We told you so. Everything we speculated was correct. We were right, you were wrong. Eat shit!” I want them to have something to rub in the faces of all the pricks who are actively rooting for Im/odna to fail.
Even with me. I will GLADLY eat shit too for doubting. If Marisha and Laura go full throttle to Romance Town, those same BJ’s are more than welcome to flood my inbox with unabashed gloating. And I will be thrilled.
I would gloat right along with them. Everyone in the Beaujester fandom (whether you ship Im/odna or not), is still dealing with all that shitty baggage from C2. And I think we ALL deserve a chance to gloat. We’ve been fucked around with and stomped on far too much. We should get something good.
However, if I am proven wrong, that doesn’t mean that I’m gonna suddenly fall in love with CR again. I’m not gonna give CR props, I’m not gonna watch C3, I’m not gonna buy merch, I’m not gonna start praising the cast and fawning over everything they say and do. I’m not gonna praise Marisha and Laura for finally committing to something. THAT would a bridge too far. If CR does something good for once, great. But I’m not gonna feel good for them. I’m gonna feel good for the people they did right by.
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Some realizations for 2023:
This year sucks, haha! But there’s no way but up. It’s an uphill battle but I’ll get through this
You may lose everything, but choose which ones are worth recovering
The people who made you the happiest are the same people who will make you the loneliest
Never, ever be with people who make you feel alone when you’re with them
Avoid unhappy and bitter people. You’re not their shock absorber. You can be supportive, but never be a doormat
Be understanding to people who don’t understand themselves.
Always pray and be discerning. Learn to address and accept when something is no longer serving its purpose.
God gives and takes away. All you gotta do is trust Him
I’ve never really gotten over the dream that was taken away from me when I was 23 years old. It’s time I make peace with that. Seeing you again after all these years brought back the lost dream, but I’m glad I can cry about it and then go on. This chapter has ended and will not be continued by another person.
I’ve never met a person so unhappy and bitter. And all I have is just the curiosity as to why you ended up like that. All I know is you can blame me all you want, but you can’t deny that all I did was force you to confront your shadow self
I’m happiest when I’m fulfilled. I’m happiest when I feel safe. I’m happiest when I’m on the side of truth - even if it’s not what I wished it would be.
I dreamed you told me the real reason why you connected with me. It wasn’t love. But I was relieved to know that I finally got the truth. It finally made sense.
I feel happier now knowing I’m free. No responsibilities
I loved you but also dreaded dealing with you. I admit, I was trying to get answers even though I already know the reality. It was exhausting.
Hmm, I guess I wish you the best? Or more of I don’t wish ill on you.
I don’t think I’ll miss you this time. It was such a bad experience these past few weeks. Like you were a brick tied around my neck and I was drowning.
It’s always sad when the people you love change. It’s sadder when they blame it on you. It’s saddest when they don’t accept their responsibility
I can love as much as I can, but when I’m exhausted, I can walk away and never look back.
You were just a lesson after all
I’m ready to let this year go. I couldn’t bear the pressure anymore - it will just make me resent this person if I held on
I’ll always doubt who you are. And that’s unfair to both of us. To the next person, be fair to her. Let her know who you are. You can’t hide behind your lies forever
You underestimated me. You were scared of me and yet the funny thing is, everything I found out about you just fell on my lap. I never even had to dig. I have a powerful angel over my shoulder protecting me from deceit.
You do you. But not with me. Apart from intelligence, I crave authenticity.
I was in a rush for us to build this relationship because I didn’t want to pay to talk to you. From the beginning I told myself I will just give it a year. Time’s up!
Wow, I just realized how tired I was of the bullshit. You will always find excuses. It was laughable how you sounded robotic when you were “loving” and just plain mean when you were bitter. And you passed it off as me not being right in the head? Hahaha. The depths a man will sink into when he’s so unhappy with himself is such a turn off.
It’s funny because I will not remember you as a cheerful person. You said so yourself, you’re bitter.
It’s different this time - I’m not afraid of disconnecting because I’ve asked for signs and it all points to this - “I will make things new”. Sadly, you’re not invited to the table - this is what my inner voice is saying.
I did try to contend with my inner voice - but no more.
It will always be better to live in the truth than be enslaved in a fantasy just to escape.
In the end, it had to take a woman like me to uncover the bitter truth. You won’t ever find a woman who can face the truth square on, accept that what has run its course and walk away. With her crown intact on her head.
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aaaaaa so I read one of your prince!eret posts and I had an idea! (I would've wrote it myself but I wouldn't have done it any justice)
but what if Prince!Eret had a little brother? and that was reader?? maybe reader is a little rebellious and sneaks out into the villiage or smth and meets the bench trio who don't know reader is the youngest prince? so they just kinda of spent the whole day together doing stuff until Prince Eret and maybe some of the Knights find them?
idk have a wonderful day/night :)
This came out a lot angstier than the first draft had been ahskfj
Little Rebel Prince 💛
[He/him pronouns]
[3000+ words]
Description: After an argument with your brother, King Eret, you sneak out of the castle. During your adventure you meet three odd, wonderful boys. (Platonic Eret + Benchtrio x M!Reader)
[Read the rest under the cut]
{《☆》}
Eret sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His quill (how old school) is dropped to the side, staining a random piece of parchment and the edges of his sleeves. "For the last time, Y/N, you cannot attend dinner with King August."
"Why not?" You asked, not for the first time.
"Because you're too young. We're trying to discuss a peace treaty and I can't trust you not to ruin it." Eret is blunt, finally pulling his sleeve out of the wet ink splotch and grimacing. They look into your eyes, an uncomfortable feeling really, and their expression softens. "I really wish you could be there but this dinner is not a thing we can risk. Our borders are being contested so if we want this to end peacefully-"
"I can't be around to mess it up," You cut in blithely, managing to keep a smile on your face even as your brother's fell. "Got it. Well then, I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist."
Eret looks older suddenly, more exhausted as they lose their words before they can even grasp them. It leaks out of every pore, staining his stare blank and deepening the bags beneath his eyes. You've never seen a person lose so much life so quickly, nonetheless he doesn't say anything as you turn. Even as you linger in the hallway, the door stays shut and so you don't let the stares of Raven and Katrina weigh you down even as every step feels like a mile.
{《☆》}
You want some sweets. Not the ones in the castle, salted more than sweetened since that's what Eret likes, but the ones from the outskirts of the kingdom where the best sweets are smuggled from "L'Manchildburg". Normally, you'd just ask Eret to send you off with Sara or Kori but for obvious reasons you refused to do so.
In vindictive anger, you stepped out of your room despite whatever wordless promise you had made. There were no guards, an oversight really but it was an oversight that would be saving you some trouble. With quick hands, you push the large painting on the wall to the side and pressed your thumb to the sharp pointed thimble.
Blood dripped onto the metal and soaked into it, glowing a faint gold glow. The walls shifted, opening to long, large corridors of stone carved to perfection. Simple cracks layered the sides and you traced where Eret had carved both of your initials as a marker, running through the halls with you, getting lost and trying not to cry. You pulled away, something bitter lodged in your throat.
The labyrinth was made by your father as a gift for Eret's obtained kingship. Herobrine was not an amazing father but no one can say he does not try.
Quick steps forward, ignoring the way the walls shift in place as they read your intentions, making way to the capital. More specifically it seemed, a dimly lit alleyway with a knocked over trash can resting at you feet. The wall clicked shut behind you, lines smoothing away and melting back into brick walls.
The road was slanted, an odd sort of tension to going down and a struggle to walk up but you've walked it so many times that getting the perfect footing was practically automatic. The restaurants littering the sides were fairly loud for the daytime, doors caught wide open for any customer to step into. You distract yourself with catching the new prices for entering, a few dollars up for the steak-house but three dollars down for the pub. Easily enough, you're standing at the top.
This area is flatter, easier to walk, but it goes down long enough that you'd end up going in circles for hours and still not seeing everything it had to offer. A passing street musician plays a bit louder for you but you step past quicker, they'd never stop bothering you if you showed any interest, though you admit that they had an excellent voice.
Turning a corner, you stepped into a familiar café. A red-tie* owned sweets shop ran by Niki, a nice lady who had dual citizenship somehow. It had a nice atmosphere despite that, soft lighting handing from the ceiling with vines tangled with the cord. High top tables pushed against the wall, beanbags pushed into a corner near some plants, a front counter wide enough to sit and eat at.
It's nice, not overly colourful but with enough plants and throw pillows to break up the monotony. You took a seat at the counter, brushing off a few crumbs leftover by a past customer. "Niki! You here?"
A soft laugh from behind you, "It's my café of course I am."
You spin the chair, leaning back against the counter. "Just thought I'd ask," You spin again as she steps behind the counter. "Are you still serving (f/s)?"
"Of course," Niki laughs again, a teasing little smile on her face. "I wouldn't be your favorite cafe if I didn't."
"Mighty confident there, Niki," You press your lips together but it can't stop your smile from growing. "What if I liked that one café on Oreli street better?"
Niki gasp, exaggerated and scandalized. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh but I would," You are openly smiling now, a bit of an ache in your cheek that's not really helping. "Maybe I should go there now—"
"Enough teasing," Niki rest her hands on her hips, still smiling. "Do you want your (f/s) or not?"
"I do, thanks Niki," You shamelessly laugh. "As many a you've got, actually."
"You're going to dry out your pockets before the festival even starts!" The reminder makes you brighten up, even as Niki shakes her head fondly. Racking her knuckles across the kitchens shared wall, she calls out. "Ranboo, we need (f/s) please."
A small crash sounded from the kitchen, followed by skidding as the door was cracked open the barest amount, a half-white half-black enderman staring blearily at the ground. With a lighter colour face, they blurted out an vague noise of agreement and ducked back through the door.
Niki looked over at you and you looked at her. After a comically long time, she sighed and wiped her hands on a towel. "I have to go check on him don't I."
"It is your café," You nodded along, tipping your chair back a bit. "I will just wait here and—!"
Niki reached over and strong-armed you over the counter. "Nope, if I have to deal with it, so do you,"
You grumble as she let's you walk around the counter. Glancing at each other, you take the first step in.
The organized neatness of the café is ruined by the disaster that was the kitchen. The counters were cluttered with messy pots and pans, cartons of milk tilted and spilling onto the floor with egg shells broken into hundreds of tiny pieces beneath your feet. Dishes were pilled high in the large sinks, including some extras sat in relatively neat stacks by the spilled milk. A pile of mud sits on a plate, smudge marks that were probably made by someone liking it. You really don't wanna know.
"Niki, I know what it looks like," The ram-boy says slowly, backing into a taller but more scrawny avian-boy. "But I have a good reason for what happened."
"Oh yeah," With her hands on her hips and raised brows, Niki briefly entertained the ram-boy. Mistake number one. "Okay, what happened?"
"Uhm, DISTRACTION!" They screamed, immediately sprinting for the back door. At the same time the avian boy screeched incomprehensible noises with garbled curses and uselessly flapped their wings to the door. With a startled gasp, Niki accidentally pushed you towards the half-white half-back enderman hybrid who startles a yelp and everything twists.
You fall to the floor, head fuzzy with black dots like flickering lights. Someone cursed above you, reaching down to pull you to a stand. "Look what you did, Ran—bow."
"It's Ran-boo," Another voice, deeper and squeakier than the other voice at the same time. "But they fell onto me!"
"No one's allowed to fall for you except me!" A third voice said indignantly with a small air of humour, a large stomp like a tantrum knocking you more on whoever picked you up. "We should just leave them here before Niki finds us."
"She'd be even angrier if we left her friend here alone like this," The deep voice said, attempting to reason with the angry voice. The person holding you tightens their grip at the thought, holding you up a bit more. "So please, can we not."
"Fine, for Niki," The angry voice pouts, loudly dropping to the floor. "Can I draw on their face while they're asleep?"
"No, Tubbo, you can't draw a penis on their face." Deep voice guy sighed, sounding like your brother whenever you prank Lord Dream (as if you don't do it everytime he visits).
"Aww man."
You blink, murky colours still flooding your visions but focusing more with every blink. You're leaning against a tall blond in a red and white shirt, his bony shoulder digging into your cheek as you lean against him. "What's going on?"
Your attempt at comprehensible words was mediocre at best, but you'll suppose it's good enough. Looking at the hybrid who teleported you there, a second wave of nausea comes tumbling out of your mouth.
As everyone scurries back, your yanked by the avian hybrid who had yet to let you go. Bringing your hand upon to wipe at spit and your half-digested lunch, you finally feel normal again. Pulling away from the avian, who happily let's you with a grumbled "Ew," at your throw up trail, you stand up tall and try to regain any respect your sickness had thrown away. "Well that was kind of rude."
You cringe, the voice of your brother reprimanding you in spirit. But the avian and ram start giggling to each other, making deep mocking voices of your words at the enderman hybrid. "C'mon guys, I already said it wasn't my fault!"
When he turns to you, he bows his head low, "I'm so sorry for teleporting you. Tubbo's told me it really sucks when you're not an enderman. I'm really sorry!"
"It's... fine," You shrug, grimacing at the taste of your own stomach fluids coating your teeth. "I mean, it wasn't intentional so no harm, no foul."
"See, Boo, you're fine!" The ram pats their shoulder with a bit of difficulty—you think their name is Tubbo so the other would be Ranboo— and dusting off their pants as they stand up. "I'm Tubbo!"
"I'm Y/N," You take the offered hand, trying to replicate your brother's strong handshake. Tubbo giggles despite the effort, his grip turning into Iron as well. It's almost a contest between you two. Who has the stronger hand grip?
Sadly, you've come to a loss and Tubbo whoops with victory. Turning to the avian, you stick your hand out. "Nice to meet you, chicken boy. I'm Y/N."
"I am not a fucking chicken! I don't even look like a chicken!" If he was an actual animal, you'd imagine it'd look like he had rabies. Foaming at the mouth with anger, chittering aggressively and non-stop. "Fuck you man! I'm not a chicken."
"Alright, alright, my bad." You backtrack quickly, hands raised in a placating motion. "I would like to know your name though chi–regular boy."
The avian gave you the stink eye, "The name's Tommy Innes! And don't call me that either." They set their hands on their hips in a close imitation of Niki. "You're a right prick."
"I prefer the words 'difficult to handle', it's a lot easier to read on your report card, ya know?" Suddenly you cringe again, the reminder of your brother's face when you did read it to him coming back to haunt you. Fixing your posture, you stick your hand out again after putting it down. "Nice to meet you."
Tommy takes your hand, his hands surprisingly calloused. "Your introduction was shit."
{《☆》}
You don't exactly remember why you followed them or why they let you follow them, all you remember is the exciting feeling of truly enjoying yourself, feeling light with every step, your face aching from smiling so hard and your stomach twisted with laughter. It was nice, so incredibly nice.
All good things must come to an end eventually though and the sound of trumpets sounding in the streets scare the shit out of you.
"Fuck," You curse through a handful of marshmallow Tommy had given you. "Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck."
"What's wrong?" Tubbo asks, strangely concerned. "Are you okay?"
"The King is on his way," You say as you try chewing quicker. The taste of too many marshmallows stick to your tongue, the taste stuck between your teeth and caught in your throat. It tastes like air now. "He's probably already here."
"What's wrong with that?" Tommy asks, face serious and lips drawn to an aggressive sneer. "Is he bothering you? I swear if he's messing with you—"
"No, Prime no," You say, louder than planned. "He's not, it's just, I can't be found by him."
"Are you sure—?" Ranboo starts, cut off by the noise of clattering metal and horse steps. Whirling around quickly, you're already done for. Too many soldiers to evade surround you, practically boxing you into the bench you're sitting at.
"Your majesty, we've found him," A soldier calls out, one hand resting on their holster as they watch you all. "Three unidentified subjects around him, all equipped."
You whirl back to look at them and wow is it a sight. Your new buddies, the practically harmless friends you've made—Tubbo cried when he killed a bee— are all wearing full netherite armour, sharp blades than you've ever wielded in their hands. "Guys...?"
"Y/N, get behind us," Tubbo says, eyes hidden by the helmets shadow. Something about his voice frightens you, but yet still being near him isn't scary. You aren't scared of him hurting you. For some reason you trust them all not to. But still...
Your brother steps up and you sink a bit, following Tubbos directions and hiding in hopes he somehow magically forgets about you in the next three seconds.
"Y/N, you said you'd be in your room." Eret says with an infuriatingly level voice. It is like the moon is dipping the sunset, cusping their back just enough for the light to shine down and flare around your brother, truly a king fit to rule the world. "Honestly I don't know what I expected from you."
You feel embarrassment claw at your throat, fighting with the rage in your stomach and suddenly you feel the urge to hurl. Tommy is at your side, one hand holding their sword up and the other offering a sort of protection for you. The consequence though, that is what paralyzes you.
"Your royal highness, please end this foolishness. We do not wish to harm your friends." A soldier calls, a beckoning hand outstretched as if you're a frightened animal awaiting rescuing.
Another wave of anger bubbles over you, pushing your embarrassment to your heels to be dragged with. "You dare threaten my friends. They have done anything you didn't force them to."
"Those are Mud Trackers**," Eret spits out, though the words don't surprise you. "Tommy Innit, Tubbo Underscore, Ranboo Beloved, all of them fought against us."
"You were one of them once too," You yell back but still there is a disconnect when Tommy flinches next to you. The truth is out. You are royalty and they are the tentatively neutral country, enemies forged through blood. They could have killed your brother and your brother could have killed them. You don't know whatever history that is hiding in Eret's anger but neither side are taking it well. "Stop taking your anger at me on them! If you're gonna fight anyone, fight me!"
The thought makes your brother step back, face falling into the first emotion you've seen on his face. Guilt. "I'm not going to fight you, and if you return I'm not going to fight them either."
"What if I dont," You say and there is a clenched hurt that comes with those words. "Will you kill them?"
"No, you know I wouldn't Y/N," Your brother says and it is softer, quieter. Eret sighs, crown tipped and without the sunlight he is just as inhuman as you, pain written into the curve of his frown. "Please just come home."
Tommy looks over at you and they are still angry even as they put their sword away. "Go fix this. If you need us, you know how to find us."
Not-quite-relief washes down your throat at Tommy's words. Ranboo and Tubbo keep their weapons but they too step back. Looking over at your brother, you walk with all the grace embued in your lineage, chin held high. As you greet Eret, he pulls you into a hug.
"I was so worried, Y/N," he mutters, arms wrapped around your shoulders as you burrow into his chest. "I'm sorry for being a dick. Please never do that again,"
"Okay," You manage to say, muffled in your brother's shirt. "But you are still kinda being a dick."
"Okay, I'll do better," He says, quiet and true. "Let's go home."
Before he can stop you, you pull away. Turning back to your friends, you wave, "I'll see you again soon, bye."
Ranboo waves back but Tommy and Tubbo look at each other and just nod. "Bye."
Eret doesn't say anything to your friends but there is something horribly sad in their smile. Maybe they had more history than just fighting, who knows. He turns to you, outstretched hand waiting for you. You take it easier than before. It isn't great, but it's something.
{《☆》}
*red-tie is a neutral term referring to L'Manburg citizens
**mud trackers is an insult to L'Manburg citizens based on their usually dirty appearances and lack of advanced equipment early in the war.
[YOOOOOOO I FINALLY FINISHED THIS HOLY COW! This took way longer to do my horrible procrastination finally stopped today (ngl I wrote like 1k words in a panic today) I'm so sorry this took forever but in my defence... yup]
[ANYWAY TO CELEBRATE HALLOWEEN IM GONNA DO A BIT OF A MONSTERDATERS EVENT WHERE ITS ONLY EVER MONSTER AND DEMONS AND SHIT NO KISS KISS FOR HUMANS]
[I do have a date for Distance btw, Nov 13 is when the first chapter shall come out. Go self-care drink water eat food and sleep if it's later than 11pm byeee]
[L0v3, k1ng]
Masterlist
#x reader#x male reader#mcyt x reader#dsmp x reader#x nonbinary reader#mcyt x y/n#mcyt x you#mcyt x male reader#dsmp x male reader#platonic tommyinnit x reader#platonic mcyt x reader#platonic x reader#platonic tubbo x reader#platonic ranboo x reader#platonic eret x reader#bench trio#platonic bench trio x reader#platonic x male reader#angst#platonic tommyinnit x male reader#platonic tubbo x male reader#platonic ranboo x male reader#platonic eret x male reader#platonic mcyt x male reader#platonic dsmp x reader#platonic dsmp x male reader#tommyinnit#tubbo#ranboo#eret
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here's a list of things i love about PSMD for no reason other than i think it deserves appreciation (spoilers)
the hero gets adopted by a nuzleaf. Hero, a young child that doesn't know why they were brought into this world, attacked by beheeyem, scared and alone, finds someone that takes them under his wing and gives them a home. it's really sweet that once Nuzleaf brings them to the Village, Hero's not alone anymore.
yes it was all a trick, he deceived you. but being betrayed by your father figure hits so much harder. it's much more personal, especially when both Hero and Partner are kids. and when Nuzleaf goes through all that ordeal in the post game, then gets accepted back into the village?? And his little speech to Hero????? it's heartbreaking and incredibly touching at the same time
everything is just so cute!!!! you go to school with your new friendo and you're friends with the schoolkids, and you make the trip to school every morning taking in the scenery, the smell of dew and fresh grass, and the sun on your face... and you take classes about Mystery Dungeon mechanics, and principal Simipour is a big BRO, the school nurse Audino is super kind and helpful... and you get to play with your pokemon friendos in summer vacation, and explore a dungeon with 'em... AND your bond with your Partner begins to form, getting stronger and stronger from then on. PSMD's beginning arc is so warm and pleasant, it's like reliving childhood memories all over again, when things were happier and you didn't have to worry about how cruel the world is. this story section's one purpose is to get the player used to the game's mechanics, as well as foreshadowing. unfortunately most of the school kids get forgotten later on, but I still love this part for everything it is, even if unintentional.
it's not just the beginning that's cute. PSMD'S ENTIRE WORLD IS ADORABLE. It's just filled with life every town you go. there are a bunch of pokemon locals and they all have interesting things to say, in the main story and the post-game. there's a point where their comments get repetitive, but that's bound to happen in any PMD game. Even then, the days are never the same. one morning you wake up and the Lively Town locals are exercising, then the next they're having singing lessons, and then they're practicing martial arts. and you get to connect with (or recruit) some of them just by.... chatting!!! Sitting next to that big ol' venusaur and sharing stories, laughing and having fun. it's good stuff.
Sometimes you find travelling pokemon in dungeons and it's jsut the coolest thing. Imagine you're exploring a dungeon, then your Connection Orb notifies you there's a fellow explorer in the floor. First thing you do is try to find them, and when you do - oh dang a travelling Archeops!!!! And then they just,,,, exchange their experiences and thoughts on exploration and how hard it is to fend off those enemies and the cool treasure they found the other day (the game calls it "[Team Name] and [Traveller pokemon] compared notes"). then the traveller heals you, fills your belly and restores your PP. and they go on their way. idk man it's such a cute interaction. explorers chatting, empathizing and helping each other, bc their job is not an easy one...
PSMD Partner is the most developed Partner in any PMD game yet. They start off as this naive, hyperactive kiddo, then stuff happens, and worse stuff happens, and you get to see how they grow and change and by the end they're a different person than they were before (in more than one way ...). It's just so nice to be by their side, from the beginning to the bitter end, and watch their growth. in contrast, Hero is a little unbalanced in that their backstory is not explored as much, and their personality is kind of a blank - probs meant to be vague so the player can be in their shoes. to me this just gives you the opportunity to shape their character however you want, so you can have tons of different hero/pardner dynamics.
The music is rlly flippin' good. Some of the tracks are recycled from previous entries, but when they go original??? it's a blast!!! "Echoes of the Mystical Forest" is one of my favorites in all four entries, it has no right being so amazing for a random dungeon. "Time to Set Out" makes me cry immediately (also i think it would be a better fit for the parting ways scene at the end...). Don't even get me started on "Second Dark Matter Battle", it has everything an epic climax needs and MORE. the Partner remix????? absolute genius
speaking of which, Dark Matter ITSELF,, is freaking amazing. Its actions were foreshadowed in the very beginning, though they were not blatant through the game. i do think they could have done a better job at showing the pokemon's negativity raising in the world, as well as negative feelings in the characters... but it's not like Gates did a good job at it, either (outside of cutscenes, all the locals in Post Town are incredibly nice to you and fights didn't "break out often". it's like the game tells you the world is a dark place, but what it shows in gameplay doesn't add up). so i'll cut them some slack. Still, I find Dark Matter a more compelling villain than the Bittercold for several reasons. it is sentient. its speech is a jumbled amount of voices all talking at the same time - the anguished voices of the world. It actually concocted a plan to hurl the planet into the Sun, using pawns like Nuzleaf and Yveltal to do its dirty job. in the Voidlands, Hero and Partner discover its past, and how it'll come back after defeat, like a cycle. when Partner accepts Dark Matter, they accept negative feelings as something everyone has within themselves. Most of all, the fact that Dark Matter is a manifestation of negative feelings doesn't make it just a generic threat, a final obstacle to be defeated so the world can be saved. It makes Dark Matter - negativity itself - a natural part of the world, the yin to its yang. and that's why I LOVE IT SO MUCH DANG IT EVEN THANKS PARTNER FOR THEIR ACCEPTANCE
The fact that Dark Matter can possess pokemon that have "even the smallest amount of darkness in their hearts". it makes me think of Mr. Nuzleaf and what he might have gone through in the past to make him so easy to be controlled. Did he hold a grudge against someone?? Did he commit a crime?? Had Nuzleaf always been malicious???? And if so, is this why he shows so much remorse in the post-game??????? because he had always been this vile fiend and then he met this small kid and got attached, but still carried on with his evil actions because his malice was still stronger than the positive feelings and Dark Matter's hold on him intensified?????? I don't know!!!! and as much as i wish the game could have given us that sweet mr. Nuzleaf backstory, it's pretty fun to have freedom to come up with your own version.
Everything about Super's climax is just phenomenal. Every single flippin' legendary is there to help you. Arceus is in the game. MEWTWO IS THERE. and when things are looking hopeless, they really seem hopeless. First the Tree of Life is dying, then your allies get turned into stone and sent to hell The Voidlands, Arceus gets turned into stone, the entire world is stone (except for several mon' that are still safe and holding onto hope, but they're so few). Your Harmony Scarves stop working and you and your Partner are back to your feeble, basic stage forms. You are bordering exhaustion, you have no Emeras, it's just you and your Partner against an eldritch abomination that's killing the life on the entire planet like a parasite, devouring all hope. but you still fight back. Given how adults in the game always discourage the village children from going adventuring, that they cannot do this or that because they're so little and fragile, it's awesome how Hero and Partner beat Dark Matter as tiny kids.
PSMD is not a flawless game. in fact there's plenty of things that hold it back and i even mentioned some... but it's still full of love put into it and it resonates w me more than PMD Explorers of T/D/S and Gates to Infinity (Rescue Team is a close second). its my all-time favorite PMD game.
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Can you do Felix and Mc getting into a fight
My angst brain need some
You got it bb <3 Idk if this is really that much of a fight, but I couldn't make the MC too mean to Felix. Also, I’m aware this paints baby in a bad light. I had to make them fight about something okay :’( I don’t think he’d do this in canon.
Title: A bit Bitter
Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)
Words: 2564
Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.
“Tell me the truth, Felix.”
His gray eyes dart upwards from his textbooks as I storm into the room. When he sees what I hold clutched in my hands, he swallows, the bob of his throat visible even from the doorway.
I continue in a voice that is simultaneously weak and as strong as I can manage. “Is this really how you feel?”
“W-why do you have that, love?”
I frown. His nervousness sends guilt shooting through me, but I stamp it out. I’ve bent over backwards for months in an attempt to make him comfortable, and did so gladly. But this? I can only withstand so much.
I set the notebook down on the edge of his desk with a heavy thud. Felix winces.
“The things you wrote in here, about me…” I shake my head, then look away. I can feel my eyes sting, and I bite my tongue to hold back from crying. “Felix-“
“That’s private! You don’t have the right to go snooping through my possessions.”
I sigh. Yeah, I’m nosy and read his journal, and normally I would be ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it, but… “I don’t think that’s important right now.”
“Of course it’s important!” Felix gasps, standing out of his desk chair to snatch up the journal. He meets my eyes with a fragile sort of vulnerability, then pulls the journal defensively to his chest. “I’m not privy to every thought you have. You can’t judge me for mine.”
“I would never think these things of you!” My voice raises until it edges on a shout, and I frantically rush to reign it in. “I would never.”
“That’s not-“ Felix whispers with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair.”
“No. What’s not fair is this.” I reach forward and pull the leather journal from his hands, flipping forward a few weathered pages until I find what I’m looking for.
“‘Not nearly comparable to Rime’s beauty, nor do they possess his talent with magic. They’re candlelight to his radiant sun. I’ve quelled whatever feeling has stirred in my chest and decided that I won’t settle for them. Not while my love is still hurting. And I do miss him so.”
Felix is biting at his lip as I lower the book once more, his eyes watery, wide circles. “That’s old,” he chokes out. “I swear. I don’t feel that way. I love you.”
He looks like he wants to touch me, so I step away. I shake my head. “But you did feel that way.”
“I- why does it matter? That’s private. How- how much else have you read to convince yourself my feelings for you are disingenuous? You were never meant to see any of it.” He’s wrapped arms around his thin frame, now, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wishes this all would simply go away.
“I’ve read enough.”
Felix’s eyes go wide, then dart to the journal in my hand. “Why?” I ask. “Worried there’s something worse left for me to uncover?”
“N-no.” He runs his hand over his face. “Why couldn’t you stay out of my things? That was personal! It was none of your business!” Felix hisses the last words, as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him with me. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression if one of a rage I’ve never been in the receiving end of.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, watching him hiccup as if the words were a physical blow. “You’re a liar, Felix.” Then I simply can’t help myself but to add, “Maybe you do deserve to be alone.”
I know as soon as I say it that I’ve gone too far, and the look on his face- fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the broken, hurt expression that flashes across his features out of my head. Yes, the words he’d written in that journal had stung, but I don’t feel any satisfaction from hurting him just as badly. If anything, it makes me feel worse.
All I feel is lost. My psyche weighs heavy with guilt, as well as hatred for myself for letting my patience slip. Before it can all come crumbling down on me, I turn on my heel and rush out the door, slamming it behind me with an echo that rings much to hollow to make me feel any better.
✦✧✦✧
I had frantically stuffed my few belongings into a bag and rushed to the nearest inn, flopping onto a rickety bed and crying myself to exhaustion. That had been two days ago, now, and I haven’t spoken to Felix since.
On the bright side, sending drunk texts is much more difficult to do when one doesn’t possess a cellphone.
Each night my dreams are filled with memories of his face, his smile. I can feel him in my arms, see the distinct colour of his blush each time I call him “baby” or “my sweet”. I wonder if I was over-dramatic in my reaction, but then remember the words in that journal. To think, the passage I had read aloud had only been one of many.
No. I was right to be upset.
I keep wondering if maybe the things he wrote in there were true. Yet, it’s so confusing- Felix has always had the upmost respect for me. And he’s not exactly great at hiding his emotions.
I’ve met with Anisa and Sage, both of whom seemed relatively stunned at the news. Anisa had offered exercise as a way to take my mind off it, and Sage had offered… another form of physical activity altogether, which didn’t really surprise me.
“A fight? Really? You two have always seemed like such a sappy married couple…”
I sigh. “Thanks, Sage. Really. It wasn’t even a fight, to be honest.”
“Married couples do fight, Sage.” Anisa pats my hand. “Felix is just dramatic. It will be fine! Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He just gets a little… jumbled up sometimes. But his intentions are pure. At least, I believe so. You can never tell with Felix.” She smiles. “Give him some time to mope and he’ll apologize.”
“If it helps,” Sage interjects, “he fought all the time with deer boy, and they were apparently a thing. I’m sure he’s used to it.”
I refrain from telling Sage that his oh-so-helpful comment is far from helpful; in fact, it highlights exactly what I’m worried about.
Tonight, thunder strikes outside in heavy, booming claps. The room I’ve rented is lowly lit by a single candle, but the flashes of lightning outside the window often light up the entire space. Rain pelts the roof and the wind howls mournfully, as if in empathy of my crushed spirit.
I’m just in the middle of pretending I’m in a sad music video when I hear an unsteady knock at the door. At first, I think it might be a tree branch outside, being as it’s so soft, but then I hear the sound again.
I fling the wool blankets over my head with a huff and shuffle towards the door, then unceremoniously fling it open.
I should have expected it would be my necromancer boyfriend looking like a drenched cat.
Felix is sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes so soaked I can see his tanned skin underneath. As soon as the door opens, his eyes go wide, and he immediately looks as if he’s attempting to say something, but he can’t seem to spit it out. His teeth are chattering so forcefully he can’t speak, and the wind has whipped the wet strands of hair into his mouth.
He is so stupid. I immediately can’t help but think that I love him. I am definitely morosexual.
I blink dazedly at him for a moment, before grabbing his elbows and hastily pulling him inside.
“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs as I grab a blanket off the bed and hastily wrap it around his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from crying or the cold, can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from his tears or the rain. “I’m so sorry.”
“Felix, it’s fine. Come here, you’re going to get hypothermia.”
I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin using it to dry his hair. He shakes his head as he pushes it away, sending droplets of water flying. “No! Listen, please, I am sorry, I am. I wish to explain myself. You deserve that much, at least.”
I sigh, then stand back and nod. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans, as do I. “Fine.”
Felix pauses as if he didn’t expect that answer.
Then he picks at the frayed strings of the blanket around him. He shivers as he tugs it tighter around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in a good place when we met.”
I nod. It was obvious then, and it’s even more so now. “I know.”
“It wasn’t healthy. I know that it wasn’t, but-” he cuts off as the thunder outside rumbles, lightning illuminating the haunted look in his eyes. “I loved Rime. More than that, I obsessed over him.”
That much I had guessed, but the confirmation does still twist my stomach.
“I was still in love with him when we met. Desperately so. I clung to the very idea of him for years. Rime adored how I idolized him, he encouraged it-“ he looks out the window as if lost in thought, then sighs. “It wasn’t you. I would’ve compared anyone to him. I did.”
Felix sniffs, then delicately kneels at my feet. “I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t truly think those things, my dear. I just felt so guilty, every time I felt anything for you. I had made myself think that he was perfect, that I could enforce my love for him through some strange sort of self-discipline.” He cringes, as if he knows how awful that sounds. “It seemed reasonable. I owed him my life.”
Apparently having said what he needed, Felix goes quiet. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath, as if he’s been crying instead of sleeping ever since I left him.
“You are so incredibly lovely,” he whispers, choking. “I could see it even then. I was scared of what it would do to me to admit it.”
I swallow. I’m honestly not sure whether to believe him, but the look in his eyes is so earnest. Felix is many things, but he’s not one to hide his feelings, nor is he a good actor. I know deep down that he’s not faking his love for me, despite how my heart convinced me otherwise.
“If- If you’re still angry with me, I understand,” Felix stammers, though the tears in his eyes make it seem like that isn’t true. “M-maybe I should leave-“
The rain pounds harder against the windows. The wind whistles through the surrounding cracks. I grab his wrist.
“Come here, my sweet.”
Felix’s eyes widen at my use of my pet name for him, a timid look of disbelief in his eyes as he takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto the bed. I lie down on my back and guide to lay against my chest.
“I forgive you.” I almost can’t believe the words myself, but I know that it’s the only option I could ever consider. I love him. It’s a simple as it is complex.
“You needn’t-“
“I do. It wasn’t right of you to say those things, but it was also unfair of me to get so angry with you over something you wrote a long time ago. I know your old relationship really took a toll on you. Besides, I said some awful things to you too, Felix,” I continue, reaching up to brush his bangs back from his forehead. He trembles, leaning slightly into my touch. “You don’t deserve to be alone. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me, and I shouldn’t have. Okay?” I wait until he finally nods to continue. “And I’m sorry for going through your things. I betrayed your trust, and you were right to be upset.”
Felix goes a little slack-jawed before he finally breathes out, “O-of course I forgive you.”
“I’m glad, because I don’t think I could live without you.”
He stares at me for a moment longer before he lurches forward and kisses me, desperate and wanting, full to the brim with both apology and forgiveness. It tastes if the salt of his tears and the cold rainwater that runs over his cheeks. He’s shaking the whole time, and I tug him tighter to my chest. I can feel his heart racing through the fabric of our clothes.
“I love you, sweet.”
“I love you too,” Felix hiccups, “so much.”
We spend a bit longer like that, tangled up in the bedsheets with Felix soaking through both our clothes. Eventually, I pull back.
“Did you really wait until it was storming to show up and apologize?”
A sheepish laugh as he flushes. “I had t-thought it would be romantic. Like in my novels. I didn’t realize it was pouring quite so hard.”
His cheeks are a flaming red and he looks away like he expects me to be upset. I sigh to hide my fond smile. All I can do is kiss him again.
“I’ve brought you something,” Felix murmurs, his lips so close to mine that they brush, his eyelashes wet against my cheeks. He reaches back and takes the leather notebook, the stupid source of all our fighting, out of his coat pocket. It’s surprisingly dry.
I can’t help but want to smack that stupid book out of his hand. “Felix, why would you do that?”
He rolls his eyes, then gets up and stands off to the side of the bed. The room lights up green as his entire hand, the journal with it, are suddenly engulfed in flames, until nothing but ashes sift through his fingertips, drifting down to settle against the wooden floor.
“You’re my future.”
He’s so dramatic. I love him to pieces.
I grab his waist and all but tackle him back onto the bed, delighting in his surprised squeak.
“Stop!” Felix yelps as he falls back against the mattress, only to be assaulted by my cuddles, “I’m positively soaked; I’ll drench the sheets.”
I can’t really say that I care. We have a lot of making up to do; I’m not spending a second without him by my side for the rest of the night. Felix grumbles a final complaint and then sighs. He wraps his arms around me and presses his cheek into my chest, and I can’t help but think he feels the same.
“I didn’t enjoy that,” he mumbles, turning his face into me to hide his expression. “Being apart from you, it- hurt. I missed you.”
“I missed you too, baby.” I’m just realizing how much. His scent and the feel of his hair against my skin, his voice. He’s invaded my senses once more, and it feels like coming back to life.
He turns to look up at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and temples. God, he’s so adorable- I don’t know how I could ever stand to be angry with him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. I love you too much.”
I boop his perfect nose. “Deal.”
#felix escellun#fictif last legacy#last legacy#last legacy felix#fictif felix#sage lesath#anisa anka#felix iskandar escellun#fictif#rime solano varela#fictif fanfic#alexa plays last legacy#alexa writes#last legacy fanfiction#felix x mc#felix escellun x mc#Fictif Sage#interactive fiction#interactive game#Fictif anisa
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Postgame be like:
Hajime: *wakes up from a killing game, probably still exhausted, having to deal with lots of different emotions*
Makoto: Okay so *gives Hajime the baby* this is yours, also congrats on coming out alive! Okay bye!!
Hajime: ???
OJFLJSFJSFSLF YEA PRETTY MUCH
it's genuinely not very fun....
like imagine the guy that you sorta kinda had feelings for but he died and you hate him but you also wanted to understand him so bad and maybe you could've loved him, maybe you do love him, and then you wake up and find out you two have a kid.
izuru purposefully withholds The Memories of bebi bc a) he's possessive, petty, and bitter b) hajime just found out he has an alter ego and alerting hajime of his presence right off the bat might be too much for him and he doesn't wanna destabilize hajime. but then makoto walks in holding a child ("hello, hajime. i'm makoto naegi, i'm with the future foundation and the head of the neo world program project-") and izuru can't stop the memory from surging forward bc he's so angry so hajime just feels a wave of inexplicable rage wash over himself and then vague memories of a familiar (familiar why is it so damn familiar) voice screaming ("don't take my baby, please don't take my baby from me,, izuru help me" ) and it's horrible, it makes hajime's heart ache and then as clear as day he sees makoto's face holding a younger version of the child he's holding now (he hears his own voice- deeper, more subdued) "if any harm comes to either of them-" "i will not let anything happen to komaeda-kun or the child-" "bebi." "bebi, kamukura-kun. I swear on my life." "what is your pathetic life to the safety of my family? pray that your life is all you lose if you break your promise. if there is a single scratch on either of them, I will make sure you and your loved ones suffer before I crush you under my heels. I swear on my life. and that's a promise that holds weight"
/ brief mention of trans male pregnancy under the cut
hajime backs away from makoto, cautiously. he knows from the screams he heard that the child makoto is holding is not his own, and izuru has reason to hate this man. "who are you really? and who's child is that. that's not your baby. what's going on. why does- why does izuru hate you. what did you to us- ....him"
and then bebi points and goes "da?" and hajime feels the swell of longing that doesn't belong to him, and falls over onto his pod.
"hajime...calm down. so- kamukura is still with you?"
"w,what's going on. what's going on??? wh- what did you do to us."
"im not telling you anything until I know who you stole that baby from and why I wanna hurt you so bad"
"hajime, i'm not sure that's the best idea right now, it's too much to take in at once-"
"....alright. Hajime, this is..Bebi Kamukura. your child."
"tell me. now."
"my...what?"
"kamukura-kun had his own life during despair..it lasted quite a few years and he...had a child. this is that child."
"hajime-"
"I- with who? are..are they still alive? are they here?? I...I dont remember anything. this has to be a mistake. how can I not remember my own fucking kid? or this- person, this goddamn soulless demon in my head fucking cared about enough to knock up. fuck."
"can I hold them."
"that's not a good idea"
"they're my fucking kid, aren't they?????? you're telling me I can't hold my own goddamn kid after all this shit you just put me through??????"
"hajime, calm down-"
"don't tell me to calm down! don't you dare tell me to calm down! let me see my baby!"
"hajime-"
and his red eye glows. so makoto complies.
"now."
makoto hands him bebi and he analyzes their face. he feels the buzz at the back of his head turn irrefutably warm and feels the first positive emotion from izuru since he woke up. he sees his own nose, the same down turn of the lips, hair curling slightly and sticking up like his does. but huge and bright grey eyes, swirling a little bit that reminds him of a warm smile and an extended hand, of a look of desperation in a trial room, of the blank, glazed over eyes of a corpse-
-and he lets out a sob.
"it's nagito's. it's nagito's, isn't it?"
"and yours"
"and.....and mine"
"can- can you take them?"
"of course."
"i..I need some-"
"time. of course. take all the time you need. I'll be back soon"
he goes from pod to pod, heart panging at seeing his dead friends again...stopping at nagito's pod and staring at his illuminated face, ghostly pale and surreal in the blue glow. and he places his hand on the pod and slumps over and cries.
"wake up. you have to wake up. you asshole. you let me get you pregnant and then you're gonna leave me here?? we've got a kid, nagito. a beautiful baby. I can't do this by myself- so. please..come back to me"
"why am I even telling you this. you can't hear me. would you even care? I'm not the man you fell in love with. not really. will you even let me see them, when you wake up? did you...really hate me? as much as you said? I. I never hated you, nagito. maybe I even loved you. but we can't figure this out if you don't come back. you have to. for me. for the baby. please."
#i am. trans guy hello#well transmasculine. none gender left boy#tokophobia#cw trans male pregnancy#komahina#kamukoma#bebi kamukura#anon
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Eight Count ‣ lmh
‣ genre: fluff, enemies-to-lovers, hogwarts!au, I think it's a slow burn
‣ wc: 10.8k
‣ summary: "There's honestly no way Minho would like me. And me of all people would know that." ; in which fate decides to be an ass and make you and Minho dance partners
‣ an: I'm sosososo sorry @ whoever requested this bc of how long it took. I didn't mean for it to be so long but it kept going and uni is to blame bc all of the work :(( but anyways enjoy !!
i.
You feel the beat of your heart quicken as you maneuver through the maze of corridors that you had begun to approach. Time was ticking. The first classes of the day had already started about half an hour ago, and here you were, racing down the stone hallways, tardy and a bit dazed.
It had only been a mere five minutes since you had woken up in the dormitories in pure panic, the realization that everyone had left and you were still cuddled up against one of the pillows in your bed driving you to act quick. You could accuse your housemates of not even bothering to check if you were alive, but you soon decided to place the blame on your body's restlessness and inability to go to sleep when you wished. You wouldn't call it insomnia, but your sleeping patterns weren't normal either.
Approaching the dance room with a quiet sigh of relief, you tug at the wooden door and peek in, hoping that you weren't barging in at such a humiliating time.
Scattered around the rather room, students were paired in twos. Each couple's bodies had been facing each other, hands sitting awkwardly in the other's while their faces were turned towards the dance instructors, Professor Shin and Professor Na. By the look on Professor Shin's face, it was evident that she was about to continue speaking, but the door swinging open had caught her attention.
"Ahh Y/N, nice of you to finally join us," she clasped her hands in genuine excitement, passion towards dance obviously bubbling up inside of her.
You grinned crudely and bowed your head, "W-what should I do, Professor?" Spotting your best friend Felix within the group of students, he tried his best to send you a look of 'we were supposed to be partners'. You shot him an apologetic expression back before turning your attention back to both professors.
After a brief pause in thought, Professor Na's face lit up, "Ah yes! Lee Minho lacks a partner as of now!" Following the eyes of your teacher, they brought your line of sight to the far corner of the room where Minho had been sitting. At the mention of his name, he raised his head to see that everyone had been gaping back at him in what seemed like total silence.
A sharp intake of air through your nose had replicated a gasp, eyes growing wide, "P-pardon?" Out of all the boys in the class, an amount you couldn't keep track of with your fingers, you had to end up with Lee Minho? The human embodiment of a wet sock?
Minho was… unbearable, to say the least. It wasn't that he had done something for you to hate him, which made you seem like a bad person, but in all honesty, your guys' personalities didn't seem to match. He was too arrogant, in your opinion. He has this energy that he carries that really didn't sit well with you, and by the looks of it, the feeling was mutual. It was as if you both ended up on the opposite bc end of everything.
It really doesn't help that you're a Hufflepuff, and he's a Slytherin. For some unknown reason, they always loved teasing the people from your house, though Hufflepuffs chose not to return their actions.
"Mr. Lee is the only student remaining with no partner."
You gulped and slowly approached him, only because your professors had motioned you over to him. If you could protest, you would, but what was holding you back was the attention given by the entire class and the teacher's who seemed too excited for their own good.
Minho pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, eyes lighting up in wrongly-fueled happiness. He hopped from the upper bench and down across from you. You blinked back at him dryly, maintaining calm yet trying to speak to him with your eyes.
Crossing his arms, he leaned forward and smirked, "Why the bitter face? You should relish in your luck for ending up with me."
"Stop talking, dead cells are coming out of your mouth… Luck my as–"
"Now! That everyone has a partner, I'd like you all to stick with these individuals until these classes are finished," Professor Shin had announced. It was quickly followed by groans and whining from many of your classmates. Though you hated your partner and wished you had arrived earlier and paired with Felix, you stood quiet, isolating the anger within your chest.
"And before we begin once again," Professor Na added, "I'd like to point out that this is still a class. We will be holding a class particularly focused on evaluation and your grade will be heavily based on participation over the length of this course." Once again, a chorus of grumbles had flooded the room.
You hear Minho curse under his breath, only because he was now two steps too far into your bubble, "This is utter bullshit."
This time it was your turn to taunt, "Why? Are you scared or something? Can't dance? Can't keep up with everyone?"
Narrowing his eyes, he scoffs, "Oh, shut your mouth, bumblebee. Just wait and see."
ii.
"Get up!" Felix tugged at your arm, voice sounding louder than it actually was. When you hadn't shifted at all in your bed, he sighed and tugged once more, "Y/N!"
"Wha– Felix you're not allowed in here!" You kicked at your blanket and sat up.
"We need to get to dance class," he clicked his tongue, "Let's go~"
"I really don't want to go," you whined, "I'd rather fail a class than hold hands with Lee Minho for an hour and a half." Felix dragged you out of your bed to see that you were already dressed in your robe, only your yellow and black tie had been carelessly tied.
"Wait, did you not change out your clothes from yesterday?" Felix jumped back in exaggeration, alarmed and slightly grossed out. His nose scrunched while he judged you through his eyes.
You glared at him and scoff, "Of course I did, you idiot. And don't act like you haven't done that." You take this as your victory as it was true, Felix had gone two days without changing, and it was a bit nasty considering all the places he's gone to in a day.
This time it was his turn to glare at you, "You shut your mouth! Now let's leave before Snape sees us roaming the halls once class starts."
Minho winced slightly, trying not to let your feet ruin the simple waltz routine that the class had finally run through, "If you step on my foot one more time, I'm shoving yours up your arse." His teeth were gritted in frustration, looking down at you with narrowed eyes.
"Then stop stepping on my feet," you muttered back, hoping that no one else, especially the professors, were hearing you two bicker.
It had only been about two lessons into the class and that amount of times that Minho had purposefully disrupted the routine… as if it were good, to begin with.
The two of you found it difficult to fall in sync with each other. It was always either going too fast or too slow, someone making an 'accidental' mistake, and Minho's favourite, holding your hand and hip with a tight and stubborn grip. It wasn't evident whether he was doing it on purpose, either, but you had pointed it out plenty of times, and he never seemed to loosen them.
"I'm not stepping on them," he pushed you back a little too early in the dance, causing you to stumble on your own feet. This caught the attention of those around you, though they carried on almost immediately after.
"Tell that to my bruised toe," you argued back.
As if you were being blessed, the music had finally come to an end. You promptly retracting your arms and to your body and taking a step back from Minho. He had done the same, going an extra mile to turn away from you and to the professors.
"Perfect! Perfect!" Professor Na's face lit up from excitement, "Now that we have learned this simple routine, next class we are moving on to one of the actual dances done in the Yule Ball as tradition. I hope you all are excited as I am!" Very few students had taken time to let out a "whoop" while everyone else, including you, chose to retrieve their books at the seats.
Felix approached you with a pitiful smile. He already knew what you were going to say, patting your back gently, "So how was it?"
Exhausted, you just shook your head and shrugged. Being partners with Minho honestly had been completely draining for you, mentally and physically, which was unusual as you could often live through such situations without feeling the need to scream.
"What else do you think?"
Felix nodded apologetically and puffed out his cheeks, "Is it as bad as the potions exam we had in fourth year?" He shuddered subtly and led you out of the classroom. Just thinking about that exam made Felix want to claw at his brain. If there was a way to take a particular memory and make it disappear from the chamber of long term memories, he would. Maybe then he'd be able to get a few more hours of sleep.
"Yes," you replied simply. The test was equally as horrible for you, but a test didn't force you to 'create chemistry' with a certain Slytherin.
"You're lying… can't be that bad," Felix laughed lightly.
"Easy for you to say," you sighed.
From behind, you feel someone bump your shoulder and pass by you, "Oops," he snickered, walking backwards to watch your reaction. The only thing he was missing was popcorn.
You turned to see Minho and rolled your eyes, "Ha-Ha, you're so funny, Lee Minho." Such a childish joke and you guys were almost leaving Hogwarts.
Though your reply had been dripping in sarcasm, Minho's wit had dodged it entirely, "Well thank you very much," he bowed, more like a manly curtsy, before he ran off, leaving Felix slightly puzzled at what just happened.
"Don't you see how much of a dingbat he is? He constantly chooses to pick on me just to get a reaction out of me," you utter, "He should be glad I was raised to be patient, if not I'd be hexing him like the world was near its end."
"I see a pattern," Felix hummed. The expression on his face looked as if he had come to an incredible epiphany.
Making a face, you click your tongue, "What do you even mean by that?" What pattern? Green, white, green, white? Minho and his constant need to be the crow to your crops?
Felix patted your head, "You're slow sometimes, you know that right?" He puffed his cheeks up and raised his brows as he looked down at you as if you were a kid.
"Can you just spit it out?" you narrowed your eyes at him before you physically pried his hand off your head.
"Minho does all of that just to get a reaction out of you," Felix presses his lips into a thin line, slowly forming a smile.
Finally arriving at the next classroom, you groaned, "You basically repeated what I said earlier…"
"If you didn't know this already, boys love getting attention from someone they are attracted to," Felix plopped into his seat. You followed right after, "I should know… I'm a boy."
You almost laugh at the tone of his voice. The confidence and the look he gave you to emphasize his statement; was all too funny, "So what you're saying is… Lee Minho has a – and god forbid– crush on me?" Felix nods like a young child, with eyes wide and a tight-lipped smile.
"Bollocks," You burst out laughing, "Felix, I love you, don't get me wrong, but you've never said anything more rubbish in the years I've known you."
"The chances are never zero," Felix put his index finger as if he were saying it in 'a matter of fact'.
You lean forward and sit your chin at your folded forearms. You eyed the teacher as she made her way into the room, "You're right there, Lix, but there's honestly no way Minho would like me. And me of all people would know that." You locked that statement in, feeling your words and emotions contradict.
Right?
iii.
"And then Y/N had the audacity to step on my foot," Minho kicked at the bench across from him, frustration released after what seemed to Seungmin was years of ranting. He didn't mind though, in years of being in the same house as him, he learned how to block him out yet still know what was going on when Minho asked for some sort of reply.
Minho tapped the end of his pencil against his textbook, eyes drifting off elsewhere in the grand hall. Students were clumped at their respective tables, studying for whatever class they had. Minho was trying to do the same, but his state of mind was not in the mood. But he was trying, he was pushing himself, that's what mattered in his opinion.
Turning his attention to Seungmin, who was seated next to him, he jumped, seeing that Seungmin's eyes were wide and directed at him, "What the hell!?"
"What?" Seungmin shifted back forward, facing his own books. In a sense, the scene was hysterical. He acted as if he hadn't done anything wrong or out of the ordinary, but Minho still tried to push an explanation out of him through looks.
"What do you mean what? Why were you looking at me like that?" Minho put his pencil down and closed his book on it.
"I was trying to see something," the boy shrugged and got back to his own work.
Again, Minho furrowed his brows at Seungmin's lack of detail in his response. What in the world was he even trying to do? "Trying to see what? If you don't answer me properly–"
"Okay! Okay!" Seungmin exclaimed a little too loudly, earning looks from other wizards in the room, "You know that saying that if you're in love, you start to glow?"
"No? What type of nonsense are you saying?" Minho scoffed, "Love? Are you sick or something?" Roughly, Minho brought the back of his hand to Seungmin's forehead, which Seungmin had thrown off almost right away.
"You've been talking about Y/N this entire period, you haven't stopped until moments ago," wiggling his eyebrows, Seungmin whispered his reply to Minho, making sure no one would be able to hear him this time.
Minho's face had contorted into one of disgust and confusion, "And?" Where was Seungmin even going with this? He was just relieving stress. It's not that deep.
"My point is that they're the only thing you've been talking about lately," Seungmin scribbles his pen at the top of his paper to get it to work, "Even if I start the conversation, it somehow just shifts to Y/N. Normally I'd be mad, but since you're in love, I'll let it pass."
"In love?" Minho's jaw dropped, a mixture of emotions swimming around inside of him, "In love!?" Trying to find words to perfectly reflect what he was saying, he fails, shoving Seungmin off the bench. Actions spoke louder than words, right?
Seungmin smirked and chuckled, unfazed, "What? Cat got your tongue?" He gets up, dusting his robe off before sitting back down, "It's because I'm right, aren't I?"
Minho gulps, "Will you quit it? You're…"
"I'm…?"
"You're confusing me. Quit it," Minho huffs, gathering all his things as he was planning to return to the dormitories. This was a different way of playing with emotions. There was a zero per cent chance that he liked you, or worse, loved you. That word was way too strong, dangerous like amortentia.
"I take that as a yes!" Seungmin stood his ground, just letting out a genuine laugh.
Minho held a finger up at Seungmin, who still laughed, unbothered. He didn't like you. And if he did, it wasn't wrong to do so. It was an ordinary mortal thing to have feelings. But that didn't matter right now because he didn't like you, not even a tiny crush.
But that slight state of unfamiliar panic in his heart says otherwise.
iv.
The muscles in your arm were aching from the horrible fact that Minho had been purposefully letting his arm go limp while he was holding your hand, which somehow led to you holding up his arm with your arm. You frowned at him, tempted to let your arm fall in the middle of the routine.
"Can you actually put in some effort?" you whispered through gritted teeth. Squeezing Minnho's hand, you directed a look of annoyance that only returned with an amused look. Underneath his robe, you could tell he had been intentionally dragging his feet, causing the both of you to slowly hold those partnerships behind you up.
"I'm not wasting energy on this," he shrugs quietly, "It's ridiculous."
"What don't you find ridiculous?" you rolled your eyes, "You Slytherins and the lack of interest in anything but yourselves. Where's the excitement in that?" No, you didn't want to generalize the entire Slytherin population, especially since you had family members from that house, but you knew exactly how to rev up Minho's engine. Just by the way his face twisted, you knew damn well you hit the right spot.
"Shut your mouth before I spin you a little too hard…" he said a little bit louder, "I don't find it ridiculous, I just find that us being partners is ridiculous… who in this entire school would want to be partners with you?" Before you could even reply, he had caught you, "That's not from your house."
"Jokes on you, I know plenty of people who would be partners with me," you scoffed, and it was true. There was Jisung who had somehow been sorted into Gryffindor, Hyunjin and their seniors, Bang Chan and Changbin. And there was Jeongin, who was a Ravenclaw. You could list a handful more, but that's beside the point.
"Silence is deadly," he stifled a laugh which had driven you to 'accidentally' stumble over your own feet. This caused him to stumble himself, only he wasn't prepared for it, "I'm blaming you for ending up being my partner. I was hoping someone else would've entered the room. But no, it had to be you."
"You're blaming me? For this?" You shake your head out of disbelief, not noticing that your voice had gone louder. You were catching the attention of those around you and the professors at the front of the room, "You could have found a partner you wanted in the first place but you probably decided to stay back and wait for someone to go up to you. No one wanted to be partners with you, which is why you ended up alone in the first place."
Minho's eyebrows furrowed, eyes almost on fire at what you had just said, "You know what?!"
Before he had been able to continue the banter, Professor Shin had cleared her throat. The glares that they both were sending your way had caused the both of you to stop with the squabbling, "Y/N, Minho, I know we've never talked to the two of you about your constant bickering, but it is simply interrupting the atmosphere of my classroom."
Taken aback, the both of you had stumbled over each other's feet, falling to the ground and causing a domino effect among the rest of the students.
Flustered, you turn to Minho, "That was all your fault, Lee Minho." You huffed and attempted to get up, failing once you noticed that Minho was practically lying on your leg.
"Oh be quiet," he rolled his eyes and dusted himself off, "That was all you! You and your two left feet." The rest of the room was silent, regardless of the incident. All ears and eyes were on the 'love birds,' not entirely sure whether or not they should blame you both on what had just happened.
Sliding out from underneath him, you scoffed, "Don't speak so highly of yourself, Minho."
Minho cackled, "Highly? Of myself?!"
"Stop this instant!" Professor Na had finally mustered up the courage to intervene, anger bubbling in his stomach, "Enough!" The two professors began helping the students up, scolding both of you as they did.
"Five points deducted from your respective houses," Professor Shin said sharply, "And you both are now in charge of polishing the floor every Friday for the following three weeks."
"But professor–"
Minho was cut off, "That, or ten points off for your houses…" And without another word, you both chose to polish the floors after all classes were done for the day.
Day one of polishing the floors was practically the most difficult. Not only did the professors restrict using magic to finish the chore, but the overall idea of doing something alongside Minho aggravated you, which was why you hated dancing with him so much. The comments he'd make, the taunting looks he'd give you, the jokes that were obviously uncalled for, they all were honestly bringing you to the point of near insanity.
At first, both of you had decided to start off on the same side, almost the same corner. But the moment you noticed Minho constantly glancing your way in the corner of your eye, you decided against it, "How about I start at that end."
"Whatever floats your boat," he mumbles, "I don't care."
The tone in his voice hadn't matched yours, which you assumed was polite enough not to spark some type of that energy in him, but it did.
"Whatever," you make your way to the other end, sliding your robe off on the way. You let it hang off one of the benches, making sure it wasn't touching the floor. You rolled up your sleeves and started polishing the further end of the room, a bit relieved that Minho wasn't hovering anywhere within your line of sight. It was better that way.
The second day, you were hoping that you could get through a period of cleaning without hearing Minho's ungodly voice. He had been moving back and forth from one corner to the other, feet squeaking seemingly endlessly against the floor. You wished that the volume of the music could be turned up louder.
"I'm doing more than you are," Minho pointed out. You turned to find that he was standing in the middle of the room, hair messy and beads of sweat lining his hairline. His collar was out of place, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows just as yours were. Did he, for some reason, look attractive, or was it the lack of light in the room? Probably the latter.
"What do you mean you're doing more than I am?" you feel your eyebrows knit together in confusion, "I'm doing the same amount of work as you." And you were, but you were working just a bit slower than he was. He had probably sped through his area with the idea that the sooner you both finished, the sooner you were able to leave.
"Just hurry up," he groaned. Minho dragged his feet over to a lone stool, pushing it against the wall before plopping into it. The music continued to play, drowning out the shuffle noises of his feet.
"No," you replied, keeping your speed consistent. It wasn't like you wanted to stay longer. It was the fact that Minho couldn't leave until you were finished that was making you act this way. Maybe if he did his job well, he wouldn't be sitting around doing nothing.
Tile by tile, you continued to carry out the chore given to you, not paying mind to the pair of eyes that were burning holes into your back. You ensured that the areas you had worked on were basically spotless, reflection or not, you assumed that shiny meant clean.
Minho had been humming along to the somewhat catchy tune, foot tapping to pass the precious time he believed you were wasting. Nonetheless, he leaned back and sighed, hoping you could finish in time, so he had time to nap before dinner.
"Why do they even need classes for dancing?" He sighed out. At first, you weren't quite sure if he was speaking to you or if he was just thinking out loud, "I feel like we'd be fine either way…" You turn to look at him, seeing that he was already staring at you down.
"I mean it's going to look nice at the Yule Ball,"
You replied.
"Yeah but not everyone's going… it's a waste of time," Minho had a point, yet you still found it somewhat amusing that the school would want to organize such things.
"I don't see why you don't just skip class if you find it a waste of time," you moved onto another spot and sighed, "No one's stopping you."
"Yeah but who'd be your partner then?"
Not knowing how to react to his question, you keep quiet. Minho decided not to follow up on the problem, thinking that he had said something out of the ordinary.
The sun had reached the horizon when you finished your portion of the room. You stood up to stretch, hearing the joints of your knees and back pop out of exhaustion. It was satisfying to see the difference between the used, scruffy floor and the clean, polished floor.
"Okay Lee Minho I'm finished," without taking a glance at the boy, you made your way over to the record player. You lifted the needle off and picked the record up, slipping it into its sleeve. It didn't occur to you that Minho hadn't shifted in the past thirty minutes, silence filling the room because you turned the music off.
"Minho?" Finally turning to him, you found him sleeping with his head sat back against the wall. His mouth was wide open, practically becoming a makeshift trap for bugs that happened to be flying around. The rest of his body was limp, legs spread out beneath him. It was surprising that he hadn't fallen off yet.
You walked up to his sleeping figure and laughed lightly, wishing you had a camera to capture this moment. It would've been great blackmail. Maybe then he'd start being nice to you. Naturally, your eyes followed the slope of his nose, then to the two front teeth that stuck out from underneath his top lip.
He had bunny-like features, and you didn't mean that in a wrong way. His face was still sculpted nonetheless. Anyone with eyes would have to admit that he was attractive.
"Done staring at me yet?"
You screamed and jumped back, pressing your hand up to your chest as if to calm you down. Looking back at Minho, you find that his eyes were still closed, yet a smirk had replaced his gaping mouth. The number of curse words that threatened to leave your mouth was countless, the embarrassment creeping up to your cheeks. He finally lifted his head to look at you, eyes still a bit droopy from his nap.
"I-I wasn't staring at you," you denied, shaking your head a bit too aggressively, "Well I was… but because I was laughing at how foolish you just looked."
An offended look surfaced Minho's face, scowling at you as he stood, "I have this feeling that you're lying, bumblebee… Anyways, this is where I leave. Finally, after years." He shook his rolled-up sleeves so that the cuffs slid back to his wrists. You let him leave without another word from the two of you, still in a bit of shock at what just happened. You knew he was never going to let you forget that.
You slumped next to Felix as dinner was being served, an expression almost as heavy as your posture. He looked down at you, debating whether or not he should interrupt the mini montage you were probably playing through your head.
"I want to ask you how the cleaning today was but I think I already know just by looking at you," he stated, sliding a piece of roasted chicken your way, "Unless you do want to speak about it. Just eat and the day's over."
You gave him a grateful smile and gestured for him to eat too, eyes lighting up slightly, "I'm actually not tired from cleaning that stupid dance room, but it's just… this thing that happened. It was beyond embarrassing."
Felix snorts and stuffs his cheeks with food. His words came out muffled as he still chose to reply with a full mouth, "What happened this time?"
You glanced towards the Slytherin table, eyes scanning it quickly to get one quick look at Minho before you whispered, "Minho fell asleep waiting for me to finish cleaning. He looked idiotic as he did so I sorta just—how do I say this— stared at him? But it wasn't like I was admiring him, it was more like I didn't want that stupid look on his face to go away. It was amusing."
"And?"
"In the middle of that he went, 'are you done staring yet?' It was like he had a sixth sense or something," you muttered, "Now I feel like he's making fun of me."
"Doesn't he always make fun of you," Felix had yet again stuffed his mouth, so his words were still muffled, "Why does it matter this time?"
"It's different. It's not some useless situation… it was genuinely embarrassing," you poke the food before taking a bite of your own, "He's going to it against me, I already know."
"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure he'll forget it sooner than you will."
"Hey remember when I caught you staring at me?" Minho's voice echoed faintly throughout the room. He stood up to stretch before he crouched back down.
"I never stared at you," you sneered, "And why are you talking about that as if it happened years ago. That was literally last week."
"That's long enough in my book," he retorted, "Good times." A small reminiscing type smile appearing on his lips.
"Can you not start? I sorta want today to be stress-free and you're literally ruining it," you roll your eyes and move onto the next tile on your side. Minho had decided to choose a different record to play today, one the professors had never played in class. It had been hidden behind all the other records being used, and it took Minho a good five minutes to rake through all of them just to get to it.
The songs were more upbeat than the waltz music you were forced to listen to, which was actually much more perfect for cleaning to. It made it a bit more bearable than the last two times you had to clean.
Minho didn't reply, though you didn't see how he switched glances between you and the mechanical polisher in hand. The track had shifted into a faster song, something that was easy to dance to. From where he stood, he could see your knitted eyebrows, eyes dropping from the slight fatigue blanketing over you after a long school day.
Upon awareness that his shoulders were slumped, he straightened himself and sighed. This week had indeed been a long week, and it was evident in some way in both of you. This was the last of the week's labour before he could go and relax while mindlessly saving his homework for Sunday.
The music had been tempting to let go earlier than he should for the week, the steady beat and the catchy melody filling the room.
Putting the polisher and the rag down, he took a few steps towards you, still contemplating whether he should do what he was thinking or not. He was unsure whether it was bizarre for him to pull such a thing. But you did say you wanted a stress-free day, so he thought he should switch up a bit.
He started moving his body to the rhythm of the music, head bobbing as it took over him naturally. It was easier dancing alone than with a partner, that's for sure, but he wanted to invite you.
"Y/N!" He was freestyling, arms flailing and legs bringing him across the room with a swift movement.
You sighed, "What now?" Turning to Minho, you find him in the middle of the dance room, doing what the room was made for. He had a foreign smile on his face, not the usual smirk you'd find him sporting.
"What the–"
"Join me!"
You went through several different emotions in seconds, confusion, amusement, joy, contemplation… how were you supposed to react to a goofy Minho?
"Join me!" He repeated. This time he approached you, hands out in invitation, "C'mon it's fun!"
"Minho, we have to finish this so we can leave, remember?" You tried to keep a stern look on your face, yet you couldn't hold back the smile that had been forcing itself out. Minho suited this look; It was happier and carefree. You didn't know that his eyes would light up when he smiled a somewhat gummy smile.
"I know, but let's take a break," being the impatient boy he was, he took hold of your hands and pulled you up. He led you in a dance that probably wasn't considered a partner dance. He just pushed your arms back and forth like those scenes in the movies.
"Minho!" You finally let out a laugh, feet unable to keep up with his. He was sidestepping left, then sidestepping right, then back and forth, all unplanned. You stumbled, letting out joyful laughter that was rare around Minho. He laughed along with you, eyes disappearing the bigger his smile got.
When your legs had gotten worn out from constant movement, you tripped over one of them, sending you and your dance partner to the ground. Instead of erupting anger that would have usually washed over you, fits of laughter fell in its place, echoing throughout the room.
Before you could ask if he was okay, you hear footsteps enter the room, a confused Professor Shin staring the both of you down, "What are you two doing?! This is not polishing the floors!" The exasperation changed the normal hue of her skin into a shade of crimson.
Quickly apologizing, you get up and return to your so-called 'stations,' not being able to say another word about what had just happened to each other.
You wouldn't admit it out loud, not in front of Minho at least… but that was the most fun you've had in weeks.
Little did you know, Minho felt the same way.
v.
There was a part of you who had gotten used to Minho's horrible dancing after two weeks of dancing classes. After what happened last week, there was a tiny sliver of toleration that had surfaced from both of you. It was mutual. But obviously, neither of you were going to admit it.
Though Minho was starting to get somewhat bearable, there were still days when he'd begin to act up, smirk pinned tightly on his lips while he mischievously pranced about in the dance room. Today was one of those days.
When Professor had slipped the record onto the play, dropping the needle onto the very edge and starting it, Minho had chosen to let his body go heavy, relying on you to haul him around like a giant, weighted ragdoll. You knew he wasn't tired, just judging by the look in his eyes.
"Give it up," you tugged him roughly in one direction, then again towards another, feet hardly following the steps the class was taught the past few weeks. If Minho let his body grow just a bit limper than it already was, his head would have fallen directly onto your shoulder. If you were being honest, you didn't want any attention from anyone else in the room, "Lee Minho, I'm not in the mood for this today, okay?"
Minho's ears perked at the foreign tone that had slipped from your lips, sensing that you were being serious. You would tell him to quit it most days, but never with that tone; It was no fun if you weren't fighting back. Sighing quietly, he had picked his body up and started to follow the eight-count that Professor Shin was practically yelling out.
This minor change didn't go unnoticed by you, feeling his body grow lighter just moments after you'd ask him to quit it. Did he just…?
Other students in the room were surprised that you two were going more than thirty seconds without arguing like a married couple. Many sets of eyes didn't bother leaving the both of you, watching what would happen next in the twist of events.
Minho's feet carried his body swiftly; for the first time, he was guiding you like he was supposed to, but his eyes were glued to his feet, not wanting it to become weird if he were to make accidental eye contact with you. He didn't like how quiet it was between the both of you. The music didn't even do its purpose by filling the silence.
"Are you going to the Yule Ball?" Minho asked awkwardly. He twirled you as part of the dance. He recognized that look on your face which was basically a wordless reply, "That was probably a dumb question." Shaking his head, Minho mentally slapped himself. Never in his life did he fail with words.
"Of course I'm going," you replied rather expressionless, "Why would I not?" You were almost as confused as earlier. Minho trying to make a civilized conversation. Who the fuck was this? It wasn't Minho.
He shrugs, "I don't know… I guess you have a date…?" Minho, what the fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut as if the stone floor would swallow him wholly to take him away from this situation.
As puzzled as you were, you still decided to keep the conversation as it was, "Nope… I think I'm just going with Felix for fun." You tried to keep your tone calm when really you were freaking out. The only thing was you had no idea why you were freaking out, "Y-you?" Facepalm.
"No one."
None of you chose to speak after, not knowing where the conversation was going. The song was slowly reaching the end, which you had wished came sooner. Minho's hands were growing sweaty, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe your hand off. It was getting hot in the room too. Your collar was growing tight, throat itching for water.
Minho's heart was beating a bit too fast for his liking, but it was probably because he was growing tired from the moving. He wondered if you could feel how sweaty his hands were getting. Embarrassing.
"Final counts!" Professor Na called out before the static of the record player replaced the music. The two of the professors had clapped in adoration, overlooking all the students in the room.
Professor Shin had a broad smile on her face, "Beautiful! Gorgeous! Best one so far!" She twirled in place, "Thank you everyone! The Yule ball is in two weeks so I am very pleased with the effort you all are putting into this class! Remember we still have the final class in which you are graded, which I'm sure you all will ace."
"I couldn't care less," Minho mumbled, only so you could hear.
You turn to him, squinting your eyes and tilting your head to express your slight frustration, "You know I'm your partner right?"
"Oh no~ really?," he stuffed his hands into his pockets, "And?"
"And? I don't want to fail this class, even though I'm forced to dance with you," you stated, "So don't you fucking dare fail us both." That tone in your voice was evident once again, catching Minho off guard. The only reason that it had this effect on him was that he was so used to you choosing to fight back. It was like some sort of reminder that everyone around him was getting old, and soon all those around him were expected to be serious.
Nevertheless, Minho shrugs to annoy you, "Whatever."
Instead of answering, you eyed him once more. Your dancing just a few moments ago says otherwise.
You had practically sighed out the total capacity of your lungs as you hung onto Felix's arms on the way out the door.
"What are you sighing about?" He chuckled.
"You already know," you elbowed him.
Felix rolled his eyes and sang, "I saw you guys dancing earlier~."
You pushed him away gently, shock littering your face and posture, "What the bloody hell are you on about now, Lee?"
"You guys actually look cute together when you aren't babbling and all," he grinned innocently. Your heart had the audacity to skip a beat, startling you just as much as Felix did.
"Cute?" You scoffed, "First you said you think he liked me, now this? Are you his wingman or something? Are you trying to get me to like him?"
Felix skipped in his step, "I don't even talk to Minho, Y/N, don't be ridiculous… wait… did you basically just say you're starting to like him?" He gasped, hand slapping over his mouth, which had fallen in shock.
"No," you say flatly.
"Liar," Felix poked at your rib, "Liar. At least confess that you find him less bad."
"Sure, whatever makes you happy, Felix."
When you had fallen out of Felix's line of sight, you let the corner of your mouths turn up slightly. He said we looked cute, you think, only followed by you flicking yourself in the temple.
-
"I thought you were staying here until it closed?" you frown at Felix, who started gathering his stuff. You both had planned on cramming everything in for a test the next day, but plans didn't go as planned when Felix was eager to go back to the dormitories to sleep until the morning.
"My eyes are going to fall out of their sockets if I don't go and sleep, Y/N," he pats your head as if he were talking to a young child, "You can stay if you want. I know how much you hate studying in the common room." He double-checks his area to ensure he hadn't forgotten any of his belongings before patting your head once more. He grins and turns towards the door of the library, leaving you sitting alone at the table.
"Felix ~" You called out quietly, only for him to wave with his back facing you. You sighed and slumped back in your chair, resting your arms on the handles. Libraries were so much better when you had company.
The words in the textbook were starting to turn into blobs of ink, and for a second, you were thinking about following in Felix's footsteps. After moments of consideration, you shook your head and sat up. You'll stay, even if it was against the will of your fatigue self that had been prompting you to leave. This was all your fault anyway. Procrastination was a cruel thing.
Hunching forward, you let your eyes trace over the words, trying to process the information. You rewrote the info you wished to remember carelessly. Your notes resembled chicken scratch, but at this point, you didn't care because it was simply supplementary to your studying. The sun was close to its horizon, and the library was close to empty. It was somewhat more motivating.
Slowly the information had started to get more interesting. It was easier to run through the key terms and ideas listed in the textbook, and you could feel the exhaustion simply leaving your body. I'll finish this one last chapter and then save the rest for lunch tomorrow.
Your focus on the book had hindered your peripheral vision that the presence of another wizard floating over your shoulder went unnoticed. It was only until they had sat down next to you when you finally noticed.
You jumped in your seat, eyes growing wide. You had luckily suppressed your scream with your hand, which you had, out of defense, swung forward, slapping the person in the chest.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"You don't sneak up on people like that, Minho," you rolled your eyes at the Slytherin, shifting away from him before turning your attention back towards the textbook. He scooches closer with intentions of irritating you, pushing his face towards your book, "What are you doing?"
You push him away and stick one of the thicker books between you both, "What does it look like?"
"Studying?"
"You're smarter than I thought, Lee Minho," sarcasm dripped from your voice as you glared at him. Attempting to continue with the final chapter, you miserably fail when Minho interrupts your concentration by tapping his fingers loudly against the wooden table.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" you say numbly, voice muffled by your robe, "I was literally just sitting here and you decide to do this."
Minho shrugs and uses his arms as a makeshift pillow, "I was bored, saw you, here I am, I'm here to stay."
Your eyebrows furrowed at the fact that Minho decided to 'spend time with you upon seeing you. You had no idea whether to feel flattered or irritated, but you knew you were confused. He could've just gone back to the Slytherin dungeons to sit with his housemates, but he saw you and decided to sit with you.
Staring blankly at the bookshelves across from you, you huffed out the corner of your mouth, blowing a stray strand of hair by your cheek. You did say you wanted company. You just weren't sure if it was Minho's company that you wanted. Glancing down briefly at him, and looked back up to the bookshelves.
"Fine," you say after pondering about the idea.
Minho's ears perked up, raising his brows, "Fine?"
"Just don't be loud."
Minho's head tilts in confusion, though he still complies, sitting next to you patiently. You continued to read through the final chapter, which you had underestimated in length. The chapter was a good half a centimetre in thickness. Though it didn't seem as much at first glance, the pages were practically dipped in ink, words covering it from one corner to the other.
You could feel your eyes grow heavy as you delve deeper into the chapter. Your bed was calling for you, but there was no way you were going to give. Not until this chapter was finished.
The library had been silent except for the occasional click of the pen from the librarian's desk. You had been mentally counting down the number of pages left to skim over, eager to feel that feeling of satisfaction you usually get once you finish a task. It was the same feeling as crossing or checking off a chore on a to-do list.
Minho had settled his eyes on the centre of your book, keeping them steady even as you flipped the pages. He felt the lids of eyes gradually get heavier as each page went by, and by the time you shut the book in delight, he had fallen asleep.
"Again?" You furrowed your eyebrows, remembering the last time he had fallen asleep in your presence. You darted your eyes away from his dormant figure, not making that same mistake twice, "Minho, wake up."
He stirs right away, head rising from his arms. This time he says nothing, pushing himself off of the library's chair before stumbling over his own feet as he makes his way to your side. He looked like a toddler, and it was admittedly adorable.
"Why didn't you just go straight to the dorms if you were tired," you snorted at his dumbassery. Some students still littered the halls even if curfew was nearing. Instead of parting from your side at the library's entrance, Minho stuck by your side.
"I wanted to spend time with you outside of class," he grumbles. He blinks at the long corridor in front of you two, eyes barely staying open from exhaustion.
Feeling your heart skip a beat, you tried to pick out if he was joking or not, but his tone screamed, 'I'm tired.' Any other emotion was hard to comb out, so you sighed and shook your head, pressing your lips into a smile, "Sleep that cheesiness off, Lee Minho."
Minho continued to walk next to you, silent and confused about what you just had said. It wasn't like he was drunk. He was well aware of what he just said. Nonetheless, he subtly walked you to the kitchen corridor, parting ways with you with an uttered 'goodbye.'
vi.
Sitting against the stone wall, you watched the rest of the class carry out the dance routine, formation changes and all. You ran through it with them, only mentally as your partner was nowhere to be found, and the class was halfway done.
There were barely any classes left before the final graded run through, and Minho really thought it'd be funny to skip? You would have let it pass if you guys weren't the worst duo in the room, but you guys are the worst duo in the room, which made the situation different.
"Professor Na," You asked quietly, "Has Lee Minho been excused from today's class. Is he ill?" You didn't want to jump to conclusions, keeping in mind that people did have their own reasons. Maybe he had caught a cold or was doing a missed exam that was far more important than dancing.
"No word from Minho, Y/N," the professor hummed back.
You frowned and thanked him, turning back to the main dance floor, students moving in sync. Where was he?
Just as you had finished your train of thought, the door had swung open just like it probably did on the first day of class. Minho stumbled in, hair a mess and a rather sheepish smile stamped on his lips.
"I apologize Professors," he bowed deeply, following the perimeter of the room. He bowed again as he reached the two instructors at the front of the room.
Professor Shin stopped her counting, "No need to apologize to us, apologize to your partner." She gestured towards you, already looking back. Minho nodded and approached you, though when he did reach you, he didn't apologize.
"And?"
"And what?" Minho ridiculed.
"Aren't you going to apologize like what the Professor asked?" You tried not to laugh at how Minho had been acting.
Minho let out a cackle, “No? Why should I? Can you stand up so we can start dancing or something?" His hand was itching to reach out for yours, feeling like he should pull you towards him, but he hindered himself from doing so, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Instead of pushing the apology out of him, you decided against it, not wanting to waste any of your time, "Why are you even late?"
The two of you followed the crowd, joining in at the perfect time. Minho smirked, "Worried about me or something? I know I'm in your head twenty-four seven, but I didn't expect you to be so obvious about it."
Tightening your grip around his hand, you gritted your teeth, "I wasn't worried about you, nitwit."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because you made me sit, doing nothing for nearly forty-five minutes?" You reply as if you were pointing out the obvious, "So why are you late and coming to class looking like a mountain troll?"
"Wow, ouch," he sighed, "I slept in. Am I going to hell for doing so? Because I can recall you did the same the first day and got us into this mess."
"This is about you, not me," you applied pressure onto his hands, causing him to stumble back slightly, ruining the rhythm he had built up. He furrowed his brows at you and did the same, only you were somehow ready for it.
"Oh please," Minho rolls his eyes, "You've done the same so you shouldn't even be mad at me."
"I'm only frustrated, not mad, there's a difference," you point out, "And I'm frustrated because we have that graded dance next week. If we fail, it's going to be your fault."
"It takes two to tango," he quoted, "And you already know where I stand on that. I don't ca-"
"Shut up, the professors are looking," you warned, flashbacks to the three weeks you had to polish the floors.
Minho laughed slightly, letting air blow out of his nose. He let his eyes drift down at you, keeping them there for a little too long.
"What?"
"Nothing," he shrugged, spinning you along with the other students, "You just looked way too terrified." The next move had the two of you closer than the initial space between you.
"I don't want to be spending an extra three hours with you after classes polishing the floor," you retort sharply. Instead of holding eye contact with him, you stared at the Slytherin crest on his uniform.
"I know you liked spending time with me, don't lie," he rolled his eyes teasingly.
"I'm not lying."
"You staring at me says otherwise."
"Oh hush about that already, I literally told you that I wasn't staring at you," Inwardly cringing, you felt relief once the music had stopped. You stepped back and eyed down the boy in front of you, "Why do keep bringing that up?"
Before Minho could give reasoning, Professor Na had spoken up from across the room, reminding everyone that the next class was the graded class. Though they wouldn't be strict with grading, he still wanted to see the students' effort 'flowing'. After a chorus of groans, class ended, allowing you to avoid Minho and find your way to Felix.
-
Someone tapping your shoulder had woken you up, head jolting up as if you were frightened.
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Chaeryeong gasped sheepishly. She was hovering over you slightly, eyes wide. She was changed into her nightwear.
You sat up, only now realizing you had fallen asleep in the common room, "It's alright. What time is it?" You didn't even remember how you fell asleep, but you sure did have a good sleep.
"It's almost midnight," she replied, "I needed to grab water from the kitchen, then I saw you here and figured it'd be more comfortable for you to go to sleep in your own bed rather than this tiny couch."
You grinned, "Thanks Chae… I'll probably get something from the kitchen as well."
She nods and mumbles out a quick goodnight before disappearing to the girls' dorms. You return her farewell before standing up, eyes drawn to the wrinkles your nap had made on your robe. Attempting to straighten the robe and yourself out, you stumbled towards the Hufflepuff house entrance, exiting promptly.
The fireplace had been lit, a few house elves roaming about and carrying out their own duties. They paid no mind to you, as midnight snacks weren't out of the ordinary for Hufflepuffs.
You asked for what you needed, then was given it with no delay, "Thank you." The house elf nods before turning away with a grunt.
You sit at one of the tables, zoning out as you stared at the blazing fire across from you. School was getting a bit more stressful than it usually has, which was probably the reason why you had fallen asleep without knowing. You remember coming back from a long library visit. Maybe you collapsed on the couch once you did.
You made mental notes on the work still yet to be done before the following week, spontaneously creating a headache. Standing up, you figured it was best for you to go back to sleep. Slipping the dish into the sink, you started making your way back to the dorms.
You rubbed your temples and shook your head as you closed your eyes. It probably hadn't been a good idea to be wandering with your eyes closed as you had immediately bumped into something firm.
"Y/N?"
Looking up, you came face to face with Lee Minho, who was just as shocked as you were. He had been dressed down in a knitted Slytherin sweater and pyjama pants.
"Minho? What in the world?"
He backs up after noticing how close you were to each other, "Could say the same 'bout you."
"My dorms are right there," you point just down the corridor, "While yours is in the dungeon…"
Minho blinks before he tries to move around you, eyes avoiding yours.
"What are you doing here?" you grab his wrist, eager to find out why he was roaming the halls. It wasn't unusual for students to be breaking the rules, especially Minho, who loved living up to the stereotypes of a Slytherin. He smirks at the skinship, which prompts you to let go of him, heat rising up to your cheeks without warning. You're suddenly glad it's dim around the two of you.
"I was… taking a walk," he successfully pushes past you and into the kitchen, a glass of water already there for him. He thanks the house elf, leaving the glass, before turning back to you. By the looks of it, it seems like he's been doing this before, like a routine.
Rolling your eyes, you scoffed, "Taking a walk? You're painfully awful at lying." And the pause in his speaking gave that away. You followed behind him, expecting an honest answer as if you deserved to know.
"Weren't you just leaving?"
"But my question is unanswered," you shrugged.
"I answered you, I was taking a walk," he pushed the answer. Putting the cup down, he turned to you, "I have… sleeping problems."
"You just lied again," you nonchalantly, "Just tell me the truth. No judgment. A Hufflepuff's promise." You weren't usually one to push an answer out of someone, but this situation was different.
"You say no judgment but I already know how you're going to react to the truth," he takes another sip of water.
"So you were lying!" You raised your brows, "I knew it!"
"You don't deserve the truth," he sighs. Finishing the cup of water, he starts to make his way out, not even turning to look back.
"Lee Minho!" You groaned. Maybe it was your fatigue self or the fact this felt like some sort of game, but you weren't holding yourself back, "When I said I wouldn't judge, I won't. My mind's open to whatever you're going to say."
Minho spins around to face you, stumbling backward a few more steps before he halts, "I was practicing the dance steps."
No judgment.
The flat expression on Minho's face indicated that he had no intentions of lying this time. He had his hands hiding behind his back, eyeing you just to see if you would live up to your promise. Instead of his expected reaction, he finds you smiling, something he'd only see when you were around your friends.
"Wipe that smile off of your face, bumblebee," he mutters.
"Didn't you say you didn't care about that class?" you quoted, a smirk slowly replacing your smile, "Why are you practicing the steps?"
Minho licked his lips. He was at a loss of words, nothing but the truth occupying his mind… Why the hell not?
"Because you care."
You blinked back at him, lips parting and meeting several times as you tried to find the right words to say. The silence was deafening. "What?"
"Because you care," Minho repeated. He kept his expression still, eyeing you, trying to figure out how you were taking this in.
How would he further explain it? He didn't know. All he knew was that ever since that specific moment between the both of you the other day, he took it upon himself to better his partner dancing. He didn't want anyone else knowing, not you, and especially not his housemates, which was why he chose to stay up late to do this; it was the real reason why he had shown up late to class.
You weren't sure if it was because it was quiet, but you could easily hear your heartbeat as it quickened. You try to cover up the fact that you wanted to freak out, "I don't know whether I should laugh or–"
"Yeah, whatever, shouldn't have told you in the first place," he mumbles. For some reason, he felt his heart lub-dub in a way that it shouldn't. He frowned and sighed, "Just forget it."
"Wait, Minho," you call quietly. He stopped in his tracks and turned, partially facing the wall and facing you. He stared back at you with a vacant look, waiting for you to say something. If you weren't going to be saying something nice, he didn't want to hear it after exposing himself like that.
"'Because you care?'" you frowned, "You can't just say that and leave." You already made up a possible answer to the countless questions through your mind, but it was still unclear whether or not that was it.
"What else do you want me to say?" Minho stuffs his hands into his pockets.
"I just want you to explain it," you reply quietly.
Minho glanced out the window sitting by you both before sitting down on its pane, "Remember that other day… when I told you I didn't care?" You nod and move closer to where he sat, unsure whether or not you should sit next to him or not, "I don't know… you were really serious back then… I guess I wasn't used to that. So I figured…"
There was a quick moment of silence before he huffs, almost sounding defeated.
"Did you know that I genuinely don't dislike you as much as you think I do?" He says out of the blue, throwing you off. You wanted to tell him to sleep it off again—why did moments like this always happen at night?
"I don't either," you say back, "At first I did… but I matured."
"I only ever argued with you out of amusement. You're the only person outside of Slytherin that could out-talk me and it bothered me for some reason," he laughed as if he recalled a memory.
"Me intimidating a Slytherin? Just wait til the others hear about this," you joke. He glanced towards your direction and saw a clever glint in your eye.
"Don't you dare," he holds back a smile before standing up to face you directly, "Or…"
"Or what?" You challenged, "Imagine how Seungmin would react! Donghyuck and Renjun? What about Yeosang and Wooyoung?" You start listing the other well-known Slytherins off of the top of your head, holding back a laugh as you watch Minho's face crumble into an expression that looks far too close to fear.
Minho recollects himself and shakes some sense into himself, "Or I'll make you go to the Yule Ball with me." He hadn't planned on asking you today, but the timing was perfect. It fit with the situation. If you were to react unfavourably, then he could just joke about it.
His question shut you up. Your eyes widened at him as you processed what he had used as a threat, "What if I want to go to the Yule Ball with you?"
Minho takes a step towards you, a smirk appearing on his lips. His confidence was skyrocketing, and you can tell, "Then I guess it's a date?"
Rolling your eyes, you let a smile grace softly onto your lips, nodding, "It's a date."
Bonus:
"I told you to wear something with gold," you whined jokingly as you were greeted with Minho, who had completely dodged your request. Instead of the black and gold look you were going for, he decided to wear a black suit that had traces of emerald. As much you wanted to match with your date, you had to admit that he still looked as handsome as ever in the attire. He looked like a prince.
"And look like a Hufflepuff? No thanks," he scoffed teasingly. He pulls out a corsage, one that matches the clothes he wore, tying it gently around your wrist, "You look very beautiful."
"Well, you look very handsome."
Minho laughed as he sticks out his forearm, a brow raised in your direction. Music being played by the live band had been spilling out of the ballroom; the voices of everyone attending gave the ball more life. It was exciting.
"Minho!" Seungmin had called. Felix, who had slipped from your side the moment Minho approached you, was standing by Seungmin, smiling brightly. He had been hyping you up the entire night, telling you that there should be nothing to worry about.
He was right.
"Shall we?" Minho asked. It was cheesy, but it worked.
"We shall."
Hope you enjoyed it! A like would be appreciated <3
#lee minho#minho#lee know#stray kids#skz#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz imagines#skz scenarios#lee minho imagines#lee minho scenarios#minho imagines#minho scenarios#lee know imagines#lee know scenarios#kpop#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#my writings#my skz writings
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TOOTHSOME ⇋ OJIRO ARAN X F!READER.
TAGS: strangers to soulmates. suggestive themes [no smut]. constant changes of pov. slowburn fluff with angst ending.
W/C: 3.3K
SUMMARY: a simple study of intimate bonds and tasting love.
⇦ SEWER SOULMATE SYNDROME COLLAB MASTERLIST ♡
there’s something about the world that’s absolutely and wholly dull. waking up to blistering rays glaring through open windows, working at a lackluster club, coming home to your barebones apartment that you’ve never bothered decorating. you only look forward to collapsing into a steaming bath, dreading the fact you’ll have to repeat this all over again once the sun starts to peek up from the horizon.
it’s what’s deserving of such an uninspiring, miserable personality. you’re not interested in much outside of the bubble you crafted. you’re indifferent to the fickle things; love, bonds, and that mouthful of flavor when you meet your soulmate for the first time. it doesn’t interest you in any capacity.
you know that there’s a lot to be desired with you. your people skills need tinkering and while your work ethics are respectable enough, all you can think to describe yourself is boring.
you’re interested in surviving and supporting yourself. living long enough to enjoy yourself, but short enough to not have to work hard—you’ve never been interested in the company and passing affections of others.
the idea of a soulmate is a delicate one to some, daft to others. you’re more indifferent on the topic, leaning closer to disdain, about the idea of a fated second half.
how naïve you are for thinking that you’re lucky enough to escape it, unaware that in a short twelve months, it’ll only take one stranger to ruin your perception of love, of the world, of yourself.
just like everyone else, you’ve been taught about soulmates, raised around the idea that finding them would finally open you up. from an outsider's perspective, you understand how they work, how they feel. you’ve spotted that glazed over look in their eyes more times than you care to count. you’ve witnessed soulmates bumping into each other for the first time, seen how eyes light up, and heard the crashing of heart beats from across rooms. you swore you could hear them salivate at the taste of each other’s presence.
you’re certain that’s something you’ll never experience. you hope you’ll never meet them, hope that they're dead or far away in some other continent, or that they’re as much as a homebody as you are. you covet to be in the majority that never meet their soulmate, and have to settle for yourself and
you’ve made it this far alone. why bother searching for your other half now?
• • •
even at 27, aran’s still hopeful he’ll find the person he’s supposed to spend his life with. it’s a silly little fantasy, one that has settled deep in his core, meeting the love of his life and instinctively knowing. all through his teenage years, he’s been teased for being a hopeless romantic. but who could blame him? what’s more serene, more absolute than the idea of finding the person who will love you for who you are, for the rest of your life?
his romanticism has mellowed out over the years, and he’s become a reasonable man with a successful career and lifelong friends and a dog he spends a fortune on every month. he’ll let life take its course, pray for the best, and continue on.
everyone has a soulmate. he hopes it’s only a matter of time before he meets his. but it’s not a necessity for him.
• • •
the first time you see him, your soulmate, is outside some onigiri shop, bathed in the purple shadows of sunset. you instantly turn the other way, stumbling into some random convenience store and ignoring that lightheadedness, and the urge to gag at the rich flavor soaking into your mouth, hoping he doesn’t feel your proximity.
all of a sudden, you’re not that hungry anymore.
• • •
aran feels it. his knees grow weak, his heart swells twice as big, there’s a pressure in his sinuses that almost has him stumbling back. and then that feeling’s gone. when he looks around, no ones there, but the residual feelings still linger.
this is the taste of aran’s soulmate. he always expected love to taste like bubblegum or the strawberry mochi he used to split with his sister. he expected to savor the color pink, or red, delicate colors that remind him of spring and joy.
instead, there’s a bitter, heavy metallic soaking into his mouth; like antimony and lemon rinds. it clashes against his taste buds causing his face to scrunch up in distaste.
it tastes like gray.
• • •
the overwhelming taste in your mouth is pastel green, tooth-decaying sweet, and tart. it drips down your throat, makes your gums and your heart ache and throb. it feels like you’re going to choke right here, in the snack section of a convenience store.
granny smiths, heavy molasses and acerbic echoes of sumac sticks to the insides of your cheeks. the emotions so saturated it starts to burrow deep in your teeth.
you hate how warm it makes you feel.
• • •
you recognize him immediately when you’re flicking through the channels waiting for your dinner to reheat. of course the universe decides to pair you up with a fucking olympic volleyball player with amazing things going for him. you can’t change the channel, can’t ignore that he looks a little too good panting and covered in sweat. his voice rumbles smooth, his eyes glimmer, his quiet chuckle makes you throb.
you’ve been laying in bed and trying to push out the sneaking thoughts of him, trying to erase the green flavor that creeps back in ever since.
it’s been two weeks since you’ve been anywhere near that shop. the fear that you’ll bump into him again is… overwhelming. but you’re exhausted, working through the day for the second time this week. and of course, you forgot your umbrella at home, forcing you to run through the muggy rain in a ratty shirt and soggy sneakers.
you told yourself you’d take the long way home, but now that cutting through this block will get you out of the rain faster, knowing it’ll get you back home in time to catch that cooking show while you take a bath, tempts you too much.
but of course, nothing that life hands you seems to go your way.
and of course he’s out there again. out of all days. you hope he’s not some mindless sap that waits outside of the shop everyday, aching for the chance to bump into his soulmate and live happily ever after. that might be the only thing that would make this soulmate bond even more painful.
you really should’ve just gone the long way home.
he looks happy and, you begrudgingly admit to yourself as you wait for the crosswalk to turn green, even more handsome than on your tv. big. he’s on the phone, protected from the rain under the shop’s awning. the taste of green’s already oozing it’s way back in.
apparently, that perspective ability you admired while watching one of his first matches bleeds outside the court too, because he immediately makes eye contact with you. eyes widen, he hangs up immediately, and his hand raises in a wave.
and the first thing you can do is run.
• • •
he can sense that his soulmate’s near, that sharp tinny taste overpowering the onigiri osamu forced him to finish. it has his nose crinkling up before he whips his head up, staring at a girl. his heart soars a bit, finally he gets to meet you, before crashing down upon seeing that expression of horror on your dripping face, before you trip your way into some alley. he doesn’t second guess running into the sheets of rain, not hesitating at the sudden chill of rain.
he can tell that you’re scared, terrified, disgusted at the idea of having a soulmate. is it because of him?
the taste of each other is overwhelming, gunmetal grating and foiled and loud crashing into his. can barely swallow it down, eyes rolling back.
you can’t handle the onslaught of pungent syrupy sour, it’s soaking into your head more than the rain. it makes you hunched over and soaked, retching bile and the remnants of breakfast, you want to die.
you want to tell him to fuck off, let you drown in apples, in the vomit and the rain, but he’s insistent. he keeps a polite distance, a safe distance, from you. arms flex in his soaking pale t-shirt while he looks at you like some kind of wounded, rabid animal.
“let’s get you warmed up, ok?”
that tart taste eats away at the rancid bile in your mouth, and you hate to admit that his charcoal eyes start to slowly thaw you.
you’re a mess of chattering teeth, goose pimpled skin. your nipples are poking stiff peaks into your shirt and your fingers are shaking, but he politely ignores both, stepping over the puddle of vomit to pick up your dropped bag, hot hand on the small of your back as he leads you in through the back entrance of the onigiri shop.
two identical faces, the only thing separating them is the shock of pale blond hair, are watching you from a distance as aran presses soft cotton into your arms and leads you into the locker room. they both feign boredom as you shuffle by them, but even in your bleak state, you can’t ignore that interested glimmer in their eyes from behind the register.
the sound of slopping clothes dropping against the cold tile makes your skin crawl, your eyes sting, and your head ache like it was just banged into the concrete. you don’t know whether to be humiliated or thankful, unsettled or grateful that ojiro aran’s actually nice. such a simple word. just these last 10 minutes has proved his heart of gold and, as you tread back into the main room, you think you’re going to cry.
no one talks as you collapse and curl up on one of the farthest seats, as you start to lose yourself in the sounds of thunder and the stifled radio, the cold bleeding it’s way into your brain. you can start to feel yourself dissociating, vision starting to blur, losing yourself in the numb.
the delicate placing of six onigiri snaps you out of it, aran’s look of concern makes you curve over your knees as you drag the plate closer. his eyes tickle at your soul, baring deep into your bones, as if he can see how much you're hurting, how much you don’t care. compared to him, you look like a drenched rat, hair still damp and feet bare.
you really might cry.
because it hurts. the thought that he’d treat you good like this, every day, for the rest of his life. you can tell he’s kind, the way he sets down a cup of tea and brings you some food. the way he offers you a change of clothes. he’s a gentleman, and you feel pity for him, that he’s attached to you.
the tilt of your lips in gratitude probably translates more as a grimace than a smile.
he waits until after you finish eating to start talking, “i’m ojiro aran.”
“i know,” you respond back. “that volleyball player.”
your droning voice doesn’t make him flinch back as you hope.
“i hope i’m not overstepping, but i can tell that you’re not the happiest with — ” finally he hesitates, flicking the sugar packets, eyes tracing over your face. you make it a point to not return the eye contact.
“look. i’m not sure if it’s because of me, or you’re not happy with the idea of soulmates in general.” he overlooks the way your fingers twitch around your mug. “and i’m not going to force you to do anything, because i can tell that you’re on edge right now.”
he lowers himself so he’s not towering over you, balancing on his toes, still toying with the condiments on your table.
“to tell you the truth, i’m a bit of a romantic,” something sweet starts slipping into his voice. “i can tell that you aren’t. we don’t have to rush into anything, say the word and we can forget we ever met. but i think this can work out. we just need to pace to our comfort levels.”
and as you stare into his eyes, him squatting in front of you and holding your still shaking hands, the utter care, eyes almost pleading, and a soft smile that he’s emitting, it makes you feel peace for the first time. the stains of melancholy in your bones start to fade, and pastel green leaks from the sides of your cheeks making the corners of your lips involuntarily twitch up.
maybe, just maybe this’ll work out.
• • •
it’s been months, and aran’s learnt more about you than you know. he’s picked up that you despise physical affection just as much as the rain, but that you crave the heat from his body.
he thinks about you constantly. he replays your ‘dates that aren’t dates’ on repeat at practice, printing your face in his head on his morning runs, and he welcomes that metallic bitter that comes with you before he goes to sleep.
you’re standoffishness is soft and appealing at first glance, like antimony you taste like. the more time he’s in your presence, the more that lack of intimacy burns at his eyes, and his lungs. his hands sting with rejection every time you inch and shrug away from his touch or grimace when he laughs at your half-jokes. he knows there’s a separate woman bedded underneath. he saw her at the restaurant, he sees it whenever you watch the sunset. he notices it most behind the closed doors of his apartment.
he’s come to appreciate your hands. your hands convey the things you’re too nervous to say. he can feel the adoration pulsing underneath the fragile skin in your fingers and your wrists, whispering the things you can’t always say out loud. they speak to your sense of comfort with him, the vulnerability you only show with him. the way they sneak under his shirt to run down his smooth back when you're cold, only to pull back and hope he didn’t catch your slip up.
he notices the chipped polish that you pick at when you're stressed over deadlines. how your hands shrink in comparison to every part of him, tracing the callouses and scars from decades worth of volleyball. he loves how you bring his hands up to kiss on his knuckles after hours in bed, before you make up excuses as to why you can’t spend the night.
much to your annoyance, it makes him want to try that much harder.
• • •
love. a complicated, sinister, four letter word you never thought you were built for. you think about it a lot, in tandem with aran. probably too much to be healthy. he’s the first thing you think of when you wake up, plaguing your mind as you work, and leaving you always wondering what time he goes to sleep.
it's embarrassing. the three hours you spend with him every weekend has turned you into some sort of sap, haunted with his musky scent, that soft smile and that embarrassing craving for him to pat your head again. like your some fucking puppy. and you swear, that syrupy green apple taste is stained into your taste buds, it’s seeped into your bones and ruined you.
the last thing he deserves is you. you know that. but he doesn’t think that, he’s letting that metallic taste run him around lovesick. he makes you feel blistered; every touch and adoring glance burns into your flesh in permanent, achy reminders. he has your number, knows where you live. but he respects you and the distance you’ve placed.
he’s getting too comfortable too quickly, and he keeps surprising you with how patient he is. he’s adaptive, tenderhearted, almost philanthropic with the way he took in the charity case of you.
it didn’t pan out the way you expected the first few months. you expected failure, for him to snap at your constant rejections and complaints. apparently, experiences with his childhood friends prepared him for you.
he's too helpful of a person, wanting to talk about feelings and cooking you food when you didn’t ask for it. it scared you, how fast he accepted this soulmate thing, how fast he was able to care. his hugs lasted too long. he's suffocating you in adoration and care, and you can tell he’s almost to the point of being in love with you.
poor aran. you’ve been destined to be with this man, who’s been destined to be alone since birth, all because the universe promised you to him.
you know you’re going to destroy this beautiful bond that the universe crafted. you’re bitter and mean and unable to open yourself up to him; he almost knows nothing about you, and you know almost everything about him. you know how his younger sister wants to become a physical therapist, how the owner of that little onigiri shop has been one of his best friends for almost two decades. and you know his favorite food’s ritz crackers, that he’s a morning person. he loves dogs and hates horror films, and his two greatest joys are his family and volleyball.
there’s an unspoken hint that he wants you to join the former.
and it’s unfair; who wouldn’t fall in love with that scar on his neck. you try to focus on his bad parts, of which he only has one. his stupid dog, adzuki. that mammoth of a german sheperd that follows you around, places it’s paws on your lap when you come over for dinner.
he laughs every time you grimace at him, looks like we both have a weak spot for you.
• • •
you shatter his heart on the first year anniversary since you’ve been bonded. you were already dangling by a heart string, and that little band of gold and red he gifts you is where you force yourself to draw the line.
all you can think about is how you need to abandon him before either of you get too attached. you’re teetering on the edge of ignoring your gut instincts, of collapsing into him, wanting to let him see the shattered pieces inside you. but then he’ll do something as mundane as calling you over for dinner, and you remember.
he terrifies you.
there’s a reason you haven’t spent the night again. the intimacy of you and him, and his ugly dog, and that picture frame of your date at the beach hung right next to one of his family portraits.
he loves too much and too hard, he’s too intense. he makes your skin prickle in hot fireworks, the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight with unease. he’s beautifully passionate about everything he lays his eyes on. he lives life to the fullest and all of a sudden, you want that too. he makes you crave domesticity, waking up next to warm umber hands tracing patterns in your skin, cooking breakfast together, a house in tokyo. a wedding band on your finger.
this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
you remember the dulling of gray eyes, and his hunched over figure bathed in the ashy violet rays of the sun setting. you try to hold onto that flavor of green before you swallow it for the last time, saliva and tears welling up, before you press one last kiss on his cheek before stepping out. pastel green fades to emerald fades to black. you can’t taste apples or sumac anymore.
no, as much as you wanted to be, you weren’t built for love.
#aran x reader#aran fluff#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu angst#haikyuu!! x reader#soulmate collab#aran#collabee <3#this is my 1000th post... im leaving#ty sm to lee + emi for editing my 3am ramblings :*#and 2 annie for hosting the collab wooo
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with something like this, there never feels like a right time, and i don’t know if i’ll ever feel well and truly prepared to talk about these things, but i’ll give it a shot. here is my experience with reza and the entire situation.
i say none of this with malice, and i would hope nobody else does either. nobody but those who were directly involved can understand, talking about this is hard, but it’s weighing me down not to. so please, don’t send anyone hate or interact with her at all. i just want to express what happened and move on.
i became friends with reza awhile ago, probably over a year ago at least if my memory serves me correctly. unlike many others in this situation, we were very close. we spoke nearly everyday. we have spoken on the phone, she has met my girlfriend over the phone, we shared a lot of personal things. we even talked about meeting in person at one point. so trust me when i say, this has brought me an intense amount of sorrow, loss, and guilt.
i know people throw around words like gaslighting and manipulative a lot, but i truly mean it when i say she manipulated many of us. she made me feel absolutely insane sometimes, like i couldn’t trust my own memories, perspectives, and experiences. what i said i thought happened never mattered. experiences i had with someone were never considered unless they aligned with her predetermined narrative. she would convince me i said or did things i didn’t, or at least didnt remember saying. she told people i was angry at her about something when i had no recollection of it. i’m not an angry person, i couldn’t imagine being truly angry and harsh with her ever.
it seemed every few weeks or months, she picked a new person to dislike and she wanted everyone else to dislike them too. she used to tell me frequently how nobody ever believed her about anything, so at first when she would tell me about not liking someone for some reason i always tried to validate her and believe what she said. i wanted her to know i was a good friend, i wanted to be a good friend. but the more it went on, the more i started to question things. people i didn’t know very well i easily believed what she said, because i’m very trusting. i had no reason not to trust her, really. but then it became people who were my friends that were the targets of her distaste.
if i ever had a small problem with someone, she blew it way out of proportion. of course all friends have issues, everyone has issues. so i would confide in her when other people i was friends with had upset me somehow, and she always responded with incredibly petty insults about the person whether it be their writing, their art, or about them as a person. it was very odd. but i learned very quickly i couldn’t ever defend any of my other friends, because that angered her severely. she has talked poorly about just about every single person on this website in this community, including her own friends. i know sometimes you just need a place to vent, i understand that, i’ve done that myself. but she was often rude, petty, and insulting about these people. it wasn’t just venting, it was true distaste and malice.
if she wasn’t responding with petty insults, she would become very intense about the situation. she would almost always instruct me to not trust that person anymore, or to cut them off, or even sometimes go as far as to “handle” the situation herself. another writer mentioned in their post that they were kicked from a groupchat because of her, and i was in that groupchat, and she did it simply because a joke that was made had upset me slightly. she took things from 0 to 100 in seconds, before i could even protest. sometimes when she did things like that, i felt perhaps that’s what friends did? i didn’t have many friends growing up, so i guess i didn’t really know. but it often felt as if she treated me like someone who couldn’t fight my own battles when really, i’m just not a fighter by choice. i’d rather talk things out, especially with someone who was a friend of mine who i cherish deeply.
i confided in her that i was very trusting and thought everyone had good intentions due to being autistic and taking what people say at face value. i told her that’s how i ended up in my abusive relationship, because i was too trusting. she told me she hated that anyone had done that to me, and then went and did it herself. she took advantage of the fact i can’t tell easily when i’m being manipulated. she attempted to plant seeds of distrust within me towards every single other friend i had, even my girlfriend. i spoke to her once about an issue my girlfriend and i had had a long time ago, and she immediately said in essence she didn’t think my girlfriend was good for me. this was one issue within a nearly 5 year relationship. it felt insanely isolating, to be told at every turn that anyone in my life was bad for me, except for her.
it’s also worthy of pointing that all of these people who she would talk so poorly about to me and to just about anyone who would listen, she is more than willing to turn around and kiss their feet when she lost all her friends. duckie was a particular target of hers in terms of her attempts to get me to cut my friendship off with. some of the things she said to me, i don’t even want to repeat, though of course i have told duckie about it. she has said nasty things about her, about me, about our entire friendship. and yet, the second she didn’t have her friends on here anymore, she was tagging duckie in a praising post, surely in the hopes somebody might take her side i can only assume. that really boiled my blood — all of those nasty words, only to turn around and do that. and duckie isn’t even the only one, she’s just the one i’m closest to who reza did that with.
she has accused so many of us of being clout obsessed or chasing clout. i am no professional, nor can i make claims with 100% certainty, but i would go out on a limb and say i’m fairly positive those accusations are heavy projection. many of her accusations are, to be frank. she has always been seeking “clout”, attention really, ever since the beginning. she used to tell me her biggest dream was to end up on one of those writer reccomendation lists and so it doesn’t surprise me at all that her supposed final straw with lu was being excluded from one, even accidentally. but of course, she’s certainly accused all of us time and time again that we’re obsessed with clout, that we’re all only friends with each other for clout. and it’s sad to me, that that’s how she sees friendship, a means for exchange. but it’s clear that’s how she treats friendships.
she also accused someone of copying art. now whether they did or not, i have absolutely no clue. but when she showed me the supposedly copied art, i told her i wasn’t an artist and i’m also pretty face blind so i wasn’t sure if i was the best judge of whether it was copied or not. she got very angry at me for not believing her, and i tried to reassure her i trusted her perspectives i just couldn’t make the call myself. this became a repetitive situation between us — her making an accusation, me trying to dispute or to even just deflect and move on in conversation, and she’d get mad at me or just straight up stop replying. it was exhausting.
the rumors she has spread about me and others on here are horrible. some of the things she’s said about me have me absolutely floored. there’s things i’d love to address, but i don’t want to throw the person who told me what she said under the bus. but what i will say, is she basically acts as if i’m incompetent without her. i hate to throw around accusing words, but in retrospect many of the things she did and said to me and things she’s said and done since ending our friendship feel incredibly ableist and infantalizing.
now onto what really brought all of this to head. i’m sure all of you have seen the posts referring her calling a trans poc a nazi, but that’s not my story to tell really. my story is what happened after. she dmed me in the midst of that situation to complain to me about the person she accused of being a nazi, and i essentially told her not to bring me in the middle of it. at the time they were both my friends, and i thought she was acting incredibly out of pocket. of course, she grew upset, but insisted she wasn’t trying to bring me into it. i told her i didn’t think her accusation was fair, she told me that this person blocking her was “proof” that they were a nazi supporter, and i basically told her that was quite a leap. we didn’t talk for awhile after that, until she reached out again saying she didn’t want to lose me as a friend and this very long, nice message. i told her i valued her friendship a lot and as her friend, i felt it was my duty to tell her she fucked up and that she should apologized. she admitted to me she knew she was wrong. she admitted it. but she said something like it was too late to do anything about it. one of our last dm exchanges was her saying i was the one person she didn’t want to lose. then she blocked everyone.
so when she tells people i blocked her, or i ended the friendship, or whatever, that’s not true. i didn’t block her until she blocked me. i was never mean to her, not even at the very bitter end. if she thinks i was a bad friend, by all means she can think that, but i tried my best day in and day out to be a good friend. i wanted to make things work so badly, i truly loved reza as a best friend, we had so many good memories together. it broke my heart to watch her behave that way and go on to behave how she’s behaved since. i thought she was better than all of that.
she’s thrown out all sorts of wild accusations towards nearly everyone on here, including claiming we’re all lesbophobic for not supporting her gofundme. this is where her hypocrisy becomes evident. her close friend who has since deactivated had made a post basically claiming that posting “a few words” isnt activism right in the middle of when many of us on here were sharing donation links of black people in need in the aftermath of the chauvin verdict, which reza reblogged. both reza and her friend shared their own gofundmes mere days after that post. i thought that was absolutely despicable. not to mention the amount of times she’s accused lu of being transphobic and a bad ally, or reblogged posts of her cis friend claiming lu is a bad ally, which just isn’t true in the slightest. lu is an upstanding individual, and truly the pinnacle of allyship in my mind. she doesn’t just reblog a post to look good, she’s truly an amazing and supportive friend. couldn’t ask for better than that.
reza is hypocritical in so many other, smaller ways. she attacked someone for simply watching a critical review of attack on titan but continues to stan groups and people who have problematic or questionable pasts or elements to them. of course, media has problematic elements and we can engage with that critically, but the problem is she seems to think only she can do that and other people are free game to jump on and make wild accusations about. she claimed softblocking people was dumb, only to softblock me herself days later. the expectations she places on others she feels no obligation to uphold herself.
she has made attempts to entice new writers into this community by promoting them, praising their work, and claiming they can be the biggest writer etc all the while on her twitter tweeting things to the effect of all the writing on hc tumblr is boring now, or twice fic isn’t as good anymore, dreamcatcher fics are better etc etc. it’s disgusting. she brought innocent people fresh to the community into this nonsense and the second they didn’t validate her entire pov she deleted everything relating to them on her blog, all her promotions, and tweeted she’ll never help a new writer again. it was horrible to watch how many people became involved in this messy web and got hurt because of it.
i want to end all of this by apologizing from the bottom of my heart to anybody who i was swayed into a wrong opinion of by reza, to anyone who i spoke on without realizing i was being clouded by her manipulation, and to all of my friends who she spoke so poorly about. i did everything i thought i could to defend the people i cared about, but as many others can attest to she’s incredibly hard to argue against. it’s painful, and sometimes i hit a point of exhaustion. i am so sorry. i am truly, truly sorry to anyone who has been hurt by this situation, by reza or any of her friends or anybody. it was terrible being stuck in that cycle of awfulness, and i feel so much guilt thinking that i could’ve ever contributed to her poor actions and words about others. i trusted her with so many private things and i regret it more than anything.
that’s the hardest part of this, that i trusted her with so much. i trusted her with many things i would hardly share with anyone else. i told her embarrassing stories, shared much of my traumas to her, told her about my sister and my family and my girlfriend and all of these personal things. she told me so many things in return, but i know who i am. i know i would never share any of those things, none of the embarrassing stuff or the private stuff, nor would i laugh at it even to myself. but i know who she is, and that makes me feel like someone who i can’t trust holds so many things i shared in comfort, a comfort i no longer have. it’s difficult to grapple with.
and reza, if you’re reading this and i’m pretty positive you will be — i hope you find peace within yourself so you don’t have to treat people this way. perhaps i’m too optimistic, too kind and too trusting and too easily tricked, but i would rather be that than live the way you have, paranoid and bitter inside towards everyone. i hope you find a way beyond that, and i mean that genuinely.
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Malex Happily Ever After chapter 114 sequel
Part One.
“Yeah,” Alex said into his phone, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. It was noon, but he hadn’t slept all night, consumed instead with his work at the base, his work in dismantling Project Shepherd, his breakup with Forrest, and his desire to talk to Michael about it all.
He had no idea why. It wasn’t like Michael was usually the epitome of comfort, but . . . Alex always thought, stupidly, that once Michael and Maria had ended things, and he and Forrest ended things, and they were both single again, that they would find their way back to each other. But Michael was keeping distance between them and smirking at Alex’s words every now and then, and it just felt a lot like being back where they started.
He plopped down on his couch and hung his head back to stare at the ceiling as Liz kept talking in his ear. She was saying a lot about the lab and bloodwork and finally finding Mr. Jones. Alex was tired, but he kept up fine. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the duffel bag lying halfway under the couch. The duffel bag he’d packed so many months ago when leaving and never coming back had felt like running away. He’d thrown in a few more things over the past year, and constantly found himself looking to it, just barely having forgotten that it was there.
He stopped listening to Liz, thinking about taking that duffel bag now, throwing it in his car, and just driving. It didn’t feel like running away anymore. He’d tried as hard as he could to be with Michael, and now he found himself along again, feeling worse than ever. Because now he knew Michael had loved somebody else. He knew Michael had tried, but not for him.
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose as Liz went on, ending with the question, “So you think you can come by and check it out?”
Alex shook his head. “Er – sorry, come where?”
“Michael’s bunker,” she said. “That’s where we’re testing the serum. No one’s studied the Project Shepherd reports like you have, I’m thinking if anyone can look at the side-effects of the serum and tell us whether or not they match what was done to the prisoners, then –”
“Right,” Alex shut his eyes, not wanting to hear any more about Project Shepherd and the horrible things they’d done. All the things that Michael was still punishing him for by keeping a distance. “I’m on my way.”
Alex did not move for several long minutes, staring instead at the duffel bag. He probably should’ve taken it and left, but hope was annoying that way, and even though a part of him still clung to the idea that he and Michael would end up together, the bigger part growled that if it was going to take this long, and force Alex to endure seeing Michael with anybody else for even a second, then maybe eventually ending up together just wasn’t worth it.
When he finally got to Michael’s bunker, he couldn’t help but remember when Michael had locked that door behind Alex the last time they’d argued in there. Michael never chased after him, and he was just so sick of waiting for him to do it.
He groaned inwardly and rubbed his eyes. Seriously, he thought. What was wrong with him today? He should just be glad the airstream was back in the junkyard. It had gotten really difficult avoiding the Wild Pony for a while.
He made it down the ladder easily enough, and tossed his backpack on the table next to where Michael was working. Michael looked up at him through his glasses and tilted his chin up in silent greeting. Alex was too tired to pretend like that was remotely satisfying, and without responding turned to Liz.
“Hey,” Liz said happily.
“Hi,” Alex crossed his arms. “What’d you want me to take a look at?”
“Well,” Liz handed him some reports, “we wrote down all of the results of the serum.”
“On whom, may I ask?” Alex raised his brow as he took them. “Who was your test subject this time? Max again?”
Instead of answering, Liz’s eyes traveled over to Michael who, until Alex turned to look at him, had been staring at Alex with a pinch in his brows. Alex’s shoulders sagged.
“Tell me you didn’t.”
He shrugged, his smirk humorless. His mask was up again. “We had to get results quick and I was already here.”
“I told you I didn’t want you being experimented on,” Alex argued.
“Mom did it,” he said. “Guess I wanted to see what the big deal was.”
Alex tensed, and Michael’s smirk fell away.
“Yeah, okay.” He took the last of the files and turned to leave.
“Alex, w-wait –”
“Do whatever you want, Guerin,” Alex said. “I’m done trying to talk you down.”
“Alex, come on!” But it was too late. Alex had made it up the ladder and patted his clothes down, heading over to his car. His jaw was clenched and his eyes burned and a suffocating weight sat on his chest, but he walked ahead.
Of course. Of course, Michael would ignore his concerns, of course he’d want to show Alex just how little value his words carried. You’re not her, so I don’t care what you ask me to do. You don’t matter as much as she did, so I don’t care if you worry. You’re not worth trying for, why would you be worth listening to?
“Stop, Private!” Michael caught his arm and turned him around. He still had his glasses on, but he was panting. Eager to ease his guilt, Alex knew, nothing more. When he saw Alex’s face, his own fell. “Are you – are you crying?”
“No,” Alex turned away, wiping his face furiously. Michael stood there, eyes wide, like he never expected to see Alex cry. Oh screw it. “Yes!” Another tear fell, and he didn’t bother wiping it away. “Okay? Yes, I’m crying.”
“B-Because I took a needle?”
“Oh, Guerin, no, it’s not just because of that!” He paced to the end of the airstream and back, then again. He looked up at Michael’s house, and couldn’t help but remember the way it sat so close to the Wild Pony. Because Michael just had to be close to Maria. Alex couldn’t remember Michael ever so much as following him two feet, but he followed Maria?
He came back to stand in front of Michael, his breaths short and painful. “I’ve had a bag ready since I found your damn airstream at the Wild Pony parking lot. I was going to go, and I wasn’t going to come back. I’ve had it ready since you started dating Maria, since Forrest and I broke up, and I still can’t bring myself to just take it and go. I was terrified something would happen to you if you put that damn crap in your veins, and I didn’t want you to end up like the prisoners in Caulfield. You ignored the one thing I asked you to do with a smile on your face like you think it’s funny that I’m scared, and I still can’t just pick up that stupid bag. It’s unfair, Guerin!”
His lower lip trembled, and he looked away, covering his eyes with his hand. “You can move on and love someone else so freaking easily, and I can’t, and it’s so unfair.”
They stood there for a long time, nothing but the wind whistling in their ears and Alex’s quiet cries. Liz seemed to have the good sense to stay in the bunker. Then Michael suddenly came up behind Alex, and wrapped his arms around him tightly.
“Baby,” Michael breathed against the shell of his ear. “I – I didn’t know, Alex,” he whispered, his voice full of pain. “I thought you didn’t care, I thought you wanted me to stay away. I – I was just holding onto easy, no one ever came close to you. I swear, I thought you didn’t want me anymore . . .”
Alex tried to process all of that. Michael sounded sincere, though maybe that was only because Maria had been the one to end things. That’s right, a bitter voice sounded. She ended things. Not him. After he told her he loved her. Then she ended it.
It occurred to Alex then that maybe Michael was holding onto him for a completely different reason.
A disbelieving, miserable chuckle left his lips, and Michael faltered. Alex brought Michael’s hands down. “Just stop it, Guerin,” he said hoarsely, his throat raw. “I already gave you my word that I’d help, I’m not going to stop just because I’m frustrated.” He shook his head, already walking back to his car. He had to get out of here. “You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. You’ll still get what you want.”
Before Alex could take in Michael’s shattered expression or read into it, he got in his car, turned it on, and drove away, needing to put as much distance between the man he loved and himself.
Alex woke slowly to the sun just rising. He was surprised he’d made it up so late, but after working through the files last night, he’d passed out just at sunset. He supposed misery, anguish, and a couple of nights of no sleep in a row really put a person out.
He spotted the files on his desk and laid sideways on his bed for a while. He didn’t think he could get back into the nightmares of his family’s past before a good cup of coffee. He stuffed half his face into his pillow and thought of his conversation yesterday with Michael, how unwilling he’d been to eat or drink or do much of anything besides get to work and be useful afterwards. The memory robbed him of even his comfort in bed.
He forced himself up, and when he was washing up in the bathroom, he thought he heard a rustling somewhere outside, but when he turned the faucet off and listened, he didn’t hear anything. Deciding his exhaustion might be making him imagine things that weren’t there, Alex finished up, grabbed his crutches, and made himself a steaming cup of coffee.
He sat down on his couch and rested back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, his eyes fell to the duffel bag halfway hidden. He imagined, yet again, grabbing it now, getting in his car, and driving away without ever coming back. The thought did not make any part of him any happier than he felt now.
There was nothing but the tree branches rustling in the wind, the birds chirping to one another at the morning sun, wheels on gravel in his backyard –
Alex faltered in his thoughts and picked his head up, his brows pinched. He listened closely, and this time, there was no mistaking it; there was someone in his backyard.
“What the hell?” he murmured and set his coffee cup down before grabbing his crutches. He stepped into his backyard, not knowing what he would find (after all, Roswell was a small town, and people were usually good about not bothering military around here), and stopped.
There, behind his circular tables and chairs, was Michael’s airstream. Michael stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel, and smiled at Alex.
He came to stand a foot away from him, his hands twitching at his sides as if eager to reach out and touch. “Can I kiss you good morning?”
Instead of answering, Alex asked, “Guerin, what is this?”
Michael’s smile widened, and he took that as the permission he needed before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s face in his hands and kissing his lips both deeply and softly at the same time. He pulled away with a deep sigh, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes closed, as if he could finally breathe.
“I love you,” he whispered, letting his hands fall down Alex’s neck, his shoulders, his arms, and staying on his waist, gripping tightly. “I missed you so much.”
Alex’s eyes started to flutter, but before he could fall into whatever wonderland being around Michael pulled him into, he swallowed and took a step back.
“Why’s your trailer here?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
Michael looked like he hated the distance between them just as much as Alex did, the mask of humor and indifference he usually wore completely gone.
“After Forrest,” he said, “I thought . . . I thought you were better off without me. I thought you wouldn’t want me when you’d already had someone . . . better.” He came closer to Alex, pleading with him to understand. “Alex, I thought you wanted me to stay away. And I was so terrified that I would get too close, and you would hate me, and tell me to leave and not come back. So I stayed a safe distance, and I hated every second of it.”
Alex shook his head. “Why?” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “Why’d you try so hard for her?”
“It wasn’t for her,” Michael urged. “It was for me. I needed . . . easy. I needed not that bad. I had no idea what I was doing, I acted like Max, I . . .” he shook his head. “Private, I don’t even know who that person was. The only time I felt like myself, like I could actually be myself and still be loved was when I was with you.”
Michael huffed a shaky chuckle, and roughly wiped his face with one hand. “Besides,” he said, “I left that parking lot the next day.” He looked over his shoulder at his airstream as it sat beside Alex’s things, and smiled with such sincerity that Alex hadn’t seen on his face in too long. He looked back at Alex with bright eyes. “But I think this looks good here. Don’t you?”
Alex looked from the airstream to Michael, and he huffed a chuckle. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed and wiped it away. “I just needed you to show up at my front door.”
Michael laughed, pulling Alex in against him and hugging him tightly. As he buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck, Alex took his chance to press his face to Michael’s shoulder and inhale his scent.
“I want to do more than show up,” Michael said against his skin. “I want to stay, Alex. I want to stay, please let me stay.”
Alex hugged Michael so closely that nothing could’ve fit between their bodies. He felt Michael’s heart race, Michael’s lips against his neck, Michael whimpering under his breath as he desperately pulled them closer and closer together.
Alex whispered, “Stay, Guerin. I want you to stay.”
***
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#alex manes#michael guerin#malex#malex fic#malex fanfic#malex fanfiction#roswell new mexico#roswell nm#malex angst#malex fluff#tyler blackburn#michael vlamis
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