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helloalycia · 3 years

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girl next door [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: the time has come where you realise your boyfriend just isn’t worth it, and your neighbour may or may not be an Avenger

warning/s: none i don’t think??

author’s note: part 3 is here! I kinda got carried away and wrote two more parts so my bad, but i hope you like it!

I couldn't be bothered with today. I just wasn't in the mood to go to work, so of course, I procrastinated as much as I could in the morning until it was finally time for me to get out of bed without being late.

Teddy had fallen asleep here last night after we watched a film, but he left earlier for work, so it was just me. I knew I had to break it off with him, it was time. But I didn't know how to tell him without hurting him. So, I was cowardly in that sense, which was only worse because I was leading him on. I'll find a way to say something soon, I promised myself as I took my clothes off and wrapped a towel around myself.

When I headed to the bathroom, I immediately slipped on the wet floor that only one person could have left behind. But, unlike the many times I had done so, I wasn't able to catch myself and instead fell on my leg, hearing a deadly crack noise, forcing a scream from my lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I got out through gritted teeth, tears slipping from my eyes. The pain was unbearable and as I looked to my leg, I knew something was wrong because it instantly began to swell up and change colour.

Taking deep breaths to get through the pain, I tried not to imagine the several ways I was going to skin Teddy alive. He was so ignorant! How many times did I have to explain to him how dangerous it was to leave the floor wet?!

"It's okay, Y/N, you're okay," I told myself, before stretching and grabbing my phone from the side.

A striking pain shot up my leg and I suddenly felt nauseous, unable to deal with it. Swallowing hard, I called Teddy to give him a piece of my mind but also ask for his help since I couldn't move. Unfortunately for me, it went to fucking voicemail making me scream with frustration. I clenched my jaw as I tried to stand up myself, but more tears rolled down my cheeks as I accepted I was stuck.

The next person who came to mind was Wanda. If I was lucky and she wasn't at work, she'd be able to help me up and get me to a hospital.

I called her next and thankfully, unlike the arsehole that was my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, she answered.

"Hey, Y/N!"

I breathed out as calmly as I could. "Hi, Wanda. I, er, I need your help."

"Everything okay?" she asked with concern.

I nodded, though I felt really sick as I tried to avoid looking at my leg. "Yeah, well– no. This is really embarrassing, but I slipped on the bathroom floor and I think my leg is broken. Please can you come 'round and help me up?"

"Shit, Y/N, of course!" she exclaimed.

"Thanks," I got out breathily. "Spare key is taped under the plant pot outside my door."

"Just hold on," she insisted, before hanging up.

I dropped my phone to the side and glanced down at myself, definitely embarrassed that I was sat here in my underwear and bra, but also glad that I wasn't completely naked.

As promised, Wanda came as soon as possible and I heard her approaching the bathroom before she squeaked and covered her eyes.

"S-sorry!" she said, flustered. "I didn't mean to look. I just–"

"Wanda, you need to see if you're to help me up," I said as nicely as I could without snapping from the pent up anger reserved for Teddy.

She removed her hand, though her eyes wouldn't meet mine. "Right, yeah, duh. Okay, er..."

Successfully, she managed to lift me up and let me use her for support as we limped to my bed and I took a seat.

"Can you pass me my–"

"Clothes, right," she caught on, still not meeting my eyes, before moving around the room to grab a shirt and shorts.

I put my shirt on with ease, but she had to help me with my shorts as I tried my very hardest not to cry from the pain. My leg, or rather my knee, was turning a yellow-purple colour pretty quickly, making me flinch.

"How did this happen?" she asked with worry, gaze falling to my leg.

I clenched my jaw. "My stupid fucking boyfriend. I've told him so many fucking times to mop the damn floor! And he always says okay, but he never does! Oh, boy, when I get my hands on him, he's gonna wish he'd never been born!"

"Y/N–"

"And can you believe he has the audacity to have his damn phone switched off?! I could be dying and he wouldn't even know! That selfish, ignorant son of a–"

"Y/N!" she called, snapping me out of my rant. "Hospital."

"Right, hospital," I agreed. "No ambulances because they're way too expensive. Maybe you can get me down to a taxi and I'll take it from there?"

She raised her eyebrows with disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

I mirrored her expression. "Er, no? Ambulances are like $700, and even with my insurance that's like $400. Taxis are, what, twenty bucks?"

She wasn't convinced as she crossed her arms and stared at me with uncertainty. I sighed and tried to stand up, but I pulled a face at the pain. She was quick to help me stand, giving me support on my right side.

"This is gonna take a while," I mumbled, biting back annoyance.

"Don't hate me," she said suddenly.

I looked to her, furrowing my brows. "What are you talking about?"

She avoided my gaze and instead swept me off my feet quite literally, taking me by surprise. I wrapped my arms around her neck on instinct, eyes widening as she held me close, bridal-style.

"Wanda, you can't just carry me like this," I said, though I was surprised at how strong she was.

She ignored me and walked out the bedroom before stopping at the fire escape. I gripped her tightly, wondering what the heck was going on. There was a hint of red in her eyes, startling me, before I noticed the two of us rising into the air. Levitation, to be exact.

"Woah!" I shouted, holding her as tightly as I could. "What the hell?! How–?! What–?!"

As she flew us away from our building, there was a red hue floating all around us, like an energy I'd never seen before. Except it seemed familiar... and that's when I put it together.

"You're that Avenger!" I blurted out. "The witch, the one with all the magical powers! You're– you're– Oh my God."

She frowned, eyes darting to mine apologetically. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

I swallowed hard, fearfully glancing over her shoulder at the clouds interwoven with the tall buildings of New York. Never in a million years did I think I'd be flying amongst them, with an Avenger nonetheless. She'd fought at the battle of New York, I remembered seeing her on the TV. She was dubbed an official Avenger not long after, but then coverage of her went quiet... because she'd moved away. It made so much sense now!

"I knew I recognised you," I said with disbelief, studying her face closely as I now knew who she was.

Her eyes still had a red hue surrounding her irises, matching the energy surrounding us as she flew us to, presumably, the hospital.

"I didn't intend to hide it," she explained guiltily. "I thought you'd figure it out. But then you didn't and it... it just never felt right to bring it up."

I thought back to the random hours she worked, the spontaneity of being called in for her shifts, her whole backstory for crying out loud... how stupid could I be?

"This... this is a conversation we should have," I said, nodding slowly, "but maybe not right now."

"Right, yeah." She nodded in agreement, jaw tensed as she stared ahead. "Just hang on."

–

After getting an x-ray at the hospital, the doctor told me I'd need to go into surgery so they could realign my knee – it wasn't anything concerning, but I wasn't exactly over the moon about it.

I returned to the hospital room to find Wanda had been waiting for me. I'd say I was surprised, but I was more grateful that she stayed. We hadn't had a moment to speak about her whole Avenger situation, and she was oddly quiet about the whole thing, so I decided to ease it into conversation whilst waiting for the doctors to return to prep me for surgery.

"You know, you didn't have to stay," I said to her, watching as she distracted herself with the stuff on the bedside table. "It's only a broken leg."

She stopped whatever she was doing and gave me a knowing look. "It's not only a broken leg. And I just thought you might like the company. Who else is going to make sure you're okay?"

I offered her a small smile. "Thank you. But the surgery is gonna take a while. I'll head home after and catch up with you then."

She seemed against the idea, but said nothing, before resuming whatever she was messing around with. The tissue box, I think.

"So... magic, huh?"

She swallowed visibly. "It's, er, not magic... at least, not exactly."

I hummed in acknowledgement, still adjusting to the fact that she had actual powers. It was amazing and unusual all at once.

"It's okay that you didn't tell me you know," I said gently, making her glance at me. "You apologised earlier. Back when we were–" I breathed out, still in mild disbelief, "–well, flying. You didn't need to. You don't have to be sorry about anything, Wanda."

She frowned. "But I lied to you."

Her Sokovian accent was more noticeable when she was upset, I noted. I wondered if she realised.

"You didn't lie, per say... more like bent the truth," I tried to make her feel better, stifling a laugh. "Either way, it's alright. Well, for me anyway. I don't know if you wanted to tell me or–"

"I did," she cut in with nod, eyes focused on me. "I wanted to."

I hoped she couldn't hear the way my heart rate picked up a little. "Okay, then I don't see a problem. You're still the same Wanda, just with a little something extra, right?"

Her shoulders relaxed and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Right."

I mirrored her expression, holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, before tearing away when I heard the doctor enter the room. After prepping me for surgery, I headed off into the operating room and made sure Wanda knew she didn't have to be there when I came back.

They put me under, so I wasn't awake until several hours later when I woke up to horribly bright, fluorescent hospital lighting and the accompanying nasty disinfectant smell filling the room. The first thing I noticed was the giant cast on my leg, followed by the sleeping brunette in the corner of the room that was Wanda. I would have questioned why she was there as my first thought, but I couldn't help but take notice of the lovely room I was in – for starters, it wasn't shared with other patients like I expected.

"Wanda," I called, my voice rough-sounding, but she didn't stir in the slightest.

I chewed on my lip as I found the remote that controlled my bed, using it so I could sit up. I was able to grab the water on my bedside table and take a few sips before calling for her again, sounding a lot better. To my relief, she began to wake up, eyes blinking open and looking around with confusion before realisation crossed her face and she settled on me.

"You're up!" she exclaimed, before a yawn escaped her lips.

"And you're here," I returned, hinting my confusion.

"I told you I was staying," she reminded me, before standing up and approaching my bedside. "Had to make sure you were okay. And obviously to help you home. By taxi, not flying, don't worry."

I smiled at her caring nature, expression softening at how cute she was.

"Also, before you ask," she added, "your hospital bills are taken care of. Hence the room."

I lost my smile, eyebrows raising. "Come again?"

She sat at the edge of my bed, getting comfortable as she looked out the window opposite us. "I didn't want you worrying about it, especially when none of this was your fault, so I called in a favour at the Avenger's compound. Tony owed me."

I almost forgot how to breathe as my eyes widened. "Tony Stark? The Tony Stark? He's paying for my hospital bills?"

She looked to me, a hint of panic in her eyes. "I hope that's okay. I mean, I knew you would say no, but I feel like I should've done something. You've done so much for me and it was only fair."

"I can't believe..." I trailed off, losing track of what I was going to say, still shocked. It made sense with her being an Avenger, but it was still hard to believe.

"You still with me?" she joked, her hand resting on mine.

I cleared my throat, ignoring the warmth from her skin touching mine. "Yeah, sorry. I just– wow. Still digesting is all."

"Don't worry too much about it," she said gently.

I nodded weakly, swallowing hard and avoiding her gaze.

"I should go get the doctor and let her know you're awake," she said, letting go of my hand. "You okay on your own for a minute?"

"Yeah, of course. Thanks."

After a chat with the doctor and an explanation of how everything would play out from here, I was getting ready to leave for home. I got changed out of the annoying hospital gown in the bathroom attached to my hospital room (another perk of Tony Stark paying for my bills – no shared toilet) and was in the middle of adjusting to my crutches in my room when there was a knock on the door.

Wanda and I paused as we looked up, and I was about to say for whoever it was to come in, but the person came in quickly and without waiting. To my bitterness, it was Teddy of all people.

"Oh my god, Y/N, there you are!" he exclaimed upon seeing me. "I got your message, both of them. I was so worried!"

In addition to the message I'd left him when breaking my leg, I also left him another before the surgery to see if he actually cared enough to check in. Clearly not.

I gripped my crutches to get out my frustration. "It took you long enough. I went into surgery five hours ago."

He scratched his head awkwardly. "I was at work."

I rolled my eyes, promising myself I wouldn't snap, but the annoyance of everything happening was building up and I couldn't help but blurt out, "I told you to mop up when you freakin' showered, Teddy!"

"I did!"

"No, you didn't!" I shouted, raising my voice. "If you did, I wouldn't be in this fucking cast!"'

He winced. "Are you, er, sure that it was the water that you slipped on?"

I clenched my jaw, knuckles turning white from how hard I was gripping my crutches. I didn't care that I was temporarily crippled, all I could see was red.

"Am I sure?" I repeated his question, tone laced with anger. "Am I sure?!"

I attempted to lunge forward, but Wanda seemed to know what I was thinking before I did it, holding me back suddenly.

"Y/N, just leave it," she mumbled, eyes meeting mine.

Something about the way she looked at me made my anger temporarily melt away, and I almost forgot why I was mad, until...

"Who are you?" Teddy asked with confusion.

Wanda and I looked to him, figuring he was just being his usual rude self, but he genuinely had no idea who she was as he studied her curiously.

She blinked with disbelief. "Wanda....?"

He waved his hand, motioning for her to say more.

Wanda raised a brow with offence. "Y/N's neighbour...?"

He pursed his lips, eyes squinted with thought.

Wanda almost scoffed. "Really? You got nothing?"

He chewed on his lip, genuinely stumped, and I couldn't help but groan with frustration, earning his attention.

"Of course you don't know who she is!" I glared at him. "You don't listen to a word I say! Not about this, not about mopping the floor–!"

"Y/N, just calm down!" he cut me off, only adding fuel to the fire.

"No," I said sternly, before nodding to the door behind him. "You can leave. You have no need to be here since we're not together anymore."

He raised his eyebrows with shock. "Seriously? You're breaking up with me? For what?"

I breathed out through my nose, genuinely stunned at how I managed to stay with him this long without either losing my mind or killing him. I could swear he wasn't this stupid when I met him.

His eyes fell to Wanda with distaste. "Is it because of her?"

"Did you actually manage to get stupider since this morning?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Because I totally accepted when you said you were bisexual," he continued, "but I didn't think you'd actually leave me for a woman."

I pressed my lips together, looking to my shoes as I tried to talk myself out of not killing him there and then. The fact that he was blaming the breakup on anyone but himself was disappointing but not surprising.

"Can you leave now?" I finally spoke, looking up to him with expressionless eyes.

His smile of disbelief turned into a scoff as he headed for the door. "Whatever. Your roast lamb is shit anyway."

I scrunched my face together with annoyance, unable to stop myself from yelling, "No it isn't!" as he walked out the door.

Unexpectedly, I saw the familiar red wisps of energy by the door before it suddenly slammed shut, smacking Teddy in the butt and propelling him forward with a start. He turned around to look through the glass, expecting to blame someone, but Wanda and I were nowhere near the door, so he glared our way before storming off.

"Sorry," Wanda said, referring to the door, lowering her hand and red eyes returning to normal. "He's just a real dickhead."

I tried not to laugh as I nodded in agreement, already feeling better. "You're not wrong there..." I sighed, losing my smile as I gave her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry for everything he said. Again."

Wanda rolled her eyes dismissively, shrugging her shoulders. "You should really stop apologising on his behalf. Especially since he's not your boyfriend anymore."

I relaxed my shoulders, leaning against the bed and looking to the floor. "Yeah, you're right... I just can't believe I put up with him this long."

Wanda didn't respond, but I heard her make a weird noise before she fake-coughed terribly, making me look up. Trying ever-so-hard to suppress a smile, she shook her head apologetically when she realised I noticed.

"Sorry, I– it's not funny," she attempted.

I smiled with amusement. "What?"

She licked her lips, before giving into her smile. "I just– I can't believe it either sometimes."

I breathed out with defeat, my smile turning into laughter alongside her. Eventually, she continued to help me with my crutches before I got the hang of it and the two of us began to leave the hospital. On the way out though, a random thought dawned on me and I stopped walking suddenly.

"What is it?" she asked worriedly.

I looked to her with curiosity. "That guy who stopped by your place a while ago. Your friend. Are you telling me that was–"

"Captain America?" she filled in with an amused smile. "Yeah."

"Woah." I was amazed, eyebrows raised as I let that sink in. I spoke to the Captain America and even implied he was a stalker. Woah.

"Come on, idiot," she laughed before leading me out the hospital, finally.

–

Breaking up with Teddy was long overdue, and whereas I thought I would feel bad for doing so, it was quite the opposite. I felt better, freer, unrestrained by the stupidity that was my ex. It was a few days after leaving the hospital when I found myself sitting on the couch with Wanda. She'd been helping me during my recovery, even though I insisted I was fine alone. She, of course, didn't listen though, and I was secretly glad because it meant I could spend more time with her.

"What about that fork? Can you move that?"

Wanda gave me a knowing look from the other end of the couch, amusement knitted in her smile. "Yes, Y/N."

To prove her point, her eyes glowed red and she flicked her hand, raising the fork on the dining table up in the air before setting it down.

I was amazed. "What about that cushion?"

She stifled a laugh before levitating the cushion between us and setting it down.

"And that book?"

"I have other powers, too, y'know," she pointed out, but levitated the book nonetheless.

I grinned. "Yeah, like flying."

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, like that..."

And this.

"Woah!" I said with a start, eyebrows raised with surprise. "Did you just– what?!"

She laughed, the sound sending a swirl of butterflies in my stomach. Her eyes sparkled as she met my gaze, amused by my amazement.

"You can speak in my mind?" I asked in bewilderment.

"I can read minds, too," she continued.

"Wow." I breathed out, still not used to her having powers. Suddenly a thought came to mind and I glanced at her. "Have you, er, read my mind?"

"Never," she assured me, before adding with a head tilt, "at least not on purpose. Sometimes, if somebody's thoughts are too loud, I can't help but hear it."

I felt my face heating up as I avoided her eyes. "But my thoughts are quiet... right?"

Every potentially-embarrassing thought I'd ever had, including those I'd had of Wanda, came to mind and I suddenly grew nervous to her answer.

"Er, well, I mean..."

I looked to her when I heard her forming an answer, but the look on her face told me she had heard my thoughts at times and I ran a hand down my face with embarrassment.

"I promise it's never anything embarrassing or anything," she tried to make me feel better.

I groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Hey, I promise," she said with reassurance, before I felt her rest a hand on mine and squeeze it gently.

"What was the last thing you heard?" I asked, trying to veil my curiosity with a shrug.

I felt her gaze on me and looked her way to see green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Mostly you cursing at your ex."

Cracking a smile, I nodded. "Okay, maybe that's fine then..."

Her laughter surrounded us again and she let go of my hand before pulling her legs up on the couch to get comfortable and face me. She watched me with an endearing smile, making me unusually nervous.

"So, what other things can you do with your powers?" I asked, partially curious and partially trying to distract from my nerves.

She studied her right hand, red energy wisps at the tip of her fingers. "I can... I can throw energy balls," she remembered, looking to me before smiling, "but I won't demonstrate that since I'm sure you love your curtains."

"That I do," I said in agreement, leaning on the back cushion with my elbow as I faced her better.

"I can also manipulate thoughts, but once again, I'm sure you won't want a demonstration." She chuckled as she saw my change of expression.

"Yeah, no thank you," I said jokingly.

She pressed her lips together, thinking of what else she could do, but her smile faded into a thin line as a dark thought seemed to cross her mind.

"My brother had powers, too," she said quietly. "Super speed."

Since finding out who she was, I tried to piece together Wanda's background without bringing it up to her for fear it would upset her. It made a lot more sense why she'd moved next door now that I knew who she was, but she hadn't once brought up her family again until, well, until now.

"Pietro," I said, hoping I'd got his name correct. "Right?"

She nodded, lowering her hand and looking to me. "Yeah, that's him... he also had powers. It was actually what got him killed." She barely flinched as she spoke. "He saved someone's life in the battle against Ultron."

I sensed her sadness when her gaze softened as she finished speaking, and my heart ached now that I knew the truth.

"You don't have to tell me, Wanda," I said gently, hoping she didn't feel obligated to.

"No, no...," she shook her head, "it's nice to finally be able to tell you the truth. The whole truth. Not some rendition of it."

I nodded, relaxing under her stare. I was glad, too, to know she trusted me with such sensitive information about her life. It made me feel important, kind of like confirmation that I meant as much to her as she did to me.

"Do you think you're gonna go back to the Avengers tower anytime soon?" I asked. "I know you mentioned living here was temporary, so..."

It was selfish of me to think, but I hoped the answer was no. She hadn't said, but I gathered she hadn't been fulfilling her role as an Avenger as much as she should have been, as she was still on a break from there since grieving for her brother. But she seemed better than she did when she first got here, and if that meant she was going to go back there... I hoped it didn't, selfishly enough. I know the world needed another hero, but, I mean, did they?

"Trying to get rid of me already?" she teased, quirking a brow, making me smile with embarrassment. She noticed and added, "I'm kidding, Y/N. But to answer your question, no, not yet. Maybe not ever. I thought I would be here to get away from them whilst I grieved, but I've come to like it here. It's become my new home. I can still help them and not stay there."

I tried to resist the urge to smile like a weirdo. "Oh, cool. Yeah, I get you."

Calm on the outside, but over the moon on the inside.

"Though I may have to reconsider if my neighbour keeps using me like a carnival attraction," she added playfully.

I laughed, putting my hair behind my ear as I shrugged. "I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's just so cool that you have powers!" She laughed quietly, making my smile widen. I continued without thinking, "Plus, your eyes go this pretty red colour whenever you use them and I just think that's pretty neat."

She rolled her eyes playfully, but I was surprised to see her cheeks turn the colour of said powers. God, she was stunning. I was sure I'd always known that, but maybe I'd never acknowledged the thought. Now though... she was adorable when she bit back a smile and her hazel eyes sparkled with distraction.

Suddenly remembering the beautiful girl before me had the ability to read minds, I cleared my throat and tried to debate whether or not that would be classed as a 'loud' thought. I'd liked to think it wasn't, but now I wasn't so sure... what if this was a loud thought? And she could actually hear everything I was saying about her in my head? Oh, no... I was definitely overthinking this. It was nothing to worry about.

"You okay over there? I can practically read your mind."

I looked up and saw she was teasing again, though now that I knew she had powers, those words carried a double meaning.

"Yeah, yeah, sure you can," I played along dismissively. "Nice try, Wanda."

She shrugged, laughter slipping from her lips. "Okay, whatever you say."

Nah, she was definitely playing me... right?

#wanda maximoff imagine #wandavision #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #elizabeth olsen #marvel imagine #marvel #mcu #scarlet witch

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

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Bloom, Bloom, Pow! |1| - CHANGMIN

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!! Please enjoy the first half of nearly 17k of pining for the boy I would be pining for if he was in my life <3

Special thanks to @wingkkun for helping me come up with several parts of this story!! I don’t know how you deal with me, Kai, but I really appreciate it <3

(Suggested playlist: Bloom Bloom, DDD, and Just U by The Boyz :D)

Pairing: Changmin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint, university!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 9.4k

Dancing with you, Changmin feels like flowers are blooming in his heart.

Part 1 | Part 2

TBZ Masterlist | Interwoven

~ you

It starts like this.

Ji Changmin is notorious for his dancing, not because he’s bad at it (he’s arguably one of the best students in the dance department), but for his habit of moonwalking through the university halls. Headphones stuck in his ears, phone in hand, he twists and twirls around campus, eyes closed in concentration or fixed on some faraway point in space, lost in the realm of his music.

And the strangest thing is, he never bumps into a single person.

Oh, he might brush against an arm or two. His fingertips might graze a shoulder with a butterfly’s touch, his feet just barely skimming over another’s shoes. But crashing into someone? Knocking into a wall? Never.

It’s fun to see, really, when you cross paths with him or when he shows up on the school Snapchat story. Even though you only know Changmin by name (Kevin talks to him, but you haven’t had the pleasure), there’s something endlessly graceful and fascinating about the way he moves, slipping through the crowded halls with the cheerful air of someone who doesn’t care about what other people around them think.

It starts with an impulse, just something to lighten up your mood. You’re walking to one of your least favorite classes (look, writing might be fun, but certainly not the way your professor teaches it) when Changmin’s bright orange mop of hair appears ahead. A slight smile creeps up your face as he comes closer, an unstoppable force parting the crowded sea of students.

An idea pops into your mind.

Trip him up.

Briefly, you question yourself. Why?

Like that meme, your brain supplies a concise answer. You gotta.

You’re grinning, moving before your mind can even process what your body has decided to do. Stepping awkwardly around a couple of other students, you place yourself right in Changmin’s path.

He twists.

You turn.

He lurches.

You step.

He flashes you a confused look, his usual faraway gaze replaced with something bemused and even slightly annoyed. For a second, you feel a flash of uncertainty – what if he doesn’t see this as the joke you mean it to be? After all, you don’t even know each other. How is he going to take this?

But he must see the teasing smile on your face and the glint in your gaze because his eyes sparkle, lips stretching wide into the brightest grin you’ve ever seen him wear. His moves take on an exaggerated cadence, arms stretching widely, legs smoothly twisting around your much less graceful feet as he twirls, just avoiding your flailing hands jokingly trying to stop him.

Changmin wins, of course. Your mediocre attempts at obstruction are nothing against his skill. As he slips away, he flashes you a smirk of farewell, leaving you with only the memory of a bright smile, graceful limbs, and an awkward dance.

You expect it to be a one-time thing. It’s so stupid when you think about it later – what the hell possessed you to do that, anyway? You’re cringing just thinking about it – so there’s no way, you tell yourself, no way that Changmin would bother to acknowledge your presence again. When you walk down the same hall a few days later and see a bright orange head of hair artfully bobbing in your direction, you just smile a bit at the residual memories.

But Changmin catches your eye, his gaze brightening when it meets yours. As the curve of his lips widens, one graceful finger twitches slightly in a tiny gesture – get over here. His eyes glint – try me.

A grin spreads across your face as you step closer. Why not?

And so, again, you dance.

. . . . .

~ changmin

Changmin doesn’t really know what makes you so special. He doesn’t know why he indulges your twists and turns, weaving in and out of your awkwardly stepping feet on the way to class. He doesn’t know why he didn’t just give you a weird look the first day you stepped into his path, avoided you as best he could and walked away.

But that would’ve erased the smile on your face, he reasons, thinking back to the memories. It would’ve extinguished the sparkle in your eye, muted the brightness of your expression into something far less brilliant. And despite the fact that Changmin barely knows who you are, has only a vague recollection of your name from when someone once called to you down the hall, in that moment, he subconsciously knew that there was nothing he would willingly do to dim your sparkle. Not a sparkle of beauty, necessarily, or of mere physical loveliness. No, in your smile, there’s something deeper, something brilliantly incandescent that strikes right into Changmin’s heart.

Other people think it’s stupid. Younghoon, for example, wonders if he’s gone absolutely nuts the first time he witnesses the dance (well, Changmin calls it a dance – Younghoon says it looks more like a cult ritual). “What the fuck was that?” he asks after you walk off, raising an extremely confused eyebrow.

Changmin just shrugs, watching your figure disappear down the hall before slipping back into his usual moonwalk. “I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “We just do it.”

“You’re so weird,” Younghoon mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Do you even know their name?”

Again, he shrugs. “Y/N, I think?”

Younghoon chokes. “You think?”

If Changmin thinks about it, it is kind of stupid. You stepped into his path in a crowded hallway and proceeded to try and trip him up, all while wearing a huge grin on your face (that Changmin thinks is beautiful, but he won’t dig into that just yet). Changmin, instead of trying to get away, decided to indulge your fun. You’ve never exchanged a single spoken word – he isn’t even sure you know his name, though he can’t really say anything because he isn’t sure he knows yours – and you’ve rarely interacted, even nonverbally, beyond a few smiles and the little confrontation that happens every Monday and Wednesday at approximately two-ten in the afternoon when the two of you walk down the same hall.

But it doesn’t feel stupid, not in the moment. It feels right, somehow, grinning as widely as his lips will allow while you try to step all over his toes. You never manage to trip him, not in those few seconds of dance, but Changmin appreciates the effort and laughs along with you, exaggerating his movements and pretending to almost fall, just to see the smile on your face grow wider.

So the stares don’t matter, not to Changmin. He can stomach the strange glances, the hidden smirks, the subtly raised phones trying to catch the scene for the school Snapchat story (anyway, if it bothers him enough, he can terrify Jaehyun into deleting it). He can shrug off Younghoon standing like a silent tree nearby, stuffing his face with bread and praying no one associates him with his squirrelly best friend, because seeing your brilliant smiles and hearing your stifled laughs are more than enough to get him through the rest of the day.

“You never smile that widely around me,” Younghoon remarks one day, “and I’m your best friend.”

Changmin just shrugs as he flashes you one last grin over the sea of students in the hall, turning back to face his friend. “Well,” he says, purposely trying to be infuriating, “there’s a reason for that.”

Younghoon whines, of course, pouting his lips in the way that wins him so many admirers around the school, but Changmin ignores it in favor of thinking about your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes sparkle and your limbs fly in your attempts to throw him off his balance.

Yes, he thinks, there’s a reason.

The reason is that your smile is more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen.

. . . . .

~ eric

Eric considers himself pretty well-versed when it comes to feelings. He’s fallen in love a lot, even with people he often doesn’t even know too well. Something just always pulls him in – a particular smile, a mischievous glint of the eye, the way they tap their pencil against their chin when deep in thought. He falls easily, quickly, and a little too hard, and as a result, he can recognize the look in his own eyes (and in others’, too) when he’s fallen head over heels for someone lovely.

He doesn’t have too many problems shooting his shot, either, which is nice. Sunwoo’s told Eric several times that he’s jealous of the way he can walk up to someone so easily and go, “Hey, I want to get to know you a little better – mind if I take you on a date?” To Eric, though, it’s just part of the process. He gets nervous, no doubt, but more often than not, if he’s courteous, he’ll at least meet a new friend, even if the feelings don’t end up being reciprocated.

When Eric slams into you on his board one day – what the fuck were you doing, anyway? Trying to trip up that wide-eyed kid with the dimples? Though to be fair, he shouldn’t be skateboarding in the halls – the first thing he notices is your pretty smile, the embarrassed grin you give him as he apologizes profusely, extending a hand to help you up. His heart thumps once.

True to himself, Eric’s ready to drop a flirty pickup line, make you laugh a little, and ask if he can get you a coffee or something to make up for the trouble. The words are forming on his lips, just about to burst from his throat when he feels a laser gaze glaring holes into his back.

Against his better judgement, Eric looks back slightly. The doe-eyed boy you were, what – interacting with? Dancing with? He needs to go over that scene in his head again – is staring back with so much concentration it looks like he wants to tear out Eric’s entire soul.

You drop Eric’s hand and he looks back, startled by the sudden lack of touch. “Don’t worry, really – I’m not hurt. Thanks for helping me up,” you say.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Your voice.

If Eric’s heart wasn’t already fluttering over your smile, it’s certainly fluttering now over your voice. God, it makes Eric want to just be your friend, at the very least. There’s a perfect mixture of warmth, gentility, and kindness in your tone, sprinkled with something so very sweet that soothes his ears.

Hell.

But by contrast, your smile is distant, like you’re thinking of something beyond the moment. Eric takes the current brief silence to look where your eyes flit off to, trying to see who you’re fixated on.

The doe-eyed boy is walking away, shifting gracefully through the group of students currently converging on the path. Your gaze follows his disappearing figure, something longing and endlessly lovely in your expression.

Ah, Eric realizes, heart sinking slightly. You’re already in love.

The memory of a gaze glaring holes into his soul briefly flashes in his mind, causing Eric’s slightly dampened smile to curl into a light smirk.

From the looks of it, the doe-eyed boy seems to be in love with you too.

Eric looks at you again. “I’m really sorry about that,” he says honestly. “I definitely shouldn’t have been skating in the hall, but I’m glad you aren’t hurt. I hope I haven’t made you late to class?”

You shake your head, smile now focused. You’ve returned to the present. “You’re good,” you reply, briefly checking your phone. “I’ve still got a few minutes.”

“Well, just the same, if you ever want payback in some form or another, just ask around for Eric Sohn.” Picking up his board, Eric flashes you a smile, wishing slightly that your longing gaze was fixed on him, not the dimpled boy who’s long since disappeared. “I can buy you a coffee or something to make up for it.”

“Might take you up on that one of these days,” you grin. “I’m Y/N. Wanna exchange numbers so I can leech that coffee off of you?”

Heart thumping wildly, fingers tapping quickly, Eric enters his number into your phone, saving himself as Eric Sohn 💙. He hopes you don’t mind the emoji.

“Blue heart?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take the phone back. “Not a red one?”

Can’t exactly do that when it’s clear you’re in love, he thinks, though he doesn’t say that out loud. “Nah.” He shrugs. “Figured that’d be too much. Need to get to know you a bit before I do anything more, right?”

A sweet, soft smile spreads across your lips, and Eric has to fight hard not to melt at it. “I appreciate that, Eric,” you say, pocketing your phone. The way you say his name blooms in Eric’s ears. “See you later, maybe?”

Eric knows he probably shouldn’t make judgements so quickly, but it’s hard not to believe in your sweetness with your kind voice and gentle smile. You deserve love, he decides in that moment, with the doe-eyed, dimpled boy who clearly loves you back.

Mentally, he puts a stamp of approval on the mission formulating in his brain as he nods. “See you,” he says, grinning.

Even if he isn’t the one you’ll fall in love with, he can at least help a new friend find their happiness.

. . .

~ kevin

Kevin thinks there’s a special place in hell for lovebirds who clearly like each other but won’t even consider the notion of actually talking and maybe going on a god damn date.

And there’s an extra-special little island in that ocean of fire for such lovebirds who have never spoken a single word to each other in their lives and have only communicated through stupid smiles and mushy eyes and worst of all, motherfucking mating dances.

Yes, that’s what he calls your tiptoe-tap dance-whatever-the-fuck-they-are dances with Changmin. You hit him the first time he said it out loud, but what else can he call it? There’s no other term that fits the situation nearly as well. It’s weird and strange like most mating dances are, and most importantly, the two of you are head over heels in love.

“We’re not in love!” you snap when Kevin brings it up. “How can we be in love if we haven’t even spoken once?”

Kevin nearly spits out his drink.

“You’re telling me,” he enunciates slowly once he’s recovered, “that you have never spoken to this guy, the same guy you were worrying about to me yesterday because you didn’t see him in the hall on schedule, not even once?”

When you nod yes, scowling in embarrassment, Kevin legitimately faceplants into the table. He stays there for several whole minutes, trying to digest the situation and the sheer idiocy of two of his closest friends.

Doesn’t matter. You’re clearly in love, or at least have a very hopeless, incurable crush on Ji Changmin. And if Changmin’s face is anything to go by, he’s head over heels for you too – Kevin’s never seen his friend with that big of a smile on his face or that sparkly of a look in his eyes.

He wants to vomit just thinking of it.

Okay, fine, so maybe some of this abhorrent disgust is due to the fact that Kevin is single and not exactly ready to mingle after several disastrous blind dates. Maybe some of his annoyance at your mating dances is unfounded. But in his defense, the two of you are stupid as fuck.

He’s in the middle of complaining about this mating dance phenomenon to his freshman friend, Eric Sohn, when Eric puts out a hand. “Wait, stop,” he says, halting Kevin mid-complaint. “Are you talking about Y/N and that… that guy, with, like, really round eyes and a dimple?”

Kevin’s eyes narrow. “How do you know them?”

“Well, uh, I accidentally crashed into Y/N on my board while they were doing…” Eric helplessly waves his arms around.

“The mating dance,” Kevin supplies.

“That’s a horrible name, Kevin.”

“It’s the closest thing that explains it.”

“Well, whatever.” Eric cringes. “I gave Y/N my number in case they wanted me to like, buy a coffee or something in exchange for nearly committing a murder. So that’s how I know them. Not sure of the other guy’s name, though.”

Kevin sighs. “Ji Changmin.”

“THAT’S CHANGMIN?”

“Shut up!” Kevin snaps. “Just let the whole dorm hear your screaming, won’t you?”

“Sorry,” Eric snips back, though more quietly this time. “But you all talk about how he’s scary as shit and always dancing? He wasn’t dancing when he walked off, and he looks like… I don’t know, a child? I thought he was a freshman.”

“Wait.” Kevin puts his hands on Eric’s shoulders. “You just said Changmin wasn’t dancing when he walked off?”

Eric slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think so?”

“Oh, my dude.” Kevin begins shaking Eric back and forth. Eric’s head wobbles on his neck for several seconds before he comes to his senses and knocks Kevin’s hands off of his shoulders, scowling. “Eric Sohn, you are fucked.”

“What?” Eric’s eyes immediately turn panicked. “Why?”

“Ji Changmin dances all the fucking time,” Kevin says, putting his head in his hands. How has Eric already fucked up this badly in his first year? Kevin’s a mess, but he can say he’s solidly a B-level mess, meaning he more or less has his social shit together, even if not his academia. “If he wasn’t dancing when he walked away, that means he was pissed off.”

A beat of silence. Then – “Would it help if I had a semi-sort-of plan to get him and Y/N together?”

Kevin’s head snaps up. So maybe Eric isn’t entirely clueless. “So you know they’re literally in love with each other?”

Eric rolls his eyes. “It’s so obvious,” he whines. “Why haven’t you even thought to play Cupid?”

“Because Y/N is stupid and won’t admit that they have feelings, and I haven’t talked to Changmin that much this semester because we have different classes,” Kevin groans. “They’re both so stupid.”

“Eh.” Eric gets a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s hard for a lot of people to realize they’re in love.”

Silence falls as Kevin tries to pin down the familiarly weird feeling his friend is exuding. Eric’s gaze stays faraway, fixed on some point in the metaphorical distance (he’s staring at a wall covered in tacky posters and random sketches – there’s no way he’s enamored with Kevin’s half-baked drawings of trees and scissors and shit).

He looks sad.

“Oh, Eric.” Kevin’s frustration falls away as he pulls the freshman into a hug. “You like Y/N, don’t you?”

Eric doesn’t even deny it, he’s so far past that. “It’s stupid, Kevin. I’ll get over it, I always do. It’s just a crush.”

Not for the first time in his life, Kevin wishes he had his friend’s maturity, even though he wouldn’t enjoy the root cause. Falling in love as easily as Eric does would be too hard for Kevin to deal with. “Eric Sohn, you are one of the most selfless people in the world,” he declares. “You don’t have to do this, you know? If it hurts, you don’t.”

“No, Y/N deserves love.” Eric puts his chin on Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin takes the opportunity to pat his head. “Changmin does, too, and I think they’ll find it together. God knows he was staring holes into my back while we were talking.”

Kevin thinks he’s going to melt. “You’re dumb as fuck,” he says fondly, laughing at Eric’s squawk of indignation, “but you’re sweet. Too sweet for your own good.”

“… Is that a compliment?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” Kevin pulls back from his friend. “Ready to play Cupid?”

Eric nods, sadness partially replaced with mischievous fire. Kevin will take that much for now. “Yeah!”

. . . . .

~ changmin

Changmin doesn’t expect to be punched in the gut when he’s going with Younghoon to get a stupid cup of coffee.

Okay, no one actually punches him. But it certainly feels that way when he sees you sitting with the skater boy kid who knocked into you the other day, talking at a table by the window.

Younghoon doesn’t notice at first, just goes up to the counter to order at the (overpriced) campus Starbucks. Changmin loiters nearby, waiting for Younghoon to get his drink and come over, all the while trying to not obviously stare at you and the other kid having an animated conversation just a few feet away.

“What’s with the pout?” Younghoon asks, trying unsuccessfully to scare Changmin with his sudden presence. His own lips turning down with his failed attempt, he follows Changmin’s gaze to the two students sitting by the windows.

“I’m not pouting,” Changmin says, pout deepening.

Younghoon nearly spills his coffee, he snorts so hard. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll just pretend you’re not moping over someone you’re head over heels for whose name you don’t even know.”

If Younghoon actually spills his coffee when Changmin elbows him in the ribs, no one can tell. The look he gives the taller boy is enough to silence him for the next half an hour, at least.

He tries to focus, he really does. Though the drinks are overpriced, Changmin won’t deny that the coffee-scented air of the Starbucks is pleasant. It’s mid-afternoon, a time when most students are in class, so it isn’t too loud, either. But despite all of this, Changmin can’t focus on psychology. His eyes keep drifting over to the table by the window, where your conversation still hasn’t ended.

“Ji Changmin.” Younghoon waves a hand in front of his face after his concentration wanes for the umpteenth time. “You came here to study.”

This time, Changmin doesn’t deny the pout that settles on his lips. “I know,” he says, genuinely upset now. He wants to focus and get this studying done, he really does, but he just can’t put his mind to it.

Younghoon sighs. “Why don’t you just try talking?” he asks, eyes flickering over to where you’re still chatting animatedly with the skater boy. God, it’s been at least half an hour – haven’t you finished your drink? Why aren’t you gone yet? Why are you still here, invisibly punching Changmin in the chest every time you smile at the skater kid?

The words slip out of Changmin’s mouth before he can stop them. “What if they’re dating?”

There’s a moment of silence. Then Changmin realizes just what he’s indirectly admitted to his best friend.

Fuck.

“Well, that’s the first step.” Younghoon reaches over and pats Changmin on his slumped head. “Admitting your feelings. Proud of you, Changmin.”

Scowling, he slaps the hand off his hair, ignoring Younghoon’s yelp of indignation. “Not funny,” he whines, putting his head back down. “What if they are?” God, he should’ve helped you up before that skater boy did, run over and given you a hand first. Now skater boy’s on a date with you and Changmin feels…

Oh, God.

He’s jealous.

Shame and embarrassment flood his face at the realization. This is gross, his mind wails. Why does he feel jealous over you, someone he’s never even spoken to? The only semblance of interest you’ve given him is your initiation of the sidewalk dance. And maybe your smile.

Changmin’s pout deepens impossibly further. Actually, you probably give your lovely smile to every person you meet. He isn’t special. In fact, he’s betting that the skater kid fell for your smile too, the smile that makes it feel like stars are raining around his feet.

“Hey, earth to Changmin?” Younghoon waves a hand in front of his face. “You good?”

“No,” he replies, burying his head in his textbook again. “Leave me alone to mope.”

Younghoon just snorts, pats his head, then goes quiet, presumably back to studying. Meanwhile, Changmin doesn’t even bother to make a pretense of looking at his book anymore. He just stares into darkness.

Feelings, he decides, fucking suck.

. . .

~ you

Eric, you come to find, is a really fun guy. He might be a little awkward, but he’s clearly got a warm heart, and with every second you spend with him, you find yourself feeling more and more comfortable in his presence. With him, an entire hour and a half pass in a flash before you check your phone and realize you have class in less than ten minutes.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, hastily putting your things together. “Time passed so quickly. I didn’t keep you from doing anything important, did I?”

He just waves a hand. “Don’t worry!” The bright smile that’s been gracing his face this entire time grows even wider. “I don’t have a lot on my plate at the moment. It was fun talking to you.”

“Me, too.” You push your chair in. “Let’s do this again sometime? I’ll buy my own coffee, though.”

Eric’s grin makes him look like a puppy. You have the irrational urge to pat his head and coo. “Of course! See you later, Y/N.”

“See you.” Waving once, you exit the café, ready to head off to class.

Just outside the building, though, something makes you linger. You feel weird, like someone’s staring. Quickly, you look back through the window of the Starbucks. Eric’s still there, talking to a tall boy in one corner, but he isn’t looking at you.

Your gaze shifts, and invisible heat floods your cheeks as Ji Changmin stares back from behind the glass, seated at a table at the far end of the café.

He’s wearing glasses today, you notice blankly. They’re round, frame his eyes perfectly, and make him look god damn adorable.

Your heart flutters.

For a moment, you just stand there, rooted in place. What do I do here? you think desperately. What are you supposed to do when you’ve never actually spoken to him, only exchanged greetings in the form of weird dance steps (if they can even be called that) and, well, smiles?

Oh. Smiles.

Those work, you guess.

Slowly, you curl the corners of your lips into what you hope is a grin. It grows wider as Changmin smiles back, eyes crinkling and teeth showing as he waves to you from inside the café.

Your mood, already lightened by your conversation with Eric, skyrockets impossibly as you wave back, mouth splitting into a grin that stretches from ear to ear.

God, since when did just seeing Ji Changmin make you feel this happy?

In a moment of heightened stupidity, you point up to your eyes, drawing circles with your fingers in a motion that you hope indicates glasses. Changmin points to the frames on his face, and you nod, hands forming two thumbs ups, which your unthinking brain hopes will convey the fact that you really like how he looks with them on.

It feels like it should be impossible for Changmin’s smile to get any wider, but it does. Through the window, you watch him clap a hand to his mouth shyly, shoulders shaking slightly as he presumably laughs. It makes you laugh, too, and you wave one more time before walking away.

Then what you did actually hits you, and like that first time you stepped in Changmin’s path, you put your face in your hands and cringe as hard as your body will allow.

You really did that, you scold yourself. You really made circles with your fingers and gave him fucking thumbs ups because you liked his glasses.

You’re a fucking moron.

. . .

~ eric

When Eric walks up to Changmin’s table to talk to his friend, he immediately reevaluates his entire opinion of the doe-eyed boy.

His face is buried in the textbook when Eric starts approaching (which, first of all, mood). However, when he gets closer, Changmin lifts his head out of the pages and fixes him with the deadliest, pointiest glare that Eric has ever faced in his life.

Eric now sees why Kevin calls Changmin scary as fuck. The stare he gave when Eric crashed into you was nothing compared to this.

His eyes feel like daggers slowly slicing into Eric’s skin.

“Um.” Eric stops a couple feet away from the table Changmin’s sharing with the friend he needs to talk to. The friend looks up curiously, and Eric seizes the chance. “Can I, uh, talk to you? For a second?” he asks, desperately hoping they can get away from Changmin’s glare as soon as possible. “Please?”

The friend blinks once, then nods. “Be back in a minute, Changmin,” he says, about to stand up.

“Why can’t you talk to him here?”

Oh, God. If Eric wasn’t ready for the whiplash that came with seeing Changmin’s soft features versus his sharp glare, he really wasn’t ready for the soft tones of his voice contrasting with the venom blended in. Everything about Changmin, at first glance, screams innocence and sweetness.

What the fuck goes on behind that exterior?

“Um,” Eric stalls, desperately trying to think of an excuse. “I –”

“Don’t be rude, Changmin,” the friend cuts through smoothly, standing up. Eric immediately feels dwarfed by this guy’s long legs, but he doesn’t care as much as he normally might because he’s so glad he’s getting rescued. “Let’s go.”

The Starbucks isn’t large, but Eric follows the friend to a far corner, away from the table. Once they’re there, he clears his throat. “Um –”

“Are you dating them?” the tall guy interrupts. “The one you were here with before?”

Once the question settles in, Eric starts shaking his head violently. “No, no, I’m not. No. I just – well, I slammed into Y/N on my board, so I offered to buy coffee for us sometime to make up for it?” He tries to smile. “Not dating.”

“Oh, thank God.” The friend rubs his forehead. “Changmin was going to have an aneurysm.”

Well, that confirms that his near-death at the eyes of Ji Changmin wasn’t in vain. Relief and sadness run through Eric’s brain at the confirmation that yes, Changmin is head over heels for you. “Yeah, uh, I was actually going to ask about that.” He swallows. “Are you and Changmin close friends?”

A curious look. “Yeah, you could say that. Why?”

“Well, I don’t know if you know Kevin Moon, but he’s sick of watching Y/N and Changmin pine over each other without bothering to make a move,” Eric rushes out. He can still feel Changmin’s gaze boring holes into his skin. “But Kevin doesn’t have classes with Changmin this semester and he definitely hates my guts, so…” He sighs. God, this is harder than he thought it’d be. “Basically, are you tired of watching them pine, and do you have the time and energy to play Cupid with us?”

For a moment, Changmin’s friend just stands there, staring him right in the eyes Eric. Then a smirk spreads over his face. “Of course I do,” he says, now grinning like a god damn maniac. “Count me in.”

A breath of relief rushes out of Eric’s lips. “Thank God,” he mumbles. “Give me your number. We start plotting this weekend.”

His phone comes back to him with a new contact named Kim Younghoon in it. “Why are you doing this, anyway?” Changmin’s friend – Younghoon – asks as Eric puts the phone away. “What’s in it for you? Didn’t you only meet Y/N when you crashed?”

“Their pining is disgustingly obvious,” Eric says matter of factly. “I’ve been Kevin’s friend for years, and now I’m also Y/N’s. Why not alleviate both of their pain by getting them together?”

Younghoon looks at Eric, almost like he’s appraising him. Eric feels kind of like a bug under a microscope and he’s absolutely sure this tall guy is going to take back his agreement and call him weird before he suddenly smiles widely. “You’re cool,” Younghoon declares as though he’s just made a scientific discovery to rival Einstein’s photoelectric effect. “Looking forward to... whatever this is.”

With that, Eric ducks out of the café as fast as possible, leaving the smell of coffee and (thankfully) Changmin’s burning stares behind. Once outside, he pulls out his phone again and creates a group chat.

To: schemerz

Eric: younghoon and kevin say hi to each other

Kevin: hi younghoon

Younghoon: hi kevin

Step one of operation cupid is complete. Eric grins.

Eric: pack your bags boyz we begin scheming tomorrow

Younghoon: why do we need to pack bags

Younghoon: are we going somewhere

Okay, well, maybe this will take some time, Eric thinks, looking at Younghoon’s texts. But it can’t be that bad. You and Changmin are so obviously crushing on each other. It won’t take too much work to make get you two together, will it?

. . . . .

~ younghoon

Younghoon genuinely never knew that trying to get his best friend together with the person he likes could be this infuriating.

It’s not only that he has to continually reassure Changmin that no, skater boy – whose name is Eric Sohn, stop calling him skater boy, I can hear the “derogatory” even if you don’t say it out loud, Changmin – is not dating you, yes, he heard it with his own two ears, and yes, Eric said it with his own words. Saying this over and over, honestly, is annoying enough. Younghoon can deal with that, though. It’s just a product of Changmin’s own insecurity and lovesickness, nothing that he can control.

But actually trying to set the two of you up?

Torture.

They first devise a stroll at the mall, just to get you two to actually maybe talk. Kevin demands that this plan be put first because he cannot stop screaming over the fact that the two of you are so whipped but haven’t spoken a single word to each other ever.

Which, honestly, same. But at least Younghoon doesn’t yell about it in the group chat.

(Sometimes, looking at all of the capital letters in Kevin’s messages gives him a headache.)

The plan is to invite both you and Changmin to the mall, then ditch so the two of you will maybe actually exchange a few words with each other by the end of the day. It’s going pretty well – both of you have agreed to go, completely unaware that the other is showing up – but then you have to cancel because of a sudden quiz you need to study for the next day.

Well, fine. Younghoon just ends up shopping with Changmin for the entire afternoon (Eric still ditches for obvious reasons – cough, Changmin, cough – and Kevin has to study for the same quiz, which he curses about endlessly in the group chat for an entire day). Not a big deal. Younghoon likes clothes, and against his better judgement, he likes Changmin.

So no harm done. Besides, there’s always next time, right?

Wrong.

The university dance team has a concert coming up that Kevin begs you to go to, all under the guise of supposedly supporting one of his friends, Juyeon. When you show up at the venue, Younghoon can still tell you’re confused over why you’re there – you don’t really know Juyeon, he hears you hiss to Kevin, so what’s going on? – but you seem nice enough. Friendly enough. Younghoon likes you immediately.

This plan isn’t as straightforward as the mall-ditching one. A certain Ji Changmin is one of the best dancers on the team, so he has his own solo halfway through the show. Younghoon proposes that Kevin force you to show up so you can melt over Changmin’s performance and either profess your love right then and there (which is the ideal case) or at least compliment the dancer on his skills. Either way, it gets the two of you to talk.

So, suffice to say, Younghoon is pissed when his well thought-out, perfectly structured plan falls apart when you have to leave before the end of the entire show because your roommate needs you to do something or the other that is somehow more important than you confessing your undying love for Changmin.

(Nothing, he complains later in the group chat, could be more important than that. Not even your roommate nearly setting the whole dorm on fire. Eric might beg to disagree, but Younghoon will just tell him to beg.)

Well, it kind of works out. Your roommate’s fuckup doesn’t happen until after Changmin’s performance, and Younghoon gets a front row seat to your jaw literally dropping when he comes onstage and starts dancing the way his dance major body always does. Younghoon legitimately thinks he could pick stars out of your eyes, the way you’re staring at Changmin. And even though you have a hand over your mouth, he can easily tell you’re smiling like no tomorrow.

So Younghoon gets the satisfaction of both seeing your reaction to Changmin’s performance and telling Changmin that his crush watched him dance. The wave of shock that immediately crawls up his best friend’s face makes Younghoon want to cackle and shake his head at the same time. It gets even better when Younghoon relates the look on your face as you watched and the compliments you told him to pass on.

Changmin has never smiled that widely or that shyly, ever. As his best friend since childhood, Younghoon will attest to that. It’s amazing and offensive and slightly gross.

God, Changmin’s whipped.

But this small success doesn’t make up for half of the entire plan that failed. You and Changmin still didn’t talk, after all, even if you fell even deeper in disgusting love. So Kevin advocates for a return to the simple method of making plans and ditching.

This time, it’s a movie that the schemer line (hey, Younghoon came up with that name – he thinks it’s a damn sight better than Kevin’s “The Boyz,” regardless of what the younger boy says) plans to ditch you two at. Kevin suggests horror, mainly because he’s not going to be there to watch it, but also because of the ages-old cliché where you’ll probably get scared and hold Changmin’s hand or some shit.

(Younghoon knows it won’t be the other way around not because of some sexist idiocy, but because Changmin laughs at possession and ghosts and keeps horror movie masks in his room to scare his friends with. He thinks Annabelle and Chucky are cute. Worst case scenario, you happen to enjoy horror too, and the two of you bond over your weird interests. Which isn’t even a worst case scenario, because you two will talk, and that’s the whole point of the plan.)

They really think it’s going to work this time. Kevin reports you arriving on time to the theater and immediately runs off so you won’t see him and start asking questions like why he’s hiding behind the potted bushes outside a nearby bistro. Younghoon and Eric wait with bated breath at the campus café for any last-minute updates before Kevin gets back.

When Kevin actually shows up at the café, having taken the bus back from the theater, they’re about to celebrate a plan finally completed. Younghoon thinks he’s going to start screaming from relief.

Then a text shows up on Kevin’s phone from you, asking why he never showed up.

Panic.

When they finally get their minds together, Kevin rattles something off about a family emergency and a call he had to take, which gets you off his back for a bit. But then he asks if you actually went to see the movie anyway.

It turns out you left fifteen minutes later when no one showed up.

No one.

Meaning Changmin never got there either.

Eric slams his head on the table. Kevin looks like he’s about to explode. Younghoon himself is about to throw his drink at something when he gets a text from Changmin mere minutes later, asking where he is and why no one’s at the theater.

breadhoon: it’s so late?? why didn’t you text earlier??

qminnie: the bus was late :/// why isn’t anyone here? I know it’s not just because the theater is dark, I walked around all the seats and couldn’t find you or kevin

Kevin starts screaming.

As Eric’s shoving a yelling Kevin out of the café and apologizing to the baristas, Younghoon just fires off a quick excuse to Changmin, who’s apparently still at the theater – I’m really sorry, my dad called about something and it ran super late, just watch the movie and let me know how it is – all the while internally screaming as loudly as Kevin physically is in this moment.

Later that evening, Kevin texts the group chat with the question on all of their minds.

moon boy: how is it that all of our plans fucking failed

Younghoon just wants to jump off the top of his dorm building.

It turns out that Eric, despite being the youngest of the three of them, has the most brain cells. He proposes something so simple but with the potential to be so effective that it blows Younghoon’s mind.

“Well, if ditching them to be alone doesn’t work, we might as well just be there,” he reasons over morning cups of coffee (courtesy of Kevin, who lost rock paper scissors and is still pouting over it). “Someone throws a party, we all show up, and we can play, like, mafia. Or truth or dare or whatever. That’ll get them to interact, probably.”

It’s a beautiful plan. Younghoon hugs the younger boy and proclaims him the smartest freshman he’s ever met (“I’m pretty sure I’m the only freshman you’ve talked to this year, Younghoon.”). Kevin praises the higher beings for the seven tenths of a working brain cell that Eric holds.

They work out the details quickly. Sangyeon will host the party – he holds one every other month anyway, so it won’t be too much trouble to let him know what’s going on. Besides, his parties are usually pretty controlled, so less risk of someone doing something illegal and freaking everyone out. Younghoon, of course, will bring Changmin. Kevin will bring you and Eric. In turn, Eric says he’s going to bring his friend, Sunwoo, because, quote unquote, “I need a freshman to keep me sane after dealing with you messes of upperclassmen.”

(Well. He has a point. Younghoon may look put together, but the only things that register in his thoughts most of the time are anime and bread. Kevin doesn’t even bother looking put together, which only speaks volumes about his level of brain chaos.)

“If this doesn’t work,” Kevin declares the moment they finish hashing out the plan, “I’m going to drown myself in one of the fountains.”

“It will work,” Eric says, determined. “It has to.”

Younghoon doesn’t say anything. All of their past failures have taught him to keep his mouth shut. However, if this plan fails, he’ll gladly jump into a fountain with Kevin and inhale water up his nose.

. . . . .

~ you

“You’re not going to ditch me, are you?” you ask for the umpteenth time, narrowing your eyes once more at your (now exasperated) friend.

“No,” Kevin groans, rubbing his temples. “I’m not going to ditch you, and for the last time, there were emergencies, okay?”

You want to give them the benefit of the doubt, you really do. Especially Eric – there’s no way he would do anything malicious to you on purpose (meanwhile, if Kevin was mad enough, he just might), he’s just too sweet. But first Kevin dragged you to this dance show that you’ve never been to before, which was weird enough, and the timing for that last movie cancellation was too coincidental to not be suspicious. If it was just him cancelling, you might not question it, but none of the three showed up.

Kevin’s planning something, probably with Eric and Younghoon. You just don’t know what.

“Uh huh.” You make sure to show your disbelief in those two words as you walk up the steps to Sangyeon’s house. “Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

“It’s so big,” Eric says from behind where he’s finally caught up to you two. His friend, Sunwoo, lingers quietly at his side, though his wide eyes betray his amazement.

“I always forget how big this place is,” Kevin agrees, ringing the doorbell. “Just stay on the ground floor, though, it’s not too bad. And watch your drinks. Sangyeon’s parties are usually pretty chill, but anything could happen.”

You snort. “Yes, Mom,” you mock, just as the host himself opens the door. “Hey, Sangyeon!”

“Y/N!” He pulls you and Kevin in for a short hug, then smiles at the visibly nervous freshmen standing behind you two. “Oh, hi! You must be Eric and Sunwoo, right?”

They just nod, still awed. Kevin stifles a snort as your lips curl into a fond smile – it’s weird to remember that you used to be a freshman just like them,. There isn’t much more time to think, though, because Sangyeon quickly ushers the four of you inside and all of your thoughts drown in the party’s chaos.

A couple of hours pass in mind-numbing peace. Kevin mixes you an atrocious cocktail that you pour down the sink when he isn’t looking. You watch Jacob shake his hips on the dance floor while Kevin twerks to Beyoncé. Even Eric and Sunwoo, who were originally just hovering around you, loosen up after a shot or two and find someone else they know to talk to, a freshman whose name you’re pretty sure is Hyunjoon.

Things are going well, you think in your tipsy haze. No one’s thrown up yet, no one’s passed out (well, Felix looks pretty sleepy, but he’s a sleepy drunk – how much Jisung already managed to give him to drink, you aren’t sure), and best of all, no one’s done anything stupid that’ll go viral on the school’s Snapchat. This is nice.

Then Kevin grabs you by the wrist, done twerking, and hollers unintelligible words in your ear as he drags you to the edge of the dance floor. He says more, but all you catch is “watch” and a yelled “YOUNG BOON.” Or something like that.

Confused, you just try not to spill your drink as Kevin pushes you through the crowd that’s forming in the living room. There’s a lot of yelling and cheering as the music changes, and then someone gets pushed to the middle of the dance floor.

A hand flies to your mouth.

It’s Changmin.

“Kevin,” you hiss. “Kevin! That’s Changmin!”

Even drunk, your friend manages to give you the most judgmental look you’ve ever seen. “No shit, Sherlock,” he snaps. “Just watch!”

For a moment, Changmin just stands in the middle of the circle that’s formed, eyes wide and doe-like (and absolutely fucking adorable, even under the red lighting). Then something in him shifts – it nearly gives you whiplash – and the dancer Changmin you saw that day Kevin dragged you to the concert comes out in full force.

It’s short, his performance, much shorter than the five-minute long solo he had at the concert. But holy fuck, it’s explosive. Even the smallest flicks of his fingers seem to send off sparks of light, red glinting off his face and the buttons on his shirt.

He has you captivated, so much so that you don’t register Kevin shifting until he’s positioned almost directly behind you. Changmin’s dance is winding down, a softer look coming back into his previously focused eyes, and everyone’s cheering and starting to clap before a harsh shove sends you sprawling forward.

For a moment, you stand right in front of Changmin, eyes undoubtedly wide with confusion as the situation filters through your muddled brain. Embarrassment begins to spread through your body as people begin to chant, “DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!”

Fuck.

This must have been Kevin’s plan.

Whipping your head around, you try to find and glare at your friend (you’re seriously rethinking that title), but he’s already disappeared. You then try to shrink back into the crowd, but they don’t let you. Someone plucks the cup from your hand, erasing your last excuse for leaving the circle of screaming partygoers as you look around desperately for a way out.

Then a hand extends into your vision, fingers twitching in a gesture you’ve come to associate with a certain person at a certain time at a certain place, two ten p.m. on Mondays and Wednesdays just inside the literature building.

Slowly, you look up to see Changmin shyly smiling back, eyes glinting in the way you’ve come to (not so) secretly adore.

A grin unconsciously spreads across your face as he launches back into his dance, more laid-back and flowy this time, much like the moonwalks he does down the halls at school. Almost on instinct, you lurch into his space, barely managing to brush over his foot as he nimbly steps away.

On a normal day, the dance you do is already messy and weird to passersby – you’ve made your way onto at least one of the university Snapchat stories already – so you can’t imagine how this looks in the moment. It must seem so uncoordinated, especially with your limbs loose with alcohol (Changmin still moves as steadily as ever, what the fuck) and the fact that you can’t really see where you’re stepping in the dim red light of the room. But it doesn’t matter – Changmin’s grinning so widely and you’re laughing, really laughing, loud enough to overpower what you think is Kevin’s yelling (it sounds something like “WHY ARE YOU DOING YOUR FUCKING MATING DANCE AND NOT DANCING LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?”, so it must be him), and everyone’s cheering and clapping and even though you can see a few phones being pulled out, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. All that matters is your fingers brushing against Changmin’s, his laugh ringing in your ear, and the smiles on your faces until –

Until Changmin grabs your outstretched hand, tangling his fingers in yours, and encircles your waist with his free hand before dipping you down until his face hovers just a foot above yours.

Someone’s screaming, someone that definitely sounds like Kevin, but you can’t process it. Everything feels like you’re underwater – muffled, blurred, indecipherable. All you can think of is how fast your heart is beating, how hot your face feels, and how intensely Changmin is staring into your eyes.

Holy shit.

You can barely breathe.

When Changmin eventually lets you up to screams and hoots, your knees almost buckle. If not for his fingers still entangled in yours, you probably would’ve collapsed, but he seems to sense this and grips your hand even tighter.

The smile can’t leave your face, even though it turns smaller and shyer as the crowd disperses and you’re left holding Changmin’s hand for no reason. You should let go, probably, but you don’t want to, and Changmin doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it either. Still, the physical link between you two only grows more and more obvious as the two of you stand in silence, unable or unwilling to speak.

Changmin finally breaks it. “Hi,” he says in this voice that legitimately makes you want to crumble into the ground. It’s soft, it’s sweet, it’s something entirely uncharacteristic yet at the same time so fitting for the boy who just danced his heart out on Sangyeon’s living room floor. “I’m Changmin.”

Your voice leaves you, and the minute you take to find it feels like an eternity. These are your first words to him, your mind screams – don’t say anything stupid!

Staring into his sparkling doe eyes, you swallow hard before saying your first words to the boy who may or may not have already stolen your heart.

“Hi,” you say, smile threatening to grow even wider, wide enough to split your face. “I’m Y/N.”

. . .

~ changmin

He’s only heard three words from you, but Changmin thinks he could drown in your voice. It’s lovely, smooth in a way that flows over his body like warm spring rain. Willingly, he would stand under the shower of your gentle tones, putting his face to the sky and letting your words wash over him, soothing his skin.

Vaguely, his mind tells him that it’s way too early to start waxing poetic about your voice. You’ve only spoken three words to him, for fuck’s sake – what is he even doing?

A whisper that sounds suspiciously like Younghoon floats through his brain. You’re whipped.

Well. He just might be.

“Isn’t this kind of weird?” you suddenly say, jerking Changmin out of his you-induced haze. The smile on your face is a little embarrassed, now, and he catches you glancing at your fingers still linked with his. Briefly, he wonders if he should let go – he’s the one who first grabbed your hand, after all, what if you’re uncomfortable? – but you don’t seem to hate it. If anything, your smile grows a little shyer.

Changmin may think horror movie dolls are cute, but your smile is even cuter. He might melt right then and there.

Belatedly, he realizes you’re looking at him, waiting for a response. “Um – weird?” he replies, praying that his voice doesn’t crack.

(It doesn’t, not this time. Thank the lord.)

You look down again, this time at your feet. Probably out of embarrassment. “I mean,” you say, silvery voice tickling Changmin’s ears, “we’ve been interacting for at least several months.” The full force of your smile hits Changmin as you raise your head. “But we’ve barely spoken a word to each other.” When you laugh, he hears bells. “Isn’t that strange?”

“Well, when you put it that way, yeah.” Changmin giggles (yes, he fucking giggles, what the hell, why can’t he sound any cooler than he really is?). “But I think it was lucky. Well, I think I was lucky to meet you.”

He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. He wasn’t fucking supposed to say that – what’s wrong with him? He used to be so good at watching his words – but at least, despite his embarrassment at having revealed this part of him, he gets to see you flustered. It’s adorable, he thinks, so much more adorable than anything else in the world. “How come you, um, stepped in my way that first time?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Changmin doesn’t expect the embarrassed snort that comes out of your mouth, but it makes him laugh. “You know that meme, the one where it’s like ‘why are you doing this?’ and your brain just says ‘you gotta?’” Rolling your eyes slightly, you snicker. “That’s what went through my mind. You never bump into anyone, so, well, someone had to try to mess you up.”

Changmin’s going to print a hundred copies of that meme and tape them all over his dorm. He will never be so grateful for a stinking Internet horcrux in his entire life.

Well, okay, he’s probably exaggerating. But still.

“That’s mean,” he says, purposely pouting his lips. “Why would you want to mess me up?”

You elbow his ribs, giggling. “Someone has to bring the king down at some point.”

Changmin’s about to take advantage of his current burst of confidence to respond to that – “You think I’m the king?” – and possibly fluster you even more, but someone’s yelling “LOVEBIRDS!” in a voice that sounds a little too much like Kevin’s. Both of you turn around instinctively, which probably only fuels the lovebird fire (though Changmin can’t bring himself to care at the moment).

“WE’RE PLAYING MAFIA!” someone else – is that Jaehyun? Probably – yells. “GET OVER HERE!”

“Mafia?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “That…”

Changmin can hear the exasperated apprehension in your voice. He hears it in his own whenever his friend group gets together to play the game. “Let’s just see what happens,” he suggests, trying hard not to melt when you look over at him. “Someone might do something stupid?”

Your laughter sounds like sparkles, wind chimes twinkling in the breeze. Changmin wonders what he wouldn’t give to hear it for the rest of his life. “You’re right, you’re right.” Glancing once more (and smiling a little wider) at your still-linked hands, you jerk your head in your friends’ direction. “Shall we?”

As he nods, Changmin privately thinks that there’s nothing in the world that could dissuade him from following you.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this stupid oblivious couple GOD)

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oldtowrs · 3 years

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˗ˏˋ DROWNING IN YOU - obi-wan kenobi/jedi!reader

SUMMARY - after order-66 has been issued, obi-wan and the reader, a jedi and his companion, exile themselves on tatooine. the reader finds obi-wan practicing with his lightsaber, and they get into a small argument, which ends in fluff.

WORD COUNT - ~2.1k

A/N - i have a soft spot for obi-wan. however, this is my first obi-wan fic so i’m sorry if i’ve missed aspects of his character. it will come eventually though. i promise. anyway, gif belongs to @coredrive. please send me requests if you have any!

WARNINGS - none

the familiar hum of his weapon seemed to electrify the dry air around obi-wan as he ignited it, the blue light of his kyber crystal illuminating his strong features and the sandy terrain around him. memories from as early as his padawan years raced through his mind. he smiled at the realization that many included you and the many battles you had fought by his side. it was a familiar glow and welcomed buzz, but obi-wan couldn’t help but remember all that he had failed to protect with the sophisticated saber he held in his hands.

his heart ached as images of anakin’s golden eyes glaring at him over their crossed, blue lightsabers haunted his memories. the heat of the lava surrounding them almost was unbearable as they dueled, yet his failures burned a whole in his heart greater than the lava ever could.

but that’s why he had dug his lightsaber out of the trunk he had frantically shoved his few belongings into before you and him had made a frantic escape from coruscant to live out your days on tatooine, hovering just close enough to protect anakin’s son: luke skywalker. he dug it out in hopes that his skills hadn’t faltered in the few months he had been cowering in the little sandy cave that he now shared with you and which he called home. he couldn’t let them falter. he had to protect luke. he had to protect you. he was a jedi guardian, after all. he fought to protect all that was good in the world the brilliant blue of his force signature marching the glow of his saber. he couldn’t let himself fail luke. he couldn’t let himself fail you. he wouldn’t let that failure take hold of him again, not while the images of anakin burnt to a crisp and padme lying, her dark hair carefully decorated with delicate, white flowers, on her deathbed were still fresh in his mind; and he anticipated they would be for quite some time.

he readied his lightsaber in one of the traditional fighting stances of form iv. qui-gon’s face seemed to swim in his memories as he began the training sequence obi-wan’s old master had taught him, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. another face which only existed in his memories now. another failure.

with each heavy swing of his lightsaber, the dry air seemed to crackle and buzz about him, his anger at his failures burning up with it as he forced them from his being and into his each swing and spin. anger was not the way of the jedi-although he supposed that didn’t matter now. if he stayed true to the order, to the code, he was a marked traitor and enemy of the galactic republic. the order which he had dedicated so much of his life to could now get him killed.

the order. the council. another failure. another swing of his saber. another hum that broke the silence of the quiet desert and the evening which descended upon it as tatooine’s twin suns sunk into the sand.

he felt a presence through the force occupy his already tortured mental state, but he elected to ignore it-cut it down with another swing of the lightsaber.

‘obi-wan!’ a voice called, its normal tone and sweetness turned bitter with concern. it was your voice.

he looked up to see you running towards him from the entrance to your cave home, the linens of your dress-which you had traded your usual heavy, woolen jedi robes for, snapping in the slight breeze behind you. ‘what’re you doing?! are you asking to get caught?’

somewhere in his confusion, he managed to sheath his lightsaber, the blade of pure light and plasma retracting with a whomsh as he clipped it to his belt-an old force of habit.

‘my love, somebody could see you!’ you exclaimed softly, as you stopped before him, arms entangling themselves with his own. ‘or did you forget that the whole galaxy is on the lookout for jedi to report to the republic?’

guilt ravaged his features and an unfamiliar wave of shame washed over his heart. should someone see him wielding a lightsaber whose color was indicative of his rank, of his affiliation with the order, he would be reported to the republic, hunted down, locked in a cell and put on a waitlist for execution as punishment for treason.

the concern on your face made his heart ache, how your delicate eyebrows furrowed in worry, the way your e/c eyes no longer sparkled with joy-but were haunted by fear instead. he noticed new worry lines had formed around your eyes, and dark circles had begun to collect beneath them. age had seeped into your face and he realized that the past few months had not been kind to you, hitting you just as hard as they did him. you had been one of padme’s closest confidants after all, always waiting by her side during meetings which matters of the senate and council and the galaxy at large were always discussed in dramatic fashion. you had been almost as dark of a shadow as anakin had been, always following her around, protecting her from a galaxy which wished to harm her. his failures had been yours too.

yet despite those lines of worry and of age, you were still as beautiful as you had been as a padawan, running around coruscant jedi training grounds and rooms of the high jedi council with obi-wan’s strong, calloused fingers interwoven with your soft ones.

your heart ached for the jedi you had formed a forbidden attachment to, to whom you had fallen in love with, as you watched the shining, steely blue of his irises drop to his boots.

‘i’m sorry, darling,’ he said, his precise articulations and elegant accent soft and plagued with the guilt that he seemed to drown in. the sensation of your delicate fingers taking hold of his face, their tips burying themselves in the bushiness of his reddish-brown beard, was enough to pull him to the surface-to ground him in the present. he looked up through the golden spun curtain of his eyelashes, just in time to see your features soften.

kriff- the way you looked at him made his heart melt.and the way the setting suns caught in your h/c hair made it gleam as though it was spun of the finest metals. you had braided it into a simple tatooine style and the only thought he found rushing through his mind was how beautiful you were-and how guilty he felt.

‘i suppose you are right,’ he said. ‘it is reckless.’

‘obi-wan, what’s wrong?” you said, your fingers angling his gaze directly into yours. the concern he saw there made him want to cry, tears welling up in his eyes and inhibiting his ability to speak.

‘i failed,’ he choked out. ‘i fails qui-him. i failed anakin. i failed padme. i failed the order, the council-everything.’

he watched as your face fell and pain seeped into your lovely irises, illuminated by the dying light of tatooine’s suns. but he continued on. he was drowning, and your presence had been his gasp of fresh air. now the seawater couldn’t help but pour out of him, and his thoughts with it.

his voice became deadly quiet. ‘how am i supposed to protect luke if i can’t even protect them. how can i protect you for that matter? i thought that, perhaps, if i train, then… i’ll be good enough to at least give you some sense of security, and, when the time comes, train luke to bring peace to the galaxy that i’ve helped destroy.’

‘oh, obi-wan,’ you sigh, pain evident in your voice. ‘you have not failed the galaxy, and you certainly have not contributed to the destruction which palpatine helped to foster-both in the galaxy and in anakin. their downfall is not on your hands, my love. do not manipulate it to be so.’

‘you have protected this galaxy, and put your life on the line so that trillions may live in peace without ever having to experience the horrors of war.’

‘and as for me, my love,’ you chuckled, smiling up at him and pressing a kiss softer than the petals of the alderaanian flame-rose to his jawline, ‘do you forget that i am a jedi too? i may not be a guardian and a general like you, but that doesn’t mean i’m any less trained in the ways of the force than you, my sweet jedi. we protect each other now, remember?’

maker-when had you learned to be so convincing? it only amplified the love that burned in his heart, melting him from the inside out. a small smile settled itself onto his lips, peeking through the beauty that was his beard.

‘yes, i remember, sweetling,’ he hummed, the endearment sounding like honey on his articulate tongue. it warmed your heart, as you saw some of the light you so dearly cherished found its way back into his kind eyes. he was so lovely, in all that he was.

obi-wan let his hand graze the soft skin of your jaw, gently tilting your face as he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. he wished he could see the blush that he knew was blooming along your cheekbones as he did so.

i love you obi wan, your force signature echoed softly. a warmth seemed to cloud his heart, and he knew it was you reaching out to him through the force, transferring as much love as you possibly could through to him. it was something you had been doing ever since you had mastered projections as padawans.

i love you too, darling. he felt the familiar entanglement of his force signature with yours, warm and comforting. he had always used his for strength, but you used yours for more emotional circumstances. he found that he couldn’t leave your presence without a piece of your signature lingering with him, a reminder that you were with him always.

his calloused fingers found their way to the back of your head, tangling gently in your h/c tresses, as his other arms snaked around your waist, lovingly playing with the softness he found about your hips as he pulled you into his shoulder for a hug. he noticed there was a little more softness there than usual, and he felt his heart swell lovingly at the discovery. he adored you, but the extra softness gave him more of you to love and cherish. exile treated you well, and obi-wan couldn’t help but adore its effects.

what would i do without you? the projection was filled with a softness that obi-wan could only ever find in you, his one attachment, his love.

you’d be fine. you’re stronger than any one i know, love. a soft squeeze of his bicep accompanied your words and obi-wan knew that while yes, he was strong and resilient, he was only so because of his devotion to you and you to him.

perhaps, but i would be terribly miserable without you, my little dove. he felt a surge of warmth radiating off you through the force, and he smiled at the knowledge that he warmed your heart just as you did his. he pulled you ever closer, giving you a gentle squeeze, enveloping himself in all that was you. he couldn’t pull himself from your orbit, even if he wanted to try.

‘perhaps, we can find a way to train without drawing attention to ourselves,’ you pondered, with a kiss to his neck, his jaw, his lips, as you pulled away from his shoulder far enough to admire the way his eyes lit up at what you were suggesting.

‘besides,’ you said, a teasing tone creeping into your usually soft words, ‘i have to train if i am to protect both of us!’

‘i think you forget, i was the one who fought as general in the clone wars, dearest!’ he chuckled, admiring the way the mirth of your banter swam in the e/c pools of your irises as they glowed in the last of the days golden sunlight.

‘oh please, i designed your battle plans,’ you said, gently tapping his chest with one pointed finger in protest. ‘as much as the council loved to boast about their intelligence, you know i was the one behind it all.’

the velvety tenor of obi-wan’s laugh filled the dry tatooine air with joy, radiating through the force. and soon it was joined by the sweet tones of your own happiness as obi-wan peppered your neck and face with endless kisses, holding you lovingly against the strong, muscular build of his chest. the galaxy may have been drowning in the chaotic wake of the fall of the jedi order, but obi-wan found himself drowning in the deep, warm waters of your being and the comfort of your love. it was an endeavor he would gladly embark upon, for he knew that at the end of it all we would drown with a smile on his lips and your love filling his heart.

— fin

#obi wan #star wars #obi wan kenobi #obi wan imagine #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #sw #revenge of the sith #star wars prequels #prequel series #prequel trilogy #star wars fanfiction

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grim-faux · 3 years

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Insanity and Its Many Forms

Word Count - 1,293

Spoilers?

Summary - The Thin Man bided his time until his turn to continue the cycle, and confront a boy and girl on their journey to the Signal Tower. It has been decades since he’s seen the sky or felt the air, and though his task is a dire one with grim consequences, it insures that the cycle will renew.

In an unforgiving world, sanctuary is a cage where nothing happens

01 _ Insanity and Its Many Forms

Y̷̗͚̏̔̏̄͘͝o̶̧̭̻̭̺͍͆̓ͅu̴̖͋̊ ̸̠͉̱̗̰̗̼̍̉ḩ̵̖̙̦̐͒̅͐͐ą̴̮̭̓v̷̰̤̥̪̞̖̋͗̾̈́́̽̕͜e̷͎̫̿͆̀̐̋̋̂ ̶̞̦̪͚͊̽̑͝͝b̵̡͉̠̾̍̇̋̿͝e̶̢͖̜̣͔̠͇͊̊͑̓̐̕͘é̸̙̤͔͓͚̮̄̋ņ̷̳̙̖̟̍̐̓ ̶̯̗̉̇͌̑̌̕̚s̷̲̜̠̙͙̬̄̆͑̎̚u̵̢̨̯̰͍̰̤̍̓̎͒̋͝m̶̨̓̍̈̽͗̓͠m̸̘͙̲̘̭͆̋͗̊͑̌o̸̦͔̘͙̜͗͊̔̌͒́̚n̸̨̬͇̲̱̋é̶̠d̷̠͙͙̯̼̲͒

Only silence existed on the empty space, and the insistent ringing that accompanied it. No sound, air, or skies. Only the four walls. Well, it was three walls and a door. A door with the carving of a familiar eye, gazing back at him. A familiar eye, which played sentinel of the hallway beyond.

A familiar, long, haunting hall.

Time was a ambiguous, as it was a constant. It didn’t mean much before, it had no substance or hold on his world. But now? Now, it consumed him.

Tick-tock-tick-tock.

How many times? How many ways did they play out this charade? If he was here now, where did it all begin? There is no beginning or end, when it is a constant. Existence. Being. A perpetual loop with no hope of ending.

What has always been, shall always be.

Yes, he imagined. If the walls could talk, if the walls were not actually speaking to him in the sprawling hours between focus. Yes. Many and hundreds, of infinite ways. Always falling. Always running. Always hunted. Always hiding.

The door opened. And there was a man. A man in a suit, on a chair, in a room, waiting for the door to open. He was the child, after all, who opened that door. He was the one to set into motion these events, in a time before he knew the why.

Boundless, as a circle is round, and infinite is a twisting, as a spiral coils. Endless and forever, trapped. A clock ticking dutifully on its own, without an observer to master the ebb of time… or was that his heartbeat? The only sound, beneath the rolling static, his airless contemplation, thundering and muffled, as if choked by rivers. The reverberations knew, time ran thin. The door opened, and the drone became unbearable.

The piercing dig of the static snared him. Paralyzed him as he hid in a cupboard, his friend cowering beside a fridge. Bad. Bad spot. He came right for them, like he knew.

Of course he knew, he reflected. He was me. If he was me before, then he should know. And he knew too, as he did now. That he was following the shadow, that stepped out of the room before. He cowered, as he did then, he fought, as he did thereafter. Too little too late.

He fell. As he was. And left in this awful place, with no sky, nor grass. Nothing but an illusion to steel back fragments of his sanity, and wait. Wait for the door to open, and the child on the other side to realize the awful truth.

There is always a girl, always a boy. At the end of the journey, a tall thin man waiting in a trap, set for a brave, naïve, little boy.

Your turn will come next. The only assurance, and only salvation from this dreary existence. The end of it all. Perhaps, not an end, but a renewal. Yes. Ongoing, but never quite stopping. It will be his time again, to scurry and hide, and travel. Remember the remnants of static, and feel that familiar pull, alluring, as if home was calling back to you.

One iteration of him, or himself, will return to instigate a new.

Yes, but WHY?

What has always been, must always be – the walls, as cryptic as ever, leer.

He has nothing else, but to replay the memories through his mind. Listen to the croon of static. The echoes of children, fleeting like leaves. They are helpless to the call, hand in hand. Him… he once thought of himself as Mono – so stubborn, to the point of self-destruction – or self-fulfilling prophecy. Defiant to the bitter end of it all. Until, he was dangling with nothing left, but one hand latched to his only friend. Staring, waiting in anticipation to be lurched up painfully as always. Dozens, maybe hundreds of times before (likely an exaggeration).

Please. Hurry. We have to go. Please. We need to leave.

We.

And then he is begging. Please. Stop. No more. No more.

And when he wakes up from the nightmare, he is more tired and feels so alone. So utterly, terribly, alone. Left to rot, left to die. Abandoned. By someone he thought very dearly of. And he wonders all the time, WHY.

Forget her. Forget her. When your chore is done, you will rest. There will be skies, and grass, and water, and air. You will have reprieve from your prison.

That alleviates some of the pain, that one day it will be over. He is waiting, patiently – he can only wait. The memories will scrub away, he will know nothing. There will be no walls, or eyes watching, no ticking clock reminding him that an infinity exists, and it is cruel. Relentless. But he will steal back the precious little scrap of freedom he is allowed, and he will behold the moon, the sky, the rain – and have a chance to touch that world with childish wonder.

The sooner it begins, the cycles lurch, the sooner he will find peace. A child will awaken somewhere out there, with the whole world sprawling forth. A hostile, vicious, and unhinged world of nightmares… but a world and existence nonetheless. And, a fate most unkind for such a bold little soul.

Lucky, the walls might say. Or is it his own corrupt thoughts, manifesting in eons of imprisonment? Safe is the fortress, with walls impenetrable, while lesser one’s fight and fail. Safety, is the cage you built in this bitter solitude, so hurt were you. Scarred and discarded as you were, by those that misunderstood the child.

Retrieve the younger, as you should. Sanctuary against the brutal storm is three walls and a door. Offer shelter from the angry hurt. Supply purpose, when all deny him. More deserving is the never-faltering flame, burning bright in the throes of a fight.

Fret not, your freedom comes soon. Liberation is a promise that goes unbroken. So it has been for always, and shall be ongoing. Unbroken.

He takes a deep breath and bowed his head, the static rustling through his coat and bones. Thin tears trail the lines in his face. What freedom, he wonders endlessly – there is only endless doubt in this place. There are only questions, with no answers. Regret, with no direction. And fury, with no target.

On the door, before him, the eye clicked shut. He winced, like the child he once was. The latch snapped; the handle creaked as the ancient mechanism bore down. He doesn’t move for several minutes, as he is aware that there is a presence there, and he is almost afraid to confront it.

The electricity on the air shrieks, his own heart is pounding. Fear. He hadn’t felt it in years, but it was painful and crushing now. He knew the child was aware, as he would soon know too much before the day was done. This was all a mistake. But the tower called, the allure was irresistible – reprimanded constantly for so much as trying to ignore it. Now he knew it would demand everything. It would never relinquish its hold on their terrible coil - twisting and knotted as it was, destinies interwoven. Thus, their task began once more. An endless journey, into perpetuity.

He eased off the chair, lifting slowly. By the time he tilted his head up and the bill of his hat cleared his vision, the child was gone.

Ẏ̵̨̛͚̩̜̥̤̮̚͜ǫ̵̨̮͖̮͓͎͉̪̩̰̰̭͕́̀̑̀̔̇̑̍͋̒̈́͐͑̚̕ͅų̵̛̥͕̮̟͕̬̥̝͕̜̬̩̻̰́͊͑̓̆̿͂̈́̓͛͋͜͝ ̴̢̯̦̯͙̬̞̫͈̺̹̯̱̞͈̲͎̌̃̄͌͐̊̚͝Ḥ̸̢̧͇̱̰̠̙̮̣͕͉̰̜̘͗̔̓̕ą̶̜̰̹̽͛̈́͘v̵̧̢͓̖̹̙̝͉̩̱̟̝̠̯̋̈́̇̂̉͛ȩ̷̛͍̤̫̜͎̬͙͖̭̬̓̏̇̈́̋͑̋͛̉̑̕̚͘̕

̵̧̨͚̝̭̗̰͍̙̔̾͜ͅͅB̷̢̡͓̤̻̲͕̳͙͕̩̫͈̼̃͂̆̿̍̔͋̇͐̓̓̌͘̕ě̴͕̜̫̦̤̆͛e̵̞̝̙͓̪͙̔̄̽̂̀͊̅̓͛̈́̍̑̄̊ͅn̴̡͍͉̣̤͎͖̱͖̽̌͒̓̿̅͗̏͝ ̴̡̹̞̩̳͍̃̿̈́͐̉S̷̨̹̣̗̟̲̩͙͙͚͚̰̭̉́̂̈́̍̓̃͛͐̓̿͒́͜͝ͅụ̶̝̮̘̿́͛̓͆̀̋͒͂̏͋̓̌͝͝m̵̨̢̹͎̞̫̝̙͖͘͝ḿ̷̥̯͆̓͊̀̈́͗͒̔͊̍͑̋̓o̴͙̙͇͍̹̝̲̓̇͗̓͌̋̍̍͋̀̆̆͊̕͘͠ͅn̷̡͙̠̘͈̠̙͔̔͑̓̓͒̈́̍͐̊̎̈́͒̈́͗̈̂͂ͅȩ̴͙̿͜ḑ̵̳̳̫̖͎̮̥̗̻̳̰̦͔͓̊͗̇̊̊̍͌̾̏͌͊̓͘͝

Yes. The chase begins anew….

#the thin man #the thinman #little nightmares #the man in the hat #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #ln fanfic #ln fanfiction #fedora bro #telly tall man #signal tower #tower of terror

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ashenburst · 3 years

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Posting some angst that I wrote. I'm not sure if it will end up in the final version of my book as this is a side character's POV. My best friend wants to skin me alive because of what I'm doing to my characters, ESPECIALLY Athanasius (the star of this chapter/oneshot), so, if you'd like some sort of Nietzschean, Dostoyevsky-ish sort of energy combined with a wounded man whose life has been nothing but exploitation... take this!

tw: gore, bugs being yuck, religious themes/trauma, heavy depression

word count: 1692, unedited because #yolo

Athanasius tugged at the hem of his shirt. The blood, well crusted, defied his movements. Elbowing it like mad, he barely managed to take it off and throw it by his side, where it lay together with the top of his uniform, discarded by the roots of an old oak. All of the clothes, drenched in a deep red. One swift yearning blew his mind, that of murder, of all of Agglomeration’s uniforms coated in metallic death. But no hatred, no hope could go that length. Nothing his soul could sustain. Not anymore.

Birds and waters and insects all sang, ignorant. Remaining in his stained breeches, he staggered close to the river and its white shore, agony greeting every movement. Flies tickled their way into half-open wounds, the stinging slits crossing his body. Sweat and blood curled his chest’s hairs with some black bugs dangling. So many flew around. Everyone had use of him.

He’d contemplated leaving himself in the state of bloodbath, and run for help in any community, feigning amnesia. The sheer horror of his appearance could not be trapped; whispers of it would run amok only to be seized by the worst of ears, those deaf to him.

Rocks of the riverbank wriggled beneath his boots. He dropped on his knees, pain shrieking once they dislocated. He held his head high. Cold hands contrasted on sun-heated stones. The Sun burnt through his quivering eyelids.

He could run. Would they find him? They would love to. He would kill to quench that love. He already had. Disappointed he was to see it insatiable.

But he could run. Where to? Aurun’s bank had his funds, but entering the city meant sure doom. The rest of the world was his destination. At least, parts of it without the Agglomeration.

And he could run. Scramble to some dreary town, then harbor. Stowaway his life until Onogea. He absolutely could. He had knowledge, he had strength, he had power.

His fingers dug into the rocks. The stone cracked under his weakness. One deep sigh to commemorate it all over again, and he choked on himself. He coughed up deep red mucus, spraying blood and its clots over round, white rocks. His hand rose, fingertips shaking like a naked twig on the wind. He coughed again, and blood squirted over his already dirty palm. So much filth. He’d long grown accustomed.

Then why was there hope? That inside and outside, all of that grunge could be cleansed? Because, he still had power. Despicably interwoven with all of his thoughts and feelings and so much absence of both. He had it, and he was abused for it, and he abused it. And he had it. And he pounded his fist against that aching chest, spewing darkness into broad daylight, scarring the nature with his own wounds, bleeding with the Devil’s compassion, and he had it. Even the Devil wept for him. Even the Devil pitied him. Yet he had it.

He huffed a fly outside his nostril. Something stuck at the back of his throat, clogging the air. He hawked, discharging even more bloody mucus, now onto himself. Stained saliva swayed from his lips. He brushed it away with the back of his palm. In his lap, red rolled, young blood over old. He separated his legs to have it smudge all the way to the ground. Kneecaps scorched as he scraped them over rocks. Wherever they dug, blood trailed, two crescents set in stone.

To be unclasped. To be a stain elsewhere. This world made it seem too simple, lovingly palpable. But he was not bound to it, and in navigating the philosophical, he reached the inevitable: responsibility would set him free. He held pseudohistoric texts that hollered so, and pseudohistory was of angelic origin, therefore applicable to him. He could recall the tremble in his fists while reading it, mind screaming and shattering with the consolation, “It would be over. You’ve understood. It would be over.” But it wasn’t. Same questions yielded same answers, and these were not meant for man. He had come to know Hell by fulfilling all wisdom.

If someone could question him for once!

He whimpered, back arching him down. Another surge of wet coughs.

In the corner of his foggy vision, he spotted a plant unusually brown, leaves writhed. His head rolled to his shoulder to gaze at it properly. It was easy to care for the inhuman. None of it was evil. But to understand? Invincibly difficult.

He raised his hand. It trembled so fucking much, but it did the job, reached the plant. Wisps ignited at his fingertips, shaky too as they glided towards the leaf, erasing blight from it, rendering it a green slate. He gave it one stroke. “There…” he croaked like the ravens of September, no bird to caw back. Why would anyone, indeed, ever even murmur back? To tangibly, blatantly forlorn he. If anew, perhaps he could be fine.

It was no hope, he reminded himself – he remembered how it once felt. It was yet another stumble into the unknown, an experimental circumstance, to see if he could, somehow, appease the referential frame up above and renounce it. He cursed under his breath. It was never enough, and they? They never should’ve made themselves known. Mankind did not need them. Mankind never wanted right. There was no right! He gasped at the Heavens. Why would they ever impose themselves, if there was no truth?! Never to reply!

But who was he, to have his wisdom pacified? Forever the staple of cruelty, a child. Neglected all over again.

Flies ravaged the inside of his mouth. He spat some, others he coughed away. Another, behind the gums, he had to scoop with his tongue, and only then dribble it out. Useless troubles for a meaningful man. Cosmic irony, overlapping the entirety of his life.

He dragged himself up to the coastline. By the water’s clarity, by its estimated location, he knew this was not one of Aurun’s five rivers. It could be Rulde. Downstream, it would lead him to Szenevod. It didn’t truly matter.

His palms drowned in the river’s cold. The rest of his body above it, he could listen and stare at the steams. The reflection was expected, a face mauled with emotion and encrusted with gore. He hated the truth inside it: he was the saint. He would be eternalized on murals, his mantle the sunlight, his cohort the flora, his mouth bloody obscene, but the heart, the pastors would claim, the heart pure and so profoundly tortured! And they would assure fervently: the greater the suffering, the greater the Heaven’s lodge. He wouldn’t even bother to tell them the great truth that living for the afterlife could only give Hell, and he already held it, and no Heaven was worth the misery.

He was the saint, beloved only at a distance. He would’ve kissed that saint, if only he had known how to love him. He was, after all, right beneath him, gaping back with barren ambers. He could not hope for this man. There was nobody and nothing in the eighteen years of his existence that ever nursed his soul. Why keep going, if it could only get worse? He had made one fatal mistake, only recently. He licked sweet hope only for it to burn bitter, for one could not be defined without the other. He didn’t have to know nor to realize, for it had always been an axiom surer than the Sun. Him, a fool for ignoring the one truth he found, denying the axiom it supported, and finally, aching after the plainest of swindles.

Constantin, you did not care.

He could no longer care either. But he could cry. By all means, he could. Tears were harmless. He wasn’t. He did.

What would you do if you saw me like this?

He stared at himself through dreary eyes. Tears swelled in the blood’s mud, warmth draping over his face, uncomfortably coating it, suffocating the skin. He never got the answer. It wasn’t meant for him. And he squealed all of his helplessness for the world to ignore.

He hacked between sobs, hair and insects sticking into his mouth. Droplets and patches of blood gracefully dispersed beneath him, and he kept adding onto the red, throat itching to puke every violent sob, every harsh whine. It clenched so hard, gagged him, threatened to empty the bowels. He couldn’t breathe, for he couldn’t reach for air, and so no sound escaped his wet lips parted in a mute cry. Bile dripped from it, sour to taste. It had always been ugly, to what end? There was nothing to let out. Nostrils flared, he thought he calmed, once he pieced together that thought. Yet, in the dread of peace, he found it in him to scream like mad, drool and tears carried by the river.

Why? He didn’t have to. Nobody would hear. The river flowed on, the nature lapped at his body to nourish itself with his blood, tears, and agony. The usual. There never was a divine interference but to plague, and there never was an ear that heard unless it willed to. And he was so accursedly aware of it! And he wailed despite all of it! Him, foolish him!

Have him punished, someone! Tender hooves trampling him into dust and bones. Please! The same death he could not prevent! The same moment his power abandoned him, when he needed it most, when his heart shredded and when he came back to discover – death! His lifelong accomplice! He pleaded! Flies devour all of his rot! Rocks hammer all of bones! Waters bloat every muscle! Punish him!

“Please…” he begged for the umpteenth time, the mantra of his life, the disease of his death. “I’m not…” His hand slipped, gave out, and the water slapped him.

Indifferent, he dropped into the torrents to carry him anywhere. The waters silenced everything, mercy for once. If his anguish ever held any merit, he’d waste it all on one desire: never to bless this world with another Chosen One.

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lixiefe · 4 years

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Can’t Touch - k.sm

Chapter Eighteen: Partition

Words: 2k

Warning: angst

(I stared at this gif for at least thirty minutes, please tell me that’s not weird)

Darkness.

It was the only thing you could see as your eyes struggled to flutter open. But you couldn’t seem to succeed despite the tremendous effort. It was as if the stories of ghastly monsters had become all true, except the monster was inside you and it was ravishing you, slowly and painfully. It was clawing at your insides and laboring your breath more and more by the second. You wanted to scream, wanted to shout. But you could utter nothing, do nothing. You were helpless, paralyzed.

Until all of a sudden, you awoke with a dizzy jolt; your eyes ripped open, along came your primary senses. By instinct, you sat up quickly, trying to see for yourself if you were injured or wounded. But there was nothing. It all seemed like a dream, a dream all too terrifying. You placed your hand over your erratic heart, the sound of which reached up to your ears. You could feel your whole body shivering, hands trembling on their own. You took deep breaths to steady your heart, rubbing your hands together to contain the quiver.

It was just sleep-paralyze, there is no need to be scared. You assured yourself. If this was any normal cases, you’d have run to your mother’s arms and sought for comfort. But it wasn’t, and you were not that deviant teenager anymore. You were a grown up woman and you doubted you’d even fit in your mother’s bed. It was such good old days that you missed and you desperately wanted to return to your younger state.

But right now, the first person that came to your mind was Seungmin, your atypical husband that you remembered with every beats of your heart. You never expected that someone else could ever replace your mothers comfort, but a few words from your husband seemed like a whelming blanket that’d lull you back to sleep, peacefully. He could splutter just anything with his calming voice and you’d forget all your worries, all those tensions that clouded your brain like winter fog. You wanted to jump into his arms and tell him you were scared, seeking for consolation and forget all his abnormalities at that time.

You wondered if it was because your reoccurring dream of every night wasn’t there. If it was because the subconsciously fabricated Seungmin wasn’t there to kiss your forehead and caress your cheeks in the same loving way. Was it the absence of those heartening actions that you were paralyzed in your sleep? But why didn’t they occur last night? There was no answer to these questions. No one was there. You wondered if you asked the moon, would it reply?

You stayed up the rest of the night afterwards. Your mother-in-law was coming the next day, so you decided to pamper you face with a little touch-up. You had no idea why you wanted to look decent when the topic of your conversation wasn’t really pleasant. But you continued anyways. Your mother had been overly worried about you the past two days that she decided to call her friend for a discussion. You’d suger-coatedly told her of Seungmin’s disorder and she immediately asked if you wanted a marriage annulment.

She was a bit of an orthodox mother who was against the idea of divorce. But then, you saw the sorrow in her eyes when she told you she couldn’t bear to see you in pain. She was ready to accept whatever decision you took, if it made you happy. But she also made you realize that it wasn’t what you wanted. The happiness that you’d thought would come out of this was merely a mathematic calculation, not reality. Letting go of someone so quickly was just a starter for pain and regret, for the both of you.

You weren’t thinking about divorce, didn’t want to either; all you wanted was a little time, probably a closure from yourself. You wanted to give him some space, so that he could organize himself and reflect on his mind; so that the next time you saw him, you wouldn’t need to fear for the square one.

So there you were, sitting triangularly with your mother and Mrs. Kim. You didn’t know what to say or how to start the conversation. You would say you were very uncomfortable to be sitting in the midst of two elderly woman who stared at you like hawks, awaiting your rather unpleasant words with eagerness. You couldn’t decipher how to put your raucous thoughts into cohesive words, into something that’d be less offending on accord of your husband.

With an anxious breather, you prepared yourself to talk. But to no avail.

“I heard from Jisung, about my own son.” Mrs. Kim stated,. And now, after all the time, you noticed her grim yet damp eyes. You returned her gaze, listening intently. “I never knew. I am so sorry to have done this to you. If I’d known earlier, I’d have aided him. To think I forced him into this..” she stated, voice turning into breathy sputters at the end. She looked like she could burst into tears at any moment. But you were wrong when you saw silent tears cascading down her cheeks as she looked down, unable to face you. Your heart significantly dropped at the sight.

“No, please don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.” You tried to reassure your mother-in-law, who seemed to be in deep guilt for reasons you were unsure of. Was she feeling remorse that she didn’t know essentials about her own son? That she couldn’t provide the parental help he’d needed when he was suffering? Or did she pity you, for marrying you to her son and getting you into an unrequited marriage? However it was, it hurt you to see her upset.

“You can take your decisions. You both have passed more than half a year. That’s enough of the requirements for a proper divorce.”

And again, that word. It made you feel anxious, indecisive and many more. It made you feel the potential heartbreak that was expected with time. It made your breathe hitch with strong objection and disapproval. You didn’t want that. You didn’t want a divorce, not now not ever. Even though the aftermath of divorce seemed advantageous for your husband –maybe- you didn’t want to leave just like that, without proper explanation of your sudden decision or the closure he’d have wanted. Maybe you could turn whatever he felt for you into something stronger. Maybe he could come to love you too. It seemed like a novel fantasy, but you couldn’t bear the thoughts of divorce, a permanent separation. Just, no.

“I don’t want a divorce. I was just thinking of giving him some time. To take proper care of his disorder without any, umm, amplifications of what triggers him.” you spoke, a somber softness gracing your tone . You looked aside to your mother, perched on the sofa without any words. Again looking at Mrs. Kim, you observed her glittering eyes and slightly quivering lips that served evidence that she’d been forcing her nerves to stay steady.

“I’m aware that any other woman would’ve accepted marriage annulment. I am just very grateful you’re willing to help him. But you should just let him know that you’re giving him time until he heals.” Your mother in law looked distressed, gloomy with regret. And you wondered what a divergence it was to her common jovial character and hearty laughs. You didn’t mishear the heavy concern and motherly affection that’d surfaced in strong waves. But on a contrast, you had no idea how a mother couldn’t notice fatal conducts of their children. Then again, Seungmin was born and brought up in riches, with no need and no objections to his wishes. It could’ve been hard to notice.

“Of course.”

Now all that you needed to do was face the dreaded encounter with your husband. You knew, with the small amount of care he had developed for you, he was sure to be distressed as well. Sure, you believed your feelings were one-sided but of course you didn’t ignore the worry he sometimes expressed for you, or how he listened to all your rants without a sense of irritation. It all couldn’t have been generosity, right? Whatever it was, you hated to do this. You forced yourself to believe that it was all for his own good, that you’d benefit him this way. But you couldn’t suppress the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. You couldn’t imagine yourself leaving the abode you’d come to call home so abruptly.

And to top it, your recent nightly paralizations became frequent. You lay on your bed in the chilling night as fright swamped your heart, wishing there was someone to rub your back and put you to sleep. You wished that Seungmin would be there, talking to you in his damning calm voice and getting rid of the screeching white noise that rang like aggressive doorbells. You wanted him to say that it was going to be okay and that your feelings were fair reciprocated. But it was all wishes; desires that were bound to be left hanging in the interwoven tangle of hopes.

---

Han Jisung sat on the swivel chair of his godforsaken office, deep into thinking. He was in yet another pit of disappointment. Not towards himself but you. You and your stupid knowledge.

It was hard for him, very, to see his collected friend dismayed in the midst of scattered papers. But he had no acknowledgement that they were important papers, mute tears fell from his eyes so easily that he had to control over them. Probably tears of frustration, tears of the hate he felt towards himself. Jisung’s eyes were wide with shock, unable to process that his life-long acutely monochrome friend had tears smeared across his face. And at that moment, he was rendered of his arranged thoughts. The only thing reversed in his brain was how Seungmin had lost all self-control when he simply asked about the younger’s wife.

Seungmin, the impassive CEO, more like a man that was never dependent, always believed in self-sufficiency and never showed weakness was now weeping over his wife. Mumbling over and over how he had become reliant and how she was his only weakness.

Jisung couldn’t take it anymore, but there was nothing he could do. He wanted to call you and say that Seungmin had been utterly helpless and awful without you. He wanted to tell you that Seungmin loved you more than you could imagine, more than someone could love. He wanted to, but he decided to let it be.

Han Jisung was always known as the smart yet clumsy resident who dedicated half of his fidelity for his one single best-friend. And that was exactly what he was maintaining by deciding on not getting you back to senses.

Metaphorically, it was raining, maybe a soft drizzle. And Seungmin told him how he was not afraid of holding his wife anymore. How if they made up, he’d smother her in kisses and refuse to leave her side. Heck, the Kim Seungmin was splaying out promises of being clingy, something completely out of his character. And Jisung hoped that, if he saw you the other day, he might just do it. Be it by impulses, or be it by his driven emotions, or be it that he missed you terribly, Jisung knew that one touch, one surety that Seungmin was healed, was enough to make your walls tumble down like cracking debris.

All he needed to do, was stay away this one time.

To my moon, I hope you know It is your hopes that won. And I love you.

a/n: I don’t know about others but people with ocd usually end up crying because of being frustrated with themselves

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rosethornewrites · 3 years

Text

Wednesday’s T and G reading

I’ve reached page 1 of my to-read list on AO3. Once I’m done with this page, I’ll be going back to page 58 to repeat the backward-reading process, this time with all fics under 5k words. So future lists may be smaller.

Finished:

Tumblr:

LQR redemption for the creepy!JFM prompt, by @angstymdzsthoughts

Teen:

bunnies, by wearing_tearing

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, the papers will still be here in a few hours,” Wei Ying says and brushes a soft kiss to the hinge of Lan Wangji’s jaw. “Come spend time with your husband, Lan Er-gege. I miss you.”

Lan Wangji rarely finds within himself the strength to deny Wei Ying.

recovery, by wearing_tearing (third in a series)

The brand on Lan Wangji’s chest does not hurt anymore.

wherever the chaos is, by wearing_tearing (fourth in a series)

“But, Teacher Wei—”

“I believe in you! If you really need my help, I’ll come down from the tree, I promise.”

Lan Wangji does not regret his decision to let Wei Ying teach classes in the Cloud Recesses.

emperor’s smile, by wearing_tearing (fifth in a series)

“What are the conditions?” he asks, going back to the point. If he does not know the conditions, he will miss Wei Ying’s kisses.

That’s unacceptable.

Lan Wangji knows he does not have to, but he does not stop himself from grabbing a cup, filling it to the brim with Emperor’s Smile, and gulping it all down.

My Brother's Keeper - Vinegar, by ArchiveWriter (second in a series)

Jiang Cheng is angry and not quite sure what to do with it, so he as usual directs it at Wei Ying (for being stupid and crazy) and Lan Wangji (for being a stuck-up arrogant self-important snooty... well, the list is long, but mainly for being possessive of Wei Ying. Watching them from afar allows for silent fuming. Not to be taken too seriously - some Jiang Cheng soul-searching bound to result in self-conflict. Image a fly in a glass with no lid and still banging against all the glass walls... This is set post-canon, post 'Love Song', pre 'My Brother's Keeper - Most Treasured' and elaborates on what went on in Jiang Cheng's head when watching WWX and LWJ in the markets with them being oblivious. I had fun cramming as many adjectives as I could think of into this, so it's probably 'purple prose' :-) This might be a bit more light-hearted but I still can't see WWX and Jiang Cheng reconcile.

Though the Good and the Bad, by TheKrystalSakura

Wei Wuxian can’t sleep because intrusive thoughts keep plaguing his mind after all these years. Lan Wangji is there to listen to everything his husband has kept bottled up.

Right of First Approval, by AerinD

You know how "based on a true story"...isn't really? Five hundred years later, Jiang Cheng hates that phrase.

under the starlit sky, by b_ofdale

There have always been people who wanted to hurt him, learn from him, steal from him. . . but Lan Wangji?

Lan Wangji has only ever wanted to love him.

Practical Lessons in the Backhills, by Eliza (third in a series)

The Jiang motto is “Attempt the Impossible” but Wei Wuxian’s personal one is closer to “You don’t know until you try.”

Love Me Over Sunrise Tea, by Eliza (fourth in a series)

On the days they aren't on morning watch, Sizhui makes tea. Jingyi doesn't really like tea.

But for the World to See, by Eliza (fifth in a series)

Lan Wangji can't keep his hands off of Wei Ying.

Every Good Boy’s Dream, by Eliza (sixth in a series)

Temptation has never been a problem for Lan Xichen; he’s been giving in to it for years.

We Blossom in the Water, by Eliza (seventh in a series)

Jiang Yanli basks in the Yunmeng sun, her husband’s love, and a moment of freedom.

A Good Idea at the Time, by Eliza (eighth in a series)

Not every bad decision can be blamed on blood loss, but that doesn’t stop Wei Wuxian from trying.

Grief and Blame, Interwoven, by donutsweeper

Wangji's punishment was supposed to be severe, not fatal.

But since it was, Xichen needed to find a way to change that.

things that go honk in the night, by worldoshaking

Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi investigate a fearsome beast that has been terrorising the villages nearby. No one is quite sure what it looks like, but people live in fear of the sound of its honk and the patter of its webbed feet.

greens, by silverclaw

Wei Ying’s plants have been flourishing ever since Lan Zhan moved into the apartment next door. This causes more misunderstandings than one might expect.

The one I like…is you., by Liebing

The one I like has long dark hair, and a perfect smile, he is truly the handsomest Lan!” Wei Ying announced with his usual levels of endless enthusiasm.

Lan Zhan's shoulders dropped. That description had to be his brother. So Wei Ying liked his brother. He tried to ignore the heavy disappointed feeling as it washed over him. As much as he tried to ignore Wei Ying, he had to admit that the boy was irreversibly etched into his heart but it seemed the feeling wasn’t mutual.

someone i could save, by yuer (vintageblueskies)

Lan Wangji has nightmares of Wei Wuxian falling. It gets worse before it gets better.

Encounter - The Broad River, by ArchiveWriter (second in a series)

A meandering study of Lan Zhan's and Wen Yuan’s bond as Elder / Younger Brother during the years of LWJ’s grieving for WWX.

General:

family, by wearing_tearing (sixth in a series)

The warm bubble of happiness inside of Lan Wangji’s chest expands. The people he loves most in the world—his family—are here, around him, and even the day’s exhaustion could not dampen the joy he feels.

After an exhausting day, Lan Wangji has dinner with his family.

A Letter, Addressed to Sect Leader Jiang of Lotus Pier, by darth_meg

Jiang Cheng,

Please don't throw this away when you see who it’s from. There are many things I want to say, but I know I talk too much, so I think it’s best to write as few words as I can. I’ve rewritten this letter many times, crossing out what isn’t completely necessary. I hope you believe me.

Or, Wei Wuxian writes one letter to his brother.

Remedy, by abbymyg

Lan Wangji has been vomiting and with a fever all night, and Wei Wuxian hadn't slept at all.

Lan Qiren calls the doctor to treat his nephew and enters the Jingshi for the first time in years.

Where you ought to be, by Lucky_Moonly (second in a series)

Lans were Ravenclaws.

Which was why Lan Wangji wasn’t as stressed as the other first years as he awaited his sorting in one corner of the Great Hall.

Talk to Me, by MillenarianHappinessTheorem

Lan Huan hasn't spoken to his brother in three weeks. Maybe Jiang Cheng can give him some much-needed relationship advice.

dog days, by silversshadow (second in a series)

Yu ZiYuan will not allow weakness to hold back the Yunmeng Jiang sect.

Jiang Chengs dogs do not leave the Lotus Pier.

i need someone, by aurora_chiroptera

Jiang Cheng is worried about his brother. He thinks if Wei Wuxian marries someone respected from another sect, that he will be safer.

Wei Wuxian is not so sure.

From the prompt: “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Music Jams..., by Ladycroft4evr (third in a series)

It's a musical day at Cloud Recesses... we open with a WangXian music jam, followed by some family bonding over music for Wei WuXian and Sizhui... let's join Lan WangJi and enjoy a leisurely evening with their little family ❤

blinding, by acoostic

Lan Wangji grew up around snow. His hometown of Gusu was up north in the mountains.

The same can not be said of Wei Wuxian, who grew up in Lotus Pier, where the lakes and rivers kept the climate humid and relatively warm year round.

And you'll still be by my side, by hamlets_ghost (fourth in a series)

Nie Mingjue meets the young Lan Clan heir.

He also gets stuck in a tree.

Where His Heart Resides, by Preludian_Staves

He realizes belatedly two months after his marriage that his heart has finally found itself a new home.

Unfinished:

Rated T:

Another Letter, Addressed to Sect Leader Jiang of Lotus Pier, by darth_meg (second in a series)

Sect Leader Jiang,

I write to inform you of my intention to take Wei Ying as my husband and cultivation partner.

Or, Lan Wangji invites Jiang Cheng to discuss something.

The Red Ribbon, by NoMore_17

What if Mo XuanYu sacrifices his soul out of love instead of revenge?

#the untamed #untamed fanfiction #chen qing ling #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #cql

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Note

Oooo, #7 please!

Yaaaas! I could scream about my OTPS until the end of time. Keep in mind that these are kinda normie, and more interesting ships of mine fall under the alternate question of rarepairs, so if you’re interested, someone ask ;)

Number Ten- Roxas and Xion

Kingdom Hearts is one of my all-time favorite game series. I actually began with Days, and Roxas has had my heart ever since then. Roxas and Xion’s relationship is just so pure and devoted, and it just has me some kind of way.

Number Nine- Renzo Shima and Izumo Kamiki

(Ugh, there are no good GIFs of the two of them, so ignore Rin standing there like a moron and focus on my beautiful pink-haired boy and his purple-haired girlfriend).

The manga could still go many ways at this point, but ever since their initial interactions, I just loved the idea of the two together. Kamiki is so serious and no-nonsense, while Renzo is just all-nonsense. Absolute perfection. Kamiki’s arc in particular had me feeling some kind of way about them, urgh, my heart!

Number Eight- Gray Fullbuster and Juvia Lockser

Want to talk about made for each other? These fools. I could write a thesis just on the ways they’ve grown as characters just by interacting with each other. I mean, we’re just practically waiting for Gray to confess his love to her any chapter now! Juvia has matured a lot from “crazy stalker” and honestly, you go, sis. Their love is so deep and pure and it just makes me want to cry. I love them.

Number Seven- Natsu Dragneel and Lucy Heartfilia

Ugh, another match made in Heaven. I could go on for days. Any implications of romance aside, their relationship is still so deep and loving and meaningful that it just brings a tear to my eye. You want to talk about ultimate trust and devotion? These two, right here. They are the literal definition of ride or die. My heart.

Number Six- Naruto Uzumaki and Hinata Hyuga

Though the writing ultimately failed them, I still love this ship. Potential-wise, they are gorgeous. Two cute beans being cute together? Holy shit! Plus, I love that Naruto is an inspiration to Hinata and I love to think that he encourages her growth, and honestly, Hinata is the ultimate partner for him. He needs someone who can stand behind him and be a source of strength when he begins to doubt himself. They lift each other up in their own unique ways, and it’s just magical. Plus, they are so shy and domestic. Goals.

Number Five- Gajeel Redfox and Levy McGarden

“You’re small, so stay beside me”? FUCKING ICONIC. To be honest, I always fancied the two based on the subtle hints Mashima gave us, but when that arc hit, man, I was on this ship for life. Then the kiss when he was drowning? The tearful confession when he thought he was going to die? Ugh, man, I’m in my feels. “The big, buff grumpy man is soft for his small wife” is the ultimate trope, confirmed.

Number Four- Sanji and Nami

Honestly, most of the reason I like this ship is just pure aesthetic. I mean, look at them. Beautiful couple. Of course, at the heart of it all is how they treat one another. Sanji and Nami have such subtle, interwoven, masterful nuance that it’s hard not to envision some kind of connection between them. I love them!

Number Three- Tohru Honda and Kyo Sohma

Fruits Basket was the first anime I ever watched in entirety and the first manga I ever read. I was so excited to hear it was remastered for its anniversary, and that the anime would hopefully span the length of the manga! Honestly, this romance defined a generation. The way Kyo falling in love with her is just so masterfully written that it just makes me soft. God, my heart.

Number Two- Denki Kaminari and Kyoka Jiro

This one snuck up on me. Before the infamous chapter, I fancied the two; their interactions were fun and aesthetically they’re an interesting combo, but that scene? Kaminari looking into the distance as he thought of the person most important to him, and it was her? Fucking blastoff, man, right up here. I love them so much it hurts. I want nothing but good things for them. I’m crying.

Number One- Shikamaru Nara and Temari

Ultimate OTP. I will ship them in Hell. The most well-written and nuanced relationship in Naruto and I will die on this hill. They are just such a combo, two dorks who know nothing about love but somehow bungle into it anyway. The looks. The words. The subtlety of blossoming feelings all beginning with mutual respect. Perfection. 100,000,000/10.

Honorable mentions: Roy Mustang x Riza (FullMetal Alchemist), Sora x Kairi (Kingdom Hearts), Uryu Ishida x Orihime Inoue (Bleach), Ichigo Kurosaki x Orihime Inoue (Bleach), Erza Scarlet x Jellal Hernandez (Fairy Tail), Ban x Elaine (The Seven Deadly Sins), Katsuki Bakugo x Ochako Uraraka (My Hero Academia), Izuku Midoriya x Ochako Uraraka (My Hero Academia), Shoto Todoroki x Momo Yaoyaorozu (My Hero Academia)

#gajevy #shikatema #nalu #gruvia #naruhina #kamijiro #sannami #tohruxkyo #roxas x xion #renzo x kamiki #ask game #top ten ask game #ask me a question #roxas answers stuff #roxas answers things

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omgviolette12 · 3 years

Text

Helena’s Skin

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 4500+

Pairing: Original female character of color/Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Angst, Horror

I’ve also posted this on AO3

There’s pictures there, in case you want some bonus content.

Story Playlist, for optimal reading experience : Here

Phew..this plot bunny was running around for a HOT minute! I'm not sure what my obsession is with stories that deal with betrayal of some sort...but I think I'm just a slut for some angst. Also, I've been listening to a ton of silent hill soundtracks, which put me in the mood to write something depressing. And goodness is that game good. This story is largely inspired by it, with some of the dialogue, text, and locations from the original game interwoven with my story. I changed things up a lot to follow the flow of my narrative though.

-----

Tom dreamt of her again that night.

Pale, blue-tinted skin. Dark sunken eyes. Her stiff, swaying feet. He could even see the chipped red nail polish on her toes with clarity.

The cruel memory was always, without fail, in perfect detail.

Over the years though, he had slowly come to accept it. The pills never helped to stop the nightmares, and no amount of avoiding sleep was going to help his case anyway.

He liked to think of it as penance.

As always, he jumped up from the bed in cold sweat. And from the cross look on his girlfriend’s face, he must’ve woken her up on accident as well.

“I’m...I’m sorry Jen,” He turned a bit to rub at her naked shoulder, and hoped the action would coax her back to sleep, “ Just another one of those falling dreams..”

“Hmrrph..” She shrugged off his hand, and turned to face away from him. Thankfully, it didn’t take much for her eyes to close once again.

Tom sighed, and rubbed at his face tiredly. Whenever he had that dream...he could never fall back to sleep. It was as if all the emotions of that day were renewed, and it was hard to shake them off until morning.

His therapist suggested he acknowledge what he felt, during this time. The sorrow. The regret. The guilt. The gut-wrenching pain.

And if he were to be completely honest, it worked most days.

Often, he would find himself scribbling away at his personal journal at 3 am, nursing a cup of tea.

He wrote about how much he wished he could reverse time. The words he could have taken back, and the words he could have said instead. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, and that he regretted ever leaving her.

Helena. Her name was Helena, but he could never bring himself to write it out. Just referred to her vaguely with pronouns.

But tonight...he couldn’t even bring himself to write. The dream was especially vivid this time around, to a disturbing degree. He could even smell the stench.

What’s worse, that smell was just as he remembered it three years ago.

Tom resisted the urge to throw up at the thought of it, and stumbled out of bed to the bathroom. He turned on the sink, and splashed the coldest water he could onto his face.

That probably wasn’t the best thing to do, either. He could still see her, swaying in that dark room against his closed eyelids.

His eyes shot open immediately, and he found himself dry heaving into the sink.

“Fuck…” he cursed silently, as his eyes began to well with tears.

It was going to be another one of those nights, and the only thing he could do was suffer through the dark memories until morning.

Slowly, he made his way to the kitchen. There was little tea could do at this stage, but it was a welcomed distraction.

“You’re really leaving...aren’t you?”

Her voice was soft, softer than it usually was.

All the yelling and screaming must have destroyed every malice she could have mustered in her body.

Her dark brown eyes were downcast, red-rimmed with sorrow.

“Lena. No...Helena. I never wanted for any of this to happen.” Although Tom intended to sound a bit caring, the words left his mouth with harsh coldness.

“I love Jen too much. Too much to stay...I’m sorry. Please understand.”

His wife looked up at him then. Her chapped lips trembled immensely with bridled anger. And even though her long hair was rather unkempt, he could still see the glare she sent his way through her bangs.

“Five...f..five years Tom. You’re r-really going to...to throw it all away for that..for..for her?”

Tears spilled from her eyes as she stuttered in anguish, and she fisted the fabric of her dress painfully as she continued, “ I... I love you so much, Tommy. I never meant anything I said...I was sick and -“

“Stop with that!” Helena was startled, and she stared up at him with wide eyes. Throughout their argument, this was the first time he had yelled so loudly at her.

His eyes were narrowed, shoulders squared. He was the embodiment of hostility.

“Don’t say things that you don’t fucking mean.”

Tom didn’t wait for her to reply. He grabbed his jacket, and left the house with a slam to the door. He’d pick up his belongings later, after he cooled down.

Although Helena infuriated him, he could never forgive himself if he hurt her physically. A part of him still loved her, even if it was small.

They were married for five years after all. He couldn’t necessarily forget it all, no matter how much he wished it was possible.

Their marriage...it was a happy one, at first. He remembered the day when he met her, how stunned he was by her beauty and tenderness.

He loved how her brown eyes looked against the sunlight, and the lone dimple that revealed itself when she smiled. He loved her gentle voice, when she would tell him about her day. Everything. He loved everything about this woman. Down from the hair, right to the toes.

However… things took a sharp turn for the worst when she became ill.

The doctors were clueless about what it was. It attacked her body so quickly and suddenly, no one could do much to help her ailing health.

Slowly but surely, she began to lose her glow.

Her smiling face was replaced with an ugly snarl, her body became skin and bones, and her kind words transformed into insults that aimed to shred at his heart.

She pushed him away with every chance she could, when all he wanted was to be there for the woman he loved.

So, who could blame him for straying?

Jennifer was kind, new, and beautiful. Everything that Helena was, but now wasn’t.

It didn’t matter to him that she was good friends with his wife. Surely, Helena would rather it be Jen than some stranger.

But now, she wanted to take back all those words of hatred, and backtrack like a coward. She begged for him to stay, despite all the times she pushed him away.

Her insults drove away the guilt whenever he went to Jennifer for solace. But if she decided to just take it all back now… where did that leave him?

Tom stewed like that for hours, walking about the neighborhood before he decided to make his way back to the house. It was late morning when he left, but the skies were already starting to darken.

Time flies when you’re upset, it seemed.

He readied and steeled himself to face her again. He was going to pack the rest of his things, and then leave.

For good this time.

But he hated that his heart still ached at the thought of it, despite everything that she put him through.

Tom entered the house cautiously, and searched for any signs of his wife. When he left, she was still sitting on the living room couch. Hours had gone by, so he wasn’t sure why he still expected her to be there.

Worst case scenario, she was in their bedroom. With how erratic she’d been acting lately, it wouldn’t be a surprise if she tried to prevent him from leaving.

Best case scenario, she was asleep in there. Her illness made her extremely weak, which caused her to sleep more often than not.

Tom found himself in front of the door, hand frozen on the knob.

He was tired, tired from all the fighting. If possible, he wanted to ignore her as he quietly gathered his things together.

With these thoughts in mind, he opened the door -

To the sight of Helena’s feet hovering above the floor.

“Tom, Tom? Thomas!”

He jumped from the kitchen table, and knocked his knee on it in surprise.

He grimaced, and looked up at Jennifer who gave him a worried look.

“Why are you out here? You even fell asleep..”

Tom looked around his surroundings, disoriented. He fell asleep?

He remembered coming to the kitchen to make some tea for his nerves. But before he realized it…

“I’m not sure how that happened...I’m sorry Jen.”

“..It’s okay, Tom. Are you feeling okay..?” She placed her hand on his forehead, her voice tinged with concern, “ You can call out sick, you know? Talk to me,”

Tom stiffened. He contemplated many times, talking to Jennifer about his dreams. But...she had been badly affected by Helena’s death as well.

She was friends with her, after all. Jen felt just as much guilt and shame that he did.

But Jennifer refused to talk about it, about her. Her way of coping was to forget Helena ever existed for her own sanity.

They were both monsters, monsters who drove the one they cared about to her death. They truly deserved one another.

Tom only shook his head at her question, and attempted to reassure her with a weak smile, “I’m fine, honest. But I’ll call out today...I’ve been working too much at the office.”

Jennifer didn’t pursue the topic any further, and returned his smile. “ Thank gosh, you’ve been taking way too many hours. Just relax for once,”

He watched as she moved about the kitchen through tired eyes, to fix herself some coffee. “There’s some mail on the table, by the way. I picked them up before I came in here.”

Now that she mentioned it, there was a small pile of envelopes on the table. He looked at them all indifferently, and dismissed the majority of them as junk or bills.

“..I’ll sift through them. Make me a cup as well, would you?”

He dragged the pile in front of him, and wiped his eyes to take away some of the droopiness.

He cracked his neck, and massaged his shoulder with a hand as he began to look through the mail. Like he expected, there were some bills, some junk… and..

A beige, worn out envelope that was sealed with red wax.

But the look of the envelope wasn’t what caught his eyes. It was the name on it that caused Tom’s throat to go dry, and his sweat to grow cold.

From: Helena

There wasn’t a return address, just her name.

Was this some sort of sick joke?

Unless it was possible for a dead woman to send letters, then the likelihood that it was his Helena that sent it was extremely low.

Still though...his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Why did he feel so terrified?

First the nightmares, now this.

“Hey..everything okay?” Jen placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, and sat at the table, “You’ve been staring at that for a good minute now...is the bill that much?”

She took a sip of her own coffee, her voice lightly teasing.

“What? Oh, no, it’s nothing,” Tom quickly snapped out of it, and tossed the envelope aside as casually as he could, “Just some junk.”

Tom wasn’t sure what possessed him to take the envelope with him on his run.

Despite everything that told him to leave it closed, to leave it unread, he also felt the urgent need to keep it by his side.

He ran through a secluded park, with the envelope stuffed in his jacket pocket. If he was going to read it, he didn’t want Jennifer to know. Especially if it was actually from... her.

There was a drizzle earlier on, so the park benches were rather wet. However, he didn’t care as he plopped down to sit, and reached into his jacket pocket for the envelope.

A stray droplet of water from the overhanging tree fell on the envelope, as he sat and stared at it in silence.

Tom felt that he was probably overreacting. No, he most definitely was. There was no way on earth it was from his Helena. The same Helena who he still loved, to this very day. The same woman who took her own life that fateful evening.

He was only going to set himself for extreme disappointment if he hoped for that much.

Tom held his breath, and tore open the envelope without any regard for the wax seal.

And as he read its contents, the entire world came to a standstill.

In my restless dreams,

I see that town.

Silent Hill.

You promised me you'd take me

there again someday.

But you never did.

Well, I'm alone there now...

In our 'special place'...

Waiting for you...

Waiting for you to come to see me.

I know I’ve done some terrible things to you.

Something you’ll never forgive me for.

I wish I could change that, but I can’t.

I just...didn’t want you to see me like that anymore.

That ugly, repulsive me.

I was so angry all the time, and I

struck out at everyone I loved most.

Especially you, Tommy.

That's why I understand if you hate me, even now.

But I want you to know this.

I'll always love you.

And I want to see you, no matter how long it takes.

I’ll always be here…waiting.

With love,

Lena

He remembered her handwriting. Her letters were always scribbled elegantly, but felt rushed at the same time. This was written by her. There was no doubt about it in his soul. He could even hear her gentle voice as he read it.

The emotions Tom currently felt was like a kaleidoscope. Confusion, hope. Sorrow, fear. And above all, excitement.

Excitement, at the small, unlikely chance that she was still alive.

Even if it didn’t make sense, even if it went against all reason. Even if he had been the one to pull her dead body from the ceiling himself.

If he had the chance to see her again...just once more…

He was going to take it.

-----

Tom vaguely remembered that town she spoke of, in the letter.

Silent hill.

They went there once, for their honeymoon. It was a foggy little town, ways out in the middle of nowhere. Although it was scarcely populated, it was beautiful.

Helena had a strange obsession with the town, and she begged him constantly to take her back. But he was the type to enjoy the hustle and bustle of people, and the town was far too quiet for his liking.

Quiet to the point of being unsettling.

So although she begged him practically every year, he would always dredge up some excuse as to why they couldn’t go.

But now here he was, on his way to that very town against all sense.

“This place...isn’t it a bit too creepy for a resort?” Jennifer’s voice broke the silence in the car, and reminded him that he was not alone. Her eyes were trained outside the window, with furrowed brows.

Tom ground his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t come up with a proper excuse, as to why he wanted to leave so suddenly without arousing suspicion.

So...he disguised the trip as a mini-vacation, for the both of them. It would have been extremely preferable if he came alone... but he’d figure something out, eventually.

“It’s supposed to be a quiet, peaceful getaway. We’ve been needing some of that for a while now,” Tom said, in a nonchalant tone. “Besides, it’s only for a day or two.”

“Eh...I guess,” Jennifer still sounded thoroughly unconvinced, as they passed by the dilapidated welcome sign of the town. “I just thought it’d be, I don’t know...well kept?”

“It’s a part of the charm.” Tom wasn’t sure if he wanted to convince her, or himself with that statement.

Jen had a point. It’s been years since he came to this place, but he remembered that there was a decent amount of people that lived here.

Although the area was indeed very quiet...it definitely wasn’t a ghost town like he was seeing.

They were well inside the town now, but they still had yet to see anyone. The oppressive fog didn’t help matters either. He glanced down at the map on his lap, just to make sure they were going in the right direction.

“Hey...do you think we should just turn around? It looks pretty abandoned,”

Jennifer worried at her lip, her expression uncertain.

“...Like I said. A part of the charm. We’ll see some people, eventually.”

He could feel her anxiety from the passenger seat, and it started to affect his own mood.

The only thing that kept him from turning the car around, was Helena. The prospect of possibly seeing her again was too great a temptation.

But the question is...where was she, exactly?

Helena mentioned something about a ‘special’ place in the letter. That she’d be waiting for him there. But there were just so many possibilities… because this whole town was their special place.

Did she mean the park, by the lake? They would spend hours sitting on the bench...just the two of them, staring at the water. In their own little world.

Could Helena truly be alive...waiting for him there? The man who betrayed her so cruelly?

“Tom...Tom!!”

At Jen's sudden screech, Tom hit the brakes immediately, which caused the car to lurch forward violently.

He looked at her, as his heart thrummed against his chest, “What, what is it!”

“There.. right there, there was... there was..!”

She looked absolutely terrified, as she stared outside of the passenger window.

“Jen, calm down! What did you see?”

She didn’t look at him at all, and continued to stare outside the window, “In the fog. I saw a lady..and she.. she looked like… she was just right there..!”

Tom couldn’t make sense of what she wanted to say at all. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and addressed her once again, “I know you’re paranoid, Jen. But please, just calm down. It was probably just a resident.”

He really wished he came here alone all the more.

Jennifer was really shaken up, for whatever reason. And she went silent for the rest of the ride. Though, he certainly wasn’t about to complain about that.

Eventually, they saw a large building in the distance, right alongside the lake they’d been driving by.

Lake View Hotel. The same hotel where he stayed with Helena, on their honeymoon.

“...We’re here.”

Tom parked right by the curb of the sidewalk, a reasonable distance from the building.

But...something wasn’t quite right.

When he first came here with Helena, he clearly remembered that the hotel was on the other side of the lake, and they had to cross it with a rowboat. It was surrounded by a body of water, after all. And it was only accessible by a boardwalk.

However, the building was on this side instead. Completely opposite from what he remembered.

He decided not to think too deeply about it, though. Years had passed, and things might’ve changed.

“Wait, we’re getting out here?!” Jennifer asked in disbelief, her voice raised. The area was run-down, foggy, and quite frankly, disgusting. Tom couldn’t even blame her for her discomfort.

“Yes, Jen. There’s nowhere else to park,” he said, and exited the car first. “Come on, before it starts to get dark.”

Jennifer left the car with extreme hesitancy, and crossed her arms to hug herself. “Tom...this...this is like a freaking ghost town! Are you sure we can’t just...go somewhere else?” She tried to reason with him...but it was like he was another person entirely when he replied.

“If that’s what you want to do, I won’t stop you. Take the car.” He answered curtly, and began to walk ahead of her.

“I...what? Wait, please, Tom!” She ran up to him, and grabbed his arm, “What do you mean take the car?! You know I can’t drive. And I can’t just leave you behind! This...this isn’t like you,” Jennifer attempted to turn him towards her, but he remained stiff.

“...Did you ever really know me, Jen?”

When he finally looked at her, Jennifer took a step back due to his scary expression. “Because I don’t think you do. Not like Lena did anyway.”

“Len...Helena? Why..what does she have to do with this?!”

Jen immediately went on the defensive, and matched his hostile energy.

“She has everything to do with this! You were her friend, and she was my wife. Yet you refuse to even talk about her-”

“She killed herself! She left us behind! Even before that, she treated you like shit! She broke your heart...and I was the one who picked up the fucking pieces!”

The argument had escalated extremely quickly. But Tom didn’t care.

“How..how fucking dar-”

Tom didn’t even get to finish his sentence. He had blinked his eyes for even less than a second.

And then she was gone.

Tom was stunned, and didn’t register what happened.

His mouth was left open as the sentence died on his lips.

“Huh..?”

He looked around disoriented, whiplashed, and confused.

What? How? Where..What?

These were the questions that ran rampant inside his mind, as he looked about frantically for the woman he was just fighting with.

Jennifer was just right there, in front of him. He even remembered her angered expression clearly. But he had barely blinked his eyes before she disappeared into thin air.

She didn’t even scream.

Tom’s bones were weak from fear and confusion. He felt nauseous.

“..Jen? Jennifer? Jennifer!” He began to walk ahead, almost running, and screamed into the fog.

He walked around the area, and yelled her name like that for what felt like hours. But what answered him back were the endless echoes beyond the mist.

“Where...where the hell..?” Tom was out of breath, his body wrought with fear and exhaustion. He brought his hands to his knees and hunched over.

He came here to find Helena. He just wanted to see his wife again, to talk to her one last time. Even if it were some sort of delusion he concocted to stay sane.

But now..even Jennifer was...

He tried not to think about that possibility. Jennifer had to be alright. She had somewhere in this godforsaken town.

Tom looked up from his knees, and up at the large building ahead. Lakeview hotel.

He was going to start there.

Inside the hotel was a stark contrast to the rest of the town. While the outside was in a state of disrepair...the inside of the hotel remained untouched by time. In fact...it was just as he remembered.

The only difference was...the lights were almost dim to the point of darkness, and he needed to use his phone light for added visibility.

“Jennifer..? Are you in here?” Tom called out, as he walked the halls of the hotel. He passed the receptionist’s desk, and moved towards the elevator in the distance.

Despite the apparent lack of proper electricity, it still seemed to function perfectly.

According to the elevator, there were six floors in total.

And without hesitation, he immediately chose the third floor.

Jennifer could have been on the first two floors, for all he knew. He could have searched every room, every corner.

However..he and Helena stayed in room 312 for their honeymoon.

It was a beautiful room, he remembered. There were large windows, and the view of the lake was extraordinary.

As Tom felt the elevator move, and watched as the numbers slowly rose to three...he recalled a memory.

“Goodness...isn’t it beautiful, Tommy?”

Tom watched as his beloved sat by the window, her hand pressed against the glass.

“I’m so glad we came here...it’s peaceful.”

He laughed, and moved closer to sit next to his wife. He draped his arms around her shoulders, and pulled her closely to his chest.

“I think it’s a bit too peaceful, though. I’m not sure how you convinced me to come, but,”

Tom breathed in the scent of her hair, and closed his eyes. “I agree, it is beautiful. Hazy and mysterious, just like a dream. It reminds me of you.”

Her embarrassed laugh echoed throughout the room, and she nuzzled her head further into his neck. “Hehe...you’re such a charmer.”

She tightened her arms around his body. Her next words were whispered faintly, but he heard her clearly through the quiet of the room.

“But if this is a dream...I don’t ever want to wake up.”

Tom stood inside the room. By the large window, was a figure.

Her hair was a short, dusty blonde, and she wore a white floral dress.

The same dress that Helena wore that day on their honeymoon.

However...his wife was far from blonde.

The only blonde he knew was Jennifer.

“Jen..Jennifer? Is that you..?” She turned to look at him, instead of the window.

As soon as he saw her face, his suspicions were confirmed.

“Oh.. oh thank goodness,” Tom breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his hunch was correct. He didn’t know why she suddenly appeared in this room, but was pleased that he found her this quickly.

“Jen, you were right. We..we shouldn’t stay here…”

Jennifer only looked at him with a confused expression, and approached him with an air of worry.

“Tommy, did something happen to you? Are you...confusing me with someone else?”

Tom looked at her like she was crazy. “What? Jen, what are you on about..? And why are you wearing that..”

Jennifer had never, not once, referred to him as ‘Tommy’ in the three years they had been together. That was Helena’s endearment, and no one else’s.

She giggled, the sound of it melodic and gentle. “Oh, Tommy...you were always so forgetful. Remember that time, when you got lost trying to find our room at this hotel? I almost had to call a search party!”

She laughed once again, this time unrestrained. He recognized that beautiful laughter.

“Aren’t…” Tom’s throat felt impossibly dry. “Aren’t you Jennifer?”

Jennifer went silent. Her smile deepened, and her eyes darkened from their previous shade of blue.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m here for you, Tom.”

He didn’t move an inch as she approached him.

Slowly, she removed the straps of her dress.

He allowed her to take his hand, and she placed it on top of her naked chest.

Tom didn’t realize it, but his face was drenched with tears. He squeezed the softness of her flesh, and his nails dug to the point it drew blood.

It was warm. He held his blood-stained fingers up to his face.

Before him, stood a woman with dark brown eyes, that would reflect beautifully against the sun.

Before him, stood a woman with the gentlest voice.

Before him, stood a woman with long dark hair, that ended right below her shoulders.

Helena smiled a sickly sweet smile. She took his hand once again, and moved it to cup her face.

“...See? I’m real.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fic #Tom Hiddleston fandom #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #silent hill #silent hill 2

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in-class-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Blue Star | Oikawa x Reader | Ch.1

- Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

- Word Count: ~ 3,900

- Genres: Fluff, angst, Ushijima doesn’t know what a meme is

- CW: Mild swearing

- Summary: Sometimes, (Y/N) wonders if it was hard for her father to send her away. To a new prefecture, a new home, a new school. It all just might be worth it when after becoming the (suspiciously knowledgeable) manager of the Aoba Johsai boys’ volleyball club, she meets Oikawa Tooru. Together, they do their best to exorcise demons they thought would never leave. They learn about progress, when to strive for it, and when to accept the realities that cannot be changed.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

Sweaty and shaking, (Y/N) sat upright in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. The walls were eggshell white, bare, pristine as if they had been untouched. There were no souvenirs or personal belongings anywhere, save for a short pyramid of boxes sitting in the corner.

Stiff, unused sheets wrapped around her, nothing like her beloved bed set back home.

‘Oh, that’s right…” she thought, ‘This is home now.’

Her mind flashed back to the busy day before, where she said goodbye to her mother and had the movers bring only some of her belongings to her new apartment so that the space didn’t completely fill up with unpacked boxes.

After some long, deep breaths, (Y/N) turned her attention to the obnoxious noise her phone was making.

The overly bright device read ‘6:20’.

(Y/N) flopped back down on her bed.

She ran a hand down her face, groaning.

“I don’t really need an education, right? I’m still pretty flexible. I could probably drop out and become a stripper, right, Hubble? The club down the street is always trying to hire new people.”

Across the room, the round orange tabby gazed back at her judgmentally.

The teen rolled her eyes at her pet, “Thanks for the support, Hubs.”

Once in the bathroom after a long struggle to drag herself out of bed, (Y/N) rested her weight against the sink. Gently touching the bags under her eyes, she sighed.

“I’ve looked better,” she said to herself, “Hey! Bad kitty!”

She tried to nudge Hubble off the counter, only for the feline to look at her with a look of even lesser interest than she gave frogs or mice.

Realistically, (Y/N) could lift the cat of the counter herself, but honestly, she didn’t have the energy to do so.

Rather than get dressed for school, she sat down on the edge of the custom made bathtub.

Lips pursed, she said to her cat, “Hey, at least you got to come with me, rather than stay home with mom and dad. That’s good.”

Hubble gave her the facial equivalent of crickets chirping.

Snatching her new uniform from its hook, yanking the brown plaid skirt up her thighs, she grumbled to herself, “First I get exiled to a whole new prefecture, and now I’m talking to my cat, who has also decided to be a dick to me, but this is what I needed, right?” she asked sarcastically, “A ‘change of pace.’”

She tucked in the lilac dress shirt far more aggressively than necessary. Her sigh of relief was cut short when she spotted the cream vest and a blazer that she had to wear.

“Why does this stupid uniform have so many damn layers!” she screamed into the empty apartment.

Soon after, her shoulders sagged in resignation. Expertly lacing up the uniform tie, she sighed for the nth time since she woke up. There was no use fighting it any more. This empty, desolate apartment was her new home. Aoba Johsai was her new school. No amount of anger was going to change that.

She recalled the conversation she had with her childhood friend before she left.

“Wakatoshi said to just keep to myself. That’s easy. I can do that. Of course…” she glanced over to the box pyramid on the other side of her bare apartment.

(Y/N) stalked over, picking up the box on top, securely sealed with red duct tape. A scowl marred her already unpleasant expression.

Desperate to get it out of her sight, she shoved the box unceremoniously into her deep bedroom closet, where it (hopefully) would never bother her again.

“It’s kind of weird to get a transfer student in the middle of second year.”

“Maybe one of her parents got a new job or something.”

“What if she’s a delinquent?”

‘You know, it costs you nothing to mind your own freaking business.’

“All right, class, settle down,” the teacher raised her voice just slightly. “This is (L/N) (Y/N). She’s our new transfer student, and she’ll be the boys’ volleyball club manager this year. Make sure you all treat her well. Please have a seat in front of Iwaizumi-san.”

(Y/N) bowed, “Thank you, Yukino-sensei.”

The woman nodded, “Of course. I hope you enjoy your time here at Aoba Johsai.”

(Y/N) slid into the desk in front of a tan, spiky-haired boy who she recognized from middle school, only now it looked like his biceps were about to bust his uniform sleeves. It took her a second to realize who it was.

“Hajime!”

(Y/N) froze, worried they were no longer on a first-name basis, but the teenager just smiled back at her.

“(Y/N)! How’ve you been?”

“Eh, same old, same old. But it looks like you’re doing great! You’ve gotten so much bulkier since middle school! What have they been feeding you?” she said, causing him to laugh and ruffle her hair.

In fear of Yukino-sensei’s wrath, the class stayed relatively quiet. Though, people were stealing glances at her a noticeable amount. In their defense, they had a valid reason. One of the most intimidating students alive was being extremely friendly to an unknown, unheard transfer student. The stares were annoying, but not distractingly so.

The moment the final bell rang, a cluster of students swarmed (Y/N)’s desk.

“(L/N)-san, why did you transfer?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“(L/N)-san, how did you get the manager position?”

Ah, the manager position. That one came up a lot. Honestly, she didn’t see why people were so worked up over it.

She couldn’t exactly ignore her classmates, so she responded in as few words as possible, “I had to,” “No,” “I asked for it.” She kept her answers brief, hoping her fellow students would find the lack of response boring rather than alluring.

“(L/N),” Iwaizumi called out.

Her head immediately snapped to where he was standing by the door.

“You’re our new manager, right? Want me to show you where the gym is?” he asked gruffly.

(Y/N) grabbed her school supplies and practically ran over to Iwazumi, who had a tall brunette boy standing behind him.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

On the walk to the gym, Iwaizumi introduced the brunette, Oikawa, to her.

“I was Iwa-chan’s handsomer, much more popular friend, remember?”

Oh, she definitely remembered him. Was she about to tell him that, though? Not a chance. She pretended to think for a moment, then shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Oikawa-san, that doesn’t ring a bell.” She tilted her head, “Besides, Hajime here is a perfect 10, so I don’t know where this ‘handsomer’ business came from.”

While Oikawa stopped in indignation, (Y/N) walked on as Iwaizumi followed, laughing shamelessly.

“It’s not like you remember me, either,” she added.

Oikawa pouted, “That’s not my fault! I was invested in volleyball, not cute girls.”

(Y/N) ignored him and the three of them walked along the school hallway in silence for a while. (Y/N) did her best to keep her mouth shut, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Hajime? Do you know why the manager position is so important to people around here?” she asked tentatively.

Iwaizumi barked a laugh, “That’s because--”

“-because I’m on the volleyball team! The manager gets to spend time near me, which is something pretty much everyone around here wants,” Oikawa winked and made his signature peace sign.

He grinned charmingly at (Y/N). Iwaizumi facepalmed. (Y/N) stared back blankly.

“Sure,” she deadpanned.

“Huh? You’re the one that asked!” Oikawa protested.

“She didn’t ask for an egotistical answer like that, Crappykawa,” Iwaizumi growled. He turned to (Y/N) once again, “As annoying and stupid as that answer is, he’s not entirely wrong. He’s really popular for some reason.”

“Weird.”

“I know, right?”

“Hey, don’t gang up on me!”

(Y/N) ducked under Oikawa’s arm into the gym, turning slightly to thank him over her shoulder. The first person to greet her was the short, stout Seijoh head coach.

“Well, if it isn’t (L/N) (Y/N). You have no idea how happy I was to hear you’d be transferring to our school,” Coach Irihata gave the teen a small nod. “Though, I wish it were under different circumstances,” he grimaced.

(Y/N) bowed at him respectfully, “You and I both, Coach. I’ll put all my focus into being your team manager from now on.”

The older man laughed, “I don’t doubt that. Let me introduce you to the team.”

He led her to stand at the edge of the court.

“This here is Mizoguchi, the coach. He’s a bit of a hardass.”

“Are you allowed to be saying these things, Coach?”

“Were you planning on reporting me, (L/N)?”

“Touche.”

Coach Mizoguchi had all the boys line up. The two coaches and (Y/N) walked down the line.

“These are our first-years, Kyoutani, Watari, and Yahaba. Our second years, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, Oikawa--”

‘They’re an odd group. Not horrible mismatched, but definitely not inherently interwoven like other teams I’ve seen.’

“We’ll be playing quick, 3-on-3 practice matches so (Y/N) can see what you can do.”

Some of the boys looked surprised, others even leaned over and whispered confused words to each other. At the same time, their new manager felt every drop of blood draining out of her face.

(Y/N) leaned in, “Coach, may I speak to you for a moment?” she whispered frantically.

Irihata allowed her to lead him out of earshot.

“I know I’ve asked a lot of you lately, Coach, but if we could call as little attention to me as possible, I would be eternally grateful. I doubt anyone will say anything, but if we could avoid giving them unnecessary hints, that would be ideal.”

He quirked a brow slightly, “(L/N), this is just a small request. You don’t have to grovel every time you ask something of me.”

(Y/N) fiddled with her track jacket, “I know. You’ve just done so much for me already.”

“So much by your standards, very little by mine. All I had to do was put in a good word for you. You secret’s safe with me, (L/N). Do your best as our manager,” he clapped her on the shoulder before gesturing for her to head back to the courts.

By the time practice was over, the players were all dog-tired and drenched in sweat. Despite the fact that her brain had gone numb from the busy analysis, she felt she had gotten a good grasp of the team’s individual and group abilities, having written mini reports in her notebook about all the players, their habits, and how they work together. Each player’s individual page included a few people they worked especially well with, but (Y/N) noticed that everyone worked especially well with Oikawa. He seemed to bring out the most ability and talent in everyone he set for.

It was unfair, really. Such amazing athletic talent, coupled with fluffy brown curls and a sharp jawline, only to be spoiled by a smug, flippant attitude.

Earlier, she’d made the mistake of letting him catch her staring once. The corners of his lips quirked up slightly, causing her to look away quickly.

(Y/N) changed back into her school uniform and locked up the main gym. Shouldering her bag, she noticed the lights on inside one of the smaller gyms.

She stepped inside to see Oikawa practicing his sets against the wall. He’d taken the time to change out of his sweaty practice gear, but he just changed into clean, dry practice gear.

“Oikawa-san?” she called out.

The setter caught the ball and turned his attention to her, “Ah, (Y/N)-chan! Heading home already?”

She nodded, “Yeah. You’re still going to be practicing for a while?”

A look of annoyance flashed across his face before returning to his usual carefree expression.

“Yes, I will be.”

(Y/N) nodded, taking a few steps in to set the master key on the bleachers, “I’m heading home, so please be sure to lock up when you’re finished.”

Had she stayed just a second longer, she’d have seen the slightly dumbfounded, mostly intrigued look on Oikawa’s face.

“Wakatoshi, I’m having the time of my life!”

“That’s an unexpected response, though I’m happy for you,” Ushijima’s slightly pixelated voice came from (Y/N)’s firepods.

“I’ve been keeping to myself enough where no one bothers me, I get to manage the volleyball team, and I’ve had two whole weeks of fucking peace here. All my hopes and dreams have come true.”

“Well, not all of them--”

“Stuff it, Ushijima, I know,” she grumbled.

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, “Sorry, sorry. Have you met Oikawa Tooru yet?”

(Y/N) frowned, dodging a group of boys walking down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice.

“Why did you say it so quietly?”

“No reason,” she said just as quietly.

“You find him attractive, don’t you?”

“What? Him? But he’s so-- he’s such a flirt! He always has girls hanging around him and he always looks so pleased with himself. Not to mention he’s a genuinely amazing setter and he’s a considerate captain and--”

“So, you do find him attractive?”

“I mean,” (Y/N) huffed, stopping outside the equipment room door, “Yes.”

“More attractive than Semi?”

“I’d say they’re about the same.”

“Wow. That’s a high compliment coming from you.”

“Isn’t it? But-- Oh, I gotta go, Wakatoshi, I need to fill the water cooler.”

“I’ll talk to you tonight.”

“Later!”

(Y/N) was breathing hard as she carried the water cooler from the equipment room to the gym. She wondered if they could get a wagon or some sort of wheels so she didn’t have to pull a muscle just to fill the cooler every practice. Better yet, maybe just let them die of dehydration so she wouldn’t have to move at all.

Sigh.

No, (Y/N), this isn’t that type of school.

Finally making it to the gym, she took a deep breath and shuffled inside. Almost immediately after she set foot in the gym, all of a sudden, the water cooler had slammed back into her, pouring its icy contents all over her and her uniform.

She fell flat on her ass, rubbing the sore spot on her chin where the plastic had knocked into it.

‘Someone around here wants me to relieve them of both their arms,’ she thought.

“Kyoutani!” she heard Mizoguchi yell, “How did your spike end up all the way over there?”

She didn’t get the chance to hear the first-year’s reply before Coach Irihata kneeled in front of her, the boys crowding around the two of them.

‘No, no. Deep breaths, (Y/N). It was just an accident. Breathe in, breathe out. In, then out.”

Taking a final deep breath, she looked up, smiled sweetly and said, “Don’t worry. It’s just a little water.”

Iwaizumi came up behind her and hauled her up by the armpits, “You alright?”

(Y/N) nodded in affirmation.

Oikawa passed her a large - presumably his - Seijoh BVBC sweater. She fully expected him to say something that would get him smacked by Iwaizumi, but was surprised to see him walk away almost immediately.

Stepping out of the locker room, (Y/N) looked up at the dark evening sky.

“It’s already this dark?” she wondered aloud.

“Yep. It’s that time of the year,” came a voice from behind her.

Oikawa stepped out from the boys’ locker room, hair still damp, and aqua t-shirt clinging to his skin slightly from the moisture.

She stared at him.

He tilted his head. “I do take breaks sometimes, you know,” he said as if he’d read her mind.

“Could’ve had me fooled,” she replied, gathering her composure and making her way towards the front gate.

“See you tomorrow, (Y/N)-chan,” he waved her goodbye.

“See you tomorrow.”

Exiting the school gate, they both turned left, ending up walking the same direction anyway. They chuckled awkwardly.

“Never mind, then,” Oikawa smiled.

“I’m getting on the G-train and going down 6 stops. You?”

“G-train, 8 stops,” he gasped, “(Y/N)-chan, we live so close! We can hang out together every day!” he teased.

(Y/N) huffed, turning away so the brunette couldn’t see her smiling, “We already hang out every day, nerd.”

“How hurtful! I can never spend too much time with you, (Y/N)-chan,” he nudged her playfully with his elbow, letting out a small ‘oof’ when she pushed him back.

They got on the G-train, which was mostly empty around this time of night. Their car held them and two other girls from their school, who seemed to pay them little mind, aside from the occasional glances that were typical in Oikawa’s presence.

The brunette stared down his nose at her, “So. Are you ever gonna tell me why our brand new lady manager has an abnormally thorough knowledge of volleyball?” he questioned.

(Y/N) took a seat across from Oikawa. He made himself comfortable opposite her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Oikawa-san,” she said innocently.

Oikawa leaned forward in his seat.

“I saw your notebook. Your notes are way too detailed for anyone less than an expert. Did you or a family member or a friend or whatever play?”

Her gaze turned downcast. The train car was relatively empty, and he seemed genuine enough for her to softly reply, “I used to.”

There are two specific expressions (Y/N) saw the most of in the months following the incident.

One was less common. It was a thinly-veiled smugness, poorly hidden behind feigned sympathy. It was a look that said, “You got exactly what you deserved.”

The second was much more common, and on the days that made her want to lay in bed all day, seeing that expression plastered all around her like wallpaper just made her want to dig into the earth and make a home for herself there forever.

Pity.

It’s the same look every time. Their eyebrows go up, then furrow, finally slanting down as the realization dawns on them. Their mouth will drop open like they plan to say something, but no words come out because what are they supposed to say?

He must have seen the look of anguish on her face, because his expression morphed through each phase of that second type, word for word.

“You don’t play anymore because you won’t or because you--”

A dark shadow crossed her face, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Oikawa nodded, “Okay.” His pretty brown eyes rolled up to the ceiling in deep thought. “What’s your favorite cake flavor?”

(Y/N) blinked at him confusedly for a moment, then her expression shifted to one of realization, and she gave him a small smile, the most genuine he’d ever seen her wear since she arrived at Aoba Johsai.

“Red velvet!”

“That’s just chocolate with red food coloring.”

(Y/N) gasped loudly, “You take that back!”

Oikawa raised his hands in defense, “I’m sorry, I only speak facts. Is now a bad time to mention I love pineapple on pizza?”

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped, “Are you serious? Do you even have taste buds, pretty boy?”

The taller male laughed and teasingly batted his lashes, “You think I’m pretty, (Y/N)-chan?”

She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know how to tell you this, Oikawa, but everyone thinks you’re pretty. You literally have a fanclub. They bring you homemade cookies on a regular basis.”

He got up from his seat across from her, only to settle down in the seat beside her. They sat there, shoulders against each other’s. Oikawa Tooru smelled like mint and the breeze on a summer night and a little bit of man sweat, but that’s to be expected coming straight from practice. It was a very distracting few seconds.

“But I don’t care about everyone’s opinion, (Y/N)-chan, I want yours.”

(Y/N)’s cheeks buzzed with heat. Ugh, he’s unfairly cute, isn’t he? But! Even if she would never tell him, she remembered him from middle school. He didn’t remember her. A guy like Oikawa was probably flirting with her because she didn’t fall desperately at his feet. She wasn’t going to be a part of that game. Not now, not ever.

At the sound of her stop, she stood and made her way over to the door. Just forcing the blood in her cheeks down through sheer willpower, she said, “I’ll see you in school tomorrow, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa leaned back in his seat.

“Hey, (Y/N)? You’re not thinking I’m flirting with you because I’m some tail-chasing fuckboy, right? Because if you are,” he quirked a perfect eyebrow at her, “That’s hardly fair, is it?”

‘What? How did he know??’ she internally screamed, ‘He’s right, though. A lot of girls like him, but it’s not like he has a reputation for sleeping around or anything. Even if he did, that’s not for me to judge.”

(Y/N) braced herself against the open train doors. The cool night air blew into the train from behind her, ruffling her uniform skirt. She groaned.

“That smug face you make when you know you’re right? Yeah, I hate it.”

The setter’s hand came up to rest under his chin, “But you do have an opinion about my face?”

“Goodnight, Oikawa.”

“Text me when you get home!”

“I don’t--”

“Ask Iwa-chan for it! Goodnight, (Y/N)-chan!”

The train doors shut, and Oikawa sent her a wink through the glass doors before it departed. The breeze ruffled (Y/N)’s hair. There she stood, staring at the empty tracks. Rooting through her bag, she yanked her phone out and dialed a number.

“Wakatoshi, I’ve been a dumb hoe.”

“(Y/N), I told you you shouldn’t--”

“I shouldn’t belittle myself, even as a joke, I know, I’m sorry, Wakatoshi.”

She could feel him shaking his head in disapproval, “Right. Now, what’s your issue?”

Fingers fiddling with the hem of the borrowed oversized Seijoh sweatshirt, (Y/N) pressed her phone between her ear and shoulder.

“I accidentally made friends.”

Ushijima sighed on the other end of the line, “(Y/N), when I said to keep to yourself, I did not mean you had to become a total recluse. You may not want to hear this from me, but meeting new friends is a good thing.”

(Y/N) slowly shook her head, “They’re pretty popular, though, and the last thing I wanted since coming here was to call attention to myself.”

“You may have gotten some unwanted attention at your old school, but maybe you can start over at Aoba Johsai. If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

“...are you using a meme to give me advice?”

“A what?”

“A meme, Wakatoshi. It’s a joke passed all over the internet. Come on, there’s no way you haven’t seen them, even accidentally.”

“I am unfamiliar with the term. Anyway, I was quoting renowned columnist and cartoonist Tim Kreider. I was trying to make you feel better.”

Though he couldn’t see it, (Y/N) smiled warmly at how hard he was trying to help.

“You did a great job, Wakatoshi. Hey, I just got home, I’ll call you back and we’ll talk all about your day. How’s that?”

“Alright, get inside safely.”

Upon hanging up with Ushijima, (Y/N)’s hand stopped just short of putting her phone away. Perhaps against her better judgement, she reluctantly sent one more text.

[SENT] To: Iwaizumi Hajime-Kun [8:37 pm]

- Admin Mango

#oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa tōru #ushijima #Ushijima Wakatoshi #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi #oikawa x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios

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tjilderda · 3 years

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*Rhetoric as Narratives*

In this essay, I will examine the following questions: What central narratives does the following artifact tell through its rhetorical elements? What values does it promote and ignore? In which ways is this narrative productive or limiting for a society, and is it more productive or more limiting in it’s rhetoric?

To answer these questions, I examined the song “Karma,” by AJR. This song portrays a narrative that mental health problems are a natural issue to have and that even if it feels hopeless, that you feel you deserve karma for the good you do, you can get help by the song promoting a productive message to help connect people and push them towards a positive end. As such, the narrative pushes the idea that mental health and the combating of it is not a weird or unnatural processing, but instead is one that helps connect people suffering from similar problems or emotions to help normalize these aspects to make it feel like they can be solved.

“Karma” is a song released by AJR in their third album Neotheater, released April 26, 2019. The song follows the idea of the lead singer, Jack Met, as he’s in a therapy session with his therapist. Through the lyrics we learn that Jack is lamenting on how he’s been, “so good this year,” yet receives no karma from his actions. In parts, there are times where Jack is seen in a sort of “dialogue” with the imaginary, unsaid, words made by the therapist making him seemingly questioning if he’s getting meaningful help, “Why? Are you asking me why?” As the song progresses he starts spiraling downward emotionally, eventually getting frantic when he realizes that the therapy session is almost over. The song ends with Jack pleading for a final answer to the question he poses multiple times throughout the song, “Doctor should I be good? Should I be good this year?”

To examine the song, elements from Palczewski, Ice, and Fritch’s article were used that defined narratives, “as representations... a form of symbolic action. They are referential, meaning they depict or describe events; they are not the events themselves” (118). Narratives, defined as so, are recollections or created stories that connect two or more event. In the process of communicating such narratives, they help create values that reinforce or challenge the culture they are viewed from. This idea is then built upon even further with their idea of social truths that are “beliefs and values that do not refer to some objective reality, but to social reality – those beliefs about what is right that people have arrived at together” (Palczewski, Ice, Fritch, 133). In such a fashion, social truths can be either reinforced by narratives to uphold the values a society views or can help shift the balance towards a new normalcy.

The main narrative aspect that is present in “Karma” is the acceptance through the lyrics that emotions of despair and wanting karma because of mental health issues is nothing to be ashamed of. In its opening chorus, the listener is introduced to these ideas very quickly with lines in a very neutral, possibly upbeat, tone saying, “I’ve been so good, why am I feeling empty,” and “I’ve been so good, where the hell is the karma?” The key aspect that is convey throughout the entire song is the idea of karma, and rightfully so, because it is an easy-to-understand concept that can be viewed as a similar lens on how people with mental health view the world. By not explicitly stating if the character of the song has any single mental health problem, it leaves interpretation for the listener to self-impose themselves into the role. Near the climax of the song, the one line that portrays the deepest connection and understanding, especially after his tone has changed to a frantic and pleading state, that conveys what it is like to feel the emptiness people with mental health issues sometimes experience is, “You say that I’m better, why don’t I feel better?” This single line, with his tone, helps make people that feel this way perhaps they are not alone, there are other people that understand what “I” feel. By doing this, AJR creates a song with the understanding of this feeling to help try and connect people, to normalize the fact that these feelings can eat away at a person. By opening the door in a non-descript way, it even makes people without such issues understand and realize the way someone with mental health problems may feel or the way they view the world to create a sense of what someone else’s “normal” may be.

A secondary aspect that is interwoven into the song is the idea that receiving therapy or assistance in treating mental health is a difficult and long process. At the start of the song, Jack seems to be very reserved, using humor to deflect hypothetical questions not explicitly said, likely being along the lines of, “Why are you here,” or “Is everything fine?” As the song progresses, he slowly opens up more by the second verse, still joking around but looking for possible solutions, “So where’s the karma doc, I’ve lost my patience.” By the end however, we see him finally breaking down, realizing that he has no more time left in his therapy session, but desperately still wanting help and answers when he says, “Please give me instructions, I promise I’ll follow.” In total, this creates a message that seems to be a strong parallel to just how difficult a process therapy can be for people suffering from mental health. It is a road that takes so much time to open up to a therapist, and even more so before one can start truly making improvements. The song however approaches this idea in a reverse order, starting with the conclusion that Jack deserves karma, only then to explain all the different ways he is worthy of it. By doing this it approaches the idea of deserving karma as a fact, that people feeling this way do not necessarily need to validate their argument; they deserve to be happy and to have good karma come to them no matter what. In a way, it can even show the idea of how people receiving therapy may feel like they are not actually improving, that they just want a single answer to be able to solve all their problems. It helps create a grounded reality of just how difficult the process can truly be, even showing the gradual descent of how hopelessness can still grow even when one starts getting help.

Overall, the message that is portrayed from “Karma” is one that is largely a positive and productive narrative; however, there are some claims that can be made for the idea of a negative result. AJR does their best to make a song that is simultaneously sparse in specific details yet feels incredibly accurate in the emotions it tries to convey to their audience. In the face of so many different mental health issues, they instead paint a picture using broad brush strokes of emotions, rather than fine details that examine specific ideas such as depression and anxiety. In doing so, they help open the door to allow more people to connect and feel understanding in their emotions, rather than baring specific type people out. Not only, but the main aspect that is beneficial is simply the fact that it is a song about opening about emotions and getting therapy. In the past few decade, mental health went from a taboo subject to something that could be sung about, as “Karma” shows. As said multiple times, it makes this more of a normal topic and allows people the possible understanding of what kind of process therapy could be. The downside, however, is that this song can be taken many ways, and there is one that could be negative: viewing therapy as unhelpful. While making a case that the therapy is helping, as Jack does open up by the end, at face value the song seems to suggest that he has received no help real help from his therapist. However, the line, “If only I could keep you in my pocket,” would seem to suggest that the therapist is doing something as he does not want to leave the session and would appreciate if he could take the advice wherever he goes. While the interpretations can be vastly different, the overall message seems to paint a picture that shows mental health as something that can be helped, that people deserve to feel good karma for their actions.

In his article examining narrative theory applied to popular music texts, Nicholis examines how songs can shape and form narrative discourse. In his study, he examines a handful of songs which he presents and analyzes both from a narrative and melodic frame. The main examination that helps show the importance of narrative is in his examination of “Video Killed the Radio Star.” Through this song, Nicholis finds a story that is reinforced with the ideas of tone and instrumental. In the end he says, “I would nevertheless argue that narrativity can be an extremely useful tool in our understanding of popular music… there are numerous other songs and albums… which could similarly benefit from an interpretation in narrative theory” (Nicholis, 312). With such a strong conclusion, it seems beneficial to examine modern day songs to see what types of messages have come as a byproduct of our social world developing and changing. “Karma” helps bring the ideas of mental health and such negative thoughts to the forefront of people’s minds, and helps connect those and make others understand what it is like.

In summary, “Karma” is a song that shows the troubles of dealing with mental health. Through the lyrics, it helps connect and relate people who experience similar emotions that are conveyed while accepting the difficulties that come along with getting therapy. In doing so, it helps normalize the emotions and actions that often come along with mental health issues and the processes surrounding them.

AJR “Karma.” Neotheater, 2019. Spotify, https://open.spotify.com/track/3VygfAvvgVaJUeaBUSzlZu?si=04a43427171b4d9f.

Nicholls, David. “Narrative Theory as an Analytical Tool in the Study of Popular Music Texts.” Music & Letters, vol. 88, no. 2, May 2007, pp. 297–315. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1093/ml/gcm006.

Palczewski, C. H., Ice, R., Fritch, J. “Rhetoric in civic life.” Strata Publishing, Inc., State College, PA, 2012, pp. 117-146.

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

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Cantatio: Chapter Eight

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying, but this episode is all Lan Zhan & Wen Qing friendship

Summary: The teleportation closet acts up again, causing Lan Zhan and Wen Qing to step out of one mystery and into another.

Cloud Recesses Academy AU, Rated T - read on AO3

Lan Wangji looked up. He had not realized before, but the sack was covered with talismans, their bottom edges curling up from the fabric.

Dread gripped Lan Wangji. No one would place this many talismans on a bag unless something sinister was inside.

“We should leave,” he murmured.

< Ch. 7 | Ch. 9 > | chapter list

Lan Wangji jumped out of bed and strangled the intruder into his iron grip, only to be surprised that he held the body of a small woman.

“Calm down! It’s me!” she hissed.

Lan Wangji recognized the spiked golden hairpiece below his chin. It was Wen Qing.

“Why are you here?”

“To take a look at this closet, if you stop choking me.”

“It is locked,” Lan Wangji whispered sharply.

“How would you know? I don’t suppose you checked just now?”

The tendons in Lan Wangji’s neck tightened. He released Wen Qing from his grip but still clutched her wrist like a leash. It seemed that she had climbed in through the open window.

Lan Wangji glanced over at the other side of the room. Wei Wuxian lay on his stomach with his hair down across his face and his blankets crumpled in an unusually large heap, breathing loudly with one leg hanging off the side of the bed, oblivious to the charade occurring in his dormitory. This gave Lan Wangji an inkling of relief, but he was still overcome with dread at the knowledge that a girl was in his room. At night.

Boys and girls were forbidden from entering each other’s rooms after curfew. He had violated the same rule in two different ways, all within twenty-four hours!

“This is prohibited. Please leave.”

Wen Qing drew her lips into a thin line. She strained her free arm to reach out of Lan Wangji’s grip and tugged at the locked door of the closet to test it. Having been satisfied that the door was truly locked, she turned back to Lan Wangji.

“Listen. I’m not thrilled to be here, either. But if there’s a portal leading into my room, I want to figure out how it works as soon as possible. My roommates and I might even be in danger if there’s another entrance somewhere.” She leaned closer. “I just found something in an anthology of a cultivator’s travel notes. It’s a stretch, but it might help us.”

“Inform me tomorrow.”

Wen Qing ignored him and began the story anyway. Lan Wangji tried to build a dam around his consciousness to block her words, but like a mighty river, Wen Qing’s words flowed through the cracks and soaked Lan Wangji with intrigue.

“Supposedly, three hundred years ago in Qinghe, there was a shrine built to lock away a treasure. Its walls had over forty locked doors, and only one opened to the treasure. To prevent the treasure from falling into the wrong hands, if the incorrect doors were opened, people vanished within them as if they had been teleported. To further deter thieves, each door was sealed with a magic that could only be unlocked by an object of pure silver treated with special charms and possessing high spiritual power.”

She pulled three needles out of her sleeve. They stuck upward from her closed fist like claws. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly.

“I brought my medical needles with me to test it out. I don’t think their energy is significant enough, but it’s worth a try.”

Lan Wangji did not know what else to do with this information but nod. Then something clicked.

His sword Bichen was made of pure silver.

Wen Qing noticed the flash of realization in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “What’s your idea?” she asked.

“This plan is improbable. Please leave.”

“It’s destined to fail if we don’t attempt it.”

“A trench cannot be filled using a feather shovel.”

She gave an astute tilt of her head. “Then use the feather to patch the tiny crack in the ground before the trench is formed.”

Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t impressed by her retort, but he was at least surprised. He gave an unsure glance at Bichen, which lay atop a rectangular stool alongside his bed.

Wen Qing drew in an excited breath. “Your sword! It’ll have much higher cultivation than my needles.”

“We should not.”

“Second Young Master Lan, I’m already here. If you need to copy the Gusu Lan Clan rules twice as many times to coddle your ego, so be it. I’ve already broken the rules for you. At least get something out of it.” She paused, as if tasting her next words in her mouth.

“If you refuse, I’ll wake up your roommate.”

A thin line of worry burrowed in Lan Wangji’s forehead. This young woman was very difficult to argue with. He thought back to the words she had said to Clan Leader Nie.

“You have memorized the Gusu Lan Clan rules. Why study, only to disregard?”

“What makes you think I’ve done that?”

“You recited Rule #562 to Clan Leader Nie.”

Wen Qing squeaked out a laugh. “I’m a medical student. My head is crowded enough already. I only memorized that because I knew I could use it against someone.”

“…”

“Are you going to stand there gathering dust, or are we going to try to open the door?”

Lan Wangji looked at the closet. His hands jittered with hesitation. Then he reached for a spare pair of robes and slung them over his body.

“Where are you going?” Wen Qing asked.

“Nowhere. It is improper to be underdressed in the company of a woman.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes. “How chivalrous.”

After Lan Wangji finished donning his robes, she pointed at the sword. Lan Wangji stared at Bichen for several moments, then with a rush of adrenaline, he scooped it up and unsheathed it. The bright moonlight from the window reflected off its blade with a frosty silver sheen.

He faced the closet door, then looked over his shoulder at Wen Qing with an expression that asked, What do I do now?

“Try drawing some type of array with the tip of your sword. Whatever array you think is best.”

“In the wood?” If Wen Qing wanted him to vandalize Cloud Recesses property, he would have to lay down his weapon.

“No, don’t get all worked up. Just in the air.”

With solemn concentration, Lan Wangji traced a perfect meshwork of interwoven lines in front of the door, deciding to create a qi expansion array. Bichen swished through the air with a muted whirring sound as Lan Wangji dictated its sharp, precise strokes.

They held their breath and waited.

Nothing happened.

“Try opening it,” Wen Qing said.

Lan Wangji pulled on the door. It did not budge. He glanced back at Wen Qing with the tiniest, most imperceptible look of smugness.

It had not worked. Really, it was a total shot in the dark. There was no known connection between this closet and the rumored shrine in Qinghe, which may have never even existed. Wen Qing had no justification for sneaking into his room and turning him into a rule offender.

“I brought the book with me,” Wen Qing said. “Let’s take another look. Do you have anything I can cross-reference?” Wen Qing said as she strode over to the edge of Lan Wangji’s bed. She looked up with dark, determined eyes and a questioning smile, as if asking for permission to sit.

Lan Wangji realized that his odds for persuading Wen Qing to leave were very low. And if he did not comply, Wei Wuxian would be awakened to witness his shamefulness. He nodded in reluctant approval, and Wen Qing sat down on his bed.

An itch scratched at Lan Wangji’s heels, making his movements jumpy and warning him that this scenario was unfamiliar territory. He watched Wen Qing flip through the book for a few moments, then set down Bichen on its stool and perched himself on the bed sufficiently far away from her.

Lan Wangji’s eyes darted to Wei Wuxian’s slumbering body. If the twisted mind of that young man could see him now, he would have deluged Lan Wangji with incessant teasing. Lan Wangji was glad that his roommate was a heavy sleeper.

He selected a borrowed library book from his bedside shelf and began to read under the moonlight that shone down in the shape of a window frame around his shoulders.

Lan Wangji and Wen Qing remained in this position for a long time, scouring pages with lightning speed and murmuring comments to each other.

It was actually quite nice.

Known as a man of his word, Lan Wangji was accustomed to people believing whatever he said with unshakeable faith, until this aspect of his life had become as ordinary as the water he drank. However, at this moment, Lan Wangji felt grateful that Wen Qing believed his story about the closet portal. Despite her sarcasm that nipped at Lan Wangji like a snapping turtle, she believed Lan Wangji so wholeheartedly that she was willing to stay up late in the night to help him study obscure magic and solve this mystery.

As Lan Wangji’s face skimmed through the fourth book of the night, his eyes as placid as glass and his skin as smooth as jade, the corners of his mouth crept into a smile.

The silence was peaceful.

Then, a haunting, ethereal melody coiled through the air like a mournful dragon.

It ceased abruptly.

It was a guqin. Wen Qing snapped her book shut and whirled her head to look at Lan Wangji, who sat motionless with his lips parted.

The guqin’s song had come from the closet.

The closet.

They opened the creaking panel and stepped through the pitch-black doorway together.

When they emerged at the other side, they were not in a closet, and they were not in Wen Qing’s room.

* * *

“What is this place?” Wen Qing whispered.

Lan Wangji blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of his surroundings, which were much brighter than the abysmal black he had passed through in the closet to arrive here, but were still darker than where just minutes ago he had sat safely on his bed underneath a window’s halo.

“Unsure,” was all Lan Wangji could manage.

“Are we still in the Cloud Recesses?”

It was a good question. Lan Wangji had already been trying to determine that for himself. He was not sure how he sensed it, but they were high above the ground. The air held traces of an acrid stench buried by dust and at least four different perfumes. Was this an attic?

Bichen unsheathed itself an inch to shed some light, but there was a magnetism in the room that seemed to swallow Bichen’s glare. The sword vibrated in frustration.

Despite the darkening charm, there was no living essence nearby to cast the spell. Whatever emanated the charm was not alive.

They were alone. And there was no guqin in sight.

Lan Wangji squinted to discern the shapes in the room before him. It was a small square chamber, each edge two or three body lengths long, and a thick stone platform wrapped around the center of the room in a ring. Wide triangular patterns adorned the wall in dark, foreign blotches.

The room was crowded with an assortment of irregularly shaped items that, despite the faint light from tinted arched windows that stretched down from the angular ceiling, were too shadowy to identify. There were many of these objects scattered about. However, they could not be called clutter. They had been carefully placed here, arranged according to some inscrutable scheme.

On the back wall hung an alabaster-white emblem, a hoop with swirling tendrils reaching across its center like cloudy wisps. The symbol of the Gusu Lan Clan. They were still in the Cloud Recesses.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji concluded.

Although he could barely see the expression on Wen Qing’s face, he could sense tension immediately disperse from her body at his words. Lan Wangji also felt something unclench in his gut at the knowledge that they had not gone far from home.

Wen Qing stood close enough for her arm to be lightly nestled into Lan Wangji’s side. He leaned away to break the contact, as touching others made him uncomfortable, but he stayed near enough to still feel the young woman’s aura that brushed the dense air next to him, like a small lantern fire warming the chilly space and reassuring Lan Wangji’s mind.

He checked through the list of buildings in the Cloud Recesses that had multiple stories: pavilions, temples, living quarters, a watchtower. None was recorded of having a room like this. Where could they be?

“Well, the portal worked,” Wen Qing said. “That’s a success. I don’t think it was our doing, though. Do you have a talisman we can light?”

Lan Wangji instinctively reached a hand toward the vast sleeve of his azure robes, only to remember that this pair of robes was his spare. He stopped his hand as it was about to cross over his chest.

“No. Do you?” he said.

Wen Qing exhaled a sharp sigh. “No. Clan Leader Nie confiscated them all. I suppose he didn’t want to afford Wen Chao, my brother, or I any tools that would make it easier to sneak around after curfew.” She shrugged. “Not that it stopped me.”

“Talismans may not work anyway. I believe there is a darkening charm.”

Wen Qing shook her head. “I wish I’d planned ahead better. I could’ve prepared a tonic of mi meng hua to improve our night vision.”

Lan Wangji replied with a polite “hm?” from behind his tightly shut lips. Not because he was interested in further clarification, but because he wanted something to fill the eerie stillness that suffocated the room. He had never been adept at filling silence himself. Not that he was normally this eager to.

Wen Qing seemed grateful for permission to speak a sense of normalcy into the strange void they had entered. “Butterfly-bush flower buds. They clear heat in your qi stage to improve your sensitivity to light. Although they aren’t that effective unless you mix them with bat droppings. It’s not a concoction I tend to keep around.”

Actually, silence would do.

With unspoken synchronicity, they each wandered to opposite sides of the room. Their footsteps were measured, like the ticking of a clock, yet hesitant.

Lan Wangji passed boxes, urns, and diverse magical artifacts. None seemed harmful on their own, but somehow the methodical combination of these disparate objects in one place was unsettling, as if they whispered to each other about a devious plan that Lan Wangji could not decipher. What was this room? What purpose did it serve for the Cloud Recesses?

“Eek!”

Lan Wangji spun around. “What happened?”

“Nothing…nothing…”

A foreboding thought crossed Lan Wangji’s mind. This seemed to be a storage room. Bugs were often found in such places. Lan Wangji did not want Wen Qing to freeze in terror from spiders or termites, leaving him to fend for himself should a more serious threat pounce on them.

Then he envisioned another giant monster bug attacking them. His nose twitched with shame at that memory. He decided that Wen Qing’s entomophobia might not have been as unreasonable as he once thought.

“Have you found anything of interest?” he asked.

“No. Do you think the guqin came from this room? I don’t see one.”

“It is possible.”

“I’ll check in the back.”

Wen Qing’s shadow slinked across the wall on the left side of the room. Having finished inspecting his area, Lan Wangji proceeded along the opposite wall.

He bumped into a sack that hung from the ceiling. It was lumpy and rugged. Tempted by curiosity, Lan Wangji skimmed a hand along a small patch of the scratchy fibrous material. The sack was hard in one place, and then directly next to that protrusion was a deep groove where air sat between the fabric and whatever lay underneath.

What could it be?

He slid his hand a little farther, searching for a seam or an opening of some kind. His fingers closed upon a flimsy tab of paper. He lifted a corner of the rectangular sheet with a faint crinkling sound and leaned his face forward until his eyes were level with the paper.

It was a talisman.

But a talisman for what? It was too dark to study the runes scrawled on its surface.

Lan Wangji looked up. He had not realized before, but the sack was covered with talismans, their bottom edges curling up from the fabric.

Dread gripped Lan Wangji. No one would place this many talismans on a bag unless something sinister was inside.

“We should leave,” he murmured.

“What happened?”

Lan Wangji had only taken one step backward when the talisman he had touched fell from the fabric’s surface.

The entire sack dropped to the ground with a thud, revealing what stood underneath.

The gaunt white body of a female corpse.

“Hnngh!” Lan Wangji cried as he stumbled backward into the curved stone platform. He tripped over its edge and plummeted down until his shoulder blades slammed onto the wooden floor, his neck bent at a frightful angle that shot pain down his spine.

Lan Wangji immediately swung back onto his feet and unsheathed Bichen.

A beam of light shone from the back wall underneath the Gusu Lan Clan emblem. A sky blue guqin appeared, streaking harsh light through the room that pelted Lan Wangji like shards of rock. Its strings played themselves, but it was not the melody a guqin should produce. It was maniacal, strident—the sonic equivalent of a crazed dagger slashing through the air.

It was piercing through Lan Wangji! The twisted music was going to cut his soul!

Before Lan Wangji had time to think, Wen Qing’s nails were dug into his arm, and he was scrambling across the room with her to the door through which they had first entered the room.

But they had been teleported inside! What use was it to run toward a nonexistent door?

But when Lan Wangji reached out, his hand closed upon a weighty stone handle. He thrust it open.

A winding staircase descended into darkness below them.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3! New chapters posted every Monday on AO3 and Tuesday on Tumblr.

Ch. 9 > | chapter list

#mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #mdzs fanfic #the untamed fanfic #mdzs #the untamed #cql #lan wangji #lan zhan #wen qing #cantatio #emilu talks

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