#psychology classes are dry as HELL
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hi friends!! eris pt.3 will be out either tn or tomorrow im so sorry!! ive been super busy w assessments 😵💫😵💫
#lexluvsbabbling 🌬#lexluvswriting: l'autunno#eris vanserra x reader#eris acotar#eris x reader#psychology classes are dry as HELL#someone pls write my essay for me
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Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!
Want to be on the tag list? Have an idea for next chapter? Clicked the wrong option? Reblog or Comment with 'tag me'! New? Check the very bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is below the cut!🔥
~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 9~
Obi-Wan watches the end of Maul's translucent fins disappear beneath the water line, and scrubs a hand down his face. The jedi turns away, and plops down in a mediation pose next to the magma ball.
He hadn't quite realized the extent of it before, but the sith's mind was not… whole.
It had come out in the dips and flows of conversation. In questions about concepts that were common knowledge. Odd moments where yellow eyes would twitch off to the side, or stare into the distance. He expected any sith to be a little crazy, driven halfway to madness by the darkside itself, yes, but... this was something more.
Maul the dragonfish was a very different man from the unblinking, uncompromising apprentice he'd faced at Theed. Was it the… transformation? Was this clever, curious mind underneath the expressionless assassin all along? Was the sharp wit and quick tongue natural, or new? Obi-Wan didn't think he'd ever find out for sure.
And none of that really changed his most startling realization yet: that Maul was strangely good company when he wasn't being psychotic.
All the kidnapping and such aside, Obi-Wan hadn't… he hadn't played like a youngling tussling on the floor for the fun of it in... years? Hadn't curled up with someone to sleep next to since… well. It has been a bit. Bless him, but Anakin is a handful. Adults-only time for training and private pursuits had perhaps not been as common as they should have been these past six years.
It did not help that being on-world and free at the same time as his usual partners for casual assignations simply didn't happen enough for his, ah… tastes. Bant was a prodigious, in-demand healer, and Kit was always hairing off on another adventure.
Actually, the dry spell might explain why he couldn't stop wondering about…
More importantly, it didn't help that for being the prisoner of an evil, insane sith, Obi-Wan finds himself ever more comfortable. That was surely a bad sign. There was some sort of prisoner psychology thing… stackhold or some such? Yes, his experience was probably being colored by that.
He finds himself a bit concerned that such a thing could set in so quickly. His stay at the bottom of the sea thus far was measured in days, not weeks or months. Was his mind prone to the… stackholding?
Obi-Wan regrets not taking more psychology classes as a knight.
The jedi master hums, leaning closer to the black stone to soak up it's radiant heat.
“I need to stop enjoying myself when he picks on me,” he tells himself. “He's being a bully, and just because I like it doesn't mean it's okay to encourage him.”
Obi-Wan resolves to stop rising to provocation.
“I need to stop responding with humorous rejoinders when he is being a smart ass,” he affirms as well. “It only provides him openings to be entertaining and establish… rapport, and rapport leads to regard, which leads to…”
He resolves to be more bland in conversation.
“I must find a way to free myself. Anakin needs me. My duty is to the order, and to the people of the galaxy at large,” he states the obvious. "Though Maul seems... really quite lonesome, actually. Hmm."
His meditative self reflection continues, turning over those thoughts.
Yes he needed to go home, and to go home he needed to escape… but how? Plan Aurek had been a supreme failure.
Obi-Wan knew of a fair few animals, had connected with hundreds of different species in his lifetime… but rarely did he encounter one that was capable of prevaricating. The octopus he had called for aid had come… but it had been sentient enough to lie. To cunningly send him feelings of curiosity and friendliness under false pretenses.
The gorogoro had betrayed him. It had died horribly for it, but that was no comfort.
Obi-Wan sighs. That really had not been a good result for anyone. He still needs help though. Down, over, that way, something like a hundred yards off, he could feel the faint twinkle of his kyber. He assumes -hopes really- that his rebreather is there too.
With a heavy heart, he reaches out into the seas with the force, very careful to avoid the nexus of darkside that is Maul, and the glimmer of other gorogoro. He does not want a repeat of the previous situation, but he will not simply give up.
‘Hello?’ Obi-Wan calls, in feelings instead of words.
‘I’m friendly. I'm safe. I need help,’ he sends.
His gentle energy reaches plenty of creatures, but nothing so dexterous or intelligent as an octopus. Little fish swarm by the water’s edge, excited enough to make little plips and plonks of noise. They can't help him, but the sweetness is heartening nonetheless.
After a little while he gives up. Nothing else with enough force signature to be large or smart was nearby at the moment, but surely something with potential would happen by at some point?
What he does not sense, because it is impossible and so he is not paying attention, is the panicking flare of his padawan’s force bond. Thirteen some odd sectors away, his tiny call for help had been heard by a fifteen year old. One who had been worrying and wondering where his beloved master was.
🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥
-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)
@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043 @moonsickvampire @maulish
New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽
#get it? DRY SPELL#cackling#yes i've made Obi-Wan aquatic-sexual in this#who can stop me?#Obi-Wan is getting stackhold syndrome oh no!#What's that? you ask#fuck if i know#darth maul#star wars#chat writes the plot#sith#zabrak#nightbrothers#maul opress#dragonfish#king of the dragonfish#obi wan kenobi#obimaul#naboo#mermaid au#star wars fanfiction#spider!maul oceanic edition#weird af#we're having fun now#minors dni#Jedi#anakin skywalker#good thing he doesn't know Cody yet#holy shit Cody would be losing his mind#monster fic
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(HELPP sorry bro gonna ask this blog instead mb 💀😭)
helloo can u classpect me pls (idk heo to do this 🔥) including a little bit of vent for the sake of classpects
basically i am reclusive, secretive, spacey, knowledgeable but not in an arrogant way, creative, pretty absent minded, and very awkward :]
my main interests include TMNT, MBTI, experimental music, psychology, and marine life. (probably says nothing)
i also like drawing but sometimes i get mad jealous over other ppls art
i also have a strong interest in leftism, anti-racism and anti-capitalism. idk what that says tho
i can get RLY obsessive about my interests and i will NOT shut up about whatever im hyperfixating on
i find it extremely difficult to grasp social cues, in other words i am socially inept
i can have a lot of trouble with empathy usually, not saying i have no empathy tho
no social life. 0. not even one (1) friend. offline or online.
if i had a social group tho i think id be the weird one who is very awkward and does not get jokes 😭
i like to consider both logic and emotions when making a decision, but i tend to value logic and rationality more sometimes
i have a tendency to stay up really late, like really late (it is 5 am as i am writing this
(idk of the text below counts as a vent or not but read idk)
ive always been really bad at explaining, wording, or identifying my own emotions, idk why but its just really hard to come up with words that can accurately describe how i feel, which is why im shit at venting
nvm i think im just bad at wording my own thoughts in general, it makes me feel kind of dumb, im just as bad at that on text too 😭😭 communicating is hell
(vent-ish thing is over)
supernatural stuff is pretty cool too idk
ive been told im dry and very monotonous in person 💀 like a robot n shit
i also dont like being wrong but not in an arrogant know-it-all asshole kinda way ❤
idk what else to put here.
Seer of Void
I'm not picking up any sign that you would *want* to be assigned a void player but I don't tell people what they want to hear.
- dissection -
‘ basically — :] ’ in this paragraph you list off some traits that could easily be associated with void
‘ i can RLY — tho ’ classpects aren't political stances and tho some classes and aspects are described as more devoted or revolutionary it doesn't specifically tilt it towards any view on these things. go girl give us nothing
‘ i find it — jokes ’ you're listing traits of autism, not something that could help me classpect you. However in all technicality "lacking" so many things can be written off as void
‘ i like to consider — on text too ’ okay, Dirk strider moment I guess, if you had only left this paragraph i would have given you prince of heart and left it at that
- dissection over -
why I think you're a seer of void
seers struggle to grasp their aspect at first, how it works and how they could relate to it escapes them, but once they learn it they're comfortable in it. you talk like youre rampaging to find fragments of a personality, sloppily putting paragraphs about yourself together, but if you were to take a step back and relax I think you'd be relieved and find comfort in the nothingness, and along with it the unlimited potential you'll master but.. baby steps
bonus round
i think there would be a destructive heart player and/or a mind player in your session, you seem torn between the two, I don't see this talked about amongst the classpecting population but I do think the aspects of the players in your session would affect you. with all my evidence of that coming from the kids and trolls sessions I mean the bond is just so clear
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The lead up to yesterday's solar eclipse was very informative in a lot of ways. It was a good exercise in seeing how infected the throbbing vein inflamed with a unsure neurosis running through the world's populations truly is. How deep it's perturbations resound out. How much of it is artificially induced, to what degrees, and how much grifter culture has come in the past ~10+ years. Next door, the woman and her husband clear out old debris from the trees behind their house; working without so much as a glance towards the sky. Trucks carrying shipping containers and processed food rumble by. A cargo train fitfully jerks past. In that twilight moment yesterday(was not in the path of totality), as I stare up at the sun and moon mingling together through an old welding helmet, snapping pictures with a digital camera, the silence and the dark grey settling over things, I couldn't help but think of the significance: an aries moon and sun in aries as well. War, War. War is always here. War is always on the horizon. People are always at war with themselves. It does not end. There is a greek dweeb from the way back who once remarked "War is the daddy of everything desu uwu ^.^". I suppose that is true to an extent. It is all about if you have accepted the warfare-or, if you prefer, the constant conflict-of things clashing, intermixing, falling apart, rebuilding themselves. The fluctuation of all things es lo que es.
In 2017 I traveled across the U.S. with an old friend and his family, people I considered family then. This was the time of the 2017 solar eclipse. Stopped there, on the side of some highway in the middle of the dry New Mexico scrub-land, peering through 5 pairs of sunglasses, drunker than all Hell, my friend's dad and I laughing to each other; "It ain't shit out here. What a bummer. At least we get to see something cool in the desert." I wish I had not been so loaded that whole trip, or had taken photos of that eclipse but I suppose it does not matter too much. I got some this time. But for the past few years I have had the distinct notion that I have somehow spared myself from not being in the path of totality for either of these celestial events. I think it is most likely my own odd brand of paranoia that sits in the back of the class of my mind whispering weird shit while I'm on autopilot during the day, but it could be significant if even for self-psychological reasons.
One more thing, to touch on what I said about the grifter culture from earlier: I say it has come a long way. I have watched so many scam narratives be pushed by multiple persons throughout my time using the internet (a long time) and have even trolled myself and confess I have fucked with people in the past- not necessarily in a malevolent way per-say but more of fucking with people just to do it- but seeing how much noise has increased, as it were, over the InTerWebZ all these years, and hear seemingly normal persons talk about what would have hitherto something you'd only read somewhere like Godlike Productions or /x/ is strange indeed. Strange times. Listen to your own judgement. If you feel you may be lacking in the mental requisites to discern truth from the varied sources and persons online and offline, cultivate critical thinking. Read a basic logic textbook. I don't say that to be patronizing in any way. I did a few years ago on my own time because I could tell my own logical understanding was lacking. It never hurts to sharpen your mind, especially during these times. I hope who ever reads this is doing well for the moment and something happens today or tomorrow that helps you and yours out immensely.
-Wraithclatter
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A rumor of war
Roger Ebert, in his 1986 review of Oliver Stone’s compelling Vietnam era film Platoon, quoted Francois Truffaut. The acclaimed French director once remarked that it was impossible to create an anti-war film, because all war movies turn combat into noble brawls or manly adventures. Not Oliver Stone’s Vietnam. Here war is mean, ugly, and even more, physically and psychologically disorientating. Hollywood recognized Stone’s accomplishment, awarding Platoon with Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director (Stone), Best Film Editing, and Best Sound.
The central character in Platoon is Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen) and he bears a striking biographical resemblance to Oliver Stone. Like the filmmaker, Taylor is a well educated, upper-middle-class kid who enlisted in the Marines, when he didn’t have to, in search of glory, excitement, and manly validation. But the war that Stone depicts only takes; it robs soldiers of their morals, decency, and all too often their lives. Taylor sees this right from the start. Just as he is shipping out, he spots a line of flag-draped caskets coming back from the front.
In Vietnam, Taylor’s platoon, like the nation itself in the 1960s, is divided, split between whites and blacks, and between the juicers (who drink) and the heads (who get high). Even more fundamentally, the troops are split between two senior officers and two moral visions of war. With his scarred and grizzled face, Sgt. Barnes (Tom Berenger) is the king of the juicers; he is a brilliant and fiercely Machiavellian warrior. He will do anything to win, to cut down the enemy, and make sure his men survive to fight another day. The heads are led by Sgt. Elias, who tries to wage war not just to survive physically, but to some how survive the killing with his humanity in tact.
Stone doesn’t take the easy way out here, celebrating bravery or redemption. Taylor is torn by these two visions. His instincts, even his class background, lead him towards the heads. But he knows that Barnes and his sometimes vicious juicers, notably the nearly psychopathic Bunny (Kevin Dillon), are products of a geo-political hell created by know-nothing policy makers thousands of miles away. But they are also savviest soldiers and the most likely to make it through to the next battle. The morals tensions between Barnes and Elias are always there in Stone’s film and to his credit, they never get preachy or reduced to simple choices.
But the real strength of the film is its unvarnished depiction of the war itself. Soldiers in Stone’s Vietnam face real conditions. They are always hot and always slogging through a wet jungle. They can’t ever get dry and their feet swell with puss. The land-mine spiked ground below them makes every step an uncertain and perilous one. Mosquitoes and snakes are everywhere. And boredom, not an easy thing to weave into a film, hangs over the soldiers, as they wait for what they didn’t want, another battle.
On the guns do roar and the napalm explodes, Stone captures the ambushes and firefights brilliantly. The battles are full of chaos. Like Taylor and the men in his platoon, you never where the bullets are coming from. You never really know where the enemy is or even who is the enemy. Again, like the Vietnam war itself and an unlike a sneakily romantic film like Saving Private Ryan, Platoon features no epic battles, there are no Normadies, no Battles of the Bulges here. This refusal to inflate or glorify is the essence of Platoon’s courageous anti-war sensibility.
Avoiding these kinds of dramatic moments and pushing up against the flag-waving rhetoric of the Reaganites and the Rambos of his own day allows Stone to capture the war’s huge psychological tolls on US combatants. (In a later film, Heaven and Earth, he tried to tell the war story from the Vietnamese perspective, and in Born on Fourth of July, he looked at the long-term costs of the conflict and government and social indifference to veterans.) Vietnam, Stone makes clear, was a war of attrition and the point was to kill. As Philip Caputo, who like Stone was also an enlistee from a middle-class, Ivy League background, writes in his stirring memoir, A Rumor of War, “Our mission was not to win terrain or seize position, but simply to kill: to kill Communists and to kill as many of them as possible. Stack ‘em like cordwood. Victory was a high body-count, defeat a low body kill-ratio, war a matter of arithmetic.”
In many ways, Platoon is the cinematic twin to A Rumor of War. In the first words of his book, Caputo states, “this book does not pretend to be history.” Neither does Platoon. But this lack of pretending is what makes both of the film and the book such great history. They both capture the past as it was really lived. In the case of Vietnam on the wet, dank ground, the war is portrayed in the book and the film is relentlessly wrenching, cruel, and costly.
The more we remember wars from the honest perspective of those who fought them, the less maybe we will start them in the first place. That surely is the simple, yet still powerful, anti-hawk position Oliver Stone, the war veteran and anti-Reaganite filmmaker, gives a messy life to in Platoon.
-Bryant Simon on Platoon, "Reconsidering the Oliver Stone Filmography," PopMatters, Sept 23 2010
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Some between-series Artemis Fowl headcanons:
His three doctorates are:
-Astrophysics from Institut d’Astrophysics de Paris, while he and Minerva were together. Reports of stealing the ESA ‘Artemis’ satelite from graveyard orbit ‘pour rigoler’ are greatly exaggerated.
-Psychology from Trinity College Dublin, with some overlap with the time his mother was receiving her degree—he actually studied psychotherapy, counselling psychology and psychoanalytics as well, but Myles counts them all as one degree because he’s twelve like that
-Literary Practice from Trinity College (one of their most difficult programs to get into) but he got the degree by accident by attaching a 100,000 word novel to the wrong email
He loves lecturing, very, very much and has gradually started laughing at his own jokes when none of his students do.
His “rate my professor” page looks like this:
4.3/5 Quality
77% Would take again 5/5 Difficulty
Tough Grader Lecture Heavy Hilarious Lots of homework Get ready to read
Terrifying. he’s a guy our age. talks like James Joyce, Socrates, and Stephen Hawking
Don’t make assumptions based on Professor Fowl being younger than most of his students, his are some of the best (and hardest) classes you will take. He really makes you work for it.
Very passionate, his class is extremely difficult, beware of stray condescending remarks
Smart as hell, bit of an oddball, super young
Seems to know about everything, dry wit, prepare to have your assertions challenged
Hottie OMG, tell me waht I’m doing wrong I want criticizm
more flexible than you would expect, if you’re having trouble completing something on time or don’t go to class, very understanding
Sometimes difficult to follow, needs to slow down, many students need to ask for help
To relax before falling asleep, Artemis will often calculate the physical properties of hypothetical star systems. This is exactly the same concept as counting sheep—by the way, did you know that one of the proposed common names of part of the cloud illuminated by the supermassive eclipsing binary stars in Sharpless 2-170 is the Lamb’s Head Nebula? It’s 2.8 +/- 0.2 kiloparsecs away.
He still has OCD (I don’t think he was entirely truthful with Argon toward the end of the six months) and has some motor tics especially when he’s understimulated
His spaceship /is/ named after the film Interstellar and he’s still as furious as the next biologist about the scientific inaccuracy of the “blight” plot device. He’s going to fight Christopher Nolan about it, possibly on Fortnite
Since less and less of Artemis’s work is anonymous and/or illegal he became more well-known in the public eye but also more habituated to spending time outside of his home, until those two things came to a head and the press got interested and then, well, he figured it was time to go to Mars. Then the ones with microphones and shoulder-cameras would have to use email like everybody else.
Artemis wrote the earliest version of his Martian expedition program when he was two years old and has been re-writing it since then.
His hypothesis at the moment is that there are fossils on the surface of Mars, but that they came from Earth.
He’s not involved with NASA’s Artemis Plan because he thinks it’s funnier to keep calling them asking for royalties and accusing them of plagiarism.
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Hello, can I request a Modern AU Wanda x Female Reader with the song If You Asked Me To by Angeline Quinto? Where basically Wanda and R are in this middle area of not being official and on and off relationship because Wanda has had shitty ex’s that have cheated on her. And hopefully happy ending? :)
I followed your request, but I don't know if it was exactly what you expected hahaha I hope you like it anyway.
//-//
Wanda Maximoff x Reader - If You Asked Me To
Part 2 (Smut Special)
Summary: Prompt request “ Modern AU Wanda x Female Reader with the song If You Asked Me To by Angeline Quinto? Where basically Wanda and R are in this middle area of not being official and on and off relationship because Wanda has had shitty ex’s that have cheated on her.”
Words: 6.432K || Read on AO3
Warnings: Brief smut i think, cursing, mentions of drinking, a bit of angst, teasing, dirty talk, college au.
Marks: @abimess
//-//
You were very angry with your best friend.
Carol Danvers made you drive three hours to her university and her dorm, only to leave you locked out.
You were calling for the ninth or tenth time when the phone went to voicemail again and you resisted the urge to throw the phone away and left a new message.
"Carol, if you haven't had an accident, I'm going to strangle you when you get here." You grumbled against the device. "I'm at your dorm door, where the hell are you?"
You waited for another fifteen minutes before a redheaded girl approached you, clearly wanting to open the door.
"Can I help you?" She asked curiously, you let out a sigh.
"You must be Natasha, Carol told me about you." You say and the girl confirms with a nod. "I'm her friend from NYU, she just stood me up."
The girl laughed lightly as she unlocked the door.
"No, she's just drunk in the building next door." She told you and you frowned. "Steve Rogers is having a party in the boys' dorm, and the last time I saw her, she was dancing on the table."
Natasha came into the room, beckoning you to follow her. She threw the bag she was carrying on the bed, and you threw your backpack on the bed that was supposed to be Carol's.
"I'm going to kill her." You grumble angrily, and Nat laughs.
"Please don't do that, nice roommates are hard to find." She jokes, sitting down on the bed. You laugh, taking one last look at your cell phone.
"Are you going to stick around?" You ask and the girl looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "Carol had told me that you were going to sleep with your boyfriend or something, so the bed would be free." You clarify with flushed cheeks.
Nat bites her lips, slightly thoughtful.
"It's that option off." She comments. "We broke up tonight so."
"Damn, I'm sorry."
"It's okay." She assures with a smile. "He was kind of a jerk. And I do prefer chicks anyway."
You nod, not really knowing what to say. Nat looks at you with squinted eyes.
"Are you into girls?" She asks suddenly and you feel your cheeks heat up.
"S-sure." You reply. "But I'm not interested in you." You say and she raises her eyebrows in surprise, and you hasten to add. "No, sorry. Damn it is... I didn't mean it like that... I.... You're pretty and all but.... I don't... " You start to ramble on and she crosses her arms, looking at you with an amused smile on her lips. You take a deep breath before responding more firmly. "I meant that I'm already dating someone."
Nat laughs.
"I don't see a ring."
You blush looking at your hands at the same moment, and then looking at her.
"I..."
"I'm just messing with you." She says next, and you sigh with relief. But then she has a mischievous expression next. "But if you want my advice, I would put on a ring. A pretty girl like you sometimes needs a chain."
You swallowed dryly, looking away quickly. And then the door opened, and your best friend stumbled drunkenly inside, and she was not alone.
"Wow, I didn't know there were people here" Complains a very pretty black girl holding your friend by the waist and slightly startled when she notices you. Carol had her back turned and blinked in surprise when she turned around, clearly drunk. You crossed your arms.
"Hey, I know you!" She laughingly commented pointing her finger at you. You rolled your eyes, not being able to stay mad at her like that. It was funny.
"Ah, I have one of those faces you know." You commented with a smile. "Or maybe it's the fucking picture of us on your headboard."
Carol looked at you for a second and then let out a surprised exclamation, throwing her arms around you.
"I can't believe you're here! I've missed you so much!" she exclaimed happily hugging you and you rolled your eyes, laughing at her inebriated state. You held out your hand to greet the other girl as Carol stood over you.
"You must be Maria, right?" you asked and she confirmed with a nod, half embarrassed. "I was hoping to meet you over coffee, but I guess this will do."
Maria laughs lightly, she too looks drunk.
You sigh impatiently as you take Carol's arms off of you.
"We'll have a talk about commitment when you're sober, my sweet friend." You say to the blonde, who just smiles at you.
"Let's get something to drink while these two make out." Natasha comments getting up and pulling you by the hand.
//-//
You both end up in the dorm cafeteria, and you rub your forehead lightly, feeling tired.
"Is there somewhere for me to sleep, around here?" You ask Nat as you sit down at one of the tables. "I really don't want to drive to a motel."
Nat stands thoughtfully for a few seconds.
"You can sleep in Maria's bed, since she's sleeping with Carol." She suggests and you sigh, taking a sip of the drink you bought from the machine. The coffee was not good, and you grimaced.
"God, that's awful." You comment and Nat laughs.
"Yeah, nobody ever orders that."
"And why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I love to mess with the NYU kids."
You look at her in surprise, but then you laugh and Nat follows you.
"Fair enough." You grumble. The rivalry between the two colleges was not something unfamiliar to you.
"You might as well try Rogers' party." She starts with a suggestive smile. "Find a one-night stand, and get a bed to share."
You frown.
"I already told you I'm taken."
Nat laughs, taking a sip of her soda before speaking again.
"Yeah, and I'm not buying it."
You laugh, running your hands through your hair. Then you pull your cell phone out of your jacket pocket, and look for a picture in your gallery. You sigh when you don't find what you're looking for.
"Okay, I don't have any pictures with her, but that doesn't mean I'm lying..."
Nat laughs, placing the drink on the table and reaching for your cell phone, turning it over to herself. A picture of a redheaded girl on the glass screen.
"She's pretty." Nat comments. "Why don't you have pictures?"
You sigh, deciding if you should share with someone you just met. From what Carol said, Natasha was a nice girl. And honestly, you already liked her.
"We're not an official thing yet." You say shrugging, and putting your cell phone away, then putting your hands in your pockets. "Well, we are a thing. I'm just not sure what."
"Wow, that's trouble." She comments. "This kind of thing usually ends with everyone getting hurt."
"Yeah, I know." You mumble half annoyed. "But that it's temporary. We just need to connect properly, and everything will work out."
Nat looks at you with an insinuating smile.
"Someone is very much in love." She scoffs and you shrug, blushing. "That explains your gay panic earlier when I flirted with you."
You laugh sheepishly.
"Shut up."
//-//
You become friends with Natasha Romanoff after that. And now, almost three months later, you are single. Again.
"You know what, Wanda, do whatever you want." You retort angrily before slamming the door on your way out.
The first place you end up is in the outdoor area of the campus, sitting under one of the trees with your eyes closed.
"You young people are so dramatic." You hear a female voice comment wryly and open your eyes to face Professor Harkness, who teaches Social Psychology, standing in front of you with her hands in the pockets of her cardigan. She was probably one of the most controversial people you knew, impeccable teacher, but with questionable jokes. You liked her however.
"Hi, Mrs. Harkness." You mumbled.
"May I ask why you are striking the pose of the dramatic hero in a romance film? There are literally dry leaves falling all around you." She teases with a smile, you chuckle lightly.
"It's nothing, Mrs. Harkness." You tell her and she makes a slight movement with her head, indicating for you to walk with her. You sigh before standing up.
"I was talking to Principal Okoye at the entrance to the girls' dorm about the new coffee machines they installed in the teachers' lounge, and I, as well as the rest of the dorm, overheard your little disagreement with Miss Maximoff." She told as you walked side by side. You bit the inside of your cheeks, embarrassed. "Of course, my concern is that your grades will be affected by this conflict."
You laugh lightly, staring at the path in front of you. Mrs. Harkness was known for getting involved in the personal dramas of the students, and seemed to get a good kick out of it. You sighed lightly.
"Wanda and I are taking a break." You counters, and Harkness gives a chuckle.
"Young people, and these new forms of relationships." She retorts. "In my day we had one date and we were already getting married!"
"Is that why you divorced Professor Bohner?" You retort and Harkness seems impressed that you strike back, but laughs.
"Don't be a smart-ass, huh?"
You laugh, shaking your head slightly. A moment later, Agatha speaks again.
"Maybe I'm not in my position to comment, but I'm going to bring it up anyway." She begins. "I've noticed that you get especially quiet in my classes when you have some disagreement with Mrs.Maximoff, which is a shame, since I love the debates you bring to my class."
"I'm really starting to believe that all this talk is about the subject matter." You retort with a smile and you stop walking at a crossroads. The teacher smiles at you.
"Next week we're going to have an important test." She says. "Maybe you two should work things out between yourselves so that it doesn't affect your grades."
"Thanks for the warning, Ms.Harkness." You comment with an embarrassed smile.
She nods before walking toward the main building. You head in the opposite direction, thinking about spending some time in the game room.
//-//
You are playing pool when Tony Stark joins you. Resisting the urge to use the stick on his face instead of the ball, you take a deep breath and play.
"What's up, Y/N?" He asks with a cocky little smile and you roll your eyes. From the timing and the annoying way rumors were spreading around the university, he should have heard about your little disagreement with Wanda.
"I'd watch your next words if I were you, Stark." You mumble menacingly. "I'm the one holding a bat."
He laughs, raising his hands in surrender for a moment. A drink that should be whiskey dangling between his fingers.
"I came here as a friend." He retorts and you watch the table, waiting for your partner, Clint Barton, to make his move.
"We're not friends." You say and Stark laughs again, making an expression of fake offense that makes you roll your eyes in impatience. "What do you want?”
"A favor."
"God must be testing me." You say bending down to make your move in the game. Stark smiles realizing that you will listen to what he has to say.
"I'm having a party on Saturday." He begins and you walk around the table. "I wish your friend Pepper was there."
"Do I look like a cupid, Stark?" You retort impatiently. "Even more so for someone like you. I wouldn't do that to Pepper."
Stark laughs awkwardly.
"Hey, come on." He says. "This story again? I already apologized, it's water under the bridge."
You grip the bat tightly, looking at Stark angrily, and he sighs. "Look, I'm not like that anymore, okay?" he continues. "Pepper is a nice girl, and I'm trying to get serious with her, but she blocked me and I can't invite her to a party."
"You're ridiculous." You comment impatiently. "Knowing you, you'll hound me until I say yes. Tell you what, I'll tell Pepper you're having a party, and you don't talk to me for the next year, okay?"
Tony let out an exclamation of celebration and rushed to give you a kiss on the cheek before quickly pulling away before you slapped him. He ran outside, waving and laughing.
"You know, I'm still amazed at how cool you can be." Clint comments as you turn your attention back to the game. You blink in confusion.
"Why do you say that?"
"I would have killed Tony if he had done what he did to Wanda to Laura." He says as you play along. "I think it's pretty mature the way you both went through it, and you forgave him despite everything."
You shake your head.
"He didn't do anything to me, I have nothing to forgive." You retort. "I've known him since he was a kid, and he's always been a jerk." You say. "After what happened, I was very angry. But then time passed, and he's just a colleague now. If he leaves me alone, I have no reason to fight with him."
"Yet here you are arranging a date for him."
You let out a chuckle.
"Oh, yeah." You say. "How long before Tony finds out that Pepper is engaged, I wonder."
Clint blinks and then lets out a laugh.
"I'm impressed."
"Don't be." You say. "The best advantage of that story is that he won't talk to me for a whole year."
Clint laughs and you two play in silence.
When you finish, with him winning by a few points, it is you who pays the bill as you both bet.
On the way out, Laura calls him, and you go back to your dorm.
//-//
You skip the first period on Friday, Art History, because you sleep too much after staying up at dawn re-reading your messages with Wanda.
It's frustrating the way you can't get her out of your head.
Stumbling out of your bed, you are still yawning when you get out of the shower, and then you put on your first set of sweatshirts and leave for your next class.
Professor Harkness is already in the classroom when you enter.
You look at Wanda, already seated in one of the back seats when you sit down, but she quickly looks away from you.
"Dears, today I've brought a very relevant topic for our end-of-semester paper" Agatha begins as everyone sits down, and the bell rings. She has a twinkle in her eyes that makes you frown. "Let's talk a little about relationships today."
You look at the teacher in disbelief, and Harkness actually had the audacity to throw you a little smile before turning on the slides.
Sighing, you laid your head on one of your arms, starting to make some notes, knowing that this was going to be a long and awkward lesson.
"And so we can conclude that setting boundaries turns out to be a crucial part of a healthy relationship." Said Professor Harkness many minutes later. You were drawing a small doll with your pencil on the sheet and were startled when she called your name next. "Honey, I wanted your opinion on this topic."
You blinked in confusion, shaking your head slightly. Looking forward, you noticed that Agatha was pointing to the slide. The topic was "How to avoid fights and emotional fallout in a relationship?"
You mumbled to yourself that it was a great question, and Agatha asked you to speak up.
Blushing a little, you took a deep breath, trying to think of a decent answer.
"I would say that communication is one of the most important steps, Ms. Harkness." You answer then Agatha smiles at you.
"Yes, that is correct." She says. "And talking is the key. Not arguing, or accusing. Or offend. Talk."
You risk looking behind you and blush when you find Wanda already looking at you. You quickly turn your head forward. This is so childish, you think, trying to turn your attention back to class.
//-//
After your last period, you want to sleep. But there is a flood in the ladies' room and the dormitory is in absolute chaos, and it is also very hot, so you are heading outside two minutes after you have arrived in your room.
Your roommate, Darcy Lewis, catches up with you outside, extending a cigarette to you, but you refuse with a nod, though you stand beside her.
"I haven't seen you in a few days, is everything okay?" She asks casually between puffs. You shrug, and she smiles. "Let me guess, Wanda?"
"I'm so predictable, right?" you retort and she laughs.
"No, you're just in love."
You let out a dry laugh, looking at the small crowd of girls waiting for the bathroom flood to be cleaned up by the cleaning crew outside.
"What's the deal with you guys, anyway?" Darcy asks with a frown. "Everyone has seen you two exchanging kisses in the same number that you''ve exchanged screams."
You run your hand through your hair, pulling the strands out of front of your eyes.
"We have too much history, that's all." You say. "Wanda doesn't quite know how she wants us to happen, and so we fight."
"Shit, that's sucks." She comments taking a long drag. You sigh, shrugging your shoulders.
"Yeah, it is what it is, sister." You retort. "She's got me tied up like a puppy while she decides what she wants to do."
Darcy is thoughtful for a moment, and then she puts out her cigarette.
"Look, you're a nice girl, and we've shared the same room for three years. I like you. " She begins, and you look at her curiously. "I think I can help you."
"Okay?"
"You know, I used to have a fling with a friend in high school, Jane, but she never let things be official between us, you know? Like she put me on hold mode." She tells you and you nod in understanding. "That just hurt me, until I took action."
"What did you do?"
"An ultimatum of course!" She says. "You need to confront her! If not, she will continue to think she can throw you over the edge whenever she wants. And you can't back down, you hear me? Or things could get worse."
You sigh, putting your hands in your pockets.
"I'm not very good with conflict." You say and Darcy puts her hand on your shoulder.
"Come on, you can do it." She tries to encourage you with a smile. Seeing your lack of reaction, she adds with a grin. "You can always make her jealous too."
"What?"
"Actually, she's looking over here with a deadly stare so I think you're already on this path." Darcy comments and you look back, only to catch a glimpse of Wanda's angry gaze before she turns and walks away from the dormitory. You let out a sigh.
"Shit." You say turning to Darcy quickly just to say goodbye, before running after the redhead. Darcy says something about "good luck" but you don't turn around.
//-//
You catch up with Wanda in one of the outside gardens, even from your back, you can practically feel her irritation.
"Will you please stop running?" You ask aloud, trying to catch up, and she finally stops, turning around with her arms crossed and an annoyed expression.
"What do you want?"
"Wanda, I was just talking to Darcy..."
Wanda lets out a dry laugh, her eyes glittering with irritation.
"I should have known you'd be like everyone else." She grumbles and you sigh, putting your hands in your pockets.
"Don't say that, Wanda." You say with weariness in your voice. "You know that's not true."
Wanda rolls her eyes, tears welling up in her eyes, and you refuse the urge to wipe them away, deciding that you two needed to talk.
"It doesn't matter." She retorts angrily. "We're done anyway."
"Enough." You interrupt her and she looks at you in surprise. "Enough of this whole taking a break, or breaking up for two or three days only for you to have me come back to your door and apologize for something that wasn't my fault."
"Wow, you really do remember things the way you want to."
You let out a dry laugh, taking one of your hands out of your pocket to run them through your hair nervously.
"Wanda, I'm serious." You warn her. "I'm not doing this anymore. This game where you put me on hold for when you're in the mood. I have feelings, I can't do this any longer."
Wanda gasps with incredulity.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know damn well what I'm talking about." You retort angrily. "I am not your toy! I love you! I'm not going to be your compensation prize for when you're bored." You shout, and Wanda blinks in surprise. "Either we're for real, or we're nothing."
"I don't..." She starts and then shakes her head, trying to pull herself together. "You know what I went through... we... I told you how hard it is to trust..."
"Wanda, enough." You interrupt her, "That's exactly what I'm saying. You always use the same excuses to make me feel guilty about demanding anything." You count and she shakes her head in denial, but you don't stop. "I know exactly what you've been through, because I listen to you. I'm not like Vision, or Tony, or any of the other assholes you went out with." You say and Wanda lowers her head. "I take care of you, I don't lie, or hide things. I talk, and I listen, and I love you the best way I can. And you push me aside. I can't do that anymore." You say feeling your own eyes fill with water. "So I need an answer now."
"What?"
"Wanda." You call out to her, but she just stares at you with her mouth open, as if she is trying to think of something to say, but nothing comes out. You feel your tears run down. "Okay. I guess I have my answer then."
Wiping your tears away, you turn around, walking away. Wanda calls out to you, but you're done.
//-//
For three weeks now, your social life has been all about fictional characters.
Your real friends called and texted you, but you left your cell phone on silent and tried not to fail your exams, while you spent all your free time in your room, whining while watching romantic movies where things worked out in the end, unlike what happened to you.
And then Carol Danvers appeared in you bedroom.
"You've got to be kidding me." She grumbled when Darcy opened the door, and she found you wrapped in a blanket, lying on the bed and staring at nothing.
"Hi, Carol." You greeted her without moving.
"Nat began to worry that you were dead." She commented sitting up in your bed, "But you were just being dramatic."
"Yes, I intend to keep it going like this." You retort pulling the blanket up over your head.
"Wow, I thought your worst was when you guys were fighting, but you really hit misery when you broke up with her." Carol said and you whined at the mention.
"Please talk about something else."
Carol rolled her eyes as she pulled on the blanket.
"We're going out." She announces as you grumble as you feel the blanket being pulled completely off.
Forty minutes later, you have showered, and put on comfortable clothes, as well as accepted the two glasses of water Carol gave you.
"Nat and her new boyfriend are meeting us at the gallery on Avenue Two." Carol tells you as she checks her cell phone. "Maria is going too, and she's bringing a friend."
You grumble in agreement and suddenly stop walking.
"Are you trying to set me up on a date?"
Carol laughs.
"I totally would, but no." She says."Monica is straight, and you're in the emotional cesspool, so I told Maria to bring someone so you wouldn't be the third wheel since we're in couples. Try to smile a little."
You roll your eyes, but don't reject that Carol has entwined her arm in yours as you walk toward the parking lots.
//-//
Meeting Monica turns out to be very nice after all.
You have many interests in common, and she is very intelligent and sarcastic, you enjoy her jokes.
Your outing with your friends brings a little cheer to you, and you find yourself laughing easily.
And then, when you are driving back to NYU, Monica mentions the boy she is talking to and you choke when you hear the name Maximoff.
"Oh my god, I can't believe you're dating Pietro!" Exclaims Carol in surprise as she drives you back. You are in the passenger seat, and Monica and Maria are in the back seat. Nat and Bruce, her boyfriend whom you met on the ride, went back to school on her motorcycle. "What a small world."
"I want to die." You grumble against the window, and Carol slaps you on the shoulder while Monica and Maria have confused expressions.
"Her girlfriend, damn, ex-girlfriend is Pietro's twin sister." Carol clarifies and the girls let out a noise of understanding. "How did you meet him, Mon?"
"I participated in the interclass program we had last semester between NYU and our university." She counted with a smile. "We talked for a few weeks, and he asked me out."
"Wow, what a coincidence." Carol says and you sigh, wishing you were back in bed.
"I had no idea Wanda had a girlfriend, Pietro didn't tell me."
You close your eyes, resting your head on the glass. Carol looked at you quickly, biting her lips, before she decided to speak.
"Yeah, well. Wanda wasn't exactly willing to make it all official..." She starts and you fight the urge to jump out of the car. "It was the reason for the breakup actually."
"Damn, I'm sorry." Monica said looking away from Carol to your reflection in the glass, but you kept your eyes closed.
Seeing the worried expression Monica cast at you, Carol added.
"Don't worry about her, honey. She likes to put on drama." Said the blonde. "She's pretending she's in a sad music video, that’s why we left the radio on."
"I hate you." You mumble to Carol and she lets out a giggle.
"I guess your invitation won't be a good idea then, Mon." Maria remarks next and Carol looks at them curiously through the rearview mirror.
"What invitation, girls?"
Monica exchanges a look with Maria before speaking.
"Pietro is on the NYU soccer team, and he asked me to watch the final game." She says. "It's pretty important, because that's where a lot of future players come out of there with contracts."
"Wow, that sounds really important." Carol comments with a smile.
"Anyway, he said it would be cool if I brought some friends along." She recounts. "He would like to meet my friends, and he would like me to meet his."
"That's awesome!" Carol exclaims happily. "Don't worry, we'll all be there cheering for Pietro."
The sentence makes you open your eyes and frown. But before you can say anything, Carol nods and repeats, "All of us."
//-//
Bad, bloody bad idea.
Fucking terrible idea.
You repeated these thoughts as you walked toward Carol, waiting for you at the entrance to the NYU soccer stadium, completely packed with students even though there were still forty minutes before the game started.
Carol was also wearing a set of jeans, and made a kind note about your outfit, but you just nodded, your thoughts elsewhere.
You met up with Maria, Nat and Bruce at the food booths, and you were glad to see your friends again after so many days.
"Ah, there's Monica coming." Said Maria with a smile waving to the girl through the crowd. The group looked on, and you swallowed dryly as Monica moved, and you noticed Pietro next to her, and then further back his group of friends, and his sister.
"I can't do this." You grumbled to Carol, and she looked at you with concern.
"Breathe." She asked softly as they approached. "You'll be fine, whatever happens just pretend she doesn't exist."
When the group reached you, you all smiled politely. You wanted to dig a hole in the ground when your gaze quickly met Wanda's, and your stomach churned, but you just waved nicely, and greeted everyone.
Soon you were all walking together to the stands. You wished you could stay the whole way with Carol, but she was chatting animatedly with Maria, and you stayed behind, avoiding walking with Wanda.
Pietro, and two of his friends, Bucky and Sam, also went to the locker room with him and the rest of the group went up to the bleacher seats.
You grumbled softly when you had to sit next to Wanda, hoping that your face wasn't too flushed. At least you were in the last chair with quick access to the corridor. To get away in case anything went wrong.
After everyone passed the food around, and you exchanged a few embarrassed glances with the redhead next to you when she passed you some soda, the game began.
It was an understatement to say that you weren't paying attention at all.
//-//
At halftime of the second half, Wanda commented that she wanted more snacks. And she could have simply asked you to excuse her, but she put her hand on your thigh instead, and you sighed in surprise and something else while you melted against your seat, and blushed profusely when she looked at you wide-eyed.
"I..." She started but you just started to get up.
"I'll buy it, I got it." You mumbled clumsily rushing to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Your legs were still shaking a little when you reached the food stalls.
Pulling your cell phone from your pocket, you typed a message to Carol that you were on the verge of emotional collapse and needed to leave. And without waiting for her to respond, you left the stadium.
//-//
NYU won the match. And Pietro got a contract to play for a famous team.
You heard about this from Maria the next day, because Carol wasn't talking to you.
She was very upset that you weren't opening up to her anymore, you knew it wasn't just because of the game.
You sent her an apology audio before the Literature class, and promised that you would be a reliable friend again.
During the lunch break, you went back to your dorm, intending to study a little.
"Hey." You greeted Darcy as you entered, she took off her headphones.
"Hey, pal." She retorted getting up and walking over to the bookshelf as you sat on the bed and threw your backpack on top of the sheet. "Your girl left some stuff for you." She warned as she picked up a book. You figured she must be studying for one of the surprise exams Professor Xavier used to pass around the class, and Darcy always remarked to you.
You blinked in surprise, and looked around. There was a small pile of things on your bed that you hadn't noticed before.
Shifting on the mattress, you began to look at the items.
You rolled your eyes at what Wanda decided to return. Some things were yours, like the NYU sweatshirt, and the cassette tapes, but there were also items that you had given her as gifts. Grabbing the bracelet you gave her for her birthday, the scarf you bought her for Christmas, and the book you got autographed by the author just for her, you left the room. Darcy didn't ask.
//-//
Wanda answered the door in confusion. You had a slightly annoyed expression.
"I can't believe you returned my gifts." You said walking into the room without waiting for her to pass. She mumbled an ironic "come in" afterwards.
You threw the items on her bed as she closed the door. You didn't notice that she locked it.
"I know we broke up, but that was cruel!" You said. "I gave those gifts to you, and you gave them back like they were nothing, I didn't..."
"I didn't give them back." She interrupted, twisting her fingers slightly, You frowned confused, "I wanted you to come talk to me."
You blink in surprise, feeling all the anger leave you at once. Shifting your weight between your feet, you cross your arms.
"What do you want, Wanda?"
"You." She confesses breathlessly and you frown in surprise, feeling your face heat up. She lets out a chuckle, running a hand through her hair. "I just... I want to apologize first." She begins. "I acted like a complete idiot, and I was so afraid of you hurting me that I did it to you first. And I'm sorry."
You looked at the floor afterwards, not knowing exactly what to say as you felt your heart racing. Wanda continued to speak.
"It's just... I swore I wasn't going to get involved with anyone after so many lies and betrayals." She said. "And then I met you. And you were sweet and kind, and so warm. And I didn't know how to handle all this love, because nobody ever treated me like that."
"Wanda..."
"No. I need to say." She interrupts with a tender smile. "You need to know that I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to do that. I was just scared."
You nod in understanding, swallowing dryly.
"I know." You say. "Damn it, I know. I just... I just wanted you to understand that I will never do what they did to you."
Wanda steps forward, and you don't back down.
"I trust you." She said. "I know you won't. I want to make this work."
You sighed.
"A-are you sure?"
"You are the best thing that has happened to me since I left high school." She confesses with a shy smile. "I don't want to lose you. I want to live this, even if I'm terrified."
You smile, moving closer to Wanda to caress her cheeks.
"No need to be afraid, baby." You say gently. "I'll look after you."
Wanda smiled and hugged you by the shoulders. You sighed as you wrapped your arms around her waist.
She broke the embrace a moment later, however, bringing your mouths together in a sweet kiss.
God, you missed her lips so much.
Resting your foreheads together, you smiled and then kissed her again, more intensely this time.
Wanda sighed, then your head was spinning, and all the hard-on from spending weeks apart came back at once, and you were pushing her against the first surface you could find, a bookshelf.
She let out a mixed groan of pain and pleasure as she felt her back hit the wood, but she was back to kissing you passionately the next second.
"Did you miss me?" she whispered breathlessly against your lips, scratching the scalp of the back of your neck, you grunted, feeling her warm body.
"Did you miss me?" you retorted, trailing kisses down against her collarbone as your hands moved up the inside of her blouse.
"Yes." She confessed in a husky voice, closing her eyes tightly as you bit a sensitive spot on her neck.
"How much honey?" You asked as you reached for her breasts, squeezing the flesh through her bra and making her moan and throw her head back.
"So much, babe." She whimpered as you began to play with her nipples between your fingers. And then she nibbled on your ear, whispering breathlessly. "I played with myself only thinking of you."
You gasped, feeling a tightness under your belly. You stepped forward against Wanda, taking her in your lap, and she let out a surprised exclamation, but soon you carried her to the bed, lying on top of her only to capture your lips in an intense kiss.
Leaving your thigh between her legs, it wasn't long before Wanda began to squirm beneath you, your tongues dancing together in a slow, sensual kiss.
As your hand began to play with the buttons of Wanda's jeans, you heard the lock click and let out a mutter of dissatisfaction as you threw yourself to the side, releasing Wanda, who blinked in confusion at the sudden lack of contact and opened her mouth to complain, but shut up when her roommate entered next.
"Wanda, why did you lock the door... Wow hello" Said the girl with a mixed look of surprise and mischief.
You cleared your throat, feeling hot and bothered as you sat up.
"Sorry to crash the party girls, but there wasn't a sock in the door." Continued the girl as she placed her belongings on her own bed.
"All right, Harley." Wanda said in a husky voice, exchanging a quick glance with you.
"Besides, we have a test now Wands." The girl comments with a smile. "I imagine you forgot."
You let out a giggle as Wanda blinks in surprise with a flushed face.
"Damn right." She grumbles getting up, and straightening her crumpled clothes. You sigh, getting up as well.
Wanda exchanges a look with her colleague as she escorts you out.
"Call me when you're done, we can watch a movie." You say as you leave the room. Wanda bites her lips, denying it with her head. Before you can ask, she brings her face close to your ear and whispers:
"I can’t wait to come in your mouth."
"Fuck, Wanda." You grumble feeling your face heat up and the tightness below your stomach ache. But you do nothing, noticing Harley's curious gaze on you from inside the room, not to mention on the people around the hallway.
Wanda walks away with an innocent smile, looking at you fondly.
"I'll come to your dorm when I'm done with the test. " She says and you nod. Wanda places a short kiss on your lips and you chase after her face, feeling her smile on your lips as you kiss her firmer this time.
But it doesn't last long and you break away, smiling one last time before turning away.
You wonder what your best friend's reaction will be when you tell her you two were dating again.
#wanda maximoff#wanda xreader#wandaxreader#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoffxyou#wandaxyou#wanda x you#marvel imagines#college au#wandamaximoffxreader#wandamaximoffxyou#wandamaximoff x reader
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Unpacking the Angel Event (Through My Own Perspective)
Okay so uh… this was a very uncomfortable seat the Devs have offered us today and like all things that give me moral uncomfiness, I HAVE to analyze it. Blame the ethics classes. A full disclaimer, this is not spoiler-free and is pretty much entirely just me unpacking my own feelings here. What may bother or not bother me could really affect you and there is nothing wrong with that. You are entitled to your own perspective. This is just me trying to walk through all the stuff in this event that just… rubbed me the wrong way. So let's get to it.
The Costumes
So. Let's start at the beginning. Diavolo apparently had the bright idea to put everybody in magical costumes of their angel forms (or something like it in Satan's case). This is… problematic.
The reason the brothers lost their angel forms was because they fell after the Celestial War… who's greatest causality (in their eyes) was their sister, Lilith. So one could imagine that their memories as angels aren't particularly happy ones… By this point in the "continuity" (this is Post-Attic, more on that later), they would have known that Lilith didn't actually die which may soften something like this a little. I dunno, I'm not one of them and trauma is uniquely personal to the individual, but the bigger issue is that Diavolo thought this was a good idea to start with to which I say! - I'm not at all surprised by that. Hear me out.
Diavolo is heavily implied to have had a huge ass crush on Angel Lucifer. He's also uh… probably a little sheltered (as sheltered as the royalty of Hell can be) and probably not used to think of his subjects' feelings on the things he does before he just does them. This is fairly evident in other events where he'll order the brothers to do XYZ task even if they want no part in it. It doesn't surprise me at all that Diavolo would want to see them (Lucifer) as angels again and not take into account how that could affect them. I don't think that'd be malice on his part, just shortsightedness, and he likely would have apologized if any of the brothers expressed an emotional problem with it to him directly.
Do they have problems? Yes. But since the event kind of wipes them of their true selves, that's better discussed elsewhere. Moving on.
The Bangles
Holy fuck, how do we even approach this? So Simeon, in conjunction with Michael (probably, at this point I have to wonder if he's telling the truth about this) gives the brothers jewelry, presumably to wear to the party, that would… I'm not even sure. Curb their impulses? Force them to be mannered? The important thing is he did not tell them about that little detail before they put the bangles on…
This is… also problematic. First, we can try to establish Simeon's intentions versus what actually happened:
The bangles were (likely) intended to be removable. It was the mixing of the magic that locked them in place so we can assume he didn't mean this to be a permanent change.
The magic on the bangles was probably amplified by the angel costumes. What this means is though we can assume that Simeon never intended them to become quite so… different, we'll never know just how much influence he was actually trying to put on them. It could have been anything from suppressing their sins to full blown force you to say please/thank you. We'll just never get to know now…
I won't be the first person to liken this to mind control (nor the last) because… that's kind of how it turned out. Even worse still, it would have been completely involuntary on the brothers' part. Simeon DID NOT tell them what the bangles were going to do. Now, he claims later that he would have eventually, but we don't get to know when that would have been. I presume at some time after the party, because like. These are our boys. They're not going to consent to wearing something like that, they're just not.
This poses all kinds of questions and problems ranging from issues of consent to anatomy and even the worth of good deeds done out of obligation vs. free will and… I mean quite literally when I say Jesus Christ, Simeon, what the hell?!
I could write a completely different post debating whether or not what Simeon did actually had any moral merit but I won't because it'd be very dry and boring. I think the most interesting thing to take away here is that Simeon thought it was okay to do like, at all, and with approval from Michael (maybe) no less… That reflects something on angel society that I doubt will get explored but I need to ponder farther…
This section is all kinds of sticky so we need to move on.
The Development(?)
First off, to new players, don't worry this probably isn't canon (at least to the main story continuity). The Brothers should be back to normal in the new chapters and this won't have a long term effect on anything (aside from maybe a tie in to the next event ala Beach event-> Games). That's how Obey Me has always treated their events it seems and I sure hope they stick to it now. But, these are still the same characters going through a unique situation and that can offer some insight so… Let's discuss.
I mentioned earlier that the brothers had problems with this… Unfortunately, I think we only get to see Lucifer and Satan's thoughts in any detail because everyone else is too far gone by the time we reach them… Lucifer can pretty much be summed up as troubled and unhappy because (you know) not a lot of great memories as an angel. I presume that his wounded pride after the fall may also contribute.
Satan is… more complex. I’m honestly more bothered by his change than anyone else’s because even he expresses how weird this is for him... (We get confirmation that he never in fact had an angel form, btw). Poor baby is going through a full on identity crisis and there’s a certain part of his mind that he’s not even allowed to use right now... Anger. The Avatar of Wrath, born from Wrath, can’t get angry and… Something about that just bothers me at a deeper level, not even I can express properly…
Everyone else is too far gone once we reach them. Their personalities are completely different and they can’t even acknowledge that’s the case. They think that they’ve turned a new leaf but we know that’s not the reality, that leaf was very much turned for them and it doesn’t make anything feel any better…
This may be my own opinion, but part of me thinks that this portion (and only this portion right here) was actually what the Devs were going for. They wanted us to be uncomfortable by all of this for like, story reasons. It’s a narrative trick. Think of the phrase “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” I think they were trying to use the absence of the brothers’ usual flaws and traits as a weird way of celebrating them. Kind of like saying, “We could have given you guys these perfect brothers, but they’re not perfect and we know that’s why you like them. Look at these perfect guys, doesn’t it feel wrong?” The answer is, yes. It does feel wrong. And under other circumstances, it would be affirming like they’d be intending, “I don’t want this emotionally-open non-otaku, give me Levi dammit!” But when you add this intended discomfort with the already sketchy way we got here it just makes it all the worse…
And absolutely NONE of this is helped by...
The… End?
I think the thing I hate about this event the most (actually legitimately hate) is how it ends. In that it doesn’t. It kind of just… abruptly stops right after Lucifer starts coming to himself again. Though I suspect that’s because they’re putting incentive into getting the event cards, this in NO WAY does the narrative any favors.
Most people are not going to get those cards. Even with Lonely Devil as an option, it’s a huge time/resource commitment to get there. Because of that, the majority of people are not going to get to see the aftermath of what happened. We don’t get to see how the brothers feel about what happened. We don’t get to see if they do, in fact, come to and if they have any takeaways from the experience or if they’re utterly disgusted by it. The player character doesn’t even get the option to comfort them after something that was probably terribly traumatic. It. Just. Ends.
What that means is all of that discomfort that we had just lingers… There’s no resolution or pay off. It just… stays… This is the worst possible thing they could have done. If you want your audience to feel uncomfortable, that’s one thing, but unless you’re telling like, a psychological thriller you gotta settle them back down again! Deep moral conflict is not a turn on!!!
Personally, I don’t hate that this thing exists. I don’t. The part of me that majored in Philosophy loves analyzing media like this so I can’t say that I didn’t get anything out of it. I don’t think all media should play it safe, it’s okay to leave the audience with no good answers or a feeling of unease, but you really got to be self-aware of it. The biggest flaw of this event, in my opinion, is that it rarely comes across as self-aware of its own horror. You get a very brief glimpse of it from Solomon when he comments on how creepy things are, but Simeon’s happy. Diavolo’s happy. And though he’s a little uneasy, Luke’s pretty content, too. Add that to the abrupt ending and we never get to know if ANY of them realize how awful of a thing this was to do to the brothers... It makes it all come off as an endorsement of mind controlling your friends into better people and (to me) that feels really, really wrong.
So in conclusion… I dunno. If the next event isn’t something along the lines of “Angelic Demons Part 2: Fixing What We Fucked Up!” then I think they really botched this one guys… I hope somebody was taking notes.
#this is pretty much an essay#fair warning#long post#even for me#obey me angel event#obey me#obey me shall we date#shall-we-date-obey-me
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young god | chapter 16
chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |
word count: 14.3k
warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.
description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.
watch the trailer here!
16| the prisoner’s dilemma.
Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.
Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.
I need you to stay alive.
Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”
Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.
Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”
A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”
The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.”
Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”
“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”
Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.
“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”
Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”
“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.
“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”
“Chan—”
The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad.
“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”
━━━━━━━━
Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.
“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”
“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”
The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”
And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind.
Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough.
Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.
“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case.
“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.
“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”
Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case.
Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”
You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”
Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.
Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.
“S-sir, you can’t—”
“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’”
Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”
Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low.
“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”
At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.
The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”
There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison.
Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach.
Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?
He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute.
“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”
The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.
Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.
━━━━━━━━
The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere.
Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale.
With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.
Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?
The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”
Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.
“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”
“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”
“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”
He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny.
“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”
You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.
Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.
Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.
He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.
“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”
The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.
“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced.
“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”
Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had.
“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”
The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”
“That’s��an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”
“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”
You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”
The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.”
You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.
The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape.
There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.
As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too.
More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar.
“February 22nd, 2005.”
The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.
“June 3rd, 2006.”
His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.
“December 31st, 2009.”
The day everything had gone wrong.
Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you.
It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?
“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.
“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.
This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat.
“He’s a lost cause.”
“Problem kid.”
“Impossible to treat.”
You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.
Lee Minho.
“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.
“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.”
With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.
When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.
“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”
Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare.
Emptiness.
Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again.
“Minho, can we go home?”
The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.
“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.”
Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”
The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth.
“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”
“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”
“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”
Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”
“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”
“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”
Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”
“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”
You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.
“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”
An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?
“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”
“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”
“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”
The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”
Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room.
“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm.
“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”
The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”
Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.
That’s it.
“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”
An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.
The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.
The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.
When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.
“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”
You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.
Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime.
“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—”
It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you.
This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.
Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.
“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?”
The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”
The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”
“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”
“Can you identify this boy?”
Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.
“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”
“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”
“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged.
No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.
Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.
You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.
“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”
The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.
Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.
“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”
The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”
For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.
When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”
Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.
If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.
“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.
Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.”
Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain.
“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen.
You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking.
You really are a psychopath.
Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”
His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it —
“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”
The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy.
The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.
“What’s this?”
“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”
“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”
You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”
Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”
And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time.
What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?
Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him.
Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.
You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day.
From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.
For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar.
But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.
For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.
His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.
When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.
Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.
Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.
Why did all these people fight for him?
Why had his mother died for him?
What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?
“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.
For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.
“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.
“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”
“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.
“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”
You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.
“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?
“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?”
Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”
His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?
Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago—
“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.”
The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.
“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”
He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.
“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”
He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.
“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”
He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life.
You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.
“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”
“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.”
Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”
“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”
Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.
“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”
Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”
The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”
Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.
He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.
“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”
He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”
The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson.
“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”
Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.
“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”
━━━━━━━━
Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.
Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”
He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.
“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”
You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.
“That poor boy.”
“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”
“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”
You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.
“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.
“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”
The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”
“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”
The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.
The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped.
No one in the jury had moved to stand up.
“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”
“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”
“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up.
“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”
A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”
“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”
The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”
“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”
Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”
“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.
“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’ Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”
Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy.
Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.
“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”
She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom.
You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.
“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”
If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.
The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen.
You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.
However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...
People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.
When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.
He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
━━━━━━━━
“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”
The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.
Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain—
“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”
Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”
She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.
“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”
━━━━━━━━
“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”
Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.
“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”
“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”
“How many other cases have you tampered with?”
“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—”
“You’re the liar.”
The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.
“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”
There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.
Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy—
Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”
Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw.
Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”
You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him.
Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.
“They were foolish enough — depraved enough — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”
The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.
The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.
“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”
Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.
“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”
“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”
“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.
You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him.
Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.
You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.
Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.
You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest.
Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips.
“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”
“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”
You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.
Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.
“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.
You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells — you and Jisung were alone together.
There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say.
“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”
His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.
“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver.
Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”
“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”
He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.
“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.
You were his first love, after all.
“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”
“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”
Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”
“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”
“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.
“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile.
“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”
You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.
“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”
You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”
Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.
You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”
The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering.
“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him.
Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.
“...I’ll be waiting.”
ryu says:
thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.
i’ll see you in the epilogue.
#han jisung#stray kids#skz#stray kids series#stray kids au#stray kids imagine#bang chan#kim woojin#yang jeongin#lee know#stray kids minho#lee felix#seo changbin#kim seungmin#hwang hyunjin#stray kids boyfriend#stray kids yandere#stray kids angst#stray kids imagines#han jisung au#han jisung angst#han jisung yandere#han jisung boyfriend#serial killer!au#stray kids soft#stray kids fluff#kpop#kpop aus#kpop series#young god
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stats for ms Ginerva Ren
BASIC INFORMATION.
Full name: Ginerva Ren
Nickname: Ginny, Gin
Birthdate: unknown (legally 1st july 1996) (celebrated 8th december)
Age: 25
Zodiac: cancer or Sagittarius
Gender: Cis woman
Pronouns: she/her
Romantic orientation: bi/panromantic
Sexual orientation: bi/pansexual
Nationality: British
Ethnicity: unknown, chinese( + thai)suspected
Ranking: angel
Affiliation: death
BACKGROUND.
Birthplace: unknown, Spennymoor suspected
Hometown: Spennymoor
Social Class: born:lower class ; now: upper class
Educational achievements: didn’t graduate high school.
Father: unknown
Mother: unknown
Sibling(s): unknown
Pets: none
Previous relationships: none
Arrests: none
Prison time: none
OCCUPATION & INCOME.
Current occupation: thief/grifter
Dream occupation: thief/grifter
Past job(s): cashier at grocery store in Spennymoor
Spending habits: extravagant although within means
In debt?: no
SKILLS & ABILITIES.
Physical strength: below average / average / above average
Speed: below average / average / above average
Intelligence: below average / average / above average
Accuracy: below average / average / above average
Agility: below average / average / above average
Stamina: below average / average / above average
Teamwork: poor teamwork skills, prefers to work alone
Talents: fast learner, good fine motor skills, hacking, lock picking, good liar
Shortcomings: arrogant- thinks she’s better than others, doesn’t work well with others, short
Languages spoken: english
Drive?: yes
Jump-start a car?: yes
Change a flat tyre?: no
Ride a bicycle?: yes
Swim?: yes, badly
Play an instrument?: recorder
Play chess?: yes, likes to win
Braid hair?: yes
Tie a tie?: no
Pick a lock?: yes
Cook?: yes, prefers not to
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE AND CHARACTERISTICS.
Faceclaim: Kanyawee Songmuang
Eye colour: light brown
Hair colour: natural= dark brown, right now= dyed reddish
Hair type: gently curly
Glasses/contacts?: yes/yes- usually contacts
Dominant hand: right
Height: 5’2
Weight: 150 lbs/ 68 kg
Build: average
Exercise habits: regular, cardio+strength, she goes to rock climbing gyms a lot for completely legal reasons
Skin tone: pale to medium, depending on if its summer or winter
Tattoos: death tattoo, nape of her neck
Piercings: ears, tongue, belly button
Marks/scars: lots of little scars on her hands from tinkering, big scar on her right thigh close to her hipbone from a big fall on a job when she was 20
Clothing style: eclectic, lots of short skirts and tight tops, also a lot of comfy sweat pants and hoodies, also a bunch of high fashion stuff for when she goes to rich people events
Jewellery: y e s (Ginny has a lot of custom functional jewelry for heists. Eg, a lock picking set that is also a set of hairpins, pendants and bracelets that are also USBs. earrings that are also tracking devices that she leaves in the cars of marks as well as lots of custom made jewelry for her aliases, eg pendant that says Mei Lan)
Allergies: seafood, horses
Diet: no restrictions, will eat anything (except the seafood)
PSYCHOLOGY.
MBTI type: ISTJ-A
Enneagram type: -
Moral Alignment: chaotic neutral
Temperament: theorist
Element: water
Emotional stability: -1000 but she likes to think she’s perfectly emotionally stable
Introvert or Extrovert?: ambivert
Obsession: Golconda diamonds, the best of the best in terms of diamonds. Mines in those historic parts of India are now defunct. modern day diamonds are not the same and are not as beautiful. Golconda diamonds are often described as looking like water. They are very very rare and very very expensive.
Phobias: spiders
Drug use: none
Alcohol use: only socially
Prone to violence?: no
Prone to crying?: no
Believe in love at first sight?: no
MANNERISMS.
Accent: Ginny’s accent is RP but it’s learnt and her natural accent is more of a yorkshire accent from growing up in Spennymoor
Hobbies: writing code to expedite various functions in her day to day life, inventing new thievery tools.
Habits: leaves her living room lights on when she sleeps because she doesn’t like the dark, has to touch the emerald on her bedside table before she can fall asleep
Nervous ticks: taps her fingers when she’s nervous, laughs when she’s panicked, blinks slowly to buy her more time to think
Drives/motivations: to be independent so that she doesn’t need anyone
Fears: spiders, the dark, that no one has ever loved her and no one ever will, that she’s going to hell
Sense of humour?: dry, snarky
Do they curse often?: yes
FAVOURITES.
Animal: owl, black cat
Beverage: salted caramel chocolate milkshake, extra cream
Book: pride and prejudice
Colour: emerald green, black
Food: thai food
Flower: baby’s breath
Gem: morganite or diamond or emerald
Mode of transportation: by foot
Scent: magnolia
Sport: rock climbing, boxing
Weather: cloudy
Vacation destination: Italian country side, lots of pasta and sun or beach resort/private island
ATTITUDES.
Greatest dream: to be free
Greatest fear: to die alone
Most at ease when: at home alone with her pilfered goods
Least as ease when: surrounded by a large group of people as herself and not as an alias
Biggest achievement: [redacted]
Biggest regret: none, there are no regrets, only mistakes and consequences
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His Eyes and Her Mind [Levi | Reader | High school AU!]
You're slowly browsing through your old Psychology notebook before you pinpoint a sentence that draws your attention. Your reaction is immediate - your lips curl into a condescending smile as you stare at it, highly amused.
'Eyes are a door to one's soul.'
Yeah, as if. You cackle and your boyfriend throws you a strange look from his seat across the table outside the café you're currently at. Honestly, you've never believed this eye to soul connection and there is very little that can change your opinion on the matter.
1. Normal look
Indifference
You walked down the hallway with your best friend Hanji when you saw him. Hanji flipped her brown hair over her shoulder, talking about your Biology lesson, but you could no longer hear her as distinctly. He was walking towards you with his small group of friends - Isabel and Farlan, the girl and boy on both his sides discussing something heatedly as he watched the debate silently.
You were approximately five feet away when he also looked up and saw you. You felt something turn inside you, but it was a daily occurrence around him so you ignored the sign as always and stared into his gunmetal orbs. Your face stayed impassive and so did his as your small groups passed each other down the hallway, but you had to admit you liked the attention he had been giving you recently.
Sure, you'd never really talked, but you'd exchanged plain courtesy and greetings at times when it was inevitably going to happen anyway. You never thought much of it - he was attractive and he was staring at you more than you'd ever seen him stare at anybody, but that was it. It didn't make your heart flutter, your knees wobble or your head spin. It shouldn't have as well.
You just couldn't get his dumb eyes out of your head.
2. Intense stare
Frustration
What's his problem?! You were fucking sure if he kept staring at you like that you were going to get up and slap him at one point. Second term turned out to be your "lucky" one since you now shared three out of seven classes with Levi Ackerman, the one that had been paying you attention since the beginning of the junior school year.
Your brows momentarily furrowed.
Of course, since you'd had only two short-term boyfriends in your life so far and they'd never really paid much attention to you you enjoyed it more than you should've. It still didn't make your knees wobble or your mind fogged up with daydreams of the boy sweeping you off your feet, but you still hadn't even led a proper conversation.
You nervously licked your dry lips.
You were forced to officially meet last month during a project you had to do with three other people, but other than that stiff interaction you'd never even said anything to him and he seemed fine with that. Only recently, however, his attention seemed to have gone to the next level. For a week straight he'd been staring you down like he wanted to come up to you and ask you to willingly give him all your valuable personal belongings.
You got a hand through your hair in frustration.
Today was especially intense for some unknown to you reason, but it was pissing you off since you could feel it and it made you uncomfortable. Did he have some kind of problem with you - your attire, attitude, appearance as a whole? Maybe you pissed him off? Maybe you'd said something wrong? Maybe he was in a bad mood and decided to get it out on you?
A sigh left your lips.
You doubted the last one since Levi always seemed like he was in a bad mood, but you'd never seen him stare at somebody like this just because of that. You didn't know what his stare meant and that pissed you off more than the distracting persistence of his gunmetal hues. You were frustrated up to the point of blowing up any second now - his stare had made you avoid him as a whole less than ten minutes ago.
Your finger started tapping on your notebook impatiently.
The teacher at the front was talking about something you couldn't even pay attention to, Levi's tense orbs were digging holes into your face and the feeling of it was unsettling. So Hanji had been right when she said people could actually feel when they were being watched. You looked up, anything but interested in your work and stared right back into the gunmetal hues of the male across your desk, sharing his best friend's coursebook which had forced him to turn his back to the teacher and his face to you.
You saw his own eyebrow twitch momentarily but his gaze never left yours. You glared hard into his eyes, trying to provoke him, but it was in vain - he didn't react in any way. You tried to read what in the fucking hell had made him this annoyed with you in the first place - could there be any specific reason for his staring?
Your stomach turned again when you saw him get a hand through his silky locks as his eyes left yours. Great, now you were the one staring. Your eyes narrowed and you kept observing him, but he made no effort whatsoever to regain the lost eye contact, which just made you angrier.
Was he trying to make you look like a creep by staring at him? Well, you weren't going to have it.
With a huff, your attention went back to your own coursebook. You could feel his intense stare on your face less than a second after that. To say that you almost broke your pen in half wasn't an understatement.
3. Bashful avoidance
Confusion
He just had to be like that, didn't he? Levi Ackerman, the all mighty, fearless sorta bad boy, sorta nerd. He just had to keep looking at you, giving your desperate being some kind of false hope and a shit ton of mixed signals. And what was worse - he didn't seem to regret it one bit. The worst however was yet to come and it was the unknown. Sometimes it scared you more than your biggest fears.
Fear of heights? Well, this building's last floor may be the fifth or fifty-fifth, wouldn't know with that fog.
Fear of the dark? That room might be lit up by the sun itself, but it could also be pitch black. Wouldn't want to understand which.
Fear of not knowing something? Levi Ackerman might as well tell you he loved or loathed you - you couldn't care less, but the tension of not knowing which of the two it was would break you before his words came out of his mouth.
Of course, the above was just a simple example of the situation at hand, which, in your personal opinion, was way worse. He was staring at you - fine. He made this strange thing happen to your internal organs with his presence - fine. He was charming, strangely kind, attractive, funny, intelligent and somehow generous, and he was paying attention to you of all people - fine. He confused you with his behaviour - not fine.
It had taken him two more days to calm down his intense stare, but he gradually did so and soon enough it was back to how it had always been - exchange of glances along the length of the hallway or up and down the stairs, sometimes even outside during lunch break. You rarely saw him out of school even though he lived in the same neighbourhood as you (which you knew since you regularly took the bus together) which was a relief of kinds. However, his recent behaviour seemed to confuse you more than anything.
First, he paid attention to you. Then, he tried to dig a hole into your face using only his eyes. Next, he stopped staring altogether and instead seemed like he was flirting with some other girl. Sure, she flirted first, but that wasn't much of an excuse. And all of a sudden, he was super friendly with the girl while eyeing you up constantly whenever you saw each other. It confused the fuck out of your mind and you hated not understanding certain things.
Not that you were the best when it came to emotions, socialising and such, but Levi had been remotely easy to read. Well, not now.
He walked into the school building with Farlan, sitting on the bench inside and facing your way (because you and Ymir were sitting on the bench across the room). You had a clear view of his eyes and how they trailed over your face, gently trying to push you to make eye contact with him. You didn't. Not yet anyway. It took you five seconds of a pointless exchange of stupid trivial phrases with Ymir to finally meet his gaze. You'd washed your hair earlier the same morning and combed it as much as you could before going out, so it was not a surprise that Levi noticed that - he always saw the little things.
Under normal circumstances, you'd lock gazes for the overall of ten seconds before either of your friends tore you away from the craved eye contact. This time it was different. Why? Because he looked away in less than a second.
Your brows raised in surprise and you listened to Ymir's story of her and Krista's date with half an ear, nodding occasionally when she would pause. The male's gesture confused you immensely - why did he look away? Was there something wrong with you? Did you not look as good? Of course, the mere fact that the action of his eyes averting from yours made you doubt yourself and grow self-conscious was stupid, but you couldn't help it - he never acted like that and you wanted to know why he did now.
This was where irritation came in. He confused you and you hated being confused, but it was inevitable - his further behaviour only made the issue deepen. The action repeated exactly four times before he and Farlan decided enough was enough and went up the stairs. He would look at you, hold your gaze for less than two seconds and look away as indifferently as possible. There were no changes in his facial expression and you could read nothing in his eyes. You were baffled at that - you were usually the one to look away.
You noticed the nervous tapping of his finger on his knee and the slight twitch of his thin eyebrow, but it wasn't something you considered significant at the time. You should have. Because it was.
4. Piercing glare
Anger
"I told you for the last time - I'm not going out with you, Mark."
Everything was pissing you off - today had started badly and was currently holding a steady pace. You had a pop quiz on your most hated subject so you barely got any sleep. Your mother had broken the coffee machine and your father had refused to fix it so no caffeine for you. And now due to yesterday’s downpoar your muddy shoes made you slip every few seconds.
Also, the constant annoyance bugging at your mind because of Levi's closeness with Petra was wow, what a surprise - annoying. It was troubling you on an emotional level, which was bad because if it was a trivial problem having to do with anything else you'd be in perfect condition to ignore it. Finally, this guy - Mark, who had been hitting on you for the past month suddenly decided to make an appearance during lunch break, block your way to your precious caffeine and ask you out on a date after you'd already refused him approximately five times.
Not to mention, he wasn't from the innocent annoying type - he was from the persistent scary type, where shit could get serious if you got too aggressive yourself. And right now, all you wanted was to get some fucking coffee and go back to class.
"Why, (Y/N)? You don't have a boyfriend." Mark put his hand on the tree which you'd found solace next to up until this moment, turning it into a trap that had just clicked instead. You found his smug strangely irritating today, to the point you could punch him if he tried anything funny.
"I just don't see you in that way, I don't want to waste my time." You retorted, teeth gritting in annoyance before the male decided to stop playing around. There weren't many people around you since the only coffee machine in a mile's radius was pretty far away and most students preferred to spend their time in the little shops around the school building and the cafeteria instead.
"So you're saying I'm a waste of time?" Mark leaned closer to you and his eyebrows furrowed, his pretty face finally showing its true colours. He had dirty blond curly hair and plain brown eyes, he was rather muscular and tall - all things he felt immensely proud of. Despite his face and body, however, he wasn't overly popular - he played sports and loved to hook up with every girl a bit above average, which really brought him down into the eyes of the female population in your school, resulting in some major disapproval coming from the student body.
"I'm saying it will waste our time as a whole, it's useless." You said, trying to ignore the way you wanted to punch him straight in the jaw. Maybe it wouldn't even work, but trying would surely satisfy your inner aggressive side - you just had to imagine you were hitting that stupid girl that was flirting with Levi.
"Not if I say it's not." Mark argued, making you turn your face to the side because of how close he was getting to you.
"Are you threatening me?" You inquired slowly with narrowed eyes. He just laughed at you before smirking down at your face.
"Do you want me to threaten you or will you agree to go out with me willingly?"
"Does that mean if I don't say 'yes' you'll force me?"
"Yes." He looked like the Big Bad Wolf about to have breakfast when he put his other hand on the tree behind you, pinning you between his arms. "When I want something I get it." His expression may have been seductive, but to you it was disgusting - how could such a male survive so long in society when he was this stupid and forceful?
"Didn't know you were a rapist besides being a womanizer." You pointed out, only to have the daylights slapped out of you a second later.
"Shut up!" He should have been thankful there weren't people around, otherwise, somebody would have come and stopped him by now. You guessed you wouldn't be able to have your coffee soon. The slap made your cheek sting and your eyes narrowed in fury. Sure, you couldn't do anything to fight him off except kick him in the nuts, which wouldn't do as much as you'd want it to, but you could sure as hell glare at him all you wanted.
"You're pathetic, you can't even take a rejection." You faced Mark, angry yet scared of what he might do to you now. You weren't going to let him have his way just because he was stronger, though. His face twisted in fury and he grasped your wrist, bruising the skin with his calloused fingers. He was about to hit you again with his other hand before it happened.
"Let go." Another male growled behind Mark's back. "Right. Now."
"Since when are you interested in protecting people? Or is it just this bitch?" Mark snarled at the other male, which you soon came to understand was actually Levi. Your eyes were wide as you stared at his frown. You doubted you'd ever seen him that angry.
"Are you sure you can question me right now?" The raven-haired boy asked with furrowed brows and a glare so hard you thought it would burn you if he directed it towards your eyes. Mark flinched and you felt his grip on your wrist loosen up a bit.
"What do you think you can do to me, Ackerman?" The blond asked cockily even though you could see his jaw clench in helplessness. You realised who would win if they got in a fight and honestly - if somebody asked you to name one thing that would probably make you piss yourself from fear it was going to be Levi's glare in the current moment. It burned with the intensity of a raging fire for unknown to you reasons - it couldn't be because of you, right? He was probably here to get himself coffee and decided to play 'save the damsel in distress' on the way to the machine.
"Do you wanna see?" Levi closed in on you and Mark and you felt your wrist fall from his hold as he stepped back. Levi cracked his knuckles and the blond gulped. You didn't really think Levi's words were what scared him off.
"I'm just tired because I had a match during PE. Next time this won't happen." He ran faster than anything you'd seen after that, leaving you and Levi all alone.
"Because there won't be a next time." The raven mumbled to himself dangerously low. His glare moved from the ground to you and you felt your blood boil. You glared back at him and pushed yourself off the tree with furrowed eyebrows and a scowl.
"What a fucking dumbass! I could handle him, you know, I didn't need your help!" You exclaimed in the raven's face. Surprisingly that was probably the first proper conversation you were having with him after your stiff official meeting.
"Do you really think so? Because I think you would've been raped in less than ten minutes." He pointed out in the most indifferent voice ever, making you try to dig a hole into his skull with your eyes. His glare was making you angrier yourself. When he stepped closer to you and gently wrapped his fingers around your bruised wrist your expression twisted in disgust and you yanked your hand away from his hold, ignoring how his glare had actually scared you moments ago.
You stepped away from him and went away, but not before snarling: "Don't fucking touch me."
5. Shocked gleam
Fright
"Hanji, stop talking about this, it's stupid." You were walking down the stairs with your brown-haired friend once again - a week or so had passed after the whole 'Mark incident' and surprisingly enough he never even approached you after that, it was like he was afraid to. You didn't pay much attention to it, going back to your routine of stealing glances at Levi Ackerman from time to time when he wasn't looking and hoping his gaze was tracing your face just as much as yours did his.
Unfortunately, you kept catching Petra Ral flirting with him and there was nothing you could do about it but blame yourself for not having the self-esteem to talk to him like she did. Right now, the discussed topic was close to your problems.
"I'm just saying if you mustered up some courage and started talking to him regularly his interest would pick up and hers would fade. The boy's basically staring at you every chance he gets, (Y/N)." Hanji argued as you pushed your way down the stairs through the other students going up. You knew Levi and Farlan were somewhere behind you since you had the same class together now, you just hoped neither of them would pick up on your conversation with the brown-haired girl.
"Hanji, I said stop. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Period." You stated harshly, looking at the girl next to you and clutching your backpack tighter. You briefly heard 'look at this' before someone bumped into you from behind and you lost your footing on the steps. Your body, your backpack and your combat boots tumbled down the stairs with nothing to catch on.
For a small second, you managed to use some student's shoulder to try and stabilise yourself, but it didn't work - it just turned your body so that you would fall on your back once the fateful moment came. You had a clear view of Hanji's parted lips and horrified expression. Right next to her, however, you saw something you may have just as well imagined with everything moving so fast.
Levi's hand was pushing through the students to get down faster and his eyes screamed something you couldn't really read. They gleamed in a way you never thought you'd see, like he'd seen his favourite cat get run over by a car on the street. Or something of the sort. You felt something grasp your hand, but had no time to see what exactly. The impact was here.
You didn't have time to analyse his wide eyes because your world went black less than a second after you were exposed to the complex sight.
Two hours later, you woke up in the infirmary with a giant headache and a panicked Hanji coming to visit you once classes were over. During your stay, you asked the nurse what had happened, but the only thing she said confused you even more: "If I understood correctly, the boy's arm almost broke when he used it to soften your fall. Well, you didn't get out completely uninjured since your back is bruised, but maybe you were actually lucky."
The next day Levi didn't come to school.
6. Deep gaze
Care
Calm, (Y/N), keep calm. It's all fine. You repeated over and over again in your head. Not like you had a chance to begin with, it's not a big deal.
Your breaths were coming out ragged and you felt like you weren't trembling because the ground in front of the side entrance of the school building was cold. A month, that was how long Levi had talked to you for. After the incident on the stairs at school and Levi's short absence after that, he started nodding to you when you'd see each other in the halls and you'd throw him a small smile, acknowledging his greeting. That went on for about two weeks before he came to you one day and asked to work with you since Farlan was absent and they always used the same coursebook. You'd said 'yes' without thinking much. Needless to say, you didn't really use the coursebook much that day yourself, you were too busy stealing glances at the male's face from up close and he was too nervous to actually read the exercises you were supposed to be doing.
After that it became a routine for him to approach you at least once a day - he'd give you a plain greeting, ask you about the classes you shared or if you wanted to get coffee together during lunch break (you felt he'd become overprotective after Mark even though there was no reason to be overprotective over you and no danger as a whole). There was always an excuse. Once he even sat next to you on the bus when there were no more free seats. You were happy, your mind was filled with butterflies and your stomach welled up with pleasant thoughts when he was around - or was it supposed to be the other way around?
It didn't matter since for a month you were the happiest girl on Earth.
And then Petra Ral came along. Needless to say, things started becoming shaky and you were drifting away - you didn't want to mess up her flirting with him. He seemed like he didn't notice or he was purely being an asshole and doing it on purpose. Not that it really mattered, you caught them making out less than four hours ago during lunch break. The worst was that he made eye contact right before breaking apart.
Not with her, with you. You would've felt sorry for her because her partner was clearly not paying attention to the activity she was putting so much effort (and tongue) into, but you hated her guts out of pure spite so you couldn't even care about emotions connected to empathy.
It's not his fault, he didn't give me any false hope - I created it myself.
That was your calming chant - he didn't do it just to break your heart, he did it because he wanted to be kind or use your coursebook when Farlan was gone. It wasn't to hurt you intentionally. It sounded stupid now that you thought about it - hoping for anything out of Levi Ackerman. He barely knew you and you barely knew him. Usually, you'd counter yourself with the argument you hadn't even led a proper conversation, but the worst here was that that was invalid now - you'd led many conversations throughout the past month and you'd enjoyed every single one of them no matter how stupid or trivial. For God's sake, you even enjoyed discussing different types of coffee and tea with him.
You weren't crying - you were having something like a minor panic attack, where you just trembled like a leaf and couldn't stop thinking about throwing your useless being in front of some passing bus. Truth be told, you hated these moments - if somebody had seen you during them that was Hanji and Hanji only. You'd never even let your parents understand about it even though the signs must've been there. The twitching, the trembling, the sweating, the ragged breathing. It was there. All of it was out there and if Levi ever saw it he'd truly give up on whatever you had even if it was as insignificant as your existence in the current moment.
You tried to laugh, but it came out messed up - like a person choking. You sat there for five more minutes - in the cold with the wind brushing your hair before you burrowed your face in your knees and closed your eyes. You could feel the tears, but they didn't want to come out. It was useless - crying about a boy that didn't even care about you.
Then somebody gently bumped your leg with their arm. Your head shot up and your hand instinctively reached for the pepper spray in your pocket, the one your father had given you as a Christmas present many months ago. Your eyes widened when you saw who was in front of you.
"Levi," you said, "why are you here?"
His face was expressionless as he gestured towards the cup in his hand. Your eyebrows furrowed and your hand went out of your pocket to grasp the carton cup he was clearly handing you. You smelled the beverage inside, relishing in the pleasant aroma of coffee. It made a smile spring out on your lips. Before you could register what was happening Levi had sat down next to you - closer than a guy with a girlfriend was supposed to sit next to another girl when they were all alone. The action made you flinch, but you didn't move away - it was a rare thing you got to sit this close to him.
You could smell his cologne - it was a fresh, strong smell that made you want to rub your face all over his chest. The male ran a hand through his ebony locks and you marvelled at the sight of his hair's softness. His body was oozing heat, beckoning you to go closer, as close as possible, and lay your head on his chest as his warm arms wrapped around you. You didn't.
"So, about today..." He started, sounding strangely stiff. You sipped from your coffee, warming your cold fingers with the cup and listening. Your stomach took one of those unpleasant turns, but you didn't let it show on your face.
"What exactly about today?"
"I don't even know if I should be discussing this with you, for all I know Farlan's sixth sense may be way too off the shitty map and you don't actually---" His confidence was gone once his panicked gaze met your curious orbs. He seemed confused, disgruntled and so many others. You were perplexed at his behaviour - was he usually this twitchy when it came down to your normal conversations? No, he wasn't, you figured a few seconds later.
"Well," you started after seeing he wouldn't continue, "I don't really know about Farlan's sixth sense, but I---"
"The kiss." He'd cut you off so abruptly you felt like he'd knocked the air out of your lungs with those two short syllables. "The kiss with Petra, it wasn't anything important. It was just a kiss." He continued, getting a hand through his hair again and scratching the back of his undercut with discomfort. "I know we both seem to acknowledge something without me saying it - something about us." You could guess where he was going with that. He meant the constant staring, all the glances and whatnot before you'd started talking. Or at least you thought he meant that. "Petra means nothing, she was just--- she was flirting with me I just didn't stop her because I wasn't sure if you... felt anything."
"... okay."
"Is it?" He asked once his eyes met yours. Your breath hitched in your throat and your fingers felt like ice even though they'd warmed up considerably. "Is it okay? Are you?"
"Everything's fine." Your forced smile turned out way more genuine than expected. His gaze was firm and his eyebrows were furrowed - he was trying to detect a lie somewhere along your sentence. He sighed when that didn't happen and for a few seconds, you were both silent. You were trying to process the situation.
Levi. Feelings. She was just flirting. Am I feeling anything?
Your heartbeat was erratic enough to answer in your stead. Then you looked up from the cup in your hands and met his gaze. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't the most mesmerizing thing you'd seen in your life. His eyes, so grey and so soft, pulled you in, it was like you couldn't look away from them. They were special, he was special and he made you feel special. Why was it that he looked at you with such affection? Were you reciprocating the gaze? You didn't know, but you felt like you could stay like that for hours.
And that was when it happened. Before you even had time to escape his warm hypnotising gaze.
He leaned in and kissed you.
7. Careless eyeroll
Reluctance
"You have to go." Hanji insisted, having already annoyed you as much as possible with her various arguments on the topic of your stubbornness.
"And you have to rethink the rights you have over my actions as a self-conscious human being." You replied boredly before placing a hand in front of your mouth in fake shock. "Oh, that's right - they don't exist in the first place." You gasped fakely, making her roll her eyes at your behaviour - forced nonchalance. She knew you wanted to accept the invitation but were too afraid everything would be ruined before you even had the chance to meet up.
"Would you please stop mocking me with those complex phrases, (Y/N)? You won't die if you go to a movie with him." The brunette insisted once more before you turned the corner and you frowned at her.
"Sure, not physically, but I'll be dying the whole time mentally - of embarrassment." You sassed, making the brown-haired girl huff in determination as she walked you to your next class. Your schedules differed the second term, so you could only see her during breaks and inbetween other classes. Right now you seriously didn't want to see her, though. She'd been pestering you about Levi's invitation for the past week.
"So it's decided, you will go." She stated, making you gape at her as you both stopped in front of the door for your next class.
"I never sa---"
"The tense, (Y/N), the tense is the key." Hanji cut you off with a cocky smirk and a mischievous gleam in her brown hues. Of course, she'd just forced you to accept. You had no choice - you knew the raven would probably remind you of it as well and you'd have to finally give him a proper answer.
"Shut up, Hanji." You glared at your best friend before she pushed you into the room.
"Now go." She ushered from the doorway while pointing in Levi's direction and you threw her a dirty look before stomping away. Less than three steps later he turned around and looked into your eyes, making you almost trip over your own feet.
"Hi." You greeted awkwardly as the male took out his notebook and eyed you up from head to toe. His gaze made you nervous and your knees were about to start wobbling when he spoke up.
"So about my earlier request, which you've been avoiding to answer for about a week?" Levi pushed gently although in a you-don't-have-a-choice-but-to-answer way, making you avert your eyes to the other side of the room in hopes of seeming calmer than you were. You knew it wouldn't work that well, but you hoped to have at least looked nonchalant.
"... I accept." Was your brief answer as your eyes glanced at Levi's visage secretly and directed themselves to the floor right after.
"I guess I should be grateful?" He rolled his eyes at you, reluctance dripping from the sentence. You knew his face would be a bit softer even though you weren't looking at it. You were good at guessing by his voice (not that it always worked), so right now you acknowledged he was just trying to tease you.
"If I don't see Petra Ral giving you a blowjob afterwards it's going to be fine." You said mockingly with narrowed eyes, which just called for some fake concern on his side. Of course, he and Petra had not become official, but anything was possible. You held resentment for that girl more than you did for yourself - that was something deserving of a medal.
"That was uncalled for." Levi tried to protect her boredly as your eyes finally met his.
"Yes, you're right, but that does not change my mind on the matter." Your tone was firm as you walked towards your own desk, close enough to his so you could connect them and look at the same coursebook. He followed behind silently.
"Fine." He mumbled while watching you put your backpack on the desk. You started digging through the numerous notebooks and course books for the ones you needed currently, which probably reminded him of your little tradition to share a coursebook. "The coursebook?" He inquired, asking if you've brought it which was stupid because you'd never forget it (no matter if you were going to admit it or not, you'd always put it first in your backpack because it gave you a reason to be close to him).
"It's here." You announced once having laid it down on the desk next to your notebook and he got to work with pushing your desks closer.
"Thank you by the way." He mumbled once class had started and your teacher had entered the room. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked into his bright grey eyes.
"What for?" You asked quietly as he eyed up the exercise your teacher had just written on the board. He didn't look up again for the next three seconds. All you were given after that was a brief glance filled with something you couldn't understand before Levi's eyes were pinned back to the coursebook.
"... maybe I should leave you to figure it out yourself."
8. Grinning glimmer
Happiness
The weather was calm, it was around noon and strong wind had been making the trees' branches bend mere minutes ago. Snow covered the ground all around, there had been a storm during the night and judging by the white inches stacked on top of the ground it hadn't been all that light. Now the sun was shining in the blue sky deprived of clouds and the air was cold and so still you could bet time itself wouldn't move until some wind blew by.
You fidgeted uncomfortably and stood in front of the wooden door of the small single-storey house, contemplating whether you should knock or run away now that you still had time to do it. Fate didn't really leave you a choice since just as you were about to turn round the door opened and made your eyes widen in alarm. You looked up and faced the person who had opened it with an insecure expression.
"... hey." You greeted after a small pause while Levi still processed your presence at his doorstep.
"What are you doing here?" His eyebrows furrowed and you drew your hands from behind your back, handing him the little box you were holding. The chilly air made your face go red anyway, so you hoped he wouldn't notice the change in its colour due to other causes as you talked.
"I was passing close by and I thought I could come and say 'hi'. So, hi, I guess." You smiled awkwardly, making him raise a thin eyebrow as he took the grey box from your hands. "And I bought this for you, but since we're in the middle of winter break I didn't really have a pretext to see you, so I might've created it... or something." You switched your weight between your left and right foot during your explanation while Levi stared at you wondrously.
"... for Christmas?" He questioned after a slight pause and you noticed he might've been cold judging by the way he only had on a plain pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
"No, it's for your birthday. Happy birthday by the way." You smiled a bit, eyeing him up from head to toe again and starting to regret having come at all. You guessed it would've been better if you'd waited until the end of winter break to give it to him. "Um, I guess I have to go." You stepped backwards before he smirked slightly and a mischievous gleam shone in his eyes.
"And insult the tradition?" He inquired slyly as your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at him in confusion.
"What tradition?" You witnessed the flicker of his eyes to the doorframe above your heads and what you saw there made your breath hitch, something the raven was able to pinpoint quickly due to the chilly weather making every breath you took exit in the form of a white puff of smoke. Your eyes were still pinned to the object at the top of the doorframe. A mistletoe. "... oh. I'm not really sur---"
Before you had time to finish refusing the very generous yet embarrassing offer, Levi had stepped closer and cupped your cheek with his warm hand. His lips pressed to yours in a rather long, tender kiss and you felt yourself basically melting outside his doorstep. It was as if sparks flew about in your mind - just like the first time he'd kissed you. When his lips parted from yours and you opened your eyes, you saw his orbs glimmering so brightly it was as if he'd grinned your way.
"Thank you for the present, (Y/N)." He whispered, hot breath hitting your lips, and when he stepped back again you could swear he was mentally laughing at your frozen stance. You almost stumbled on your way away from the door.
"S-See you at school!" You waved, turning around and basically running away as fast as possible from the embarrassment, your boots crushing the soft snow under them down the path to your own home. You were a coward, but a happy feeling was bubbling in your chest, and God, for that look in his eyes you'd bear a lot more humiliation and possible snowstorms.
9. Foggy narrowness
Arousal
Indecent. That was what you were being right now.
"You shouldn't have gotten detention because of me." Levi scoffed, grey orbs eyeing the empty room you were currently in after today's accident during lunch break when he'd gone to fetch coffee for both of you and you'd waited for him by the entrance even after most students had gone back inside the building because of the bad weather.
"And you shouldn't have been an asshole to a teacher to begin with." You scolded him back, your eyes, in turn, being pinned to his face and the desperate way he was holding himself back from looking at you as well because he was supposedly mad. You were leaning on the desk he'd seated himself at, seeing as the teacher in charge of detention was still nowhere to be seen.
"He was feeling you up." Levi said as if it would justify the whole situation and indeed, it did. You didn't know what you two were - certainly not an official couple anyway, but you were closer than before and now offered each other physical affection more often without as much embarrassment being present (although it still happened when you were all alone).
Your face went cold and that was exactly when he decided to direct his gaze your way - it was cold and sharp and you knew he'd seen right through you, almost immediately so. You'd been scared. Disgusted. Your fingers started fidgeting with the hem of your shirt and you averted your gaze to the floor at your feet.
"... doesn't matter, you almost punched him." You said accusingly and Levi rolled his eyes at your stupid excuse.
"I would've if we'd been outside of school territory." He declared and something in that sentence of somewhat sweet protectiveness (although expressed through aggression) made you extremely uncomfortable. You still hadn't told him anything about your feelings and he about his, you'd only gone out on numerous dates and spent an enormous amount of time looking at each other more openly - you rarely spoke of each other's feelings and you felt discomfort just thinking of the moment that would be needed for you to sustain this thing you had going on. You didn't know if Levi thought the same. You groaned in slight exasperation and turned your head toward the door of the room.
"Ugh. Where's the teacher in charge of detention anyway? We've been here for ten minutes now." You complained, wanting to talk of something else since it was obvious the raven had won this little argument of yours. Levi took the chance to stand up and lean close to you and when you turned back round his eyes were way closer than anticipated.
They pulled you in but weren't as sharp as every other day. When he leaned closer and kissed you, you got a hunch why it was that way. During the kiss, his hand placed itself on your thigh and his whole body hovered over yours like predator hovered over pray prior to the finishing blow.
"... the teacher can come in any second now, Levi." You warned firmly yet in a small voice once the raven had started kissing down your neck. You felt giddy because it was nice and wow - since when was that so pleasant? Your previous boyfriends had also done this, but with Levi, it wasn't quite the same - maybe it was him or maybe it was the circumstances and the chance of you getting caught by a teacher, but you felt extremely good, almost to the point you'd let it go further despite the way you were in a classroom.
"I'm aware." The raven droned from the crook of your neck where he'd been sucking on a second ago and you let out a sharp breath when his hand snuck under your shirt. His head lifted so he could face you again and his eyes were on your lips.
"Then stop." You kept playing the role of common sense even though this situation wasn't entirely all that dangerous. Levi's smoky hues were pinned to your own and you noticed they were more narrow than usual, like he didn't even want to waste energy on keeping them open but he just had to. For a second you thought the whole look on his face was something you didn't come across every day or even when you were alone. When he kissed you again it dawned on you why.
His lips pressed against yours felt soft and pleasant, his breath was made of tea and mint and it turned your mind hazy. You felt like half the blood in your body went to your face when his tongue invaded your mouth and his hands found your breasts over your bra. You felt the softness of his hair but were so out of it you were unable to open your eyes. Or do anything but kiss him. You couldn't recall feeling the same way during your make-out sessions with your previous boyfriends - this was a whole new sensation, a combination of thrill and something that made your face flush as your chest swelled with pleasant warmth.
"They won't do anything to us for this." He declared as if he made the rules and you had to blink a few times to come to your senses - your arms were thrown around his neck, your fingers were in his hair and your legs were wrapped around his waist - how long had this kiss been? He was looking down at you in the sexiest way possible and honestly, how could you possibly refuse that face?
"They can do a lot to us for what's about to follow." You worded warningly, knowing where things would go if you didn't resist even though a small part of you told you he'd never dare do it in school when it would be your first time together. You didn't listen to it, keeping in mind your all-time favourite motto that all men were pigs and they'd take advantage of any and every situation that provided it.
Levi didn't. He kept kissing you, left you breathless, gifted you a few hickeys to go home with and gave you a lot more of that sultry look that almost made your knees give out, but never provided you with legitimate proof of your motto's rightfulness and it was about at that moment when you were walking home afterwards when you realised---
If you hadn't been at school you would've certainly had sex and what was worse - you wouldn't have had anything against it had it been with him.
10. Calculating ice
Thoughtfulness
"I don't approve of this relationship." You heard Levi take a breath from across the form of your father and his crossed arms.
"Dad, Levi isn't---" You tried to argue but were quickly shut up. It was seven in the morning. Thankfully, also a Saturday.
"Oh, he is! He invited you to that party and when you were so wasted you couldn't walk he could only think of how to park you in his bed! The next morning you call us with a hangover and this punk walks you here because apparently you've been together for almost about a year now but he still doesn't know where you live!" You frowned, not possessing enough bravery to speak against your father. Fortunately, you had your mother for that.
"James, calm down." She placed a hand on his shoulder as he grumbled in his armchair. You and Levi were seated on the couch, still in your pyjamas.
"I don't want to, Melissa! I don't like this boy and I don't want him around my daughter!" Even though it was a hiss directed at your mother, all occupants of the room including the aforementioned 'boy' managed to hear it. You looked over at Levi next to you, pondering whether you should grasp his hand or think up an excuse to let him leave before this became a full-on argument.
"Our daughter." Your mother's voice was firm and her eyes didn't dare leave your father's face to console you but you were too indulged in the look on Levi's face to notice it. Or in other words, the lack of a particular look on his face.
"If she's yours as much as she's mine then why aren't you worried about her as well?" Your father argued, making your frown deepen. The raven next to you had his elbows propped on his knees and his eyes staring at the carpet under his feet. His expression was devoid of any emotion - his face was perfectly relaxed with the exception of his furrowed eyebrows. His eyes were filled with thoughts you couldn't decipher, the usual grey now felt like frozen silver.
"I'm sure he means well, if they've been in a relationship for a year and this is the first mistake he's made, he can't possibly be bad influence." Your mother's voice was hushed but you heard it - Levi did, too. You placed a hand over the one he'd put on his knee. You could feel his finger tapping the fabric of his jeans as if he tried to tune everything else out and concentrate - he did that during tests at school.
"... I'm sorry, Levi." You whispered, bringing your face slightly closer to his. He didn't look at you. The ice in his eyes kept still, pinned to the floor. "Don't listen to him, I know just as much as you do we're both at fault." The regret was heard in your voice but the raven decided not to address it. He pursed his lips, then parted them.
"Maybe your father's right." His gaze was still on the floor. Still icy.
"He's not!" You raised your voice, briefly noting how your parents had stopped their own discussion and were now listening to yours. Your fingers slowly retracted from Levi's hand as he looked at you, face not changing in the least. You felt the gelidity in his eyes freeze the blood in your veins.
"Should we end this?" He questioned in a small voice - small but firm. Your reaction was immediate. Your expression hardened and you glared daggers his way, eyebrow twitching. You pursed your lips, forming a proper reply although a very big 'no' would work just as well.
"When it hasn't even started officially? I refuse." You spat, way more coldly than anticipated. Levi's eyes didn't soften, he was still considering this as a possibility. Your parents, however, were shocked. You grasped Levi's hand again, glare softening to a firm gaze instead. You attempted to make him change his mind - ten seconds were needed for you to succeed.
And afterwards, you swore, you didn't want to have to do it again.
11. Bright shine
Love
"Your boyfriend's got quite the style." Hanji showed up during the break, linking her arm with yours and leading you down the hallway to your next class together. You raised an eyebrow at her statement, not so much as the person who was addressed in it - she'd started calling Levi 'your boyfriend' although he still hadn't confirmed your couple status. "Everybody's discussing it. The girls mostly." She whispered devilishly in your ear, smirking rather big.
Your brows knitted together in oblivion as you walked to your next class. It was a class you also had with Levi. You'd see what Hanji had meant in just a minute. Before that, you had to get into the classroom, though, and at the current moment, it proved a near-impossible task with all the girls in front of it.
Some had their arms linked like you and Hanji, others were pretending to walk around, third leaned on the walls and some just didn't put effort into being subtle - they were the ones standing at the very door and looking inside. Your face turned sour like you'd bitten into a lemon and you glanced at Hanji. Was this what she had meant? All the girls were discussing something, giggling inbetween phrases and shooting frantic glances at the door.
"Students coming through, I've a VIP package to deliver to the hot guy inside, you know!" Hanji called out loudly, making you choke on your own spit in embarrassment. Then, as the girls actually let you pass and stared at you in confusion, you made sure to metaphorically stab her with your glare a few times. She only chuckled, and then you were inside the classroom.
Levi was... quick to notice. He popped out amongst the rest inside, not so much because of the fact he looked good but because his no-white clothes policy had obviously taken over him completely as he'd been choosing today's attire this morning. He was wearing a black, long-sleeved button-up shirt, tucked into a pair of impeccably ironed black dress pants. The dress coat and shining shoes were touches that people noticed when looking further into it. And the glare he had on surely prevented most from doing it.
Hanji let go of your arm and pushed you in his direction, he was sitting at his desk, already having adjoined it with yours, and attempting to ignore the people around him. You walked forward, self-conscious because of the all-black dress you were wearing and how it would quickly draw attention. Had it been a coincidence for you to match colours?
"Good morning." You greeted once having taken a seat next to him. "You're the talk of school today as it seems." You tried making your voice nonchalant. The few gazes on your forms, dressed so similarly and sitting next to each other, was plain frustrating.
"And you're my VIP package." Levi stated boredly from the desk next to yours, looking up and into your eyes. He saw them widen as pink tinted your cheeks. You thought he wouldn't have been able to hear. "Hanji tends to be a bit louder than needed." He informed when you dared not address the topic yourself.
"I know. So, what's the occasion for your attire? Are you attempting another gothic phase?" You joked with a small smirk, eyeing his clothes from up close and admiring the way he managed to look good in all black. It made him seem a bit more grown-up, contrasting his porcelain skin yet matching the colour of his ebony locks. His eyes were a nice addition. If you didn't know him, you'd think he was a college graduate, not a senior in high school.
"The funeral's right after classes end right? I thought I'd come since you'll be representing your family all alone. You were telling Hanji on the phone you didn't know anyone there, so now you'll know me." His voice, indifferent yet soft, made your stomach take a warm turn before a giant grin pulled at the corners of your mouth. You covered it with your hand as Levi met your gaze and added: "You'll have to introduce me as your boyfriend, though."
Oh God. This was it. You knew Levi. You knew his expressions and his voice and his eyes. And they told you what you'd been waiting for - a confirmation.
"Sure, it won't be hard." You showed him your grin with a small shrug just as the teacher entered the room, having shooed away all the girls in the hallway. You quickly pulled out your notebook and the coursebook you shared with Levi for the second school year in a row, placing them in the middle of your desk. You opened your notebook and stared at the empty lines with a smile.
Hello, this is my boyfriend, Levi. You giggled as quietly as possible and Levi shot you a questioning look.
"Just practising." His features didn't soften but his eyes shone abnormally in your direction - they were tender and so bright it could've been blinding, but you found it mesmerizing. Your heart fluttered in your chest and you felt Levi's hand on top of your own. You bit back a smile. It wasn't a success.
God, how I love this boy. The realisation that followed wasn't even something that you minded. It just made you smile harder. Because somewhere along the bored lines and the bright gaze you could see he loved you just as much.
"So, what in the fucking hell are you reading?" Your boyfriend's question brings you back to reality and you blink at him for a few seconds before having collected your thoughts. You look back down at the notebook. The sentence is highlighted in neon yellow and it's giving you a weird feeling.
"Just... Psychology." You answer simply, contemplating the end and the beginning. From indifference to love. From glances to being together. From strangers to lovers. And now...?
"And it's funny because?" He questions and in return you snort condescendingly.
"Well, because it's so stupidly inaccurate tha---" You look up and the word dies at the back of your throat. He's looking at you with confusion, but under that, there's a silver layer of warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. You gulp and laugh in spite of yourself, he raises an eyebrow. "You know what? I don't even know anymore."
"Are you okay?" He gets a hand through his ebony locks and you watch, as always mesmerized by the little gestures he performs.
"Perfectly fine." You give him a small smile as he looks at you expectantly. He knows you want to say something, that something's prodding at your thoughts. Spill the beans, his gaze tells. And you do. "Have I told you I love you?" You blurt out, borderline nervously. You feel weird but it's not because of him, it's because of the realisation that has dawned on you.
"Just yesterday actually." He informs casually and picks up his cup of tea. Only a tea-lover like him drinks it during the summer. Or a psychopath - it is yet to be decided. You eye him for a few seconds but pause right before responding.
"... good." You say with a soft smile. He meets your gaze and he's still clueless but somehow he's seen something that makes him utter a simple 'stupid' under his breath as he rolls his eyes. You say nothing in return to the subtle insult.
"So, are you going to next week's exam or sleeping?"
"The latter sounds tempting." You respond, making him snort.
"Of course it does."
"You?" You question back and his gaze meets yours, you feel the air of superiority around him and already know what he'll say.
"Yeah, and if I pass I have to wait for the winter exams." He explains boredly, twirling your pen in his hold as you close up your old Psychology notebook.
"Cool. I have to take it and two others. Then I can get some rest." You sigh longingly and he glares.
"And work done."
"Oh, don't bring it up." You roll your eyes and your shoulders sag in despair. Your boyfriend is not one to obey orders, he's usually the one to give them. His imperative gaze settles on your pleading one and he opens his mouth.
"You were the one who told me to start working on a fucking book. Better work on your own stupid paintings." He commands, making you groan in exasperation. If it wasn't for you he wouldn't be halfway done with his brick of a suspense novel, but if it wasn't for him you wouldn't be past your first painting. And you wouldn't have found a buyer for it. But now you have to do more paintings and you just can't figure out your muse. You've little to no motivation and the exams are stressing you out while your boyfriend sips on his tea and has the audacity to tell you to get your ass moving.
"Fine." You groan with finality, admitting your loss. "Sometimes I really hate your perfectionist ass, Levi."
"And sometimes I really hate your slothful ass, but opposites attract. That's what Hanji says right?" His grey hues glisten mockingly and you smirk.
"Often when you're mentioned, yes." You confirm, smug look melting into an affectionate expression as Levi grasps your hand and interlocks your fingers. "It's a little hot for that." You inform and when he starts to let go, you grab onto his fingers tightly and smile. "I never said you should let go." The pointed phrase meets only a huff as your boyfriend sips from his tea.
You meet his gaze and try to remember a time when you haven't been mesmerised by his eyes. There isn't such a moment. You become aware of the look he's giving you, your smile grows and your eyes soften. Three years later and he hasn't changed a bit. You catch yourself returning the affectionate gaze as a conclusion settles into your mind.
There is very little that can make you change your opinion on the matter of this stupid eye to soul connection.
Very little but it's there - efficient and determined.
And his name is Levi.
#levi ackerman x reader#levi x reader#reader insert#levi ackerman fanfiction#so basically levi has very expressive eyes and i love doing romantic studies on them#also highschool aus are my secret kink#they're just too fun to write lol#fluff?#a little bit of steam#i also love portraying the gradation of relationships soooooo#i hope you like it because it's 10k words lol#also sorry for any mistakes#i am a crackhead and i HATE editing
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Teacher’s Pet- A Spencer Reid Imagine
Spencer Reid x fem! psych major! reader
A/n: Hi guys, I’ve watched 9 seasons of criminal minds in 2 weeks, so expect a lot of criminal minds stuff coming! Also, kind of want to write a part 2 to this so lmk if you would like that!
Gif is not mine creds to @toyboxboy
Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood and knives
Word count: 2.6k
“The unsub is likely in a position of power, well respected, maybe even admired. He works with young people, probably a teacher or professor. We need to find him, and fast before he kills another young girl.” Rossi spoke to the room of officers. The room disperses to begin searching for the killer, 4 girls are already dead.
“Rossi, I think I found the connection between the girls.” Dr. Spencer Reid turning away from the board with the bodies taped to it and a file in his hand. “They all shared a professor.”
“They all went to different schools, different majors.” Morgan interjects.
“He is a professor at multiple universities, and they’ve all taken a psych class at some point, mostly introductory level. He must have connected with them during that time.” Reid continues.
“Who is it, dammit, Reid?” Hotch said.
“A Professor Deslaurier, professor of psychology, which explains why he was hard to find. He’s one of us. But better than that, I think I know who his next target is.”
*campus cafe around the same time*
“I’m not saying that I’m ready to start dating again, but I would love to see what that barista’s got going on.” My best friend said grabbing her coffee from the counter, winking at the barista drying mugs.
“Oh my god, keep it in your pants, you and Garrett just broke up. Like 2 days ago. You were devastated, remember?” I remind her, gently shoving her with my elbow as we sat at a table by the window.
“His name was Garrett so clearly he isn’t that hard to get over. But anyway what’s up with you relationship wise, any new people?” She presses her lips to her coffee cup, as I pull out my laptop from my bag.
“You and I both know nothing is happening in that department. School and work is taking up all my time, and I can’t help but ruin dates with my charming personality.” I pull up my latest essay for my criminal psychology class, only 5 words on the page: my name, the date, and the class.
“Stop going all psych major on people when you’re on a first date or you’ll be alone forever.” She rolls her eyes at me as she glances out the window. Her eyes squinting in concentration, so I follow her gaze seeing a group of people in FBI uniforms talking to campus security.
“What the hell?” I say watching one of them glance around and look at the campus cafe and nod his head in its direction. The agent made his way over to the shop and steps in looking around, scanning like he was looking for someone. Then his eyes land on me.
He rushes over to the table, but his face and voice remain calm despite the urgency in his walk. “Are you Y/F/N Y/L/N?”
“Yes, I am. What’s going on?” I look between the man and Y/B/F/N.
“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I’m going to need you to come with me.” He flashes his badge as fear washes over my face. “You’re not in trouble, don’t worry.” He smiles as I pack up my stuff, my essay still not begun.
I say goodbye to my friend, and leave with the mysterious Doctor. “So what’s going on and why do you need me? Or better yet where are we going?”
“Good question, do you have an apartment or dorm of some sort where we can go for a while?”
“Yea I have an off campus apartment just up the road. We can spend some time there, but why? Am I like in danger or something?”
“We have reason to believe you’re the killers next target.” He keeps me close as I guide him to my apartment. These are not the circumstances with which I would prefer to have this beautiful doctor be coming with me to my apartment, but it just be like that sometimes.
“Who would want to kill me? Why?” I ask as I approach my apartment door, unlocking it to allow us inside. “And what am I supposed to do to stop it?”
“That’s why I’m here, to protect you in case he comes to harm you, and it’s Professor Deslaurier who is attacking his brightest female students.”
“Hank wouldn’t do that. He was so kind,” I pause thinking about everything I’ve learned in my classes, “and I’m an idiot. He was manipulating me so I would trust him. He knew I was vulnerable and exploited that, and he’s a textbook narcissist.”
“Psych major?” Spencer asks as I sit on my couch with my head in my hands, wrapping my head around the fact that my favourite professor wants to kill me.
“Yeah, so I should have seen the signs. But I guess being a target is what happens when you’re stupid enough to trust the first teacher who approaches you.” I start crying, this sucks. The doctor, Spencer I think he said his name is, hands me a tissue. I take it graciously, a small smile creeps onto my lips at the gesture.
“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known he was a crazy serial killer. You were just being a good student, but you said that he approached you?” He sits next to me on the couch letting me lean on him slightly.
“Yeah, he came up to me after a lecture, raving about one of my essays and how my perspective was fascinating and came from a personal place. He basically decoded me from an essay. Where is he now?” I pull myself together enough to sit up, seeing the tear stains on his sweater. “ I’m sorry about your sweater.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he smiles and looks down at the stains I left. “We are trying to locate him now and put him away so he can’t hurt you or anyone else.”
“So what am I supposed to do until he’s caught?”
“Do you have anything here to work on? Homework or test to prepare for? I’m a great study buddy if you need help.” He smiles as if he’s not here to protect me from my crazy killer professor.
“Actually I do have a criminal psychology essay due in like 10 hours.”
“10 hours?! Why have you been putting it off? Unless the topic is something uncomfortable to think about?”
“You said your name was Spencer, right? Is it okay if I call you that?” He nods, still waiting for me to answer the question. “Well, Spencer, the essay is about what would make us snap, or our stressor as you guys call it, and kill people. Like searching through our traumas to see what would be the last straw. It’s not exactly a pleasant thought.”
Spencer looks into my eyes, deep like he’s reaching for my soul. He’s trying to profile me, but making it look a lot harder than it is. “You’ve been through a lot before: tough childhood, bad relationships, things like that,” I nod my head averting my eyes “But none of those things means you’re going to become a killer. Stressors only work if you let them, and I’ve had years of profiling experience and from the short time I’ve known you I can safely say you are incapable of killing someone.”
“How are you so sure? You barely know me?” I look up from my hands and gaze into his eyes, they are the warmest honey brown color.
“You and I both know you can learn a lot about someone without having to know them for a significant amount of time. I am highly skilled in the area of subtle detections and putting together clues to build personalities from fragments.”
“Yeah, I’m aware. I can’t hide anything from you because you already know it, so you are already well aware that I am incredibly attracted to you. I may not be an FBI profiler, but I can tell you like me too.” I put my hands over his, seeing his cheeks flare pink at the gesture. I lean closer to him, feeling his breath on my face.
Until he suddenly pulls back, but it was forceful. He didn’t want to, but he had to. I was about to apologize for how inappropriate it was, he’s just doing his job, but he starts before I can talk.
“Your essay is due in 10 hours, more accurately 9 hours 47 minutes and 22 seconds, and you haven’t started. Work on your essay, it’ll distract you from the current situation.” He stands and paces the room as if trying to come up with the best solution to a problem. I just couldn’t tell if the problem was me or the case.
I was going to argue with him, but I sighed knowing he’s right. I need to write my essay so I don’t fail my class. The screen burns my eyes as I stare at the practically blank screen. The sound of my fingers running across the keyboard fills my small apartment as I figure out my story. I stop for a moment after several minutes of furious typing and look up.
“What are some typical stressors of serial killers?” I ask Spencer giving him the opportunity to use his genius brain to help me.
After 4 tortuous hours of writing and editing done by Dr. Reid, I hit submit on my essay. I high five the young doctor in celebration, but he catches my hand and intertwines his fingers with mine instead. The air catches in my throat, I’m speechless. Now it’s my turn to blush at a small gesture. He holds me for a moment, gazes locked on each other. I lean up to meet his lips, but a knock at my door disturbs the quiet of the room. Reid puts a finger to his lips signalling for silence.
“Y/N open up. I know you’re home.” A voice calls from the hall.
“Hank.” I whisper, frightfully looking at Spencer pleading for some direction in the situation. How am I supposed to know what to do when my crazy professor shows up at my apartment to kill me? He nods his head toward the door as he creeps in its direction silently, gun in hand. He looks hot when he’s in agent mode. Wait, not the biggest issue right now, focus Y/N. I stand behind the door, looking over at him and he nods. I open the door slightly. “Hey Professor Deslaurier, what’s up?” He looks distressed and frazzled, but I would too if the fucking FBI was trying to find me for being a serial killer.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“Uhhhh, I’ve been working on a paper. Do you need something?” I stand close to the door, practically hugging it as if my life depended on it. Reid’s presence behind the door went undetected by my professor since he stepped closer to the door.
“The paper must be amazing, you were always an amazing writer. May I come in?” He wasn’t really asking, his foot in the doorframe.
“I would rather not, I’m very busy. Deadlines and all.” I push the door closed, but before I could he shoves his way in. I walk backwards into the open space, consciously making an effort not to let Deslaurier know Reid is there by looking at him, which became incredibly difficult as he came closer to me pushing my back into a wall.
“You were always so intelligent and strong headed, but now, you’re just weak and pathetic. Aww look at the panic in your eyes. You can’t think your way out of this one.” He pulls a knife from his pocket and presses the flat side to my neck and I whimper. I squirmed in his grasp and in a moment of panic, I look at Reid. Deslaurier’s gaze follows mine and meets the agent standing in my apartment, gun cocked. Suddenly the cold, hard wall I was pressed against became warm and soft as my killer holds me against him like a shield, a knife to my throat. “Who is this son of a bitch?”
“I’m Dr. Reid with the FBI. Release her, put down the knife.” Spencer points his gun at the floor, knowing he would be unable to get a shot that wouldn’t hit me.
“Oooh, a doctor she chooses smart guys to whore herself out to.” I squirm in his grasp. My neck burns as the sharp edge of the weapon presses into me.
“I’m just here to protect her from you. You aren’t as clever as you think you are, you know? We caught you. You can’t hurt anybody anymore. Drop the knife and let her go. Now. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. Let her go.”
“Spencer, please.” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. I’m probably going to die, I’ve accepted that. I just don’t want Spencer to see me go, I can tell this is killing him. Agent or no agent, this is an awful situation to be put in.
“Does she mean something to you, Doctor? I wouldn’t get attached if I were you, she’ll just throw you away like she did to me. Best and brightest in my class, but just another stupid girl outside of it.” If looks could kill, Deslaurier would be dead under Reid’s gaze. His eyes soften when he looks at me, giving me hope. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I swing my leg back into my capture’s knee, dislocating it in the process. The knife sliced through part of my neck, just barely missing vital veins. Spencer takes his shot as the professor falls to the ground, catching me in his strong arms as I fall forward.
“Hey, hey, hey look at me. You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine. We’re going to take you to the hospital and get you stitched up. Okay? Just keep looking at me.” He holds me as we sit on the floor.
“Spencer…” I whisper and everything goes dark.
Beeping and whispers fill the room as I open my eyes. I’m sitting in a hospital bed, what happened? Why does my head hurt so much?
“Hey take it easy. You’re in the hospital, you lost a lot of blood.” Spencer says, standing next to my bed taking my hand.
“What happened after I blacked out? How did we get here?” The beeping becomes incessant as my heart races.
“Relax, it’s okay,” He squeezes my hand and the beeping softens, “My team went to your apartment and took care of Deslaurier, I shot him in the shoulder after you kicked him, which good job by the way, even if it caused you to get hurt. You ended up getting a nasty cut on your neck, but it missed any critical veins.”
“Thanks.” I smile looking at our hands.
“You know you scared me half to death when you lost consciousness.”
“Well, sorry, I’ll try not to almost get murdered by a serial killer next time.” I smirk sarcastically as he laughs stroking my cheek.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“You know, we were in the middle of something before being rudely interrupted.” I look up at the gorgeous doctor who happened to save my life.
“Oh yeah, where were we again?” He smirks, lowering himself closer to my level in the bed.
“Right about here.” I pull him close, kissing his pillow soft lips.
#spencer x reader#spencer reid#dr spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid imagines#criminal minds imagines
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Falling Apart (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}
Title: Falling Apart
Rating: PG
Length: 1600
Warnings: Angst (allusions to post-partum depression)
Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in July 1997. Javier’s POV.
Summary: Javier grapples with the aftermath.
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“Coffee?” Javier questioned as he rose from the kitchen table with his own coffee cup. His brows knit together as she lifted her gaze to stare back at him with visible indifference written on her face.
“Sure.” She pushed the coffee mug to the edge, before picking up the newspaper that had been sitting idle on the table and flipping through it.
He hesitated, words forming at his lips, but he didn’t have the balls to actually speak them. Instead, he snatched up the mug and headed for the coffee pot.
It felt like he was living with a stranger.
The woman sitting at his kitchen table looked like the woman he loved, but everything about her felt wrong. Sometimes he still saw her — that glimmer of mischief that was followed by cold feet finding his leg beneath the covers; that raw sense of humor that meshed with his and drove their friends crazy.
But most days it felt like she’d been replaced with a pod person who wanted nothing to do with him. She was stand-offish at best and entirely disinterested at the worst.
Maybe he had understood her correctly. Maybe she truly was done with him.
Javier was well aware of the fact that he’d been overbearing during those last few months of her pregnancy, but he hadn’t anticipated that his worry would turn into this festering wound that wouldn’t heal.
“I was thinking about taking Josie to the park,” He started gently as he sat the coffee cup down on the table in front of her.
“Newborns aren’t exactly park-friendly.” She retorted, folding the newspaper in half and sitting it aside as she reached for her mug. “I’ll just stay home.”
Javier took a sip of coffee as he sat down across from her, “I don’t mind handling Sofía—“
“You don’t mind handling her?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of watching her at home. Alone.”
He swallowed thickly, nodding his head as he glanced down at his half eaten breakfast. His stomach turned in response to the coarse tone she’d taken with him. “Right.”
Where had he gone wrong? Was it the guilt he felt that had done this relationship in? Wasn’t that what precipitated her confession that she didn’t want to do this.
Whatever it meant.
No, he knew what she meant.
And fuck if it wasn’t tearing him up inside.
The idea of having to rebuild his life without her scared the shit out of him. It had been bad enough when there had been a few hours where he thought he’d have to plan her funeral — but somehow the idea of existing in the same world with and without her didn’t seem right.
Javier rubbed at his jaw as he stared down at his coffee cup, brows drawn together as he considered how to navigate this perilous situation he found himself in. “I would really like for you to come with us. And I’m sure Josie would like to have the two of you there.”
She chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced at him briefly, “Alright.” She offered a shrug, before rising to her feet. “I’m going to take a shower, then.”
She hadn’t even touched her coffee.
He sighed heavily as he watched her walk out of the kitchen. His gaze lingered on the empty space she had occupied, before he leaned forward on his elbows and raked his fingers through his hair.
Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stood up to clean the table off.
He’d already called his father to try to talk through the situation — to try to figure out why this was happening. But even that hadn’t helped. It was like she was drifting away at sea and he was completely helpless and drowning too.
Steve and Connie had come to visit a few days ago and she’d seemed almost normal. But he wondered how much of that was just for show — she was good at putting up these false walls of emotion, to mask how she really felt.
It pissed him off that he had gone through four years of psychology classes two decades ago and it did fuck all now when it really counted.
And she was too damn good at performing in front of friends and family, Javier doubted Steve would believe him if he brought up the way she’d been acting around him.
“Josie,” Javier started as he walked down the hallway to her bedroom, pushing the door open. “Can you get ready to go to the park?”
“But I already am dressed, daddy!” She said as she looked up from the Hot Wheels track she was building.
“You can’t wear pajamas to the park,” Javier chuckled as he watched her adjust the tiara she had on. “Do you need help?”
Josie pursed her lips thoughtfully before nodding her head, “I want to look like a princess, like mommy.”
Javier smiled a little, “Your mommy is a princess, isn't she princesa?” He said as he pulled open the dresser drawers to find her something to wear. She had a plethora of dresses with like shorts sewn into the skirts — which were perfect for the park.
What would life look like if all of this fell apart? Would he get the girls part of the time? He hadn’t had to have these thoughts since Colombia — back when everything hung in the balance.
His father had talked him off that ledge, the last time they’d talked. Chucho was convinced that they were both stressed after everything that happened. He’d been there too, after all. He’d seen it firsthand.
But the thought of packing his life back into a joyless apartment was a sobering thought to consider.
“Hey babe,” She popped her head into Josie’s bedroom, fresh out of the shower and toweling off her wet hair, “Did you use the sunblock last? I can’t find it.”
Javier perched on the edge of Josie’s bed, “Should be in the kitchen in the junk drawer.”
“Perfect.” She smiled, like nothing was wrong and it felt like a genuine display of emotion. “Next time we go to the store, remind me that I’m out of my apricot scrub.”
“Alright,” Javier nodded, turning his attention back to Josie who was wrestling her way out of her pajama top. “I’ll put it on the list.”
“Josie, are you wearing a crown?”
Josie turned towards her mother, beaming from ear-to-ear, “I wanted to be a princess racecar dry-beaver.”
“You wanted to be a beaver?” She snorted. “Are you trying to say ‘driver,’ babydoll?”
Josie nodded her head, “A race dri-ber.”
“Close enough,” She grinned, looking towards Javier then. “How about ice cream after the park?”
“Ice cream?” Josie gasped dramatically.
“I can’t say no, now.” He smirked, his heart beating a little faster. “Whatever you want, baby.” Whatever it would take to make her feel normal again — Javier was willing to try it. He’d walk on Legos barefoot if it meant normalcy could return to their lives.
Sofía started crying in her nursery and her mother’s face fell.
“Do you want me to get her so you can get ready?” Javier offered cautiously.
“No.” She blinked slowly as she looked down the hall, “I’ve got her. Just get Josie ready.”
“Come on, JoJo. Let’s get you dressed.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth and held out her dress for her.
He knew he had to be patient — she’d gone through hell too. Physically and mentally. They had both built up so many expectations for Sofia’s birth and in the end it had been a nightmare.
Javier hated to even think about what life might’ve been like if they hadn’t kept trying. If they’d given up… but how could he think that way? Sofía was the grumpiest little angel — she was perfect. And if they hadn’t had her, they wouldn’t have Monica in their lives.
Or Stevie.
Or even the house they lived in.
Even with the current situation, he wouldn’t give up the best parts of his life just because they had hit a rocky patch. A really rocky patch.
And then there was the added pressure of knowing what she’d gone through in her own childhood. The pain, the trauma, the instinctual reactions that came with her upbringing. It was why she soldiered through everything without speaking up — she’d rather suffer in silence than feel like a burden.
Was she suffering now and he was just blind to it? Outside of how it inconvenienced his life.
“Daddy, why are you sad?” Josie questioned, standing in front of him pouting. “You’ve gots to smile.” She wagged a finger at him, before poking him between the eyes. “You’ve got them wormy lines!”
Javier couldn’t help but laugh, scooping Josie up and tickling her until she squealed for him to stop, her laughter an infectious sound that warmed his heart.
This was his family and he wasn’t going to lose his partner. He’d weather whatever storm he had to weather, if it meant coming out the other side. The good already outweighed the bad, he just couldn’t let him get caught up in his own melancholy.
His own guilt.
That guilt still ate him alive at night.
She’d wanted to have a second child to give him the experience he’d missed out on. Now he wished he’d missed out on this experience.
He had wanted to experience the joy of fatherhood firsthand, but instead he got to suffer the nightly fears that the love of his life was slipping through his fingers.
And maybe he should bring it up with her. Talk about it. But what if she confirmed his worst fears? What if she truly did want out? He was a fucking selfish man still, and he wanted to hold onto this until it was pried out of his hands.
He wanted to roll over at night and reach out for her and not fear that he’d feel her flinch away from him. He wanted to walk into the nursery while she was feeding Sofía and not fear that she’d bite his head off about hovering. He wanted all the things he had been blessed with when Josie was a baby and he’d taken for granted.
Javier had realized the merit in the saying — you never realize how good you have it, until it’s gone. And she already felt one foot out the door of their relationship.
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Do you have any tips on writing angst? I want my writing to contain more of it, but I think I might be missing something?
Oh wow, what a question. This took some time because I really had to get my thoughts planned out. I'm going to try to tackle this, but keep in mind what works for me might not work for everyone. This will be long. I'm sorry if you don't want to read a long, drawn out post. Here it comes.😬 (This took a little over an hour to put together mainly cause I write too much. Smh🤦🏽♀️)
That being said, my background in psychology helps a lot when writing angst and characters in general. I like to think of it as my secret weapon. Lol. 😁
However, I like to think of angst as slowing it down, stretching it out, and digging deeper into details, feelings, thoughts, and emotions. It helps to have a significant understanding of how human emotions work and how it connects to the body's reaction to and display of it.
For instance, you're about to confess your love to your BFF. Typically emotions include anxiousness and nervousness (fidgeting, inability to make eye contact, rapidly beating heart, dry mouth, etc.), fear (mirrors above but add racing thoughts, physical shaking, etc.).
Now go back and stretch those feelings out in detail. Describe that anxiousness as it relates to something, talk about what is being fidgeted with, mention things the eyes land on when not making eye contact, etc.
Also, make the character's situation believable. For me, a big part of my writing, unless specified, is reality and grasping close to it. I don't over stylize and create insane situations that could never in a million years happen. Think about "Rumor Has It," this tangled web of Ana, Chris, Uriah, and Christiano. Do you see this happening in everyday life with every couple? No, not really. Probably not, and if so, not on this scale. Is it something that is possible? Yes, absolutely, because people with these issues and characteristics exist.
When writing angst, use imagery. For me, that means describing everything. I describe the physical aspects both immediate(self, person character is with), exterior (other people around, things), emotional aspects (self unless writing in 3rd person then all), psychological elements and sometimes even social aspects. I try to keep the details down, but I will admit sometimes I get carried away in it and just write like 700 words on description and feelings, and I have to go back and trim. So do it with as much detail as possible for you. Just keep in mind to describe things in a beautiful but sorrowful way. I like to think of it as poetry. That might be weird.😬
I know descriptive writing can be a challenge for anyone. Try your best.
I also love one thing I learned long ago. Ask yourself, "what does the character(s) want"? Figure it out and throw everything at them to prevent it and them getting it while keeping in mind that the past, present, and future should have clear causes and effects on the characters and story.
Details are important. I like to think the smaller the detail, the more description. For example, imagine the button on a peacoat. You are staring at it using it as a focal point; describe that tiny detail, in greater detail. Include feelings as you're focusing on it. Why do you need a focal point? Do you feel like you're going crazy? Why? Does it remind you of anything like a spider's web with the way the thread is tightly wrapped around the button? Does that spider's web make you think of deception? Etc. The same can go for details about people. Keep in mind that old tired thing we learned in H.S English class, the 5Ws and an H. (Who, what, when, where and why then how)
Remember, the level of angst depends on your character's personality and the circumstances of the story.
Angst can be challenging, especially knowing the right level to go to and how much is enough. There's a careful balance to it that can get tricky. You want it to touch the heart, be powerful, even gut-wrenching maybe, and filled with authentic, raw, human emotion. You dont want it to be or feel forced or fake, so going overboard can quickly turn it depressive and confusing.
If possible, I would say, try to draw inspiration from your personal angsty experiences or those close to you that you have interacted with. Make the stories of others that you draw inspiration from, stories that you understand and relate to.
Remember, while angst is cool, all angst 24/7 might be a bit much unless specified from the get-go. I find it essential to give small rewards to readers throughout the process. Think of it as a tug o war game.
You are pulling all these emotions, and while pulling them, you are throwing them out too. When you feel the timing is right, slacken that rope and give some breathers, rays of sunshine, happiness, joy, other positive emotions.
Show the glimmer of hope every once in a while and the progress being made. I use angst as an intense changing factor for my characters. I can't do meaningless angst, and I don't suggest you do it either. Readers can see right through it.
A final thing I can add because I feel like this is long as hell and don't want to make this ridiculously long, you can complete it with a cliffhanger.
I looooove cliffhangers. Lmaoo
I really hope this answered your question, and I hope you found this helpful. Remember, this is what works for me and might not for others, and this is in no way meant to be the end all be all on the topic.
Don't put too much pressure on yourself, You're doing great. The important thing is having fun while writing. So, happy writing. ☺
***If the spacing is off, I apologize. I wrote this in my notes and pasted it here.
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Varsity Blues
Note: Due to the rampant uprising of plagiarism on this site and others I am stating once and once only that this is my ORIGINAL work. If I find out that you have stolen/taken any part of my work I will handle you and the situation the way I see fit.
None of the pics of gifs I use belong to me so full credit goes to the originators of said gifs and pics.
Summary: Zoie gets dragged to frat party by her best friends Maddie and Rae where she meets Zabdiel and they hit it off, in more ways than one.
A/N: This waaayy longer than I wanted it to be and I’m not even sure I even like it but imma post it anyways cuz I’ve had it for almost 2 weeks lol.
Length: 2,169 words
Genre: Smut
Zoie hated football, especially college football. Yet here she was in the stands as her two best friends Maddie and Rae cheered on their school’s team. Apparently they just scored a touchdown but Zoie didn’t care at all. She noticed the guys behind them were exceptionally loud too, specifically whenever they spotted the quarterback on the field. She recognized one of the guys, Erick. He was a freshman but he took her Psychology class. Zoie was relieved when she saw they were in the last quarter of the game. All she wanted to do was go back to her apartment and finish her research paper and sleep.
“Ya know you can at least pretend you’re interested in the game.” Maddie said as she and Rae finally sat down.
“Yall know damn well I don’t like football but yall dragged me to this game anyways.” Zoie said.
“Girl whatever. Oh wait I see somebody I know at the concession stand. Yall want anything?” Maddie asked.
“Yeah I’ll take a hotdog and bring miss grumpy here a coffee.” Rae said. Maddie leaves and returns no more than 5 minutes later with a handsome guy along with Rae’s food and Zoie’s coffee.
“Guys this is Joel. He’s one of the sophomores I’m tutoring. He’s also in a frat and he invited us to their party after the game.” Maddie said.
“Ummm I’ll pass. I have a paper due Monday so that’s what I’m spending my weekend doing.” Zoie said.
“So you rather stay at home and do homework than take a night off and enjoy yourself? You sound like my boy Erick here.” Joel said as he nodded towards Erick. Zoie turned around and looked at Erick, along with a guy with red hair, and another with shaggy hair.
“Anyways let’s just watch the game.” Zoie said as everyone settled back in their seats, Joel taking a seat right between her and Maddie. The game went on and on and when it was finally over, their school’s team had won the game.
“YES! What an amazing game! Zabdiel was so fucking good tonight.” Rae said.
“Yeah woohoo, can we go now?” Zoie asks in the most unenthusiastic way.
“Wait, aren’t you coming to the party?” Erick asked.
“Nope. I have a paper due, ya know the same exact paper you have due.” Zoie said.
“We have ppl for that. And I’m not taking no for an answer. Joel said.
“Plus you look way too good to go straight home.” The redhead said as he checked her out. She was wearing a form fitting yellow plaid skirt with a white halter with a butterfly on it, a pair of black platform boots and she topped off her look with a black leather jacket.
“I’m sorry and you are….?” Rae asked.
“Richard. And this is Christopher. We’re the ones who plan all our frat’s events, including tonight’s festivities.” He said.
“Okay fine if I say yes will you shut up and stop eye fucking me?” Zoie asked.
“I make no promises but yes I’ll stop so can we please go? I had one of the pledges order me a special pizza and I’m starving.” Richard said. Everyone made their way out of the stadium and towards the parking lot. The girls made their way to Zoie’s car and once they were inside, Joel texted Maddie their address and they were on their way.
________________
The party was in full swing when the girls pulled up. Joel, Erick, Chris, and Richard were just walking into the house when Zoie parked. She sighed then got out of the car. As they walked up the path to the front door Zoie noticed a guy passed out on the lawn and shook her head.
“The party literally just started.” Zoie mumbled. Once they made it to the front door a burly guy in the most obnoxious, stereotypical frat attire stopped them at the door.
“Password?” He said, as he let out a long, loud burp.
“Oh my fucking god he’s a caveman. I’m going home.” Zoie said as she turned to leave, but Rae and Maddie grabbed her.
“Password? Hmm let’s see. How about move or I’ll rip your fucking dick off!” Rae yelled, catching the attention of many bystanders.
“Rory, dude they’re with me and the boys. I told you, you don’t have to guard the door all night.” Joel said as he came to the rescue. He ushered the girls inside and they’re immediately hit with the smell of barbeque and alcohol.
“How are there so many people already? This shit JUST started.” Maddie asked.
“Oh we’ve been spreading the word since Monday so everyone knew where to be after the game. Can I get you all something to drink?” Joel asked.
“I’ll take some Hennesy, straight and Rae likes Patron. And…..Zo?” Maddie asked, looking at Zoie.
“Well I’m driving so I’ll take a coke.” Zoie said. Joel led them to the drinks table where they saw all the guys mixing their own drinks. However a new person joined. The school’s quarterback Zabdiel de Jesus.
“Ladies this Zabdiel, our star quarterback but yall already knew that. Zab this is Rae, Maddie, and Zoie.” Joel spoke as he introduced the girls.
“Zoie? Wait, you’re in Erick’s class right? He talks about you alot.” Zabdiel said.
“Bro what the fuck?” Erick said as he looked wide eyed at Zoie?.
“What? I mean you definitely didn’t lie, she’s absolutely gorgeous.” Zabdiel said. He and Zoie made eye contact and Zoie felt a little tingle and quickly averted her eyes. Fuck, she thought to herself.
________________
It was well into the night and everyone was TRASHED. Zoie, on her 3rd coke of the night, was posted up on a nearby wall watching her friends with the guys. Maddie was dancing and making out with Joel while Rae was sandwiched between Richard and Chris. Erick was off in the corner with a petite blonde in his lap. Lost in her own little world of people watching, Zoie didn’t notice Zabdiel sidle up to her and when she finally did she nearly bumped into him.
“FUUUCK ME! Bruh what the hell?!” She yelled, shocked.
“I mean I usually don’t fuck when I first meet a girl but for you, I’ll make an exception for you.” Zabdiel said. He gave her a little smirk, almost making her fall to her knees but she kept it together. She looked at him and laughed.
“Does this whole sensible giant thing you got going on ever work for you?” Zoie asked as she chugged the rest of her drink.
“You tell me. Is it working on you?” He asked. He took a sip of his drink and eyed her intensely.
“N-No. Ummmm where’s the bathroom?” She asked.
“Through the kitchen to the left.” He replied as he chuckled at her nervousness. Once Zabdiel told her where to go she hauled ass but when she arrived the door was locked and she heard moans coming from the other side.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She said to herself. She searched around and still couldn’t find a bathroom. She decided to check upstairs and was delighted when she finally found a bathroom. It was communal and she was slightly disgusted but she put that aside as she looked at herself in the mirror. She took off her jacket and examined herself in the mirror. She looked tired so she splashed some water on her face to refresh herself. As she’s drying her face she hears the door open. She looks up and sees Zabdiel and smiles.
“Erick said he saw you run up here. You good?” Zabdiel asked as he leaned against the sink.
“Yeah just needed some fresh air. We should get back to the party though.” Zoie moved to leave but he gently grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. He backed her into the sink and got as close to her face as he could without touching her.
“What if I said I wanted you? You think I didn’t notice the effect I have on you.” Zabdiel ran a finger along the side of her neck. Zoie tried to fight it but couldn’t deny the way she was feeling or the puddle slowly forming in her underwear. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Zabdiel kissed the exposed part of her neck, causing her to let out a soft moan. She pulled his head back and kissed him. The kiss became intense and Zabdiel let out a low grunt as Zoie pulled on his hair. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the sink. Zoie opened her legs and pulled him closer to her. She deepened the kiss as she slipped her tongue in his mouth and grinded against him. He gifted her skirt so it bunched around her hips. He used his index finger to trace along her clothed slit. He felt the wetness through her underwear and laughed. “God your so fucking wet.” He said as he moved her underwear to the side. He used his finger to spread her wetness over her clit. He heard her moan and moved his finger in short circles over her. “Tell me what you want.” He said as he continued his assault on her sensitive bud.
“I w-want your fingers inside of me.” Zoie sighed. Zabdiel was more than happy to oblige and slid his index finger inside of her. Zoie was taken aback as his long finger massaged her walls.
“You feel so fucking good. Think you can take another one?” Zabdiel asked. Zoie nodded and moaned as he slid another finger inside of her. He was moving at a slow pace and it drove her crazy.
“Can you move faster? You’re killing me.” She managed to say. Without a word he moved his finger faster and Zoie matched his pace as she grinded on his fingers. Zabdiel used his thumb to rub her clit and Zoie all but lost it. She was a whimpering mess as he pleasured her. He kissed her again and they made out as his fingers moved at an incredible pace inside of her. Zoie felt some of her juices drip onto the sink.
“You’re making a mess. Now let’s see if I can make that pretty little pussy squirt.” Zabdiel whispered against her lips. He continued to finger fuck her as Zoie struggled to stay on the sink. She gripped his arm to steady herself as she saw stars. The feeling was overwhelming and he felt like she was about to pass out.
“Shit! I’mcomingI’mcomingI’mcoming…..SHIIIIIIIIITTTTTT.” Zoie screamed. She felt like the life was sucked out of her as she arched into Zabdiel. He felt her wetness gushing out of her and smirked as her wetness soaked the sink, floor, and the bottom of his shirt.
“Hmmm. You look so fucking hot right now.” He said as he planted another deep kiss on her lips. He could still feel her body shaking when he withdrew his fingers from her.
“That was…..fuck that was amazing.” Zoie slumped against the mirror and eyed Zabdiel. He motioned for her to come to him and then tapped his cum soaked fingers against her lips. She immediately obeyed and took his fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean. Tasting herself somehow aroused her even more and she removed his fingers with a loud, wet pop. She looked him dead in the eyes the entire time, making him hard.
“You are incredible, you know that? Now let’s go before our friends wonder where we are.” He said. He helped her clean up then they headed back downstairs where the party was still raging. Zoie saw Rae and Maddie outside stuffing their faces with burgers. She and Zabdiel made their way outside and saw the rest of the boys also scarfing down various foods.
“Where the hell did you two disappear to? We’ve been looking everywhere for yall.” Rae said as she finished off a beer.
“We….ummmm-”
“I was fingering her upstairs in the bathroom. She made a mess so we had to clean up.” Zabdiel said in a nonchalant manner as he took a seat neck to Richard.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD.” Zoie squealed. She was so embarrassed and sat down next to Maddie who was laughing her ass off.
“Awww babe don’t be embarrassed. Joel only lasted 5 minutes and I didn’t even cum so...” Maddie said.
“Hold the fuck up, not my fault. It’s the alcohol.” Joel pleaded.
“Yeah okay, blame the liquor.” Richard laughed. The rest of the night was a hot ass mess but they all had fun and enjoyed themselves until most of them passed out. Zoie was still wide awake and as she got up to leave she felt that same gentle tug on her hand.
“Can you stay a bit longer?” Zabdiel asked. She smiled at him then took a seat next to him. She snuggled up against him then felt herself drift off to sleep.
#cnco#zabdiel de jesus#cnco scenarios#zabdiel de jesus scenarios#cnco imagines#zabdiel de jesus imagines
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Nicknames: Laur, Laurie
Aliases: Jonathan Legerdemain, Jean Nuit
Apparent Age: “30″
True Age: 51
Gender: Cis Man
Pronouns: He/Him
Sexuality: Demiromantic Gray-Ace
Birthday: January 6th
Occupation: Occultist, Bookstore Owner
Species: Vampire (Nightingale)
Residence: The Vista Rosa neighborhood in Santa Marta, CA.
𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖
Height: 5′10
Build: Average height, has a sort of stereotypical “scrawny nerd” sort of build with a soft layer of fat/soft belly and not a lot of muscular definition. He has long arms and legs in comparison to his torso which makes him look taller than he actually is.
Face Shape: Somewhere between an oval and a diamond, his facial features are fine and delicate with a long straight nose.
Eye Color/Shape: Vibrant, unnaturally bright ocean-blue with cat-like slitted pupils. Large but set deep within his face with heavy, tired looking lids and deep dark circles which gives him a sort of permanent “resting bitch face”.
Hair Color/Style: Slate Gray. Laurent’s hair is mostly straight with a slight wave to it (2A) and usually worn tied into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. he has long, messy bangs that usually hang in his face.
Skin Color/Texture: Very pale and desaturated with a distinct yellow undertone. He has soft skin but has a lot of small scars and marks on his hands from various occult work he did while he was still a mortal.
Distinguishing Features: First off, Laurent is prematurely gray. He also has a number of tattoos (a tattoo of a magical circle for protection on his back, another protection sigil on his chest over the heart, has a tattoo of an open eye on the back of his neck). He also wears glasses.
Posture: Very “proper” posture -- stands straight up but there’s that slight hunch to his shoulders that comes from hours bent over books and papers. He moves very purposefully and a little bit stiffly with quiet footsteps.
Voice: Soft and understated, with the remnants of a Quebecois accent. Laurent rarely raises his voice and his speech is usually curt and clipped, possibly even seeming rude or sarcastic at times.
Clothing Style: Lots of blacks and blues with some cream and charcoal. He tends to wear comfortable clothing that could pass for being formal in most situations -- black slacks, button-downs over v-necks, turtleneck sweaters and cardigans. A lot of his looks vaguely recall the 1980s when it comes to sweater choice.
Notable Mannerisms: Scrunches his nose when he’s thinking deeply about something but otherwise seems to not have a lot of particularly unique or defining mannerisms (almost purposefully so)
𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤
Physical: Lockpicking, breaking and entering
Social: What Social Skills? Basic etiquette, subterfuge/lying, manipulation
Talents: Calligraphy, Poetry, Prose, getting in over his head
Knowledges: Greek, Latin, French, currently learning German, Masters in Psychology, Traditional Magic, Ritual Magic, Sigilcraft, Herbalism
Hobbies: Reading, Writing, Gardening, Cooking
Special: Basic Nightingale abilities, some natural magical talent (mostly lost after becoming a vampire), spirit sight, minor precognition
ℙ𝕤𝕪𝕔𝕙𝕖
Strengths: Clever, quick witted, tenacious, detail-oriented, good concentration, inquisitive, intuitive, dedicated, loyal, strong sense of internal morals
Weaknesses: overly curious, stubborn, too smart for his own good, overly self-reflective, can be cold and emotionally distant, closed off from his emotions, rude, irritable, afraid of intimacy, standoffish, shy, just generally bad at people.
Goals: To gather all the knowledge there is to be had, especially where it concerns the occult; to learn proper spontaneous magic
Fears: Loss of knowledge, loss of control, true death, what lurks beneath santa marta (but not enough to stop researching it)
Ideals/Morals: Laurent is willing to do almost anything to gain knowledge but there are a few things that disgust him and he finds morally abhorrent -- like hurting children or murder (notably -- he sees a difference between killing and murder but also tries to avoid killing people as a general rule unless it’s in self-defense)
Guiding Philosphies: Knowledge is Power
Sense of Humor: Very dry and sarcastic. He’s definitely the person to deliver a sarcastic quip with a totally straight face and it leaves people wondering if he even has a sense of humor.
Overall Personality: Laurent is kind of a prickly bastard. He’s introverted and introspective and has very little interest in being around or talking to people. He can pretend to be polite very well (and expects others to behave in a similar way). He prefers things to be well-structured and mostly predictable, he has trouble dealing with sudden intense changes. He seems very distant and cold to most people -- utterly focused on his work over anything else.
𝕃𝕚𝕗𝕖
Best Memory:
Worst Memory:
Biggest Accomplishment:
Prized Possessions:
Favorite Colors:
Favorite Foods:
Favorite Scents:
Favorite Songs:
Can't Leave Home Without:
ℍ𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪
Birthplace: Suburbs of Montreal, Quebec
Childhood: Growing up, Laurent’s parents were usually very busy, both having careers that demanded a lot of their attention. He and Louis were often left to sort of fend for themselves (classic latch-key kids). Being the more shy of the twins, Laurent often relied on Louis to make friends -- having few friends that he could consider his specifically.
At around the age of 11, while playing at his neighbor’s house after school with Louis, their friend Alex and his younger sister Madeline, the four of them found a oujia board and did what any group of pre-teens would do: they turned out the lights and used it. Unfortunately for the twins, the house was old and the board itself connected to a rather angry spirit that would attach itself to Louis and scare the hell out of the other three children. This is what would start Laurent’s interest in the occult but it was what would happen the next summer that would cement it as an obsession...
While playing in a local park, something that Laurent could neither identify or describe beyond “a writhing mass of eyes, grasping tendrils and eyes” would pluck Alex from the face of existence -- not only taking the 12 year old but erasing any sign that he had ever existed to begin with from the minds of everyone but Laurent.
Adolescence: At thirteen, Laurent’s family moved to Santa Marta, California. Highschool was difficult for Laurent, who had started to go prematurely gray by the time he was 14 and was shy and bookish. He had to deal with a lot of bullying and it cemented his irritability.
He did, however, thanks to the unique nature of Santa Marta (attracting the supernatural) manage to make friends with a Witch by the name of Martin. They’d also date for about a year in secret before both decided that it just wasn’t working. However, the pair of them were obsessed with the occult and the presence of the “Old Gods” which were present in constant whispers in Santa Marta. This is where Laurent got into most of the trouble he would as a teenager -- breaking into abandoned buildings looking for ghosts and signs of the supernatural as well as getting 100% illegal tattoos in dangerous settings (most notably, he had his protection sigil done by Martin in his basement along with the eye on the back of his neck).
Somehow, probably just due to luck, Laurent never actually got in legal trouble for any of the crazy shit he did as a teen but that luck wouldn’t last.
Adulthood: In his desperate search for occult knowledge, Laurent would end up crossing paths with a woman named Claudine -- a Nightingale who was also an accomplished occultist and a powerful witch in her own right. He would end up stealing several of her important research journals and end up becoming her “assistant” at the age of twenty-one (she normally would’ve killed him for it but was impressed by his dedication and natural skill). She would keep him on as an assistant, teaching him about the occult and preparing him for life in the Nightingale Court before finally turning him in 2000.
Recent: In 2010, Claudine would disappear suddenly -- leaving behind only a note about her own research into the “thing that lurks beneath the streets of this blighted metropolis” and pointing Laurent in a similar direction. During his training with Claudine, Laurent would run into mentions of the “Myriad Eyes” multiple times, especially when researching the occult history of Santa Marta... A phrase that he quickly came to associate with the thing that had taken his childhood friend.
Currently, he’s running a bookstore in Vista Rosa called “Eigengrau Books” and living in an apartment located above the store.
ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕤
Family: Jean DeFantome (Father; deceased), Emily DeFantome (Mother), Louis DeFantome (twin brother; estranged)
Lovers: Martin Schwartz (former), Camellia O’Friel (current)
Friends: Isaac Nerezza (works at his bookstore), Claudine Legerdemain (Missing)
Enemies: ???
Other: ???
ℝ𝕖𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕔𝕖𝕤
Income: Middle-class
Residences: A two bedroom apartment above his bookstore.
Vehicles: Black 2010 Ford Fiesta Van
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