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magatsunohana · 2 years

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖔𝖗𝖒 𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

@twisted-legacies || cont'd from x

“Oya, oya. Was this too early of a lesson for you to take after all?” Crowley strummed at the base of his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the girl who sat silently in the middle of the room. “Well it’s not like we can do much about it now, because I’m sure that like this, you’ll be able to handle it well enough.” Clawed fingers would fondly, but carefully strum at Jiyuu’s hair then, not unlike a collector admiring some sort of antique toy.

The bone chilling screams from within the Headmaster’s office had died down after quite some time and was then filled with silence. What followed it however was a simple humming, slightly cheery even, if anyone were to ever hear it.

===

Having lived the life that she did, Jiyuu was not unfamiliar with atrocities and crimes at all. In her younger years, she would be forced to live in the company of people who lead an odious lifestyle all for the sake of survival. So things like violence, torture, and unfortunately death was an ordinary day on a bad day-- and when was it never a bad day for her then? The visions that play before her very eyes evoked feelings that surpassed the very first time she saw someone beaten brutally to death before her, surpassed the feeling of having to hide a body through any means possible, trumped the feeling of having been made to commit such a thing for the sake of her boss’ business.

She didn’t know if it was the number of bodies that littered the pavement as she traversed through this horrible place; or if it was the stench of rot and decay that permeated the air; or maybe if it was the soul shattering cries for help mouthed by the fallen, the way souls scraped through the earth, desperate to flee and escape as this place-- this world comes to an end. At the helm of it all, was a figure whose eyes glowed ominously, looking down upon everything with despair, with agony, with sadness, with adoration, with madness, until there was nothing left but laughter conjured from pure apathy and derangement.

I̍̅̀̎̊'ḿ̬̏ͤͅ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ỉ͔͖̜͌r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍. W̯ͤ̾ͣ͝ḣ̖̻͛̓y҉̃̀̋̑ ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ẹ̿͋̒̕s̠҉͍͊ͅ ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢ o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍s̠҉͍͊ͅw̦̺̐̐͟ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕? W̯ͤ̾ͣ͝ḣ̖̻͛̓y҉̃̀̋̑ ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ẹ̿͋̒̕s̠҉͍͊ͅ ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢ o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕y҉̃̀̋̑. A̷͙ͭͫ̕ā̤̓̍͘ā̤̓̍͘ā̤̓̍͘ḣ̖̻͛̓~ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḿ̬̏ͤͅā̤̓̍͘ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕s̠҉͍͊ͅ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ s̠҉͍͊ͅā̤̓̍͘ḑ̴̞͛̒, s̠҉͍͊ͅp̞̈͑̚͞ẹ̿͋̒̕c͕͗ͤ̕̕ỉ͔͖̜͌ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣy҉̃̀̋̑ w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ I̍̅̀̎̊ f̵͖̜̉ͅā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍c͕͗ͤ̕̕ỉ͔͖̜͌ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ c͕͗ͤ̕̕o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅp̞̈͑̚͞ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ l̙͖̑̾ͣā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑…

I̍̅̀̎̊ w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ c͕͗ͤ̕̕ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘ḑ̴̞͛̒ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢l̙͖̑̾ͣư̡͕̭̇t̲̂̓ͩ̑ỉ͔͖̜͌o̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍… ḿ̬̏ͤͅy҉̃̀̋̑ ẹ̿͋̒̕s̠҉͍͊ͅc͕͗ͤ̕̕ā̤̓̍͘p̞̈͑̚͞ẹ̿͋̒̕. M͉̅ͮ͒ͤy҉̃̀̋̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ… M͉̅ͮ͒ͤy҉̃̀̋̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ… M͉̅ͮ͒ͤy҉̃̀̋̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ. M͉̅ͮ͒ͤy҉̃̀̋̑ f̵͖̜̉ͅr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ…?

W̯ͤ̾ͣ͝ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑…w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅ I̍̅̀̎̊ t̲̂̓ͩ̑r̴̨̦͕̝y҉̃̀̋̑ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ ẹ̿͋̒̕s̠҉͍͊ͅc͕͗ͤ̕̕ā̤̓̍͘p̞̈͑̚͞ẹ̿͋̒̕ f̵͖̜̉ͅr̴̨̦͕̝o̯̱̊͊͢ḿ̬̏ͤͅ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍?

M͉̅ͮ͒ͤḣ̖̻͛̓ḣ̖̻͛̓ḣ̖̻͛̓ḣ̖̻͛̓ḿ̬̏ͤͅ… ỉ͔͖̜͌f̵͖̜̉ͅ I̍̅̀̎̊ c͕͗ͤ̕̕ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢t̲̂̓ͩ̑ r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ḿ̬̏ͤͅb̬͖̏́͢ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḿ̬̏ͤͅư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ b̬͖̏́͢ẹ̿͋̒̕ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢ ỉ͔͖̜͌ḿ̬̏ͤͅp̞̈͑̚͞o̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍c͕͗ͤ̕̕ẹ̿͋̒̕. Ỵ̛̖͋͢ẹ̿͋̒̕s̠҉͍͊ͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḿ̬̏ͤͅư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ b̬͖̏́͢ẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑, ā̤̓̍͘ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘~

A̷͙ͭͫ̕ā̤̓̍͘ā̤̓̍͘ā̤̓̍͘ā̤̓̍͘ā̤̓̍͘ā̤̓̍͘ḣ̖̻͛̓~ I̍̅̀̎̊ ḳ̯͍̑ͦṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢w̦̺̐̐͟. I̍̅̀̎̊'l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ ĝ̽̓̀͑ỉ͔͖̜͌v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍c͕͗ͤ̕̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ ḿ̬̏ͤͅā̤̓̍͘ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑s̠҉͍͊ͅ r̴̨̦͕̝ỉ͔͖̜͌ĝ̽̓̀͑ḣ̖̻͛̓t̲̂̓ͩ̑. A̷͙ͭͫ̕f̵͖̜̉ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ, t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ ṇ̤͛̒̍o̯̱̊͊͢ o̯̱̊͊͢t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘y҉̃̀̋̑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ f̵͖̜̉ͅo̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ĝ̽̓̀͑ỉ͔͖̜͌v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝ s̠҉͍͊ͅỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ o̯̱̊͊͢v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝.

S̵̙͕̀̃t̲̂̓ͩ̑ā̤̓̍͘r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ o̯̱̊͊͢v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝. M͉̅ͮ͒ͤā̤̓̍͘ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑s̠҉͍͊ͅ ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕w̦̺̐̐͟. G̩̱ͩ̏͜o̯̱̊͊͢ b̬͖̏́͢ā̤̓̍͘c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḳ̯͍̑ͦ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ b̬͖̏́͢ẹ̿͋̒̕ĝ̽̓̀͑ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ṇ̤͛̒̍ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑.

F̘͍͖ͫ͘o̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝ I̍̅̀̎̊ ā̤̓̍͘ḿ̬̏ͤͅ s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝y҉̃̀̋̑ ḳ̯͍̑ͦỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒.

Again and again, Jiyuu would be forced to relive this again and again as she watched it happen from different perspectives. Sometimes, it would be from one of the ‘main’ actors, sometimes from a bystander’s point of view, at times from the person she assumed was Crowley, sometimes from the one that was on the verge of dying. One thing was certain however, each time she would feel death’s grasp coiling around her-- feeling just how much each repetition erodes the soul. And the worst part was that nothing could be done about it apart from repeating it again and again and again.

===

With a snap of his fingers, the door that was once closed swung open to reveal their uninvited guests. However, what kind of Headmaster would he be if she didn’t show generosity to one of his own? Despite eavesdropping being such a wretched act, he wasn’t one to condemn a child over something so trivial.

“Oh my. Come in, come in. Don’t be shy.”

Now that the room was opened for hear to truly see, Quentin would come face to face with Dire Crowley, the elusive man of the hour, sitting upon his chair with a book in hand, looking as normal as anyone can be. Like the entire scene before her peeping was a mere fabrication of the mind. And yet, beside him, sitting obediently on the floor was Jiyuu.

However, the place where she sat was covered in dark and winding thorns, some of which have already crawled and coiled along her arms and neck. A dark, lifeless gaze was cast downward, as if she was looking down upon her hands which rested calmly on her lap, blot trickling down her pale face. Above her was a a sphere of black ink, floating idly. Yet perhaps the most eye catching thing in the room was the abomination of a bird whose size was big enough that each of its feet perched atop each of the girl’s shoulder; therefore obscuring a mirror black as night from the bystander’s view point.

“Now then, might I ask,"

"͐W͐͐h͐͐a͐͐t͐ ͐b͐͐e͐͐g͐͐e͐͐t͐͐s͐ ͐m͐͐e͐ ͐t͐͐h͐͐e͐ ͐p͐͐l͐͐e͐͐a͐͐s͐͐u͐͐r͐͐e͐ ͐o͐͐f͐ ͐y͐͐o͐͐u͐͐r͐ ͐u͐͐n͐͐s͐͐o͐͐l͐͐i͐͐c͐͐i͐͐t͐͐e͐͐d͐ ͐p͐͐r͐͐e͐͐s͐͐e͐͐n͐͐c͐͐e͐, ͐Q͐͐u͐͐e͐͐n͐͐t͐͐i͐͐n͐ ͐N͐͐i͐͐g͐͐h͐͐t͐͐y͐-͐S͐͐a͐͐l͐͐l͐͐o͐͐w͐-͐s͐͐a͐͐n͐… ͐a͐͐n͐͐d͐ ͐c͐͐o͐͐m͐͐p͐͐a͐͐n͐͐i͐͐o͐͐n͐?" Any other time would have been good, surely. Alas, unfortunately, now was not one such time-- but he will hear her out, for he is quite gracious no matter the place nor circumstance.

#twistedlegacies #Ramshackle's Dorm Leader [ Quentin Nighty Sallow ]#Kindness is a virtue that I exude in abundance [ IC ]#Silently and faintly torn apart; praying not to be saved [ IC ]#tw; Body Horror #tw; Mentions of death #I hope you don't mind that I continued it on another post. xkit doesn't work for me so I'm unable to trim posts. dhfkdhsfs #dhfksdhfs please. Everything is perfect~#Now the question is. Will there be a fight or will there be diplomacy?#Only time will tell. xD #And then there's Jiyuu #Motionless like some kind of decoration on the floor.

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starlessea · 3 years

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Here Comes the Sun: XVIII. Seven Nation Army (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 6040

Chapter Warnings: Language, Not full-on nsfw but QUITE SPICY, Some canon divergence.

"You're good with 'er." Daryl said, like the words had just slipped from his mouth without him realising.

You held Judy in your arms, cradling her against your chest as she looked up at you with wide, innocent eyes. Daryl seemed equally as mesmerised by the baby, as he stroked his thumb over her supple cheek and watched her give him a gummy smile in return.

You glanced over at the man, leaning against him where he stood. "So are you." You told him, but he shook his head in response.

"Nah I ain't." He muttered, his gaze still resting over Judith like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You hummed back, not wanting to break the moment you were having by arguing with him. You wished that things would stay like this forever - that Judith wouldn't cry, and the governor would never come, or that Daryl would not have to leave.

"Where are you going?" You asked the man, as he took a few steps away.

He held up a hand, gesturing for you to wait, and offered a warm smile to reassure you of his return.

"Jus' gimme a minute." He mumbled, walking towards your shared cell.

You raised your eyebrow, watching him disappear behind the bars, before turning your attention back to Judy. You thought that she had Lori's eyes, as they stared up at you in childlike wonder. You continued humming your song to her, now that the man was out of earshot and wouldn't tease you as you sang it. Daryl had suggested sticking the walkman headphones on her every time she cried, but Carol had scolded him for even thinking of the idea. You giggled, remembering the exchange, and how you just watched the two of them get along like old friends whilst you sat in the corner bouncing Judith over your lap.

Daryl came back not even a few minutes later, dragging his rucksack over the floor. He didn't have many possessions to begin with, so you cocked your head in his direction - confused about what could possibly be in there. He returned to your side, resting his arm around your shoulder as he hovered over it to make a face at Judith. You giggled, wondering what the others would say if they had the pleasure of seeing Daryl like this. Though, at the same time, you almost wanted to be completely selfish and not share that side of him with anyone.

You watched as the man fumbled around in the backpack for a bit, before pulling out a familiar, child-size sheriff's hat that couldn't possibly fit on his head. He grinned at you, taking in the way your eyes lit up in response.

"Said we'd give it to lil' asskicker, didn't we?" He teased, before placing the hat gently over the baby's head.

The sight made you want to melt. Daryl began to call Rick over to see, but you slapped his chest and hushed him before he did, wanting to enjoy the moment for yourselves just a little while longer. Daryl narrowed his eyes at you, but his expression soon softened as he noticed the way you stared down at Judith, who was staring right back. You felt like you were holding the future in your arms - and that future wore a sheriff's hat and went by the name of Judith Grimes. What you wouldn't give for a camera; you wanted so desperately to take a photo of her with her brother, and gift a copy to Rick as a surprise.

Daryl had his hand resting over the small of your back. It had hovered there at first, uneasy as usual, but it seemed like he'd forgotten his shyness for a brief moment as he watched the pair of you. You felt like a makeshift, adoptive family, and you wouldn't want it any other way. The hat started to slip down Judith's head, still too big for her yet, and Daryl tipped it back up gently with his knuckle. It was like an impromptu version of peek-a-boo. Everytime the hat fell and covered her face, Daryl would prop it back into position and the baby would smile. You weren't sure you could take it anymore; the entire exchange felt too adorable to keep from the rest of the group any longer.

Just as you were about to call for them, Judy grabbed onto Daryl's finger with her entire fist - which still wasn't able to close all the way around it. You laughed softly at the man's expression, as he stayed perfectly motionless in fear of making her let go.

"I think she likes her uncle Daryl." You whispered, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek in your attempt to unstick the frozen statue.

To that, you could see a faint blush spread over his skin, but this time you decided not to tease him about it.

The two of you made your way to the communal area after a few more minutes, and the others quickly gathered around to get a look at Judith before they left. It was a nice break from the tension in the atmosphere, and it helped you forget, too. Rick gave his daughter a kiss and headed outside to test the vehicle they'd be driving.

Soon, the meeting with the governor would be taking place. Andrea had set it up, like she'd promised, and so Rick, Daryl and Hershel would be heading out under the guise of diplomacy. However, you couldn't say for sure that you believed in the plan very much. As you'd all established before, the governor just didn't seem like the type of man who'd let both sides co-exist peacefully.

Carl had taken his sister from you at some point, and you watched as he compared their hats and made Carol laugh with his antics. Behind you, the Greenes were bidding goodbye to their father and reminding him to be careful, and Daryl approached you under the amused eye of Merle.

"Rick says it's time to go." He told you, affirming the words you'd been dreading to hear.

You put on your best, bravest face and shot him a smile that only faltered a little. He caught it, though - he always did. He pulled you into a hug, and you leant your forehead against his chest, feeling his heartbeat there.

"Be safe." You murmured against him. "Come home this time or I'll kill you myself."

The man chuckled, which you felt rumble through his torso. You looked up at him with a playful smile and he caught your lips, giving you a quick kiss there when he thought no one was looking. In moments like these, it was refreshing to get a glimpse of the old, shy Daryl - never wanting to be in the spotlight. You nudged him gently with your elbow, sending him on his way with a teasing ruffle of his hair. Perhaps you were being too nonchalant about the situation, but you didn't want to dwell on it - or you'd become a crumbling mess like the last time.

You stood next to Beth as the rest of the group filtered out, and the others returned back to whatever they'd been doing before. The girl smiled at you, watching the way your eyes followed Daryl's back as he left the cell block.

"I'll never get used to that." She said quietly, looking between the two of you.

You thought that she'd perhaps seen the exchange take place, but you couldn't really say that you minded.

"Me neither." You confessed, and Beth giggled in response.

You remembered the jokes you'd shared with her, back at the farmhouse. You'd made a promise to talk to her about boys whenever she was sad, and let her laugh at your misfortune in return. Yet, things hadn't exactly played out like that. Daryl was a world away from those bad experiences you'd once recounted to her, but you somehow seemed even more nervous to talk about him in their place. Perhaps it was because you wanted to keep the man all to yourself, just like earlier - as though the very act of speaking about him would disclose some kind of secret you weren't willing to share. Daryl Dixon was yours, but you felt almost too shy to admit it.

"I used to think that Daryl would be the last man standing." Beth confessed, startling you. "Out of all of us."

You nodded back, letting her words sink in.

"I can see why. He's like a one-man army." You replied with a smirk, thinking back on all the times he had proved himself so.

Though Beth shook her head, seeming to almost disagree with herself. You stayed silent, awaiting her response.

"But I don't think that anymore." She told you, like she was completely certain of herself. "It'll probably be you."

Immediately, you raised an eyebrow, wondering if you'd misheard her. Beth's expression didn't change, so you let out a snort in disbelief - amused by the seriousness of it all.

"Me?" You repeated, looking over at her like she'd gone mad. "Why's that?"

The youngest Greene bit her lip, as if deliberating whether to tell you her next words. Eventually, she gave you a light-hearted smile, as though having finally decided to reveal a secret.

"Because there's no way Daryl would let you go down before he did."

You spent the majority of your time waiting in your cell, trying to keep yourself busy by cleaning it up. Daryl had hauled his mattress into the room, and the two of you had abandoned the bunk frame in favour of pushing the two beds together on the floor - creating a makeshift double. You'd also stolen an extra sheet from the laundry room and hung it over your doorway for some privacy. It was still a far cry from the decor of Hershel's farmhouse, but it was starting to feel more comfortable nonetheless. Daryl had given you some thin rope from his rucksack, too, so you'd been able to replace the fraying string from which your polaroids had been strung up. It still wasn't a home yet, but it could be.

The last few days had been tense, so you couldn't blame yourself for slumping down onto the mattress and staring up into a starless, stone sky for a while. You followed the cracks on the ceiling like you were trying to create patterns there, and eventually you felt your eyelids grow heavy as sleep overcame you easier than it had done for as long as you could remember.

When you woke up, the room was dimmer than it had been before, and you thought that it had to be late evening. You'd roused to the sound of footsteps approaching, echoing over the catwalk as though the person wore thick, heavy boots. You smiled to yourself, instantly recognising who they belonged to. The metal doorway squeaked open, and some light filtered in as Daryl lifted the sheet hanging there, letting it fall back down behind him as he entered. You greeted him, but he was wordless in response. He shrugged his leather vest off and let it fall to the floor, not even bothering to place it anywhere.

You raised an eyebrow at the man, debating whether to scold him for making the cell messy when you'd spent your whole day trying to make it nice for him when he got back. Yet, you took one glance at Daryl's face and decided against it. The man looked exhausted. Probably not physically, you realised, but definitely mentally. He seemed to have a permanent scowl tacked onto him, and you could make out the frown lines over his forehead even in the poor lighting. So, you said nothing when the man tugged off his boots and flung them at the wall - where they fell with a thud into a pile.

Sitting up on the mattress, you plumped your pillow against your back and rubbed your eyes. You could almost feel the stress radiating off Daryl as he paced back and forth, so you patted the spot beside you and pulled back the covers to invite him in. He eyed you for a second, as if considering the offer, before taking a seat there. Though, he didn't allow himself to lay down or make himself comfortable, and instead stayed sat over the edge of the mattress with his back to you. Slowly, you crawled over to him, before perching on your knees and resting your head on his shoulder.

"How'd it go?" You whispered, but knew you could probably guess the answer.

Daryl's back was tense; you could feel it. Tentatively, you began to knead your fingers over it, trying to work out the knots in his muscles. Instead of flinching like he usually did, you felt the man relax into you as you pressed your knuckles along his spine.

He growled, but the sound became lost in his throat as you rubbed along his shoulder blades. "It ain't gonna work out." He muttered, eyes closed as he said it.

You hummed in response, more preoccupied with the sounds the man was letting out than his words. It reminded you of being back at the farm, and those days where he'd try to relieve the tension built up in your stiff arms and neck from learning how to shoot.

"Why?" You asked, feeling the deep breath he took underneath your palms.

"Jus' ain't." He replied, but his voice came out strained.

You ran your thumbs down his spine in tandem, all the way from the top of his neck to his lower back, and you felt him shiver slightly under your touch.

"Okay then." You said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Daryl opened his eyes and glanced back at you.

"Tha's it?" He questioned, like he'd expected something more from your response.

You hummed back, returning to pressing over his shoulder blades. Though, the man turned around this time, bringing his legs onto the mattress as he looked over at you.

"I trust you. And I trust Rick." You explained, meeting his questioning eyes. "Whatever we have to do, we'll do."

Daryl frowned, and looked at you like you didn't understand in the slightest. You did, but you didn't want to burden him any more than you had to.

"We gotta gear up for war." He told you, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to convince you of his words - or wait for them to sink in.

You nodded at him, reaffirming that you understood.

"Then we better start loading our guns."

Daryl seemed to break at your words, shaking his head like you'd answered him in the way he'd least wanted. This time you didn't understand, and ran your thumb over the back of his hand to try and coax out an explanation. The man sighed, and took your fingers in his palm as he pressed a kiss over the tips of them.

"Don' wan' ya to have to fight." He admitted quietly, but knew he didn't have a choice.

You shuffled forward a little, so that you were almost sitting in between the man's thighs. His head was low, and he couldn't quite meet your eyes until you spoke.

"That's not up to you to decide." You said, but did so as gently as you could. "It's not like lil' asskicker can hold a rifle yet."

His eyes flickered slightly at the mention of Judith, and you understood that completely. He realised that as much as he wanted to keep you safe, there were now other people who needed his protection more.

"I'm not worried." You reassured him, and pressed both of his cheeks under your palms until he pulled a face that made you laugh.

"I'll be fine because you're here." You told the man, and watched as his expression seemed a little lighter than it had done. "And you're all that I need."

He pulled you into his chest and fell back against the mattress with you in his arms, and you giggled as your noses pressed together. You moved your knees so that they rested either side of his hips, not wanting to crush the man as he squeezed you tight against him.

"What I do to deserve ya?" He mumbled into your hair, and it tickled your ear.

You sat upright, so that you were looking down at him and watching as your hair trailed over his cheeks.

"Hmm, I don't know." You said with a grin. "Bribe me with pretty flowers and music players?"

He smiled back softly, and took the ends of your hair between his fingers, playing with them where he lay. You felt a bit exposed, practically sitting on the man's torso and straddling him as he just stayed perfectly still, content beneath you. For once, you felt like the shy one, as he rubbed over your thigh with his hand - tracing shapes over your jeans. You thought about his question once more, and decided that he deserved a serious answer, too.

"When I first saw you trying to haul yourself up that cliff, you gave me a purpose." You admitted smally, catching his attention like you hadn't even realised you'd lost it. "I think that's reason enough."

Daryl let the small wisps of your hair fall from his fingers as he looked up, focusing on you completely.

"A purpose?" He asked, like the word was foreign on his tongue.

You nodded, trailing your fingers over his chest absentmindedly.

"Even if it was just to get you back to your camp at first." You mumbled, almost like you were talking to yourself as you voiced your innermost thoughts. "Before that, I was just living day to day."

You smiled at the memory, thinking that it was perhaps your favourite one. You'd felt so young back then, but at the same time so old. The world had really had its way with you before you'd stumbled upon Daryl and his group. You might have only been in your mid-twenties, but those few months after the collapse had aged you more than you cared to admit. It wasn't until you met Daryl that you remembered how it felt to be young again.

"One of the first things you asked me back then was why I helped you." You recalled, letting your nails lightly run across his chest, sliding upwards to the exposed skin of his neck.

He stayed silent, like putty in your hands as you spoke.

"I remember finding it a really hard question to answer." You whispered softly, like you were revealing a secret to him. "I ended up saying that I only wanted the chance to be a good person."

Daryl's skin was warm as you ran your thumb along his jawline, surprised at how docile he'd become under your touch.

"But I think that was a lie." You smiled, and the words felt almost devious to admit. "I'd forgotten what it was to even be a person before I met you."

You leant down to press a kiss to his lips, and pulled away before he could kiss you back.

"Thank you for reminding me, Daryl."

You looked down at the man sweetly, like you'd just poured out your entire heart to him. And, he decided to give you his in return.

Suddenly your world spun like clothes in a washing machine as the man flipped your positions, and you snorted rather unflatteringly as your back hit the mattress. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, but now he kneeled between them - with your thighs either side. Your laughs soon trailed off as you noticed Daryl's expression, and you suddenly became quiet without having even realised it.

He leant down to capture your lips, but pulled away before you could deepen the kiss - just as you had done.

"Ya can't just go sayin' shit like that an' expect me not to do nothin'." He growled near your ear, and you quickly realised how dangerous your situation had gotten.

You looped your hands around his neck and pulled him back down, threading your fingers through his hair and letting your nails drag along his scalp. He rested one of his palms over the mattress as he hovered above you, but the other one came to your cheek as your lips met again. You could distinguish Daryl's kisses so easily by now; you knew the soft morning ones from the emotional ones with trembling lips, or the teasing pecks that made you laugh - and that's why you could easily tell that this one was needy.

He bit your bottom lip between his teeth and you immediately whimpered against him, feeling your head spin at how fast everything happened. You'd gone from the washing machine to the dryer without even realising it, and you felt yourself get equally as hot and disorientated.

"Daryl-" you mumbled against his lips, hooking your ankles together around the back of his torso.

He moaned in response but said nothing, letting his thumb trail from your cheek to your neck, where he rested it over your quickly beating pulse. You had your palms pressed flat against his chest, rubbing over the area and feeling the warmth radiate from him. You wanted to take the shirt off, and feel his skin over yours, but you were too preoccupied by his lips on you to do so. He kissed you with more pressure, and you whimpered again as you felt yourself becoming more lost to his touches. You'd thought that Daryl Dixon was a shy man, but recently he seemed adamant to prove you wrong

You unintentionally squeezed your thighs tighter around him, as you felt your head being pushed back further into the mattress. Your jeans rubbed against his uncomfortably, and you felt the buttons dig into your hips and chafe your skin every time you moved. You pulled away for a brief second to catch your breath, and took in the dangerous sight of Daryl Dixon.

You realised that perhaps you'd made a mistake - when you looked at him, that is. His lips were swollen a blush red, and his pupils were blown as he watched you, watching him. You looked away first, feeling shy under his gaze. You wondered how this had happened - when it had happened. You hadn't thought of yourself as the nervous one, but you were made nervous for him.

Without meeting his eyes, you tugged at the hemline of his shirt - making it clear what you wanted. He kissed your forehead gently, and you almost got whiplash from how quickly the man could switch from giving you deep, intense kisses to leaving sweet pecks over your skin like he was afraid you might break. He moved back from you, sitting up so that he was kneeling in between your legs, and pulled off his shirt without you having to ask.

You bit your lip, taking in the sight of his barreled chest and toned muscles as he threw the shirt over his shoulder for it to get lost somewhere in the sheets. You didn't get too stare long, because he was back on top of you in an instant - almost like he'd never left. Though, you didn't mind much, because now you could feel the warmth of his skin pressed against your own chest. Softly, you gasped just from the intensity of it, but Daryl quickly caught your lips and silenced it. You ran your hands up his back, feeling the ridges of scars and the contours of his muscles as he held himself up. You allowed your nails to dig into him slightly, enjoying the way he moaned against you as you did.

Even inside the walls of a prison, Daryl's voice sounded so good up against your ear, as he left your abused lips to focus his attention on your neck, instead. You immediately turned your head to the side in response, feeling your cheek press into the pillow and muffle any noises you made there. You tried to stay quiet, but it seemed like Daryl was intentionally out to make you fail. His tongue ran along your neck and you scratched him particularly hard on his back, stuttering out an apology as you removed your hands and clenched the sheets instead.

It didn't seem to bother the man, however, as he continued to work his way down until his teeth grazed over your collarbone and made you cry out. You quickly shot him a warning look, and he glanced up at you for a brief second before he did it again. It felt utterly euphoric, so you moaned under him unintentionally before you felt him chuckle against your skin.

You would have scolded him, or pulled a face, but your words felt so far away that you doubted you'd be able to form a complete sentence even if you tried. One of Daryl's hands had wandered to your waist, and then dipped lower to your hip. His thumb ran over the bone there, and it sent shivers through you as he gripped your skin tighter. You ran your palms over his bare chest in response, still not entirely used to the feeling. He stopped what he was doing, probably leaving some marks over you without you noticing, and ran his finger along the oval collar of your vest.

"Take it off." He mumbled, his lips still pressed against the skin just above it.

A whine left your mouth before you'd even realised it, and you didn't think Daryl Dixon even knew how he sounded right now. He pulled back to look at you, cheeks all flushed and eyes glossy where you lay beneath him, and you nodded.

He helped you shrug the vest over your head, and left it lying next to you on the pillow. You turned away from his eyes almost instantly, feeling more exposed than you had in a while. He had trusted you, and you wanted to be able to give him your trust in return. Yet, you couldn't help but feel shy under a gaze that intense. You reached your arms over your chest, like you were trying to shelter yourself from the cold - despite being incredibly hot.

The man narrowed his eyes at you, not happy with your decision in the slightest. He leant down so that his lips hovered just above your stomach, and you expected him to place a kiss there in hopes of coaxing your arms away. Except, he didn't. He blew a raspberry against your skin and you all but screamed as you wriggled beneath him, and flung your hands out to push him away.

"Stop!" You yelled, but it had come out strained between a mixture of giggles.

You felt the man smile against your stomach as you panted deeply, in utter disbelief about what he'd just done. Your arms rested either side of you, hands tangled in the sheets just like he'd planned, but you weren't happy at the cost you'd had to pay. You glanced down, ready to chide him, but stopped when you noticed how quiet he'd gotten.

Daryl's eyes were fixated on your waist, and he ran his thumb gently over the small scar there - as though afraid to press too hard and hurt you. Your eyes softened when you saw his expression, and the way he chewed his lip between his teeth. You knew that guilty look from a mile away, and you wouldn't let him wear it any longer.

"Don't." You said into the silence, lifting his hand away from the little indentation there.

You brought his knuckles to your lips and left kisses over them, offering him one of your best smiles in hopes of coaxing one out of him in return.

"It was worth it." You told him. "I'd take another bullet for you if I had to."

Daryl let his forehead drop against your hip, like he was completely exasperated by the response, and muttered something below his breath.

"Why's everythin' that comes outta yer mouth so damn sweet?"

He crawled back up the bed and kissed your lips as if to prove his point, and you moaned against him - having missed the feeling. You were chest to chest, skin pressed fully against each other as you arched your back to try and get even closer. Your fingers trailed lightly over his arms, and you could almost make out the rhythm of his heartbeat as your chests heaved together in time. He reached a hand down to the button of your jeans, and pulled away from the kiss to wait for your response.

Nervously, you glanced over towards the entranceway of your cell, only covered by a thin sheet draped there.

"What if someone hears?" You whispered, suddenly aware of how loud you'd perhaps been beforehand.

Daryl dotted some light kisses over your neck, trailing them down as he spoke between each one he gave.

"Don' care." He mumbled, reaching your sternum.

"Don' care if Rick comes to tell us Randall's gone walk about." He said, and tickled your stomach with his lips.

"Don' care if Carol knocks to say the governor's here with an army an' wants his fuckin' walkman back."

He got to your hip, and this time noticed the tattoo that just about peeked out over the top of your jeans. He raised an eyebrow, and you smiled sheepishly in response.

"Don' wanna wait anymore." He said softly, and neither did you.

He sat up and rested his palms either side of you, looking down at your face with the most affection you'd seen from him yet.

"Okay, then." You whispered back, and interlocked your fingers with his. "I'm yours."

You woke up to warm, morning light streaming in through the pale curtain of your cell, and landing on your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered, and it took you a few seconds to adjust to the brightness - feeling the tears well up as you did. You hummed into Daryl's chest, lying over it with your palm resting there. You'd slept so well, but you'd woken up even better.

His bare skin was warm against yours, so much so that you didn't feel the need to pull the sheets up higher to cover you. You rubbed at your eyes, finally opening them to notice that the man was already awake. You'd been tucked in the crook of his neck, your head just over his shoulder, but he'd been looking down at you as you roused from sleep. Shyly, you smiled at him, and hid your face back into his skin. You felt his laugh rumble there, low and groggy.

"You been up long?" You asked, the words coming out thick as you said them.

You felt him shake his head, but weren't too sure if he was telling the truth. His arm rested over your waist, and you had only just become aware of the weight of it as he rubbed his thumb over your hip beneath the covers.

"What is it?" He murmured. "Didn't ask ya 'bout it las' night."

It took you a few seconds to realise what he meant. You shrugged back the sheet, looking at the part of your body he was referring to.

"I think you were a little preoccupied." You teased, and he pinched your skin there in response.

The ink stood out strongly against your paleness, dotted over your lower hip so that it was concealed even when you wore low-rise jeans. You recalled that night back at the Greene farm, where you all shared secrets over the campfire and the group had seemed surprised to discover that you had a tattoo. Nobody else had ever seen it; Daryl was the first.

"It's a rune." You told him, feeling his calloused fingers trace over the lines so carefully. "They were one of the things I studied before all this."

A small blush worked its way onto your cheeks, as you suddenly felt embarrassed under the man's intense gaze.

"Looks like an arrow." He noted, inspecting it closer.

You hummed in response, not having thought of it that way before.

"I guess it does, doesn't it?" You chuckled, thinking how appropriate it was for the archer to have been the one to notice.

"It's the symbol of the Norse god Týr." You explained, and he watched you talk passionately without interrupting. "Have you ever heard of the story of Sigurd?"

Daryl shook his head with a small smile, already knowing that you were going to tell him no matter how he answered.

"In the sagas, he slays the dragon Fáfnir and carves the runes of Týr into his sword." You said, excitedly. "They're meant to be the sign of a warrior. To ensure certain victory."

Daryl seemed perfectly content, gazing down at you as you spoke with so much life in your voice. It reminded you of that first night where you shared a bed together in the Greene's spare room. Even then, having barely known you more than a day, the man allowed you to ramble whilst he listened in silence. He'd made out like he was ignoring you, but every small detail you'd given during those early morning hours he'd seemed to recall - even a few weeks later. But now, you thought it was slightly different. He made no attempt to pretend like he wasn't interested in your stories, or that you talked too much for him to stand. He looked at you like your words were law, but he'd somehow ended up in a prison anyway.

"Tha' why ya weren't scared 'bout facing the governor?" He teased, once you'd finished your brief lesson. "Certain victory?"

You snorted, having only just realised the irony of it all.

"No." You admitted, slapping his chest lightly as you laughed.

Maybe it was the rune, but it was more likely the one-man army at your side who assured you of that victory.

"I think this tattoo would be much more suited to you than it is me." You confessed, tracing its shape over the back of his hand.

He watched you make your invisible markings, and remained wordless as you did so.

"I got it just after I started teaching. To remind myself to be brave." You told him, and this time he was the one to laugh.

"So teachin' students was as hard as slayin' a dragon?" He questioned, and you could practically hear the smirk through his voice.

You raised your head from his chest to look at him in mock offense.

"If I had a student like you, then maybe." You teased, and the man grabbed the sheets and bundled you up in them tightly as you struggled against him.

The two of you lay there for a while, not quite yet ready to face the day. You knew the inevitable would be coming soon, and you wished you could just pause this moment as easily as you paused the songs on your walkman - immortalising it in an old, labelled cassette.

"A lot of the time I don't feel very brave, but I've decided to trust it more recently." You mumbled, feeling the edges of sleep start to return.

Daryl questioned you, before realising that you had carried on with the earlier conversation - seemingly by yourself. You felt him trace over your hip again, but your eyelids were too heavy to look at him.

"There anythin' ya don't know?" He grumbled, but it was too playful to be considered so. "Yer too smart for yer own good, Sunshine."

You hummed against his chest, wanting nothing more than for the morning hours to drag along slower, and for the night that followed to stand still.

"I could tell you stories of dragons and knights, and speak to you in languages that have long since faded away." You told the man, but it came out half-hearted and muffled against his skin.

"But there are still many things I don't know, Dixon." You admitted. "Like what I did to deserve you, too."

A/N *mic drop* Ok but for real, who let me have alcohol whilst writing this??? Tipsy me gets WAY TOO SPICY WAY TOO QUICK- The chapter plan had way more in it, but I accidentally threw the plot out the window because I got preoccupied *cough*...

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caffeinatedbraincell · 3 years

Note

So you asked about prompts? ;D What about Joe/Nicky + any team member cuddling for warmth? Or something about all of them sharing clothes? Huge bonus if Lykon is still part of the Guard ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you anon for the ask!! 💕 This took forever but here it is~

Read on AO3

“Whose idea was this, again?” Joe complained, readjusting the weight of the front half of the giant plastic evergreen. He was sweating and freezing at the same time, which was decidedly one of his least favorite feelings ever.

“Yeah, I wonder,” Quynh seconded from behind him, throwing Andy a dirty look.

Andy sauntered hands-free in front of them, talking animatedly with Nicky and Lykon as they walked. The three of them clearly loved the snow, though Joe doubted they would be having even half as much fun if they had to carry the tree.

Quynh spat out some plastic pine needles. “Andromache! It’s your turn to carry this, come here!”

“Pleeease babe, we’re almost home!”

“Yeah,” Nicky interjected. “Besides, we have to carry the presents!” He waved the small, sparkly gift bag at them before pointedly turning back around.

Joe muttered something in Arabic about lazy spouses with nice asses, and Quynh cackled.

“Alright, alright,” Lykon interjected, jumping in front to get everyone’s attention. “Booker just texted me that he’s managed to get Nile out of the house under the pretext of, and I quote, ‘the snowball duel of the century.’ They’re going to the mountain pass, so we have two hours to get set up.”

“Perfetto,” Nicky said. “It’ll take me about twenty minutes to get the cookies in the oven, and then I’ll help decorate the tree.”

“You better get out in less than twenty,” Quynh warned. “When am I supposed to work? Do you even know how long it takes to cook chicken?”

“He doesn’t,” Joe confirmed.

“Habibi, that’s not fair. What about that time I made-”

A long, ominous buzz innervated all of their phones simultaneously. It was an emergency weather alert.

“Blizzard warning until 2:15 AM. All inner city residents are encouraged to shelter in place until further notice. Sudden snowfall and landslides may prove deadly,” Nicky read.

“Lykon, text Booker,” Andy ordered.

“On it.”

“No use,” Nicky cut in. “They’re probably already at the mountain pass. They won’t make it back in time.”

Andy swore loudly. “Joe, get the car. We’re going after them.”

Quynh and Joe dropped the tree and ran towards the house. By the time Joe started the car, Quynh was climbing down the porch steps with an armful of towels. The five of them piled into the car and tore down the icy roads.

The storm picked up with terrifying haste. When they got to the bridge near the mountain pass, visibility was already nearing zero. Joe switched places with Andy, clambering into the passenger seat so she could take the wheel. If anything could help them now, it was Andy’s extensive experience with driving in extreme weather conditions.

As they traveled through the pass, everyone kept their eyes trained on the snowy slopes, looking for any signs of Nile and Booker.

Suddenly, Lykon cried out in horror. Only a few feet away from the road were two motionless bodies, almost fully buried in a snow drift.

“Cazzo!” Nicky yelled, leaping out of the car. “There must have been an avalanche!”

Andy shoved the gearshift into parking and followed, joining the others as they attempted to dig out their friends with their bare hands. About two minutes after the frostbite set in, they were able to pull Nile and Booker free of the drift.

“Why aren’t they waking up?” Lykon asked, a tinge of panic in his voice. Andy rubbed Nile’s wrist as she looked at her watch, attempting to measure a pulse. Nicky tried to do the same for Booker, unconsciously chanting a Hail Mary under his breath.

Quynh stepped forward. “We need to get them back to the car. The heater will warm them up and help dry them off. Come on.”

Joe picked up Nile in his arms, cradling her head. Quynh threw Booker over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. This time, they noticed neither the weight nor the cold. Their entire focus was on getting their friends home to warmth and safety.

“Joe, your coat,” Andy said as they got to the car. “It’s fleece. Take Nile’s ski jacket off and give her yours.”

Joe obeyed without hesitation, bundling her in his own winter gear and buckling her into the back seat. Meanwhile, Quynh and Nicky used the towels to dry off Booker’s snow coat as best as they could. Lykon climbed into the passenger seat, and Andy began to drive.

Thankfully, the storm didn’t get worse on their way back (though Joe seriously doubted it could get worse). By the time Andy pulled into their driveway, Nile and Booker were beginning to stir.

“Hey, easy now,” Lykon soothed, helping a dazed Booker out of the car. “Let’s get you inside. There we go, you’re okay. Just a little farther.”

Behind them, Nile leaned heavily on Quynh as she half-carried her up the porch steps. Joe paused, watching them enter.

“All okay?” Andy asked, placing a hand on his shoulder as the wind whipped the snow around them.

“The tree…” Joe muttered, fazed. “I dropped it somewhere. We were going to surprise Nile, and I-”

Andy turned him gently to face her, pulling his woolen beanie down to cover his ears.

“It’s alright, love,” she said softly, switching to Arabic. “She needs a different kind of comfort from us now. She and Booker both. Let’s go take care of them, okay?”

Joe nodded, following her into the warmth of their home.

A fire blazed happily in the hearth. Someone had expanded their futon and pulled it closer to the fireplace. Nile and Booker were seated on it now, wearing large, clean sweatpants - Nicky’s sweatpants, Joe noticed - and fuzzy Christmas sweaters. Quynh and Lykon were snuggled up on either side of them, feeding them something from a thermos flask and adjusting the heated blankets.

“Room for two more?” Andy grinned, curling up next to Quynh and gesturing at Joe to sit. “What’s that?” Joe asked, sliding under Lykon’s side of the blanket and pointing at the steaming drink in the thermos.

“I made apple cider earlier and left it in the instant pot,” Lykon replied. “It was still hot.”

Lykon held the drink to Nile’s lips. She took a large sip, sighing happily. Joe made a mental note to pour himself some cider if he ever got out from under this heated blanket.

Just then, Nicky walked out of the kitchen, balancing a large tray in his hands. “Soup time! Everyone sit up, let’s eat.”

Joe blinked, wondering how his husband had had the presence of mind to immediately go into the kitchen and make soup, of all things. He himself was still recovering from the last hour’s ordeal.

Nicky tutted disapprovingly. “Boss, get changed. Joe, you too. Why would you think it’s a good idea to get under an electric blanket in wet clothes?”

Andy grimaced, throwing her jacket and t-shirt on the floor and snuggling up to Quynh in just her bra. Quynh tugged Andy closer.

Nicky turned to Joe, raising an eyebrow. “Habibi?”

Joe pulled a face. “Do you have any sweatpants left for me?”

“Always.” Nicky ruffled Joe’s curls. “My gray university ones are in the dryer. They’ll still be warm if you hurry.”

Joe got up, returning two minutes later in the gray sweatpants and a black tank top he stole off of Andy’s dresser. He hastily dove back under Lykon’s heated blanket.

In the middle of the couch, swaddled in blankets and eating soup, Nile and Booker were looking much more alive. The color returned to their cheeks, intensifying as Nicky began to scold them.

“Booker, what the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded.

“I don’t know! You said to distract Nile, and she wanted to have a snowball fight. So I said yes!”

“Why didn’t you just go to the park?”

“I thought driving out to the mountain pass would buy you guys more time. It was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

“You could have died, Book! Just because we’re immortal doesn’t mean we can play with our lives like that. Not to mention, you put Nile in danger!”

Quynh sat up, reaching for Nicky’s hands. She swiped her thumbs over his knuckles in a soothing gesture. “Hey, lay off him, would you? They’ve had a tough night.”

“But what if-”

“No what-ifs, Nicky. It’s alright. They’re safe. Now put the rest of that soup down and come here.”

Nicky sighed in secret gratitude. This was not a night he wanted to be left to follow his thoughts. “Fine.”

He squeezed onto the futon between Quynh and Nile, accepting the blanket Andy threw over him. He wrapped his arms around Nile, who snuggled closer.

“Nicky?” she mumbled after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“If you’re not still angry, can I ask you a question?”

Nicky pulled back to look at her. “Sorellina, I’m so sorry. I was never angry at you. Nor at Booker, really. Just a bit worried.”

“Yeah,” Joe piped up from the other end of the couch. “He gets mean when he’s scared.”

“I am not mean,” Nicky insisted. “Nile, what was it you wanted to ask?”

“Why did Booker say you wanted him to distract me? Distract me from what?”

Lykon laughed. “Should we tell her, Nicky, or do we plan to try again tomorrow?”

“We lost the tree, so I think we should just tell her,” Joe voted sleepily.

“You just don’t want to carry another tree,” Booker accused.

“Easy for you to say!” Quynh jumped in. “Next time, I’ll distract her, and you can walk a mile in the snow with plastic pine needles in your face.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Andy said, lips twitching. “No more attempts. Jesus wasn’t actually born on this day, anyway. I was there.”

Nicky blinked at her, and then rapidly shook his head to clear it. He looked at Nile. “We were trying to surprise you with a Christmas party. Remember last Thursday, when you were telling us how your family celebrated it back home?”

“Yeah.”

“We wanted to recreate all the same traditions. We got a tree, and some ornaments, and stockings with your initials on it, and, uh…”

“Presents! And that Christmas music you like,” Joe added.

“Yes, and Nicky was going to make cookies shaped like reindeer,” Quynh said.

“Also,” Lykon pointed to a folded-up tripod in the corner, “we were going to take family photos in our sweaters and put them on postcards. Copley said we can’t send them to anyone, but we could still make some.”

Booker sighed. “Sorry I ruined it, Nile. I thought- wait, are you crying?!”

Nile sniffled, turning away from Booker to tuck her face under the blanket. “No.”

“Oh, honey,” Quynh cooed. We can still do it all tomorrow, if you want…”

“It’s not that,” Nile croaked. “It’s just- You guys did all that just to surprise me?”

“It’s nothing,” Nicky assured. “Well, it’s really nothing now, but even if everything had gone according to plan, it still wouldn’t have been any trouble. It’s your first Christmas with us, and we wanted it to be memorable.”

“You’re the best,” Nile said, voice choked with emotions. “All of you. And this is the best Christmas Eve ever. Thank you.”

“Hush,” Andy smirked. “In this house, we show gratitude by not dying unnecessarily.”

“Oh, that was all Booker’s fault,” Nile countered smoothly. “I would have been content with a snowball fight in the park.”

“Really loving the underside of this bus,” Booker muttered as the others laughed.

Over the next hour, the lighthearted conversation drifted into sleepy silence. By the time Nicky thought to ask who would turn off the lights, Joe was only half-pretending to be fast asleep.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #fanfiction #kavi writes #tog fanfic #fluff #hurt/comfort #found family #platonic cuddling #holiday season #lykon #nile freeman #andy #booker #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #quynh #yes quynh is alive as well!!

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batarella · 4 years

Text

3 birds 1 stone - pre-finale

Today, the story comes to an end.

An end too long-awaited but has taken the time for it to be right.

Today, She makes her choice.

WORDS: 2494 WARNINGS: NONE

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

You:

You took out a canvas from one of your storage cabinets, dusted off its surface from the settling lint. A little fray over at the bottom right corner, but nothing a good stapler can't fix. It was the right size.

You ran your palm over it, much like you’d test waters before you indulge, then you set it on your easel by an open window. Against the light, it looked all the more inviting.

A blank, white canvas.

A canvas of which’s end falls to your decision, to your choosing, creation, a physical entity of how your mind plays out. You are a deity. A flow from the first spark of an image in your head, down to the last tip of your fingers holding the brush, before it lays its final place onto the fabric.

That kind of power proved to be quite the addicting sensation. Your mind, as humanely limited as it could be, did not like to sit behind the confines of its feeble mental state. It wanted badly to be manifested into something else, something to see. The eyes, as much of a sense as your nose, tongue, and skin could be, can witness beauty when there is no other way for beauty to be sensed, in colors and riveting strokes, images more beautiful than it would have been if it stayed in the mind. Colors couldn’t be smelled nor tasted, only to be seen. There are a lot of ways to witness beauty, but this, with colors and paint cans and brushes. It is sight you are most thankful for.

You had a few commissions waiting in your ledger, which you probably should be getting into by now. But none of them inspired you enough to move, and you might as well be as unproductive as staying behind watching rain droplets against a window. You’ll just end up throwing them out, which you didn’t want to do.

Besides, there was something about that rose outside the clear glass, at the window sill outside your neighbor’s apartment near enough for you to make out its petals that called out to you, even as you once thought still-life repulsed you. That rose, if it had a voice, might as well be screaming out your name in volumes that deafened any passer-by.

And you just let it, didn’t mute it out, let it call your name, and you let yourself listen as if it were anything more than petals stuck to a green stem.

It was calling to you as if it blared some timely alarm, that you had taken too much time, letting the seconds and the hours and the months take control and be nothing but a petal in the wind being blown by its forceful current. You’d taken too long waiting for something else to happen, something that reassures you of what to do to somehow make all this easier, but that would have been some cowardly way out. Things have happened. Wonderful things. None of which made it easier to decide. So you let time take as long as it needed to, let time give you some sort of direction to let you know where to head off.

Nothing good would have come out of deciding because you were forced to decide. It had to be because you wanted to.

It took longer than it had to be, but it was necessary. That rose wasn’t calling out to you just because. It was tapping onto your shoulder, letting you know you were ready. That only good things were to come out of this and that nothing would be a hindrance.

You set the canvas onto the easel and pulled out your paint tubes, splayed them across the wooden surface at its side then took the seat in front. It was almost too quick the way you took the brush out of its holder and drenched it into your cup, and there was too much silence that you could hear even the splatter of the paint water reaching the floor just as you twisted it too fast.

Which led to you having to breathe, even when you weren’t nervous at all. In fact, you were quite relaxed, and you wanted to drag out this calming peace just as long as you dragged out everything else. For so long as it were necessary.

Necessary for you to know if any action were at all needed for you to reach your end. Because that time was what you allowed yourself to revel in when you first started with the doubts that perhaps being by your lone self would have been the ideal. Stay in this white, gleaming state, a blank canvas ready for the world.

You took out your palette, mixed from your tubes, then toyed around it with your brush.

Always, almost always, you started with this light, not too glaring yellow, diluted with the water enough to merely mask over the surface, but enough to give you the base. Yellow, the color of firsts, something so homely and emanating with the burn from a brightly lit fireplace. The best start for just about everything you did, everything you wanted to do, it gave you just that.

With a large brush, you mixed in a more concentrated color, with a darker one now staring back as it left your brush and stuck to the fabric. All the while, you glanced everywhere around the rose. The sunlight, particularly, with it being that time of noon when the light meticulously hit that side of the windowsill just below the rose’s stem. And it was with that sunlight you let the color reflect on.

Of firsts, comfort, home, safety, and warmth.

Yellow was the sun. Yellow was light. And it was warm, secure, like being bundled up in a quilt so perfect around your form, you let it stay despite being motionless. But you didn’t want to move at all.

Or an arm, perhaps, holding your shoulders close to a body you could lean on even when you don’t feel so tired.

It was yellow you saw, looking out from a tower so high, legs dangling from a height so dangerous, but you didn’t even care. And neither did Tim. You knew he felt the same, when your head suddenly felt too heavy for you to lug around, forcing you to lean onto his shoulder so tastefully warm like none other can give you.

A kiss to your forehead lulled your eyes closed and you held onto his firm arm. Still, you saw the color seep through your eyelids, with it being so bright you wouldn’t miss it even with them shut.

Already, it made you want to curl into the comforts of your pillows, fall asleep, and never expose yourself to whatever dangers lurked outside of it.

But as you turned once more to the flower, seeing as it brought out the lightness of so many more colors than just that, it wouldn’t hurt to spread your arms, welcome the change the other might bring to you. So you closed that paint tube, at least for now.

And as you did let your eye wander about, you realized what drew you in next was the sky.

A blue so bright, littered with the feathery mists of white, of flowers and leaves beyond the cascades of earthly limits. You almost couldn’t look away. Even as you took out the tube and prepared the palette, you were too stuck upon its beauty that no matter how busy your hands could be, there was no sight more beautiful than that very sky.

You dipped your brush onto the color and swerved it around the top, the flow much like the clouds and the whirring smoke left behind by a passing jet. Much like the sky, its abstraction covered most of the top side. You’ve always known what beauty does to one’s soul, beauty so enticing to look at that furthers emotions, ones too deep into some psychological hell could be changed and enlightened into something else entirely.

Beauty. It was in the blue of the ocean, of one’s carefully crafted eyes, a well-knit sweater, or even paint on an oddly decorated house. Beauty. When you let your eyes revel on something so appealing to them, makes you fall in love with the surface to such depth that even then it couldn’t be shallow, not when some people’s beauty can be so captivating, that just a mere glance cleanses souls and brightens dreams.

But it was when you felt beauty, beyond just an untimely glance, when you realized what it truly was. It was that first giggle after a long day of nothing but work and routine. It was that first nip of your toes when you walk on a beach’s calm shores when you stand back and watch as the water ruins your shoes and hugs your feet.

And it was when you finally won your first game of poker, after a long afternoon of desperately trying to win against Dick. You’ve lost half your money by the last hour and your losses were laughable at that point.

He turned over that last card and easily you wanted to scream, which would have been a bad idea if you wanted to win for once. He did too good a job reading your face. Right then, you played it cool, had a look he had to do a double-take on.

He placed his bet and you happily obliged. And he might have let you have that one on purpose, but you didn’t care. You were so happy you threw all the cards up, and his smile was just as wide as yours.

It was blue. Inspiration, confidence, contentment, and serenity. Brightness, most of all. Blue happened to be the most beautiful color you could imagine. Because it brought you such brightness, and it never failed since.

Those two colors, however, still was not complete.

The last tube you had on your side. Something you weren’t so familiar with, something so daring, so elusive, yet something that would pull the whole thing together. You squeezed out a decent amount of red paint and stared at the brick wall behind the window sill that was the same color.

That red had on a fresh coat. Newly painted, or at least newly polished. And because of that, it glared past even the tint of your window. It drew you on, something so alluring and seductive that when you brushed the color along the spaces within your canvas, it was that color that called out to your curiosity, made you uneasy, different, but all in the best way.

Red. Something you so often related to temptation, to humanely desires with its riveting goodness. Any gray wall could be changed with a splatter of red, and already heads will turn. It was dangerous because any sort of mishandling could mean the end of what you’ve built for so long. Any wrong flick of your wrist, any twitch of your fingers, and already there was no going back. So you had to be careful, for red, as beautiful as it was, is of blood and wrath.

But it was also the color of roses, of lips and flushed skin, of cherries and strawberries, of hair and seahorses and tulips and watermelons. Of the feathers of a large parrot, orchids and mushrooms and lobsters in the sea.

Some things that are on one end of some spectrum can also be on another. For red was the color of love, of intimacy.

Flesh and skin, when grazed upon by your finger, leave a bright trail of redness that goes away just as you trace it. It was hot right then, sweat down your naked body, but there wasn’t the slightest bit of discomfort.

You could only look at his face, both at the scars and everything else, that make up the whole of who he is. Jason was asleep, run down and exhausted from what you were doing before your rest, but you forced yourself up.

Just then, you knew you were in it for so much more, when you not only saw who he truly was, but felt it. He was more than what he let on. Softer. Warmer. Not at all like this façade he liked to put on. He was like you, in so many ways, and you loved that.

Danger. Passion. Love. Rage. Intimacy. And Sex.

Red.

Something that arose so suddenly out of nowhere and sweeps you off your feet.

With that final brush, you finished the background. Swirls of all three colors, contrasting the others, forming no definite shape nor structure, but this beautiful mess, this beautiful chaos, one that has long ensued and has calmed down into this serene patter of rain.

And on top of it, you outlined the shape of a single rose.

For so long, you’ve pondered on what to ultimately paint it as.

For so long, you’ve wondered what, and who, to choose.

Every choice will reap its rewards and consequences, all having their own risks, own adventures, own instances of happiness and contentment and anger and frustrations.

Every choice, proven to be what you want, what wanted you the most, with the love that dies for you even when it shouldn’t. Each choice you would die for, the same way they would for you.

You loved each of them, dearly, in so many ways. And if you had it your way, you’d make it so the world would only be for their happiness, with what they all deserved.

You were not sure if you should even choose at all, but they all made it clear that if you did, all else would be okay. There will be hurt, but no longer will there be any hate. You could allow yourself this. For once, it wouldn’t be so hard to decide, not when now, as they’ve proven to you, that each of them would be okay with whatever your decision may be.

They gave you a shot of your happiness, for what you truly wanted, a choice that makes for your whole life. Your genuine happiness, the ones that dealt with love, family, sacrifice, and warmth.

And this, genuinely, was what you wanted.

There was too great a love for you to possibly miss out on. This time you took, as long as it had to be, proved to you just that.

You wanted to paint the rose.

You turned to the three tubes of paint, waiting for you at your pallet.

And with the three men who loved you to the heart of the sun have given you the chance to decide and allow yourself to anything your heart calls out to, you get to choose.

You, dear reader, get to choose.

Once more, you take your brush.

Now, you decide.

What color do you paint the rose?

Blue?

Red?

Or Yellow?

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

MAIN TAGLIST:

@idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @multifandomgirl-us, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @lucy-roo, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @river9noble, @zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho, @thatonecroc, @trixie-bb, @daddyissuesmademe, jasonsbitch, @shadowsndaisies @jaybirdbooty @writing2sirvive

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#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batboys #batboys x reader #batfam #batfamily #batfamily x reader #3 birds 1 stone #3 birds 1 stone series #batarella #batarella series

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tinkerbellwoo · 3 years

Text

Broken Wings - J. Wooyoung

Synopsis - You take a nasty tumble after going flower picking in a meadow far from home, that's when you meet a sweet fairy boy, Wooyoung.

Genre - Fluff

AU - Fairy AU

Pairing - Fairy!Wooyoung x Fairy!Reader (F)

Warnings - Swearing and mentions of cuts/bruises

Word Count - 1,400+ oopsies

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Minutes ago, all was well. You were gliding through the sky, weaving between trees as you clutched a collection of freshly picked flower buds to bring back to your den. Until one of your flowers fell from your grip, causing you to lose concentration and accidentally flying directly into a branch.

You fell through many sticks and leaves as you failed to regain control, hitting your head against the rough bark on a tree before landing roughly on a large leaf where you lay motionless for a little while.

You’ve now managed to regain consciousness, sitting upright as you attempt to adjust to the situation, your head remains fuzzy but you seem to remember where things went wrong and how you ended up here. Examining your surroundings, you catch sight of your flowers, scattered beneath you and beaten by the tumble you took moments ago.

“Ah shit, my flowers...” You groan to yourself. Your knees and elbows sting due to the scrapes littering your skin. Fluttering your wings in an attempt to stand, you feel a sharp pain shoot through them to your spine, causing you to fall onto your hands and knees. “Fuck. You’ve got to be kidding” You hiss through your teeth at the pain.

Tears begin to stream down your face, partially because of the pain but also because you were so excited to go flower picking today and now your once-delightful outing just feels pointless. “What am I supposed to do now? I can't fly-”

Suddenly, you hear the light fluttering of wings. You look around in confusion, knowing full well it couldn't be your own pair due to the damage they received just moments ago. The surface of the leaf dips slightly as you look behind you.

At first you’re fearful, what if you fell onto another colonies territory and they're angry? What if it’s a large bird coming to eat you? But all of your worries subside when you’re met with the sweet smile of the boy standing behind you. His wings are a shimmering gold, glowing against his pretty, tanned skin. His black hair frames his face beautifully as the blonde underneath creates an admirable contrast.

“Looks like you took quite the tumble there” He giggles “Are you okay?” He asks. You can't respond, you're far too focused on how attractive this stranger is. “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Wooyoung” He smiles, holding out a hand to help you up from the floor. You gladly accept his offer and dust the dirt from your legs as you find your feet.

“Hi uh- I’m Y/N and... I think I’m fine” You reply, slightly embarrassed that this gorgeous stranger has just witnessed you take the tumble of your life. “How embarrassing...” You whisper to yourself as a harsh blush spreads across your cheeks.

He giggles at your adorable state but your face burns more due to the feeling of his gaze on you. “Hey, it happens to the best of us” He comforts you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you hurt? Your wings are damaged and it looks like you've got a few nasty cuts” He says, concern laced in his voice.

“It hurts when I try to fly, the scratches don't bother me but I’m so far from home I just don't know what I’m going to do if I can't use my wings” You respond, gazing down at the floor in disappointment as you pull small twigs from your hair.

Wooyoung watches your sad expression, feeling unbearably sorry for you. He’s not one to take much notice of strangers but, when he saw you in the meadow his heart skipped a beat, his glittery aura flickered pink and his pointy ears twitched. He knew he may never see you again so he secretly followed you to find out where you came from. Right now he's doing his best to act like finding you was an accident.

“I don't live too far from here. If you come back to my den, I can give you some bluebell syrup. You’ll be healed by tomorrow and you can be on your way!” He says, hopeful that you'll accept his offer. “Sure, what other choice do I have right now” You laugh shyly.

“Great! I-I’m going to have to carry you though... for obvious reasons” He blushes lightly. You giggle at the sweetness radiating from him, noticing the pink tint to his wings and the tips of his ears. A wave of confidence pushes you to wrap your arms around his neck as he holds you against him in preparation to take flight.

--------- Time Skip ---------

“Feeling any better?” Woo asks as he disposes of the wet towels he used to clean your scuffs and scratches. “Mhm, thank you again for this. I really didn't know what I was going to do” You reply after sipping the last of the bluebell syrup he had prepared for you. “Of course!” He smiles.

“So I wanted to ask you something-” He begins with a serious tone before getting cut off by the door swinging open and rebounding off the wall. “YO BRO GUESS WHAT I JUST- woah who? what? when? how?” The boy practically yells followed by a string of questions upon noticing you.

Wooyoung pinches the bridge of his nose as he sighs heavily in disappointment. “You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend- OW!” The guy chuckles, slapping Wooyoung’s shoulders but yelping when he receives a tug to his wings as a sign to stop his teasing.

“Y/N this is San, my best friend. San this is Y/N, she's not my girlfriend. She's hurt so I’m helping her” Wooyoung introduces you both. His aura flickers pink again, causing you to avert your gaze out of shyness. “Ohhhh I see! Wooyoungie has a crush!” San cheers before being chased out of the den by an embarrassed and slightly angry Wooyoung.

“I’m sorry about him. You should get some rest if you want to be able to fly well tomorrow. Is there anything you need?” Wooyoung asks softly. “No I should be fine, thanks. Where should I sleep?” You reply. “Sleep in my bed and I’ll stay on the couch, comfort is the key to recovery!” He smiles.

“Goodnight, Wooyoung” You call out. “Goodnight!” He replies from the next room. You pull the wool blanket to your chin, blushing profusely as you recap the events with Wooyoung today. Your pointy ears twitch as your wings turn pink before you drift off with a smile.

Waking up to the smell of freshly baked goodies, you climb out of bed and walk to the kitchen to find chocolate chip cookies and an elderflower drink to compliment the treats. “He’s so sweet” You whisper to yourself with a smile. He left a note next to the meal which reads: “Y/N, I hope you slept well and are feeling healthy! I’ve had to run some errands but will be back before noon. Please hang around until I return! - Woo :)”

You polish off the plate and wash up the dishes as you wait for him to get back, it’s the least you can do for him after his kind gestures. 11am rolls around and the gorgeous boy walks through the door with his hands behind his back. “Hi Woo, where did you go?” You ask, curiosity overcoming you due to his actions.

He approaches you as the pink tint decorates his wings and his cheeks once again. “These are for you” He says as he holds out an array of colourful flowers and some buds of the flowers you had dropped during your fall.

“I felt bad seeing how upset you were when you dropped your flowers yesterday so, have these! Also, I wanted to ask you yesterday but for obvious and unfortunate reasons, I didn't get the chance-” He says causing you both to giggle. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go on a date with me-” He starts before being cut off by you wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“Of course I’ll go on a date with you!” You accept with a smile. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a sweet kiss. Both of your wings flutter as you embrace each other, a light dusting of glitter falling from you both as you swear you hear the light sound of bells ringing in your ears.

You knew from the moment you met him, he’d be the one for you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A/N - Okay sooo, this is way longer than I wanted it to be but its cute so we’re gonna stick with it and pretend like it ain’t as long as it is okay? okay! Lol I had fun writing this, I felt really creative and I definitely want to write different AU’s in the future. Thanks for reading :3 💙

Tag List - @simphwa @yunhoiseyecandy @jonghoisababie @multidreams-and-desires

#wooyoung #Jung wooyoung #Ateez wooyoung #kpop #ateez #Ateez fluff #wooyoung fluff #Ateez au #kpop au #wooyoung au #fairy wooyoung #fairy Ateez #Ateez imagine #Ateez soft #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung soft hours #wooyoung soft imagine

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supersilversleuth · 3 years

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To Kill, To Die, or, To Live by SuperSilverSpy

Fandoms:DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, I have used these tags so much lately, I could probably write them in my sleep, Hurt No Comfort, maybe? - Freeform, I don’t remember writing any comfort…, Hurt, Angst, Jason Todd is a good bro, usually, sometimes?, idk - Freeform, he wants to be a good bro in this fic, Possession, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Whumptober 2021, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson

Summary:

Red Hood showed up in the Batcave after helping out with a quick op one night. Everyone seemed to be looking at him with distrust and suspicion, even though he’d just helped them out. Everyone except Dick, of course, who offered him a tight smile, but whose expression was otherwise unreadable.

Kill kill kill...Dick Grayson shall die...

“What? Why the oh so serious faces?” Jason’s voice drawled.

OR Jason wakes up one morning, and there’s a voice in his head screaming for the death of one Dick Grayson

No. 4 - TRUST FALL “Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Published: 2021-10-04 Completed:2021-10-04 Words: 3091 Chapters: 3/3

Chapter One: To Kill

It happened out of the blue one day.

Jason woke in a cold sweat, but he didn’t immediately sit up in bed. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He just stared up at his ceiling, a single thought running through his head, a single emotion coursing through his veins.

Dick Grayson must die.

Distantly, a part of him felt appalled at the notion, but most of him was running with it. Anger clouded his mind but it was unlike any he’d ever felt before. It was different, colder somehow, not like the usual searing heat of pit madness.

He heard a new voice in his head spewing insults about the Golden Boy left and right. Some felt familiar, as if taken from Jason’s own mind. Most of them were new, and he did his best to ignore the most unsavory ones.

He didn’t actually hate Dickface, did he? N—

Jason sat up, and began preparing for the day ahead of him. Put bread in the toaster, remember the meetings he has with several of his informants— Dick Grayson deserves to die— now that didn’t sound right…what was he thinking about again? Put butter on the toast when it’s done, start eating, think about that case that’s been stumping him lately— take Nightwing hostage —what was that? He does have a pretty busy nightlife… Do the morning’s dishes, brush his teeth, get dressed. He had a drug ring to bust tonight, that’s right. Some scumbags needed a little visit from the esteemed crime lord Red Hood— kill them all— what? N—

Jason went through the rest of his day in a haze. He met with some informants, gave food to some people on the streets. He got everything done quickly and efficiently, he even managed to make time to buy groceries. With every interaction, he acted just like he normally would. His movements were comfortable, voice at just the right level to suit each situation. People seemed easily swayed by him, to do as he asked. And yet...he felt detached somehow, as if watching through someone else’s eyes—someone who acted exactly like him.

He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it though, couldn’t open his mouth and say something out of character, or just talk to himself when no one was in sight. Distantly, a part of him felt alarmed, something was just off.

Still, he made it through the day just fine. Whatever had been bothering him earlier that morning seemed to fade, and he started to feel as if nothing had changed. And nothing had, right? He didn’t remember anything different between today and yesterday…

Night came, and the Red Hood went out to save the day, or at least crash some a**hats’ day, he wasn’t picky. Everything went to plan too, which made him elated. The bats could say all they wanted about him, but no one could deny his clear skill and competency.

Everything was going well, the drug traffickers were all passed out on the ground and Jason was getting ready to call the police, when it happened.

His thumb withdrew from the call button, burner phone slipping back into his pocket. His hands went instead to his guns, and he felt his body turning, moving towards the unconscious bodies of some of the worst that he’d taken down. Kill. Kill. Kill. Chanted that new voice in his head. Kill them all, they deserve it. Just like Dick Grayson.

What? N—No, that didn’t make sense. Why was—Why was his hand still moving? What was his finger doing on the trigger? Jason didn’t understand. I don’t want to kill them, he thought. He pushed against that voice, that—that presence in his head.

It pushed back .

Jason was left scrambling internally, as he watched his own arm lift and aim. A body lay on the ground, motionless where splashes of crimson decorated the floor.

Jason felt as if he’d been booted out of his own body, like his actions weren’t his to control anymore. He felt sick, but no bile would rise in his throat. No feeling would stir in his stomach. He didn’t understand.

Two bodies, on the ground, it was like he was seeing double, than triple, then several many more. He started to lose count. At one point, he noticed there was a knife in his hand, that his face was twisted in an expression of satisfaction. His hands were covered in blood, and so were his pants. He’d have a hard time washing that out, Jason realized distantly. Death here, death there, death death everywhere, said the voice in his head. He knew he was feeling things, actual emotions. But they didn’t really seem to be there . They were foreign, unfamiliar, not his own. Jason could think of all the synonyms he knew to describe just how out of place the anger and the bloodlust and the malicious satisfaction felt. How out of place he himself felt. Kicked out of his own mind, out of control of his own body.

Even with past experiences in mind control and mind-twisting pits of torture, this still was like nothing he had ever felt before.

—

Jason didn’t know what day it was, what was happening, he just couldn’t tell. He couldn’t seem to keep track . It had been like this ever since the massacre, since he’d fought and lost the battle in his own mind.

Kill kill kill...Dick Grayson shall die...

“What? Why the oh so serious faces?” Jason’s voice drawled.

“Those drug traffickers on Monday,” began the big bat himself. Jason’s hand waved as if to wipe it all away. “Lay off it, B. I promise it wasn’t me, alright? I left before whoever murdered them all showed up.” The Replacement was frowning at him, and the Demon brat was scowling his way as well. Bruce thinned his lips, looking at him in that insufferable judgmental way he had. Jason felt himself scoffing, “I don’t owe you fools anything. ”

Please, he thought, this isn’t me. Please, I know it sounds like me but I swear it isn’t. His body went straight for his motorcycle, hopping on and driving away with the squealing of tires.

There are TWO POSSIBLE ENDINGS, the first one is Major Character Death, the second is “everybody lives”

Read the next chapter for tragedy, read the chapter after that for somewhat happy ending

Chapter Two: To Die

“Hey Jay? You alright?”

The prey has fallen into the trap...

Jason felt his head swivel in Dick’s direction, “What are you doing here, Dickface?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed to be acting a little off yesterday. I was just wondering if—”

“I’m fine.” Jason’s voice growled. “And I didn’t kill those people. So there’s nothing for you to report back to ol’ daddy bats up there on his high horse.” Dick scowled briefly, but then his expression smoothed. “I’m not here to spy on you, Jay. And I know it wasn’t you who killed those people.” His brother looked at him steadily, right in the eyes. No! Dick, you have to get away from me, he wants to kill y —

“It wasn’t you,” continued Dick, “It was whatever's controlling you.”

For a moment, Jason panicked. But whoever it was in his head let up quite a bit, and Jason suddenly felt lighter than air. It was like the first taste of water after days in the desert. Like he could finally breathe after an eternity of going without.

“Wha—” Jason stumbled, knees feeling weak. Dick rushed forward, catching him as he fell. “No...N—No, Dick, you can’t be here. ‘m a killer, that thing in my head, it—it wants to—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” His hand carded through Jason’s hair. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

“It…it seems to have left me.” Jason said, voice trembling in awe as he flexed his fingers. It’d been so long…

—

Dick smiled down at his brother.

“It’s okay, Jay.” He said, “It must’ve fled when it realized I knew it was there.”

“How…how did you know, anyways?” Jason asked.

“I just…I had a feeling. You were acting off, and that look in your eye…”

“Thanks, Dick,” his little brother replied, but then his voice changed, sounding almost…fearful? “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He asked, straining his ears, “I don’t—”

There was a loud roar and the sound of large, stomping feet. Dick frantically looked around, noticing as shadows creeped in from underneath the door. The air was charged with magic, power flowing throughout the room.

“It’s back,” whispered Jason, clutching Dick’s arm, “we should run.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, as if in a daze, “let’s go.”

It seemed so surreal, the supernatural monsters bursting through the door. Dick wasn’t sure what surprised him so much about it, he dealt with this kind of thing every other day. It’s just…

“Dickie,” said Jason, pulling him towards the window. “Snap out of it, they’re gaining on us.”

He shook his head, looking back—and yeah, the strange magical creatures were right behind them.

Jason jumped through the window, Dick following closely behind. They fired their grappling guns, arriving on the roof opposite in what felt like the blink of an eye.

“Hurry,” said a voice and—oh, it was Jason. It was coming out of Jason’s mouth, right? It must be Jason’s. “We should go that way.”

Dick looked his little brother in the eyes, grounding himself there, before following Jason’s lead as they ran across rooftops.

Dick felt like he was doing everything underwater, but it was…nice. Pretty great actually. He barely even noticed the burn in his legs, or how the monsters chasing them had odd-looking shadows.

Each time he looked back, all he saw was claws and teeth. Masses of fur and strange golden markings.

They paused for breath a few blocks away.

Dick wondered at Jason’s plan. It felt like there was something he should be doing…“Jay? What should we do? Where do we go?”

“That thing in my head seemed afraid of tall places…”

“The—The Wayne Enterprises building.” Dick replied almost immediately.

“Of course,” said Jason, bumping him with his shoulder, “How about a race?”

Dick grinned back at him, “Sure, why not.”

Adrenaline flooded his veins, and for a moment, he almost forgot about the monsters chasing them.

Jason nodded to him, and then they took off, running and jumping, grappling all across the city, heading for the tallest building around. Dick pressed himself to go faster, run harder, jump stronger .

He could see Jason out of the corner of his eye, also going considerably fast.

Jason wasn’t the only one Dick noticed, he also spotted several of them on Jason’s tail. The monsters seemed to move just as fast as they did. He could only hope his little brother could go fast enough to outrun them.

Dick reached the WE building first, skidding to a stop on the roof. Jason arrived soon after.

The monsters gathered a roof away, preparing to jump.

“I—I don’t understand, I thought you said they wouldn't follow us up here.” Dick looked at Jason, searching for answers in his expression.

His little brother’s features were soft, his eyes glittered with something strange and otherworldly. His voice was smooth and heavy with something familiar… “It’s okay, I have a plan, but there’s no time. Dick, do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, Little Wing.”

Darkness creeped up along the edges of the building, sliding onto the roof. Claws scraped against the ground, glowing gold eyes began to surround them. There was a single opening, a small bit of edge that had nothing on it.

Jason smiled, grabbing Dick’s grapple gun. And then pushed him off the roof.

Dick Grayson fell over 1,000 feet to the ground, all the while believing his brother would catch him.

Above, on the roof of Wayne Tower, Jason Todd’s eyes flashed gold.

Chapter Three: To Live

“Hey Jay? You alright?”

The prey has fallen into the trap...

Jason felt his head swivel in Dick’s direction, “What are you doing here, Dickface?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed to be acting a little off yesterday. I was just wondering if—”

“It wasn’t you,” continued Dick, “It was whatever's controlling you.”

“Wha—” Jason stumbled, knees feeling weak. Dick rushed forward, catching him as he fell. “No...N—No, Dick, you can’t be here. ‘m a killer, that thing in my head, it—it wants to—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” His hand carded through Jason’s hair. “This thing is here to test me Jay, I didn’t have a choice. I know you didn’t either, and I am so, so sorry for that Little Wing. We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly the presence was back, the voice along with it. Jason could feel his consciousness collapsing back, dissociating once again. He vaguely registered as one of his hidden daggers was swiftly drawn, and pressed harshly against Dick’s neck.

“Do you trust me?” asked Jason’s voice, a smirk spread across his face.

The question was meant to be mocking, but Dick answered seriously, “Of course, I know you’re still in there, Jay. I trust you.”

—

They stood on the roof of the WE building. Whoever was controlling Jason had used his strength to give Dick a good beating, and sent a picture of the aftermath to the bats. It was only a matter of time before they showed.

“One as special as Dick Grayson, must be able to trust at least one member of his family. Jason Todd is least likely to accept this trust, which makes my job so much easier. I look forward to his death,” said Jason’s voice while they waited.

Dick, all tied up, sporting a black eye and what were likely bruised ribs—grinned like a maniac. “I recognized your presence, didn’t I? I could tell there was something off with him, you nasty little f***er. You may think you chose your victim well, but you’re making a big mistake—Jay will pull through for me, and you will be torn away as if it were nothing.”

Wow, Dick just sounded so—so confident in Jason’s ability to do whatever it was he was supposed to do. Jason wasn’t sure he’d be able to overpower this thing, let alone destroy it.

“The rest of your so-called family will arrive any minute now, will you weep at their demise?”

Dick scowled, “The rules that you are bound to state that you can’t kill any of my loved ones before me.”

“I may not be able to kill them, but I’ve been doing this awhile, and I know all the loopholes to this little game.”

Behind them, the bats touched down on the roof. Jason felt himself turn to face them. It seemed that Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Steph all showed up for the party.

“Here to save your favorite Golden child?”

“What do you want?” Demanded Bruce, stoic as ever.

They never cared about you , none of them do. Hissed the voice in his head. Nobody trusts you

Nobody trusts you , Jason thought back at it, you murderous lying b****** .

It chuckled, ah, but it is not my face I’m wearing. It’s your's.

Outloud, Jason’s voice addressed the bats, “This is the price you pay for not trusting me, for letting Dick down. You didn’t even notice there was something different about him, did you? You didn’t even notice when Jason Todd was no longer Jason Todd.”

Bruce and Dick were the only ones who didn’t look confused at the words. Dick, because he seemed to know what was going on, and Bruce, because he was, well, Bruce. Batman’s face was as stoic as ever.

Jason felt his face twist into something surely ugly and murderous-looking.

Power surged through him, coming from seemingly nowhere. But Jason could feel it at his fingertips, being pushed into him and pulled out, he had no control over its course. The air around him became charged with magic, and then the bats were engulfed in a bright, golden light.

A moment later, Jason's eyes opened to find that all four of them were frozen in various positions and turned into a shiny golden color, standing still like statues.

The look of horror on Dick’s face hurt to look at, when Jason felt himself turn back to the man.

Quickly, Dick’s expression turned to that of anger, “What did you do to them?” he seethed. “Turn them back!”

“It’s too late, Dick Grayson. Once you are dead, your family will remain this way forever.”

Jason’s arms reached out, grabbing Dick and picking him up.

His feet took him to the edge of the roof, holding Dick out over the ground far, far below.

“J—Jay, listen to me, you can fight this. I know you can. You’re still in there, I believe in you.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Jason watched as he dropped his brother over the edge.

Time seemed to stop.

No! He thought, pushing back as hard as he could against that malicious presence in his mind. Jason pictured Dick’s face, looking at him sincerely, a bead of blood forming where Jason’s own knife grazed his throat. “I trust you ,” he’d said.

Jason followed him over the edge before he even knew what he was doing. Shooting out his grapple instinctively, cutting through the air rapidly as he fell.

This is going to hurt , he thought, as he set himself on a collision course with Dick, but I think we’ll live.

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donaidk · 4 years

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Alive - Teaser

I might have something in my pretty little pockets for you guys in the really-really close future. It’s not the happiest story line (do I even write happy fics anymore?) but is gonna be something with which I wanna challange my feeling and body language description, while building a strong, distinguishable character. Guess we will see how it goes 🤭

Hope you guys will enjoy this teaser which although doesn’t tell you a lot, it at least shows the concept a little 😃 Have a great Sunday everyone! 🧡

TW: Nightmare, Mild description of car crash

Inspiration song

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

You’re here | Chapter I | ...

Stepping inside the room I welcomed the smell of sweat, rubber and a thin layer of chalk dust in the air with a relieved sigh, quickly greeting everyone inside. My first destination was the changing room, getting my everyday stuff into the locker decorated by my name, and changing into my usual gear. Fridays were always just normal strengthening training without any special equipment or any floor exercise. They were chill days even though we had to lift weights and push ourselves during balance tasks. We never had to go for perfection during exercises and just had to make sure we did everything that was on the list for us. It was the only occasion where we went for quantity and not as much quality. The trainers made sure we wouldn’t injure ourselves and that we followed how they should be done, but it wasn’t even close to when we had to have even our fingers in the right position while moving around. It felt like nothing compared to the first 3 days of the week.

“ Ready? ” I heard a familiar voice but looking around I couldn’t spot the source of the sound. Thinking I just misheard something I made sure my locker was closed before exiting the small room, taking in the gym, searching for any sign of other people there.

“ Guys? ” I asked, closing the door behind me and walked through the room until I was in the middle of it. “ Anyone? ” I asked again, confused about where they all could have gone. Just seconds ago this side of the door was full of laughter and rushed discussions.

Taking a full turn I hoped they were just hiding somewhere behind me, but what my gaze landed on was the empty space of missing weight racks and rowing machines, while the door was gone as well leaving behind a plain white wall. I could hear some kind of beeping but I couldn’t recognise the direction it was coming from, as I felt like it was either on me or inside my head. I was about to take a step back as it turned into ringing, making me wince and my heartbeat quicken. As I searched for the exit that would take me to the hallway I noticed that 3 of the 4 walls were the same plain white colored ones and only one stayed the same as it was in our usual gym. While I was confused, my legs acted on their own and took me closer while my arms were already lifting up so I could open the window. There was continuous honking and swearing outside while my body followed in a floating motion. I could see the person at the window opening it up, but couldn’t recognise the woman as myself or anyone in my team.

I had the urge to scream as in just a second my body was yanked out, through the window and over the busy highway. By the time I came to a stop at the hard shoulder, it turned into a picture perfect village road that was completely snowed in. My eyes followed the tyre marks, my feet following orders and taking me over to where the lines took a harsh left turn, as a shudder went through my body from the outside cold. Lifting my head up I could see the car in front of me turned over in the ditch, completely motionless. I wanted to get over there to help but my body stayed put, my limbs frozen like I was under a spell, losing all control over my body. A loud screeching made me look to my left, seeing several cars coming down the road, one of them already sideways, skidding across the middle line. It was the source of the noise as the brakes were slammed down fighting against the power of physics with all their might. I knew it wouldn’t be enough, my mouth already open to let out a scream but it got stuck in my throat. I was pushed away right before it could have touched me, making me stumble backwards and fall back, my hands trying to grab onto anything as I felt the ground disappear from under my feet and my vision went white as I looked up at the sky.

I woke up with a scream leaving my mouth, my fingers wrapped around the corner of the blanket in an iron grip. I felt dizzy as soon as my senses came back and my eyes could finally detect my own bedroom around me. My heart was in my throat beating at a sickening pace, as it planned to leave my body through my mouth. At least it felt like so, while I still couldn’t take a breath deep enough to reach my lungs. Falling back onto the mattress I forced my fingers straight and closed my eyes to finally get my body to relax and get back the control that the panic always took away from me after dreams like this. I knew it would take a minute before my breathing would be normal again, exhaustion catching up with me meanwhile, as I fell asleep late and I could see the clock stating it was just an hour or so later. My mind felt hazy as I tried to forget everything that was thrown at me just seconds ago, trying to convince myself it was just made up by my imagination even though I knew it was based on memories. However, it still worked, it just took some time before I could finally take my first full breath and also let it out. As soon as my heart was beating in a normal rhythm I pushed myself up into a sitting position, leaning back onto the headboard. While trying to find a position in which my back didn’t throb with pain, my hand wandered over to my phone for some distraction. Just a couple of years ago back in England I would have called those few friends I had, but moving to France and practically closing the door on my past meant that wasn’t an option anymore. I just had to learn how I could deal with these nights.

#george russell #george russell fanfiction #george russell fanfic #george russell oneshot #george russell imagine #f1 #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #f1 imagine #bydonaidk #donaidk #teaser #i'm gonna be gay for my header #and say this is the best header i have ever done #i love it too much

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feed-your-neopets · 4 years

Text

Valdemar x Devil!Lucio Fluff (One-shot)

Writer Preface:

First, I haven’t written fanfiction in years. Nor have I read a book recently. So, don’t feel bad about pointing out grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this. Also, my knowledge of the science and medical world is pitiful. Please, let me know if I said something ridiculous.

Second, it is cannon that Lucio has a New Jersey accent. It may enhance the story to imagine him with it, because I did while writing this.

Third, this is just slow, awkward, fluffy Valdemar x Lucio stuff. I was trying to piece together how a relationship could even develop between them, and I love the challenge of unlikely, cursed pairings. I was thinking this would probably take place in Muriel’s route (so, smoll SPOILERS from this point on). I would think Lucio’s social circle would be dwindling since – ya know – he merged with the Devil and all. Lucio would definitely be longing for friendship and companionship. Valdemar will humor him if it means they get new things to study. Get that bag, Valdemar.

---

The salon was one of the few rooms left in the palace where one could find some peace. Ironic, as this room was once one of the livelier places in the palace. After all, the salon was where Countess Nadia would entertain her guests. Now, it was an echo of its former self.

Since his resurrection and merging with the boss, Count Lucio ran with a different crowd, and these new guests had a habit of “borrowing”. Not that Valdemar cared about the state of the rooms throughout the palace, nor the drunkards who sloppily paraded through the hallways with pockets full of silverware. However, the room was simply lacking. It was not quite the same without Countess Nadia’s fingers gliding across the ivory keys with precision and grace. Instead of the haunting melodies of a grand piano and the idle chatter of the other courtiers, the room was filled with the distant echoes of intoxicated partygoers reciting a rather impolite folk song about a sea captain’s cousin.

However, Valdemar was paying little attention to the commotion outside and quietly sipped their tea. They chose instead to focus on the decorating choices they felt were an improvement. For example, the dying flowers wilting in waterless vases were a nice touch. Additionally, the portrait that Count Lucio had commissioned in his mother’s likeness had some alterations. It was laying waste on the ground below where it was once proudly hung. The vandalism was done with such intention that Valdemar was certain the count had crossed out the eyes himself. Valdemar pondered if he had done so in a fit of rage. The count had such a temper, and judging from his interaction with his mother, there was a lot of emotional baggage to unpack. While the symbolism was a tad on the nose, Valdemar appreciated the irony none-the-less. It was Lucio who murdered his own mother. It was only fitting he should be the one to remove the light from her portrait’s eyes too.

Without much warning, the doors of the salon burst open with a bang; shaking the few portraits that still hung on the walls. Yet, Valdemar sat unflinching despite the abrupt entrance from the count.

“Alright, I’ll catch you guys later.” called Count Lucio to a chorus of guttural cheers and whooping from the end of the hall. Valdemar peered at the count from over their teacup as they took a long sip. They had been wondering what was taking the count so long. He had been the one who had requested a meeting with them. To keep them waiting seemed in poor taste.

“Crazy guys.” chucked Lucio to himself before turning his attention to Valdemar. “Hey, there you are! Where have you been? You weren’t at last night’s party. You missed Vulgora tackling several new recruits. You should have seen them go at it. We were taking bets and everything.”

“Hm.” hummed Valdemar as they peered into their teacup, finding more interest in the way the tea leaves settled to the bottom of their cup than Lucio’s story. However, Lucio did not seem to notice as he reenacted the punches and kicks of last night’s tussle; knocking over a chair in the process. “But hey, don’t worry about missing it. They’ll probably do it again tomorrow night. You’re gonna love it.”

“I am sure, my count.” lied Valdemar.

Lucio seemed convince Valdemar was genuine, and with an exaggerated groan, he slumped into the chair next to them. Valdemar watched as he adjusted the scabbard on his waist, the end of which clanked aggressively on the hardwood floor. His legs then spread out for maximum comfort as he sunk into his seat. It would seem he was finally situated, and he looked merrily back at Valdemar expecting them to speak first. The quaestor closed their eyes. Admittedly, their patience was wearing thin. With a short sigh, they placed their teacup on the table and prepared themselves to address the count.

“Is there a reason you have called me here today, my count?” asked Valdemar as politely as they could muster.

A spark of realization lit in Lucio’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! I gotcha something.” said Lucio as he started rummaging through a small satchel. “I felt like we left it kinda weird at that old broad’s house, and I been wanting to make it up to you.”

“Old broad?” whispered Valdemar to themself as they searched their lexicon for a translation.

“Yeah, you remember. I gave you her heart. I was weird about it, but you were just asking for your payment.” explained the count. “It is nothing amazing, really. You probably have twenty of ‘em, but I was traveling through the market, and I saw it, and I thought - do you know who would like this? Quaestor Valdemar - so, I got it. No big deal, ya know?”

From his bag, Lucio pulled out an adult human skull. Embedded in the eye sockets were large rubies that burned in the orange glow of the setting sun. The count placed his gift in Valdemar’s hand, who made quick note of the condition in which the skull was in. In short, it was nearly perfect. The dental work was most fascinating to Valdemar. Not a single tooth was crooked or missing. No sign of disease or decay. Whoever extracted this specimen knew what they were doing. Valdemar was so transfixed by the skull, they almost forgot Lucio was still in the room.

“Yeah, I thought you like that.” said Lucio as he leaned forward in his chair. “I got that off a guy who was selling all kinds of wild, kooky stuff.”

Valdemar was quiet as they studied the skull. They were far more impressed by the specimen itself than the embellishments. Gemology was not at the top of their list of the most appealing subjects, and frankly, they thought the rubies were rather gaudy.

As they pondered the feasibility of extracting the gemstones without damaging the bone, a visibly nervous Lucio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence between them.

“I -uh- I got it because the eyes remind me of your eyes.” said Lucio. As the words left his mouth, he instantly wished he had just swallowed them instead. He was not prepared for Valdemar's undivided attention. Their eyes were fixed on Lucio. Their expression was blank. Their entire form was eerily motionless. He immediately felt the need to elaborate. “Ya know, because the rubies are pretty - pretty like your eyes.”

To Lucio’s relief, the compliment was enough to break their stare. No one had ever called their eyes pretty before. Creepy. Unsettling. Unnatural. But never pretty. Pretty was a meaningless word. Pretty was objective. Pretty could not be measured. Pretty was unscientific. Yet, the word bounced around in their mind, unextrapolated and uncategorized. Valdemar wanted to dissect its meaning. They wanted Lucio to elaborate. What did it mean to have pretty eyes?

"Hey, is that thing broken?" asked Lucio. who had unknowingly grounded Valdemar from their slow spiral into the definition and interpretation of the word pretty.

"Pardon?" asked Valdemar.

"Did that bastard give me a busted skull?" asked Lucio gesturing to a fissure starting from the bottom of the eye socket across the cheekbone.

Realizing what the count was referring to Valdemar had to stifle a laugh. "No, that is a zygomaticomaxillary suture. You'll notice the second one, right here." They turned the skull to allow Lucio to see the other fissure reflected on the other cheekbone.

"Oh, so it's okay then? It's not broken?" asked Lucio.

"This specimen is in excellent condition." reassured Valdemar. A moment passed between them before the quaestor softly cleared their throat, and managed a polite thank you to the count. They fully intended to investigate the skull further for any clues of what may have lead to the specimen’s demise. They loved a good mystery. Afterwords, it would look lovely in their display cabinet - pretty ruby eyes and all.

“Right, so that guy I got this skull from. He has other things too. Goopy things in jars. Dead things in jars. Dead things out of jars. Drawings of bones and meaty parts. Books. Does any of that sound interesting to you?” asked Lucio.

Valdemar considered Lucio’s offer before replying, “I suppose that I am always in search for new specimens to add to my collection. Additionally, this could be an opportunity to ask the merchant where the rest of the remain’s of this specimen can be found.”

Their response seemed to greatly please the count as he leaned back in his chair. For the past few nights, he had done nothing but party - which he loved to do, and would surely want to do again - but sitting with Valdemar, as the sun lowered into the horizon felt nice. Not to mention, they knew a lot, which Lucio appreciated. Having them around could be quite helpful to keeping his kingdom. Additionally, he was curious as to what was under their bandages. His money was on horns, but it would be fun to confirm his suspicions.

“Great, I’ll take you down there sometime.” said Lucio. “And, if you see anything you like, consider it yours.”

While material possessions never interested Valdemar, the idea of discovering something new was quite alluring. Perhaps, the merchant had a sealed jar of an entirely forgotten disease, or maybe they would uncover an ancient tomb that described a real account of an unsolved death of an entire village. The more they thought about it, the more exciting the prospect became.

“Would now be an appropriate time?” asked Valdemar who had moved to the edge of their seat. Their body was stiff with anticipation, as they leaned over ever so slightly towards him. A coy smile spread on Lucio’s face. He knew the moment he agreed, Valdemar would be sprinting for the door. Frankly, it seemed cruel to make them wait another moment for his answer.

“I’ll have someone fetch two cloaks and a carriage.”

END.

#lucio x valdemar #devil!lucio x valdemar #valdemar x lucio #valdemar x devil!lucio #lucio #count lucio #devil!lucio #lucio the arcana #valdemar #quaestor valdemar #valdemar the arcana #courtiers #the courtiers #fluff #one shot #one-shot #fanfic #fanfiction

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mileyjassie · 4 years

Text

"𝑅𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑓": ᴋ.ʙᴏʙʙʏ☁︎

Pairing: Bobby (Ikon) x Fem reader

Genre: Fluff (?)

Word Count: 1.2k

Synopsis: You're excited to meet and know new people but find out they're all boring and ordinary 'till the moment a guy tired of the same old people and old habits get in.

Author's note: They're in a social event where people of different places meet to talk about economy and show their families and pretend they're enlightened. (This imagine kind of have an vintage aesthetic)

There were yellow and pink, there were white as well as red, brown and black. But of this profusion it was not worth it to exhibit so much ethnicity that didn't have miscegenation.

"Do not move." Your mother said, so you remained quiet, staring at your own eyes for hours in the mirror while she arranged your hair in braids and curls, varying between different hairstyles to choose which one fit you the best.

After she decorated your hair, it was time for your ears, so you got up, standing in front of the long mirror in front of you, immobile as the girls passed from side to side alternating between types of dresses and shoes.

Your dress was almost white, like the bows in the hair and the embroidered socks you wore, bringing a soft touch to the well-polished brown shoes you were wearing.

You looked younger, despite being young.

"I look like a doll ..." You whispered to your mother, still looking at yourself in the reflection. She nodded in amazement not noticing the neutral tone of your voice. "Yes, like a pretty doll!"

You waited quietly, not because you were forbidden to speak, but because you felt no desire for comments.

"When are we going?" You whispered again. "Soon." she had replied, ending the vagaries in the dress.

You arrived in a room crowded with different people, low and classical music playing quietly while all those important people had a few drinks and shared the same conversation.

You stopped for a moment, realizing that your arrival had not been so impactful, since they didn't bother much to watch you enter.

You were impressed with so many different people, there were blacks with braided hair and yellow ones with straight black hair, you saw browns with beautiful eyes and whites with pink jaws, they all had different aspects and different ages, all brilliant in your eyes.

You followed the other girls and stayed near the white, rectangular table, full of appetizers that looked delicious but were not touched at all.

You were greeted but a conversation was not held by any of these guests who did not have a single honest smile on their faces.

Your shoulders fallen a little as your admiration faded, what they had to offer to your eyes did not come close to satisfying your brain, so for that reason you remained obedient beside the other maidens, motionless as a doll.

The music was still pleasing to your ears. Music, the only answer you found in that environment, from time to time you held the hem of the dress, tapping the sole of the shoe on the floor according to the rhythm of the song, fortunately not being scolded for that.

That was when all those faces indifferent to one another became the same direction in common, their heads turning in unison towards the entrance to the hall, their fast eyes meeting a single person.

You turned around, curious to find out how great this person could be, the one who had attracted so much attention for the only fact of quietly entering the room.

He was accompanied, even so you knew very well that he was the guy who stole the eyes of the guests, you didn't need to guess, because your eyes never left him.

The atmosphere became heavy, some malicious looks being thrown here and there and other looks of simple cunning slid down the boy's body. If his presence was suspicious to everyone there, what would be the reason for having everyone in his hands simply by being present?

He was not a king, he was not a president, he did not look to be a banker. But it doesn't matter, your doubts were different: What kind of person was he? What do his personality consist of? What do he have to say?

By looking you knew he was asian, but his skin was slightly burnt, golden. His hair was long up to his ears, tousled and reddish in color, a fire that didn't shine, that looked dead. His eyes were small, sharp but unconcerned in relation to the others, he seemed to have a lot of confidence in himself, as he had not been so concerned with the impressions of his clothes. His dress shirt was white and went down to the back of his hands, longer than the size of the dark blazer that wasn’t buttoned, having the same color as his pants, this one seemed to be a few inches larger than his size. He didn't wear a tie, but he did have rings, earrings and a big pair of glasses for his face.

His existence put pressure on others, until the moment everyone was neutral, you could tell, but now they forced themselves to not notice the boy, just like you.

The first thing he did was smile at the man who had greeted him, right after that walking directly to the table, ignoring some gentlemen on the way to reach out and capture an aperitif in his hand, tasting it satisfied.

Was it that easy? You tilted your head, looking at the snacks. Did you just need to get it?

He noticed your frowned expression, just smiling and picking up another then leaving the table.

He walked to the middle of the room, taking a walk, analyzing everything around him.

"tto gat-eun nolae?" He asked aloud, letting you find out what kind of voice he had. But you frowned, confused by his language, you couldn't understand.

His question made some people nervous, maybe some who didn't understand him, like you, thought he was searching for problems, but those over there who spoke the same language the boy just sighed, answering something in a low tone.

"What did he say?" You whispered to the maidens who were shaking their heads also not knowing how to react to the extravagance of the man with the big glasses.

"You people have a good taste of music but everytime I come it's the same thing, nothing never changes."

Your ears cleared when he opened his mouth again, he seemed discouraged by the people around him, sighing when he changed the language so that everyone could calm down.

He returned to the table, taking a glass in his hands, wetting his lips with a short sip.

When he turned around, he was confused that he still had eyes on him, raising his free hand with a face full of cynicism.

"What? Thinking I'm weird? Too full of me? Again?" He smiled, leaving the glass on the table and returning to the center of the room. "Why do they still surprised?" He asked himself, unbuttoning the hem in his wrist.

Then he started to dance, slowly, from side to side. That meeting was supposed to be a friendly meeting, but his act looked like an affront.

You noticed that, but you didn't understand why you saw his dance as an affront, a challenge.

Music was playing, why shouldn't he dance?

When you noticed, he had jumped up on the table, gaining shocked and deep gasps from the hall.

"Why are you so shocked? You're not eating anyway!" He continued walking on the table, staggering and playing. Everyone looked terrified, but nobody wanted to take the first step to get him out of there, and he knew that.

Then he found you again, smiling in surprise. "The bright in your eyes are showing, m'lady"

You closed the smile that until recently you hadn't noticed growing on your face.

"Are you liking the show?"

You let the corner of your mouth put a pleasant smile again, glad to nod to him.

"Pretty much." You commented, he confirmed, bending down to pick up another appetizer and put it in his mouth.

"Good to know..." He came down from the table, coming to you with two glasses in his hands, offering you one which you gladly accepted. "That I'm not going to be bored alone."

I don't know Korean but the sentence was supposed to be "This same music again?" If you know Korean pls correct me

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop ikon #ikon fluff #ikon imagines #ikon bobby #kim bobby #bobby imagines #bobby x reader #bobby x you #bobby x y/n #ikon x reader #ikon x you #ikon x y/n

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publiclyabsent-moved · 3 years

Text

she never meant for the brief walk home to last so long. after all, how many times has she walked from home to library and back again? how many places had she committed to memory on the path, knowing when the shadows aren’t quite right? not that she did anything about it. not that she could have ever guessed what that meant.

the house had never been there, and annette knew it. she didn’t realize she’d been walking in its lawn until the gate to the yard slammed and locked behind her. i must be dreaming, she thought. every living thing in the front yard was dead and decayed, crunching under her worn sneakers. she turned to the road, watching as cars passed by. no one seemed too concerned about the suddenly derelict house in a previously empty lot. perhaps she shouldn’t have been, either. maybe her memory was failing her, even though she would remember this. facing the house again, its dusty windowpane eyes stared her down. it was time to go back, the icy pull in her ribcage insisted. go back home, stay away, take detours. but the rest of her body pulled itself forward, toward the door. a dark wood, clean as new, with a silvery knocker, too ornate for this side of town. she stares at the door. without a thought, thin fingers wrap around the knocker, intending to knock three times. after the first, the door swings open, and she feels herself ushered inside, the icy feeling in her lungs getting colder.

the interior looked untouched by the time that had beaten the outside - the cozy grandeur elicited a gasp from the small brunette girl, which was greeted with an eerily warm female voice. “it really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

annette turned, hazel eyes landing on a tall blonde woman standing in a hall. this was wrong. this woman wasn’t alive; she was too sweet to someone just walking into her house. the surprise on annette’s face must have been clear, as the blonde offered a warmer laugh. “don’t worry, dear. i had the same reaction when i first saw it, i’ll admit. the woodwork, the walls … it always feels like home. even to strangers.” her teacup, decorated with little violets, clattered against its matching saucer as she approached, causing annette to take steps back toward the door. “oh, don’t go - here, allow me to introduce myself. i’m cassandra, cassandra james. my friends call me cassie. the tea is still warm, would you like some?” annette didn’t mean to offend by shaking her head, but that was the apparent result. “no? hm. that’s all right, no harm done. after all, that means more for me, doesn’t it?” somehow, at the blonde’s gesture, they both began walking, annette warily behind cassie, who seemed something akin to a magnet.

they arrived in the kitchen, and somehow annette found herself seated across from the woman, a matching teacup in front of her. she never agreed to tea. it didn’t smell right, and annette kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap. the kitchen looked slightly more as it ought to, though the table was clean. the walls seemed cracked and the floors were dusty, the floorboards creaky. cassie’s smile remained closed, though she was doing her best to make the younger feel welcomed in this impossible house. “those are some terribly large glasses, hm, dear? a little dusty, too - here.” she removed the glasses in one swift movement, causing annette’s hazel eyes to go wide. of course nothing was clear any more, but typically glasses did not brighten. everything was darker now, and the warmth that radiated from the house faded. it was all cold. annette could feel the icy feeling in her chest creep up the back of her neck. “perhaps this will be better, annette.” colder.

“i-i-i n-nev-ver -- i-i nev-ver t-t-tol-ld y-you m-m-my n-name.”

that causes cassie’s smile to widen, exposing stony teeth and a broken wire -- the kind used to wire a corpse’s jaw shut. the rest of her became older, more pointed, even greyer. she grew darker and colder just like the house, and annette was frozen in her seat. “oh, honey, didn’t you? i thought you had - ah, silly cassie. either way, drink your tea. please.” the teacup had become dirty and cracked, a too-dark liquid in it. annette’s breath grew shallow and quickened, but she wished she wasn’t so quick to panic. if she had kept calm, she could have just gone home. “i’ll be quite hurt if you don’t, annette.” it sounded like her mother’s words in another’s mouth. her own name felt like ice water, the consonants crisp and nearly pointed. cassie’s hollow, smokey eyes searched her guest’s face coldly, the icy smile unwavering. “well, you’ll have time. come then, i’d like to show you the house.” the voice had started ringing in annette’s head -- house, house, house, house.

annette began shaking her head, frozen in place. “n-no, m-m-miss, i-i sh-should b-be g-g-going, i --” her stammered protests were interrupted by cassie pulling her up with a sharp vice-grip around her upper arm, nails digging into flesh, before the hold adjusted to the uncertain arm-in-arm that gave only the illusion of the freedom to leave. before the ghost began walking, her other hand replaced the talons in annette’s arm. she was led out of the kitchen, back into the entrance. the warmth of before was gone, the sunlight that was barely peeking through dusty glass and warped wood even being iced down. the front door was barred from the inside, and had been that way for some time, the wood rotted and growing fungus. the temperature dropped further, inciting shivers in the medium. cassie continued to guide her along, into a darker hallway full of closed doors. annette’s voice was thin, near tears, “m-m-miss-s, p-p-pleas-se --”

cassie’s grip tightened angrily, turning annette flat against the wall with a strength it didn’t seem like she would be allowed to have. hazel eyes close, praying this is some horrible nightmare that she will wake up from. the tarnished silver on the walls clattered with the impact of her body; the doors sounded in accord with a motionless slam. annette felt herself shrinking beneath the blonde woman, who was growing taller and paler and colder by the second. “i said i would like to show you the house. though i imagine --” her long black fingernails dug harshly into the skin around annette’s jaw, almost surely drawing blood. with a gasp, annette’s eyes open. she is awake. pointed, stony smile widens -- “you’ll be well acquainted with it soon enough.” annette felt herself sink into the wall, her breathing becoming even more panicked. this only dug the fingernails deeper, encouraged by an almost helpless squeak. annette reached her feet down, trying to find the ground, feet no longer feeling the floor so soundly. “oh, no. no, no, no -- this won’t do, will it?” cassie’s grip never wavered or loosened, though her furious expression softened into something similar to sympathy. closer to bemused pity. the ice never melted. in fact, the grip tightened on her face, causing annette’s eyes to water.

“oh, poor dear. you are so small, aren’t you? why, i could just …”

cassie’s free hand wrapped the whole way around annette’s wrist, smokey eyes turning their focus there. her grasp tightened, squeezing the joint harshly, before yanking annette’s arm (and thus, annette) away from the wall, ignoring the living girl tumbling over her own feet, only having three limbs with which to catch herself. “now, dear, do get up. there is so much of the house to see!” upon being forceded back onto her feet, annette couldn’t help using her available hand to grasp at her neck, trying to breathe, the panic welling up like fingerprints.

time wasn’t right. it never is in these sorts of things, of course, but it was particularly not right in that house. being dragged down the hall took hours, though it should only have been moments. sounds swirled in her hair, in her head, all over, echoes of memories that were not her own, that rattled her skull, and cassie very well may have been harming her further. annette’s mind was far from present, the truths of this place careening her through each floorboard. cassie killed her husband. cassie killed her children. cassie killed every other person who hid in their bedrooms in the house. she confessed as much. after all, the house hadn’t really been there in fifty years, and hadn’t been occupied in fifty before that. what was the harm? the harm, it seemed, had pent up and was soaking into the one living thing on the property. the house’s walls blurred, past and present leaking together into annette’s eyes and ears, the solid world nearly vanishing.

moments of clarity were few and far between - only when cassie hit or swiped at her, a sharp and too-gravelly “are you listening, girl? or are you trying to die, just like everyone else?” ringing clearly through the warped wooden frame of the house. it caused all her senses to snap vividly into reality, and that very reality sent her flying into misty memories again. the blood drawn from her cheeks and mouth was dried and likely stained on the sweater she’d worn, she’d never wear again, and the dust and grime of age and death had coated half of it; the smell will never come out. afterward, annette would only recall the hands of the other spirits furiously grabbing at her in her nightmares. all the hands were rough, some small and some withering, some sharp and some too tough for benevolence, they pulled her back to reality more than once. why? why would the hands of these fellow victims want her dead? why won’t they help? each hand drew a panicked scream from her, till one covered her mouth, or accidentally half-gouged her gums, or otherwise kept her quiet.

the last time -- she would recall this one clearly as the last, though she never knew just how long she had been there. she would always remember it. she would wake up in a blind panic for years, her mind pulling her back into the rotted wood and dusty furniture. cassie flew into a final fit of rage at annette, who managed out one pitiful “please,” digging nails into her shoulders and swiping once at her face, screaming furiously about disrespect and no longer permitting this insolence. none of the other screaming was coherent, though she continued to shriek as she took annette by her ankles and dragged her halfway up a flight of stairs, planning to travel the other half. the plan was clear: she was going to throw the medium down the stairs. she was going to add someone to the collection. annette tried frantically to use her thin, shaking fingers to hold onto something, only receiving splinters and ripped fingertips. the dust that she kept inhaling in shallow gasps tore at her lungs, which still felt frozen solid. her throat was too raw to scream, but the unfeeling hands of her fellow victims heard her anyhow. countless hands, stronger than ever before, finally understanding enough, took hold of her (likely sprained) wrists and arms, grabbed her middle just a little too tight, and then took hold of cassie’s ankles and pulled her down, causing her to scream anew, kicking and stomping at the hands. “enough! enough! i am the woman of the house, i demand you all let me go!” the sharp eagle’s grip on annette’s ankle disappeared, her shoe colliding with the floor with a dull thud. cassie’s screaming melted away, though she isn’t sure if that was really happening or if she simply started fading again.

facedown into the old and moth-eaten carpet, the medium cried silently, afraid to move. she was hyper-aware of the spectral hands letting go, leaving finger-shaped bruises in their place. the stairs flattened into solid earth, into grass. it smelled like dirt. her mouth tasted like blood. the tears on her face stung each crescent shaped gash on her face. she could still feel every cut, every bruise, and the sharp, thudding pulse in her wrists. the sun was warm again, but different. it was not afraid to touch her, like it had been. the grass she was laying in was wet -- it hadn’t rained, had it? she couldn’t move. she was afraid to look and see this as another illusion, another mental escape. everything hurt, so sharply - her breath remained shallow, but the freezing in her chest thawed. slowly, her shredded fingers began to feel the grass. it was damp, sharp in the dull way that grass is sharp. she felt clover. annette wasn’t sure it was real, but the sun was so warm. slowly, painfully, but surely, she rolled herself over, the sunlight shining in her tears. she closed her eyes again, breath deepening as much as it could. that was the sun, all right. she could hear the cars, passing by without a second thought, just like always. the house was never there, except that it was. she had its wood lodged into her hands. the sore cuts in her mouth, on her face, every injury confirmed it had been. but could she get herself home? her breath was still hollow, releasing more than it took. she knew the route. but could she trust it? she could walk through her door and enter that other house again. she could still be there.

she must have been laying there for some time. time was moving normally again, minutes were minutes and seconds were seconds, but her head still swam in that house. no more, she thought. i have to go home. slowly, and with no shortage of painful gasps, she used her elbows to push herself to a seated position. her vision went spotty, cassie’s graveyard teeth and the funeral home wire floating in front of her once more. it cleared. another slow and painful lift, and she was on her feet. there was no gate in front of the lot. there never had been, the fence was barely holding itself together. she had been in trouble the moment she found herself on the other side of the fence. each step was staggering, and she limped her way back home, jumping and wincing at every passing car.

she needed to know how long she had vanished for. it could have been hours; it could have been months. time is the hardest part with all of this, she knew that. time will take you and spin you and set you down just off from where you started, but have aged you by years.

she noted the easter-themed flag across the way. april. it had been too long; she’d missed all of march. probably her mother’s birthday. standing on her own doorstep, she winced as she reached for the spare key. she unlocked the door and stepped inside, half-expecting either the rotted house or her mother’s stern shouts. it was clean. it was neither warm nor cold. her mother was not home. though she knew she would catch the devil later, she could only carry herself to the couch before collapsing on it, swiftly falling asleep.

she would clean the couch later. she would tend her wounds later. a dreamless sleep was not too much of a luxury, was it? surely the james family would let her alone just long enough. surely, they were still dealing with the matriarch. she knew that upon waking, she would have to deal with hers. the very normal, very human dread of an angry mother was the last thing to cross her before she fell asleep, marking the couch with a dirt and blood impression of herself.

such a shame, that it would be the last dreamless sleep for some time to come.

#ᴀ. facts.#hey so this was a thing tht happened to her mmmmm last spring but i finally tweaked the writing to where i like it #its important bc this is . smthn she is still struggling w #ask to tag /#its all under a read more n its v long but

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sunbeat-coeurl · 3 years

Text

Prompt #23: Soul

"Okay, I think that was the last one." Rylen breathed a sigh and slumped to the ground happy to sit for a brief moment. Several pairs of voidsent had stood in motionless stasis until the three crossed them. They were in a relatively small Mhachi research outpost. Getting into the structure had been a challenge but once inside the protectors - or perhaps freed captives - had attacked them.

"One more room." The hrothgar said looking at a faded set of diagrams.

C'zahra leaned over his arm and looked at the paper. Several lines and circles connected into various geometric shapes but none of it looked like any floorplans she had ever seen. "How can you even read that?" She didn't expect an answer and he didn't give one.

"Okay Rylen, ready to go again?" Svaelfyr asked and walked over to a featureless wall.

Rylen pushed himself to his feet and looked at the hrothgar then the wall. "Of course I should have known it would be this kind of bullshit." He motioned to the wall expecting the machinist of the group to pull on a sconce and have the wall sink away into the floor.

It wasn't quite as clean as the highlander had thought it would be. Instead they found themselves heaving at the wall with all their might. At some point the mechanism in the faux door had given way to the ravages of time and ceased to function. "Again!" Svaelfyr said and the three pushed in tandem. This final shove pushed the door another several ilms and made the opening wide enough for each of them to squeeze through. "Think it's safe to say we're the first here this time." Rylen spoke between moments of catching his breath.

Nothing audible stirred in the room past them and allowed the group a reprieve after their exertion. Ready to go again, the highlander pushing off the wall and side stepped through the opened door. He raised his shield expecting more voidsent waiting but ended up pleasantly surprised. "Clear." He called to C'zahra and Svaelfyr then lowered his shield.

"Perfect." C'zahra said then slipped into the room and scanned the area. Nothing jumped out as loudly as gold or jewels would have but there were plenty of old scrolls, presumably ancient research, and a few unopened trunks and decorative vases. The small group split up and started to search the room. In the bottom of one of the dusty antiquated urns a glint caught the miqo'te's eye and her tail flicked at the thought of some gleaming treasure among the dusty tomes.

She stood on her toes and leaned into the vessel, grasping for it once, then a second time before she was able to grab the small gem below. "Got it." Holding it she hummed aloud and turned the dirt-caked object over in her hand. She rubbed her thumb across the surface several times, cleaning away aged mire and revealed an asymmetrically teardrop cut gem. She sucked air through her teeth when she felt an uneven edge under the pad of her thumb. Probably a fracture in the too-good-to-be-true treasure.

Inspecting the damage she noticed it wasn't a crack in the surface but an intended carving. A chill shiver crossed her shoulders followed by a temporary rush of anger and fierce motivation. An insistent unintelligible whisper pressed against her thoughts.

She dropped the gem when she jerked and took a quick half step back. The gem dropped to the shaped stone floor with a hard clack. The chill faded and the soft whisper like a breath against the back of her ear were gone. "Hey. Svaelfyr...Rylen...what is this?" She said standing a few films back and looking at the motionless gem.

The pair walked over and stared down at the blue-violet crystal resting on the floor. A stylized meteor was etched into the surface. The hrothgar's curious grin broadened. "That's money."

#c'zahra sahdi #ffxiv #ffxivwrite2021

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another-snape-story · 4 years

Text

Halloween

Chapter XIV

“Are you all right?” Snape asked, peering intently into your face. It lost its usual liveliness, and your thoughts seemed to dwell far away from the festively decorated Hall you anticipated to see so much, from overall excitement, from him.

“Yes,” you gave him the same forced smile as earlier this morning, and Snape’s heart sank. Something happened in a couple of hours he hasn’t seen you during the day. That damned envelope he himself passed into your hands should be the reason, he thought. This was the only possible explanation. He didn’t expect you’d open up to him, but it would be a lie if he said he didn’t cherish a tiny bit of hope.

Eyes full of concern, he desperately tried to find right words to express his readiness to help you whatever has happened, to assure you were not alone, but at the same time – surrounded by your other colleagues – not to make this matter public, moreover he had no idea what it was all about.

“Why aren’t you helping yourself?” deprived of opportunity to sit beside, Aurora Sinistra spoke to you from the other side of the table. “These profiteroles are delicious!”

Annoyed with unfavorable intrusion, Snape leaned back on his chair, fists clenched.

“I’ll try some,” you answered politely and reluctantly reached out for the dish to put one on your plate. Snape watched you with increasing anxiety.

“Where’s Quirrell?” you questioned, hoping to divert his attention. Estranging yourself from the man you were thankful to come into your life felt so terribly wrong, but you were not ready to tell what bothered you – neither him, nor anyone else.

This very moment Professor Quirrell appeared in the doorway and rushed through the Hall right to Headmaster’s chair.

“Troll! Troll in the dungeons!” he gasped short of breath and – unconscious – swooned to the floor.

Astounded, you turned to Snape. Deep in thought, his eyes wandered the room. Meanwhile, Headmaster Dumbledore called agitated students for order. Prefects started gathering children of their Houses to escort them back to the dormitories. Professor Sprout was trying to bring Quirinus to his senses.

“The stone!” you startled up.

“Stay here!” Snape ordered heading for the exit.

“No!” you followed him.

He grabbed your shoulders. “Stay here! And please – be careful!”

“And you? What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he stole the last glance from you, and what he saw made his heart leap. You truly worried about him! Merlin, how could this be? The corners of his mouth formed a barely perceptible smile. “Be careful…”

He left you standing in the middle of the throng, lost and confused. You shouldn’t have let him go alone. What he was up to? You felt uncomfortable not knowing if he was all right. With this came realization he was the only one here you really cared for.

“The troll’s heading upstairs!” you heard someone’s desperate scream.

Holding your wand ready, with a resolute step you set off to catch that stupid mountain of flesh. Professor McGonagall ran after you.

Muted hammering sounds got more audible the closer you approached the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, and disgusting smell proved you were going in the right direction.

“Snape’s going to miss everything.” Once this thought crossed your mind, a tall black figure streaked from around the corner, causing a powerful wash of relief sweep over your body, giving you strength and determination to move further. Snape lined up with you and joined you on your way. It wasn’t the best time for questions. The troll raged; his chilling roar echoed through the corridor. You heard a loud bang and silence fell all at once. Stopped in your tracks – so strange and unexpected it was – you and Snape exchanged anxious glances and hurried as fast as you could, praying none of the students was hurt.

Professor McGonagall managed to outstrip you. She was the first to burst into the room. Snape protectively held you back, shielding you from whatever might’ve been inside. Suddenly, Quirrell, who vanished again as soon as all this bustle started, emerged out of nowhere, pushing his course through the doorway. Why he followed suit remained a mystery – the man looked like fainting again.

A huge stinky mass of the troll lay on the floor, motionless. It didn’t seem to bear any kind of danger anymore. Snape bent over the troll to make sure. The way he moved set you alert. Hard to say, what exactly drew your attention, but something certainly was different.

In the interim, Professor McGonagall blasted three young Gryffindors, who – to your surprise and terror – happened to be Harry Potter himself and his friends: showing little effort in studying Ron Weasley and nosy know-it-all Hermione Granger. How could these first-years expect to defeat a troll without having neither defensive nor fighting spells in store of their knowledge? It was pure luck they weren’t injured!

“You said you had a special gift with trolls, Quirinus?” you addressed him coldly.

The man flinched at the sound of his name.

“Why didn’t you stop him right there – in the dungeons?”

“I – j-just –” words seemed to stuck in his throat.

“And what were you doing there?”

Snape approached you, supposing you’d step back, but driven by anger and resentment you had no intention to stop this conversation. Snape on the other hand was determined to put an end to it. He made another step towards you, and another one – until his chest was pressed against your shoulder. Blocking your view with his tall figure, Snape almost pushed you out in the corridor.

Before leaving the room, he threw a condemning glance at your suspicious colleague.

“What the – ” you frowned. “I had more questions to this scoundrel!”

“I know,” he hushed you. “Not now.”

“When then?” you croaked.

“And not you,” he stated firmly.

“Am I suspended?” his words outraged you. “Why not me?”

If Quirrell was implicated in the Dark Lord’s matters, Snape had to keep you away from this. Quirrell should see not a slightest hint of danger in your words or actions, moreover – consider you his enemy.

“Just trust me, okay?” he stopped, and you turned to face him – it felt natural to do so. These eyes never betrayed you. You nodded, given in, and sighed:

“Okay…”

You continued your way in silence.

“Are you limping?” coming around after this chaotic evening, you finally noticed your fellow Professor fall heavily on the right leg.

“I’m fine. Stumbled on the stairs,” he explained indifferently.

Now it was your turn to stop.

“What?” Snape spun around to see the reason of your sudden holdup.

Arms crossed on your chest, you stood still, your lips pursed in a disapproving curve.

“How can I trust you, if you don’t find it necessary to tell me what happened in that short time you were absent! Where have you been, huh?”

“Neither do you want to tell me about the letter you received this morning and why it bothers you so much!” he spat back. “Correct me – if – I’m – wrong.”

His words stroke you dumb. Chasing the troll, you forgot about your troubles for a while; to be reminded of them in such a rude, offhanded manner was heartbreaking. You couldn’t say what hurt you more – revived awareness of the news you received, or cold demeanor of the man you needed to be beside in this distressing moment. You felt a lump rise up to your throat and swallowed hard.

“This letter is a private issue and therefore concerns only me,” your voice creaked. “But recent events have to do with the whole school.” Holding back tears, you made a pause to pull yourself together and stung him with his own words. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Snape got used to you to that extent he started considering you a part of his reality so indefeasible, completely neglecting the fact you had your own reality, where his place might be of much lesser importance. Clearly, you didn’t owe him a thing, and could keep your secrets to yourself. He should’ve realized it. Of course, he should. Blaming you for that was inacceptable and tremendously selfish. Constant strain of nerve costed Snape the loss of self-control. Being too protective of you, he violated the boundaries and severely regretted it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but there was nothing he could say to atone his fault.

You shook your head in downright disappointment and shoot past him in the darkness of the passage.

“Wait!” Snape jolted, “I didn’t mean to –” He limped a few steps after you, but – his leg searing with pain each time he moved – couldn’t catch up with your speed. “Ugh, damn it!” he stretched out his hand to lean against the wall. He had to do something with this first.

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UD/MoM: Of Mummy Men & Bathtub Soup - 7

Chapter: 7/? Chapter title: The happy couple Fic rating: T - Language, blood, light comedic body horror, allusions to drug usage Chapter summary: Conrad takes a trip to the library. Previous | Next ---

As he stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourteenth floor, Conrad’s first thought was that Josh had sent him to the wrong place. The lights were on, but uh, nobody was home, as the saying went. Everything was calm, quiet, and eerily still. There were none of the decorations or informational boards that the other floors had; there were only shelves and dust motes and the faintly yellow smell of old books.

“Of course,” he muttered, “Of course. ‘Trust Wash,’ I thought, ‘We’re friends,’ I thought, ‘Maybe there’s a scrap of goodwill towards man still miraculously clinging to life inside that desiccated husk of Cheetos dust and—”

“Will you be requiring assistance tonight, I wonder?”

The acoustics of the floor were shit, and that was probably for the best because the noise that came out of him? Embarrassing. At best.

Conrad sprang back as though the sheer suddenness of the voice had somehow transmogrified his legs into pistons, his surprise sending him up and around in a graceless pirouette. Were there security cameras in the library? God, he hoped not. Dear sweet merciful fuck, he hoped not. “Jesus—shit!” His voice seemed to explode out of his chest, freeing up space for his heart to bounce around between his lungs.

In complete fairness to him, the desk was pretty fucking hard to see at first glance. It was tucked away into a little alcove surrounded by intimidating (and pristine) stacks of books with spines about as thick as his wrist. There was some kind of camouflaging effect going on, and while that in and of itself was troubling, what really got him was how fucking motionless the grim motherfucker sitting behind the desk had been the whole time.

It was right around the time he made eye contact with said guy sitting behind the desk that he realized he was clutching his chest in waiflike terror. He dropped his hands back down to his sides, but he feared the damage to his sterling record of first impressions had just been irreparably tarnished. Forever.

“…I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” Conrad warbled, not totally sure the shaky simulacrum of his voice would even be audible over the crash-banging of his heart. “You’ve gotta be Edgar, huh?”

“An observation as astute as it is telling.” Edgar—if that was his real name—held his gaze for an uncomfortably long while. A really uncomfortably long while.

Like, an exceptionally uncomfortably long while.

Stupid as it was, Conrad couldn’t shake the feeling the old guy was literally peering into his soul with those chilly baby blues of his. Neither could he shake the feeling that he wasn’t impressed by what he saw.

“Am I to take it,” Edgar began again, and it was only then that enough of his earlier adrenaline dump dissipated for Conrad to register this old-timey asshole had a voice straight out of Downton Abbey (with a pocket watch to match), “You’re not here to peruse the reference materials?” There was, he thought, a trace of amusement in his voice. Something about that brought with it the sensation of finding out your boots had sprung a leak just after you stepped into a puddle.

“Uh…guess it depends. Got anything on ghosts? Ghouls? Specters, perhaps? Denizens of the dark? What about beings beyond the pale? This seems like the kind of place where you could read about an axe murder or two…”

The man behind the desk, with his thin lips and inappropriately youthful undercut, did not smile. He did not frown. He did not raise his eyebrows. He did not, as far as Conrad could tell, breathe. He simply blinked (once) and then glanced off to his left. “I do believe you’ll find what—or whom—you’re looking for just down the hall. A plaque will mark it the Creed Memorial Conference Room. Oh, and were I you…” Then he did move, looking back down to the papers spread out before him. “I would knock first.”

Surprise surprise: He didn’t need to be told twice! Conrad held his hand up to the guy in the universal sign for ‘Thanks, I’m done with this interaction now,’ and promptly dipped, giving the desk the sort of berth he would’ve granted a decently sized bear as he set off towards the conference rooms lining the floor.

The whole thing reeked of the CREEPs’ bullshit, he’d give them that much. Spooky library floor? Check. Anachronistic fancy lad librarian? Check. And because of that, as he checked each room’s plaque trying to find the one marked ‘Creed’ (passing ‘Torrance’ and ‘Sheldon’ and ‘Marsh’ as he went), he couldn’t quite make up his mind whether he was actually about to find Hartley and Ash, or if this was Wash sending him on the world’s wackiest wild goose chase.

Wild ghost chase? Was that anything? Probably not. He’d workshop it.

Just as he was about to give up on the whole thing and call it a (har-har-har) wash, he caught the faint sound of voices from up ahead. Voices and…music? Was that music? Frowning, he made his way to the final conference room door, feeling only the slightest sense of accomplishment when he saw it was, in fact, the Creed Memorial Conference Room. Creepy or not, Eddy-boy had been right about that much at least—as he approached the door, he could definitely hear muffled chatter and some kind of…shit, what was that? Was that a pan flute?

Oh, after arguing with Josh out in the rain, he did not have the patience for this kind of fuckery.

He gave the door a jaunty knock before whipping it open, ignoring the cabal of startled nerds sitting around the dice-covered conference room table…save, of course, for two in particular. Wonders never ceased! Josh hadn’t been lying to him! Finally, something was going his way tonight!

“Hey, Horror Harem,” Conrad grinned, pointedly ignoring the chick with the pixie cut and shitty dye job currently glaring daggers his way, “Gotta steal you for a sec! Important paranormal shit, chop chop.”

They’d been sitting with their backs to the door, so he couldn’t immediately see their faces, but there was no mistaking the ‘pardon me?!’ way Ash’s back went suddenly ramrod straight. “Oh, I know you’re not talking to us,” she said stiffly over the ridiculous adventuring music playing over someone’s phone speakers, refusing to turn around and look his way (unlike Hartley, who, much like grunge babe across the way, had turned for the express purpose of serving him quite the death glare from over the frames of his glasses).

Conrad gripped onto either side of the doorframe, bracing his arms as he let the rest of his body hang further into the room. “If you know I’m not talking to you, then why is it you’re the only one who answered me?”

That got her to turn.

He grinned his widest, most charming grin, putting both dimples on display as he saw the indignation thinning her lips. “Check and mate.” For just a moment he looked away from the two of them and towards the others sitting around the table, giving a nod in their general direction. “Bradical,” he said in way of greeting, “Other assorted dorks.” Beaming, he levered himself backwards, knocking the doorjamb twice to hurry them along. “C’mon! It’ll just be a sec and then you can all go back to saving Hogwarts or whatever.”

There were some, hmm, passionate reactions to that, but he just snickered and stepped back out of the room, taking a few paces to the side as he waited for them. And boy oh boy, he didn’t have to wait long. Peachy.

Josh’s bizarre side quest assignment aside, he hadn’t been too worried about convincing Hartley and Ash to go along with his reindeer game. Against his award-winning charisma and social knowhow? They were little more than socially anxious lemmings just waiting to jump off whatever cliff he pointed them at.

Except, uh…

Huh.

Except the two people who joined him outside the conference room weren’t quite the Hartley and Ash he’d been expecting. It was…shit, it was like Washington all over again.

There they were, picture-perfect replicas of the dweebs he knew and…well, maybe not loved, but like…tolerated, only they were…wrong. They were wrong.

For one thing, there was none of the usual giggly, sappy play-flirting he’d come to expect from the two of them—that was probably the most shocking part of it all, really, the fact that as they faced him, Ash leaned herself up against Hartley’s side and he had his hand on her hip. And yeah, sure, he would’ve gone for back pocket, front pocket, curve of waist in that order, but this was an improvement! A vast improvement! Maybe that trip up to Blackwood had done them some good!

They were still seriously weirding him out, though.

“What, Conrad?” And uh oh. Hoo doggy. No ‘Connie’ from Ashley? Not off to the best start. “What’s so important that you had to—”

“Wait, Josh didn’t like…text you guys?” He watched them exchange a perplexed look and did nothing to hide his sigh of relief. “Okay, never mind—”

“No, hang on. Why would Josh—”

“Doesn’t matter. Look, I need you guys to tell him you’re totally still on board to scare Alex, okay? So just pull out those little phones of yours and—”

“No. Absolutely not.” If Ashley shook her head any harder than that, she was prone to give herself some kind of concussion. “Not today, not tomorrow, not next week, not next year, not when I’m thirty-five. Not happening.”

“Uh,” Hartley said, dragging the sound out until it approached Bob’s Burgers territory. “Yeah. We don’t…did you not hear? We don’t do the ghost hunting thing anymore, man. It got, uh, weird.”

Mhm. Yup. This was Wash all over again, all right. Mother. Fucker. He reached up to run his hands through his (still rain-damp) hair, letting his eyes roll up towards the ceiling as he did so. “You guys are so bad at this whole ‘teamwork’ thing, I swear to Christ. Does the term ‘verbal contract’ mean nothing to any of you?”

“We’re doing this podcast now,” Hartley continued, acting as if he hadn’t heard him. “It’s actually going pretty well, and—”

“No one cares about your podcast.”

“Except they do.”

“Except they don’t. You can tell yourself they do, that’s fine, we all lie to ourselves about things to help us sleep at night, but one day you’re going to have to accept that no one, in fact, gives a shit about your podcast, Cochise.”

“Dude! For the last time—”

There was a part of him, a small, surprised part, the part that always made a point to eat the entire fortune cookie to make sure the good fortunes came true, that made a mental note to start checking his horoscope on the days he was interacting with the CREEPs from henceforth. He didn’t know what other course of action he could take, honestly, because Ash stepping forward to cut them both off was a twist on par with Bruce Willis having been dead the whole time, and like…a little forewarning might’ve been nice.

Her arms had been folded across her chest in a familiar huff, but as she took those scant couple steps to put herself in his face, she dropped them. Instead, she poked her index finger into his chest. It was an admonishment, an accusation, and wowie-zowie, boys and girls…she’d put enough force into it that he could feel it jabbing into his sternum even through his jacket. “You,” she began in a tone of voice that had him cringing under the memory of so many after-class reprimands, “Asked if Josh texted us. Which leads me to believe you started sniffing around him first. Bet he said no, huh? Huh? Know why he said no, Conrad? Know why? Because we’ve seen what happens when you make fun of the frigging spirit world, and it’s not a joke!”

There was a lot to unpack there, but he didn’t really want to, uh, do that. “Is this the part where you guys get real cryptic and sort of insinuate you saw a ghost up in Blackwood?” he asked, lifting his eyes from the finger in his chest to meet Ashley’s gaze. “Josh kinda insinuated—”

“Saw a gh—I got p—” She pulled in a sharp breath through her nose and took a step back from him, raking her fingers through her hair as she turned an about-face to look Chris’s way for a beat; when she spoke to him again, she’d lowered her voice until she was nearly whispering. “You want to know what happened when we got there, Conrad? You really wanna know? Hannah and Beth were there, and they weren’t happy, and I got freaking possessed!” The rest of her breath escaped her in a sound awfully close to an airsoft rifle being fired. “So, like, sorry! But no more ghost stuff, okay? None!”

This was…well it was precious is what it was. Or, barring that, it was about as close to precious as things got. The way they were looking at him with those big ol’ eye of theirs? Awkwardly toying with the strings of their hoodies and messing with their hair? Precious! It was like they actually believed the shit they were saying.

God they spent too much time with Wash. The guy had ruined them. They were beyond saving. Hopeless. It was kind of sad, really.

Hilarious! But sad.

“Uh huh…” he said thoughtfully, his hands folded in front of his face as though in prayer. His eyes moved from Brown to Hartley, from Hartley to Brown, and, knowing full well it would rustle every last one of Chris’s nerdy little jimmies, he reached out to take both of Ashley’s hands in his. “You,” Conrad said slowly, “Need. To give me. The name of your dealer.” Ashley yanked her hands away with a groan and that only made him grin. She had to be careful—any more of that and he’d be looking downright crocodilian up in this bitch. “Okay, okay! Know what? Fair. That’s fair! No, you’re right, that was a real forward thing to ask. Here—” Still beaming, he pulled his phone from his pocket and tried to hand it to her. “—just put their number in my phone, that’s all I need.”

“Conrad.”

“That’s all I need, Ash! Don’t tell me their name, that’s fine! Just, in the space where their name should go, type in whatever the fuck they’ve been supplying you guys with, because real talk? I need me some of that to get through the doldrums of this perilously upper middle class life I’ve been trudging through.”

“You’re a tool, dude.” Rolling his eyes, Chris smacked his phone away.

“Ah, but even the bluntest of tools has its use, grasshopper.” Oh, it was way too hard to hold back his laughter now. “Seriously? Seriously. First Wash feeds me some bullshit about you guys going to Blackwood—without yours truly being invited, I might add, despite how much you know I looove skiing and hot tubbing—and ‘everything changing’ because of it. And now? Now you two are doing the whole spooky horror movie shtick?” He raised his eyebrows and searched their faces; Chris could lie like a dog when Josh put him up to it, yeah, but Ash couldn’t handle omitting shit, let alone full-blown lying. “You’re smart people. Morons, don’t get me wrong, but like, smart.”

“Thanks?”

“Nice.”

“And smart people have to realize that ‘Boo hoo, I’m a real ghost whisperer—’”

“Technically I think it’s more like…being a medium? I didn’t really do a lot of, um, whispering, per se. It was strictly a physical sort of thing.”

“—is horseshit of the highest degree. So c’mon. Let it go. Just tell me if this is some dumb thing Wash has planned so I can get on with my life, okay? I’ll even pretend to be surprised when whatever happens happens, yeah? Cut me some slack here.”

Across from him, Chris had taken to rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’d managed to knock his glasses askew in the process, and while he knew what the guy was trying to communicate was just a whole shitton of frustration bubbling up, the only thing Conrad was gleaning from the performance was sheer dork-ery. “W-w-why are we even bothering to explain this?” he asked Ash, “Obviously he’s just gonna think…no, fuck this. There were ghosts, man! Like…real goddamn ghosts.” He straightened his glasses, and when he did, the look behind those Buddy Holly frames of his wasn’t an especially chummy one. “Shit was moving. Shit got thrown—fuck, people got thrown! We almost got pancaked by that ugly fucking sculpture Josh’s mom paid like $30k for, so like…fuck off? Fuck off.”

“What he said.”

“Fuck right off, Conrad. This isn’t a joke. Ash broke fingers, okay? Plural. Josh broke his fucking ass—”

She rolled her eyes and muttered “Tailbone” from the side of her mouth, the faintest hint of a smile playing there.

“Same thing!”

“Not really…”

He had to give it to them: They could sure stick to a bit. Did he believe them any more than Wash? Nah. Could they be contenders for this year’s Oscars? Oh for sure. But much as he was enjoying hanging around in the spookiest goddamn part of campus when we could’ve been doing literally anything else, the time for marveling at their shitty LARPing skills had come to an end.

“Okay kids, this has been…charming. Look, I’ll stop asking about the whole Blackwood thing if it helps, but the fact remains you and the rest of the lunch bunch owe me a solid. So how’s about you get those phones of yours out…pull up your cute little Ghost Adventures group text…and you tell Josh to man the fuck up and help me scare the living bejeezus out of my sister’s boyfriend!”

“Nope.”

“Ash.”

“No!”

“Ashley.”

“I said no and I meant no.”

“Do you want me to grovel? Is that what’s going to do it for you? I didn’t figure you for the humiliation-kink set, but if that’s what a guy’s gotta do—”

Changed man or not, that seemed to toe Hartley’s limit. “Yeah, okay, can we hurry this up? I dunno if you noticed this, man, but everyone’s in there waiting for us…”

“Mordor will be fine without you two for another few minutes.” There was a Look™ that passed between them at that, and even though he did his level best not to notice it, that didn’t make it go away. And honestly? Honestly? He was getting a little tired of having supreme judgment passed down unto him by nerds of their caliber. “Now look—”

Again Ashley interrupted him, speaking over his voice with all the firm, unyielding authority of the brown-nosing kid the teacher left in charge before leaving the classroom. “No, you look,” she said, her eyebrows raised, “This conversation’s done. We’re not doing it. Sorry! So see you later or whatever because we’re holding everyone up and that’s super uncool, especially since it’s Andrew’s first session tonight and—”

There was no fighting it—he made a face. “And just who in the fuck is Andrew?”

“He’s this guy in mine and Josh’s creative writi—”

“Nonono, sorry, my bad, poor word choice. What I meant to ask was: Why the fuck should I care about Andrew?”

Hartley looked like he might answer for a second there…but then, apparently not coming up with any solid reasons as to why Andrew mattered in the grand scheme of things, sort of half-shrugged Ash’s way.

Good. He’d chalk that one up as an encouraging sign this conversation wasn’t completely unsalvageable. Just mostly.

Dear sweet Ashley, though…well she was still more than a little puffed up by the whole thing. “We’re trying to be nice, okay?” she hissed, lowering her voice as though worried the others had their ears pressed to the door so they could eavesdrop on them, and fuck, maybe they did! He had to figure it wasn’t every day that someone as radiant and magnetic as he was walked into their lives to—

The door to the conference room opened then, only adding fuel to his ‘all the nerds were secretly eavesdropping’ theory, and a rather put out and decidedly familiar face appeared in the doorway to join them. “Are you guys coming back or what?” asked one Mr. Bradley Smith (AKA Brad, AKA Bradical, AKA B-Rad, AKA Ray Bradlebury, AKA Braddyshack, AKA Smithsonian, AKA Alex’s significantly less intolerable brother). “Should I just tell everyone to go? We can pick up next week if you need to bail.”

“We super don’t need to bail. We’re coming—”

“Hey! Boo Bradley! What’s shakin’, my guy?”

The look Brad shot him wasn’t quite the long-suffering affair he might’ve expected from Ash, nor was it the abject exasperation Hartley had shown him—it was, above all else, tired and betrayed. “Conrad,” he said, offering him naught in the way of a polite greeting, “I have, admittedly, no idea why you needed to interrupt my game like this, but I gotta let you know man, I’ve spent two weeks planning tonight’s session, and you just annihilated my narrative flow.”

Now, he couldn’t be sure…but that certainly felt like a geek burn of the highest degree.

“We’ll be right there,” Ash apologized, shooting Conrad one last pointed look from the corner of her eye, “This is just some stupid—”

“Actually…” The cogs in his brain had begun a’turning (a dangerous event in its own right), and they were quickly approaching Mach V. “Hang on just a hot sec…I think…hey, so, Brad…”

Before he could say anything else, Brad let out a tired breath. “No. Can…can I just preemptively say no?”

“Let’s say I need to…stop by you guys’ place sometime this week, with uh…” Conrad paused just long enough to throw an arm around Hartley’s shoulders, giving him a friendly jostle, “…with some friends of mine…do you think you’d be able to, oh, I dunno…let us know when no one else is home? And then maybe…perhaps…let us in? Or…?”

Chris shoved him away with his elbow. “Don’t fucking bring Brad in on this, dude!”

The overhead lights glinted off of Brad’s glasses in such a way that he couldn’t tell the exact expression on his face, but the contemplative twist of his mouth told him all he needed to know. “…why would you need that? Why would you need to be in there when no one else i—know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. I do not want to know. Don’t even consider telling me, because I will repeat: I do not want to know.”

Really, Conrad thought to himself, That’s probably for the best. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Brad to keep the prank a secret, it was just that…okay, no, wait, hang on a second…that’s exactly what it was. The fact of the matter was that Brad Smith lied like hamsters ate steak—which was to say it was hysterical to watch him try, but ultimately the only result was intense discomfort and secondhand agony.

“It’s just…” he glanced the CREEPs’ way as Hartley wrenched himself out of his clutches. “It’s a brother thing, okay? Let’s leave it at that for now.”

Brad let out another exhale that teetered awfully close to a preteen’s sigh. “Fine. Whatever. Now, can I please get those two back? This whole encounter is integral to their characters’ arcs, and we’re kind of at a major stand-still until they—”

“Not until they say yes.” He kept his gaze on Brad that time, affording the other two an opportunity to share whatever looks they needed to. If they thought he was going to let his hooks out of them that easily, they had another thing coming. “Not for nothing,” Conrad added under his breath, pulling his phone out for the sole purpose of pretending to scroll through his unread emails, “But Brad’s on board, sooo…”

That same eerie silence settled around them, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of Ashley’s foot against the floor. No one said anything for an exceedingly long time (at least by his count), but if he knew their particular brand of social anxiety, having Bradical there, waiting, could only help his cause.

“I’m not going unless Sam’s going.” Ashley said it with the air of a woman facing down a firing squad. “If Sam tells me personally that she’ll do it, then sure. Fine. Whatever. We’ll do it too. But that’s the only way, Conrad, I mean it.”

Knowing he was pushing his luck, he allowed himself a brief ‘booyah’ arm pump, sliding his phone back into his pocket before opening his arms for a group hug that, surprisingly, neither she nor Hartley went for. “I hear you loud and clear. Really, I do! Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure that Sam signs your permission slip for you and puts it into a nice little envelo—”

“And,” she added, jabbing that surprisingly pointy finger of hers into his chest again, “I’m not pretending to be possessed, no matter how hard you ask.”

“Uh,” Brad said from the doorway.

Gingerly plucking her finger away from him and letting her hand drop, Conrad offered her the most uninterested shrug he could muster. “No one said you had to! Who am I to guide your artistic vision, Ash? Do whatever you want, as long as you do something, that’s all I ask!”

Her mouth was still a wrinkle of displeasure, but she seemed to be satisfied with that. Well, as satisfied as she ever seemed with anything, anyway.

“Are we done?” Chris asked, already beginning to inch his way towards Brad and the open door again, tugging Ashley along with him. Something about the sight of it made Conrad change his mind: Their middle school brand of play-flirting was way less annoying than the attached-at-the-hip thing. “Can we get back to our game now, please? Or are there any other incredibly pressing questions you just need to ask us?”

Conrad tapped a finger to his chin as though giving it some thought. Really he should’ve just left well enough alone…convincing Sam was, after all, already on his to-do list, so in a way he’d gotten the best answer out of them that he could’ve expected…but since when was he the sort of person to quit while he was ahead?

“Yeah, know what? One last question actually. Why oh why do you guys meet on the floor where the fucking Crypt Keeper is the resident librari…an…” He went to gesture towards the old guy who’d spooked him on his way in, only to feel his words trail away as he saw the desk down the hall was perfectly, completely, utterly…empty. No man. No books. No papers. No light. Nothing.

He blinked a couple times, and when he looked back to the others, he couldn’t help but feel a brief spike of uncertainty in his gut at the expressions on their faces. Ash frowned, leaning to the side to peer around him in the direction of the desk, Brad shrugged noncommittally, but it was Hartley that got him; there was something about the way he stared at him, his forehead creased and his eyes slightly narrowed.

“Uh…librarian?” he asked after a second. “I-I-I don’t know what to tell you, man, but like…” Hartley met Ash’s eyes in a private look Conrad didn’t really want to dissect. “There…there hasn’t been a librarian on this floor iiiiin over fiiiiifty yeeeeears…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—”

Hartley snickered like the doofus he was, throwing in some A-plus finger waggling for extra spooky effect. The worst, though, the absolute worst, was when Ash got in on the giggles, because then his grin went from pleased to absolutely shit-eating, and like…ha ha ha. Wasn’t it fun how everyone and their mother could laugh at Conrad’s expense? So fucking funny. Hi-larious.

“Yeah, cute. Real cute. Know what? You morons deserve each other, that’s what I think.”

“Aw shucks…” Ash smirked, pressing herself that much closer against Hartley’s side, “But like, just FYI, technically Chris isn’t wrong. Edgar’s not a librarian. He’s—”

“The curator,” came a voice from just behind him, and fuck if he didn’t jump and yell out like a little kid wandering through a haunted house (again). His only consolation that time around was that Hartley had done the same. “Am I to assume that you’re done for the evening?” Spooky McSpooksalot asked, and while Conrad really did not want to turn around to look at the guy again, the sound of his voice was giving him an idea of how uncomfortably tall the old guy was, and he just had to check.

“Oh, no, we’re still probably going to be playing for a while, if that’s all right. We got…” Ashley’s eyes flicked to Conrad for an instant, and somehow the wry amusement he saw there was so much worse than her earlier scorn, “…held up.”

As though he understood the ins and outs of tabletop RPGs, Edgar nodded. “I see. Well, if that’s the case, would I be able to ask a favor of you then, Miss Brown?”

The way she snapped her attention (and her neck) towards him was, in a word, creepy as fuck. …one, two…okay, so that was three words, but that didn’t change things. If Ash had had a tail, there was no question in Conrad’s mind that it would’ve been wagging madly back and forth like that of an abused border collie being promised pets for the first time in its miserable life. She looked up (and up and up) at Edgar, not not as though he were a library employee, but instead a rock-god. A legend.

Or like…Jason Momoa.

“A favor?”

“I don’t suppose you’d mind locking up the conference room once you’re done for the night?” He wouldn’t go so far as to say that the old guy looked friendlier as he said it, but there was a distinct twinkle in those icy vulture’s eyes he hadn’t seen before.

If such a thing were possible, Ashley’s already perfect posture went somehow even straighter. “I—of course! I’ll get the lights and everything else too—are you sure?”

Edgar chuckled and Conrad shivered. It was a solid one too, the kind of dramatic side-to-side shake his Gramps said meant a goose somewhere was walking over his grave. He’d never really understood what in the fuck that was supposed to mean before, but hearing that laugh helped clarify things.

From his key ring he removed a card key (why he had those on a ring meant for skeleton keys, Conrad couldn’t even begin to fathom) and held it out to Ash, who took it with all the trembling reverence of someone receiving a personal blessing from the Pope. “Quite sure,” he said once she’d palmed it. “I’m afraid I’ve been called away and as such won’t be here to bid your adventuring retinue goodnight, but I’m certain the hands I’m leaving this responsibility in are the capable sort.”

He thought Ash might cry. There might’ve literally been tears welling there. He wanted to say he could see her lower lip quivering, but it always sort of did that, so. Hard to tell.

He also thought this was…shit, this was probably supposed to be some kind of sweet moment? Maybe? Possibly? Fuck, he guessed it could’ve been, had it not been so goddamn weird.

Without worrying about being noticed, he glanced Hartley’s and Bradical’s way, narrowing his eyes to ask the obvious.

Brad shrugged. So did Chris.

Well. Okay. At least it wasn’t just him. There was comfort in that realization…sort of.

Leaning in towards him while Ashley and Edgar were distracted, Conrad stage-whispered, “Hey man, how’s it feel, knowing your girlfriend’s clearly in love with the reanimated corpse of a seventy-year-old British dandy, huh? Does it sting to know she loves that walking skeleton more than you? I bet it stings.”

Instead of the usual jealous bellyaching he’d come to expect, Chris just sort of rolled his eyes. “Oh puh-lease. For your information, Conrad, Edgar’s a married man. I’m not too worried about the threat he poses.”

Well well. Who was this guy and what had he done with Hartley? It was like the word ‘girlfriend’ was some sort of magical talisman that made him 12% less insufferable. Well, okay, 11%.

While it troubled him deeply to try and imagine the sort of maniac who might marry the Ghost of Christmas Future over there, that wasn’t what was on his mind as he stepped back out of the library and into the stormy night a few minutes later. No, no…he had bigger things to worry about. And by ‘bigger,’ he meant ‘shorter.’

And ‘blonder.’

And ‘Sam.’

He was very, very worried about Sam.

#man of medan #until dawn #ghost hunting au #queenie writes supermassive #my fanfiction

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horrorkingdom · 3 years

Text

Creepy pasta

The Seer of Possibilities

Sometimes, otherworldly beings find interesting ways to try and contact you. They might use a Ouija Board, or maybe come to you in a dream, or sometimes they speak through another person. They each have their own style and preference that’s particular to them. The one who contacted Jack spoke to him through his computer, or, I guess you could say the communication was through onscreen text. The first time it happened, Jack had been sitting at his computer playing Solitaire. A blinking red light from the router indicated that his internet connection was down again. This was at least a weekly occurrence, and Jack was getting used to this spotty internet service. As he moved his cards, the game faded into a solid black screen and the red text appeared.

“Hi Jack, I need a favor from you. You’re a very special person and I know you’ll help me. I can’t ask this of just anyone. I really need your help.”

Jack paused for a second. The router light was still blinking red. “Is this some sort of joke?” He couldn’t help but wondering.

Several moments later the message continued, “Yes Jack, I know this is weird for you. But I don’t want you to worry. This is just a small, easy favor I need. I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.”

Now nearly in a panic, Jack reached around and pulled the internet cable completely from the wall.

“Still here, Jack. I don’t want to waste any more of your time so I’ll get right to what I need. Tomorrow when you go to work I need you to move the large potted plant that’s next to the elevator on the ground floor. All you have to do is pull it out three inches from the wall. If you do it at 8:17am nobody else will be in the area.”

Jack sat there, refusing to respond, still trying to figure out what was happening.

The writing continued, “Look Jack, I’m asking you because I KNOW you’ll do it. You won’t let me down. You’re special. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Jack pulled the power cord from the wall and the computer went blank. “Did that really just happen?” he thought.

Still shaking from the experience, he took a warm shower and got ready for bed, convincing himself that he’d either had some crazy dream or that is was just some elaborate joke. But who would play that kind of joke on him? He didn’t really have friends, or enemies.

He woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Work would start at 8:30am, and Jack was never late. He pulled into the parking lot at 8:10am. Normally he’d just go right in, but the message had told him to move the plant at 8:17am. Was he really going to do it? Overnight, Jack’s fear had turned into curiosity. Let’s say he moved the plant, he wouldn’t be doing anything wrong or illegal, right? In Jack’s mind, the most reasonable course of action was to move the plant. He’d do it, nothing would happen, and he’d be able to put this whole crazy matter behind him. One minute before 8:17 Jack left his car and walked towards the building. He entered the foyer at the exact time he was supposed to. The message was right, nobody else was around.

“Odd,” Jack thought. The building was normally busy this time of morning, but this temporary lull had been accurately predicted.

“Fine! Let’s see what happens,” Jack muttered to himself.

He walked up to the large potted plant placed firmly between the two elevators in the lobby of the ten story building. The plant looked like it was fake, a decoration people passed every day without really noticing. It was heavier than Jack realized. He put some might into his effort and pulled the plant out three inches to his best estimate. He stood back and looked at the plant, then looked around the lobby. People were coming in behind him now and the lobby was starting to fill up again. Nobody seemed to notice the plant was in a slightly different location, nothing seemed different at all. Jack skipped the next elevator and waited, waited for…something. But nothing happened. Finally Jack entered the elevator and made it to his 7th floor cubicle, on time like always.

If you ever asked Jack’s coworkers to describe him, you’d hear words like polite, quiet, respectful, and competent. And while those words were all accurate, they gave little indication of the truth, the truth that Jack really didn’t like most people. That’s not to say he disliked them, just that he had very little interest in getting to know them or being their friend, save for one. Allie, the girl who sat two cubicles down from him, was the only person he wanted to know more about. With her big smile, blonde hair, and beautiful figure, Jack was very interested in learning all about her. Despite his lack of success with women in the past, he was actually doing a fair job getting to know her. Every morning as he passed her cubicle, he’d stop for a chat. The chats were one minute at first, then two minutes, then several minutes. Jack was surprised that she actually seemed to like him.

On this particular morning, their daily conversation lasted only a couple of minutes. As they exchanged their morning greetings and talked about Allie’s wild night out, the elevator doors opened up behind them. Out hobbled James Bentley, the boss of both Jack and Allie.

James’ loud complaining could be heard throughout the office, “My damn foot!”

“What happened, James?” came the mumbled queries.

“It’s that damn plant they have in the lobby. I ran right into it and twisted my ankle.”

“James, you can barely walk. You need to go to the hospital,” came Allie’s concerned reply.

“Can’t do it now. I have meetings all day. Too important to cancel. I’ll just have to tough it out.”

Jack, feeling stunned, left Allie’s cubicle mid conversation and sunk down into his chair. It was his fault, he was sure of it. How could he have been so stupid and careless? Still, no use in worrying about it now. A twisted ankle would heal, everything would be alright.

Upon his return home, Jack went immediately to his computer and turned it on. As soon as the computer booted up, the screen went black and a new message popped up.

“How was your day, Jack?”

He sat there, staring at the screen, not knowing how to answer. The message on the screen continued, “Actually, I know how your day was, but never let it be said that I’m not polite. You’re wondering what’s going on. You want to know why James Bentley had to twist his ankle. Well Jack, this chain of events isn’t done playing out. I don’t want to tell you too much too soon, but this will all make sense to you in short order. Just go to work tomorrow like you normally do. Don’t worry about a thing Jack. You’ll be rewarded. You’re special. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Jack sat back in his chair. What was going on? Who was this was sending him messages? Jack’s curiosity was fully engaged, and he was almost a bit excited to see what would happen next.

The next morning at work started off as any ordinary day. Jack noticed that the plant had been pushed back fully against the wall, probably by the night cleaning crew. James Bentley showed up shortly after lunch, hobbling into the office on his one good foot.

“Man this foot is killing me,” Jack could overhear him say, but apparently James still had a meeting he didn’t want to miss. It wasn’t until around 3 o’clock that Jack saw him again. James, who always seemed to prefer Allie over others, came limping up to her cubicle.

“Allie, you’re not doing anything right now, are you?”

“Um, no. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow I guess.”

“Good, could you please drive me to see my Doctor? I probably should’ve gone yesterday, but I just couldn’t get away. This pain is just killing me right now and I don’t think I can drive myself, I barely made it here this morning and I don’t think I can even push the gas pedal right now. We can take my car if you want.”

“Yeah that’s fine James, I don’t have a problem taking you.” Turning to Jack she said her goodbye, “See you tomorrow, Jackie.” She put on her coat and slowly followed James as he struggled down the hallway. She gave a half turn and a shrug in Jack’s direction, with a little smile as she walked away. Jack felt even lonelier than normal when she was gone.

It was ten minutes later that they all heard the crash. It was preceded by the loud horn of an 18 wheeler and screeching brakes. The collision itself was a sickening thud of two large metal object colliding. Even on the 7th floor it was loud. The office workers gasped and ran to the windows.

“Is that James’ car?” One of them asked.

“Hard to tell from up here,” someone responded, “It’s so banged up.”

The horrifying implication of what’d just happened came to Jack immediately.

“No, no, no,” he though. “This can’t be true.”

Shaking all the way, he ran to the elevator and went to the ground floor along with several others from the office. Some of them were crying. As they joined the growing crowd around the scene of the accident, Jack could hear the far off sound of emergency sirens. Looking past the gawkers, he could see that the 18 wheeler had hit James’ car broadside, its driver had been thrown out onto the pavement where he lay motionless. James was sitting in the passenger seat of his car, motionless but with a surprised look on his bloody face. Jack couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. The driver’s side, where Allie was seated, had taken the hit. The space she’d been occupying had been compacted to a third of its original size. Allie’s head was smashed open and her twisted body was broken and battered. The crowd was stunned. Tears, screams, sirens; that was all Jack could hear. Without going back inside the building, Jack ran to his car and drove home, angry and sad.

He made the journey home and to his computer. There the machine sat, he wanted to turn it on, but was afraid of what he’d find out. Was he really the one responsible for Allie’s death? The whole chain of events had started with him. He knew he was to blame. Jack reached for the power button, and then pulled his hand back. Finally, after several minutes, he found the mental strength to turn it on. The screen flickered and then went black, and the familiar text started appearing on the screen.

“No Jack, it’s not your fault. I know you’re blaming yourself. But all people die eventually, some just sooner than others.”

Jack stared at the screen. He resisted the urge to throw the monitor to the ground.

After a moment, the writing continued, “Jack, I’m going to tell you something, and I really need you to seriously consider everything I’m about to say. You thought you were in love with Allie. The truth is, you just wanted to fuck her. And please excuse my language, but every once in a great while it’s best to be blunt. Jack, she wasn’t the one for you. She would’ve made your life miserable. Yes, you would’ve eventually found the courage to ask her out. She actually was interested in you. She thought you’d make a good “project.” Sad really, for her, not for you. I want you to think back to all the things she told you. Why did her last boyfriend break up with her?”

“Because she cheated on him,” Jack mumbled under his breath.

“Because she cheated on him, Jack. The same thing she would’ve done to you. She would’ve made you happy for about 2 months, and then miserable for the next 4 years. Sneaking around, laughing at you behind your back, spending all your money. Once you finally got rid of her, you would’ve been so jaded that you’d never date again. This is true Jack. I see all future possibilities, the ones that come to pass and the ones that don’t. You’ve seen how she really is Jack, but you let your lust for her blind you to the truth. Together, you and I have made sure you avoided that path. One more thing Jack, this isn’t done playing out yet. There’s more to come.”

“No! Fuck you! You killed her!” Jack screamed and threw the monitor from the desk. It landed on the floor and sparked out.

Jack got barely any sleep that night, and the next day he wasn’t sure he wanted to go to work, but the last words he’d been told had piqued his curiosity, and his anger had somewhat subsided. No work was done that day at the office. The company brought in grief counselors, people shared their thoughts, they cried, they hugged. James had actually survived the accident, but was in a coma. The doctors thought he might recover eventually, but nobody was really sure.

Late in the afternoon, Jack was approached by Diego Salbara, the head of the division. Diego was blunt and upfront, and he offered James’ position to Jack. Technically it would be a temporary promotion, but James wouldn’t be back any time soon. Diego promised him that the promotion would be made permanent once enough time had passed.

“Let’s keep this low key for now.” Diego told him. “I know it might seem quick, but the Lancaster project James was working on can’t be stopped. It’s too important to the company. I need someone in charge right away, this can’t wait.”

Stunned, Jack accepted the promotion. He left work with a strange mixture of feelings, not really sure how he felt about anything. On his way home, he stopped at the electronics store and bought a new monitor. He made it home and powered up the computer. Once again the writing came on the screen.

“Jack, I want to be the first one to congratulate you! I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

Jack stared at the screen.

“Jack, I have to ask your forgiveness because haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m called the Seer. Like I told you before, I see what will be, and I see what can be. It’s a very powerful gift I have. But you know what, Jack? For all my power, I still can’t do anything corporeal. I can predict, I can see, and with enough effort, I can even communicate. But I don’t have a body, that’s something that was taken from me a long, long time ago. That’s why I need you Jack. I’m an artist of sorts, an artist of human manipulation. You’ll be my paintbrush and my canvas. I want you to work with me Jack. It’s all very simple, just perform simple tasks for me, from time to time.”

Jack was becoming more and more curious.

“And Jack, before you give me an answer, I want you to know a couple of things. First off, I’ll never lie to you. Secondly, I’ll never ask you to do anything which, taken by itself, is wrong or illegal. Yes, bad things will result, and sometimes people will die. But they’re going to die eventually anyways, right Jack? And the bad will always be balanced out by something good happening to you.”

Jack winced at this last idea, but he fought the urge to turn the computer off. The Seer was right. Everyone would die eventually, why not let something good come of it? And what about never lying to him? If he’d known at the time that Allie was going to die, he’d have never gone through with the original favor. But as he thought more about it, he realized The Seer hadn’t lied to him, but had only withheld information. Still, Jack wondered if he could trust The Seer.

“Work with me Jack, together we’ll make incredible things happen. I’m just asking you to perform little tasks from time to time. Oh, but these little tasks will have great consequences! They’re going to be beautiful Jack, and they’ll always end with a reward for you. That’s the beauty of my art, one single task produces something bad and something good. Oh, one last thing Jack, I can see you’re having trouble with this. If I stopped talking to you right now, it would take you about two weeks to decide to join me. But you know what Jack, you WOULD join me. That’s right, you’re going to say yes. So instead of waiting, why don’t you just say yes to me now? Let’s get started Jack. And when all this is over, you’re going to thank me. I promise you.”

Jack considered what The Seer had just said. His initial feeling of revolt was slowly fading. He paused, and then for the first time, he placed his fingers on the keyboard and responded directly to The Seer. “What do you want me to do next?”

_____________________________

As years passed, Jack did every favor the Seer asked of him, and as the Seer had promised, Jack was rewarded for his actions each time. The rewards often came in unexpected and interesting ways. One of the more memorable experiences for Jack happened about 2 years after he first agreed to help the Seer.

“Jack, I need you to go downtown tomorrow,” the Seer requested. “Enter Garmin’s Liquor at exactly 12:37pm. A man will ask you a question. The answer you’re to give him is ‘twenty seven.’”

As always, the Seer’s instructions were simple and direct, yet mysterious. The next day, as requested, Jack entered the store. In front of him, a burly construction worker was at the counter filling out a lottery playslip.

“Let’s see here,” said the construction worker, “My birthday, that’s the 15th, my wife’s birthday, that’s the 24th, and my kids’ ages, two, ten and thirteen.”

The man scratched his head and looked around, zeroing in on Jack, “Hey buddy! I need another number. Ya got one for me?”

Jack smiled, “Twenty seven.”

“Really? I was thinkin’ bout playin’ thirty five. But ya know what? I like your face, let’s go with twenty seven!”

With that, the man completed his slip and paid for his lottery ticket. “See ya, pal!” he said happily and he patted Jack on the shoulder on his way out the door.

Jack tried not to put any more thought into what would happen to this man. “Just let these things play out, Jack. You’ll never guess how things end up, so just let yourself be surprised,” the Seer had advised him. Still, it was impossible not to wonder about these things from time to time. He knew, considering the way the Seer worked, there was no way possible that he’d actually helped this man. But giving him a losing lottery number? That was too simple for the Seer. And he couldn’t imagine he’d actually given him a winning number. So that’s how Jack was surprised, when two weeks later, he ran into the same man again, this time at the grocery store.

“Hey buddy! It’s you! I remember you! Check it out, I won!” Indeed, the man looked like a million dollars. Wearing new clothes, a new gold watch, and a big goofy smile, the man walked right up to Jack.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but I’m glad you’re here. I coulda never won without you. Hey, lemme buy these groceries for you. No wait, that’s not good enough for you, you’re my good luck charm. Always gotta treat people right, that’s what my mom says.”

Reaching into his pocket, the man removed his checkbook and promptly wrote Jack a check for ten thousand dollars. “It’s the least I can do for my good luck charm.”

After thanking the man, and feeling a bit confused by the whole thing, Jack raced home to his computer. After turning it on, the Seer’s writing appeared on the screen. “Well Jack, how does it feel to be ten thousand dollars richer?”

“It feels good. But I can’t help but wonder, we’ve never helped anyone before. Why are we starting now?” Jack asked that question with a tinge of guilt. He never liked to admit that people were being hurt by his actions, but in this case his curiosity overwhelmed any latent feelings of guilt.

“Oh Jack, we haven’t helped anyone. Yes, that man is happy now, but he’ll have lost every last penny within two years. You saw it for yourself, he just gives money away. Old friends, lost relatives, they’re all going to come asking him for money. And there will be some very bad investments as well. The stress of losing everything is going to cause his wife to leave him. She’ll take the kids too. He’ll be alone and broke, a ruined man who would have been much better off if he’d never won. You needn’t feel bad Jack, it’s the man’s own stupidity and greed that will do this to him.”

Jack felt some regret, but the Seer’s rationalizing, and focusing on his own reward, always put him at peace in the end.

Through the years, no two tasks were ever alike. Sometimes the effects of his actions were direct and easy to see, other times they caused a chain reaction so complex that he simply could not follow it.

“Go to the County Administrator’s building, park in space number 43 at 4:47pm.” came one such request. Jack did so, and two months later he met Donna, with whom he fell in love and ended up marrying. He wouldn’t have even known the two events were even related if he hadn’t asked the Seer about it.

“Jack, when you parked in that space, you caused the person who would’ve parked there to park in a different spot, but she bumped the car next to her. She barely made a scratch, but she called her insurance agent anyway, causing him to leave the office late. He missed his train home, and while waiting for the late train, he was mugged and stabbed, he’ll never fully recover. The muggers took his credit cards and used them…..and Jack, I could keep going with this, but there’s another twenty three people involved. Sometimes these favors are going to be very complicated, but let’s just say your action ultimately caused Donna to be in the exact right place for you to meet her.”

Jack’s relationship with the Seer grew. Though remaining mostly mysterious, the Seer divulged enough information over time so that Jack could get a generalized understanding of the Seer’s history. From historical references, Jack knew the Seer was thousands of years old. When still alive, the Seer had been a powerful fortune teller and artist, who foretold future happenings through paintings. A foolish king, who misinterpreted the Seer’s prediction and lost a battle as a result, had the Seer executed. Unencumbered by physical senses, and existing in a lonesome void, the Seer’s abilities expanded exponentially. Finally learning to communicate with the living, the Seer began reaching out to those who would respond, including Jack. And of course, the Seer knew everything about Jack. In all, it was as much of a friendship as one can have with a dead person. And Jack was grateful to the Seer too. He had a nice job, a nice house, a beautiful wife, and people respected him. He was happy, which is something he never really felt before the Seer contacted him.

Twelve years in total passed, twelve good years for Jack. Task after task was completed, usually about one every month. Jack, sitting in the office of his large rural house, was contacted by the Seer once again.

“Hi Jack, I have a favor to ask of you. This one’s the easiest yet, you don’t even have to get up. Call Riago’s Pizza in exactly two minutes, let the phone ring three times, then you can hang up.”

Jack smiled, nice and easy. He no longer wondered about how these tasks would play out. He trusted the Seer and simply did as he was told. Jack made the call, exactly two minutes later.

The quietness of the household was broken 30 minutes later by the ringing doorbell. “That’s odd,” Jack thought. Neither he nor Donna were expecting anyone. Jack looked out the peephole and saw a pizza deliver boy. The logo on his cap said “Riago’s Pizza”.

Jack opened the door. “Here’s your pizza,” said the boy as he thrust it into Jack’s hand.

“But I didn’t order this.” Jack argued.

“Look, I don’t give a damn if you ordered it or not. Mr. Riago told me to take it here, so that’s what I’m doing.” the delivery boy argued, as he looked increasingly annoyed and spat in the bushes.

Jack looked at the boy in front of him. He looked to be about seventeen years old, but the most noticeable thing about him was his size, he was huge. Probably about six and a half feet tall, and very muscular.

“It’s already paid for by credit card, just take it, because I’m not driving it back.” The boy put out his hand for a tip.

“I, I don’t have any cash on me.” Jack told the truth.

“Whatever,” came the disgusted reply. The boy looked past Jack into the house, then turned and walked slowly to his waiting car, looking over his shoulder as he walked.

Jack closed the door and took the pizza to the living room, where Donna was watching TV. After explaining what had happened, he excused himself to go to his office, promising to return shortly.

Donna opened the pizza and took a piece. “Come back soon sweetie, this pizza’s got all your favorite toppings on it.” Donna giggled as she took a bite.

Arriving at his computer, the Seer’s words appeared on the screen. “Confused, Jack? Don’t be. Your neighbor down the road ordered the pizza. Mr. Riago told that boy the correct address, but a ringing phone made it difficult for him to be heard clearly. Still, give the boy credit, he got the street right at least.”

“So my reward is a pizza?” Jack typed, a little confused.

“Yes Jack, your reward is a pizza, and also the chance to spend a little time with your wife. Go down there, share the pizza, enjoy it. When you’re done, make love to Donna. That’s not one of your tasks, that’s just some advice I think you should follow. Oh, by the way, your neighbors who ordered the pizza are arguing right now, over the silly fact that the pizza didn’t arrive. Some of the things people argue over amaze me, they really do. Their fight is going to get very heated, but you don’t need to worry about that. Go, enjoy your night.”

Jack followed the Seer’s advice, cuddled with Donna as they enjoyed their meal, then made love to her on their big, comfortable living room couch. Donna fell asleep on the couch shortly after 11:00pm. Jack lay there awake, this latest favor, it just felt odd. Carefully extracting his arm from under Donna, Jack left the living room and headed upstairs. Sitting down at the computer, Jack typed, “Are you there?”

“Yes Jack, I’m actually always here. I’ve been waiting for you to come back. That pizza delivery boy. He’s quite a specimen, isn’t he?”

Jack looked quizzically at the screen.

The seer continued, “He’s a horrible employee. He was hired only three days ago and already Mr. Riago wants to fire him, but as a physical specimen, he’s strong, fast, and VERY observant. For example, he noticed that you didn’t lock the front door after he delivered your pizza.”

“What?” Jack said aloud as he started to get up.

“Sit down Jack. I need to tell you something important, and locking the door now won’t change your situation.”

Jack slowly took his seat again at the computer, looking behind himself as he did so.

“You see Jack, it’s true that I never lied to you. Everything I’ve ever told you is 100% honest. But yes, I’ve withheld certain facts. You see, I told you that every task causes something bad to happen to someone else and something good to happen to you, but there’s a third thing. There’s an ultimate goal that each task was working toward. Remember Allie? Of course you do. What you probably don’t remember about her is that she was helping to pay her brother’s way through college. When she died, he had to drop out. He was going to be a great psychologist, but now he works in a factory instead. That’s really too bad for our pizza delivery boy, he could’ve used a good therapist a few years ago, but that good therapist wasn’t there for him, instead he got some Freudian quack. And remember our lottery winner? Yes you do. He was a neighbor to our pizza boy, after he lost all his money of course. He beat the boy senseless after the boy jumped into the street in front of his car. Quite a traumatic memory for our young lad. And his mother didn’t care about that incident, didn’t protect the boy at all. She couldn’t, not after using all the drugs given to her by her boyfriend, who happened to be one of the muggers who robbed that insurance agent. He bought the drugs with the money he made from the robbery. Do you see now the scope of my artistry?”

Jack sat, glaring at the monitor. He wanted to get up, to check on Donna, but he was too scared to move.

The Seer continued, “Jack, you’ve done over a hundred tasks for me, and each one has served an ultimate purpose, to psychologically destroy this boy, turn him into a monster, and to bring him here tonight. Don’t you see Jack? This involved tens of thousands of people, and billions of possibilities. If you had failed to complete even one of the tasks, the whole chain would’ve collapsed. This was orchestrated by me, and set in motion by you. Together we’ve done something wonderful, this is a masterpiece of human manipulation. Our masterpiece. And it all begins and ends with you, two perfect points in time. Tonight, wrong address, no tip, this poor boy finally snapped. He’s downstairs right now. He’s slitting Donna’s throat, at this exact moment.

Jack could hear a short, muffled scream coming from the living room, followed by a gurgling noise.

“No!” Jack screamed and stood up, starting to run downstairs.

“Jack, stop!” The voice startled Jack. It was inside his head. For the first time, the Seer was talking to him directly. It was a pleasant voice, a feminine voice. “You can’t do anything, she’s already gone. He’ll be coming for you shortly, and you can’t stop him.”

“But why?” Jack cried with tears welling up in his eyes.

“It’s not an artistic masterpiece if it doesn’t begin and end with you, Jack.” Her voice was soothing. “I want you to appreciate the fact that I’m talking to you directly. This requires all of my energy, and as a result, I’ll have to rest for several years before I can contact anyone again. That’s how special you are to me. Please don’t feel bad about this, Jack. I want you to take a moment and enjoy our accomplishment as much as I do.” The voice paused briefly, and then continued. “Do you know what Jack? If I’d never contacted you, you would have lived for eighty five years. Eighty five boring, meaningless, and bitter years. And when you died, nobody would’ve been at your funeral. I gave you twelve great, meaningful years. You were happy, and together we did something beautiful, something unique.”

Jack paused a minute and considered his twelve years of happiness, and his tears of sorrow mixed with tears of joy. He turned and looked at the computer, while behind him, the massive hulk of the demented delivery boy appeared in the doorway, a bloody knife in his left hand.

On the screen, the last words from the Seer appeared, “Don’t you have something to say to me, Jack?”

Jack wiped his tears, and absorbed everything the Seer had just told him.

As the hulk started stepping closer to him, Jack said mouthed his final words, “Thank you.”

Credit To – Thomas O.

#horror #creepy #horror community #creepy photo #creepypasta #follow me #dark stories #spooky stories

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animeniacss · 4 years

Text

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 6 - Art Class

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 5.2k words

Chapter 6 - Art Class

Taehyung had to admit, he was excited for the first day. Decorating the welcome banner with the kids through painting was something that everyone seemed to get behind, especially the kids. Taehyung looked around, holding a clipboard in his hands as he headed towards the paint. He still had a few things left to set up, but he wanted to learn their names so he could get started. As he was fumbling about, Hoseok tapped his shoulder.

“I’ll set up the rest of the paint, go meet the kids.” He said happily, grinning. Taehyung nodded, hurrying back towards the group of children anxiously waiting for their instructions.

“Okay,” Taehyung said, plopping himself right beside Yuna, who was grinning ear to ear. “I’ll take attendance so I can learn everyone’s name.”

“You already know my name,” Yuna interjected, and Taehyung smiled.

“I know I do.”

“Well, my name is Kai!” Kai said quickly, lifting his hand.

“I’m Yeonjun!” Before Taehyung knew it, the kids were eagerly shouting out their names in hopes that Taehyung could remember them. As he looked around as the shouting children, he laughed a bit, somewhat out of amusement, but mostly out of nervousness. He had no idea how to settle these kids, and he didn’t want to mess up day one. However, a loud clap rang through the room and it all went silent almost immediately. You could almost hear a pin drop. The kids looked towards the sound of the clap, as did Taehyung, and saw none other than Hoseok. This was the first time Taehyung saw Hoseok with anything other than a grin on his face, as a stern frown stood in its usual spot.

“Boys and girls, you’re being very rude shouting at Mr. Kim! He can’t learn all your names if you all yell them at once! I don’t know if Teacher will be happy if she comes back and finds out you’re already being rude, huh?”

“…Yes, Mr. Hobi…” The kids mumbled, shifting back to their sitting positions. Hoseok nodded.

“Good. Now listen, or there’s not going to be any painting.” Taehyung saw Hoseok look at him, and almost as quickly as the clap, Hoseok’s grin returned on his face. “There you go.”

“Uh, thank you…” Taehyung nodded. “Okay…” Lifting his clipboard, he began to read off the names. Students such as Yeji, Soobin, Taehyun, and Yuna, provided polite little greetings and hellos, while rambunctious students such as Beomgyu, Kai, and Ryujin were throwing their hands up with a great big cheer and an even greater big hello. It made Taehyung smile. “Alright, so today I just want to learn about who you all are. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. So, what’s a better way than finger painting?” The kids gasped, a few having to cover their mouths to avoid whispering about how excited they were. “Mr. Hobi is putting all of the paint into plates that we’ll have on the floor for you to use, but we need to make sure we’re keeping the paint on this paper okay?” Taehyung pointed to the paper. “Everyone put your hands on it.” The kids immediately leaned forward, their hands slapping onto the paper. “Say ‘I’m going to keep the paint on the paper!’”

“I’M GOING TO KEEP THE PAINT ON THE PAPER!” The sea of children screamed in unison, grinning. Taehyung chuckled as he got up.

“Perfect.” Taehyung stood up, walking over to Hoseok, who was beginning to set paper plates full of different colored paints on the floor, giving the children easy access to a wide variety of colors. “I want you to decorate the entire banner, then when it dries, we can hang it back up!” The kids wasted no time, sticking their hands in the colorful goo before smearing it across the white banner before them. Taehyung stood above the children, watching as they scribbled and drew whatever came to mind as far as their arms could reach. As he walked past Chaeryeong, he plopped down beside her, making her lookup. “What are you making?”

“I’m making a princess.” She said, pointing to the crudely drawn figure, whose head was slightly too big for the dainty dress, yet whose twig arms and legs shot out of the dress like arrows being fired from their bow.

“Oh, a princess. She just needs her crown.” Taehyung pointed to the little spot above her head, and Chaeryeong nodded, pointing to the yellow paint that was currently being used by Yeonjun and Jisu, who made sure to include that she preferred to go by her nickname Lia.

“I’m waiting.” She said happily. Taehyung smiled a bit as he got up, continuing to watch the rest of the kids as they painted. With every step he took, every enjoyable squeal and giggle coming from the mouths of these children, the color was spreading all over the page, personality and imagination pouring out of the hands of preschoolers. As he passed by Seokjin, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re doing a great job.” He said. “This project is a great introduction for everyone and it’s going to look cute when it dries.” Taehyung felt as if a huge weight fell off of his shoulders, and he grinned.

“Thank you.” He said. “I’m just glad that the children like this.”

“These kids never finger paint,” Hoseok said. “It’s too messy.” Taehyung raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Yeah, that’s the point.” He said. “I’ll never understand why she’s such a stickler for that stuff.” Suddenly, it happened.

“Oops.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Mr. Kim!”

“You’re in so much trouble, Yeonjunie…” These scattered mutters of stunned children were suddenly overshadowed by a sound of light sniffling. When the three teachers looked in the direction of the noise, their eyes widened. Chaeryeong was sitting in front of her picture of the princess, and Taehyung immediately noticed the problem. On top of her adorable pink princess was a splatter of yellow paint. Not only that, but her little preschool uniform was covered in the yellow goo as well, some of it tangled in the tips of her hair. Yeonjun sat beside her, eyes widened. His hands were covered with yellow paint, lifted in Chaeryeong’s direction. He immediately looked towards the teachers, watching as Taehyung walked over.

“I didn’t mean to…” he said softly. “I just turned to fast. I promise…” Taehyung could hear the trembling in his voice as he knelt beside the whimpering and sniffling Chaeryeong.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. She looked up at him, sniffling.

“He flicked me with my paint and ruined my picture!” She hiccupped, unable to control her tears.

“No!” Yeonjun said quickly. “It was an accident!” Taehyung scanned the rest of the children, who were staring intensely at the scene before them, wanting to know what the outcome would be. Taehyung leaned over to one of the tables, grabbing a little box of tissues. He pulled a few out and handed them to the sniffling little girl.

“Wipe yourself up, okay?” He said gently. “I’ll tell your teacher and we can get you cleaned up…” Chaeryeong, finding herself calmed by Taehyung’s deep and gentle voice, took the tissues and attempted to clean herself up. Taehyung used a tissue to get some of the paint out of her hair before it began to dry. “There we go.” The two of them looked down at her pink princess, the adorable drawing now given a slash of yellow paint across the dress, strawberry lemonade instead of just an adorable little strawberry. “Do you want to remake your princess on another part of the banner?” Chaeryeong nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Mhm…” she said softly. Taehyung nodded, offering his hand to her. The little girl put her hand in his and got up, following him to a different part of the banner, where there was still an ample amount of room for her to redo her picture. When she sank back down onto the floor, she leaned towards a plate of red paint, dipping her fingers inside as she got right back to work. Taehyung still noticed her glossy eyes and could see she was still upset and embarrassed about what happened. His eyes immediately lifted to Yeonjun, who was turned to Hoseok, trying to explain himself. He too had glossy eyes and a quivering lip.

“It was an accident, Mr. Hobi, promise.” He choked out. Hoseok nodded.

“I know but we need to be careful,” Hoseok said gently, motioning to the abandoned picture. “See what happens when we don’t listen to the rules?” Yeonjun nodded.

“…What should you say?” Taehyung asked, making both Hoseok and Yeonjun look at him. When he noticed the slight confusion on the child’s face, he offered a slight smile. “What do you say when you do something wrong?”

“…Sorry, Chaeryeong,” Yeonjun called. The little girl looked up.

“It’s okay…” she said. “I made her dress even bigger now…” Yeonjun leaned forward slightly from the other side of the banner to try and take a look. “I’m not sad no more.” She assured, grinning a bit. Taehyung sighed, running a hand through his hair as the children finally got back to work.

“That’s just one of the millions of issues you’ll come across, I’m sure,” Seokjin said, patting Taehyung on the shoulder with a supportive grip. “They’re a handful, but they’re good.”

“I guess she did teach them well, huh?” Taehyung chuckled a bit. As he continued to walk around, his eyes continued to check the time. He still needed to gauge how much time it would take for the kids to get cleaned up and ready to be sent back to you before you returned from down the hall.

He had no idea what kind of process he was in for.

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When you walked into the room after a good forty minutes of silent lesson planning, you had no idea what to expect. How would Taehyung’s first day go, providing children who still could barely count past their ten fingers paint to dip those fingers in? You wanted to sneak a peek many a time as you typed days of lessons away, however, you didn’t want to seem pushy. So, as soon as your alarm went off, you shut down your computer and hopped out of your seat and practically rushed out of the classroom, having to slow your pace just slightly the closer you got to the next room. As you got closer and closer, the sound of children giggling and squealing could be heard.

“Yeonjun did you wash your hands?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Ryujin!”

“Oh, I forgot!”

“I said it three times, you’re the only one who is in line with dirty hands.”

“Mr. Kim, look! I’m helping Mr. Hobi! Does that mean I get to put another thumbprint by my name?”

“Don’t do that, Kai! Now you need to wash your hands again, just look at them!”

“Oh yeah…”

The sound of Taehyung’s voice frantically scrambling to clean the kids up was amusing. It even made a cocky grin form on your face. You had to see this chaos with your own eyes, you just couldn’t help it. Finally, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. Upon entering, you saw a line of children standing in front of the sink. Taehyung was helping them scrub their hands with soap and water, while those who were done were told to line up by the door and wait. The keyword here was told. You could see a few kids ready to go, such as Yeji and Taehyun, however, Yeonjun and Kai were standing by the table where Hoseok was cleaning up some of the paint plates, tossing them into the garbage while he put the closed bottles into a cabinet.

“Can we help?” Yeonjun asked curiously.

“No. What were you told to do?”

“But I wanna help.”

“Yeonjun.”

“….Okay…” He pouted, finally sulking with his friend off to the line. When he saw you standing at the door, his eyes lit up. “Teacher!” He shouted. Just hearing that turned your cocky grin into a beaming on, as you knelt to see five students surround you.

“How was the art class?” You asked curiously.

“We painted that whole banner! Look what I made!” Kai took your hand, leading you along with the other children to the banner that was moved to the corner of the room to dry. “I write my name, and that parts me!”

“That’s so good.” You said happily, kneeling. “You’ve gotten better at writing your name, haven’t you?” Kai nodded, grinning proudly. He nestled himself into your arms and continued to show you things he made before you gently reminded him that it was time to let someone else have a turn. Kai nodded, remaining in your embrace as more kids approached. A few other children took your hand into theirs, wide eyes eagerly pointing to the stuff that they created. You tried to listen to one at a time, but they were all so excited to share with you that you ended up having to listen to 14 conversations at once. As you were doing so, you looked over to see Chaeryeong take your hand. When you got a good look, you immediately noticed the faded yellow paint on her uniform and the drying water that was washed over it. “W-what on earth happened to your uniform?”

“Yeonjunie spilled yellow paint all over Chaeryeong’s dress, Teacher.” Yuna quickly cut in, her head poking into your view as she took your hand. You blinked, immediately turning towards Taehyung, who was just now finally turning off the water at the sink. The faint voice of little Yeonjun once again trying to defend himself was heard, but you chose to ignore him, instead of heading towards Taehyung as he wiped down the sink with a paper towel.

“I told you this would happen if you used to paint.” You hissed under your breath. Taehyung didn’t look up at you, simply continuing to clean as if you were not there.

“I don’t plan for the negatives, unlike you. It was the only thing that happened and they had fun. What’s the big deal?”

“Now her uniform is cover in yellow paint. I have extra changes of clothes; I could’ve gotten that stain out if you sent her back earlier.”

“She wanted to keep painting. Besides, all the paint comes out in the wash. I handled it; she’ll be fine until she goes home.” You scoffed. Before you could continue to release your anger at Taehyung, Hoseok quickly approached you.

“Hey, don’t worry. It wasn’t that big of a deal.” He assured, offering you a hopeful smile. “If you want, I’ll explain to her mom later. It was an accident.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“I just don’t want her spending the day in dirty clothes. It can be uncomfortable.”

“She hasn’t complained,” Taehyung assured. Your eyebrow twitched, and Taehyung was quick to notice. “But I understand where you’re coming from.” He said quickly.

“Let’s just get them back.” You said simply, turning your attention once again back to Taehyung. “Thank you.” You walked back to the front of the line, gently offering your hand to Chaeryeong. “What do we say to Mr. Kim, everyone?” The group of kids turned to Taehyung, who was still holding that wet paper towel in his hand. They bowed in his direction, before standing up.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim!” They cheered, beaming. Taehyung blinked, feeling an overwhelming feeling overtake his chest, a feeling of overwhelming happiness and…honor? He wasn’t too sure what that other feeling was, all he knew was that he felt so happy to have spent the past 40 minutes finger painting. You took a moment to study his face, before letting out a soft sigh.

“You should come out to the playground at the end of the day. I’m sure the kids would love to play with you and see them off.” You offered. Taehyung blinked, the sound of scattered gasps of excitement filling the room for a moment before Hoseok quickly encouraged them to stay silent.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.” He smiled. You nodded.

“See you then.” You said, “Let’s go, everyone.” As you headed out, a few kids offered quick and scattered goodbyes to Taehyung once again, grinning.

“Bye~.” Hoseok waved, following the kids out. Taehyung watched them go.

“Teacher, Mr. Kim said we all got good day thumbprints. If we get 10, we get a prize!” Yuna said as she followed behind you in line.

“Wow, I can’t wait to hear all about it back in the classroom.” You said, before disappearing around the corner, each kind following behind with every step that was taken. Once they were gone, Seokjin closed the door, leaving him and Taehyung as the only two in the room.

“Day one is complete.” He cheered, clapping his hands. “Congratulations.”

“Was she upset that I used the paint?” He asked.

“I don’t think so. She’s more upset that you used paint and fewer kids got messy.” Seokjin grinned. “She’ll come around. You keep doing what you’re doing and the kids are going to have a great time.” Taehyung nodded. “I need to get back to my office, but let me know if you need anything okay?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Taehyung said. Seokjin nodded.

“Awesome. Go take your lunch and rest. You’ve earned it. Mr. Kim.” Seokjin chuckled to himself, before finally excusing himself and walking out of the room. Taehyung walked to his desk, sinking back in his chair. Finally, he got to take in the past forty minutes that he had just experienced, from the hectic attendance to the even more hectic clean up. A chuckle escaped his lips as he lifted his phone, turning it on to see multiple texts for Jimin from the past forty minutes. 4 texts to be exacted.

Have a good day! Fighting! (12:25 p.m.)

Call me when you can! (12:45 p.m.)

Let me know if you find Namjoon-Hyung’s son! He’s super cute. His name is Kai! (12:59 p.m.)

You dead yet? (1:15 p.m.)

Taehyung snickered, finally opening up his messages and being sure to reply with a simple thumbs-up emoji. After that, he tossed his phone onto his desk and reached into his bag for his lunch. He hadn’t realized until the kids left that he was starving, his attention was 100% dedicated to them.

And he didn’t care in the least.

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The rest of the day went smoothly, the children had gotten their art out of their systems and were ready to move onto the rest of the afternoon lessons. The kids gathered around and spoke to you about the art class. They told you about the paint incident, the behavior chart, the prizes, anything they could think of. Kids even repeated things that their friends said, that was how excited they were about the new class. It made you happy to see them buzzing with all of this excitement, but that happiness came with a feeling of incompetence. No matter what you did with them they never once left arts and crafts that excited. At least, it had been awhile.

Fortunately, you had absolutely no time to dwell on that, instead of moving to a math lesson. Hoseok and you gathered the children up to play a basic counting game. Teams were created and given a pile of blocks. You would call out a number between one and ten and the teams would have to count out those exact number of blocks to get a point. The slight competitive edge kept the kids engaged, and it was enjoyable watching as they cheered and worked together as best as they could to make sure they could get the point. However, having a slight competitive edge almost always guaranteed one thing: tears. Lots of tears.

“But I wanted to win a prize, Teacher.” A sniffling Soobin sniffled. “I tried my hardest; I did.” You smiled as the little boy curled himself into your embrace. Hoseok was giving the winning team, consisting of Yeji, Yeonjun, and Beomgyu, pieces of candy that you stored away for moments like this.

“I know you did. There’s always next time, right?” Soobin, normally a bit more sensitive boy despite his high levels of independence, was just overcome with sadness about his defeat. He sniffling, hugging you tightly as he continued to whimper. “Awww, Soobin, don’t cry. Nobody else is sad.”

“Yes, they are. Kai tolded me so.” He huffed, crossing his arms. You smiled, your eyes wandering up to Hoseok. You both offered each other a slightly amused glance.

“Soobin, how about we move onto the next thing okay? No need to be upset. Tomorrow, we can play again if you want too.”

“Promise?” he asked. You nodded, patting his head. Soobin nodded, wiping his eyes before finally returning to his seat. With that situated, you stood up and dusted off your skirt.

“Okay. Are we ready to move on everyone?” The class nodded their heads, looking up at you as they waited for their next set of instructions. You could see Soobin continue to wipe his eyes, before Hoseok walked past and handed him a tissue, kneeling to help him wipe his face. “I need everyone to stand up next to their seats.” You said. “We’re going to dance.”

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The sound of rustling backpacks was heard as children finally began gathering their belongings. You were cleaning up, while Hoseok was beginning to get what he needed to wipe down tables and chairs. The kids were lined up, the straps of their bags locked tightly in their grips. You were just glad today was coming to a close, the mental exhaustion you were putting yourself through today was just hitting you differently than normal.

“Are we ready to go outside?” You asked.

“Is Mr. Kim going to come to play with us?” Yuna asked curiously.

“I’m not sure.” You admitted.

“Can I go ask him?”

“Me too!” Kai said. You sighed, leaning out the door to see the art room door was closed. You looked down at the two little kids, who stood at the door with their hands interlocked together. If you didn’t let them, you didn’t think you would hear the end of it. You couldn’t handle that today.

“Okay, fine.” You said, motioning to the room. Immediately, the duo began to run down the hall. “Walk in the hallways!” You shouted before they finally slowed down. You watched the duo knock on the door. It took a moment, but when it opened Taehyung poked his head out.

“Mr. Kim, can you come to play with us?” Kai asked curiously. Taehyung chuckled, looking over at you, however, you were now kneeling and helping Yeji fix the straps on her bag.

“Sure. I’ll be right out, okay?” He said to the little ones. They beamed in excitement. “Now, hurry back to your teacher and get ready, okay?”

“Okay!” They said together as they hurried back to your line.

“He said he’ll come.” Yuna hummed happily before she got into the line. You chuckled to yourself, watching as Taehyung closed the door to his room again. By now, the children were ready to go, and you lead them out to the playground to wait for their parents. The sound of children discarding their bags as they hurried to the equipment overtook the area, and you rested against the wall, crossing your arms. Hoseok followed behind shortly after. Shortly after that, you saw Taehyung walk out onto the field.

“So, is this when they leave?” Taehyung asked you curiously.

“Yeah.” You said. “Hoseok usually plays with them and I usually watch everyone. Sometimes Mr. Kim comes out too, but most of the kids get picked up pretty quickly.” Taehyung nodded. Before he could say anything else, his name was called by Yuna and Chaeryeong, standing at the top of the playground.

“Look!” Yuna shouted eagerly. Taehyung smiled, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked over to the playground.

“The kids seem to like him,” Hoseok said, looking over at you. You sighed.

“I know they do. I’m glad they do, I guess. I want them to like going to art class.” Hoseok chuckled.

“You don’t seem convinced.” He said. “Just relax. You’re going to get stress wrinkles.” You had to admit, that made you chuckle. “See? Smile more. He’s not doing anything bad, is he?”

“No. I guess not.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m just-.” Before you could begin to vent, a car pulled up to the front of the school. It parked and you knew exactly who it was. Kim Namjoon. When he stepped out of the car, Hoseok went to find Kai, who was with his friends sitting beside the swing set looking at whatever bugs they could find in the grass. Kim Namjoon pulled his glasses off his face and he set them in his jacket pocket, locking his car as he walked up to you. You stood straight and smiled a bit.

“Hey.” He said happily. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” You said. Namjoon smiled, unable to hold up an awkward chuckle. “How are you after that little stumble on your car this morning?” Namjoon groaned, scratching his head as he thought back to it.

“Aaah, come on now.” He muttered. “Don’t remind me, that was so embarrassing.”

“I thought it was kinda funny.” You admitted, smiling a bit. Namjoon put his hands in his pockets and let out another playful, yet still frustrated sigh, which made you laugh.

“Changing the subject, Jimin told me that you guys got your new art teacher today.” He said, looking around. He took a moment to scan the playground. Finally, his eyes landed on Taehyung, who was still watching the girls go down the slide, a small smile on his face. “Is that him?” he asked.

“The one and only.” You hummed. Namjoon nodded.

“He looks familiar.”

“He’s pretty popular on Instagram.” Namjoon looked over at you.

“Instagram? N-no, no that’s not where I recognize him from, come on.” You both chuckle a bit. “But he looks familiar.” You were silent for a moment, watching as Namjoon scanned Taehyung from a distance. After a moment, he snickered and ran a hand through his brown hair. “Aaaah, it’ll come to me.” He said. “Anyway, we need to get going. I have a meeting with a client tonight and I need to get Kai ready, Jungkook is coming over tonight.” You nodded. “But I’ll be free these next few weekends. I’d like to take you out to dinner.” He said. You smiled a bit.

“Well that’s nice but I-.”

“She would love to!” A high-pitched voice shouted form behind you, startling both you and Namjoon. It even caught Taehyung’s attention for a moment. A pair of large hands hit your shoulders, and you looked over to see Seokjin, standing behind you with a grin. “Hello, Namjoonie~.” Seokjin grinned. Namjoon blushed, smiling a bit.

“Mr. Kim, stop getting involved with my life.” You begged.

“I will when you finally settle down and get married. Now, that won’t happen unless you go on dates. So, Namjoon, she would love to. Just pick a date and I’ll make sure she’s there.”

“Mr. Kim-.” You groaned, watching as Seokjin approached Namjoon, greeting him with a tough handshake. “I’ll call you later. Good luck with your meeting.”

“Thanks,” Namjoon said. He turned his head. “Kai!” He shouted. “Get your stuff and get in the car. Jungkook is coming over tonight.”

“YAY!” Kai shouted, hopping up. He quickly said goodbye to his friends as he hurried to the pile of bags by the door. Namjoon finally turned back to you, seeing your cheeks tinted pink as you ran a hand through your hair.

“I’ll call you.” He assured. You nodded.

“I look forward to it.” You said, forcing a small smile onto your face. Namjoon nodded, saying goodbye to his friend before leading his son to the car. As you watched them get in, Seokjin turned to you, grinning. However, you were in no way planning to grin back. “I hate you.”

“Awww, you’ll thank me on your wedding day.” He scoffed, before quickly fleeing the scene and hurrying back into his office.

“Wha-. You’re leaving already?!” You shouted, turning back to him. “Then why did you come out?!”

“I saw Namjoonie’s car pull up from my window!” Seokjin called back. “You’re welcome!” You groaned, covering your face in hopes that the scream you wanted to rip from your throat would just stay there for a little bit longer. As you finally returned your attention to the children, Taehyung walked over to you.

“Is that your boyfriend?” He asked. Just the sound of that word made your face beam a red that not even the children’s paint could rival.

“What?! NO! Mind your business.” You quickly looked away, crossing your arms in an annoyed huff. Taehyung chuckled a bit.

“Alright, alright sorry. He had such puppy love in his eyes I just had to assume.” You looked at Taehyung. “It was cute. I thought I was looking at a painting or something.”

“Oh, shut up.” You scoffed, and once again. Taehyung let out a deep and amused laugh. You waked towards the front gate of the building, and Taehyung watched you silently, his hands in his pockets. More parents were beginning to pull up for their children. Good, you needed to get your mind off all of this crap.

You changed your mind. Kim Taehyung was doing something bad. He was being just as nosy as your kids, and that was the last thing that you needed. That nosy punk.

------------------------------------------

“Kook!” Kai shouted eagerly as the tall young adult walked into the living room of Kim’s luxury apartment. Namjoon was quick to follow, watching as Kai jumped into Jungkook’s arms.

“Hello there, little monster. Ready to have some fun tonight and stay up at midnight eating ice cream and cookies?”

“Yeaaa!” Kai giggled. Namjoon sighed, patting Jungkook on the back. When Jungkook looked over, he grinned sheepishly.

“I’m only kidding, Mr. Kim.”

“I know you are.” He admitted. “But maybe save the ice cream and cookie night for the next time you come over, okay?” Jungkook blinked as he watched Namjoon lift his son from his arms, as his tiny arms wrapped around him to give his father a great big hug.

“Another meeting?” Jungkook asked curiously. Namjoon shook his head, rubbing his son’s back.

“Not this time.” He said with a grin. He thought back to the way your eyes closed into little half-moons when you laughed at his slip up this morning. He thought back to the high-pitched laughter you had as you both spoke about it, and how hard Namjoon tried to keep that laughter going as long as he possibly could. Seeing you smile like that made all of his clumsy moment worth it, and he would be willing to do a million more just to see you laugh again. Knowing what this afternoon’s event has now begun to lead up to only got him even more excited. “I have another date coming up.”

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