#but had no space to finish it until this evening

[poguehearted77]

Lights, Camera, Action!

Summary-> It's your first day on set and your nerves are through the roof but the cast makes you feel at home. You practice your lines, but the sparks between you and Drew are unscripted.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

You're jet-lagged, but your body has no idea. Too distracted from the abundance of nerves pumping through your veins as you walked around the enormous film lot toward the set.

You stand on the edge of the bustling Moroccan set, heart pounding as you clutch your sides. The scarf draped over your head feels both like a costume and a shield, helping you blend into the character you’re about to bring to life. Even with the months of preparation and the script readings under your belt, this moment feels surreal.

Everyone hustled across the set with purpose, knowing exactly what their job was and how to do it. You had only a fraction of that confidence as you were approached by a familiar face, one of the directors, Josh Pate.

"I can sense your anxiety from a mile away." He teases and it pulls a smile and a small breath of relief that he was friendly. With a comforting hand on your shoulders, "Take a deep breath, go grab a muffin from craft, have some water and I'll see you back here for your scene in 20, alright? I don't need any more faintings on the clock."

Once the words process, he's already gone. Fainting?? More??? With dazed eyes, your eyes scan the environment, dozens of people dressed just like you. Some sitting on the sidelines while others got into place on set. You'd even spotted Madelyn off to the side, a make-up artist lightly padding her face to protect it from the lighting as she prepared for her scene.

You took Josh's suggestion seriously, and promptly, or at least you tried to. You had no idea where to find crafts services or even if you'd be able to find your way back. "Craft Services is the first door on your left." Your head whips around with a face of slight terror in your eyes at the mind-reader from behind you. It's JD.

"How did you know?" It's the first thing you say, slight amusement and a hint of awe evident in your voice. He shrugs, "You were either looking for craft or the bathroom. It was a 50/50 shot, to be honest." He laughs and it calms your nerves a little. After a little while and a good conversation with JD, you glanced at the clock on the wall.

It became apparent you didn't have much time left. Quickly you end the conversation and head inside the room he'd directed you to. The studio was warm, credit to the Morrocan heat that surrounded you on the outside.

"Cups, cups, cups.." You mutter to no one in particular as you desperately scan for the item you need. "Here you go," A big hand is outstretched in front of you with a new cup dwarfed in its palm.

Your eyes followed up the length of the arm until they met those famous ocean-blue eyes that owned your TikTok feed for months last fall. Drew. He has the infamous buzz and soft smile as he looks down at you.

"Thank you," It's a simple response but it's the best you can do in a situation like this. Turning away from him, you fill your cup and finish its contents in nearly one sip before tossing it and rushing back to set not wanting to be late.

You rush back to set, still feeling the phantom warmth of Drew’s presence. For a moment, you wonder if this strange mix of tension and excitement is something all new actors feel or if it’s just you. The scarf draped over your head has now become a makeshift security blanket, as much for your nerves as for your character.

Josh greets you with a reassuring thumbs-up as you step into position, the antique shop set sprawling around you with meticulous detail. Dusty shelves lined with ornate trinkets, cracked pottery, and rusted brass figurines fill the space, dimly lit to convey the musty atmosphere of a forgotten bazaar. The air smells faintly of incense, which only adds to the immersion.

As the Pogues enter the set, Madelyn offers you a friendly wink, her playful energy making the tension in your shoulders ease. You remember bumping into her at one of your meetings with the writers. She's as pure as her character and it was relieving to see a friendly face on set.

Chase gives you a nod of encouragement, while Jonathan seems almost shocked to see you, probably since you'd never mentioned who you would be playing. He sends you a motion of acknowledgement anyway and you smile back.

The cameras start rolling, and suddenly, you are no longer you. As though it were a chemical reaction to the words 'Action', your brain switches to the character you've studied for months in anticipation. No longer Y/n, now Piper.

You busy yourself behind the counter. Attending to the tasks that depend on you as the owner of your antique shop. Your focus is set on the vase in your hands as you sweep over its rim with a cloth.

The bell of the shop chimes as six foreigners enter the shop, standing in a crowd with some of the most grim expressions you'd ever seen. "Vases on the left, woodwork on the right. Let me know if you have any questions." The phrase sounds ingenuine as it has only been repeated every day for the last three years.

"We're not here for some fucking pottery-" Rafe claps his hands down on the counter, you don't react. Sarah corrects him, "Rafe." You look back to the bunch, now standing at your full height,

They were filthy, covered in sand, dirt, and essentially any other grime that could find them. "We need supplies." Sarah says and you shrug, "What did you have in mind? Glasses? Lamps? Clocks?" The group lets out a frustrated set of sounds.

Pope clears his throat, "We need weapons, and we were told to come find you... the pied piper." You tug down the fabric that'd been covering your face to the bridge of your nose. Unveiling the full length of the scar that begins in the center of your forehead, runs down over your left eye and reaches your cheek.

John B whispers, "Just like he said," You make him speak up, "Just like who said. Who sent you?" He steps closer, "Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta. He said you would be able to help us." Your expression elicits a sign of understanding but quickly returns to disinterest.

"I don't help foreigners." The explosive one outbursts again, "You sound just like we do, clearly you're not from here either, so stop shitting us and give us the guns." Those cobalt orbs penetrate the window of your soul but only bring out the sinister grin on Piper's face. "Fine," Swiftly reaching behind your back, revealing the weapon they so desperately wanted, you hold them at gunpoint.

"-And Cut!" You place the gun down on the counter and Drew approaches the counter once again. "That was really good, I even got caught up in it." He places a hand on his chest to add sincerity.

"Thank you so much. I was really nervous for today, I had no idea what to expect." Someway somehow your conversation moves off to the side of the set, seated on those acting chairs.

You laugh as he brings up your fleeting encounter earlier, "I had no idea you were playing Piper. One second I handed you a cup and I turned around and you're gone." Your stomach hurts from laughing. You take a deep breath of air to stop yourself from dying. "Stop stop stop," You beg, neither of you sure what you were laughing about anymore.

There wasn't much time until you would resume the scene but in the short time, Jonathan and Carlacia invited themselves over, giving a proper introduction, sparking a lively group conversation. Being 26 put you somewhere in the middle of the cast's ages, but no one got treated any differently because of it.

This current moment was proof. You and Carlacia posed for a selfie she insisted on taking, honouring the 'newest member' into their family. Both leaning in over the image on her screen you share a hearty laugh. JD is captured in the background in the middle of a gnarly yawn.

"Give me the phone, Lacy. That picture is a federal offence." He threatens, not an ounce of seriousness to be sensed in his voice. "I demand justice." You're almost certain you'd have a fully developed six-pack by the end of filming just from all the laughing.

Before you knew it the break was over and you were back where you'd left off. Went through the scene once more, adjusting anything that needed to be altered and carrying on. "I'm only going to ask you once, what do you want?" You've got a tight grip on the weapon and a crazy look in your eyes.

For the first time, Kiara breaks her silence. "Chandler Groff killed our friend! We can't let him get away with it." Her pleas pique your interest, and it's evident in your expression. "Chandler Groff, The conman?" They nod slowly and you begin to fume.

"Come." You wave them over, whipping open the curtains and entering the back of your shop. Four walls filled with various weapons from swords to machine guns. "Feeling like a kid in a candy store." Cleo beams, looking at the options, nothing but revenge in mind.

"Is that a canon?.." Pope trails off, "You've gotta be ready for anything. Expect the unexpected." Pope wholeheartedly agrees while John B begins questioning your knowledge about Groff. "He wronged some friends of mine. He got away before I could get to him, and that was a good call. I would've blown his brain to bits if I got my hands on him."

Kie smiles at that mention, "That's the dream," John B mutters. "Last time he was here, he was after some magical relic, a mythical one might I add. The blue... crest?" The item is lost on you when Sarah fills in. "The blue crown." It dawns on you at the mention.

"It's real," Kie admits and all the pogues turn to her with horror at her honesty. "Groff has it and god knows where he could be with it." You think, "If what you're telling me is true... then that crown is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He can't just sell it at any auction. There's only one person with money like that. Mr. Finch."

"Where can we find him?"

"He's far. A two-day journey at minimum. You'll be forced to cross enemy territory and only locals know how to navigate the oasis under the radar. If you really are set on killing Groff, I'd be happy to lead you."

You notice an exchange of various looks between the group. "We need a second." Suddenly there's an exclusive huddle that leaves both you and the tall man at odds. He was sending daggers towards you. "Too cool to be part of their little club, are you?" Rafe stalks towards you, long intimidating strides. Displeased with your little joke.

Your faces were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate and contract now in the light from the window. "Listen. I've heard everything you said, and I'm not buying it. I don't trust you, and if you think for even a second I'll let you get in my way, you've got another thing comin'."

You noticeably gulp, it was unscripted but your nerves propelled it. He towered over you, your dark brown eyes searching his blue ones for any signs of insincerity but none was to be found. Every word he said, he meant it.

"And Cut! Drew, Y/n, amazing," Josh adds, and it's only when you hear your names called that you both back away from each other. However, it felt a little harder than normal, as if something was drawing you in.

Madison calls you over, and your feet are already on the move. With one last glance over your shoulder, your eyes meet his for just a moment.

His piercing eyes hold yours, a mix of curiosity and something unspoken flickering behind them, making your chest tighten with uncertainty. You can see it—he feels it too.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza

[nightmareweaverz]

What is Love? (Mr. Gap x GN!Reader) Part 2

Read Part 1 Here

CW: Mild gore/injury, a bit of violence but nothing extreme

Word count: 2536

Since people enjoyed it and I had some ideas, I decided to continue this! We meet someone new in this chapter. Keep in mind it's not gonna turn into a love triangle, tho. The new character serves a different purpose. Enjoy and lemme know what you think!

Another book falls shut with a loud thump next to the armchair that's held you for the past two days. A large stack rests beside it. You've been leafing through many of them lately, especially romance books. Not all of them fit your taste, some you would even call boring. Reading wasn't a hobby of yours when you were in the human world, but here, you've found this more enjoyable than walking around with no real purpose. Even the boring ones become less boring eventually. It’s nice to pretend you are a character in a story, with a different life, one that has purpose. Unlike your current reality.

Until you run out of books. Then you have to go out searching for more. This is one of those times. You've read everything from your last find. It was mostly magazines and newspapers, save for one or two novels, some of them half shredded. But their job is done now.

Crowbar in hand and hood drawn over your head, you detach yourself from the armchair and set out on your little mission. Your previous haul is left behind. There is no point in trying to keep any of the things you've finished reading. They'd only slow you down in this ever shifting maze.

The hallways are as creepy and hard to navigate as usual. A locked door here, imminent danger there, some horrific friendly residents and other equally horrific non friendly residents. The usual.

While you're peering inside a vent in an attempt to see if you can use it to get past a wall, Mr. Gap pays you a visit.

“Hello,” he greets you.

“Hello. Can take other room?” You point at the wall.

“Can take.”

“Danger there?”

“No danger. Lots of object.”

That's exactly what you were hoping to hear.

“You take me?”

“Take, take.”

He grabs your arm. Your vision goes black for a moment, as it always does when Mr. Gap moves you from one place to another. Everything goes quiet and you briefly feel a chill envelop you. Then you're in a new place, the room he promised to take you to.

“Thank you.”

Lately, he's been doing a mix of asking for body parts and doing things without wanting anything in return. Whether he’s trying to be nicer or he plans on asking for something later, is unknown to you. The occasionally friendly company is still appreciated.

You turn to the piles of random objects fallen from the human world. A far larger pile than usual. With a little bit of luck, it won’t all be full of worthless junk. You get to sorting through them before an earthquake can do it all in.

“What you search?” Mr. Gap's face peeks out from beneath a toppled over armchair.

“Lots of paper.”

Old dirty clothes, a couple abandoned toys, a lamp, a bike wheel, they all get thrown around in your search. You let out a triumphant “Yes!” when you stumble upon a copy of Frankenstein. It's not romance, but it'll keep you busy nonetheless. You shove it beneath your underarm before resuming the search.

“You like paper? Me like paper,” Mr. Gap comments as he reappears in another nook between two wooden planks.

“Okay,” you say dismissively. Normally, you'd humor him, but this world is unpredictable and you want fuel for your newly acquired pastime before it decide to bury everything beneath a pile of rubble.

You turn over a seat pillow and his face suddenly pops up in the space beneath. He holds out a magazine.

“Oh, thank-”

“Me want your finger.”

This slimy gremlin. You flash him your middle finger, only for a moment, before he can misunderstand and rip it off. The gesture confuses him, but the following grumbles must mean it didn't fly over his head entirely.

“Stop take my paper. Me not give,” you warn that you won't exchange any body parts for magazines he finds before you do.

But he knows this by now. It must simply delight him to see the furrow in your brow and hear you huff in irritation. You return to your task, refusing to grant him anymore satisfaction.

One pile of random objects later, he pops up again, this time with another book. This one is small, made of thick cardboard. The brightly colored cover suggests that it's for children.

“Me give, you teach me,” he says this time.

“Teach what?” He better not be about to ask you to sing itsy bitsy spider.

Mr. Gap opens up the book on a page where a cartoon little boy is offering a flower to a little girl. “What this?”

Where did he find that? Has he been trying to learn more about love? Is that why he's curious about such a gesture? The idea makes you find him kind of cute if it's true. Have you both just been reading romance related material, fumbling like idiots to figure out how it works?

As for explaining it, first, you point at the flower and say the word for it in English, since you're not sure there's a term for it here.

“This flower. Human give flower to person they like. Flower nice, pretty.”

Mr. Gap attempts to speak the new word. “Flower?” He stares at the illustration for another moment, then smiles creepily, the way he always does. “Thank you.”

In exchange, he gives you the magazine he'd tempted you with earlier. It’s a paranormal one. Knowing him, he’s already read through it. Read… Can Mr. Gap read? He doesn’t understand your language when you speak it, but he seems particularly fond of magazines. Is it all for the pictures? Maybe you’ll ask him next time.

You tuck the magazine next to the book and continue through the pile.

Once your left arm is satisfyingly full, you leave the room, now in search of a safe place to sit and read.

The sound of footsteps suddenly approaching nails you to the spot for a moment. Your hand instinctively grips the crowbar tighter, preparing for the worst. Whatever is coming, it better not force you to drop your books and flee. Because then you will be pissed. And you tend to lose control when you are pissed.

Fortunately, what walks in does not prove to be threatening. In fact, it's not even a resident. A young man with messy red hair cautiously steps in, then immediately freezes when he spots you. The sight of him nearly knocks all the air out of you. There is another human in the Other World. A living, breathing human, something you thought you'd never see again.

You are aware of how frightening you look. The bloodied raincoat, the silver hair, the bandages on your face and your blotchy, dark reddish skin. You often turn away quickly when faced with smooth metal, glass and, god forbid, mirrors. It's hard to believe the image you see is you. So his fear of you comes as no surprise. It serves as a grim reminder of what you've become.

“Hello.” When you speak, you use your native language.

“You speak English?!” the young man sounds startled and relieved at the same time.

“Yes… What are you doing here?”

Speaking complex sentences feels far better than you expected. It brings you a type of joy and nostalgia that startles you. Had you been missing it that much?

“I… I don't remember how I got here. Or what I was doing before. I'm just looking for the exit. Can you help me?”

This sounds painfully familiar. You remember when that used to be you. When you still had hope. And that memory tugs at something in your chest and urges you to make sure this man finds that exit. Before it's too late.

“I can help. What's your name?”

Such a human question to ask. The idea of using someone's proper name also makes you happy. When exactly have you become the type of person excited about complex sentences and names?

“I'm Robin. And you?”

You give him your name and he nods uneasily. Perhaps he hasn't been here long enough to be unphased by residents. That's good. It means there's still time.

“Mr. Gap?” you call out as you turn to the nearest crevice you can find. He appears as he always does. “Can take person exit?”

He glances at the human behind you, who is now observing warily. Then he shoots you that annoying grin of his. “Me want your heart.”

“Uh! Not give heart! Lead exit!”

“Not give? Goodbye.” And then he disappears.

You feel a strong urge to smack that grin right off his face. But he's gone and it seems like it's up to you to help this man find his way out.

“What did you talk about?” the man in question asks.

“I thought he'd help, but I overestimated his kindness… Come on, we need to find an elevator. It will take you out of here.”

“Alright… Um, thank you!”

His thanks is met with a dismissive little wave from you. Begrudgingly, the books have to be left here. The chances of finding them again are very slim, but you'll be less efficient with one arm entirely full.

The two of you set out to search for the exit.

The first rooms you pass through are an empty blessing. Robin isn't very talkative. Despite his wide shoulders and tall build, he appears quite timid and frightened. Every time you enter a new room, he first pokes his head in cautiously, then he dares to advance once he knows the coast is clear.

Is this how you used to be? Frightfully wandering the Other World, aided by Mr. Crawling, scared of your own shadow? It's a stark contrast to the apathetic stride you've developed since your return.

“How long have you been down here?” Robin asks after a prolonged silence.

“A while. It's hard to keep track of time here.”

“Is there… no way to turn you back?”

“I had a friend who was searching for a cure. But we got separated…”

You don't want to think about Mr. Silvair or the rest right now. You'd rather just focus on the task of finding the elevator.

“Is your friend like the guy in the hole?”

“Uh, no! That guy is an annoying little jerk who only does as he pleases.” Your face twists in annoyance just thinking about Mr. Gap. He could've effortlessly helped out, but he chose to be a pain instead.

“Oh, sorry.”

The hallway ends with two identical doors. Doors. They're so annoying in this world. Immediate death, sudden threat or a boring room could be waiting behind one and usually there's no way to tell them apart unless you open it.

“Stay back,” you instruct the human as you cautiously turn the doorknob.

Through the crack you've opened, you see a large, mostly empty room apart from a shelf with various toys on it. There are no signs of enemies for now.

“Okay, we can go.”

You step inside, you first and Robin cowering behind you. Everything seems fine as you head towards the doorless exit on the other side of the room. Until the door suddenly shuts and locks behind you.

“Who did that?!” Robin exclaims, startled.

You clutch your crowbar tighter, eyes darting around the room. One of the stuffed animals on the shelf suddenly lunges at you. However, you've spent long enough down here to parry such an attack easily. Swiftly, you swing your crowbar and knock it against the wall. Something shatters inside it. It stops moving.

But you have no time to relax. Robin lets out a startled scream. When you turn his way, several other toys are trying to climb him. One of them has sharp teeth and is biting into his arm.

“Get off him, you pests!” you yell out as you knock them off one by one, always followed by that shattering sound.

When he's freed, Robin quickly backs into a corner, cradling his bleeding arm. He's hurt. That's not good. He hasn't begun to transform at all. So his healing is that of a normal person.

“How deep is it? Let me see.”

“What were those things?! They- they bit me!” He’s panicking.

“Robin, you have to calm down and let me see your injury. It's gonna be okay. I'll get you out. But I need to see your arm first.” You try to be gentle. At least that's not something you've forgotten how to do yet.

He stares with wide eyes full of terror at first. But with each new reassurance, his breathing slowly relaxes and his trembling seizes. He offers you the arm. Gently, you roll up the torn sleeve of his shirt. Nine deep little cuts in a semicircle ooze blood on his forearm. It's not fatal, but leaving it untreated would be unwise.

You quickly glance around the room until you spot the dark void beneath the bottom of the shelf. You hurry to it at once.

“Mr. Gap! We need medicine! Person hurt. Blood,” you announce in the other language.

Mr. Gap does appear. He throws one look Robin's way, then grins at you. “Medicine? Can bring. Me want their finger.”

“Oh, for the love of- Give you my finger!” you try to bargain, not in the mood to explain that giving him a human's finger would defeat the purpose of asking for medicine.

Mr. Gap looks almost offended. Perhaps because you usually never say yes to his demands when he asks for your body parts. “Why?”

“Need medicine! Hurt! If outsider give finger, lots of hurt!” you explain, exasperated.

His face twists in displeasure. When he looks at Robin again, his eyes narrow, like he suddenly can't stand him. “Me not want your finger. Me want their finger.”

“Uh! You slimy little sewer rat!” you insult him, fully aware he hasn't a clue what you're saying, but probably able to tell from your tone it isn't nice. Then you turn away indignantly.

“Did your friend not want to help?” Robin asks timidly when you return to him.

“He thinks everything needs to be a transaction. It's fine, we'll manage without him.”

You lift up a part of your raincoat and rip off a piece of the white garment beneath it. Robin holds out his arm once again and allows you to bandage it.

“Why are you going to such lengths to help me?” he murmurs.

Why? You ask yourself that in turn. Perhaps because you didn't make it out. Perhaps you don't want another person to step outside and feel like a shark in the middle of a city, scary yet powerless and out of place.

“I just want somebody else to make it home after I couldn't.”

“I'm sorry…”

“It's fine. I don't need you to pity me. Just try to stay alive. Come on, let's go.”

You tilt your head towards the doorless opening. Begrudgingly, Robin pushes himself away from the corner and follows you out.

You both fail to notice the small roll of bandages that rolls out from beneath the shelf just as you pass it.

[diamonddaze01]

69. "You know my name?" + chan omg im begging u or ill beat u to it and write it (lol stares at all my wips 💀)

call me by my name

Pairing: lc x f!reader | wc: 971 words prompt: "You know my name?" au: university au! | warnings: none a/n: HANEULLLLL thank u for the ask this was so cute and fun to write i hope you love it <33333

The lecture hall buzzed with the usual pre-class noise—pens tapping against desks, chairs creaking as students settled in, snippets of conversation floating from every direction. The air carried a faint hum of fluorescent lights, blending into the background chaos. You sat at your usual spot in the front row, pen poised and ready, eyes skimming the lecture notes you’d pulled up on your laptop.

Behind you, it was less preparation and more pandemonium.

“Seungkwan, what the fuck! Stop throwing shit at me!”

You didn’t have to look to know it was Soonyoung. His voice carried, loud and incredulous as always.

“That’s not throwing—it’s called handing,” Seungkwan shot back, his words dripping with mock seriousness. “Get some spatial awareness, idiot.”

The sound of a paper airplane slicing through the air followed, landing somewhere near your seat. You glanced down briefly at the crumpled attempt at aerodynamics before looking back at your notes.

“Is that supposed to be a plane or modern art?” another voice chimed in—Chan this time, laughter in his tone.

Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of the trio in their usual seats toward the back. Soonyoung had crossed his arms, glaring at the offending paper in Chan’s hand. Seungkwan was smirking triumphantly, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head.

“Give it here,” Chan said, snatching the airplane and inspecting it with exaggerated care. “Yeah, no. This isn’t a plane. This is, like… a bird that forgot how to fly.”

The paper flew again—this time courtesy of Chan—and barely made it past the second row before nose-diving onto the floor. The resulting laughter spread like wildfire across the room, even prompting a raised eyebrow from Professor Lee, who was just arriving.

“If the three of you could channel even half this energy into engineering,” the professor said, setting down his coffee with a thud, “you might actually pass this class.”

A round of chuckles rippled through the room as Chan held up his hands in mock surrender. “We’ll consider it!”

You shook your head, letting the familiar chaos wash over you. It had been like this all semester—Chan, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung acting as the unofficial class entertainment. Their antics had a way of filling the space, loud enough to distract but not enough to pull you from your work.

Professor Lee called the class to order, his voice steady as he launched into announcements. You settled in, fingers flying over your keyboard as you took notes.

Until he dropped the bomb.

“Alright, folks, listen up,” Professor Lee announced, raising his voice over the chatter. “Big news today—it’s time to kick off your group projects.”

Groans and murmurs spread through the room like wildfire. People immediately started swiveling in their seats, calling out to friends to lock in their groups before anyone got left behind.

You stayed put, as you always did. You’d learned from experience—being the quiet one meant waiting out the storm. Once the dust settled, you’d deal with whatever scraps of a team were left.

“The project is worth thirty percent of your grade,” Professor Lee continued, adjusting his glasses. “So choose wisely.”

“Thirty percent?” someone whispered behind you.

“Yeah, that’s fucked,” another voice muttered.

You ignored them, jotting down the project details from the board. If no one picked you, you’d just work alone—it wasn’t ideal, but you’d survive. Your eyes flicked back to your laptop, but before you could even finish writing down the assignment details, a shadow fell over your desk. You blinked up, startled, only to see Chan grinning down at you, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket.

“Uh, hi?” you said cautiously.

“Wanna be in a group with me and my friends?” He jerked his thumb toward Seungkwan and Soonyoung, who were mid-wrestle over a pencil in the back corner of the room.

Your pen froze mid-word. “You… know my name?”

Chan tilted his head like you’d just asked him if the sky was blue. “Uh, yeah? Considering you’re the one who ruins the curve every time… yes, I know your name.”

Oh.

“But also,” he continued, “you clearly know what you’re doing, and we’d be stupid not to team up with you.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a moment. “Okay.”

His grin widened, and he gestured for you to follow him.

By the time you reached Seungkwan and Soonyoung, they’d paused their argument and were now watching you with matching mischievous smirks.

“So,” Seungkwan said, leaning closer to Chan, “you actually got her to join us, huh?”

“Guess today’s my lucky day,” Chan muttered, side-eyeing him.

Soonyoung jabbed Seungkwan in the ribs, grinning like an idiot. “Told you he wouldn’t chicken out.”

“Shut up,” Chan hissed, his ears already pink.

But Seungkwan wasn’t done. “You didn’t have to use the whole ‘you ruin the curve’ thing. You could’ve just said, ‘Hey, I think you’re super smart and pretty, and I totally have a crush on you.’”

Chan’s eyes widened as if someone had just slapped him with a textbook. “What the fuck—”

“Or,” Soonyoung added, tapping his chin theatrically, “you could’ve been, like, ‘I sit two rows behind you every day because your hair smells like strawberries.’”

“I do not—”

Seungkwan gasped, fake-shocked. “Oh my God, you’ve smelled her hair?”

Chan groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I hate both of you.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, covering your mouth as the trio dissolved into chaos.

“Don’t listen to them,” Chan said quickly, turning back to you with an apologetic look. “They’re dumbasses, but I promise we’ll actually get work done. Eventually.”

You raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “As long as no one brings paper airplanes to the final presentation.”

“See?” Soonyoung crowed. “She’s funny too. You’re screwed, Chan.”

Chan didn’t answer, but the flush creeping up his neck said more than enough.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[kizzer55555]

Now I’m just imagining him taking the Joker.

Joker is in the middle of a scheme with the bats watching and maybe he’s doing pretty well. He’s got half the bats down with injuries, and he had just finished a magnificent monologue. And then suddenly this slow clapping fills the area. They look and see a figure leaning against the wall.

“impressive” He says.

The room is suddenly 30 degrees colder. Like worse than Dr Freeze cold, and a shiver runs down everyone’s spine. The person clapping is a glowing humanoid figure with white hair and piercing green eyes that glowed where they were obscured in shadow. And despite looking so young, it’s almost like his mere presence sucked the light out of everything. The shadows on the walls grew larger and even the surrounding colors seemed to dull.

Batman is the first to recover but it was a struggle to move. He questions who this person is and what he wants. The guy says that he’s here for his job. The bats get ready for a fight but the unsettling figure just ignores them and pulls out a glowing green list. “Jack Oswald White.” And everyone freezes, including the Joker who hadn’t heard his full name in decades. “You are herby under arrest for the senseless sloughter of over 5,907 human souls, the personal torturing of 565 of those souls, the second hand torturing of 1,524 of those souls, targeting the loved ones of 4,438 of those souls after death, as well as the desecration of their gravesites. You are also arrested for an accidental killing of an additional 4,729 souls and then forgetting their names. You are sentenced to over 500,000 years of imprisonment with the inclusion of torture, obsession denial after death, isolation, and stripped of the protection of the zone until your term ends.”

By now everyone was starring as the kid almost seemed to be reading through the list in a bored tone, yet the sheer power that radiated off of him had even the bats on edge. Of course, the Joker ignored the danger signs and just laughed it off as a Joke.

He tried shooting the kid and the bats lunged but were too far away. They needn’t have worried though as the bullet sailed straight through and the only reaction the teen gave was an annoyed eyebrow raise as he continued reading through his list, flipping through a few pages. Ignoring every attempt at harm the Joker tried. And trust me. He tried. Finally the guy finished and asked if the Joker had any questions before his arrest.

This just made the joker laugh harder. “You think you can arrest me?! I’m way above your pay grade kid. If the bats can’t do it, what makes you think you can?”

The teen just gave a tired sigh.

Then it’s like the shadows themselves reach out and grab the Joker, pulling him close until the kid had a firm grip on his collar before they released him.

Despite his situation, he continues to laugh. Saying that it won’t matter. arresting him won’t matter. He’ll just escape any jail he comes across. “That’s the problem with all you vigilante types. Can’t get the job done now can you? And when I gets out, I’ll find you, and I’ll make sure you scream.” His cackles filled the air. But the white haired guy just stares at him. Deadpan.

“I think you’re misunderstanding something.” The figure crouches down so that he’s on Joker’s level. “I’m not taking you to a human prison.”

The clown’s laughter doesn't stop. “Ooooh, trying something new I see? Well what’ll it be? High secure facility for metas? Maybe an alien spacecraft? Ooh! ooh! oooh! And I being held by Leprechauns? Well at least my hair‘ll fit right in!” He continued to cackle.

“I still don’t think you understand.” The figure says. And then suddenly the very air itself cracks. It’s as if the space is being warped and broken apart to reveal a swirling glowing portal that opens right behind the glowing human. Casting his face in shadow, all except those eyes, filled with complete disregard for the one before him.

That unsettling presence just grew 100 fold and everyone present knew they were not looking at something human. Every instinct in them screamed danger. This was a predator, and they were the prey.

“I am not a meta. I am not an alien. And I’m most certainly not a leprechaun.”

He leaned in close until his face was mere inches from the jokers, and the clown could clearly see his fangs.

“I’m the one the dead call to bring in those who break its laws. Those who break the balance, upset the fabrics of reality, cause dimensional rifts. I have hunted demons, gods, immortals, and things your puny brain can’t even imagine. Point is, you’ve made a lot of mistakes in life and the souls of your victims have cried out loud enough that the afterlife is going to do something about it. I’m here to collect.”

The joker gulps, starting to realize his situation. “Are you….are you the grim reaper?”

The teen laughs.

“Nah, I’m worse.” Then he smiled and clapped his hand. “Alright then! Let’s go to Hell!”

“No…no no no no no NO!”

“Yes… yes yes yes yes!” The creature mocked back.

Now Joker starts struggling for real. The boy just grabs him by the collar though and starts dragging him towards the glowing green portal, the cheerful grin still on his face. The clown couldn’t get loose no matter what he tried and started threatening the kid, then threatening his family, when that didn’t work he tried bargaining, willing to get anything, do anything, kill anyone, if the guy let him go. When that didn’t pan out he tried begging for his life.

“Wait! You arrest murderers right?! Then why aren’t you taking Red Hood?!” He points to the area where the bats still were. They hadn’t moved an inch, frozen by Danny’s intense presence. “That guys killed tons of people! In fact, I think he’s died before too but he came back! Isn’t that a ‘crime’?”

The figure froze and all the bats collectively felt their hearts drop. They could feel the power oozing from this guy and even more so from the portal. It took everything Batman had just to speak in its presence. How were they suppose to fight it? If that thing went after Jason…could they stop it? They watched in horror as the humanoid creature gave a gentle hum and pulled out its glowing list again, flipping through more pages before stopping at one.

“Nah, he’s good. Says here his paperwork was filed for him by a….Thomas and Martha Wayne? He’s got a permit.”

The batfamily has so many questions. Unfortunately Joker took the being’s moment of inattention and finally managed to break free from its grip. He made a mad dash for the road, grabbed a car, and drove down the street like his life depended on it, which it kinda did.

The teen just looked so affronted by the action. He sighed again and yelled at the speeding car “You’re just making this harder on yourself!” But the car didn’t stop. The figure looked at the bats as if saying, ‘can you believe that guy?’ When the bats didn’t give a response the teen just rolled his eyes. Then he put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle. Not 10 second later, another being rose up from the ground and revealed itself to be a gigantic dog about the size of a tank, with razor sharp teeth and glowing red eyes.

“Cujo. Fetch.”

Danny has to work off his Sentence

So! Danny isn't the King of the Infinite Realms. And he is not above the Law.

Sure, he has many friends in high places, and he did defeat the King in single combat, but that doesn't mean he is above the Law in the way The King would be.

And unfortunately for him, Walkers Laws do actually have some backing.

Not all of them. Some are just laws he placed over his Lair and surrounding Territory, which he is really nitpicky about, but the Big ones he touts are the Laws of the entire Zone set by the First King. Don't Tresspass on Lairs without an official challenge, don't End a Realms Being without permission, Don't bring Humans into the Zone without permission, etc.

And Danny has broken quite a few of them, meaning Walker is entirely in his rights to put him away for a few Thousand Years. Thankfully, there is an alternative.

Since Danny wasn't wanted for any major crimes, Walker offered a different path for him. Danny was still one of the Strongest Ghosts in the Zone, and as the Portal was technically his Grave he had full authority to use it however he liked, so if he ran a couple of errands for Walker, he could consider his Sentence served.

All he has to do was round up a few of the Trouble Makers that had escaped his grasp by virtue of being in the Living Realm, and he would forgive his previous crimes.

So, Danny took him up on the offer. It was better than being constantly hounded by Walkers Guards. The fact that he could beat them easily was moot, it was extremely annoying and he wanted it to stop.

So he was given his First list of targets, and went on his way.

Ra's "The Demons Head" Al Ghul, for Tresspassing on Ghost Zone Waste Dumping Grounds

Solomon Grundy, for continued use of copyrighted poem, requested by copyright holder post mortem

Vandal Savage, for failure to notify the proper authorities about his absence on the day of his intended death

Jack "The Joker" Napier, Special Request by 1000+ Ghosts for purposes of Vengeance, Torture, and general Catharsis.

...interesting list...maybe he should have this through a bit more...

[justiceforanders]

Tides of Fate

Part of the "Unwritten Chapters" Lucanis x Rook Stories

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook (she/her)

Rating: M

Words: 1.8k

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60680923

Summary: Adrenaline runs high as Rook and Lucanis end up in a gondola after fleeing from the Antaam. They get a little carried away.

Tides of Fate is part 2 of the "Unwritten Chapters", a short series exploring extra romance scenes between Lucanis and Rook, as seen in the Veilguard story sketches by Nick Thornborrow.

The night was alive with tension, the narrow streets of Treviso echoing with the distant shouts of the Antaam. Rook’s breath came in sharp bursts as she raced after Lucanis, his silhouette barely visible in the dark. He moved like smoke, slipping through the maze of alleyways and over rooftops with a confidence born of years of training. Rook trusted him implicitly, following him through the darkness even as her muscles ached and her heart pounded with exhaustion.

“Here!” he hissed, reaching for her hand and pulling her down a narrow flight of stairs. They emerged by a canal, where gondolas bobbed gently under a large bridge. Lucanis climbed into one, his movements fluid despite the unsteady rocking of the boat. When he turned and extended his hand to her, Rook took it without hesitation, the boat dipping precariously under their combined weight.

“Stay close, lie low,” he whispered, crouching beside her. She settled beside him, their shoulders brushing in the cramped space. Her pulse raced, though she wasn’t sure whether it was from the chase or the heat of his body so close to hers.

Above them, heavy boots thundered on the cobblestones. The Antaam’s voices grew louder, orders being given in crisp, urgent Qunlat, the clang of their armour making the air feel even heavier. Rook held her breath, willing herself to be as still as stone. Lucanis was unnervingly quiet beside her, his eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.

Minutes passed, or maybe seconds – it was hard to tell. Finally, the noise receded, the soldiers’ footfalls growing fainter until the canal was silent again.

Rook exhaled in relief, her shoulders sagging. “That was…” She trailed off, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Well, I think we can call that a close one.”

Lucanis didn’t answer immediately, his attention still fixed on the darkness above. Rook’s gaze flickered over him; moonlight spilled through the gaps in the bridge, illuminating the angles of his face – the sharp line of his nose, the faint glimmer of blood on his cheek, the way his hands rested on his thighs, still tense, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Lucanis tilted his head slightly, catching her staring, and the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. His smile faded, replaced by something deeper, darker. His eyes, those rich, half-lidded brown pools, locked onto hers. There was a flicker of something in his gaze that made her pause.

Rook couldn’t look away.

This had been building for weeks – the lingering glances, the brush of fingers when passing a weapon, the way his voice always softened when he said her name. Every time she’d stepped too close, he’d retreated, putting up walls she couldn’t scale. But here, in the silence of the canal, with no space left to run, those walls seemed to crumble.

Lucanis’ gaze dropped to her lips, and her breath caught. He blinked and shook his head, but it was too late. She’d seen it – the longing, the weight of something unsaid. He was watching her, and for once, he hadn’t been able to hide how much he wanted to look at her.

1. 👍: Thanks for not letting me get caught back there. Let’s finish this. 2. 🎭: Remind me never to try navigating this city without you. Know a way out of here? 3. 🛡️: The Antaam won’t stay distracted for long. Let’s move before they double back. 4. ❤️ Express romantic interest in Lucanis. (Does not commit to a romance.): Do you know you always look at me like that?

“Do you know you always look at me like that?” she asked, her smile wavering. The tension of the chase lingered in the air between them, electric and undeniable. Rook was acutely aware of how close they were in the narrow boat, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

His jaw was tight, a tension in his frame that betrayed him – Rook had known Lucanis long enough to recognize the cracks in his armour. The air between them felt different now, heavier somehow, and her skin prickled with awareness. When their legs brushed, the spark it sent through her was unmistakable.

Rook’s smile faded, her chest tightening. She wanted to touch him, to close the space between them, but would he let her?

“Lucanis…” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Lucanis didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at her then, fully, and the way his dark eyes searched hers made her throat dry. He looked like he was fighting himself, as if he wanted to reach for her and couldn’t – or wouldn’t.

The longing between them was palpable, a tether drawn taut with every glance, every almost-touch. Rook felt it too, the weight of everything unspoken pressing against her chest. For weeks, they had danced around this, circling closer and closer, and now…

Something bold and reckless stirred in her, and before she could overthink it, she moved. Shifting forward, she climbed into his lap, her knees pressing into the hard wood of the gondola.

“Rook…” His hands caught her waist immediately, his fingers tightening as the gondola rocked beneath them. His voice was low, rough, and the sound sent a thrill down her spine. “You don’t understand…”

“I do,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “I do understand – and I trust you, Lucanis.”

“Rook,” he said again, his tone gentler this time, even as his grip on her tightened. “This is…” His breathing was uneven, his forehead dipping briefly as if trying to collect himself.

“Dangerous?” Rook offered, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

His laugh was soft, almost bitter. “Yes.”

Her chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. This was the man who faced death and gods without flinching, yet here he was, terrified in the face of desire – not of what might happen to him, but of what might happen to her.

1. 👍: It’s okay, Lucanis. I’ll be here when you’re ready. 2. 🎭: If this is your way of scaring me off, you might need a new strategy. 3. 🛡️: If you need space, just say the word. 4. ❤️ Express romantic interest in Lucanis. (Does not commit to a romance.): We’re fighting gods. I’m not afraid of danger.

“We’re fighting gods,” she whispered, leaning closer, her hands sliding to his shoulders. “I’m not afraid of danger.”

It was all the permission Lucanis needed.

He surged forward, his lips crashing against hers with a fervour that left her breathless. The kiss was a collision, desperate and unpracticed, their lips meeting with the urgency of too many stolen glances and too many words left unsaid. The kiss wasn’t gentle – it was raw, desperate, as though he was pouring all his fear and longing into this single moment.

Rook responded just as fiercely. Her hands flew to his hair, her fingers threading through the dark strands and pulling him closer as if proximity alone could quiet the pounding of her heart. Lucanis groaned, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close until there was no space left between them. His hands slid down to her hips, his grip firm but reverent. Her own hands roamed – his hair, his shoulders, the curve of his jaw. They moved with the recklessness of people who knew better but couldn’t stop themselves, the gondola rocking precariously as they shifted ever closer.

“Lucanis,” she breathed against his lips, and he froze, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze.

“No, no, no,” she immediately added, terrified that he would once again pull away. Rook tilted her head, her thumb brushing along his jaw. “Don’t get lost in that head of yours. Be here. With me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes widened slightly, his breath hitching as if her words had pierced something fragile inside him. Then his lips were on hers again, hungrier this time, his hands sliding up her sides, his fingers tangling in her curls.

She leaned into him, her legs tangling with his, their bodies pressed so close she could feel the hammering of his heart against her chest. Her hands slid down his back, his shoulders, desperate to anchor herself to him, to this moment.

The gondola rocked sharply as they both rocked their hips together, a lurch that nearly sent them both tumbling into the canal. They broke apart, laughing against each other’s lips, the sound breathless and warm.

Lucanis sat up first, smoothing back his hair with a shaky hand. “We’re going to sink this thing.”

Rook laughed softly, leaning back against the gondola’s edge, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

The tension that had ignited between them still hummed in the narrow space, like the last glowing embers of a fire. Their movements were slow, almost hesitant, as they straightened their clothes and adjusted their weapons. Now and then, their eyes would meet, and a quiet laugh would escape when one of them was caught looking. Rook felt her cheeks flush every time, though she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

Lucanis reached for the tie that had slipped from her hair, his hand hovering just short of touching it. “May I?”

Rook’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to…”

“I don’t,” he interrupted quietly, his eyes meeting hers. “But I want to.”

Her chest tightened at his tone. She nodded and tilted her head, blushing fiercely as she allowed him to retie the loose strands. It felt even more intimate than the kiss, the way he fixed her hair with a gentleness that made her chest ache.

When he finished, his hands lingered near her shoulders, brushing against the fabric of her tunic. She glanced up at him, her pulse quickening when her gaze dipped, catching the slight redness of his lips, still swollen from their kiss. The air between them grew heavy again, their shared silence saying what neither of them dared to speak aloud.

Rook reached up, her hand brushing against his wrist. “Lucanis…” she began, her voice soft.

He drew back slightly, his jaw tightening as though wrestling with himself. “Rook, this…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as his hand curled into a fist against his thigh. “I…”

Her lips parted, a faint smile playing at their corners as she tilted her head, her voice a gentle whisper. “I know.”

He gave a faint, shaky laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. But before he could respond, the distant clang of boots echoed down the canal. The Antaam weren’t far off.

The assassin in him returned in an instant. His shoulders squared, his gaze sharpening as he handed her her staff, his smirk tugging at his lips despite the tension. “Ready to fight more Antaam, Rook?”

She took the weapon, her fingers brushing his as she mirrored his grin, her eyes bright, her blood pumping, her magic thrumming in her veins. “You know it. What is it that Teia and Viago always say? The Crows rule Antiva…”

Lucanis’ answering grin was blinding, even in the dark. “And Treviso will be free.”

[unwritten chapters: part 1 | part 2 | part 3] & [other lucanis x rook stories]

[ns1108]

Testing mattresses

Moment: Poly AzrielxOC, CassianxOC, RhysandxOC

Level Fluff

Aurelia strolled through the store, scanning the array of options but quickly beginning to wonder what she had been thinking, bringing the two Illyrian males with her. Cassian was practically parading around, testing each bed with exaggerated sighs and eyebrow waggles that either earned him a flustered blush or a scolding huff from the older ladies browsing nearby.

Meanwhile, Azriel had wandered over to the comforter section, his hands skimming along until he settled on a dark blue one. Aurelia couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her. "Did you pick that just because it matches your siphons?" she teased, earning a slight lift of his eyebrow and a faint smile.

She had her hands full with the salesman, though, as she critiqued each mattress meticulously, rejecting most and suggesting changes with an easy confidence that nearly had the poor man sweating. When she finally selected one, she then began changing fabric textures, putting in a special order for lily-pad silk sheets, ten different styles to be exact, and dismissing pillows that were too soft, too firm, or shaped oddly.

By this point, Cassian and Azriel had made themselves comfortable, sitting side by side at the headboard of a display bed and watching her in amusement. Cassian leaned over, chuckling to Azriel, "Acting like a spoiled princess, isn't she?" He shook his head, though there was a hint of fondness in his gaze as he remembered she very much was one—and that it was kind of cute on her, if he was honest.

Finally, after countless specifications and adjustments, Aurelia was finished. She turned to find both of them staring at her with raised eyebrows, both clearly entertained. She felt a surprising flicker of heat, a strange mix of shyness and something... electrifying.

Cassian clapped a hand on the bed beside him. "Well, Princess, care to join us in bed? Plenty of space right here."

The invitation was both ridiculous and oddly tempting, but she gave him a dismissive huff. "Absolutely not—I can't be seen in such a compromising position with either of you." Without another glance, she breezed out of the store, leaving Cassian and Azriel to scramble after her.

Outside, Cassian caught up first, still chuckling. "What's this about a 'compromising position'?" he asked, unable to resist needling her.

She shot him a wry look. "After the last round of gossip letters, some of my suitors have decided they'd rather pursue... quieter company."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a smug look, each hiding a smirk. The thought that they might have frightened off a few of her lesser suitors was oddly satisfying to both of them. In fact, Cassian seemed downright thrilled.

As they stepped out of the store, Rhysand materialised before them with a single, graceful sweep, his gaze sweeping over the unlikely trio. His eyebrows raised in amusement as he took in their company. "Well, isn't this an interesting gathering," he drawled, his eyes landing on Aurelia with a bemused smirk. "What exactly are my Commander and Spymaster doing here?"

Cassian shot him a mischievous grin. "We were testing mattresses. Together."

Rhysand's gaze shifted back to Aurelia, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. "And where was my invitation for this... intimate affair?" He inclined his head in an overly formal bow in her direction.

Aurelia folded her arms with a pointed eyeroll, unimpressed. "The only thing intimate here is the ridiculousness of the three of you," she huffed, crossing her arms even more firmly over her chest—a habit she'd had since childhood whenever her patience wore thin.

Rhysand's smirk widened as his eyes twinkled with amusement, but before he could retort, Azriel's shadows slipped over Aurelia's arms, soft and teasing, like an invisible hand attempting to soothe her irritation. One tendril even dared to brush against her neck, its touch feather-light, and she couldn't help but laugh at the unexpected tickle, a sound that seemed to surprise even her.

The three males fell silent, each breaking into a smile as her laughter lifted through the air—a rare, unguarded moment of delight. Even Azriel's usual stoic expression softened, his eyes warm as his shadows dissipated, leaving only a hint of mirth in their wake. Rhysand inclined his head with a pleased smile, as if he'd just witnessed a secret he was meant to keep.

"Well," Rhysand said, "perhaps we should test a few more stores then?"

Azriel shook his head, deadpan as ever. "We can't. We've already been to every store in Velaris."

Rhysand's brow arched as he turned his gaze back to Aurelia, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Ah, I'd forgotten just how... particular you are."

Aurelia crossed her arms tighter, her chin lifting a fraction. "Extremely," she replied smoothly, a glint of challenge in her eyes.

Rhysand chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Well, I suppose it's reassuring some things never change."

Rhysand tilted his head, casual but with an unmistakable weight to his words. "Will you be joining the luncheon with the other lords? Another step toward the Moon Festival, after all."

Aurelia nodded, a hint of resignation in her tone. "Of course."

Before any of them could say more, a shadow passed over the ground, and Daqari descended from the sky, his snowy wings tucking smoothly behind him as he landed. He nodded at the three males before extending an arm to Aurelia. Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand exchanged looks, each silently reminded of the mysterious bond she shared with Daqari—a blood bond none of them fully understood or knew the story behind. A thread of possessive tension sparked in the air around them.

Aurelia glanced at Daqari, then turned back to the three. "I have other affairs to attend to," she said smoothly, placing her hand on Daqari's arm. With a shimmer of silvery light, they vanished before the three Illyrians could even blink.

Outtake from my story on Wattpad:

Poly story 18+ SMUT

The Moon's Embrace: A Tale of Night's Light

[hellinistical]

"Dance with me?"

WC: 903

Warnings: Fem.Reader

The studio was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, the sun spilling through the tall windows in streams of amber and honey. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams, settling on half-finished canvases, scattered brushes, and palettes smeared with a rainbow of colors. On the worn leather couch in the corner, the artist lay sprawled, his arm draped over his face, the soft rise and fall of his chest betraying his peaceful slumber.

His lover stepped quietly into the room, her h/c hair ablaze in the sunlight. The glow caught every strand, making it look like a fiery halo surrounding her head. She paused, her eyes softening as they lingered on him. The way his hair was tousled, the smudge of paint still on his cheek—it was all so endearingly him.

A mischievous smile curled her lips. She tiptoed closer, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath her steps. Leaning over him, she placed her face close to his, her breath warm against his ear.

"Sleeping on the job again, are we?" she whispered, her voice playful.

The artist stirred but didn’t open his eyes. A small, lazy smile played on his lips as if even in his sleep, he recognized her teasing tone.

She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "If you’re going to nap, at least do it in a bed, you dolt."

When he still didn’t respond, she leaned in closer, her lips almost grazing his ear. "If you don’t wake up, I’m going to paint something embarrassing on your face."

That did it. He groaned, his hand reaching out blindly to swat her away, but his smile widened. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Not a chance," she replied, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his temple. The warmth of her lips seemed to wake him more than her words. He cracked open one eye, the golden light reflecting in its e/c depths.

"You're too pretty for your own good, you know that?" he murmured, his gaze tracing her glowing hair, her cheeks, and the way the sunlight made her eyes sparkle.

"And you’re too sluggish when you’re half-asleep," she shot back, tugging at his arm until he reluctantly sat up. His hair stuck up in wild directions, and she reached out to smooth it down, laughing when he pouted at her.

"Fine, I’m up," he grumbled, though the soft smile on his face betrayed him. "But only because you threatened my face."

She grinned, leaning down to kiss his lips this time. "See? I’m a great motivator."

Y/n set the stereo down on the coffee table with a gentle clunk, its worn-out casing a relic of countless years and countless songs. The bent antenna stuck up at an awkward angle, like a stubborn reminder of its resilience. The plastic had yellowed with age, but she swore it added character—just like Rafayel's perpetually paint-smeared hands.

“Dance with me?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with playful insistence. Her e/c eyes sparkled in the golden light, and her smile—cheeky and irresistible—hinted at mischief. She tugged on his hand, urging him up from the couch.

Rafayel raised a brow, his expression caught somewhere between amused and skeptical. "That thing still works?"

"It does now," she said, flashing him a triumphant grin. “I fixed it. Kind of. You just have to wiggle the antenna a bit.”

Before he could respond, she bent over the stereo, her hair cascading like liquid fire, and clicked a button. A static-filled hum buzzed through the room, followed by the crackle of an old tune fighting its way through the speakers. She gave the antenna a determined jiggle, and suddenly, a slow, soulful melody spilled into the space.

"See?" she said, straightening up and offering her hand again. "Now stop being grumpy and dance with me."

He sighed, a half-laugh escaping as he let her pull him to his feet. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And you love it," she shot back, already swaying to the music.

Rafayel allowed himself to be guided, his larger hands settling on her waist as hers rested lightly on his shoulders. She moved effortlessly, her body flowing with the rhythm as if the song were written just for her. The golden light framed her, making her appear ethereal.

He stumbled a little at first, his sleep-heavy limbs struggling to find the beat, but her infectious energy soon drew him in. They swayed together, spinning in lazy circles across the wooden floor. She laughed when he misstepped, and he pretended to frown, only to catch her off-guard by dipping her dramatically.

"Show-off," she teased, her laughter bubbling up as he brought her back upright.

"You're the one who dragged me into this," he countered, but his grin betrayed him.

The song crackled and skipped, the stereo hiccuping under the strain of its age, but neither of them cared. In that golden-lit moment, the world outside the studio seemed to disappear, leaving only the music, their shared laughter, and the warmth of each other's presence.

As the melody faded, Y/n leaned into him, her cheek resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around her instinctively, holding her close.

"You're terrible at dancing," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"And you're terrible at fixing stereos," he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

[beevean]

I understand the miscommunication now. However, there is a difference between saying "I never played the 2000s games that gave closure to ShTH, and I like how SXSG handled things" and

I think what I appreciate most about Shadow Generations is just that it gives Shadow ACTUAL, CANON closure for his struggle between good and evil.

If you missed out on the games, fair enough, it happens. Personally, I played Heroes and ShTH some years before Adventure 2, and it shaped my perception of Shadow. But if you put it in an objective way, as in, "Shadow never got proper closure before", then I would say "no, he did, multiple times, here's proof - you may not like the writing, but it still happened".

I didn't even talk about '06 itself because I am not going to think about its place in the canon timeline lol. But in a meta sense, it counts for my point: we players experienced Shadow's story and how it precisely exists to show us "look, he has moved on, he can no longer be swayed or manipulated, he knows who he is and what he's fighting for". Sure, the events with Mephiles didn't happen or he forgot, but that game still counted as closure to us after playing ShTH.

I really like that Shadow Gens doesn't emphasize his promise to Maria - he's not doing this out of obligation, but because he chooses to.

It's true that Shadow doesn't talk about his old promise, it's good and shows that he has grown. To be fair, though, another reason for this could be that the story is much more focused on Shadow's biology and ties to Black Doom than his relationship with the world (plus, it wouldn't make sense for him to tell Maria he had promised her to make people happy when she hasn't died yet lol). And, this is an issue I have with the part where Shadow briefly contemplates to stop Rouge and use Chaos Control to freeze Maria and Gerald in White Space: the fact that he has to be told to let them go is still, conceptually, Shadow needing Maria as moral guidance.

As for the mandate bit, I'm aware Boom isn't canon and Forces shows Shadow cares about his team (shout out to their banter in Team Sonic Racing for backing it up as well); I was more referring to the general 2010's vibe. Once you get past 2010, Shadow appears in Generations, where he just wants to "finish" Sonic… And then nothing until Forces, with everything extracurricular from Boom and IDW (while not being strictly canon) pointing to Sega and the writers… not treating his character well.

I disagree. I don't think it makes sense to talk about "general vibe", when the list of Shadow's appearances in the 2010s is so small they can be dissected one by one. Once you remove Boom, which again doesn't count at all as Boom Shadow is a different character from main Shadow (or you might as well argue that the 2010s as a whole turned Knuckles into an illiterate Kronk-like idiot or Eggman into a softie who is frenemies with Sonic), his portrayals in the games are generally decent, with perhaps the one exception of Free Riders where everyone was a dick for no reason lol. Speaking of Gens, sure Shadow challenges Sonic out of nowhere, but then he cheers for him to defeat the Eggmen and then even sticks around for his birthday, so he's not just "the Vegeta" as he has been described since then.

We can argue that Shadow was used very sparingly in the 2010s, which is true. The 2010s were a response to the backlash of the 2000s, and one of the complaints was precisely that Shadow stole the spotlight, along with all the "shitty friends", so they all took several seats back. The reason I insisted that Boom and IDW don't count is that they aren't canon, they shouldn't be used as proof to talk about the character, and they aren't proof of how SEGA sees the character - although they certainly didn't have an iron grip on the external writers except for some basic guidelines, and maybe they should have. I think we are still feeling the consequences of the series stumbling 10 years ago (that 2013-2017 gap was painful), and the fandom growing sour because of it.

I don't think SXSG is a bad game. I have a couple of complaints with Shadow's writing, but they mostly stem with how the story uses him, other than that I can see they tried to make him sound like he did in '06 and he works. My issue is wider: I would like these characters to move on and stop clinging onto games that are by now older than the average fan. We had Frontiers which mostly retreaded character arcs that we have seen in Sonic Adventure, way back in 1998; and now we got SXSG, which was a long, long way to tell us "hey remember ShTH? Now Shadow is tired of BD's shit. Here's a reminder of that game's twist regarding Shadow's biology, but he doesn't care. Also he still misses Maria." So I'm here like... the older games are there. Shadow's multi-game arc is there. Couldn't you have just re-released them? Couldn't you have announced a sale for SA2 on Steam? Or ported Heroes and ShTH, which would have been appreciated by a good chunk of the fandom? SXSG may be fun to play and a testament of ST learning lessons on level design and gameplay style, but the game itself was not the point of the experience, right? It's for newcomers attracted by the incoming movie to get an idea of who Shadow is. I understand and respect that I am not the target audience here. But that doesn't mean the older games are suddenly invalid or should be forgotten.

i guess tl;dr please port shth and battle and then let's write new scenarios for the cast

(Spoilers for Shadow Generations)

I think what I appreciate most about Shadow Generations is just that it gives Shadow ACTUAL, CANON closure for his struggle between good and evil.

By the end of Adventure 2, he remembered his promise to Maria and made his choice to save the world, but then he "dies".

When Heroes revives him, he doesn't remember any of that.

His namesake game (and I say this as gently as possible), as cool as the multiple endings were, feels so unsatisfying. We get to see Shadow's potential for good and evil, sure, but then the true canon ending comes, and it doesn't specify what he did (or even what exactly he remembered about his past) to get there, and then he just decides not to let his past control him. Which isn't a terrible direction on paper, but the symbolism of him literally throwing away a picture of his family just seems... Like the opposite of what made this character appealing in the first place?

And from there, the games kept giving mixed signals. Sonic '06 shows how deeply he and Team Dark come to care for each other, but then its events get literally removed from the timeline. Sega begins to pretend that Team Dark aren't even friends in their mandates for a while (despite the fact they clearly care for each others' wellbeing before anybody else's). Shadow becomes practically a popsicle stick puppet for "angry, serious, violent rival", and they never feel a need to explain his motivations or reactions beyond waving at that four word character description again.

Shadow's appeal (at least to me) was never that he was a character who didn't care about anything - it was that he cared very deeply, actually. (Someone who nearly lets the world be destroyed as revenge for losing his family is the exact opposite of someone who doesn't care!) He may not be cheerful, he may be quiet and stern, he may have a temper and be capable of terrible things if he isn't careful, but he isn't heartless.

And Shadow Generations FINALLY got it right, I feel.

There's now no doubt that he remembers his past, and that it did matter to him. It still does, in fact, and we're dropping the idea that he'll move on from it like it never happened. That's not how tragedy works.

But he will be able to move forward.

He has finally, WITHOUT GETTING AMNESIA, IN THE CANON TIMELINE, gotten to become the hero Maria wanted him to be.

That doesn't mean his story's over: I'm sure they can still find adventures to send him on. And that doesn't mean he needs any kind of complete personality overhaul, either. He can still be more aggressive than Team Sonic, and more stern, and maybe even more willing to resort to questionable methods to fight next week's bad guy.

But all of Team Dark has gotten to acknowledge that they do, in fact, care for each other, even if their attitudes aren't as chummy as Team Sonic.

Shadow has gotten to hear from his family that they are proud of him, weird alien DNA and all, and that even though he will have to go the rest of his long life without them, their love will always go with him, and give him the strength he needs to overcome any of his darker parts.

Shadow having a darker edge than Sonic and Shadow being a hero are things that can and SHOULD coexist, and I'm so glad we finally got to see it for him without it getting wiped from canon or his own memories again.

[spinchip]

Dot after the Never Realm.

There’s something sweet carrying on the breeze- sugary. Baked goods from the shop across the road, probably. Maybe a pie or cake from the picnics spread across the park. Maybe the lingering scent of her shampoo in her freshly washed hair. Dot didn’t seek out the source, staying in this little bubble of calm she’d created on this lone park bench. She just barely noticed it, her mind grasping for something that wasn’t the way her hands were still so cold or the chill creeping up the exposed skin on the back of her neck. Her hair was too short now.

She used to come to this park a lot as a child, back when the jungle gym was more wood than plastic and steel. It survived the great devourer attack, but it was torn up and discarded not long after. The wood had rotted out exposed to the elements, the finishing oils worn down and left to ruin over the years. Now the park was filled with shiny new pieces that made a once familiar comfort foreign and wrong.

Dot sits at the park bench anyway and watches the day pass. She’s been here for a long time, but there’s no desire to go home. She’s asked Zane for space so he was off to sleep for a while- she wants to feel bad about it, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t feel a lot of things nowadays.

a shadow passes over her but she doesn’t take her eyes off the trees on the horizon. It’s one of the ninja, she’s certain. Come to check on her. She wishes she could ask them for space and have them go off to sleep somewhere, too. Can’t she grieve the Never Realm in peace?

”Dakota.”

she turns to look at Leo out of pure surprise more than anything. He looks nice, dressed in clothes bought new and not second hand. He used to only ever buy things second hand, stubbornly scrubbing out stains or mending holes so he didn’t have to spend a dollar where he didn’t need to. He used to wear his shoes until the soles finally gave way- and then he’d super glue them and wear them even longer. Now, he’s dressed in a crisp white sweater, tan slacks, and a jean jacket with Sherpa lining. His shoes are so new they’re still shiny.

His hair is cut like it always was, but he’s grown out the stubble around his mustache into a short, neatly kept beard. He’s put on weight, but it looks good on him.

It takes her only a moment to compare him to the last time she’d seen him- some part of her mind latching on to his changes so she can avoid thinking of her own. She wants to keep doing it- keep examining him to notice all the things he is without her by his side.

”Hey.” She says instead. then, “What are you doing here?”

”Your friends are worried about you.” He says plainly, still standing outside the little bubble she’d made for herself.

”And they thought seeing you would make me feel better?” She asks flatly.

He takes it with grace, only looking stung for a moment before he smooths his features. All that training in law school paid off, “They were desperate.” He grins wryly, “Willing to try anything.”

”So they texted you and, what, you took the first flight out of Metalonia?” There’s something unkind in her voice that she can’t stop- a bitterness. Why drop everything for her now? Why not all those years ago?

He scuffs his boot on the ground and tries for a joke, “Well, the first flight was sold out so I had to wait for the second one.”

It is funny, but she doesn’t laugh. She turns her face back towards the horizon, watching the trees sway in the breeze.

”May I sit down?” He asks quietly, “Or would you rather I leave?”

There's a long pause before she can bring herself to reply, “Why’d you come all the way back home to sit on a bench with me?”

He looks down again, staring at his new boots, “…I guess… for the same reason you knew I was out in Metalonia… despite the fact we haven’t spoken in years.”

Her throat feels thick and it's hard to swallow. He must be a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom, noticing every little thing his opponent says and reading between the lines. She kept tabs on him and He came when he thought she would need him because-

”Okay.” She says, voice wobbling, “You can sit.”

So he does, and he stays even after the sun sets and it’s too cold out for a regular human.

For the first time, he doesn’t leave first.

[brucewaynehater101]

My bad, y'all, but uh... Here:

Also, obviously not strictly canon

Tw: attempted murder, mentions of canonical character death, aggression

Hurt no comfort

Jason... He's frozen. Every muscle in his body is locked as he tries to process the information. Deep down, past the onslaught of numbness and passive dissociation within his brain, several emotions and past experiences rage against each other.

He's not fully present as his lips creak open. "What?"

Tim, observing the older's state, pauses. He winces at his possible misstep and the obvious distress it's causing. "I-"

A omnious creak sounds out as Jason grips his holstered gun. "What did you just say?"

The numbness is being washed away by rage, and Tim nervously notices. He swallows. He can't tear his eyes from the threat in front of him even though the aggression sends bolts of fear into his intestines.

Jason removes his gun but doesn't point it at the younger man.

Tim's eyes flicker down to the gun and then back up to Jason's face. He nods slowly and shifts into a slightly more defensive position. "Superman stopped Batman from killing the Joker."

Jason stills once more.

He checks behind his shoulder before his head gradually swivels back to Tim. Even through the helmet, Robin can feel the oppressive gaze checking over him.

Red Hood doesn't find any wounds. There's no quickness of breath, frantic eye movement, or twitching. Tim is wary, but he's fully aware. He's not under any influence.

"Bruce was going to kill Joker?"

Robin slides a foot backward. He nods.

Jason's hands twitch. "Superman stopped him?"

Another nod.

"Why?"

The other foot slides back.

Red Hood takes a step forward.

They both freeze.

Jason is poised to leap for Tim and the younger one isn't certain he'd be able to escape. He grasps one of the batarangs as he answers.

"Joker somehow became Iran's ambassador. An American vigilante associated with the Justice League murdering the ambassador of a foreign country would have started World War Three."

Every line in Jason's body is tense. His muscles start to tremble with the sheer force and pressure he's exerting over them. His breathing becomes audible and distorted through the helmet as his chest heaves.

"Bruce was going to kill the Joker."

Tim nods.

"Superman stopped him."

Another more hesitant nod.

"Batman never tried again."

Robin grimaces.

Red Hood nods to himself. His head turns away from Robin as he tries to process his bitter acceptance at the inevitability against the crushing weight of disappointment when he had foolishly hoped differently. Jason knew, especially after his confrontation with Batman, that the man wouldn't have tried to avenge him. A crapshoot one-time effort doesn't count when Batman has access to finish the job at any point that clown is rotting in Arkham. The only part that's changed is Red Hood's opinion on the Boy Scout.

He should be used to heroes failing him by now.

Tim, as he sees the fury tightly coiled in Red Hood's fists and the sag in his shoulders, clears his throat. When the eyes of the helmet peer back at him, he tries to defend them.

"It was the right choice."

With the rage suddenly being pointed towards Tim, the teen can't help but flinch.

"What?"

Robin's hand fiddles with his collar as he uncertainly bites his lip. His eyes drift between the very angry man and various escape routes.

Red Hood snarls. "What the fuck do you mean by 'it was the right choice?'" With an angry stomp, he crowds Tim's space until he's towering over the younger kid. "Tell me what you mean by that, Pretender!"

Robin swallows nervously as he raises both hands in front of him. His palms face Jason in both an appeasement gesture as well as in preparation to push away the older teen if it calls for that. Despite the prickling stings of fear and anxiety, Tim continues. He's not one to back down from a threat.

"I mean exactly that. If Batman had killed Joker, it could have drawn America into a war with Iran. Superman made the right choice."

"You think- You-" A frustrated and pained growl leaves Jason's throat as he takes a step back. A hand drifts his helmet as he tries to calm his erratic breathing.

The crime lord releases a bitter laugh and takes another step back. "You actually believe that."

Tim doesn't respond.

There's another huff of resigned humor from Jason at this. "Of course you do." He takes another step back as he shakes his head. "Of course. What was I thinking?"

Red Hood grits his teeth. "Right. Yeah."

His gaze seems to drift to the city as he tries to order his thoughts. His emotions war in his mind, but overall he just feels tired.

"Batman was right not to kill the Joker. What else was I expecting?"

[peppymintdreams]

Heey, Can you maybe write about Andrew and darling after a fight?

After the Fight

Andrew Marston x Darling

Both of whom are getting ready for bed but the events of just a few minutes resurface into a much bigger deal resulting in some actions

The bedroom was oppressively silent, save for the occasional shifting of sheets as Andrew and Darling lay in tense, mutual resentment. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, yet here they were—back to back in bed, their earlier argument unresolved and bitterness radiating between them. Neither spoke, but both were wide awake, their anger festering under the thin guise of sleep.

Andrew was irritated, though he tried to ignore it, swallowing his frustration as he stared blankly at the wall. He heard the faintest sniffle behind him, followed by a shaky exhale.

"Are you crying?" His voice was flat, but there was an undercurrent of weariness and exasperation.

Darling didn’t answer, but their trembling breaths gave them away.

“Christ, Darling,” Andrew sighed, rolling onto his back. “Why are you crying now? We’ve been over this. I’m not doing this again tonight.”

Darling sat up abruptly, wiping their cheeks with trembling hands. "I’m crying because I don’t know what else to do, Andrew! I hate going to sleep like this. I hate that you won’t even talk to me properly.” Their voice cracked, and the sound hit Andrew like a blow, though he tried not to show it.

“You hate it?” he retorted, sitting up as well. His brow furrowed, irritation bleeding into his tone. “And what exactly do you expect me to do? Keep arguing until sunrise? Apologize for something I didn’t do just to make you feel better? You’re not the only one upset here!”

Darling’s lip quivered, their words caught between a sob and a scream. “You act like I’m the one who’s being unreasonable, but you don’t even care how I feel, do you?”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Andrew snapped, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. “You twist everything into me being the villain. I care, Darling, but I don’t know what you want from me anymore. What am I supposed to do? Tell me, because I’m tired of guessing!”

The tears spilled faster now, uncontrollable and hot. Darling’s chest heaved as they grabbed their coat draped over the chair by the window.

“What are you doing?” Andrew asked sharply, his irritation momentarily replaced by confusion.

“I can’t stay here,” Darling choked out, slipping their arms into the sleeves of the coat. “I can’t sit here and listen to you talk to me like this. I need... I need to go.”

Andrew swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing quickly. “It’s the middle of the night, Darling. Be serious.”

“I am serious!” They fumbled for their keys, barely able to see through their tears. “I can’t be here, Andrew. I can’t do this right now.”

Andrew’s frustration wavered, replaced by a twinge of panic as Darling headed for the door. “You’re not thinking straight,” he said, his voice softer but still tense. “Running off into the dark isn’t going to fix anything.”

Darling paused at the doorway, their back to him. “I don’t know how to fix this,” they whispered, their voice breaking. “But staying here and feeling like I’m nothing to you? That hurts more than leaving.”

Andrew’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing, his pride and guilt waging a silent war. “Darling...”

But the door clicked shut before he could finish.

Andrew stood in the empty space they’d left behind, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He cursed under his breath, his heart pounding harder with each second of silence. He told himself to give them space, but deep down, the thought of them wandering alone in the cold was unbearable.

Grabbing his own coat, Andrew muttered to himself, “You’re a bloody idiot, Marston,” before slipping out the door into the night.

He had to find them. Even if it meant continuing the fight, even if it meant swallowing his pride, he wasn’t about to let them leave like this

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 5 - Temperance

summary : viktor and reader work together in the library (so much banter, it's insane), then maybe there's a small fight because a guy called viktor a cripple and that causes some issues

content warnings : mentions of blood but really not that much tbh

word count : 5,4k

author's note : you thought i was gone on this one huh ? WRONG. we're so back babies! i know it's been 2 years since i've touched this baby okay, but i'm back now! hopefully i will get more time to write about this lil guy bc i love this fic.

masterlist : 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5

(not proofread, english is not my first language ✦)

taglist : @doctorho

For the rest of the two long hours, Heimerdinger continued his lesson.

The class had come to an end, you silent, the class teeming with gossip. Professor Heimerdinger had distributed the subjects one by one to the students at the end of the lesson. He was a perfectly reasonable, friendly teacher who tried to make his pupils laugh at the expense of their historical knowledge.

When you had a lesson with him, you knew you were listening to a teacher who was wise enough to turn events and experiences into jokes to lighten the burden of his history lessons.

He was always on the lookout for questions and comments from the students, not hesitating for a moment as he gave the subjects to the groups one by one to point out the difficulties they might find and the pitfalls that might await them.

In short, Heimerdinger wanted his students to succeed, not to see a decline in the Piltover Academy's chances of success, which in the eyes of many seemed to be something to crow about rather than something to be ashamed of.

The very idea of being one of the few students to overcome these difficulties and succeed was, in your eyes, the greatest reward that could ever be given to you.

“Young folks,” he said, pointing to the two of you. “Come this way. I have reserved a subject especially for you.”

Heimerdinger didn't do things haphazardly. He gave students subjects that reflected them, or at least where he knew the results would be most interesting. You couldn't help but fear what he was up to.

When the students had dispersed, the tinkle of Viktor's cane sounded until he arrived at your side. You sighed audibly as you looked at him, crossing your arms over your chest as he gave you a winning smile.

He seemed to enjoy it when you got angry, and took great pleasure in teasing you constantly. Had he been a friend, you wouldn't have held it against him, even though your list of friends consisted mainly of Eris, Sky and Jayce. However, a friend wasn't supposed to be a problem for your success. There's only so much space in the academy for students who come out on top, and you weren't about to give yours away.

“Good,” he said at last as the last student passed through the doorway. “There's no need to point out that you two are the sharpest elements of this class, you're well enough aware of that, as is the rest of the school certainly.”

Your bickering and petty battles almost made the corridors of the school come alive again with the excitement of rumour and gossip partaking in your reputation.

“None of the fellow teachers in this establishment seem to have brought to the table, however, a possibility which seems to me to be the most interesting for both of you: teamwork.”

You arched an eyebrow, finding the reasoning profoundly moronic.

“Sir,” you couldn't help but point out, “this school is eliminatory. Why would you want to associate students who won't necessarily all have the chance to pass the exams?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, “I'm not doing it with the prospect of a pass or a gold medal waiting for you at the finish line, Miss.”

You tilted your chin up in a slight pout of surprise.

“You see, I'm not necessarily trying to prepare you for the exams, but for what will happen once they're over. Having a diploma is all very well on paper, but what counts most in the end will be what you achieve.”

“All right,” you admit, “but why put us in a pair like this?”

“It's quite simple,” he jumped up from his desk, trotting across the floor to stand in front of you, your eyes downcast on him. “In the working environment, you don't always find a shoe to fit. And when you don't have the power to dismiss your colleague just because you don't like them, you have to learn to sacrifice your temperament for the sake of the common good. Now, I'm not asking you to make sacrifices, that word is far too violent, but I am asking you to compromise.”

You exchanged a look with Viktor, your fists clenching until your knuckles were white. You'd already made enough compromises for one lifetime, and now you had to go on? He, for his part, didn't seem too bothered by the situation. How could he be so calm? So serene about the idea of cooperating?

“You don't always work with the person of your choice, and not always on the subjects you'd prefer. Oh, that's just it! Speaking of subjects…”

He stood on tiptoe, grabbing the last sheet of paper from his desk and holding it out to Viktor.

The latter, for once, frowned in pure confusion and even perhaps... irritation?

“The evolution of Zaun's power?”

Your eyes narrowed before shifting from Viktor to Heimerdinger, “Are you joking?”

“I do love to laugh young lady but the shortest jokes are the best. You both seem, for different reasons, to have an excellent knowledge of Zaun. Its political power, its evolution, and even the iconic figures who can make themselves forgotten in the shadows of its depths.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying to remain upright and not revolt on the spot. Heimerdinger seemed way too amused and happy of his little scheme.

“Any questions?”

Viktor read the subject and what you had to complete, “Do you have any books to recommend to us Professor?”

Heimerdinger's voice became a blur as your thoughts drifted like the Grey in Zaun. Every corner of this city was out to kill you, and even when you were out of it, it followed you like your shadow.

Were you ever going to get out of such a cycle, out of this city’s grasp ?

“Miss?”

The teacher's voice brought you back down to earth. Distracted, you simply offered a confused hum in question so that he would repeat his last words.

“Your assignment is due in a month. That gives you time to put your differences aside and find a way of working together. If you'll excuse me, my next class is coming up soon.”

He gestured towards the exit, and soon enough you found yourselves in the corridor. The momentary emptiness of the hall almost seemed to bring you back to reality.

You drew in a breath, meeting Viktor's gaze beside you. You couldn't afford to get a bad mark, especially not for a Heimerdinger course. He was one of the most renowned scientists in the country, with his own seat on the Piltover council. To produce mediocre work would be to end your career on the spot, and you were prepared to at least try to cooperate with someone like Viktor.

“Why are you not begging the teacher to put us both in different duos?” you asked while Viktor was still reading the subject content.

“Hm, I think it might be fun.” he said, not even glancing at you.

You scoffed, “You and me?” your trigger finger pointing back and forth between the two of you, “Together? Fun?”

His eyes dropped from the paper, scanning you with a changed interest.

“You'd rather go back in there and ask for a rematch like a loser?”

A muscle near your eye tensed for a moment.

He sighed, his eyes returning to the subject, “Admitting defeat takes strength.”

“So you think I'm weak ?”

But Viktor didn't seem to have the slightest interest in you at the moment.

You relaxed your shoulders, sighing. There was no point in trying to beat him, you weren't - on that subject at least - in competition.

“Can I see the subject?” you asked, reaching for the paper, but he removed it from your reach in an instant.

You frowned, this wasn't going to be easy.

“Do I disgust you?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard, your eyes blinking several times as you almost looked at him with fresh eyes.

If the question was purely physical, no, Viktor didn't disgust you. He was always accompanied at all times and in all places by that same invariable weariness that gave him a particular elegance. He had features common in Zaun, brown hair, amber eyes, and an accent that made some of the girls in your class drop like flies.

When it came to his character and personality though, it was another thing entirely.

“You annoy me,” you replied, managing to snatch the subject of his hand with enough agility that the gesture left him surprised, “but you don't disgust me.”

He remained silent for a moment. You could feel his eyes on you as yours fell on those of the subject.

“The only thing that disgusts me is your taste in pasta,” you confirmed.

He let out a little laugh, the kind that mixes humming and nose blowing, the kind you do when a remark makes you nostalgic.

“Friday, 5pm, library, don't be late.” he said simply, the clink of his cane echoing on the floor as he began to walk away.

As your eyes roamed over the page, you couldn't help but take in nothing of what was written. Your mind was stuck on him, on the trick Heimerdinger had just played on you.

He had just orchestrated a game that the whole school was going to bet on, the teachers were going to look at your situation in a new light, and in the worst case scenario, multiply the group work to put you both in pairs.

Your heart looped as you realised that this was undoubtedly another test. Heimerdinger was going to observe which of you was the best performer, the most pliable, the best at teamwork.

You had to be flawless, you had to.

Friday came earlier than you imagined, and you weren't looking forward to it in the least. You hadn't stopped thinking about it, finding yourself on numerous occasions distracted during your homework.

The card of the day you had drawn was Temperance, and the little booklet told you:

Alchemy. Mixing and harmonising opposing forces and concepts. Maintaining opposing ideas and encouraging complexity in life. Fusion produces evolution.

The archangel Gabriel, the angel messenger, is represented on the card. He wears the sign of the sun on his forehead. This is also the alchemist's symbol for gold. This card reflects the changing of the seasons and the adoption of new ideas. Temper in Latin is the act of repetition to invoke skill or to refine something, to make it sharper like a sword.

What a pain that was, and to think you'd have to endure this for a whole month of deep research and hours spent by his side working, together.

You dragged your feet as you made your way to the academy library.

It was a magnificent place, filled with the smell of varnished wood, old paper and dried ink. The ceiling was arched, the bookshelves forming real walls that separated the room like rows of pews in a church. If it hadn't been reserved for the academy's research students, it would surely have been on Piltover's list of monuments to visit.

There weren't many people there, apart from a small handful of students finishing their homework before basking in the arrival of the weekend. You were a good fifteen minutes early, and didn't see Viktor at all.

You were just about to put your bag and things down by a table and start your research, when a voice you wouldn't have preferred to hear at the time greeted you:

“Ah, there you are,” Viktor approached, coming out of one of the library corridors, “I just needed some help to get to the higher tomes.”

With his free hand, he held up a small stack of tomes, pressing them under his chin before placing them on a table with two or three other books already laid out.

You sighed, moving your things over to his table, “Have you been there for long already?”

“Why, do you care about me?” his cheeky grin made you roll your eyes.

“I think you overestimated my greatness. Which shelf?”

He said nothing, making his way to one of the shelves. You followed him. Fortunately, the women's uniforms at the academy had trousers. You wouldn't have known what to do if it had been otherwise and you'd ended up on a ladder above him.

“You know,” he began as you reached the meagre ladder to the upper shelves, “I've been looking forward to working with you.”

You arched an eyebrow, your hand gripping the ladder as you looked at him in confusion.

“Why?”

The two of you were only picking on each other, you were avoiding him like the plague, and you'd made it clear to him several times that your situation was that of a competition. So obviously you had a right to be surprised as to why he'd want to work with you.

He shrugged. “You were the top student before I came here, surely there must be a reason behind it.”

You expelled an abrupt puff from your lungs, your breath taken away by his insolence. You could only expect it after all.

You climbed a few steps up the ladder, looking for Zaun's historical tomes.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment, or am I to believe my working buddy seeks to diminish me to a fictive second rank?”

“We're in a library, alas, reality catches up to this fiction, miss number two.”

You clutched the volume in your hand, your nostrils flaring for a moment in anger. He knew how to annoy you, and you never seemed to find a single point on which you could reciprocate.

You held out the tomes one by one for him to take. “Guess I could work on a pet name for you too.”

“Be my guess.”

Once his arm was full, you took a few tomes in your hands before climbing down the ladder and walking towards the table. “And make you the honour of thinking of something to be done for you ? I'd rather lick sandpaper.”

He feigned disappointment, “So I do disgust you, this pains me.”

You set the pile of volumes down on the table, reaching into your bag to pull out paper and pens.

“Yeah well, You were supposed to pretend I didn't exist, not try to bother me to death. So I guess we're both disappointed.”

He took a seat, grabbing a volume and placing it in front of him. “So I bother you ?”

You sat down opposite him, imitating his gesture as you searched with interest for a tome to start with.

“What a transcending sense of observation you have.”

He brought both his hands up in front of him, resting his chin on the backs of his fingers.

“How do I bother you?”

You were starting to get annoyed by his questions. You had come here to work, not to chat.

“Your simple existence?” you replied, staring into his eyes.

He sighed, opening his book and noting on the page its title.

“As if yours wasn't proof that failure has a sense of humour.”

You said nothing, letting his comment wander in the air as you started your own research in silence, locating the chapter of interest to you in the table of contents.

“But seriously,” Viktor continued, “why do I bother you?”

You sighed, pinching the page you were on before shifting your eyes from the words on it to Viktor's curious amber gaze.

“You want an honest answer ?”

He nodded. You let go of the page, straightening up.

“You come into my life and wreck everything I've built brick by brick, wouldn't you be the slightest bit frustrated if that happened to you ?”

It was his turn to be silent this time. He seemed to look at you differently, as if, by some miracle perhaps, he'd just realised what was at stake for you in this situation.

He wasn't even touching the tip of the iceberg of why you'd come to the Academy, but for a moment he seemed to understand how important it could be for you.

Your eyes returned to your page, trying to find keywords to write down or information to record.

“You surpassed me in the exam, teachers love you, you make great friends…”

“Almost sounds like you're obsessed with me.”

Your lips parted, eyes wide as you looked at him as if he'd just slapped you, leaving your cheek and your thoughts with a warm tingle. You were so surprised that nothing came from your lips, which was beginning to be enough for a flash of mischief to cross Viktor's eyes and for the corner of his lips to form a sneer.

“I'm not.” You finally reply, trying to remain composed and not to stammer for anything in the world.

“Denial would've worked before the long vacant stare,” he says, advancing slightly on the table.

“Why do you have to be like that?”

“Like what?”

You humph, dropping back in your chair in despair.

“Better than me.”

He recoiled slightly, as if the remark was completely far-fetched and unfounded.

“There are thousands of people better than me, why do you have to focus on my poor self, hm? Did I barge in your territory?”

He had, unconsciously he truly had. It was you who was supposed to be first, otherwise the consequences would've been mentally dire.

“Take it this way,” he continued, “there's surely something you're better at than me.”

You couldn't think of much on the spot, especially not when there was a possibility of you making a list of things he topped you in. There was surely one thing though.

“Running.”

He opened his lips in surprise, a smile stretching across his face which he hid with his hand. You were already regretting what you'd just said.

“Jayce is going to be the first one hearing about this.”

“No it's-”

“So you're participating in a system made against disabilities.”

“I never-”

“Are you going to steal my crutch next in hopes of beating me to a race?”

“You're never going to drop this now are you ?”

“With such a statement ? Never.”

“Whatever let's just- let's just work.” you mumble, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and shame as you desperately try to move on.

He gave one last chuckle before getting back to work. He seemed to be reading a tome on the history of the masters of Zaun.

“About Tytos, I still think you've got that wrong.” he said as he read another page from the tome.

“I think I'm going to smash your face in.” you replied calmly without looking at him.

“As if you could reach me.”

“You know what-” you began, raising your voice.

However, somebody shushed you in the room, restricting you to remaining calm.

“Raising your voice in a library? You'd have to be a stupid fool.”

“Trying to contradict me when even Heimerdinger considered my answer excellent is not the wisest either.”

“Heimerdinger would tell a snail that goes slightly faster than the norm it's excellent. But maybe your low self esteem is just common sense.”

“Maybe my self esteem will just leave this library right now.” you say, crossing your arms on the table.

“And leave me to pursue this matter on my own? That wouldn't be very serious, miss number two.”

You sighed, getting back to work. Your blood was boiling in your veins just from sitting at this table.

“None of the books mention Tytos.”

“Since when do you trust Piltover books on the accounts of the history of Zaun ?”

Touché. He raised his eyebrows as if it were the only relevant thing you could have said.

“You never said where you were from, in Zaun,” he remarked.

You tensed slightly. “Why do you want to know that ?”

“We're making an exposé on Zaun, we're both from there, might as well just know it,” he said, raising his eyes to yours.

You watched him for a moment, he didn't seem to want to make a joke of you once your answer was out of your mouth. But in any case, you weren't going to give it to him.

“You wouldn't know,” you replied simply as you jotted down another date.

‘I'm sure that I-”

“You don't want to know.’ you said firmly, the seriousness taking over your face to assure him that this was certainly not territory he wished to venture into.

He frowned, confused. He seemed deeply intrigued by you, and that made you uncomfortable. Never before in your life had anyone asked you so many questions about yourself in such a short space of time. And so here he was, shaking up every one of your pillars like a bowling ball knocking over pins.

This one, however, was not about to give way.

You looked at your watch for a moment, sighing.

“Let's work for one more hour. We'll make a plan and subparts of what we'll talk about at the end of it.”

This time Viktor seemed to get the message: silence. 

You couldn't help glancing at him from time to time. You noticed the way his long fingers flicked across the pages, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he read, the way he rested his cheek on the back of his hand with a sigh as he read a boring piece of writing. 

Or when he would click his pencil for a moment to write something down, and his handwriting would lie gracefully on the paper, scratching the grain of the paper.

It was not without surprise that, once the hour had passed, there was hardly anyone in the library but the two of you. 

When you explained your plan for the presentation to Viktor, he agreed, simply giving a few perfectly critical and serious remarks without condescending to him in any way.

“Good. I think this is a good time to stop for today,” you said as you stood up, taking a stack of books in your arms.

All in all, working with Viktor like this wasn't so bad, when it was done in silence. But as soon as either of you opened your lips to say anything, politeness left the room in great strides.

You put each tome away in its old place, both of you taking your things, and left the library. The academy wasn't closed yet, and some people still had classes or were hanging around in the corridors.

You walked side by side, your pace the same as Viktor's. All the students seemed to turn around as you passed, your duo seeming like a pair of circus animals. 

You glanced at Viktor, who didn't seem in the least affected by this.

However, a trio of students were watching you with evil, mocking eyes. You couldn't help but tense up, however, when the one who seemed as tall as he was stupid remarked: 

“Die already, cripple. You're slowing the traffic.”

Your shoulders tensed as you walked, expecting to do what you'd always had to do here despite the taunts: ignore and move on.

But Viktor wasn't going to listen to you like that.

“Thank you for your advice, I'll try euthanasia once you'll be able to count higher than the number of butterfingers you've got.”

A few chuckles echoed in the corridor at his reply, but the young man seemed to be boiling with hatred. It was as you passed in front of them that, in a cowardly move, he kicked Viktor's cane.

He lost his balance, falling face first to the ground as his cane fell beside him. The air stopped for a moment with the shock of the gesture, your eyes shifting from Viktor on the ground to the idiot who had just knocked him over. Students knelt down beside him immediately to help him.

“Oops, my foot slipped. Sorry.”

But nothing, of course, conveyed any regret at this behaviour.

He turned his back and walked off with his group of friends. Your blood ran cold.

Quickly, you grabbed Viktor's cane, which was still on the ground, and made it whistle through the air before it struck the back of the student's knees. It was his turn to shrivel up on the floor, and he immediately turned to you, his cheeks red with anger.

“Oops, my hand slipped,” you said, glancing at the crutch for a moment before returning to him. “Sorry.”

You turned back to Viktor, handing him his crutch. He looked at you with fried whiting eyes, deeply surprised by your gesture without moving a muscle.

“You fucking slut…” you heard behind you.

But as soon as you turned around, a sharp blow hit you in the cheek. The force of it knocked you back two steps, a metallic taste spreading through your mouth. You brought your fingers to your lips, hissing as you touched them, your bottom lip burning. Bringing your fingers back into line of sight, you found them bloodied.

You turned to the student, his face far too satisfied for your liking.

‘’What a brilliant idea,‘’ you breathed as, in one swift movement, you struck his crotch with the crutch.

He bent over instinctively, gasping for breath, before you punched him right in the nose. He fell, cowering on the ground like a miserable insect.

"What's going on here?" asked a stern voice.

Madame Agrane, one of your teachers, came into the corridor. Her eyes fell on Viktor on the floor, your lip split, the student on the ground surrounded by his two friends.

“Everyone in my office, now.”

You pressed a bag of ice cubes to your cheek, sitting next to Viktor who was clutching his crutch in his hands. As for the idiot, he kept grumbling and giving you nasty looks.

"Can someone explain to me what happened for you all to end up in such states?" questioned Agrane.

You were about to start but the idiot beat you to it.

"Madame Agrane, I was just minding my own business in the corridor when these two pupils came up to me! One was hitting me with his crutch while the other was punching me. I don't know what I've done to deserve this.' He exclaimed theatrically, Viktor and you looking at him like the most ridiculous being to ever be.

If there was one thing that helped your reputation, it was that you were known as serious students, who didn't fall into the category of those who would start a fight in the corridors for no particular reason.

"That is far from the truth," Viktor retorted calmly. "He insulted me, then made me fall, and then...’

He seemed to be hesitating over his words, or at least looking for the right term. He turned to you, letting his eyes drift for a moment to your split lip, and then back to Madame Agrane's gaze.

"... My friend protected me."

Friend? the word made you clench your jaw, inhaling. It was just a lie, just a word brought to the front to give your teacher sympathy. No, he certainly didn't mean it.

The teacher looked at you, seeming more convinced by your story than the other. Noticing this, the student couldn't help but plead his own case: 

"Madam, these two students come from Zaun. The blood of violence will always run in their veins."

Agrane seemed to give you a new look, as if you and Viktor were ready to pounce on her like two wolves.

"Is this a joke? You started all this," you said, offended.

"Beating you up would have brought greatness to Piltover." he replied.

"Oh, look at you, attempting greatness! Pity it's just an attempt." you sighed, pressing the ice pack a little closer to your cheek to put out the fire your anger was beginning to spread.

"Madam Agrane," he continued, turning to her, "you know what my patron will think about this. Imagine his reaction when he will hear how you have treated his favoured student?"

You had no idea who his patron could possibly have been, but she didn't hesitate for a second to say: 

"Miss, you'll get an hour's detention for your violent behaviour in the corridors. I hope I don't have to catch you again doing such barbaric acts."

Your eyes widened just as much as Viktor's.

"What?! But he's the one who-" you tried, pointing at the idiot who was smiling victoriously.

"There's no buts about it. The discussion is closed. You'll have your detention period this Monday."

"Madam, I think there's been a mistake." Viktor began.

"Do you want to be given detention too, young man?"

Viktor remained silent, sighing before lowering his eyes to the ground.

"Good, see you on Monday, then."

The fool stood up first, walking past you with a foolish grin on his face.

"Bet it feels just like home to be in prison by monday, hm?"

Your lip hemmed in disgust, your nose scrunching up.

"Try what you've done just once more, and I'll personally make sure you have no offspring."

He looked slightly frightened for a moment, then frowned like a child before leaving the room.

You sighed, standing up. You wanted to get out of here right away, away from the horrible feeling of injustice in your heart, away from the word ‘punishment’ burning into your skin.

Your free hand instinctively came to rest on your shoulder for comfort, and you stood up to get your things.

“You didn’t have to do this earlier, you know.” Viktor said.

You sighed, walking towards the door. “Whatever, what is done is done.”

"Hey," Viktor said, standing up behind you.

You didn't even turn to him.

"Thanks, I wasn't expecting that at all."

You waited for something, for anything that would come after what he had just said, but nothing came. Your turned to him.

"Is that all? No remarks about how I'd have been better off hitting him somewhere else, or stupid sarcasm about my action?"

He seemed surprised by your reaction, his face puzzled and almost saddened.

"We're not friends, Viktor." you said, your face as cold as the ice pack on your cheek. "We're..."

But what were you apart from rivals? Two rivals working together to do a job that would rely on both of you, that wasn't really rivalry. It was camaraderie in a way, you were classmates, but friends?

You pursed your lips, a slight trickle of blood beading from them.

"See you next week."

Without further ado, you left the room. You walked down the corridors, the students staring at you like an alien. You were suffocating under all those sharp, curious, numerous stares. You pressed on, leaving the academy as quickly as possible.

Once outside, you took the first quiet alley you could find.

“Shit!” you swore, pressing your back against the first wall you could find.

You brought your hand up to your forehead, sighing until you almost felt your body slide down the wall, running your palm over your face in frustration and exhaustion.

You wanted to cry, the weight of everything feeling like it was zipping up on you like a body bag. You'd been stupid, acting on your emotions. You should have kept your head down, let the administration do its job, not invented a life of heroism trying to redress the balance that some fool had tipped.

You didn't even like Viktor, but you'd still jumped at the chance to do him justice. No, you didn't like Viktor any more than that.

But you respected him.

Could you be friends with him?

The question passed through your mind for a moment, but you ended up putting it out of your mind.

You let your head fall back against the wall. The thought of an hour's detention in your perfect record seemed to you like a thread sticking out of a beautiful dress, itching to be pulled on. You tried to console yourself, to come to terms with the fact that it was just another hour of extra study. But you couldn't help feeling heavy with pain.

Eventually you gathered up your things and walked home, hoping that the cool night air would help to quench the fire that was still boiling inside you. Winter was on your doorstep, and ready to complicate things.

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[diamonddaze01]

hi tara! if the prompt already hasnt been asked for, can i request 86 "Please just leave." with mingyu? thank you <3333 reading all the drabbles now hahahah

silence, at its loudest

pairing: mingyu x reader | wc: 1.1k prompt: "Please just leave." au: chef!mingyu | warnings: angst! and tears a/n: TIYA HELLO! thank you for this req it was so sad to write but i hope you love <3

The apartment was suffocatingly quiet for a fight. No music playing in the background, no rain against the windows to soften the edges of your words—just silence, heavy and dense, pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe. Mingyu stood in the center of the living room, his coat still damp from the storm outside, water dripping from the fabric, leaving a faint puddle at his feet. His tall frame seemed out of place here, as if it didn’t belong in this small space, weighed down by the tension between you both.

You were perched on the couch, arms crossed tightly, a defensive shield you knew wouldn’t protect you from the pain of this conversation. You wanted to retreat into the softness of the cushions, to sink away from him, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t look away, even as your chest tightened and the cold of the room seeped deeper into your skin.

“I don’t even understand what I did wrong!” His voice cracked, frustration and confusion lacing his words. He ran a hand through his damp hair, as if trying to shake the tension out of his mind. “I—I’m here, aren’t I? Why is that never enough for you?”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your throat, but you didn’t back down. You couldn’t. The words you’d been holding back for so long finally broke free, raw and cutting. “It’s not just about you being here, Mingyu. It’s when you decide to show up. You don’t get to keep ignoring me until I’ve hit my limit, then think you can fix everything by standing in my living room and saying you care.”

He took a step forward, but his eyes were desperate, pleading for some sign that you still cared, that there was something left of the person he used to know. “I don’t understand. I’ve been working—working to build something, something for us! And when I’m finally here, you still—”

“You’re always working, Mingyu!” Your voice cracked under the weight of the frustration that had been building for months, maybe longer. “When was the last time you didn’t have your phone on you? When was the last time you didn’t cancel on me because ‘the restaurant’s short-staffed,’ or you just need to finish one last thing?” Your breath came out in short, shaky bursts. “You didn’t even call me back when you knew it was my birthday. That’s what hurts the most.”

The words hit him like a blow, a quick intake of air following the realization. His expression faltered, the first cracks appearing in his armor. “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, you didn’t mean to,” you interrupted, voice soft but heavy with disappointment. “But it keeps happening, Mingyu. You keep doing it. You keep saying it’s not intentional, and then you walk through the door like everything’s fine, like you haven’t been neglecting me for weeks.”

He froze. The tension between you thickened, hanging in the air like smoke that wouldn’t dissipate. “I wasn’t ignoring you, okay? I was just trying to... I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d—”

“No, you didn’t think, Mingyu. You assumed,” you said, bitterness seeping into every syllable. “You assumed I’d be fine with it. You assumed I’d be okay with the empty promises, the unreturned messages, the way you disappear whenever things get hard. But I’m not fine. And I’m so tired of pretending that I am.”

His hands shook as he stepped toward you again, his voice breaking with a softness you hadn’t heard in months. “I’m sorry. I know I screwed up. But I’m here now. Let me make it right. I’ll... I’ll stay. I’ll be here for you. I’ll make things better.”

You shook your head, stepping back, distancing yourself both physically and emotionally. “That’s the problem, Mingyu. You think that just showing up, just being here in front of me, is enough to make everything better. But it’s not. It’s too late for that. I can’t just pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the boy you fell for peeked through the cracks. The one who used to wait outside your office just to walk you home, who stayed up late to hear every mundane detail of your day, who never left you wondering where he was or if he cared. That version of him felt like a distant memory now, buried beneath layers of missed calls, broken promises, and unspoken words.

You could see it in his face—the hurt, the regret—but the distance between you both felt too wide to cross anymore. “Please... Don’t do this,” he whispered, stepping closer, his voice raw with emotion. “I need you. I need us.”

You swallowed, your throat tight with the weight of everything you wanted to say but couldn’t. “I can’t keep waiting for you to care when you decide it’s convenient for you, Mingyu. I can’t keep putting myself through this. I can’t keep pretending that it’s enough just because you’re here when it suits you.”

The silence stretched between you both, suffocating and heavy. His hand reached out, fingers trembling as if he wanted to hold you, to make things right, but he stopped himself. He knew, deep down, that it was too late. That the bridge between you had already collapsed, one small misstep at a time, until there was nothing left to salvage.

“Please just leave,” you said quietly, the words slipping from your lips like they didn’t even belong to you. They were heavy, final, like the last breath of something you once held dear.

His breath hitched, his chest tightening, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t look away from the wreckage that was left between you both, and you knew that leaving now was the only way to preserve whatever was left of yourself.

He stood frozen, his hand still on the doorknob, his body shaking like he was fighting to say something, anything, to change the course of what was happening. But the words wouldn’t come. There was nothing left to say. The silence stretched until it became deafening.

With one last look, he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him. You stood there, motionless, listening to the sound of his footsteps fade away into the distance, swallowed by the rain and the night.

The apartment was cold now, emptier than it had ever been, the silence louder than any argument. And when you finally exhaled, it was like the breath you’d been holding for so long had escaped—too late, but finally out.

But the ache in your chest remained.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[saltnsugarbear]

Lip with “Fuck, wait — shit. Mm— fuck. Wh-where did you learn to do that?” “Well, the noises you make are a pretty good indication of how you like it.” “…God you sound so fucking cocky right now and it’s turning me on even more.” 

so like on the low i ate this up

word count: 1.0k

content warnings: KAREN SLANDER IM SO SORRY (I don't like her but I hate slut shaming more) they don't enthusiastically consent but they're both into it I'm sorry 😔, so ig dubcon, oral (m!receiving) (don't ask for this ever again), Lip is kind of mean (the voices olive got to me on that one)

side note: don't expect any bj fics again cause I hate the idea of giving men head SORRY also I like triggered my own life apocalypse (got sick at work, power went out, etc)

come celebrate!

One of Lip's favorite things about you is your competitive nature. Not that he'd ever say that out loud, but it's one of the things that endeared him to you.

It made him like pushing your buttons even more.

So complaining while you actually work on your group project is the perfect way to annoy you today. However you've stopped paying him any mind, about three minutes into his griping. So he tries a new approach.

Bringing up his most recent conquests. So obviously that means he feels the need to mention Karen.

And the fact that instead of being tutored, she gave Lip head instead. The story makes you roll your eyes, shaking your head when he comments that it's probably the best blowjob he's ever gotten.

"It could not have been that good.." You scoff, trying to focus on finishing the sentence you're writing. "Actually, I take that back. Given how big of a slut she is, she's probably had plenty of practice."

"Oh fuck you-" Lip starts.

"Am I wrong?" You challenge him quickly, glaring up from your page.

"You're just pissed off you're not getting any." He sneers. You roll your eyes, you're not having this conversation with him.

Lip takes your silence as agreement, snickering lightly. "No wonder you're so uptight, you're not getting laid."

You have to bite your tongue to keep from retorting. He's fucking insufferable.

"Everything makes so much more sense now. Because I kept asking myself, y'know, why you're such a bitch. But it makes sense now, you're not getting away so you need to take your frustrations out another way."

"You're such a fucking asshole, Gallagher. You don't know shit about who I'm fucking." You snap at him, putting your pen down none too gently.

"Right, like anyone would be able to fuck you. Probably too fucking tight up there, can't even get a finger in you." Lip's look is gloating, like he's won some verbal sparring match.

You don't know why you're moving. Pushing out of your chair and tugging Lip's back. Lip sputters at the abruptness of your yanking, arms flying out for balance. Once there's enough space for you, you quickly step in between his legs before dropping down to your knees.

You're a little surprised at the small tent in Lip's slacks already, scoffing after you piece it together. "You get off on the sound of your own voice?"

"What? No. What are you-" You cut Lip's questioning off quickly, pushing yourself up to rest on your toes so you can easily rest your arm on his thigh as you press your palm against his half hard dick. Lip's words are muddled as you bully him through the fabric, fighting himself for some composure.

With one last squeeze, you bring both of your hands to his hips, pulling him forward until he's sitting at the very edge. You don't miss how he inhales sharply at your rough handling.

Once he's positioned better, you sit flat on your feet before looking up at him through your lashes and leaning forward, licking at his erection through his slacks. Lip groans as you continue to mouth at his cock, head falling back as you suck softly around the fabric.

Once you're satisfied with the wet patch you've made in his pants, you bring your hands to unbutton and unzip them before tugging them down slightly. Lip helps you out by lifting his hips up, letting drag them down past his knees. Your saliva bled through his pants, dampening his boxers where you had been teasing him.

Taking your time, you go back to mouthing at his erection. You can hear him shifting above you, glancing up to see him bring his hands around. Lip's hands are pushy as they hold the back of your head.

"Uh-uh.." You pull away from his bulge, catching his wrists before leaning forward and tucking them behind his back. "Those stay there."

"Fuck..." Lip mutters.

"Lift." You tap his hips as you curl your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Lip is a quick listener, lifting his hips up so you can tug his boxers down to his pants. He breathes out heavily when his cock springs free, hitting his stomach.

You're quick to take him in your mouth, sliding your tongue along the underneath of his length. There's a sense of pride as Lip struggles to form any words, the only things leaving his mouth a mix of whines and groans.

"Fuck, wait- shit-" Lip grunts as you sink back down to the base, glancing up at him with your nose brushing against his happy trail. "Mm- fuck. Wh-where did you learn to do that?"

You hum around his length, feeling how he twitches in your mouth before pulling all the way off.

"Well, the noises you're making are a pretty good indication of how you like it." You grin up at him, bringing your hand to wrap around the base of his cock.

"...God you sound so fucking cocky right now and it's turning me on even more." Lip's eyes are lidded as he looks down at you, watching as you slowly jerk him off. You roll your eyes at him, leaning back towards his cock.

"I liked you better when you could barely speak," you tell him before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around the head of him.

"Fuu- ughh.." Lip grunts as you suckle at his head. His hips buck up into your mouth, pushing himself farther in. You hum sharply, taking your hands away from his base and pushing back against his hips. Lip breathes heavily as you keep his hips in place, flicking your tongue over the slit before pressing gently at the underside of his head.

"Wait-" Lip chokes out, hips bucking up again. "Shit, shit- fuck-"

Lip's release is thick on your tongue and you're quick to open your mouth, letting him watch as his cum coats your tongue. Doing such makes Lip swear, another rope covering your tongue. You pull away from him, sticking your tongue out for him to see all of his release before making a show of swallowing it.

"Still think she gave you the best blowjob of your life?"

[beidak-art]

sleepless night

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

I'm starting Mission to Zyxx Season 5 now, and I have feelings about that.

First, it generally scares me when people hype anything up at all because there is no guarantee that anyone values the exact same thing I do to the same degree. Even if I trust the creators of a thing to value something and try to do right by it, that doesn't always necessarily mean it will be successful, especially if that involves doing something wildly different than what made it good in the first place (I have been burned this way before). I guess I'm just hoping they continue the format of goofy improv shenanigans for the majority of it with something more planned and emotional in the finale if they want, like they've been doing all along. I'd think they would, and I've heard nothing bad about the ending, but I guess it still makes me nervous because I'm so close to the end and I want it so badly to stick the landing. I'm setting my expectations on the floor so I can be surprised instead of disappointed, but honestly, I don't need it to be better, I just need it to be on par with the rest.

Second, and more briefly, I'm happy it's (hopefully) ending before it has a chance to decline. I am so on board with that philosophy. But on the other hand, finishing a thing that I really, really like and knowing there's not another one out there gives me a special kind of heartache. Like, I know there will be other good media, and stuff that's good and unique in other ways, but I know for a fact that there are no other podcasts out there that have the same mix of a balance of off-the-wall improv and structured narrative, quality comedy, fantastical sci-fi setting and loveable characters, and high quality production. There are other things out there with many of those qualities, but nothing that checks every one of those boxes. It's a lightning-in-a-bottle thing that very much feels like the right people had to be in the right place at the right time to do it. Attempts to do it again would feel hollow because it had to be born out of necessity and passion and the talents of the people involved, so if you switch out the people it loses the reasons it's great, and if the same people tried to do it again it'd feel tired. That makes me so, so grateful it exists, but also so, so sad that it doesn't, and I'm 80% of the way done. When it's over, it's over.

Anyway. Now that that's all out there, I'm just gonna finish listening and have fun. Wish me luck.