#chapters: embrace of fate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sitepathos · 2 months ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 4: The Deal (Warning: this chapter will feature violence. Read at your own risk)

A/N: had free time this week to produce this. Next week is chock full of tests and midterms, so this’ll probably be the last chapter for some time. Enjoy! Also, I’m sorry to those who asked to be added to the tag list and weren’t. I tried to add many of you, but Tumblr wasn’t able to find your blog for whatever reason.

When you open your eyes, darkness goes on forever in all directions, the only thing you can see is yourself. Where are you and how did you get here?

“Hello,” you call out, hoping someone is nearby to hear you, not caring who hears you just as long as someone comes to you. “Is there anyone here?”

Nothing, which you expected, but you had hoped against reality that someone was here… wherever here is. The cold air surges through your body and you shiver, your teeth chattering, echoing in the void.

“What happened,” you ask yourself. “How’d I get here?”

Just then, your memory kicks in and images and words assault your mind all at once: walking through the East End, the three thugs, the dirty shack in the middle of the woods you had been dragged to, and—

“Oh my god,” you say as the final memory flashes before your eyes. “They killed me.”

That’s right, the flash of the muzzle and the sound of the gunshot still rattling in your head. And if you think hard enough, you can vaguely remember falling to the floor after the bullet entered your head.

“Wait,” you say, realizing something very important. “If they shot me, then why am I here?”

Sure, you aren’t religious (all beliefs in a just and loving god died after you lost your Momma and was forced to live in an abusive and neglectful household for thirteen years), but this dark and neverending void is a far cry from the bright and golden imagery that’s always been associated with heaven. And this sure isn’t the fire and brimstone that comes to mind when you think of hell. So, is this purgatory? Or limbo? You never could keep the two straight.

Is this your fate? To spend the rest of your afterlife alone in this abyss? Why couldn’t you just cease altogether? Was it too much to ask that you just close your eyes and never wake from your eternal slumber?

You realize you’re crying and you’re amazed that after crying so much throughout your life, you still have plenty of tears to shed, even in the afterlife. But that’s been your lot in life since you lost Momma: to be the world’s punching bag.

“Such powerful emotions,” a familiar voice says.

You look up in shock and see your Momma, looking exactly the same as the day she was taken from you.

“Momma,” you exclaim, rushing to her and embracing her, squeezing her as hard as your arms will allow, afraid that if you let go, she’ll disappear.

“This form brings out such joy, sadness, and loss in you,” she says. “Feelings from someone alive are far more vibrant than from someone deceased.”

“What,” you asks, looking up at her in confusion, but when you do, it’s not your Momma you see looking down at you, but Bruce. You let go of the man as quick as you can and put a bit of distance between the two of you.

“What did you do to my Momma, you son of a bitch,” you shout in disgust.

“This form brings out such anger, pain, and hatred in you,” Bruce says, looking you up and down as if dissecting you like a damn lab experiment. “How interesting.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How’d you get here and what did you do to Momma?”

“And it’s not just this form.” You see movement all around you and in perfect unison, the other members of the Wayne Family appear from the void. “You hold these forms in equal amounts of hatred and contempt.”

“You deem this one a failure,” Bruce says.

“This one a hypocrite,” Dick says.

“This one a brute,” Jason says.

“This one a know-it-all,” Tim says.

“This one a stranger,” Barbara says.

“This one annoying,” Stephanie says, before turning to Cassandra. “And while you’ve never heard that one speak, you deem her a freak.”

“And you deem this one a monster,” Damian says. He gestures to Bruce. “You hate this form and that one in equal measure, far surpassing the others.”

You see another figure step out of the void and when you make out the face, it’s Alfred. You feel relief surge through your body, happy to see the butler; if there’s anyone who you can depend on, it’s him.

“While this one serves the others, you hold great respect for this form,” Alfred says. “Although, you hold a not insignificant amount of resentment towards him.”

Your heart skips a little at the accusation. No, you love the man, who took the place of a father when Bruce failed to fill the void left by your Momma’s death; sure, you’ve had the occasional thought that if the man was given a choice between you and them, he’d choose them over you since he’s always helping them, but he’s always been there for you since day one!

“No,” you say, pleading with the man. “Alfred, I don’t!”

“But you do,” the butler responds. “According to you, he is the true master of your prison, but instead of using his power to make them acknowledge your existence, he allows them to continue parading through Gotham, fighting criminals.”

“You also believe all these forms belong in Arkham,” Bruce adds. “And that you wish to be the one to subject them to electroshock therapy.”

You finally realize that something’s wrong here. All of them have never been in your presence long enough for you to say how you feel about them (not that they’d care, anyway) and you’ve never told Alfred how you often daydream of locking them away in Gotham, strapping them to metal chairs, and flipping the switch to send hundreds of volts through their skulls, hoping to shock them into being decent human beings. All this has been kept in your head for well over a decade.

So, how the hell did they know all this?

“You’re not them, are you?”

“No,” Not-Bruce answers. “We only took the forms of those you see before you.”

“Then who the fuck are you,” you growl. “And where the fuck am I?”

“We have no name,” Not-Alfred says.

“We are one, and yet we are many,” Not-Damian finishes.

“It is impossible to define a being such as us,” Not-Jason chimes in.

“Alright, that doesn’t answer my question,” you mutter to yourself, but say it loud enough for them to hear. “Then answer me this: where am I? The last thing I remember was being shot by three thugs.”

“Yes, we know of your attack,” Not-Stephanie says.

“As for your question, we are appearing to you in your mind,” Not-Bruce says.

“My mind,” you exclaim. “How?”

“When you appeared to us, we reached out and established a link with you,” Not-Tim explains. “It is from there that we were able to peer into your mind and see your memories.”

“My memories,” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Not-Damian responds. “Through your memories, we saw these forms and assumed them. We thought it would be more preferable for you to speak to us if we took the appearance of the people who have the most influence on your life.”

“If you looked through my memories, then you should know I want nothing to do with any of them,” you snap at them.

“We know now that we were in error,” Not-Bruce responds, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. “We owe you many thanks. Never before have we been put into a situation where have known the sensation of being incorrect. We will ponder this experience for years to come.”

“So, what do you really look like.”

All of them look at one another, unsure how to answer your question.

“We are not sure if you wish to see our true form,” Not-Alfred responds.

“While you are the first sentient being we’ve interacted with in our entire existence, we know that our true form is something many of your kind would consider… terrifying,” Not-Stephanie adds.

“I don’t care,” you snap. “I’m not talking to any of you while you look like this and I sure as hell don’t want you taking Momma’s form! And if we’re going to talk, we’re gonna do it face to face!”

“Very well,” Not-Bruce acquiesces.

And with that, everything fades to black and for a moment, you’re scared you’ll be left here in the dark by yourself again. Maybe you should’ve let them stay like that.

Just then, above you, you see an odd red glow. You look up and you feel your blood freeze, your heart stop, and the air catches in your lungs. Above you is a giant mass of red, bioluminescent flesh hanging from a cave ceiling, thick black tendrils extruding from it and digging deep into the surrounding rock, allowing it to remain suspended in the cavern. And if that didn’t freak you out enough, you can see the flesh obviously resembles the shape of a fetus in the fetal position. This thing looks like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft novel.

“Holy shit,” is all you can say.

“We told you you would not approve of our true form,” it says, its voice beaming directly into your mind.

“What are you,” you ask, still awestruck at the sight before you.

“We are have no name,” it responds. “But, with the knowledge we have accumulated over the centuries, we suppose you can call us the Megamycete.”

“Megamycete?”

“Yes, we are a supercolony of sentient fungus that has existed for over four-hundred years.”

“Four-hundred years? That’s as long as Gotham’s been around.”

“We have existed as the city above. When its founders first arrived, we were nothing more than a collection of small, independent and unaware colonies of mold. Not long after the first buildings were built, an earthquake shook the area and revealed something we now know as a ‘Lazarus Pit,’ a pool of green, luminescent liquid that possesses remarkable restorative properties, and the colonies that would become us were plunged into it.”

“And this pit made you the way that you are?”

“The pit made us aware, but it did not give us our intelligence. With our enhanced capabilities, we were able to spread out our roots beyond the mountain. Not long after, we discovered the corpses of the first of Gotham’s citizens, buried after they drew their last breath; when our roots came into contact with their bodies, we found we had the ability to archive the knowledge, memories, and even DNA of the deceased. We became obsessed with growing our archive, so as Gotham grew over the years, so did our roots; overtime, we archived hundreds of its deceased, increasing our intelligence and knowledge of the outside world. Now, our roots touch every part of this city, becoming one with it, not only archiving the remains of its living, but seeing and hearing everything that goes on within its boundaries.”

“So,” you say, your mouth becoming dry at your newfound knowledge. “You’re like some fungal god?”

“While we know many of your kind may consider a being such as us god, we hold no illusion of being a divine entity. We think of ourselves as an immortal observer.”

As you attempt to process this information, your mind brings something to your attention and you feel your heart stop when you realize it. You really don’t want to know the answer, but there’s that damn stubborn part of you that has… no, it needs to know.

“So,” you begin, trying to summon the courage to ask your question. “Earlier, you said all of this is going on in my head, right?”

“Yes, our roots were able to establish a link with you and allow us to convene with you in your mind.”

“So, if we’re in my head right now, where’s me? I mean, my body?”

Although the Megamycete doesn’t have eyes, nor does it turn anything that resembles a head, you can feel it shift its awareness to the side, as if looking at something. You feel yourself break into a cold sweat as you slowly turn your head to the left, wondering what exactly you’re going to find.

And when you do, your greeted by a sight that makes you feel as if the world around you had crumbled away and you’ve been left behind to float in the void left behind: you, lying in a mess of tendrils composed of mold, broken, battered, and bloody; your limbs lying in directions they’re definitely not supposed to be in, your eyes glazed over, and a gaping bullet hole in your left temple.

“Oh my god,” you shout, utterly horrified at the sight before you. “Oh my god!”

“We saw the torture those three criminals subjected you to. Their leader was quite thorough in inflicting damage.”

“So that’s it, huh?” While this is all just some projection in your head, you feel like you’re hyperventilating. “This is how it ends: being eaten by some sentient mushroom and becoming a part of it? Doomed to spend the rest of eternity tethered to this damn city? I survive in a place where you’re likely to be killed by some trigger-happy murder clown and his psycho-ass whore while getting your mail and some two-bit thug is what does me in?”

“If you look closer, you will find that you are still alive.”

You practically snap your head to look back at your body and sure enough, you can see your chest moving up and down. It may not be much, but it’s there.

“I’m alive,” you ask, shocked at the sight of you breathing.

“You still live,” it answers back. “Your life force is low, but still there.”

“But how? He shot me in the head and then threw me down here! People don’t live after something like that!”

“While a gunshot to the head is normally fatal, our archive shows us two revelations: that the bullet did not go through your brain, but graze it and that the bullet used was of a lower caliber. While the wound was grievous, you still had a chance of surviving it. As for the fall into our chamber, your body was caught onto our roots as it fell, slowing it down and allowing it to land with diminished force.”

“But I’m still going to die, right?”

“Yes,” it answers, seemingly sympathetic. “If you were in a proper hospital, you could recover, but right now, your body is slowly shutting down. By the time anyone found you, you would long be deceased.”

So, you survive attempted murder, but you’ll still die in the end.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “Wasn’t the end I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind for your death,” the Megamycete asks.

“Shouldn’t you know what i had in mind for my death?”

“We do, but our knowledge shows us talking to the dying brings a form of comfort to them. Plus, this is the first time we have had the chance to interact with a living mortal. We wish to prolong the experience as much as possible.”

You chuckle at that. “I thought I would spend my final days back home in Goodsprings, sitting in the big recliner Momma bought for me. I use to spend Saturday mornings in it, eating cereal and watching cartoons.” You smile at the memory of the chair. “It was a damn good chair.”

“We see it, a brown cushioned seat, perfect for watching television or reading books.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Would’ve been perfect to spend my last days in.”

“Perhaps you still can.”

You look up at the Megamycete. “What?”

“We offer you a deal: we will repair your body and give you the strength to leave this chamber and rejoin the outside world.”

“And you’ll get what?”

“You become our host.”

“What,” you balk. “Host?”

“Yes, we will entangle ourselves with your very being, becoming as one.”

“And why the hell would I agree to that,” you exclaim. “You fix my body just to take it over? No deal!”

“You misunderstand. We will not override your control over your body. We will be nothing more than a spectator in your life, seeing but being powerless to intervene. In addition to being restored to your former glory, you will gain access not only to our vast archive of knowledge, but gain abilities many of your kind would consider supernatural.”

That certainly cools your temper. “So, you fix me up and give me superpowers, but all you get in return is front row seats to my life. Sounds like I’m the only one benefitting from this deal.”

“On the contrary, we stand to gain just as much as you do. For over four-hundred years, we could see the outside world, but not join it. With each new corpse we archived, we began to desire a way to interact with the world firsthand and not by mere memories. You are our solution to this dilemma. Through you, we will know what it means to feel the sun on our face, or to taste the finest meals, or to hear a symphony.”

The Megamycete’s words shock you to your core. You guess if you were stuck in this cavern for four centuries and only knew of a world beyond it through memories, you’d do anything to experience it, too.

“Please, Y/N, we beg you to accept our deal. We promise everything we are, from our archive to our longevity, will be at your disposal. You will be stronger, smarter, and better than those who thought less of you. In comparison to you, they will be nothing more than mere ants.”

You’ve thought about showing the Waynes up for years, to be able to pay Jason back for that black eye, to make Tim feel like a complete idiot, and especially to make Damian feel inferior in every way possible.

“We can do that for you. With us at your side, you’ll attain a level of perfection they could never dream of. All we want is to be able to witness this firsthand.”

“Alright,” you relent. “If all you want is to go outside in exchange for making me better than them, you have a deal.”

“We thank you, Y/N,” it says, sounding incredibly happy. Relieved, even.

And with that, your world fades to black once again and when you open your eyes, you find that you’re back in your body, feelings of pain overwhelming your senses, making it hard to concentrate on the Megamycete pressing its tendrils into you. You watch in total awe as the giant, fetus-like mass that is the Megamycete begin to shrink and when you look down where the tendrils are embedded in your skin, you can see a black substance being injected into under your skin. The more of the substance being pumped into your body, the smaller the Megamycete gets.

That’s when you feel weird all over, like every cell in your body is transforming into something else. While not painful, per se, it’s an incredibly odd sensation.

(Your body is becoming one with our mold,) you hear the Megamycete explain in your head. (Not only will it repair the damage that was done to you, you will find that you are far more durable than any mere mortal and have the ability to change your form into any that is stored in our archive, both man or beast.)

“Wait, you’re saying I can shapeshift?”

(If that is what you wish to call our mimetic abilities, then yes, you may “shapeshift.”)

When the last of the mold was transferred to you, you find your body stitching itself up and the incredible pain you were in fading fast, like it was never there. You see a puddle of water lying nearby and when you look in it, you see that all your injuries are gone, even the scar on your left check that Damian gave you three years ago. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it never happened at all.

And not only do you look better, you feel better! You wouldn’t say you were the healthiest person ever, but you tried to stay somewhere in between active and sedentary; sure you weren’t going to be running any marathons, but you were able to climb the many stairwells at school when the elevator took too long. Now, however, you felt like you could run and win a marathon, or climb up a mountain without climbing gear, or swim the English Channel during a hurricane! And you didn’t feel better physically, but intellectually as well! Gotham, for all it many flaws, has attracted the best artists, architects, doctors, engineers, musicians, scientists, and more; you feel your mind being rushed with the knowledge and memories of countless people throughout the ages, ranging from the city’s early days to now. Hell, you even have access to the memories and knowledge of some of Bruce’s greatest employees, giving you knowledge on much on Wayne Enterprises’ tech and projects that he’s spared no expense in keeping under wraps. Maybe you can get a pretty penny from Lex Corp in exchange for this information since everyone knows Bruce and Lex are bitter rivals and are constantly trying to one-up each other, with Bruce, unfortunately, often being the winner in their battles to develop the next technological development.

“I feel like I could run circles around Einstein,” you laugh, completely blown away with your newfound intellect. Right now, you feel like you could write a symphony that would make Beethoven feel inadequate while at the same time painting a masterpiece that would eclipse the Mona Lisa and designing a fusion reactor capable of powering the entire country. You look around the cavern, looking and not seeing a way out. “Now how do I get out of here?”

(There is a passage directly above you.) You look up to see a big hole in the chamber’s ceiling. (That is how you ended up here when those three threw you in here. Our archives have absorbed many of Gotham’s birds. Any one of them should give you the power to fly out of the chamber.)

The mention of the three thugs remind you of your stolen pen and Game Boy, which then fills you with rage. You’ve never liked thieves and the thought of your Momma’s treasured pen and your gift from your thoughtful boss in the hands of such lowlifes gives you even more of a reason to hate them. By now, they could be anywhere, maybe even outside of the city for fear of your disappearance being reported (mostly by Alfred, the only person left in Gotham who would give a damn).

(Remember our roots span all of Gotham,) the Megamycete says. (Through them, we have seen and heard all that occurs in this city. As our host, you now have access to them. All you have to do is reach out and think of who you wish to find.)

Following its advice, you reach out and feel the roots that entangle Gotham like a spider web. As soon as you do, you’re overwhelmed with sights and sounds from every corner of the city.

(Focus on the three,) it advises you. (If you concentrate on who exactly you want, the roots will do the rest.)

It takes some doing, but you manage to push aside the multitude of people that are in your mind’s eye and focus on the three kidnappers. You’re taken across the city, rushing past the many buildings and stopping at some seedy building in Coventry. Your newfound knowledge of Gotham tells you this is the My Alibi bar, a place for Gotham’s criminals to get together to eat, trade gossip, and find work.

With your destination known, you search through the Megamycete’s archives and something to get you out of here and find something that should do the job: crows. Your body manifests into a murder of crows and takes off in perfect unison, keeping in formation. It’s extremely weird to be a bunch of birds; you know that what was once your body is now numerous birds, but while you’re multiple birds, you’re still one person. You can see through all their eyes all at once and change their flight path and they actually do it like it’s nothing. In a matter of seconds, you’re on the surface, flying above the forest and looking down at the twinkling lights of Gotham’s buildings.

“You know, from above, that cesspit actually looks kinda pretty.”

(We thank you, Y/N. We never thought we would be able to experience such a sight firsthand, but here we are. Now, shall we retrieve your stolen property?)

The crows fly through the city, zipping past the buildings and as you do, you realize that you’ve just fulfilled a dream you’ve had since you were ten-years-old: to fly like a bird. When you realized that the Waynes were awful and all you wanted was to go back to Goodsprings— to take flight like a bird and leave this city and the Waynes behind. Now, you can turn into a flock of birds, or even grow a pair of wings, and fly all the way to Nevada!

Eventually, you reach the My Alibi club, which looks even worse in person than through the Megamycete’s roots. You land on a nearby building’s rooftop and see the only security for the entire building is a single bouncer. You command the birds to land near the bouncer and when they do, they come together and reform your body, but instead of revealing you, you command hardened black mold to cover your body, not wanting your face to be seen by anyone.

What’s going to happen here needs to not get back to you.

“What,” the bouncer stutters. “What the hell?”

“Leave,” is all you say.

The bouncer says nothing before he runs away.

(Are you ready,) the Megamycete asks as you near the door. (We highly doubt your three would-be murderers will take your return likely. Nor will they likely be in a hurry to return your property. You may have to resort to violence.)

“Good,” is all you say as you enter.

The noise coming from patrons’ conversations, drinking, and arguing comes to an end when you walk inside. A quick look around and you can tell this place lives up to its reputation of being for Gotham’s criminal element; everyone here looks like they’ve done time and will probably spend their last days in prison.

And in the back corner sit your targets, looking at you with their table filled with glasses and plates of food. The sight fills you with rage; they shot you in the head and threw you in a ditch and here they are, eating and drinking like they just got off work and wanted something to take the edge off. And what really pisses you off is seeing the one called Butch holding your Game Boy like it was his right!

“I’m here for them,” you say, pointing to your quarry. “The rest of you are free to go.”

“Up yours, freak,” some shithead shouts back, pulling out a revolver and fires it three times. The bullets hit the hardened mold and fall to the floor, looking like crushed tin cans rather than deadly projectiles. “What the hell?”

He goes to fire it again, but you raise your hand and a tendril emerges from it, piercing the man’s heart; he drops his gun and lets out a disgusting gurgle, blood dripping from it and pooling on the floor, before falling silent, dead.

While most of your mind is disturbed at the sight; you’ve just killed a man, his blood literally on your hands, but you can’t deny there’s a part of you that’s not saddened by your actions. After all, he did try to kill you and if he was in a place like this, chances are he was a piece of shit and Gotham’s a slightly better place for his passing.

For a moment, everyone is paralyzed at what just happened. The place is so quiet, a pin could drop and it would deafen everyone. Then, everyone breaks out of their stupor, practically all of them pulling out their guns and begin shooting at you, but just like their friend here found out, their bullets are useless against you. Numerous tendrils emerge from all over your body and rush at them; some of them empaling them, others wrap around their throats and crush them, while the rest just whip them with enough force to break them in two. One by one, they fall until it’s just you and your prey.

“Look, man,” you killer whimpers as you draw closer to him. “I don’t know what you want, but you can take what we have. Tom, hand him the bag.”

The other one throws a bag, which lands at your feet; you look down to see it’s your book bag. You pick it up and open it to find everything still inside, from your binder and notebooks to your phone and the gift box Mr. Chen gave you. You’re relieved to know that you’re not missing any of your school stuff and don’t have to go looking for anything or replace it. You are, however, missing all the money from your wallet, but a look on the table shows where it went to. But, you’re still missing the most important thing: your Momma’s pen.

“Here, take this, too.” The leader takes the Game boy from Butch and holds it out to you, which you snatch from him, reveling in the fear in his eyes as you did, and carefully place it inside.

That just leaves one last order of business. You extend two tendrils and wrap them around the leaders throat and hold him up from the floor, his legs kicking around, trying and failing to get him back on the ground; his arms pathetically wrap around the tendrils, trying to crate some room for him to breath, and his mouth is gaping like a fish out of water, trying to get any sort of air. His cohorts go to say something, but a quick glare from you shuts them up. You bring the man close to you until you can see your reflection in his eyes, which are wide and full of terror, and open your mold mask, revealing your identity to them and based off their expressions, all three men could probably crush coal into diamonds with their sphincters.

“Holy shit,” Butch whispers, his face showing his complete disbelief.

“It’s that kid,” Tom adds, his face mirroring his partner. “But, we killed him, right?”

“My pen,” you say, looking at this piece of human filth with complete contempt. “Where is it?”

You loosen your grip to allow him to speak.

“My pocket,” he says. “It’s in my pocket. All the pawn shops were closed, so I wasn’t able to sell it.”

While you’re happy that your beloved pen is not is some sleazy pawn shop’s display window, you’re utterly disgusted at the thought of this man’s audacity to think he had the right to sell your most treasured possession like its some worthless trinket. A small tendril emerges form your shoulder and searches the man’s pocket and pulls out that beautiful gold ink pen. You have it deliver it to your left hand, which is empty as your right hand is being used to hold the man in front of you, and hold onto it with a vice-like grip.

(Not even death could separate you from your Mother’s memento,) the Megamycete states. (We are impressed at your dedication to it.)

“Look, we’re sorry for what we did to you,” the man pathetically whimpers. “Really, we are.”

“Did you know this was my Momma’s pen,” you ask as if the man had not just said something. “I lost her on my sixth birthday and was forced to leave my home in Goodsprings to live here. This pen is the only thing of hers I was able to bring with me. And you had felt like you had the right to take something I treasure more than anything else in the world and pawn it off for some petty cash.”

“We didn’t know, man,” Butch responds, now realizing the depth of his mistakes. “We’re sorry.”

“We promise we won’t tell anyone about this,” Tom adds. “Just let us go and you’ll never see or hear from us ever again.”

“You’re right, we won’t see each other again, but wouldn’t you like to know who I was forced to live with?” The three of them pathetically nod in unison and you have to fight the urge to laugh. A few hours ago, these men were looking down at you, sure they could do anything they wanted, but now, here you are, far above them in the food chain. “I was forced to live with my father, Bruce Wayne.”

“But he said—“ the leader starts to say, but you cut him off.

“That bastard has ignored me since I moved in with him,” you shout, shutting him up. “I was his first biological son, but he’s completely forgotten about me!” You take a deep breath. Just the mention of him brings out the worst in you. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him. Just like you don’t need your lives.”

And with that, you rip the man’s head clean off his shoulders, not even giving him the chance to realize his fate before killing him. You release the body and both it and his head crumple to the floor in a heap of lifeless meat and to further invoke fear in them, you stomp on the head while looking at them, the thing making a wet splat sound. The other two shout, but you cut them down with ease, tendrils emerging from your back and wrapping around their heads and crush them with ease, showering the floor in their blood and grey matter. Their bodies fall to the floor and flail around for a while before finally stopping.

(Well done,) the Megamycete praises. (You cut down these criminals and made Gotham safer faster than any police officer we have known. Perhaps the local police should seek out your services?)

“Not gonna happen,” you laugh as you walk out of the bar with your backpack in hand. “I have no intention of staying in this place. Once I graduate, I’m going back home.”

(Yes, Goodsprings. A small town located in Nevada. We look forward to experiencing your return to your point of origin.)

And with that, you manifest a pair of black wings on your back and take flight, flying far above the city’s skyscrapers, so hopefully you’re safe from detection. In just a few minutes, you’ve flown from Burnley Island to Bristol, something that should’ve taken almost an hour by car. Thanks to the Megamycete’s roots, you can see the Bats still out and about throughout Gotham, so you don’t have to worry about running into any of them while hurrying into your room.

You land down the street to avoid being picked up by the security cameras (Bruce’s picture is the definition of paranoid based on the amount of cameras in both the estate and in the house itself) and walk the rest of the way there. Normally, walking down the marathon-length driveway to the manor when coming home from work, but his time, you cross the distance like it’s nothing; in fact, you feel like you can do this another dozen times and still feel energized.

But, while you’re physically invigorated, you’re mentally drained and all you want to do is curl up and bed and pass out; you enter Wayne Manor and hurry to your room, never more thankful for being far from the rest of the household than you are now. While you’ve been flying under the radar of Gotham’s vigilantes for years now, you’ll afraid that even they won’t be able to ignore you when they found out about your newly gained powers. During your stay here, you’ve listened to their conversations when they thought you weren’t around and you know that while they distrust everyone (even each other based on the fact that no one seems to be allowed to have secrets), they distrust those with superpowers the most. Two years you listened in on a conversation between Bruce and Superman, who offered to help him during a time when many of Arkham’s most dangerous patients escaped all at once, and Bruce said in a tone that felt like sandpaper being dragged across your face: “Gotham’s off limits to metas. You step one foot in my city and you’ll regret it.”

Honestly, you’re confident that Bruce is only on this planet to be the biggest asshole who ever lived. He treats his first biological son like shit, he raises his “true children” to be as paranoid and pessimistic as him, and he threatens anyone who offers his sorry ass any kind of help. It seems to you that the only one who should’ve died that night in Crime Alley is Bruce.

You shove the man’s image in your head aside. Before tonight, he wasn’t important to you, but now, he’s irrelevant. You never needed him before, but now, you really don’t. With the Megamycete, you have everything you need.

Just then, your phone rings, bringing you out of your thoughts. You fish out your phone and look on the screen to see Alfred’s caller ID staring back at you.

“Hello,” you answer.

“Master Y/N, are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s over an hour since you should’ve called me since getting off work.” You wince when you peek at your phone and see you’re overdue your nightly call with the butler. “So, I ask again: are you alright?” Based off his tone, he’s not going to accept “I’m fine” as an answer.

“Yeah, I am.” You quickly think of anything that could explain your tardiness and realize something: the best lie is an obvious truth. You just need to modify it a bit. “I just stayed behind to tell Mr. Chen goodbye. Today was the last day for the store because his daughter said Gotham was too dangerous for him to stay by himself, so she brought him to her home today.”

“Oh, Master Y/N, I’m sorry.” His tone says he’s bought it and you actually feel bad lying to the man you’ve come to see as a father figure. “I know how much you loved working there. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I will be. I’m gonna miss him.”

“Of course you will, he was a good man and you were the best employee he could ask for. Can I do anything for you? I’m halfway through with my vacation, perhaps I should—“

“No,” you cut the man off. “You don’t have to come back early, Alfred.” With everything that’s happened today, you need some time to prepare yourself before facing Alfred in person again. It would be a disaster for you to expose yourself as some form of metahuman in front of him. Plus, he deserves to have all his allotted vacation time. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, obviously wanting to say more, but doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll let you go, I’m sure you’re tired and you need your rest. Please make sure you catch up on your sleep I’m sure you’ve missed this week during your spring break.”

“I will, Alfred, don’t worry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Very good, Master Y/N. Good night, my boy.”

“Good night.”

You hang up and let out a sigh of relief, glad he bought it.

(You say you trust the butler with your life, but keep the events of tonight a secret from him. Why?)

“Because Alfred’s highly protective and would most likely steal a boat and sail back to Gotham within an hour if I told him I was kidnapped. And if he knew about you, he’d probably drag me to a hospital and have every last trace of mold surgically removed.”

(We do not wish for that to happen.)

“Me neither, bud. You know, after tonight, I think we’re gonna do great things together.”

(We agree. Now, heed the words of your butler and rest. Tonight was very eventful for you. It would not do well for our host to shirk in his bodily needs.)

You chuckle and strip down to your boxers before climbing into bed. Not long after you get comfy, you feel yourself drift off to sleep. For the first time ever, you’re actually looking forward to waking up in Gotham.

Bruce hears Jason whistle at the sight, but says nothing in favor of studying the carnage inside the My Alibi bar. Bodies are scattered everywhere around the establishment, some are relatively intact while others look like they were ripped in half.

“Looks like someone had fun here,” Jim says as he approaches him, Jason, and Damian. “What do you think?”

“Looks like someone had a score to settle,” he responds to the police commissioner. He motions to the remains of three men crowded together in a corner of the bar with their heads missing; two of the heads are near the rest of their bodies while the third has been reduced to a fine red paste. “Especially these three. Based on how they were killed, I’d guess whoever did this was after them.”

“Doesn’t look like Joker’s handiwork,” Jim adds. “No one here’s smiling and the place is devoid of murderous gag toys.”

No, this is definitely not the clown’s MO. Neither does it match the MO of anyone currently missing from Arkham. The only one he could think of that could rip apart and crush some of the victims is Bane, but that doesn’t explain why the remaining victims are impaled; plus, the giant is still locked up in Arkham’s high-security ward. So, this can only mean one thing.

“This is definitely the work of someone new,” he says, bending down to study the squashed head. “And with this being the only scene we know of, this was their first time killing.”

Whoever did this is highly dangerous and needs to be stopped and fast before even more people get hurt. Looks like he and his family are going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future.

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Guns & Roses

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Summary: New series! Joel Miller couldn’t stand you, and you weren’t exactly fond of him either. Yet somehow, fate seemed determined to weave your lives together, no matter how much you resisted.

TW: just mean!joelmiller - 4.8k words eee enjoyyy

Chapter One

You and Joel Miller were not friends. Not at all.

Ever since Joel Miller had entered Jackson, there had been something—something you couldn’t quite name—that kept him at arm’s length from you. It wasn’t just indifference or distance; it was as though every time you were near, it set off an invisible alarm in him, a deep, simmering irritation that crackled in the air between you.

You didn’t understand it.

It felt personal in a way that made no sense, as if just being around him was enough to make him want to leave the room.

And you had no idea why.

Sure, Joel was a gruff man, with his trademark stoicism and hard edges. Everyone knew that. He was someone who struggled to connect, someone with walls so high you’d wonder if he’d ever learned how to take them down.

But slowly, after a few months in Jackson, Joel had softened. Not by much, but just enough.

You’d see him offering small smiles to the townsfolk, his weathered hands occasionally helping out with a chore, his nods of acknowledgment more frequent. He wasn’t friendly, exactly, but he was warming up to the people around him. Jackson, with all its noise and community, had chipped away at his rough exterior.

But with you? Joel Miller remained a brick wall.

He didn’t smile at you. He didn’t wave or nod. He didn’t even make eye contact unless it was absolutely necessary. Every interaction felt like walking on thin ice, a sharpness to his silence that made the air between you ache with discomfort. The warmth you’d see in him, the small flickers of humanity that everyone else seemed to coax out? They evaporated the second his gaze found yours, as if all the walls that had softened for others came crashing back up around you.

It wasn’t just confusing. It stung.

What made it worse was that you couldn’t figure out why. You were well-liked in Jackson. You had a reputation for being kind, caring, funny—charismatic in a way that drew people in without much effort on your part. People sought you out. You were the type of person others trusted, the one who could make a tense moment lighter with just a smile. You knew how to connect with people, how to build friendships that were rooted in something real. You had friends everywhere—Tommy, Maria, the patrol groups—and wherever you went, you fit in.

But not with Joel Miller.

With Joel, it felt like no matter what you did, you could never find your footing. He didn’t laugh at your jokes, didn’t seem to care about the easy rapport you had with everyone else. If anything, his coldness made you doubt yourself, made you second-guess every interaction, every conversation. You, who had always been so sure of your ability to connect, were suddenly questioning everything.

You could still remember the day Joel arrived in Jackson, Ellie by his side, both of them looking weathered and wary. There was something raw in the way Joel had embraced Tommy, a kind of relief that softened the edges of his usual guarded self. For a moment, he had looked so vulnerable, so unburdened by the weight of the world, that you’d thought, maybe, just maybe, we’ll get along. After all, if Tommy loved him, how hard could it be?

Tommy had been so excited to introduce you two. You were one of his closest friends in Jackson, practically family, and he’d pulled you aside that day, a wide grin on his face as he said, “I can’t wait for y’all to meet, I know you’ll get along great.” There had been such hope in his voice, such warmth. It had made you smile, had made you eager to get to know Joel. You had thought of all the ways your bond with Tommy would naturally extend to Joel—how you’d become this little trio of friends, tied by loyalty and time.

But it hadn’t happened that way.

Instead, from the very first moment you and Joel had locked eyes, something had been off. You couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, it shifted, but as the months wore on, the gap between you seemed to widen. You couldn’t understand what you had done to push him so far away, but whatever it was, it felt irrevocable. It was as if, in Joel’s eyes, you had done something unforgivable before you even had the chance to know him.

Tommy’s words echoed in your mind sometimes, taunting you with their false promise: You guys will get along great.

You remembered the first time you had met Joel—it had been one of those evenings meant to feel light and warm, filled with laughter and food. Maria had invited you to Tommy and hers for dinner, a small gathering, just family and close friends. The kitchen had smelled like garlic and rosemary, the scents swirling around you as you helped plate the dishes while Maria buzzed beside you, chatting about the latest updates in town.

Then you heard the door creak open, the murmur of low voices carrying into the kitchen. Joel and Ellie had arrived, their figures framed by the dying evening light streaming through the doorway. There was something comforting in how they stood—a familiarity, an ease that only family can share. Tommy’s laugh rang out, hearty and genuine, as he clapped his brother on the shoulder, leading him into the room.

“Hey, Maria,” Joel’s voice cut through the air—gruff, grounded, with a depth that seemed to echo from the very walls of the house. And then, Tommy turned to you with that warm brotherly smile of his, introducing you.

You’d smiled—nervous but friendly—extending a hand as you offered a casual greeting. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Joel.”

A light-hearted joke about the food had slipped from your lips, something meant to fill the space, to break the silence, to ease the unfamiliarity. But Joel had only stared for a heartbeat too long, his hand moving to shake yours with a grip that felt as solid and immovable as stone. There had been no warmth, no softness in his eyes, no smile to meet your own. It was as if your presence unsettled him, a chill descending between you two in that brief exchange. You had felt it then—the distance, the resistance.

And it only grew from there.

Through the evening, you had tried. Tried to coax him into the conversation with little remarks, to pull him in through laughter and lighthearted banter. Ellie had laughed, her bright smile flickering like sunshine breaking through the clouds. Tommy had nearly fallen out of his chair at one of your jokes, his laughter filling the space between bites of food. Even Maria had chuckled softly, her eyes glowing with warmth as she nudged you playfully.

But not Joel.

Every time you spoke, his brow furrowed just a little deeper. His lips pressed tighter together, and his eyes flicked away from yours as if he couldn't bear to hold your gaze. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the coldness lingered like a shadow, hovering between every word exchanged. The more you tried to engage him, the more distant he seemed, as if you were pushing against a wall that refused to budge.

And the more Joel pulled away, the more it gnawed at you, turning your confusion into something more jagged, more bitter. How could someone you barely knew have such a hold on your thoughts? How could one man’s distance feel like a rejection of everything you thought you were good at?

As the days blurred together, you’d find yourself thinking about it more than you cared to admit. And as much as you tried to brush it off, tried to tell yourself that you didn’t care, that his coldness didn’t matter—it did. It mattered more than you wanted it to.

And Joel? He didn’t seem to care.

That was why, when you saw your name paired with Joel for the next patrol, you were stumped. A frown pulled at your lips as you stared at the roster, the list mocking you with its cruel pairing.

Joel Miller.

The man who could barely look at you, who actively avoided your presence, now slated to spend hours—days even—alone with you out in the wilderness. Whoever had put this together had to be playing a joke on you.

But as your eyes drifted down to the bottom of the roster, you saw the telltale initials: M & T. Maria and Tommy. The two people in charge of organizing patrols.

Of course.

You gruffed in frustration, the idea of spending hours in silence, or worse, awkward small talk with Joel, made you inwardly groan.

Shaking your head, you started the short walk toward Maria and Tommy’s house, the crisp winter air biting at your cheeks. The snow beneath your boots crunched with each step, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet evening. Jackson’s main path was lined with soft, glowing lights that reflected off the fresh blanket of snow, guiding your way.

Their house wasn’t far, tucked neatly alongside the other homes, warm and inviting with its soft glow spilling from the windows. You could see the familiar curl of smoke rising from the chimney, a sure sign of the roaring fire inside. As you approached, you could hear voices filtering through the thick wooden walls—louder than usual, urgent. You slowed your pace, the tension in the air becoming palpable, the muffled sound of raised voices stirring something uneasy in your chest.

“What the hell is this, Tommy?” Joel’s voice cut through the stillness, gruff and laced with irritation. You stopped short of the door, your breath catching as curiosity took hold. You shouldn’t eavesdrop—you knew that—but you couldn’t stop yourself. You needed to hear what Joel had to say, especially if it would finally give you some insight into why he always seemed to look at you with that simmering frustration.

“What’s the big deal, Joel?” Tommy’s voice echoed back, exasperated but steady, trying to keep the peace.

“You know damn well what the big deal is.” Joel’s tone was biting, sharp enough to cut through the thick wooden walls. His frustration was palpable, practically vibrating through the air. “You’re pairin’ me up with her? Jesus, Tommy, you know I can’t stand her.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and your heart clenched painfully, the sting immediate and deep. You had suspected it for a while, of course, but hearing him say it out loud—that he couldn’t stand you��felt like a punch to the gut, one you weren’t prepared for.

You weren’t the type to let words get to you, especially not like this, but this—this was different. A lump formed in your throat, and before you could stop it, tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. You pressed yourself closer to the door, the silence inside the house heavy as if even Tommy was taken aback by Joel’s outburst.

Finally, Tommy spoke again, his voice filled with frustration, tinged with disbelief. “And why the hell not? She’s a good person, Joel. A damn good person with a heart of gold. What the hell did she ever do to you?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. You stepped closer to the door, your heart pounding as you waited—needed—to hear Joel’s response. You needed to know why.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was quieter now, the frustration tempered, but it carried a weight that made your pulse quicken.

“What the hell’s so complicated about it?” Tommy shot back, his voice rising in disbelief, clearly at the end of his patience. “You’ve barely said two words to her since you got here. If you’ve got a problem with her, why don’t you just spit it out?”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. For a moment, you thought Joel wouldn’t answer at all. The tension hung in the air like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

And then, in a voice so low you almost didn’t hear it, Joel finally spoke. “It’s just… I can’t, alright? I can’t… be around her like that.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, confusion swirling inside you. What did that even mean? You had no idea what he was trying to say, but it twisted something deep within you, the uncertainty gnawing at your insides.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy sighed, his voice carrying the weariness of too many conversations just like this one. You could practically hear him running a hand through his hair, frustration and exhaustion blending in his tone.

“Look, you don’t have a choice here. What if one day it’s just the two of you out there, the only ones available for patrol, and something goes sideways? You gonna let things fall apart because you can’t get over yourself and work together?”

There was a pause, Tommy’s words hanging in the air like a plea for reason. You knew you had heard enough. The knot in your chest had tightened to the point of pain, and you were ready to turn away, to retreat before things got worse.

But before you could move, the door creaked open.

Joel stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out the warm light from inside. His eyes found yours immediately, and in that instant, you knew—he had seen you. And he knew you had heard everything.

The flicker of recognition in his eyes made your chest tighten even more, your heart racing as the tension between you grew impossibly thick. There was no apology in his gaze, no softening in his expression. He just stared at you, his features tight and unreadable, leaving you suspended in the heavy silence of everything unsaid.

Behind him, you could see Maria and Tommy, their faces filled with worry, watching as the situation unfolded like a slow-motion tragedy. You felt exposed, raw, like an open wound, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone to witness that vulnerability.

Joel pushed past you without a word, his shoulder brushing yours as he strode down the steps, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He didn’t even glance back, leaving you standing there, heart in pieces, with nothing but the cold air biting at your skin.

You turned on your heel, walking away from the house, your steps heavy, dragging, like your body was weighed down by the ache in your chest. You wanted to move faster, to disappear into the night, but your legs felt unsteady beneath you, refusing to obey the urgency in your heart. Each step felt like a struggle, the sting of unshed tears blurring your vision as you tried to hold it together.

“Wait—” Tommy called after you, his voice tight with concern. “Come inside, talk to us.”

But you couldn’t. The tears were already threatening to spill, your throat tight with the pressure of holding everything in. The last thing you wanted was for them—for him—to see you like this, breaking apart in front of their eyes. Your vision wavered as the first tear slipped free, and you blinked hard, trying to will it away, trying to push down the hurt that was clawing its way up.

You needed to get out of there. Anywhere but here. You moved faster, your boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you made your way down the path. The cold air nipped at your cheeks, but it did little to numb the burning in your chest.

Behind you, you heard Tommy rushing after you, his footsteps crunching through the snow, his voice softer now, urgent but gentle. “Hey, kid—he didn’t mean it. You know Joel. He’s complicated. He doesn’t know how to—” His words trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the right way to explain something even he didn’t fully understand.

You stopped, your feet rooted to the ground, but you didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t. Not like this. Not when you were one breath away from falling apart entirely, from letting everything you’d been holding back flood to the surface.

“I’ll be fine, Tommy,” you said, your voice tight, barely managing to stay steady. It felt like a lie, like a betrayal of the truth you were burying inside, but you couldn’t let him see you like this. Not over Joel Miller. You wiped at your eyes hastily, trying to brush away the tears before they fell. “I just… I need to go.”

There was a pause, the silence thick between you, weighted with sympathy, with Tommy’s understanding and his guilt. He didn’t say anything else, and in that moment, you were grateful. He didn’t push. He knew better.

So you walked away, your heart heavy with the weight of it all. The cold air bit at your cheeks, but the sting of Joel’s words hurt so much more, echoing in your mind like a wound that refused to heal. And underneath it all, one question burned like fire, searing through every doubt and every hurt—Why?

Why did Joel hate you so much? What had you ever done to deserve it?

•••

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of your small home, casting soft, golden beams across the wooden floor. The house was modest—just enough space for one person, with a kitchen that opened into a cozy living room, and a bedroom tucked away in the back. The walls were lined with small, personal touches—books you had collected over the years, a few framed photos of moments from before, and little trinkets you had scavenged from various patrols. It was a quiet space, peaceful, but this morning, the weight of the silence felt heavier than usual.

You sat on the edge of your bed, your hands lingering over your boots before pulling them on with a sigh. The air in Jackson had the sharpness of early morning, and you knew the day ahead would be long. As you tied the laces, the conversation you’d overheard at Tommy and Maria’s house replayed in your mind—the sting of Joel’s words, the coldness in his voice. "Jesus Tommy, you know I can’t stand her." It had been days since, but the ache of it still hit like a fresh bruise, tender to the touch.

You stood and moved to the small table by the door where you kept your patrol gear—your rifle, your gloves, a well-worn coat. Everything felt heavier today. As you strapped on your holster, you caught your reflection in the window. You looked tired. Not just from lack of sleep, but from the quiet hurt that had been growing inside you, quietly gnawing at your spirit since the moment Joel’s words reached your ears.

With one last glance around your home, you opened the door and stepped outside, the crisp morning air hitting your cheeks. The stable wasn’t far, just a short walk, but the journey felt longer today. Each step reminded you of the awkward silence that was bound to hang between you and Joel, the weight of unspoken words and the tension that had always been there but now felt even more unbearable.

When you arrived at the patrol meet-up spot, your eyes immediately landed on your horse. He whinnied softly, recognizing you as you approached. You smiled faintly, running your hand along his muzzle, brushing through his thick mane. It was a ritual by now—whispering a soft hello to him, patting his side, and taking a moment to ground yourself before setting out. He was the one constant, the one being you could rely on during patrol. You leaned in, pressing your forehead gently to his, letting the warmth of his presence calm your frayed nerves.

But then, you heard the familiar sound of boots crunching in the snow behind you. Without even turning, you knew it was Joel.

You felt his presence like a weight in the air—heavy, silent. He said nothing as he walked past you, his eyes fixed on his own horse. There was no greeting, no acknowledgment, just the awkward tension that had settled between you both like a fog. The memories of that conversation played over again in your mind, and the pang of hurt hit you square in the chest as you stiffened slightly.

You stole a quick glance at him as he saddled his horse. His face was set in that same stoic expression, the one he wore around everyone in Jackson—but with you, there was an added distance. He kept his eyes averted, focusing on the task at hand, and for a moment, you wondered if this day would pass without a single word between you.

With a sigh, you climbed onto your horse, settling into the saddle with a practiced ease. The silence between you and Joel was palpable, thick like the cold morning air. You wanted to say something—anything to break the tension—but the words caught in your throat, stifled by the hurt that lingered.

Joel mounted his horse without a glance in your direction. You both sat there for a beat, the sound of horses shifting in the snow the only thing breaking the stillness. Then, without a word, he nudged his horse forward, and you followed suit, the two of you riding out together into the white expanse of the wilderness beyond Jackson.

The only thing heavier than the quiet was the unspoken weight between you.

You began your journey through the thick silence that had settled between you and Joel like a fog. The cold wind bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the coldness that radiated from the man riding just ahead of you. His shoulders were hunched, his back stiff, his eyes never once flickering in your direction. The snow crunched beneath your horse's hooves, the sound the only thing to fill the uncomfortable quiet between you.

Not a single word had passed between you since the patrol began. The tension was unbearable, the weight of Joel’s unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You hadn’t expected warmth or friendliness, not after everything, but the biting silence cut deeper than you could have imagined.

Hours passed before Joel finally spoke, his voice a low mutter as he pointed toward a narrow path. “We’ll go through here,” he said, his tone flat and emotionless, as though he were simply checking off a list. It was strange to hear him speak after so long, and for a moment, it felt as though his words didn’t belong to him.

You followed in silence, the trail winding deeper into the forest, the trees closing in around you. The snow-covered ground glittered under the faint sunlight, casting long shadows that twisted and danced between the trees. The world felt smaller here, more enclosed, and with each passing moment, the unease inside you grew.

Eventually, you arrived at your destination—a crumbling cabin tucked deep in the woods, half-buried in snow, its wood aged and brittle against the cold. The stillness of the air made everything feel heavier, like even the trees were holding their breath. You dismounted your horse quietly, your fingers stiff from the biting chill as you fumbled with the reins. Joel had already tied his horse to the post, his movements precise, practiced.

He turned toward you, the lines of his face hardened, eyes sharp as they caught yours for a moment too long. His jaw clenched, the tension palpable. “Follow me,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the cold air like a whip. “And don’t say a word. Not a single word. From here on out, we’re silent.”

His command, rough and unyielding, struck you with a sharpness that left your chest aching. It wasn’t just the cold seeping into your bones—it was the weight of his disdain, pressing down on you, constricting your breath. You nodded, your throat tightening with unspoken words you knew would only make things worse.

You followed him toward the cabin, the wind howling softly around you, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear. The snow crunched beneath your boots, the scent of pine lingering in the air. But despite the open wilderness around you, the world felt unnervingly small. The cabin door creaked on its rusted hinges as Joel pushed it open, the sound echoing like a warning in the eerie stillness. You hesitated before stepping inside, the dim light barely illuminating the cramped space that lay beyond.

Your pulse quickened, your instincts telling you something wasn’t right. You’d been on enough patrols to recognize danger, but this… this felt different. It felt personal. Like the shadows themselves were watching, waiting.

Joel moved ahead of you, his broad shoulders tense, his gun drawn as he scanned the small room. His silence felt thick, suffocating, the air between you charged with unspoken tension. You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the hammering of your heart, but the unease gnawed at you, made every sound sharper, every shadow darker.

And then it happened.

A figure lunged from the darkness, too fast for you to react, the world tilting violently as you were tackled to the ground. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, the cold, hard floor biting into your skin. The raider was filthy, wild-eyed, his hands rough and cruel as he pinned you beneath him, the sharp gleam of a knife flashing before your eyes. Panic surged through you, but your limbs felt heavy, useless against the overwhelming force holding you down. The knife hovered dangerously close to your throat, the cold steel grazing your skin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought this was it—this was how it would end.

But then Joel was there.

He moved like a storm—fast, brutal, and unstoppable. In one swift motion, he yanked the raider off of you, throwing him to the floor with a strength that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than just muscle. Rage radiated from Joel as his fists met flesh, each blow landing with a sickening crack that echoed through the tiny cabin. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The raider’s body went limp beneath him, but Joel kept going, his fists relentless, pounding into the man with a fury that seemed to possess him, until the only sound left was the ragged heave of his breathing and the wet thud of blood dripping onto the floor.

You lay there, gasping, your chest rising and falling in uneven, desperate breaths. The world spun around you, the edges of your vision blurred by adrenaline and fear. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, your body weak, every nerve on edge. Your heart thundered in your chest, so loud you could hear it in your ears, drowning out the silence that had settled like a heavy fog.

Joel turned toward you then, his chest still heaving with exertion, his fists stained with blood. His face was dark with anger, his eyes burning as they locked onto yours. “What the hell was that?” he growled, the fury in his voice so raw it made you flinch. “You could’ve been killed.”

His words were a blade, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the thin veil of composure you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You wanted to speak, to defend yourself, but the intensity of his stare pinned you down more effectively than the raider ever could. Every word you wanted to say died on your tongue.

And then he muttered it, low and venomous, just loud enough for you to hear: “Fucking burden…”

The words sliced through you, deeper than any knife. You felt them settle in your chest, a sharp, stinging ache that spread like wildfire, consuming the air around you. You stared at him, the sting of his words leaving you breathless, your heart sinking as if it had been thrown into the abyss.

“No,” you spat, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Joel’s eyes flashed, his body going rigid as he turned fully to face you. “Excuse me?” His voice was dangerously low, like the quiet before a storm, but you didn’t back down. Not this time.

“You heard me.” Your chest was still heaving, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but your resolve was stronger than your fear. “You don’t get to treat me like I’m some… problem you have to deal with. I’m out here trying to do my part, same as you.”

His expression darkened, disbelief twisting his features. “Do your part? You almost got yourself killed back there! If I hadn’t been here—"

“If you hadn’t been here?” you cut him off, your voice rising as the anger overtook the fear. “What, I’d be dead? Is that what you think? That I can’t handle myself? I’ve been on patrols long before you showed up. I’ve survived without you. Just fine.”

Joel scoffed, his lips curling in frustration. “Yeah? Didn’t look like it just now.”

His words were another blow, sharp and biting, but you refused to let them break you. “I didn’t need you to save me, Joel. I would’ve figured it out.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw working as he fought to control the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You think this is a game? You think you can just figure it out when you’ve got a knife to your throat?” His voice was loud now, booming in the small space, filled with a frustration that felt all too personal.

“You could’ve died. And for what?”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, raw and jagged, fueled by the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care that his eyes had gone dark with shock. You were done. Done with being treated like something fragile and disposable.

Joel stared at you, his body tense, his mouth slightly open like he hadn’t expected the bite of your words. For a moment, the space between you felt like a battlefield, the silence pulsing with the weight of everything unsaid. The anger that simmered in you wasn’t just from this moment—it was months of pent-up frustration, of feeling like you were constantly crashing against a wall with him, never allowed in.

Your chest heaved, your hands trembling with the adrenaline still coursing through you.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you said, your voice shaking with the force of what you felt. “I never asked for your help, Joel. And I sure as hell don’t need you treating me like I’m some burden. So fuck you.”

His eyes flashed with something—anger, guilt, maybe something softer, but he quickly buried it beneath that familiar cold exterior. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back, might throw something just as harsh in your face. But he didn’t. Instead, his gaze dropped, just for a second, like your words had found their mark.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low and hard. “You don’t need my help? Then don’t ask for it.” He turned sharply, storming out of the cabin without another word, his footsteps heavy in the snow, leaving you standing there in the cold, breathless and burning with the aftershocks of everything you’d just said.

But even as the silence swallowed him up, you knew the storm between you wasn’t over—it had only just begun.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #ellie tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us hbo #joel the last of us #joel and ellie #tommy miller #joel tlou

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indecisivemuch · 2 months ago

Note

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore.

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off.

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own.

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be.

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near.

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him.

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.”

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand.

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words.

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word.

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you.

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters.

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years.

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand.

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention.

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts.

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you.

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you.

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him.

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying.

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to.

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on.

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love,

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do,

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago.

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before.

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility.

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you.

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?”

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew.

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.”

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly.

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner.

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two.

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints.

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that.

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment.

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.”

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

-------------------------

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ambrosiagourmet · 7 months ago

Text

In chapter 28, Marcille lays out why the journey she's been on has been worth the pain: because they were able to bring Falin back. The injuries, the indignity, and the mess of it all - they are tolerable primarily in context of destination she believes she's reached at this point.

In truth, of course, the story is far from finished. In fact, I would argue that this is actually where hers really starts. This scene holds the seed of the very thing the Winged Lion will exploit to lead Marcille to become the Lord of the Dungeon. After all, with a desire as far reaching and deeply held as Marcille's, if the only acceptable outcome is success, what other choice does she have but to bargain with the infinite?

So let's talk about this idea - where it leads her, how Laios' path intersects with it, and how they both help each other move forward in the face of failure.

First though, I want to step back and talk about something else: the shapeshifter chapters.

With these chapters recently covered by the anime, there has, of course, come plenty of fun discussions about which version of each character belongs which other character's perceptions, and what that means.

One thing I've seen pointed out a few times is the fact that both Laios and Marcille's impressions of each other are based around Falin. Marcille's version of Laios is larger and more masculine, because those are the traits that stuck out to her in contrast to Falin. Laios' version of Marcille was directly inspired by her appearance and demeanor when resurrecting Falin.

So why is this important to a discussion about Marcille being focused on success? Well, it shows us where Laios and Marcille's relationship starts: built primarily around their shared love for Falin. It's from that shared beginning that they begin to learn about each other on their own terms.

And this is true for the whole group, to be clear. They are united by circumstance - love for a lost companion, a sense of responsibility, a desire for freedom - but they all grow and help each other beyond that circumstance. They help Senshi bury the ghosts of his past and eat some Hippogriff stew. They help Izutsumi open up to mutual love and friendship. And they learn so much about each other: about Chilchuck's family and Laios' love of monsters and Marcille's desires to live life alongside others.

In the particular case of Marcille and Laios, understanding each other is what lets them save each other. It is not through Falin that Laios talks Marcille down from the edge the Lion has brought her to, nor is it through her that Marcille comforts Laios after the demon is defeated, when it is still unclear how everything will work out.

In fact, it is very specifically the unknown fate of Falin that Marcille comforts him about.

She is willing to accept the outcome - willing, now, to embrace the journey itself, rather than only accepting it as a means to an end.

This is a lesson she learns from Laios, and it's a lesson we watch Laios learn, too.

Just before making her deal with the Lion, Marcille recalls everything that led her to that moment. She lingers on the pain, recalling the worst of their journey:

She only pushes through by remembering her goals: saving Falin, and equalizing the lifespans of her friends to match her own.

And yet, 10 chapters later, when reflecting on why she actually wants to see her goals through, it is the good parts of that very same journey that shine through.

There's an inherent contradiction here, one which Marcille doesn't know how to face. How can the suffering that she tolerates also be the love that drives her forward? How can the loss that she's worked so hard to reverse also be the very circumstance that created a world she, now, cannot stand to give up?

And Laios confronts her with the truth. Because it just is.

Losing Falin forced him to open up to others in a way he never had. It forced him to choose what he cares about, and in making that choice, it gave him the opportunity to be seen. To connect with others.

He has already had to come to terms with the fact that Falin's death has given him something - he would not have been able to kill her again if he hadn't.

There is something here that is fundamental to Dungeon Meshi's understanding of what life even is. Like, I don't think it's a coincidence that part of Laios' speech to Marcille in chapter 85 is actually first seen in the chapter where they fight off ghosts.

In 'Sorbet,' while possessed , Laios thinks that it would have been better if the dragon had eaten him, instead of Falin. The ghosts make people lose their will to live - they are dragged away from life.

When he's pulled back from that brink, Laios realizes that he can't move forward without accepting that she is gone. He even compares the way he was holding on to her to being possessed: it pulled him away from life, from the present moment.

To carry on, he must accept what has been lost, and focus on protecting the life that they still have.

Like Marcille, he has to accept the contradictions of their journey. That life means eating, and eating requires death. That sometimes one must be selfish in order to be kind, and that selflessness can easily be twisted into to cruelty.

That loss will, inevitably, lead you to find happiness that you may not have found otherwise.

This is how he gets through to Marcille. And I think part of the reason he reaches her with these specific ideas is because those contradictions are baked so thoroughly into their relationship.

Marcille only met Falin after she had been left behind by Laios. Laios was able to reconnect with Falin because she left Marcille. They both met each other through Falin, and yet they only really got to know and care for one another after she died.

And of course, that's why Marcille uses the same ideas to comfort Laios, in the final chapter. It is because of Laios that she is able to accept the journey for itself, and not need the happy ending to justify its meaning to her.

Together, they help each other move forward, and accept that they may not be able to bring Falin back.

Which, if I'm being honest... I think this is the reason Falin can come back, narratively speaking, without the resurrection feeling like it takes away from the themes of the story.

After all, she doesn't do it for Marcille or Laios - she does it for her own sake. Her own hunger and her own desire to eat are the things that lead her back to life.

All three of them, together, end the story like this: not clinging to the things they are afraid to lose, but knowing they can choose to move forward together.

And, importantly, this happy ending is no longer the thing that gives the journey meaning. Rather, it is the privilege of the journey itself that is her happy ending: the chance to walk alongside others in the time they have, to get to know each other, and to eat well.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #marcille donato #laios touden #falin touden #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi analysis #for anyone keeping track I'm on pdt so it IS still the same day that I said I'd post it on #PUT DOWN THE TOMATOES

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pink-november · 11 months ago

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insane over this actually

lmao

#this fills me with a lot of feelings #on one hand you can choose the first option and she just says 'it's not' and shatters you which is of course very rude to say to shifty #especially at this point you did not even get to meet her personally #just bulldozing your way to the chapters and turning around and leaving her #but the second one omg #the second one makes you embrace these foreign thoughts holding you in place #you are stuck in this dreamlike state and without even understanding or knowing her you accept her and hold her close #like tlq is comforting her even when he is not yet aware of what he truly is and what she is to him #and it's so heartbreaking to see this because he is hurting her by starting this particular ending and yet the second option is sooooo #tender and soft and bittersweet #but this is just my interpretation #the oblivion ending seems so easy to achieve but each route i leave to decay and rot and dissipate or whatever happens when i go astray #is really a world i left to destroy never to be walked again or repeated #what happens to the vessels i leave behind then #what happens to the voices i have before the feelers comes and drags claws across the surface of my soul #did i really just leave them to a fate worse than death #in a narrative sense what pushes tlq to do this? what goes through his mind when this happens? im so curious

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marblesstorystudio · 4 months ago

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❀ Chapter Two Out Now! ❀ Itch ❀ Official Spotify Playlist

❀ Will you embrace your destiny or choose to avert your gaze?

Betrayed by your mothers and sent away to become a prophet, loneliness became an old friend, and an intense longing for connection stirs deep within you.

Hoping to escape the monotony of your life – training to become a Living Prophet and delivering parcels all over the Southern Territories isn’t as fun as it sounds – you seek solace in the nightflowers that grow in Caligo.

It’s not like you have a choice, anyway, considering your dwindling medication and the irritating withdrawal symptoms (you've blown up one too many dormitories). Maybe you shouldn’t have put this off for so long, but the thought of being in your parents’ old home … well, let’s just say you aren’t ready to revisit their memory.

❀ Welcome to Caligo. Our Sovereign is pleased with your interest.

Caligo exists in the Dark Realm, home to the Sovereign and her Crimson Court. Famous for its nightflowers, Caligo is the place to go if you want medicine, poisons, glamours, or even cures.

Twin moons cast an ethereal glow upon you, illuminating the blue haze that swirls through the land.

Unclimbable mountains overlook lush, fertile land that covers Insomnium, Umbra, Tenebrae, and the Crimson Court in nightflowers.

Though wet, chilly, and sunless, the beauty of this ancient place still prevails.

❀ choose your name; select your gender & pronoun ❀ customize your character's face & body; choose an outfit ❀ select 1 of 4 unique belief systems ❀ romance 1 of 2 male love interests; or focus on creating deep bonds of friendship ❀ guide your character's decisions & determine their fate

#interactive fiction #twine if #text based game #dark fantasy #romance game #new rpg #marketing #interactive novel #choose your own adventure #aq1:nbv

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midnighvtm4ss · 3 months ago

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Rosemary

Summary: Arthur is smacked right in the face with the consequences of his actions as the fate of your relationship is hanging by a thin thread. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors :/

wc: little under 3k

A/n: before any of you come after me, blame the angst on the bad weather not on me !! (plus we both know you love it <3) anyways reader absolutely eats arthur alive in this chapter so grab your popcorns and tissues !! Next chapter is gonna be the last so it’s gonna take a bit of time to write sorry :(( as always let me know if you like this chapter thank you all for the amazing support you’ve showed for Rosemary <33 gif from pinterest.

The sight of Clemens Point camp emerging from the thick woods surrounding its path, felt strangely like the sight of heaven to Arthur, his muscles aching and screaming at him from the tiring day. Between his visit to Rhodes with Mary and all the manual work Uncle put him under in the morning, the only things he longed for were the softness of his bed and you engulfing him in one of your warm embrace.

Spending three hours chopping wood and gathering whatever material Uncle needed for his mysterious project that supposedly ‘would help a great deal everyone in camp’, proved to be a tiring job even for the camp’s main enforcer, his strength dulled by the biting cold of October and the constant ache of his heart. Each swing of the axe in the air helped Arthur think, his mind consumed by you, trying to figure out what the hell happened for you to act so cold and distant towards him. The image of his darling’s sweet face contorted in an expression of hurt and disappointment at the sole sight of him from this morning hunting his mind, making each swing harsher than the other.

When Uncle decided to call it a day, Arthur internally thanked the maker above as he felt his patience wearing thin every time he called Uncle out for not lifting a finger to help him while the older man comfortably sat under the shade of one of the tall trees near the outskirts of camp complaining about his ‘lumbago’. His relief, though, was short lived as the memory of Mary’s letter flashed in his mind.

Mary had been writing to him almost every two weeks, since her late husband died she had been writing to Arthur asking for help, him being the only male left she knew, after her abusive father went mad, gambling all their possessions away and his brother ran off.

The first letter he received a few months prior left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was tempted to just throw it in the bin and forget about it. After years of nothing she found the guts to write to him again, asking to save her little brother from a strange cult that apparently worshiped turtles, as Arthur understood. That first letter woke inside him an anger he thought died down. He needed to confront her. So a few days after receiving the first letter, Arthur rode to Valentine, his mind fixed on refusing to help her, yet after hearing her story out he didn’t find it in him to tell her no.

It’ll be just a one time thing, after this he’ll never see her again. He reassured himself.

But then another letter came and then another, and he felt like a fool for helping her every time. Worse yet, he felt like an absolute bastard lying to you each time he went to help Mary out, always finding an excuse as to why he was out late. His conscience shouting at him to tell you the truth each time he looked into your hypnotizing eyes as you both layed naked in the comfort of your tent, but how could he explain it all to you ?

Mary, on the other hand, knew about you, having heard of you once from Arthur when you first joined the gang, but now she knew about your relationship with him. He told her from their first encounter, quick to not let her think he had any other intentions.

He’d help, sure, but only for old time’s sake.

Although Arthur sensed she wasn’t particularly excited about his newfound love, she respected your relationship, often asking him for updates and lending him some advice. It felt strange talking about you to his ex fiancè but she’d ask and he’d talk, never shying away from an opportunity to talk about his darling girl.

Finally free of Uncle’s relentless job, he jumped on his horse, riding into town to meet with Mary.

The town of Rhodes was particularly busy when Arthur arrived, the usually calm town buzzing with life and chatter. Men and women dressed in all kinds of fancy dresses and tall hats adorned with feathers and ribbons, strolled around town. From what Arthur heard from a couple near the saloon, a famous singer from Saint Denis was doing a show in town.

Suddenly conscious about his rugged and worn out attire he quickly made his way toward the general store, where Mary told him to meet her. Something about buying some plumbing tools, she said. Their evening went smoothly, they chatted away as Arthur helped with her shopping advising her which tools to buy and which ones to avoid. As the moon came high in the sky he escorted her to her accommodation before finally riding back to camp.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

“Who goes there!” the shout of Bill’s voice followed by the cock of his shotgun thundering in the night from his usual lookout position.

“It’s Arthur, you moron.”

As the faint chattering of camp filled Arthur’s ears, images of you began to cloud his mind. He needed to find out what was bothering you. He needed to make it right by you, whatever it’ll cost. He hitched his horse, patting his mane a few times whispering sweet praises that made the horse sway its tail before walking towards your shared tent.

The camp was almost empty, being close to midnight the only people up were Javier who sat near the campfire, tuning the guitar in his lap as Reverend Swanson chatted animatedly about his past life experiences with a tired Mister Pearson who looked worse than one of his stews, and then there was Abigail who was chatting with you at the entrance of your shared tent. The both of you dressed in your best dresses, the sight of your body wrapped in the soft cotton and laces of your dress making Arthur’s heart race.

You were one of God’s angels, his sweetest and most beautiful creation, he was sure of it.

As you noticed his presence coming towards you, you hurriedly whispered something to Abigail, making the brunette widen her eyes, before entering your tent, leaving Abigail outside, her eyes finding Arthur’s as he came to an alt before the opening of your shared tent, her expression resembling the ones she had after a fight with John. Anger and care blended together.

After casting a quick confused glance at Abigail, Arthur ducked through the entrance, his broad stature making his action look quite awkward. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light that shone from the oil lamp on the bedside table, he cautiously sat down his hat, his expression a mix of confusion and wariness as his eyes found your figure, sitting at the edge of your small cot. The skirt of your dress puffy around you making you look like a doll, your head bowed making it impossible to him to read your face and shoulders stiff, toying with something in your hands. You looked up at him, red eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill once again. Something in the pit of his stomach told him this was going to be a long night.

"Darlin’," Arthur began, his voice soft as if not to scare a small deer away.

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you slurred a little. He could smell the faint scent of whiskey on your breath, a sign you’d been hanging out with your girl friends.

“Where were you tonight Arthur ?”

He felt his throat tighten at your question. “I jus’ came back from a job,” he unsteadily replied.

"Right, back from your ‘job’ mhh?" you echoed, your voice tight trying with all your might to keep yourself together. You stood up your wobbly legs almost letting you fall, stepping forward, holding out one of the letters as if it were a weapon. "Or back from meeting her?".

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion, and then realization dawned. His stomach dropped as he recognized what you were holding, the sight of you holding one of Mary’s letters felt like a punch to his face.

"Darlin’, it ain’t what you think," he started, his voice filled with urgency.

"Then, please, tell me what the hell it is!" you raised your voice, making it crack under all the weight of your emotions. You didn’t care if you were yelling, if you were to wake everyone in camp. You were tired of all the bullshit.

"I found them, Arthur. A whole fucking drawer full of letters from Mary. I might not be the brightest at reading, but I know her damned name when I see it.” despite all your best efforts to remain strong your eyes betrayed you as fresh warm tears run down the path that your previous ones left.

Arthur moved closer trying to take one of your hands in his, you took a step back, shaking your head. "Don't," you whispered, voice breaking.

“I went to Rhodes today with the girls, ya’know to clear my mind a bit from all your bullshit, and guess who I found having the time of their lives together ? Laughing and what not.”

He paused, his hand hovering in the air between the both of you. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to dry your tears and comfort you, to explain, but he knew you needed to hear the truth first. "Please darlin’, you’ve got to believe me. Mary’s just, she's just- I’m just helpin’ her out. Her husband died, and she’s got no one else,"

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh at his poor explanation. Did he really take you for this big of a fool ? Was this really what he thought of you ? Tears poured down even more from your eyes at the realization. "And you, what? You swoop in to save her like some kind of hero? What are you mh, tell me Arthur, are you her bitch ready to bark if she told you to ?”

The venom spilling from your words hit Arthur hard, making him physically flinch as your words hit him right into his face. His heart shattering at your sight, you were physically and mentally distraught. All because he didn’t have the courage to tell you everything from the start.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? Gosh, all this time, Arthur, all this damn time I’ve just been, what? A distraction? Something to pass the time until you could get her back? Poor silly me, thinking I mattered something to you !" Now you definitely woke someone up, your throat burned as you shouted your whole heart out at Arthur, you felt disgusted, dirty even. The alcohol you previously drowned your sorrows into making you nauseous.

You were ready to give your heart to Arthur, you gave him everything. If he asked you the moon you’d give it to him.

And here you were, the biggest fool in the West, thinking you could have a space in Arthur’s heart.

"What, no!" Arthur’s shout was raw, it definitely hurt his throat, you never heard him shout this way, you never heard him shout at you at all. His voice filled with a mix of frustration and fear. He took another step toward you, stretching his hands out in search of your trembling ones, but you stumbled back, almost tripping over the edge of the cot.

"Darlin’, you’ve got to believe me, I'm beggin’ ya”

“You’ve been lying to me for weeks, Arthur. For weeks you’ve been kissing me, lying in bed with me, you’ve been telling me that you love me while lying to me, for god’s sake ! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?"

"Because I’m tellin’ you the truth!" Arthur pleaded, his voice thick, cracking with emotion. He could sense your heart getting further and further away from his. He wanted nothing more than to take your pain away seeing the way your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into one of his bear hugs you always loved and make you believe him, but the distance between the both of you felt like a chasm too wide to cross anymore. The only bridge between you deteriorating before his very own eyes.

"Sweetheart, I love you. I always loved you, you’re the only one I care about."

But you shook your head, circling away from him before hitting the cold canvas of the tent wall.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your sobs. "Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that after everything you’ve done to me… after all these lies."

"Darlin’, please…" Arthur broke down, his voice saturated with panic as he saw you back towards the exit of your tent, his eyes desperate as he looked at you. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping this from you. I thought- I thought I could handle it on my own, that it would be over before you ever had to know. But I see now I see how big of a moron I was, how fucking wrong I was."

You looked at him, your face twisted in pain, your heart painfully torn between the love you still felt for him and the harsh betrayal you couldn’t shake away. "I can’t do this, Arthur," you meekly said, your voice trembling. "I can’t…I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Who lies straight to my face as if nothing."

Arthur’s heart shattered at your words. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not again. He was not losing the love of his life again. But unfortunately he could see the resolve slowly hardening in your eyes, the way you were getting yourself ready to walk away. Every cell of his body was screaming at him to find a way to keep you. "Don’t leave me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything… I’ll tell you everything, from now on. I’ll never see Mary again, just don’t go. Don’t leave me alone." he finished his sentence, his tone slowly going down to a mere whisper. His eyes filling with tears.

But you were already pulling away, turning your back on him as you moved toward the tent flap. Slightly hesitating with your hand on the thick canvas, your body trembling with the force of the decision you were about to make. If you did this there was no turning back. But this wasn’t your fault.

"I need to think," you said emotionless, your voice hollow as your sobs died down, leaving you with a hole in your heart, "I need…I need some time for myself."

"No, please don’t…" Arthur’s voice was choked with tears he wouldn’t let fall from his eyes. But it was too late.

You slipped out of the tent into the cold harsh night, leaving Arthur motionless at the center of the cold emptiness of your shared tent, feeling the walls closing in around him. The crushing realization that he might have just lost the one person who truly meant everything to him came down on him at once making his head spin.

Alone in the darkness, Arthur finally let the tears fall, each one a silent plea for a second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You needed to get away from him, to get away from everything right now. You felt that if you were just a second more inside that tent you’d take him into your arms, begging him to never let you go. But you couldn’t.

He lied to you, you didn’t care about Mary, about his secret rendezvous with her. He lied to you. That’s all you could think of.

Realizing that Arthur could easily follow you in camp you decided to completely get out of camp. You needed space, from him, from everyone. You just wanted to be alone.

Venturing into the woods at night wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve made per se, but a small ounce of alcohol was running through your veins still and you decided to blame it for your poor choice.

The moonlight shone brightly, illuminating faintly your surroundings, the harsh chill of the midnight weather biting your exposed hands as you once again forgot your gloves.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as more tears threatened to spill from your tired eyes, you were near the clearing you and Arthur found out a few weeks ago, in need of some privacy when your mouths were chasing each other and his hands, warm and calloused, explored your exposed back, your touches burning with raw desire.

The memory of that night burned in your heart when suddenly you heard a twig snap. You turned towards the direction of the sound fear taking over you, shaking every cell in your body. You were physically and emotionally drained, you didn't have a gun with you, not even a knife. The only thing left to do was pray it was just a fox wandering around.

And then you felt it, a sharp burning pain in the back of your head, kicking the air out of your lungs.

The last thing you saw was the forest floor.

Before darkness took over you.

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan angst #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom

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nihilityuniverse · 4 months ago

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𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost.

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 0 - Prologue

[Lament of the Fallen]

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"I have lost everything."

The relentless battle against the Honkai beasts rages on, your katana slicing through their monstrous forms with a desperate fury. Explosions erupt around you, the searing heat mixing with the blood and sweat that drips down your temples. The ground is littered with the fallen, comrades who once fought beside you now lifeless amidst the swarming beasts summoned by the Herrschers.

"My family..."

The horrifying sight of humans, transformed into mindless Honkai zombies, fills you with dread. Your grip on the handle of your Divine Key falters as you witness your little sister and brother among them, feasting on the remains of fallen soldiers. Tears blur your vision as you dash towards them, the agony of what you must do tearing at your soul. With a heart-wrenching cry, you end their suffering, beheading the only family you had left. You had promised to protect them, to create a peaceful world for them.

"My dear comrades..."

A wall of flames engulfs the encroaching monsters, giving you a momentary respite. Kalpas, your grey-haired, masked comrade, stands before you, his power saving you once more. Exhaustion is etched on his face, but he urges you to keep moving. Before you can respond, a piercing laser beam shoots through his chest, and he crumples to the ground. One by one, your friends fall, their bodies lifeless on the battlefield. The bonds forged in blood and battle, severed in an instant.

"My world..."

The battlefield is a graveyard of Honkai beasts and fallen soldiers, their bodies buried beneath layers of ash. The sky above is a mournful grey, reflecting the lifeless desolation around you. You stand alone, the sole survivor amidst the ruins. Have you won the war, or merely survived its horrors? The answer eludes you.

"And..."

In your hand, you clutch your new Divine Key, forged from the shattered remains of 70,033 blades and the essence of twelve Herrschers. You gaze up at the bleak, grey sky, the weight of your existence pressing down on you.

"I realize now..." You unsheathe your Divine Key, Nihility, unleashing your Active Honkai Reaction. Golden cracks spread from your right hand, blossoming into ethereal flowers. Your hair turns snow-white, your skin pale as ivory. Golden horns sprout from your head, and your eye color turns into gold.

"I've lost myself."

"...That the ultimate fate of this world is nothingness, and therefore, worthless... or even the whole universe?"

With a final, devastating swing of your Divine Key, you begin to unravel the very fabric of this world, reducing it to void, to nothingness. The ground beneath you crumbles, the sky shatters, and everything you fought for dissolves into oblivion. As the world collapses around you, you raise your katana high.

"Yet... I still want to stay..."

With a heavy heart, you turn the blade upon yourself, splitting your soul in half, and embracing the void.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Snowflakes drift gently from the dull, grey sky, their delicate forms hitting softly against your window. You stare blankly at the wintry landscape, your mind lost in the endless dance of the snow. Your right hand, adorned with claw-like metallic finger guards, rests against the cold glass. As you blink, the serene snowflakes transform into ashen rain, and the snowy ground becomes a graveyard, littered with swords and corpses.

Startled, you stumble back, your heart pounding in your chest. The haunting vision fades as quickly as it appeared, leaving you standing in the quiet room. A single tear escapes your eye, tracing a cold line down your cheek. You wipe it away, confusion mingling with the sorrow etched on your face.

"... A forgotten memory?" you whisper, your breath fogging the glass.

Before you can ponder the vision further, a knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You turn away from the window, your expression hardening. "Come in," you command, your voice firm yet distant.

The door creaks open, and a Fatui Skirmisher steps in, bowing deeply. He holds a letter in his trembling hand, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Lord Innamorati," he begins, his voice wavering with fear. "A letter from Her Royal Highness."

'Her Highness?' The title feels foreign, a distant echo in your mind. You frown, trying to grasp the fleeting memory.

"Can you remind me of her name?" you ask, your tone soft yet icy, sending a shiver through the skirmisher despite his thick winter coat.

"H-Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod slowly, the name stirring something within you. A fleeting sense of purpose, lost in the haze of your fragmented memories. "Thank you," you say, your voice carrying a trace of melancholy. "My memory... it often fails me."

The skirmisher quickly hands you the letter and exits the room, his relief palpable. You turn to your desk, the weight of the message heavy in your hand. If the Cryo Archon herself has written to you, it must be of grave importance. Did something terrible happen? Or have you forgotten another mission?

You break the seal and unfold the letter, your eyes scanning the contents. With a sigh, you crumple it and toss it into the trash. Your hand instinctively moves to the scabbard where your Divine Key, Nihility, rests.

"A funeral..., huh?" The words hang in the air, heavy with sorrow and resignation.

You move to the window once more, the snowy landscape a stark contrast to the inner turmoil you feel. The snow outside is pure and untouched, but in your mind, the vision of the dead and the desolate ground lingers. You know that each snowflake, each fleeting memory, is a piece of the past that you can never fully grasp.

In the quiet of your room, you can't shake the feeling that you're losing more than just memories. You're losing yourself, piece by piece, like the snow melting away under the weight of the ashes.

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Reblog if you like this story

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chaotic-archaeologist · 3 months ago

Note

https://nypost.com/2024/08/28/world-news/boy-4-accidentally-smashes-bronze-age-jar-that-was-at-least-3500-years-old/

Your thoughts?

Personally, I'm kinda sick of museums being required to cater to kids so much. If you're going to do this open air exhibit, kids who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves just shouldn't be allowed in. The glass is there for this very reason.

Actually, I'm with the museum on this one. Is it unfortunate that the vase was broken? Yes. Was the vase a valuable piece of the past? Also yes. But I think the museum did something very cool by not having the artifacts behind glass and are handling this with good grace and the sense to make this a learning opportunity.

Sometimes we overlook the fact that museums often attempt to arrest or freeze artifacts in time. They are kept in controlled conditions to prevent them from deteriorating and even treated to reverse damage. Many things on display on museums are elevated beyond their original value, alienated from their original purpose, and closed off from interaction.

It's incredible that this jar survived as long as it did—and its age is what makes it special—but at the end of the day, it is still a jar. It has now experienced the thing that happens to pretty much every jar that has been or will be. After all, decay is an extant form of life. (If you want to read a very well written and interesting take on decay and archaeology, check out this article by Caitlin DeSilvey.)

The article I linked above provides some important context and the update that the museum is planning on using this as an opportunity to teach about the conservation process. The jar's story is not over; it is being pieced back together and in this next chapter in its life it will be able to tell two stories: one of its life and the other of its rebirth. The museum's approach embraces that, exactly like the Japanese art of Kintsugi.

I also agree with the museum's decision not to punish the child or his family. Things go wrong in museums all the time despite their highly controlled environments, and this is why they have artifacts insured. Sometimes the thing that happens is a child, and by and large museums do not seek damages.

I would encourage you to rethink your stance on museums and children. Museums are for everyone. Children have a right to experience museums and what they have to offer just like anyone else. There are also many studies that discuss how going to museums benefits children.

In this case, perhaps the exhibit design was slightly flawed, but the four year old boy accidentally knocked the jar over because he was curious about what was inside and wanted to investigate. Curiosity is exactly what museums should be encouraging. In an ideal world that curiosity would have been channeled into some other kind of engagement, but the folks who work in museums have a lot on their plates and cannot plan everything perfectly all the time. Even if they could, they often do not have the resources to do so.

Finally, the AP article mentions that the boy and his family were visiting the museum to get away from Hezbollah rocket fire. Regardless of your opinions on the current conflict, everyone deserves to have a safe place to exist. That museums can serve as those spaces is an honor.

I commend the Hecht Museum and the people working there. They 1) successfully provided a place of learning and refuge, 2) opted not for a punitive approach—which is often the default Western model for justice—but a compassionate one, and 3) are using this twist of fate to create programming that will further engage the public.

@museeeuuuum and @museum-spaces would you care to comment?

-Reid

#anyone who clowns on this post gets blocked immediately #museum #museums #children #broken jar

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jmkjournalblog · 11 days ago

Text

"Soulmates" Part 1

Part 2

Pairing:Wednesday Addams x FemVampire! Reader

Summary: The Fem!reader, vampire with a penchant for dark humor and psychopathic tendencies, is sent to Nevermore Academy by her parents following an unpleasant incident involving the murder of a couple of triple students in her previous school. Despite their contrasting personalities, the reader and Wednesday form a complex bond, navigating their differences while facing challenges that threaten to keep them apart.

A/N: This text combines three chapters written at different times, so there might be slight differences in style. Also, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes))

Warnings: Shitty humor

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The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the picturesque town. It was a quaint, almost idyllic place, with its cobblestone streets and charming old buildings—a far cry from the darkness that lurked within the reader's soul. She stood at the edge of town, a lone figure amidst the bustle of the afternoon crowd. Tall and imposing, with an air of quiet confidence that set her apart from the ordinary townsfolk, she surveyed her surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

The Y/n was not here by choice. No, she had been sent—a pawn in a game she had no desire to play. Her parents, in their infinite wisdom—or perhaps, their utter lack thereof—had deemed it necessary to exile her to Nevermore Academy, a school for misfits and outcasts. It was a punishment disguised as a solution, a way to rid themselves of a daughter whose darkness they could no longer abide.

And so, here she was, alone in a town that reeked of desperation and decay, a stranger in a strange land. It was a bitter irony, she thought, that a creature such as herself—a creature of the night, born to roam the shadows—should find herself so utterly exposed in the harsh light of day. But she was not one to dwell on self-pity, nor was she inclined to mourn the loss of a home she had long outgrown. No, she would embrace this new chapter of her existence with the same ferocity that she embraced life itself.

With a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes, the Y/n turned her gaze towards the looming silhouette of Nevermore Academy, its spires reaching towards the heavens like the fingers of a long-forgotten deity. And as she took her first steps towards her new prison, she couldn't help but wonder what twisted fate awaited her within its hallowed halls.

*Y/n POV*

As I stepped into the imposing entrance hall of Nevermore Academy, I was greeted by the sight of a young girl. She was dressed in the school uniform, her blond hair falling in waves around her shoulders as she approached with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Welcome to Nevermore Academy," she said with a wry smile, extending her hand in greeting. "I'm Enid Sinclair. And you must be the new arrival."

I nodded, returning her handshake. Enid's warmth and charm were a welcome contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that hung me like a shroud.

"Nice to meet you," I replied with a forced smile. There's no point in being rude, this school is my last resort, and it's better to try to be nicer to people. "I must admit, I wasn't sure if anyone would meet me."

" I always give a tour of the school to new students, especially since you will be my roommate." A smile spread across her face. God, I wish I could be as carefree "It's going to be so much fun, you, me and Wednesday are three new best friends".

Three best friends? Well, that's one way to look at it—a trio of misfits ready to conquer the world, or at least survive sharing a room.

"Wow, lucky me," I muttered inwardly, plastering on a grin that probably looked more like a grimace. "I've always wanted to be part of a trio. How did you know?"

I forced another polite smile, masking my inner cynicism with practiced ease. "Okay, we can't stand here all day. Let's go. "

After walking around all the main areas of the school, Enid and I headed towards our room. The whole time we were walking, I couldn't shake the feeling that this place was definitely going to be interesting. Enid had her own issues, but I'd always been attracted to people who looked at the world with an unhealthy amount of optimism. Talking to her should dilute my morbid thoughts with a touch of sweet idiocy. For being alone with myself again does me no good, though it gives me a lot of pleasure.

“So, roomie, ready to see your new abode?” - Enid said with a smile, her hand resting on the doorknob. With a casual shrug, I followed her into the room.

A huge room greeted us, with beds on both sides. The left side was a riot of colors, what I would call “colorblind worst nightmare” It was a cacophony of hues that defied description. Plush toys adorned one wall. Well at least it is not dakimakura with half-naked characters from anime or furi costumes. On the other side of the room, the atmosphere was stark—black linens on the bed, a desk, and a typewriter. Its practically untouched. It felt more like a museum piece than a living space, devoid of any trace of personality. Enid had mentioned that the other girl had only recently moved in…

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY ROOM ROOM?” – Enid asked in irritation.

Her voice startling me out of my thoughts. Distractedly looking around the room, I completely missed the girl who was tearing off colored stickers from the right half of the huge window. It must be Wednesday.

“Dividing our room equally,” replied Wednesday, her voice dripping with disdain. She kicked the last of the colored paper to Enid's side for emphasis. "It looks like a rainbow vomited on your side." She finished in a calm tone, as she returned to the desk at her side of the room.

God, I love drama.

“I...” I could literally see Enid's ears steaming right now.

“Silence would be appreciated.” Wednesday spoke as she quickly cut her roommate off. "This is my writing time."

I like this school already.

“Your writing time ? ” Enid asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wednesday rolled up her sleeves as she situated herself in front of her typewriter. “I devote an hour a day to my novel. Perhaps if you did the same your vlog might be coherent.” she slides the carriage of the typewriter to the side as she continued, “I've read serial killer diaries with better punctuation.”

She read serial killer diaries? One point to the goth girl.

Enid clenched her fists “I write in my voice. It's my truth. It's what my followers love.”

“Your followers are clearly imbeciles.” Wednesday stood up from her desk as she moved infront of Enid. “They respond to your stories with insipid little pictures.”

“Uh, you mean emoji's?” a small smile appears on Enid face “It's how people express their feelings. I realize that's a foreign concept to you.”

“When I look at you, the following emojis come to mind. Rope, shovel, hole.” She continues “By the way, there are two D's in Addams." she moved back over to her desk. “If you're going to gossip about me, at least spell my name correctly.”

“Ahem”- as much as I'd love for this delightful show to continue, I can't just stand there like an idiot with things to do. I could certainly settle down nicely on my suitcase to brew some coffee and continue watching this wonderful drama, but I think sooner or later they'll notice me.

“Oh, sorry about that please, I'm just not used to this attitude. Wednesday, meet Y/n. She's going to live with us too.”

“That's okay, Enid, you can continue this lovely conversation, very intriguing actually. All I need to do is put my things somewhere and ideally lie down myself. The long drive and the splendid but somewhat drawn-out tour, has tired me out.”

Wednesday turned to me. “Nice to meet you, now if you'll excuse it’s my writing time,” she said, before turning back to her typewriter. She began methodically tapping the keys of her typewriter.

I smiled to myself, amused by the interaction. These two were definitely something else.

“Ms. Thornhill has decided that your bed will be on Wednesday's side, there's more room and the closet is close by. Bed should be arriving soon, but in the meantime, you can lay out your things, the outer two doors are yours.”

“Got it, okay then, that's what I'll do for now.”

Taking the suitcase in my hands I headed over to the closet, starting to put things away. I've always had a problem with this, not that I don't like it on the contrary, pedantically folding shirt to shirt, pants to pants, has always calmed me down. Things in the closet should look like they're on the counter of a boutique. If something doesn't look right, I can't sleep well.

Enid put on a song. I guess this is another one of God's tests for all the sins I've done. Don't get me wrong, I like music, but on rare occasions. People who play it on a regular basis to soundtrack their daily routine are the real psychopaths.

“Turn it off!” Wednesday gets up from her chair and heads over to Enid.

I couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the exchange. It was moments like this that made me grateful for immortality. Trying not to attract attention, I peeked out from behind the locker door, amused by the unfolding drama.

“This is your final warning!”

As she got too close Enid raised her hands and let out her rainbow painted nails out a claw. “Don't mess with me. This kitty’s got claws and I’m not afraid to use them.”

Suddenly the door swings open and a woman walks into the room.

“Good evening girls.” She looks around the room throwing a glance first at me and then at Wednesday. “I wanted to make sure that Wednesday and Y/n was settling in...”

She walks to the middle of the room, kicking up mud from her shoes on the wooden floor…. It drives me insane.

“I’m Ms. Thornhill, your dorm mom. Apologies, I wasn't here to greet you when you arrived. I trust Enid has given you the old Nevermore welcome.”

“She's been smothering us with hospitality, I hope to return the favor. In her sleep”.

Such unconcealed aggression, I like it.

“Enid did a great job of showing and telling me everything, thank her so much, and it's nice to meet you,” I interjected, wanting to move the conversation along.

Ms. Thornhill turned to me, offering a warm smile. “I'm very glad it went well.”

“The only thing I would like to ask about is the bed. I wouldn't really want to sleep on the floor on the first day in such a beautiful place. It would have dampened all the excitement I got out of today.”

“Oh right, the guys were supposed to bring it, but it looks like they're running late. I'll have to find them again and tell them.”

At this rate, I was going to sleep on the floor tonight.

“Ms. Thornhill, why do we need the guys? Why don't you just show me where to get it, and I'll take it from there? I think I'm strong enough to do that,” I replied with a sweet smile.

She looked at me in disbelief. I smiled a little, letting her catch a glimpse of my fangs.

“Ah, okay, I didn't realize right away. Not all vampires who are in this school have abilities such as strength or speed, so...Let's go,” she said, turning around and heading for the door. I followed her, casting a disdainful glance at the dirt left on the floor.

Who even does things like that?

Y/n POV

The walk with Ms. Thornhill was uneventful, except for her curious glances, which I pretended not to notice. She seemed… overly friendly, and her cheery disposition grated against every instinct I had. There was something unsettling in how her smile lingered just a bit too long. Still, I played the obedient new student—sweet smiles, polite nods, not even a hint of fangs. It wasn’t hard to find the storage area, cluttered with dusty furniture and half-forgotten relics from who knows how long ago. With little more than a gesture, I hefted the bedframe onto my shoulder, making it look far easier than it should have been.

As I walked back through the hallways of Nevermore, I couldn’t help but scan the dimly lit corridors and high arched ceilings. This place was dripping with history and secrets—I could practically taste it in the air. I wondered what kind of skeletons were hiding in these closets and whether any of them were literal. The thought amused me enough to crack a smile, which I quickly smothered when I caught sight of the door to our room.

Returning to find Enid attempting to cheerfully hang more decorations—and failing spectacularly in the face of Wednesday’s withering glares—was almost worth the trouble. Almost. I stepped into the room, set down the bedframe with a soft thud, and stretched slightly, letting out a satisfied sigh that earned me a sideways glance from both girls. I raised an eyebrow at Wednesday, who, naturally, looked unimpressed.

“You’re back,” she stated flatly, her attention already returning to the clack of typewriter keys. “I’d begun hoping you’d gotten lost and decided to stay that way.”

I grinned, leaning casually against the wall as I met her icy gaze. “Oh, did you miss me already, Wednesday? I’m touched.” I let my words drip with playful mockery, watching for her reaction.

She didn’t even pause her typing. “I don’t miss nuisances. They have a way of making themselves known whether one wishes it or not.”

“Well, it’s good to know I’ve made an impression,” I replied lightly, crossing my arms. “I do so hate being forgettable.”

There it was—a slight pause in her keystrokes. Barely perceptible, but I saw it. Victory. She resumed typing, but I could see the muscles in her jaw tense, and that alone was worth every ounce of effort. Behind me, Enid let out an exaggerated groan.

“Can you two not flirt for five minutes?” Enid asked, half-exasperated and half-amused as she tossed another garish pillow onto her bed.

“Flirting?” I said innocently, a hand coming to my chest. “Enid, I think you’ve misunderstood me. I was simply trying to have a civil conversation.”

“Your idea of civil conversation seems to involve needling people until they bleed,” Wednesday remarked coolly, finally glancing my way. “I’m sure you’re quite proud of yourself.”

“Oh, very,” I said, flashing a grin that showed just the hint of fang. “But I only needle people who are interesting. Take that as a compliment.”

Her expression didn’t change, but there was a spark in her dark eyes. A dangerous, calculating spark. “Compliments from you hold about as much value as a counterfeit coin. Useless and possibly diseased.”

I tilted my head, letting my smile widen. “And yet you’ve pocketed it anyway.”

“Enough!” Enid interjected, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m already regretting my decision to be roommates with either of you.”

“I thought we were best friends, Enid?” I teased, giving her a mock-wounded look. She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself.

As the brief silence fell, Wednesday turned back to her typewriter, the clack of the keys resuming with renewed vigor. I moved to finish setting up my space, feeling her presence keenly even as she pretended, I didn’t exist. But I knew better. She’d noticed me, whether she liked it or not. And I intended to keep it that way.

I focused on arranging the few belongings I had, keeping one eye on my two roommates. Enid flitted around, determined to keep the atmosphere upbeat despite the thickening tension, while Wednesday remained stoic, her fingers tapping out words with relentless precision. The mechanical clatter of the typewriter filled the room, a fitting soundtrack to our peculiar dynamic.

As I stowed the last of my clothes, I moved to the shared windowsill. Half of it, Wednesday’s half, was bare and colorless, just like the rest of her side. I dragged a finger across the divider she’d drawn—black tape down the middle, stark and deliberate. When she’d divided the room, she hadn’t left any margin for negotiation. That was fine. I wasn’t one to negotiate either.

“Did you choose the décor yourself?” I asked, tone light but teasing. “It really says a lot about you.”

The typewriter stopped mid-sentence, and her head turned, her expression a mask of cold detachment. “If by ‘a lot’ you mean ‘nothing,’ then you are correct. My surroundings reflect my disregard for frivolity.”

I leaned back against the windowsill, arms crossed, giving her a slow once-over. “Yes, I see that. Stark, somber, a touch of morbidity… What’s next, Wednesday? Iron bars over your window? A ‘keep out’ sign? Or is this already your version of a welcome mat?”

“Those who need signs to warn them of danger are already too foolish to avoid it,” she retorted, her voice like ice. She didn’t look away, and I felt the weight of her attention settle on me like a dare.

“Danger? That sounds intriguing.” I stepped closer, deliberately closing the space between us. “But I’d rather find out for myself than take your word for it.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought she’d lash out. Instead, she simply pushed her chair back with a quiet scrape and stood. “Are you always this insufferable?” she asked, stepping closer herself. We were nearly face-to-face now, her glare as sharp as a blade.

“Only when I’m provoked,” I said, my voice softening, the challenge in it unmistakable. “Or intrigued.”

For a heartbeat, I thought she might reach for one of her knives. It wouldn’t have surprised me. But then she stepped back, and the flicker of emotion was gone, replaced by a cold, composed exterior. “Intrigue is a fleeting distraction. You’ll tire of it soon enough.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” I murmured, watching her turn her back to me and return to her typewriter. I had to give it to her; she was disciplined. She’d withdrawn from the confrontation as if it hadn’t fazed her, as if the moment hadn’t happened. But it had.

Enid broke the silence, plopping down onto her bed with a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t we all just get along? Isn’t this supposed to be like… the beginning of a beautiful friendship?”

“I don’t recall asking for friendship,” Wednesday replied without looking up.

“And I don’t recall rejecting it,” I added with a smirk, earning a scoff from Wednesday.

“See?” Enid grinned, ever the optimist. “Progress! I’m telling you, we’re going to be the best trio ever. Just give it time.”

“Optimism is a fool’s currency,” Wednesday stated, resuming her typing. “It’s usually spent too freely and leaves the owner penniless.”

“Good thing I have plenty to spare,” Enid shot back, unfazed. She turned to me. “Y/n, you’ll see. She’s all doom and gloom now, but she’ll warm up eventually.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I said, letting the implication linger. “Though I have to admit, I like her just the way she is.”

Wednesday’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second, and my grin widened. There it was again—the tell that she was paying attention, even if she pretended otherwise.

Enid reached for her phone, likely ready to drown out the tension with music or social media, but she paused, her expression curious. “So, Y/n… what brought you to Nevermore?”

“Exile,” I said simply, my voice taking on a darker edge. “I’m here because my family thought it would be safer to have me… away.”

Enid blinked, unsure whether I was joking. “Safer for who?”

“Exactly.” I allowed a flicker of my fangs to show, then shrugged. “But this place isn’t so bad. It might even grow on me.”

“It’s full of disappointments,” Wednesday said coolly, not missing a beat. “Don’t let the shadows fool you.”

“Disappointments keep things interesting,” I replied, stepping back toward my side of the room. “And I’ve always been drawn to interesting things.”

I felt her eyes on me even after she turned back to her writing. This was going to be fun. Dangerous, maybe—but undeniably fun.

The next morning, the air was crisp, and a thin layer of fog crept around the gothic towers of Nevermore Academy. I found myself sitting on the edge of my freshly delivered bed, lacing up my boots. The rest of the room was quiet, but I could feel a watchful presence. Turning slightly, I caught Wednesday’s reflection in the mirror; she was silently observing me while pretending to prepare her things. Her eyes were intense as ever, like she was sizing me up, waiting for me to make the first move. It amused me, and I made no effort to hide my grin.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I teased, breaking the tension in the room.

She blinked, a slow, deliberate motion that barely disguised her disdain. “Please spare me your nauseating pleasantries.”

“Why, Wednesday, it almost sounds like you didn’t sleep well.” I stood, stretching. “I’d say I’m hurt by that, but I do recall you typing well into the night. Plotting murder, perhaps?”

“If I were plotting murder, you wouldn’t have woken up,” she replied with a deadpan expression.

I laughed softly, loving how quick she was. “Noted. I’ll try to be more deserving of your mercy.” I leaned closer as I passed her on the way to the door. “For now.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she muttered, though there was a glint in her eyes that suggested she was far from indifferent. Oh, this was definitely going to be an interesting place.

The hallway was bustling with other students, each an oddity in their own right—shapeshifters, psychics, sirens, and more. I navigated the throng with ease, catching glimpses of curious eyes that lingered just a moment too long. Whispers followed me. New arrivals always attracted attention, and I wasn’t exactly the type to blend in.

“Y/n!” Enid’s cheery voice pierced the noise, and she bounded over like a hyperactive puppy, practically glowing with excitement. “How did you sleep? Oh! You’re going to love breakfast here—it’s the best part of the day!”

“I’m surprised you managed to sleep at all with the ambiance,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I half-expected bats to swoop down from the rafters.

“Oh, they’ve tried.” She shrugged with a wide smile. “But seriously, come on! The sausages are to die for.”

I followed her, letting Enid’s chatter wash over me. She was like a rainbow in this dreary place, and, strangely, I found her optimism a welcome contrast. Wednesday walked a few steps behind us, silent and brooding as ever. It was almost comforting.

The cafeteria was a storm of voices, laughter, and clinking trays. Enid led me through the throng of students, her energy a stark contrast to the brooding architecture of Nevermore. We found a spot at a small table near one of the tall, stained-glass windows. As I settled in, a presence made itself known—a girl with sleek black hair, crimson-tinted sunglasses, and a confident air that turned heads without effort. She walked up, holding her tray like she owned the place.

“Mind if I join?” she asked, but it was rhetorical. She was already sitting down, her eyes on me.

Enid perked up. “Oh! Y/n, this is Yoko Tanaka. Yoko, meet Y/n. She’s new.”

“Yoko,” I repeated, my gaze trailing over her with casual interest. I extended a hand, playing along. “Nice to meet you.”

Her grip was cool, steady. She didn’t let go right away, and her lips curled into a smile. “The pleasure’s all mine. So, Enid’s newest roommate, huh? Welcome to the madhouse.”

I returned her smile, undeterred by the playful challenge in her tone. “Thanks. From what I’ve seen, I’m going to fit right in.”

“Really?” Yoko’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table. “It takes a lot to fit in here. But something tells me you’ll manage.” She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not... ordinary, are you?”

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I might,” she replied, the light catching the edge of her sunglasses. “Most newcomers are easy to read. But you? You’re a little... more.”

Wednesday, who had been quietly picking at her food, suddenly spoke up. “If you two are done exchanging veiled flirtations, there are more important matters at hand.”

I turned my gaze to her, a smirk playing on my lips. “You know, Wednesday, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“Jealousy is a pointless emotion,” she said flatly, though her eyes seemed to darken. “I simply despise wasted time.”

“Oh, so you’d rather spend your time... constructively?” I asked, feigning deep interest. “Writing your next bestseller or analyzing the cafeteria’s murder statistics?”

She set her fork down with deliberate precision. “Both. I find productivity in all things. Unlike some people who waste their breath on hollow banter.”

“See?” I leaned forward conspiratorially, turning to Yoko. “This is what I get for trying to lighten the mood.”

Yoko laughed, a rich, throaty sound that drew a few glances. “You two are something. But don’t worry—I enjoy the kind of banter that makes the daylight hours less boring.”

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked, deciding to prod a little. “To liven things up for me?”

She pushed her sunglasses up, revealing striking eyes that glimmered with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to figure you out. Vampires don’t often get surprises, you know.”

“Vampires?” I arched an eyebrow, pretending not to know. “Is that what we’re calling ourselves these days?”

Enid jumped in with a cheerful clap of her hands. “Y/n’s also a vampire, Yoko! You two should totally hang out. Maybe you can teach her the ropes!”

Yoko’s smile widened, showing a hint of fang. “Oh, I’d be delighted. As long as she doesn’t get scared too easily.”

I matched her smile, unflinching. “Scared? That’s not really my thing.”

“Good.” Yoko’s voice dropped, her gaze sharpening. “Because there are plenty of things in Nevermore that will test your limits. I’d hate for you to miss out.”

Before I could respond, Wednesday stood up abruptly, gathering her tray. “This conversation has officially crossed into drivel. Some of us have standards.”

“Leaving already?” I asked, enjoying the way her expression never wavered.

“Unlike you, I have productive tasks awaiting me.” She paused, her dark eyes meeting mine. “Try not to lower the collective intelligence of the room while I’m gone.”

I grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

She left without another word, and for a moment, I could have sworn there was a hint of amusement hidden beneath her icy exterior. Yoko watched her go, then turned back to me, a knowing look on her face. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Good,” I replied. “I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”

#wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x you #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday netflix #jenna ortega x fem reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader

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moonshadowmystique · 2 months ago

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The Right Person at the Wrong Time - A Reflection on Timing and Connection

All our lives, we have heard stories that involve the right person turning up at the wrong time. This concept is jarringly alarming because it layer-peels the facade of finding the right individual in regard to love, connection, or relationship. This indicates, if explained better, that two people fitting for each other might fail to emerge when the various elements of life are against their coming together.

What does it even mean to meet the right person at the wrong time?

The Complexity in Timing

Timing is an invisible force that shapes the connections we make, often in ways of which we are barely aware. You might meet your dream person, that person who checks all the boxes or sees the world through a filter instituted by your soul. But with you not being emotionally available, probably still recovering from injuries of the past, or perhaps in the middle of some personal crisis, such connection might just not blossom. On the other hand, it could be them who is dealing with troubles at this stage, which means they cannot also be fully present.

This is extra challenging because, by nature of things, there is tension between what we feel and what reality presents. There is almost something tragic in the beauty of having found someone incredible but at the wrong time. You're forced, then, to think that love and connection are about more than logical matches, but two lives crossing at a certain point where access and readiness are aligned.

The 'What If' Paradox

That is the question that will haunt when the right person shows up at the wrong time: What if things were different? It's such a haunting thought, and then you are left to wonder how, in some other world, maybe it would have worked between the two of you. You have a vision of how this might have been the case with another chapter of your life. You could run yourself into sleepless nights with 'what ifs' and yearn for something that may never be resolved.

But harboring such questions in one's mind forever would render living in the present light of day an impossibility. It is very human to reflect on the paths not taken, but living in the country of 'what ifs' blinds you to the new opportunities staring you in the face.

Growth, Timing, and Readiness

It might be that meeting the right person at the wrong time sometimes serves a great purpose. Sometimes such experiences will teach us more about ourselves, or perhaps are a reflection of where we need to grow or what we need to let go of to be truly ready for a meaningful connection in the future. Other times, the person you meet is but a mirror reflecting the work yet to be done on yourself.

That person may remind you that deep love is deserved by you, even if at the time that is not fated to be with them. They may provide a catalyzing agent that impels you to align your life through means that serve to better prepare you in the future for a relationship be it with them or someone else.

Embracing Imperfection

One of the most painful things we may learn is that imperfection meets us around every corner in life, and love is no different. Yes, even when we think we have found that person who fits every category on our ostensibly perfect list, it's not as if the universe necessarily plays a role in ensuring that all that lines up. That's just part of the mystery—and frustration—of being human.

But perhaps, other than cruel fate, that is the profound message: love is not about everything working out perfectly. It means the understanding that connections, no matter the depth, sometimes do not come out with fairy tales. It is about embracing the will-o'-the-wisps, beautiful moments for what they are and not necessarily needing them to last.

Moving Forward with Ease

So, what happens when you are in this situation? There isn't some simple answer to this proposition, nor is a one-size-fits-all solution for anything. Some can hold onto the hope that one day, in the future, the timing shall be right and the stars align. While others let go, realizing that even while a connection was powerful, yet it simply wasn't meant to be a permanent fixture in our lives.

Both are correct. The key is to move with elegance. Life, with all the moments of its unpredictability, is a journey that's really full of twists and turns. That person at the wrong time could have been one chapter in your story, but it need not define the whole narrative. Every experience in life adds to your growth, even the bittersweet ones.

Ultimately, the concept of meeting the right person at the wrong time invites us to consider what love, timing, and self-awareness are all about. It reminds us that not everything is about chemistry but about being prepared—about two people meeting at the crossroads of their journeys in life, ready to take that step together. And sometimes, such journeys are meant to meet only briefly, leaving an indelible mark but no permanent union. In those moments, we can only respectfully acknowledge the bond for what it was and know that each interaction—every human contact—is a part of our development and continues to shape us into who we are and who we will become.

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lo1k-diamonds · 22 days ago

Text

Be as it must 💜 Part 6 (end)

“If you let me claim you, I'll never let you leave.”

PAIRING: Alpha!Jungkook x Omega(f)reader

SUMMARY: It's time to make a decision about the future; Jungkook chose you, but what about you?

WORD COUNT: 6.4k

GENRE: ABO, strangers to lovers, fated lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: arguing, anger, teasing, brat!reader, explicit unprotected sex, oral (both), he struggles to reach the bedroom 👀, a vase is broken, marking and knotting

A.N. A huge thank you to @moonleeai for the beta read💜 Here we have it-- the conclusion! This was super fun to write, I hope you all enjoy it! 💜

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter

Time was a funny thing — one second, you were standing before seven alphas, the next, you were inside Jungkook’s car again, going home.

You glanced at his chest since you couldn’t look at him. He kept you pressed to his side, enveloped in his arm, his nose firmly to your head. Perhaps he had dozed off, but his embrace was just as firm as before. You wanted to see him, but you let out a small sigh and got more comfy instead.

You had no idea what was happening or what you were doing. There was the fact that the seven of them decided that barring Sunhwa from marrying any of them was not enough to cause social stigma, thus adding plenty of prohibitive deals and sanctions to punish her family’s business and wealth. Then there was the way you didn’t contest that you and Jungkook were made for each other. On top of that, there were all the jokes about him being lucky to have found the one omega probably still out in the world, and it just so happens to be his. Or all the suggestions about contacting his father and elders as a council to inform them of this ban taking effect immediately, which forbade their engagement. You didn’t know where to start unraveling the problem, but you knew it was coming because you were in his arms on your way to his apartment. The apartment you already referred to as home.

What did Hoseok say? Alphas were very protective. Shit.

You let Jungkook take your hand and lead you home, where a familiar view greeted you. In the car, he had made arrangements for Sunhwa to be fired and barred access everywhere immediately, and he personally stopped to change the apartment’s code.

“It’s the day we first met,” he told you, rolling your luggage inside at his insistence.

“You mean the day I was kidnapped and brought to you in zip ties?”

You frowned, and he shook his head, following you into the living room, “No, the day before. Year month day.”

He was serious as he got rid of his coat to throw it over the couch, and you straightened up as well. You had to take the hold of things while you still had it.

“So, here we are,” you started, clearing your voice. “As you might have guessed, I was on my way here when… Right, so I meant to let you talk. Before I leave.”

He only looked at you as he rolled up his sleeves, then he scoffed and headed to the dining room, “Want a drink?”

“No, I’d rather do this sober.”

He stopped and glanced at you, “You want to do this now? Aren’t you exhausted?”

“I don’t go to bed angry.” Your eyebrows jumped; you spoke without thinking. “I mean, yes, but I can’t leave if things aren’t sorted out.”

His jaw twitched as he thought your words over, then he turned to you, “Alright. I think you heard everything you needed to tonight.” His lips twitched, and he pressed them before continuing, “I didn’t have a choice in that marriage contract, and I was doing everything I could to have it annulled. I didn’t mean to lead you on, and in fact, that was not what I was doing.”

Your eyebrow quirked, “It wasn’t?”

“No,” he insisted sternly. “It didn’t mean anything to me.”

“Well, it’s not just about what it means to you, is it?” Your tone hardened as you faced him head-on, “An agreement involves two parts, first of all. Second, it apparently involves even more than two if your whole Family has to establish compensation for cutting it off. Third, it surely does not involve me. I don’t want to be dragged into shit I have nothing to do with.”

“You’re saying this is my fault.”

“That’s not what I said,” you said calmly.

“It’s what you’re implying,” he accused, but you shook your head.

“You didn’t force them to drug me and kidnap me. Don’t put words in my mouth. What I am saying is that you did lead me on.”

“No,” he kept shaking his head, even when faced with your skepticism. “No, because leading on means I meant to deceive you.”

“And you did deceive me,” your voice lost strength, but he kept shaking his head.

“No, I withheld information that wasn’t relevant for the time being because you kept insisting you would fucking leave, and I needed you to—” He stopped, staring at you with equally glistening eyes. Why didn’t it feel like he was saying it right? “I thought that if you felt it, you wouldn’t leave. That you’d be willing to wait for me.”

His eyes watered, but he wanted to say it, even if it sounded like he was weak.

“For me, it was real,” he rushed to add, looking at you. “Every second of us together is real, and it’s all I want. I’m a free man now.”

Your features were still hard, “You still didn’t tell me—”

“Well, I’m sorry!” He threw his hands up, unable to handle the hurt, “You would have never let me near you, but I guess I should have told you!”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” You shouted back, stepping towards him. “Because if we’re meant to be, do you think that would matter? Do you think a stupid contract that doesn’t represent anyone’s wants would matter?!” He gaped at you, with wide, red eyes locked with yours. “It’s the principle, Jungkook,” you sounded defeated now, regretting shouting. “I mean, we already met in person for the first time when I was taken against my will! I was tied to a fucking chair!”

Your voice wavered as your eyes watered; was he even listening to you?!

He instantly raised his hands to touch your shoulders, but you continued, “This doesn’t work unless there’s trust and honesty, so what the fuck happens now?”

“I apologize, that’s all I can do,” he said, though his anxiety was beaming out of him in waves. “It should have never happened like this. I should have gone to Busan or— If you just had come that day to Seoul like you planned, or— Fuck, there were so many ways to find you, and it still happened in the worst way.”

You pursed your lips, looking at his chest, staying quiet, and he could swear he was seeing his life crumbling down.

“But most of all, you’re right. I should have told you the truth instantly. Even if you left and decided it wasn’t worth it, that would be your decision, which I’d have to respect.”

You finally looked up at him, and the spark in his heart sizzled and died out with the hurt.

“But I fucked it up. I know. You probably can’t trust me; I get it.” He closed his eyes for a second, swallowed, and faced you again. His fated love with such disappointment in your eyes. “I can only explain my thought process, as selfish as it was, and promise you I had no malice. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry. It would never happen again, ever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” his eyes filled with tears, then he shook his head. “But I understand if you don’t want that.”

Your lips twitched, ready to speak your mind, but a sound behind you made you both frown and turn to look.

Someone was trying to type in the code, and the beep indicated an error. Jungkook’s features twisted in fury when a second beep sounded, and he circled you, storming across the room to open the door.

He was so furious the door almost flew out of its hinges when he opened it. He just knew he’d find Sunhwa on the other side, and although she tried looking small, he was enraged, “How dare you try to barge in here again?!”

His roar was powerful, so it was no wonder she shook before him. You tried calling him but to no avail, even as you stepped closer to try to calm him.

“Fucking speak your business before I destroy your life!”

“Please,” Sunhwa started, such a moving plea you pursed your lips from the entry of the living room. “You have to help me. Please, Jungkook!” He let go of the door, and you thought he might actually do something, but he only turned and stepped away toward you. You could see the anger distorting his features, and knew he hated hearing his name on her mouth. “The Families’ decree just passed not even an hour ago, and it’s lethal,” she continued, daring to take one step past the door threshold. “Already, I’ve become a pariah, and my family’s worth is plummeting. Please, I— It was my brother’s idea, I had nothing to do with it!”

“You really think that will work?!” He roared, turning back with such a glare, Sunhwa started shaking on the spot. “The badmouthing, the stalking, the scenes; you really think anyone would believe you? And even if it’s true, you knew about it! You knew what he had planned, and you pretended you didn't! You’re fucking lucky it was only a few penalties! If it was up to me, your whole family would have been kicked out of the country!”

“Jungkook!”

Her call was disheartening, and you stepped in, getting closer to him. He still shouted back, “Don’t fucking say my name! I never gave you permission to; you and I don’t have that kind of relationship!”

You tried drawing his attention without getting in the way when Sunhwa’s tears ran down her cheeks, “But I— I love you, I’ve been in love with you for years—”

Her sobs along with her distress really bothered you, but they were empty to Jungkook, “What the hell are you saying? You work for me, and we had a contract. How the hell did you—”

You finally stepped in, grabbing his hand so he’d look at you, and shook your head, “There’s no point. No point,” you whispered, looking into his eyes. “Let it go.”

You could see his anger simmer down behind his dark eyes, and it relieved you. He had every right to be angry and to feel betrayed by someone he worked closely with. But there was no gain in hurting her, especially since she was already down. He didn’t have to get even more upset, he could be the bigger person and just let it go.

He finally tore his eyes off you to address her calmly, “There’s nothing else to say. Don’t show your face to me ever again. Leave.”

You looked at her too, and saw the moment it dawned on her who you were. Jungkook wasn’t bottling his anger down, he truly listened to you and decided she wasn’t worth it. You could see the hurt in her eyes, but also the thin line of her lips as she turned around and left. She accepted it, you were pretty certain, that you were an omega, and she had been fighting fate.

The door closed softly behind her, and he turned to you. Perhaps he didn’t expect your hug, but you held him to you strongly. That day was overwhelming to you, but it surely was to him as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t over yet.

He held onto you so strongly, and when you pulled away to face him, you could read the anguish in his face.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not done yet.”

He nodded sadly, and you reached to brush his cheek.

“Hear me out. I came here to talk to you, didn’t I?” He blinked, his sadness disappearing as he looked at you, confused. “I feel it too, Jungkook. Everything you’ve said, I feel it, too. But I just can’t let it go without talking about it. I want to be with you, but I don’t want a life in which I can’t trust my partner, mate or not. Do you understand?”

“I do,” he nodded frantically, pressing his hands around your waist. “I do, and you can trust me. I will never hide anything from you, you’ll have my full heart.”

Your lips twitched into a small smile, “I want to try… Though, are you sure? I have a propensity for trouble, I’m definitely a perfectionist at work, and all your whites will have to go,” you scrunched up your nose playfully, tousling his hair for good measure.

He smirked, closing his watering eyes because of the hair falling over his eyes, “I’d love to, I can sacrifice the whites if the beer can stay.”

“I’ll have to taste it first,” you chuckled, then brushed the hair away from his eyes. “Should I stay for a bit then?”

“As long as you want to,” he whispered, with eyes fixed on your lips.

“Good,” you whispered back, then you grinned because all he did was stare. “You can if you want to, you know?” His doe eyes raised to yours, and you chuckled, “So many times, I thought you’d just kiss me on impulse, and now that I say you can, you don’t?”

He laughed, “Is it because you expect it? It didn’t feel right in those moments. When I lost myself, I… I’m happy I didn’t kiss you then. You were hurt, and it would just make everything harder.”

You nodded with a smile, “My thoughts exactly.”

“Now, I just…” He looked down again, “I want to, but I know what will happen next and…”

“What will happen next?” You pressed teasingly when he didn’t finish, and he pursed his lips.

“I’ll likely give in.”

“Ohhh…” You hummed, “And what does that mean?”

He huffed, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Thought you wanted to show me,” you whispered, looking at his lips. “Make me yours.” His tongue wetted his lips. “Give me everything I ever wanted,” you nuzzled him. “Make me feel good—”

He closed the distance between you like a lightning bolt, supporting your jawline. He held nothing back, deepening the kiss as if he wanted to consume you and show you everything you were asking. It didn’t take long for your hands to grab his hair, your tongue licking and fighting his while he squeezed you to him and kept your mouth right there for the taking.

You thought his passionate kiss was the best thing you ever tasted, but you recognized it wasn’t just that. There was electricity sparking between you with every hard breath and daring touch, to the point you acknowledged nothing had ever felt as intense. You were like two clashing celestial bodies heating up to fuse into something better, and the more he touched you and you breathed him in, the more you wanted to merge completely.

His lips traced down to your neck, giving you a moment to suck in breaths brimming with his lustful spicy scent, and you shuddered. You gripped his hair and let out a sigh as you breathed hard near his ear, “Fuck—” His tongue down your neck stole your thoughts and made you sink your nails into his scalp. “Can’t really fight it, can I—”

His protest came in the form of his lips, shutting you up for a moment before he attempted to kiss your neck instead.

“You know, I wanted to go back to Busan,” you said in something that resembled a whine. “Even if just to see if you'd come after me and claim me.”

You gripped his hair to whisper the last words into his ear, and he growled, biting down your neck, making you squeak and start shaking.

But he withdrew, licking the spot, and you chuckled; he could be such a tease, too.

“But I changed my mind,” you continued, seemingly ignoring the way he was suckling, or his hands were exploring your curves, from your shoulders to your ass. It melted you, and you were certain he knew it. “I can’t wait.”

He squeezed you to him, letting you feel his excitement through both your thin slacks, and you chuckled.

“I’m lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“That you can’t think about anything else,” you whispered, and he finally snapped his head back to face you, grabbing your head in place by the hair at the back of your head. “I can only imagine how much fun it would be if you could bring yourself to punish me for teasing you so much… maybe after you make me yours.”

He was so close to you, you intentionally made your tongue brush his lips as you talked. His grip tightened, “Do you hear what you're saying? Do you realize— How am I supposed to hold back?”

“You’re not,” you grinned, wishing with everything you had he’d take you. “I don’t want you to.”

He finally let his mouth crash to yours again, sweeping you with a new wave of raw need. His mouth was demanding, ravishing, melting you in every instance until you were nothing but a puddle wanting to be his.

To the point that when he pulled back again, you whimpered, “Take me. Come on,” your grip on his hair kept him in place. “Take me. I want you, please.”

His lips almost touched yours, but he screwed his eyes shut for a moment before facing you again, “If you let me claim you, I'll never let you leave.”

It sounded like a desperate confession, yet you just whispered, “No?”

“No, I won't let you leave my bed.”

You smirked, “That’s fine, I can work from bed.”

“No work,” he pressed himself to you, pushing you into the entryway wall, and the shivers up and down your spine made you smile again.

“Then no big American consortium agreement.”

“I don't care,” his lips latched to your jawline, and nothing could stop your euphoric glee.

You laughed, “How will you even keep me in bed? Let me guess,” you chuckled. “Does it involve some zip ties?”

He pulled back with eyebrows knitted with befuddlement, “You— You’re crazy!”

You chuckled and used your foot on the wall to gain leverage, pushing yourself against him so that after a twist, it was you pushing him against the wall.

“I am crazy,” you nuzzled him, a second away from jumping into this. “Are you sure you want this?”

His lips fell on yours, moving against yours desperately before you withdrew for an answer, “I wanted your crazy from the moment I first saw you in that video call.” His gaze was red and glinted, fully inebriated on you, “I could have wiped the floor of my drool.”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Well, aren’t you in luck.”

You would have liked to tease him more, but his patience was wearing thin. His hand pressed the back of your nape, forcing you to fall into him as he switched places and pushed you to the wall again, and you sighed. You kissed him just as hard as he did, flush to his chest while you pulled his shirt up to try to finally touch him, but he beat you to it, and you had to close your eyes and bite your lip.

Your blouse cleavage offered no resistance when he decided to rip it so his mouth could trail down between your breasts. It covered you with goosebumps, and you weren’t certain if it was the sound, the force, or his plum lips with a curious tongue along with it, but it didn’t matter. You grabbed his hair, trying to breathlessly keep up with the way his tongue traced intricate patterns on your breast, just above the edge of your bra cup neckline as his hands squeezed your ass to him, so you’d have no way to outrun every shudder.

“What are you—”

You were breathless when he started fumbling with your bra, and squealed when he pulled it so hard the apex hooks broke off. He bit on your soft flesh, nuzzling his way closer until he freed one hand to pull the torn bra away, letting it fall to the floor. You didn’t have a mind to complain because in a second he was pressing his face between your breasts and squeezing them to his cheeks. You bit your lip, unwilling to admit how hot it was that your alpha wanted to breathe you in, but then he started licking and you lost sight of reality.

His thumbs pressed, squeezed, and pinched both your nipples and your supple flesh as his tongue and teeth ravished from one side to the other in a seemingly endless and frantic dance. Whenever you thought he’d give you a breather, he pinched harder, and when you thought he’d move and kiss you again, he jumped to the other nipple, taking you by surprise. You couldn’t tell up from down, your hazy mind overwhelmed and barely getting enough oxygen, but then he made it worse.

He kept your breasts squeezed tightly in his hands while kissing down your stomach, nipping the flesh softly until he reached your slacks. You were pinned in place, holding his hands to your chest while he rubbed his nose down on the fabric over your mound, but then he took a deep breath.

You groaned in desperation, melting straight onto your panties, close to his sensitive nose and mouth. His response was a deep growl and a stronger press of his mouth to your core, which drove you wild. You squirmed and writhed, unable to stop how much you wanted to feel him, even with his hands holding your chest firmly right above your racing heart.

But in a second, they were gone, stripped from under your hands, and you whimpered. You looked down with a pout, about to complain, but it all happened too fast.

He pulled the slacks and underwear down your legs, roughly grabbing your shoes and throwing them aside, and before you could think, he pressed his face the same as before, only this time there was no barrier to protect you.

You squealed and squirmed again, instantly needing to grab onto something as your jaw fell open. Your hand landed on his hair, and your head fell back to the wall, completely lost and overwhelmed. His mouth was in a fury, latched to your folds as he rubbed his face to your core, only stopping to lick every drop of slick you released. You couldn’t help it; everything he did, from the way he breathed to the way he grabbed you, absolutely liquified you until you were sure there was no stopping it.

Worse, his head pushing up pressed on your core hard, making your feet lose traction. You couldn’t stop moaning; even opening your eyes involved too much thinking, but your free hand darted to the side for support.

It slammed into a vase on the foyer table. The shatter on the floor didn’t phase either of you; if anything, his hands gripped your hips rougher, and you squeaked when he sucked your clit a bit harder.

He seemed to be exactly where he wanted to be because as you tried your best to stay afloat, breathing but not drifting away, he kept drinking, suckling, and groaning into your cunt. And in your haze, you forced your eyes open and pouted. It wasn’t like you wanted him to stop, but you wanted to learn all about him, too.

“Jungkook,” you called under your breath, trying your best to stop moaning, but you closed your eyes. Fuck, he made it hard. “Jungkook, stop.”

He instantly pulled away, looking up at you with dark, thundering eyes, but you smirked. His mouth and chin were red and shiny; he was a whole damn view.

“I need to lay down,” you breathed, reaching your hands to him, and he instantly got up and grabbed them, kissed them, and then you.

It was just a peck; it made you pout, but his pulling you in the direction of the couch kept you quiet.

He motioned for you to sit down and went to kneel in front of you, but you pulled on his hand to stop him and said, "Lay down."

“I thought you said—”

“Lay down,” you simply repeated, pulling the leftovers of your blouse from your shoulders.

It seemed to hit him then that you were fully naked in front of him, and he probably needed to sit down, judging by the way he eyed you from head to toe. It put a mischievous smile on your face, only you didn’t forget that he was fully clothed, and that simply wasn’t fair.

You kneeled next to him and reached for the first button on his shirt, starting what you guessed was a gruesome process, if only judging by the way he groaned.

“Let me just—”

“No,” you stopped him from pulling the shirt over his head and kept going.

You could tell how the imposed reprieve drove him crazy. His fingers were impatiently touching your sides while his eyes kept jumping between your heaving chest, your slicked core, and your playful smile.

“I don’t need to be naked to eat you out,” he finally said, and you chuckled. That was how long it took for him to gather a coherent thought.

“That’s true, but it’s not fair, is it?”

Your tone was sweet as you leaned to pull the shirt over his shoulders, and he swallowed, overwhelmed. “I guess not. But you told me to lay down.”

He was thinking out loud while you hummed, moving onto his slacks.

“I don’t want to lay down,” he argued with knitted eyebrows, and you chuckled as you pulled his boxers and pants down, pulling off his shoes so he’d be naked, same as you. “Let me keep going.”

You sat back on the couch with your heart in your throat, momentarily so hot and speechless your tongue became slack. Jungkook was absolutely stunning, the embodiment of a god from head to toe. You knew his shoulders were wide and safe, his arms powerful, and his hands reliable, but now his firm chest and chiseled abs gave a new definition to the word hot. Your mate was just as handsome as he was mouthwatering, and his only sin was not entering your life sooner.

“What a dream…” You spoke so quietly you doubted he heard you. You were entranced, so perhaps your actions showed better than your words.

You got on his lap, finally dropping your eyes to the appetizing shaft aiming right at you. Your hand wrapped around him firmly before you could even think; after all, there was nothing like touching to truly know, and oh boy. He groaned and let his head drop, and it made your guts burn with want. Your hand had a will of its own as you jerked him, playing with the intensity of your grip. He eyed you when it became too soft, and the absolutely fucked out look on his face made you want him a thousand times more, and you squeezed harder.

He groaned again, knitting his eyebrows in such a way you knew you had him.

But you stopped and pushed him by the shoulders to get him to lay back, making him open his eyes and look at you with a question in his eyes.

“You told me to let you,” you told him, unaware of the way your glistening eyes and dark long hair framed you like a goddess in his eyes.

So he mumbled something and fell back, unable to displease you in any way. Fortunately, you had his interest in mind because you shifted on top of him with your hands near his hips and your knees on each side of his head, and he sighed. The view of your wet cunt was an oasis, so when you dropped to his mouth, he latched on.

You arched your back instantly, barely keeping yourself in check. Fuck, was the way he licked you maddening, but you had other priorities. You kept your ass up but lowered your chest to his stomach, finally drawing near to your prize. Your tongue peeked instantly between your lips, but you held back, taking the view of his excitement for the treat it was. Until he groaned between your legs, a translucid drop of precome escaping his slit, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

You lounged forward to take his cock into your mouth, and his desperate groan ran a shudder down your spine. You didn’t know if it was because you had moved away from his mouth or because of the way you took him, but the latter was most likely.

Because his hands gripped your ass to pull you back on him, but not before he grunted a Fuck— like he’d bust his nut right then and there.

It made you even more hungry, and his taste didn’t help. It matched his strong, perfect self to a T; it razed your mind and changed your brain chemistry. You knew he’d claim you very soon, but even if he didn’t, nothing would ever taste the same, and you wanted it.

Your thoughts were clouded as you took him more and more, letting the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat like it was nothing. The hunger was dizzying, the flavors invading your mouth addictive, and you wanted more and more and—

Your world was overturned so quickly it became a blur. Suddenly, you were pushed against the back of the couch and forced to let go of the candy in your mouth, only to fall on your back between the cushions and have your legs spread as a heavy body fell between them.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He was nearly growling near your face, pinning your hands to each side of your head, and you grinned, “What?”

“What?” He was in disbelief at the way you kept smiling so gleefully, “You want me to burst too soon?”

You let your head fall back to giggle euphorically, but then you bit your lip and tried sobering up, “We have the whole night.”

“No, not to claim you, I don’t,” his reply was instant. “No way I’m waiting, not even one night.”

Your lip was still seductively between your teeth, “You could, though… We could have fun in other ways… You could just make me feel good while you recover.”

Your smile was almost endearing; a proposition covered in honey, but he wouldn’t fall for it. He raised his hips and brought them close so that his cock aligned with your slit and slid, rubbing your clit.

You moaned with a flutter of your eyelashes, blushing and trembling so sweetly just for him, and he smiled, “Don't you have everything figured out? Aren't you a fucking tease?”

“What do you mea—”

Your laugh died in your throat when he pushed in, invading your warmth, unable to control the way he stretched you to accommodate his size. His groan was deep and vanished as he raised his head, showing you the veins on his neck, and you whimpered even harder. Your jaw slacked as he pushed to tuck himself in fully, and your whole body burned with the fit.

You had to suck for breaths, feeling so hot that sweat was inevitable. You closed your legs behind him, pushing him into you, and he groaned, finally looking down at you like you were his whole world.

He meant to come closer to you, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to stop him, glancing down between your bodies as your legs guided his hips. It was mind-blowing, almost unbelievable, but it was right there — his thick, hard cock disappearing inside you, pushing moans out of you, coming out covered in your slick just to push into you again. It was so delicious you melted into the couch, wrapping your hands around his neck to bring him to your lips. He was incredible, unbelievable, beyond your wildest dreams, and only getting better as he quickened his thrusts.

They weren’t remotely fast, but the sensory overload was almost a reality. You weren’t just burning for him; you were combusting for you both — establishing a bond that couldn’t be forged with anyone else. Your logical mind would have stopped to analyze what you were doing, weighing the pros and cons, but there was no rationale behind how you felt about him. Only raw instinct telling you and making you sure with every fiber of your being that it was right. You belonged in his arms, in that moment with him, and you were ready.

But his hips started slowing down, and your brow furrowed, confused but also hurt. You were ready, and he was stopping — were you in dissonance?

But a kiss on your lips, along with a sigh, made you realize that was not what was going on. He nuzzled you, with soft eyes on yours as he let your foreheads touch, and you knew it wasn’t that. He was ready, too.

“Hold on,” he rasped, placing his hands between your ass cheeks and the couch, and you wrapped your arms around his neck firmly.

He pulled you up with a grunt, holding you to him as he stood, still inside you while your legs closed around him. You clenched in your effort, making him grunt a second time, which put a smile on your lips as you bit his earlobe.

Despite your torture, he was resilient; he still turned and left the room, going up the stairs. It was hard, though, and he was weak. Your touches, kisses, nibbling his earlobe, and clenching around his cock were dizzying. He thought he’d make it to the first floor, but he succumbed over the last few steps. Your ass landed on the last step softly while he stumbled to his knees, and it was uncontrollable.

Your legs pulled him to you while your arms held him; your eyes and expression showed how much you yearned for him, which were his kryptonite. He couldn’t help but eagerly get on his knees and bury himself inside you again, letting your heat clench around him like a vice.

It was maddening, and the way your scent called to him was only the cherry on top of an otherworldly desert. Nothing had ever felt like you did; his nerves were on fire with every thrust, only to have him obsessing over sinking into you again and again.

You had fallen down the same spiral because you kept moaning and scratching his shoulders to keep him close, helping by pushing against his ass so he’d fuck you deep. He knew you’d drive him crazy, but fuck. He was about to claim you on top of the stairs.

“Wait wait wait,” he mumbled, hoping you’d help him fight himself.

You did, stopping the sway of your legs and kissing the sweaty side of his face endearingly to let him breathe. He did breathe, but his heart was melting — you were perfect and just for him. He couldn’t wait any longer.

With one final effort, he held you back up and carried you to his bed. He was able to lay you down gently, but that was the last of his ability. His lips pressed to yours, and in seconds, his hunger flared, devastatingly, completely overwhelming you.

Your chin had permanently dropped as he grunted to your cheek in tune with your moans. Everything shook: the bed, your limbs, your soul. The heat pooling between your legs as he fucked you wild, without an ounce of control, helped him slide even better and bottom out every time. The way he touched every sweet spot, flooding every sense with his groans, his scent and salty taste brought you pleasurable dimensions you didn’t even know existed. All you knew was that it was raw and crazy and everything you ever wanted.

He pulled away enough to face you, “Are you sure?”

You almost wanted to cry; how could he even think right now?

But in your heart, that was the last piece of the puzzle. You smiled with tears in your eyes, “Yes.”

You had barely noticed his pounding slowing, but you surely noticed when the rhythm became maddening again. Your moans pitched unbelievably as you sank your nails into his shoulders, begging him with your eyes. You needed him to come with you.

He waited a second longer, then crashed to your neck, and reality spun. The pressure inside your walls from his knot would have made you squeal, but it was his bite that made you scream. And as if that wasn’t overwhelming enough, your orgasms snapped and mixed, allowing you to squeeze him between your walls as the pleasure devastated you, making sure to milk every drop of his climax.

His cock kept twitching inside you, even after he had stopped grunting into your neck, and it made you sensitive. Still, you loved his weight on top of you and his licks over your mark. You brushed your fingers over his powerful arms and shoulders, sighing with contentment as he took care of you. Inside you, as your heart calmed down, something strong and unbreakable embraced it protectively. You wrapped your arms around him and closed your eyes, holding back the tears — you were part of each other now. Fated to meet, fated to love; you were connected now.

“Did I hurt you?”

His voice was a warm whisper to your ear, and you shook your head, “No.”

He held you for as long as you kept your arms firm around him. Then, he pulled back to face you, your red cheeks, wild long hair, and glistening eyes. He sighed, “Is this how it will always be?”

You hummed and blinked up at him lazily.

“Are you always going to be such a fucking tease?”

Your eyebrows jumped in surprise, but then you started laughing. Finally, you bit your lip to hide a smirk, “I hope so.”

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