#giving MISS SHADOW AMNESIA HEART

[bg3smash-or-pass]

[genshin-scenarios]

ignite - lyney x reader

Summary: friends to enemies to lovers! ‘My enemy lost their memories and I couldn’t help but lie about our relationship’ trope

You used to work with the twins until you were betrayed by them (Lyney and Lynette had to be loyal to their mission). Things have been tense since, but now that you’ve gotten into an accident and woke up with amnesia… What are they going to do?

Wordcount: 1700+

Content note: mentions of Reader getting badly injured, but not explicitly described! Lyney used to have a budding crush on you before your fallout.

Adopt a Wanderer Fanbook: Digital Store

After the betrayal that sowed your hatred towards them, Lyney had tried to reach out three times. 

Once, on the streets, where you briskly walked away. He sees you hiding a limp. Guilt eats up at him, remembering the way he and Lynette had to abandon the scene once they’d fulfilled their objective. They were still too young to even consider bending the rules of their mission, especially when turning their backs on you wasn’t meant to happen at all. They tried to give you a signal, but you noticed their retreat too late.

Next, when he sent you an invitation to their magic show. You didn’t bother showing up. He still wonders if you kept his letter after all this time.

Finally, when he showed up at your door. Lyney promised his sister this would be his last try. 

It hurts more because he sees your expression and knows their betrayal struck you deeper than you cared to admit. The three of you had gone on many missions before when your organisation collaborated with the Fatui. You were friends, and bonds forged under life-threatening situations weaved deep.

So did Lyney’s attachment once he opened himself up. You stuck out your neck for both him and Lynette many times, and they also get used to returning the favour. 

The three of you could’ve maintained a deadly alliance, if only you were still friends to this day.

Lyney’s apology reaches your ears. You listen, watch his body language, and move to open the door and gesture for him to leave.

“...You remind me a lot of your Father, now.” You’d said, avoiding his gaze. “I wish you and Lynette the best.”

The shadow of other circumstances cling to you, but it’s not his place to ask.

It’s unfortunate that Lyney has a bleeding heart and never let the memory of you go. In the past his feelings hadn’t fully bloomed yet, but certainly there was something budding whenever you fought battles together and had late-night dinners. You were both too busy trying to survive, but you were always his what if; what if you’d stayed close? What if that mission never went awry?

What if your circumstances were different?

So, when you finally run into each other again after two years, Lyney sees you at one of their missions and his heart stops beating. Because the underwater cave is collapsing and you’re not close enough to the exit to escape. And the next thing he knows his body moves to pull you out of the wreckage: 

Not fast enough to get you out unscathed, but fast enough to save your life. You have a head injury but you’re still breathing. He and Lynette bring you back to the House of Hearth to get treated. His sister is the one to suggest bringing you back; Lyney is too distressed and neither of your organisations are very legal. You live the same lives from different parts of shadow.

However, soon after you wake up in the infirmary, the twins realise very quickly that you’re missing memories.

You don’t remember them, nor things about yourself.

It’s a bigger loss than either of them are willing to admit. Lynette glances at her brother—who in a split second goes from blank-faced and shocked into a smiling, kind magician. 

He speaks to you like he would an injured child, but Lynette isn’t sure if this was to soothe you or himself, at this point. 

“You were caught up in an accident, but you’re safe now.” Lyney says, kneeling down next to your bed. You’re still lying on your back, hesitating to move once you feel the bandages around your head. 

“I remember a cave, and rocks falling…” You frown. “What was I doing in that kind of place?”

“Well, you’ve always been quite an adventurer.” Lynette raises her brow silently as Lyney spins a lie. “Me and my sister Lynette were in your travelling party. But since you got injured, we brought you to our home to get treated.”

“...I see.” You mutter, looking around. When you spot Lynette standing a bit behind her brother, you give her an unsure smile. “This is a safe place, right?”

Yes. But your un-amnesiac self might not agree. “Yes.” Lynette answers, before looking at Lyney. “My brother was a mess when you wouldn’t wake up. We’re both glad you’re fine.”

“Lynette!”

“Thank you for looking after me.” You hold back a chuckle. “I’m afraid I can’t remember much, but you’re both clearly very close.”

“You can stay here as long as you need to recover.” Lyney promises, before the twins excuse themselves to get you some food.

-

As the days pass and your memories show no sign of improvement, Lyney’s resolve starts to crumble. It’s been so long since you looked at him or his family with warmth.

Before, it was hidden behind a straight posture as you leaned against the wall, observing the younger children while they played. He’d admired you quietly from the sidelines, thinking it held a certain charm when paired with your combative prowess. 

Now that the shield you put between yourself and the world is gone, and Lyney is getting much too attached every time you look up from a book you’re reading, innocently curious and trusting. ‘What’s up?’ You might ask. And Lyney would make small talk or tell you stories about the house.

But once he runs out of stories, how much longer before your sharp mind catches on? And will Lyney get away with this betrayal of trust again, without meeting your blades?

“This isn’t a magic trick, Lyney. You’re going to get the both of you hurt.”

“That’s only if they recover their memories. And if they do grow enough reasons to hate me, that means I did a great job of nursing them to health.”

“They never hated us, before.” Lynette frowns.

“But they never would’ve treated us so warmly again, either.”

Lyney spends his free time researching you; catching up on the two years of your fallout. What your habits were, and how you’re seen by others—so that he has a better idea of how to prompt the return of your memories. 

Sitting down to tell you stories about yourself has become part of Lyney’s routine. He fabricates some details, but keeps facts intact. And when you ask Lyney how he knows so much about you, he spins a white lie of saying you’re close friends.

“This is you, isn’t it?”

Lyney’s heart drops when he sees an image of himself on the newspaper, but relief washes in once he realises it’s just about his previous show.

Not the scandal about him and Lynette being part of the Fatui.

Laughing sheepishly in an attempt to cover up the racing of his heart, Lyney accepts the paper from your hands and traces his gaze over the headlines. “Looks like our newest trick was quite successful.”

“You never told me how popular you are. I didn’t think I was friends with a celebrity.” You joke. To be honest, your main impression of Lyney has been from around the house—he’s reliable and dotes on his siblings, always willing to perform a trick or two to entertain them. 

Lyney’s heart twinges. “It’s only my job,” he says, but the simple joy he feels from your praise is dangerous. This is you, but you’re incomplete. Without memories. And he should never wish that you’d stay like this, in a state where you’d give him a little smile at the end of a long talk that he’s grown weak to. Or gotten closer to his younger siblings, or even built a music box with Freminet who’s no less than shy; and even if this feels like his what ifs are all coming true, Lyney is crushed by the knowledge that it could collapse at any minute. “I’m just glad if my performances can bring smiles to the crowd.”

It’s not just your lowered guard that’s different, but the fact that Lyney’s never seen you freed from your responsibilities. And within this sphere, he feels a tiny bit of escapism himself.

“Lyney, I know you said we were friends, but…” Your brows furrow. “Was that really all we were?”

Lyney freezes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Lynette always looks at us a certain way when we’re talking. And the children tell me we were particularly close.” You take a deep breath. “I guess what I mean to ask is: were we ever… involved?”

Lyney’s face has turned a bright red.

“I— You don’t have to answer if it’s too awkward!” You try to salvage. “It’s a stupid question, forget about it.”

“No no, it’s not stupid at all!” He exclaims, quickly turning towards the first-aid kit he’s put on the table to distract himself. His hands remember how to work, so it’s only his brain that’s scrambled. “I mean, we were definitely… Um.” Lyney, think! “We were close.” He finishes lamely. “But I would be lying if I said I never considered you special to me.”

While Lyney changes your bandages, you press your lips together and study his body language. You can tell that he sometimes omits things in conversation, and while you also know that he’s busy, Lyney’s been staying with you for longer times these days. Having heavier conversations, letting his smiles border on something doting—but you can’t let yourself fall into this lulling dynamic until you have some clarification of what you two are.

Ever since you’ve woken up, you’ve felt like you were in a warm, sunlight-tinted world within the comforts of the House of Hearth. You vaguely know of this place’s past, but something is missing from your memory. And you’re terrified at the idea that once you step outside, you’ll learn that none of this little world was actually real.

“What if I told you we were lovers?”

That snaps you back to reality.

“What?” You echo in surprise. But when Lyney’s lilac gaze meets yours, you’re surprised by how determined they look. Like a soldier taking a stand. 

But only Lyney knows that this decision will make or break things in the future. Despite that, he reaches out for the chance to live through his what if for just a little longer. 

When he reaches out to entwine your fingers, you don’t pull away. He knows deep down that he’d still try to help you regain your memories, even if that means things might end in flames.

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel. 

AN: It’s the final one! Day 5/5 stories for 500 followers. Thank you to lillithathecat for requesting trope 2. Amnesia, and thank you to anyone who followed this journey or who joined along the way 💕

Warnings: Violence, torture, injuries

Words: 2,232

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Part 1 ∇

Poison coursed through your veins, burning as it raced through your body. Screaming, you jerked against your restraints. Your mind was reeling, and you couldn't tell if this was a dream or a waking nightmare. Flashes of white, the memory of someone yelling your name, and the same male reaching for you over and over again.

That male – there was something about him. His hazel, almost golden eyes, the peaks of wings that reached above his handsome face, the pure panic in his voice as he reached for you…

Oh gods, it wasn’t just any male, it was Azriel. He was your mate!

Your heart leapt as your brain screamed at you to remember him, to fight for him. “Azriel!” you screeched, gasping as you were bought back into the dark and damp setting around you, thrashing against the leather bounds at your wrists and ankles.

“Give her another shot,” a cold voice spoke.

“No! No, please!!” you begged, trying to blink through your hallucinations and tears.

“Now remember, Y/N.” The voice drawled closer now. “This is what you will feel when you think of him. This is how much he can hurt you. The only way to stop it, is to kill him.”

“He’ll find you,” you seethed. “He’ll find you and kill you all!” Your were feral, thrashing again as you spat in the direction of the voice. Howling at the sharp sting at your neck, your eyes rolled back as another round of poison rushed through your bloodstream, the pain all consuming. Your veins were on fire, and you drooled through clenched teeth as your body spasmed this way and that. Heart pounding with adrenaline and fear, you succumbed to another round of torture.

It had been weeks, or maybe even months since Hybern’s army had stolen you in the night. Instead of killing you, they had taken to torturing you, hijacking your mind and using poison to turn you against the Night Court, your family, and your mate.

Everyday they tied you to that chair, and everyday they injected a poison while manipulating your visions, coaching you to become the enemy of your own home. You were terrified of what they would do to you, but even more terrified at the monster you were becoming.

The bond between you and Azriel frayed a little further each time, and you felt yourself slipping away. You're only hope was that he would find you before you completely disappeared.

————

3 months later

Azriel grazed his fingers over truth teller, his leathers strapped more firmly than they had ever been. He tried to calm his breathing, at least for the sake of his shadows, that now lashed and whipped uncontrollably. But it was no use.

“It’ll be alright brother,” Rhys said, placing a sure hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “We’ve found her, and we’re getting her out.”

“Let me join you.”

“No,” Rhys said tightly. “I know the urge to protect your mate, to kill for her. It’ll make a mess of things when we need them to go smoothly. You’re to stay here. That’s an order.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he felt Rhys’s power course through his words. He’d be here – waiting. He had no other choice.

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian chimed in, checking his leathers and stretching his arm across his chest. “I promise you brother.”

Azriel nodded tightly, unable to convey any gratitude over the gnawing anxiety and primal desire to burst into the prison and ripped the heads of every guard in sight. There, in that building, was his mate. His mate, who had been stolen from right under his nose, and he hadn't been wise enough to stop it. His mate, who’d been missing for months, and no matter how many sleepless nights he spent slaving over maps and records, he still couldn't find you. And every time you were hurt, he could feel you slipping away, the bond weakening every so slightly. He didn't know what state you’d be in, he only knew what he felt – the very last fragments of a withered bond, calling him from inside that building.

Rhys and Cassian gave Azriel one final nod before winnowing to the prison, leaving him in the silence of the night. A cold wind howled as he watched from the darkness, his shadows begging to follow his brothers inside. It could be minutes, it could be hours – every second was torture for the Shadowsinger.

————

Asleep in your cot, your ankle was chained to the metal frame as you slept completely still from exhaustion.

Each day ended like this, and they all blurred into each other. The guards would throw you into your cell, sliding a tray of greyish food and stale bread on the floor before chaining you to the bed. You were often too tired to eat, and while your first weeks had been spent clawing at the door, screaming and throwing your food in protest, you had weakened so quickly, and it now took everything you had to haul yourself up onto the thin mattress.

Tonight was as cold as the rest of them, the thin stained covers barely doing a thing to warm you. You shivered your way through a nightmare, the poison still active in your blood. A winged creature approached you, it’s hazel eyes glowing as claws grew at it’s fingers, it’s snarl ripping into a roar as it lunged for your throat.

Jolting awake, you heard sounds of commotion outside your cell. Your heart thumped as you pulled the covers over you tightly. They’d be here soon, to claim you from your bed. Then the pain would start.

After a few yells you heard a large thud, and then footsteps. They were getting closer and closer, and you curled up into a ball, clenching your eyes shut, begging to be anywhere else.

“Y/N?” you heard a male ask. Your body jerked at the sound of his voice, refusing to raise your head or even open your eyes. An uncontrollable shake quickly overtook your whole body.

“Y/N, is that you? Hang on doll, we’re going to get you outta here.”

You heard the male grunt as he pried and forced the cell door open. “Rhys!” he called, and you could now note two sets of footsteps. The sound of the metal door grinding open filled your ears, and you had no choice but to face the threat that awaited.

Sitting up in your cot, you clambered to the end of your bed, as far away from the males as you could get.

“Oh Y/N, thank the Cauldron you’re alive!” A male with dark hair wore a broken smile, his body sagging in relief as his purple eyes glowed in the darkness of your cell.

You used your legs to push yourself further back, unable to stop the quiver in your voice. “L-leave me alone.” It was not a voice you recognised – instead it was raspy, broken, and a little sick sounding. You wondered when the last time you actually spoke was.

You saw the purple-eyed male exchange a look with the other, his red siphons glowing as he stepped closer, reaching out a hand. “Y/N, it’s us, Cassian and Rhys.”

A white light filled your eyes then, clouding your vision as your ears rang. Furious visions filled your mind at the mention of their names, and a headache so painful pierced through your brain that you had to clutch at your head to stop it. You let out a howl, blinded by dangerous and violent visions. They must be the people Hybern had warned you about – they’re here to kill you.

You leapt from your bed, scrambling as far back as the chain would let you. You knew how you must look – hair a mess, eyes wild, your tunic stained and dirty as you shook like a meek animal. “Fuck off,” you spat, trying to sound as aggressive as you could.

The purple-eyed male stepped forward then, slowly making his way over with his palms raised. You pushed yourself against the chain, your ankle throbbing in protest. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped you as the male knelt down, and you pulled your knees up and hugged them, your last attempt to protect yourself.

“It’s ok, we’re not going to hurt you,” the male said gently. He was close enough that you could smell him, his scent familiar, yet disarming. Your clenched your eyes shut, the headache piercing through again. “We’re here to take you home.”

Snapping your lids open, your eyes darted between the violet ones before you. Home. You didn’t remember having a home, you didn’t remember much before this.

“You’re lying,” you hissed, cowering into your filthy tunic. The male’s brow clenched in what you thought might be sympathy, and he cast another glance back to his counterpart.

“I assure you, you can trust us. How about we get you out of this chain?” You stared wide-eyed as the taller-male walked over, kneeling at your ankle and pulling a large knife from his side. You cowered at the sight, swords, knives and sharp things were all too familiar.

“It’s ok,” the long-haired male soothed. “I’m just going to cut the chain here.” You stared as he raised a strong arm, before swinging it down against the metal links. The chain broke immediately, metal clinking to the ground, and the male returned his weapon to it’s sheath.

“There we are,” the purple-eyed male said, and you remembered he had called himself Rhys. “Now we can get you out of here. Do you think you can stand, Y/N? Or perhaps you might let us carry you?”

Another flash of white filled your vision then, and as instinct took over, you found yourself clawing for the males face, trying to hurt him in any way possible. Rhys stepped back smoothly, his brow pulling in concern as Cassian quickly caught your wrists, pulling folding them over your own chest as he held flush against him, likely stopping you from hurting yourself more than anyone else. You continued to scream and thrash, trying to break from his hold.

“Put her out of her misery, Rhys.”

Rhysand shot you a soft look before gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead, his hand cool to your clammy skin. “I’m sorry Y/N. But it’s for your own good.”

It was the last thing you heard before a ring struck your ears, and the world melted to black.

————

He scented you before he saw you. Winnowing in front of his brothers the moment they arrived, Azriel’s body froze as he took in your lifeless form.

“Oh gods, oh gods, is she–?“

“She’s asleep,” Rhys answered, his wings disappearing as he caught Azriel by the shoulders, pushing him up as his brother sagged in relief.

Cassian handed Azriel his unconscious mate, your body slack with painless sleep.

Azriel’s couldn’t help his tears. “Oh gods, oh Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he cried, weeping into your neck as he rocked you. “There’s nothing left of her,” he claimed, noting your weak and disheveled figure. How light you felt compared to the last time he held you.

“We’ll get her the help she needs,” Cassian reassured him, clasping a tight hand on his shoulder. “She’s with you now, she’s safe.”

Azriel couldn't help the sob of relief that racked through him. He breathed in your scent, and while it was changed, underneath there was a hint of you. It was the scent he had longed to breath in for months now, the scent that had faded from your home, your clothes, your bed. Azriel’s wings flared as he soaked it in, pressing you tighter to him.

“She should see the healer. Let me winnow her back to our base.” Rhys reached for your body, unthinking of what he might be asking in a moment like this.

Azriel’s cries were immediately replaced with a predatory snarl as he stepped back from Rhys, snatching your sleeping body and pulling you closer to his chest.

“I just got her back,” he growled, his voice low and animalistic. You were the only thing stopping him from exploding, from launching at his brother.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look before Rhys gathered himself, raising his palms. “I know, Az, I know. I’m not taking her away, I can just see your emotional, and thought you might want to deal with those who remain in the prison.”

Azriel’s eyes glowed at the suggestion, the instinct to rip each and every guards head off was almost as primal as the one to keep you pressed against his chest and to never let go. His voice was thick as he stared past Rhys, straight at the prison. “I will be the one to see to my mate’s wellbeing. Round up the survivors. I want them alive and in my chamber.”

Cassian nodded at that, turning to do the work for his brother.

“Feyre’s called the healer to your tent, they await your arrival,” Rhys said.

Azriel steadied himself as he ran his eyes over your bruised and ashy face, bringing a gentle scarred finger to run down your gaunt cheek. “Let’s get you home,” he said softly, before evaporating into a winnow, Rhys close behind him.

--------

Part 2 >>>>

AN: Suuurrrprise! It’s time for another Azriel series. While I fully intended for this to be a one shot, I’m so excited to explore the idea of a brainwashed reader. Think Hunger Games Peeta being tortured by the Capitol (in fact, that was my direct inspiration). 

I so so hope you liked Part 1, please let me know if you’d like to join the tag list for this series in the comments. And as always, I love you, thank you for reading/liking/comment/reblogging or following – all of it means so much.

Tag list: Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468  @itscaitymoore @timecharm @icey--stars

[danger-bird]

"Obedience suits you, sparrow."

Ok,ok... listen....hear me out....... This story has been buzzing, festering in my hippocampus since yesteday, and now that I had time I slammed it out on a keyboard. It IS my OC-incert, so it's not technically an Ais x gn!reader, but I did avoid names in case a few crazy eyes, possession and a light sprinkle of amnesia is no biggie... Have fun, okie byee❤️ *scampers off , hides in their cave*

“Obedience suits you, Sparrow.”

Their small talk turned into a teasing banter quickly enough. They’ve been having a sneaking suspicion his worrying about them “almost dying again, running into a Soulless, or another roughneck”, is just him finding excuses to spend more time together. Not that they mind - even with his escorts, the walks always end too quickly.

They bark out a laugh as they turn a corner, slipping into the twisting backstreets behind the Wick. The night is cold, moonless - there are very few people outside, walking around the city.

“Since when? Either way, blind obedience is no fun - I thought you liked a challenge.”

It would be pitch black if not for the light seeping through the windows of the houses lining the narrow alleys. It’s dark – but not dark enough to miss the smirk stretching over his face.

“I do. Making it a challenge, then?”

“Do you want me to make it a challenge?” - they tease and peer up at his face, waiting for a reaction. His expression shifts somehow, but they can’t quite place in what way. He looks at them quietly, not saying anything, so they shift their gaze ahead and shake their head with an exhale, a light smile on their lips.

“Sparrows have been given wings to fly, Ais. I’ll never give you obedience like this.”

He gives a weak smile that drops immediately. His expression is unreadable. They hurry a few steps forward, trying to avoid his unnerving gaze.

He slows down, feeling his thoughts rippling at the edges, unfurling like a loose-knit cloth. His consciousness gradually sinks backwards as he quickly loses sensation in his skin, his hands, his face. The realization hits a moment too late.

Numbly, he can feel another presence emerging forward - a looming darkness casting an impenetrable shadow over his mind, wrapping its sticky tendrils around hazy thoughts, a horrible dread reaching forward…

In an instant, a sharp pain splits through his head, his awareness violently yanked forward like being pulled out of water. A low chime reverberates through his mind, overwhelming his senses… and keeping only his thoughts in focus, drowning out any other to barely a whisper.

“You can’t just take someone’s free will. You certainly can’t have mine. You can earn loyalty, my friendship… but that’s not the way to do it.”

They turn back to look at him, eyes radiating an unnatural shimmer: the color of blazing hot sunlight beaming off of molten gold. In the dim alleyway, their glow is bright enough to cast a light over their face, making their solemn expression that much more unsettling. Any other voices are now nothing more than a muffled babble. Their quiet, serene voice is stretching and twisting, almost splitting in two as it barely coalesces into an audible sound. Despite that, their words ring loud and crystal-clear in his head.

“A good heart means nothing without conviction… and a heart without conviction cannot be helped by anybody. Until your heart finds the conviction to seek out its own goodness, don’t come looking for mine.”

They turn around and take a few steps forward, stopping right before turning a corner and speaking quietly, still facing the street ahead.

“…Loyalty is not the same as obedience. It’ll do you good to learn the difference.”

They disappear behind the corner of a building without so much as looking back. The alley suddenly feels cold again, a drift whistling through the narrow streets between buildings and pouring onto the main street ahead. The dim light from a lone lamppost on the corner shivers before flickering out completely.

.

.

.

When they enter the Wet Wick, their head is swimming, unable to remember what happened after the alarming sense of unease washed over them back there. Mind still hazy, they drag themselves to the bar when Leander calls them over, Kuras keeping an eye on them as they approach.

[hall0wedwyrm]

Basically, TLDR i saw a fake screenshot on TikTok showing Amy in the Knuckles series and it got me thinking about how she... doesn't quite fit in the movieverse yet...

So here is my long rant about why it would be bad for her to join in Movie 3 and she should be saved for a future installment.

to preface: I DO NOT HATE AMY OR HAVE ANYTHING AGAINST HER. I think shes wonderful and shes literally a main character so shes very important obviously.

First, the elephant in the room. Shadow the Hedgehog. One of, if not THE most, complex character in the Sonic franchise, let alone in the main expanded cast. Having to introduce, and illude to, aspects of Shadow’s backstory (his relationship with Maria and Gerald, The ARK, how he was made, and the fallout) and his future (returning with amnesia in his next appearance, potentially introducing the Black Arms and some of the Heroes and Shad05 story beats that are important who he becomes) in about an hour and a half to 2 hours. I just don’t see how it would be a good idea to introduce a core member of Sonic’s friends into the movie series when she could be introduced later so that Shadow has more of a time to shine, and Amy can too later on.

Historically, Amy’s talk to Shadow to remind him of his promise to Maria has been filled in by another character when the plot called for it. In Sonic X, during its own adaptation of SA2, Chris spoke to Shadow to try and help him remember his real purpose and talk sense into him. While it didn't exactly work out, it shows that this role could be interchangable in SEGA’s eyes. I propose a similar story, using Tom’s niece Jojo. Being a character who is around Maria’s age and doesn’t have a complete character behind her as of now, this could be a more meaningful way for Shadow to realise his purpose and remember his promise. Hearing the words from someone who is like Maria (a young girl who cares about Earth) would be more impactful to him. I can see any human character taking up this role though, but Jojo would be the best candidate, due to her simiarities to Maria.

However, while not introducing another new character could be good for not overcrowding the movie with new arcs and introductions involving them, I could see this working for one character; Rouge the Bat. She was introduced along with Shadow in SA2, which is immediately a good sign, as their plots intertwine with each other. They both work with Eggman, until they turn the focus on saving the world. Rouge is one of Shadow’s closest companions going forward, and has her own arc too. She is the one who frees Shadow in Heroes, and rekindles their friendship there.

Rouge also could connect back to the previous movie. Being a jewel thief at heart, she goes after the Master Emerald, but in Movieverse its destroyed and the Chaos Emeralds are retrieved from it. She is established as being the Rival to Knuckles, and this could help him fill a new purpose on Earth (cos lets be honest… he didn’t really do that in his show-) of becoming a protector of the Chaos Emeralds instead or something. The main part of SA2 is about the Chaos Emeralds so this makes sense. Refinding the Emeralds or going to the right spot to use them and such but thats besides the point.

Another huge loss of introducing Amy in Sonic 3 is missing out on how she was introduced in the franchise. In Sonic CD, she was introduced along side another key character in the franchise; Metal Sonic. She saw a blue hero coming to help her, believing it to be Sonic, but turned out to be Metal instead. Having Amy navigate the trio around and give them the lore would make a lot of sense, given the way that others were introduced in the second installment.

Its also appropriate for this introduction too, since Metal Sonic is the perfect equal to Sonic, compared to Shadow's unintentional equal. After Eggman's failure of using Shadow, creating Metal is the next best thing. Whatever the story is with Metal, whether its faithful to Sonic CD or is twisted to fit the Movieverse story.

Now... I think introducing Amy could also mess up a lot of aspects of what the movieverse has set up for the stories of the characters. I 100% know that they will try and pull off a romance for Sonic and Amy, since its one of her main character arcs and for the longest time and its kind of (??) the main romance of the franchise. BUT according to the Sonic Dream Team character profiles, and the ending of Frontiers, she's drifted away from that interest in him... so to go back to that would be a really weird choice. I know its a different universe, but if SEGA is trying to steer away from that, then why would they go back on it?

PLUS I think it would be a huge detriment to both of their characters. Movie Sonic is much different to the Sonic's of the past, as he has all of the charms of Modern Sonic (his quick wit and charming personality) but hes younger and less experienced and jumps head first without thinking because he doesn't know what to actually do. He was thrown into the role of the hero in the first movie because the place he grew up was being threatened and he refused to run away. Amy being introduced as solely 'the love interest' also does a disservice to her character. She's strong willed, and unafraid to stand up to Eggman and any other wrong doer. She's also rather hot headed but still kind and cares for those who matter. (this is also part of a larger discussion i wrote about how in canon Sonic and Amy wouldn't work out because they want different things and are very different people but thats for a different day and/or if anyone is interested). Sonic immediately switching to a head-over-heels guy would be a complete ruin of his character built up, while also immediately destroying Amy's.

Another problem is that there isn't a focus on romance of any kind in the story so far, and introducing it could mess up what they have going. The Movie's are clearly about familial love and growing up and filling the boots of a hero. It is not a story of romance in any way. The first movie was friendship, the second was about family bonds and making new friends, and the third is most likely about trust or learning to trust again (Shadow has to trust Sonic to save the world). It'll also be a huge moment for Sonic's character; Meeting someone who is not just against him and Knuckles and Tails, but against the world itself, someone who is so hellbent on revenge for the one he lost, and how hes going to over come that WHILE meeting his new love interest... is a huuuuge task to pull off and the two stories don't really mix imo. Plus even in SA2 the extent of the romance is just 'Amy mistaking Shadow for Sonic and then she thinks its awkward and gets embarrassed and thats how they meet for the first time'.

So yeah this could be done much better if it's something thats going to happen, and it would be better left for a 4th or separate installment. Having a mini romance arc along with the Metal Sonic stuff works better because the introduction of a potential romance was worked more into Sonic CD than anything.

Im still gonna be pissed off if they do a romance, because Sonic the Hedgehog has never been about romance... but its also a multimillion kids film franchise and its bound to happen, especially when its the main male and main female character. Just know i won't enjoy it lol.

IF they do Amy... I want tarot cards AND the Piko Piko Hammer and if you take either of them away i will be causing problems (on purpose). If you give her the original outfit +11 points and if you make up an outfit whatever as long as it works and its cute (I'm partial to Dungarees myself).

anyway yeah id like to see other opinions on this... maybe some other ways it could work out? or how else she could be introduced? or maybe even of she could be in Sonic 3 but idk what they would do for her to make her not get sidelined or overtake the plot...?

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

Hey, sorry if I’ve just missed it but is there a list somewhere of all the games that have characters in this bracket?

There is now! I've done it for the first bracket but not for this one, so here it is:

Fire Emblem: Three Houses (x12)

Baldur’s Gate 3 (x9)

Mystic Messenger (x8)

Arcade Spirits (x7)

Obey Me (x7)

Stardew Valley (x6)

Dragon Age: Inquisition (x5)

Monster Prom (x5)

Persona 5 (x5)

Coral Island (x5)

I Was a Teenage Exocolonist (x4)

Persona 3 (x4)

Boyfriend Dungeon (x4)

Romancelvania (x4)

Fire Emblem Fates (x4)

Blooming Panic (x4)

The Arcana (x4)

Potion Permit (x4)

Uta no Prince-sama (x3)

Arcade Spirits: The New Challengers (x3)

Mass Effect (x3)

Hooked On You: Dead by Daylight (x3)

Fallout 4 (x3)

Infinite Blue (x3)

Trouble Comes Twice (x3)

Fire Emblem Engage (x3)

TOUCHSTARVED (x3)

Tri City Monsters (x3)

Fire Emblem: Awakening (x2)

Code: Realize (x2)

Court of Darkness (x2)

XOXO Droplets (x2)

My Time at Sandrock (x2)

Cyberpunk 2077 (x2)

Our Life: Beginning and Always (x2)

My Time at Portia (x2)

Dragon Age 2 (x2)

Tears of Themis (x2)

Doki Doki Literature Club (x2)

Mass Effect: Andromeda (x2)

BUSTAFELLOWS (x2)

Titan Arum (x2)

Harvest Moon: A New Beginning (x2)

My Candy Love (x2)

The Witcher 3 (x2)

The Divine Speaker (x2)

Divinity: Original Sin 2 (x2)

Baldur's Gate 1&2 (x2)

Later Daters (x1)

Fallout: New Vegas (x1)

Monster Camp (x1)

Rune Factory 3 (x1)

Our Life: Now and Forever (x1)

It Lives in The Woods (x1)

Scarlet Hollow (x1)

Stray Gods (x1)

The Fernweh Saga (x1)

Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life (x1)

It Lives Beneath (x1)

The Soul Stone War series (x1)

Seduce Me The Otome (x1)

Fields of Asphodel (x1)

Blood Moon (x1)

The Royal Romance (x1)

The Golden Rose (x1)

Re: Alistair++ (x1)

Persona 2 (x1)

Long Live The Queen (x1)

Dragon Age: Origins (x1)

Magical Diary: Horse Hall (x1)

My Horse Prince (x1)

Gilded Shadows (x1)

Obscura (x1)

Café Enchanté (x1)

Inuyasha: The Secret of the Cursed Mask (x1)

DRAMAtical Murder (x1)

A Villain's Twisted Heart (x1)

The Sims (x1)

GreedFall (x1)

Cryptid Crush (x1)

Postknight 2 (x1)

Sun Haven (x1)

Loren the Amazon Princess (x1)

Hustle Cat (x1)

A Date With Death (x1)

The Ssum (x1)

1931: Scheherazade at the Library of Pergamum (x1)

Dandelion -Wishes Brought To You- (x1)

Persona 4 (x1)

Intertwine (x1)

How Not To Become a Queen (x1)

Thorn for the Villain (x1)

Villainess Idolized By Everyone (x1)

Assignment Due: Project Blue (x1)

Silhouette (x1)

Story of Seasons: Trio of Towns (x1)

Mr Love (x1)

Heart no Kuni no Alice (x1)

Harvest Moon: More Friends of Mineral Town (x1)

Harvest Moon DS Cute (x1)

Story of Seasons: Pioneers of Olive Town (x1)

Number Days Sim Date (x1)

Cupid Parasite (x1)

Amnesia (x1)

Lover Pretend (x1)

Untold Atlas (x1)

Witches x Warlocks (x1)

OZMAFIA!! (x1)

Pokemon Black and White 2 (x1)

Blades of Light and Shadow (x1)

Life is Strange: Before The Storm (x1)

Life is Strange (x1)

Cinderella Phenomenon (x1)

Endless Summer (x1)

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (x1)

Planescape: Torment (x1)

Changeling (x1)

The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe) (x1)

Heaven's Secret (x1)

Andromeda Six (x1)

Dracula: A Love Story (x1)

Path of the Valkyrie (x1)

Arcanum (x1)

Nameless ~The One Thing You Must Recall~ (x1)

Dialtown (x1)

Infamous (x1)

Crimson Spires (x1)

Birushana (x1)

The Wedding (x1)

When Life Gives You Lemons (x1)

Pillars of Eternity series (x1)

//TODO: today (x1)

Heart Fragment (x1)

[whltlock]

CHAPTER 1/10 ★ Masterlist ★ Subscribe on AO3

Pairing: Jason Todd/AFAB!NB Reader, Minor Wally West/Reader

Summary: Jason's dead, so how is he in front of you right now?

Tags: vague soulmates au, jason has temporary amnesia, Jason/Reader Endgame, Fluff and Angst, post-resurrection, Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Past Relationship.

WC: 2,154

You take the same route you do most days from work to home. It’s dusk and because of that, the street lights have only just begun to flicker. The ones that work, at least. Usually you tune into the sound of distant ongoings: dog barks, the flutter of bird wings, and the more unsightly ones like glass shatters, shouts, shots.

Tonight, though, those sounds are drowned out by something more pressing. You’re keenly aware that you’re being followed. Even if you can’t hear their footsteps or see their shadow, the goosebumps and raised hair on every limb confirms it. It gets your adrenaline up.

Your gaze sweeps the street as you decide how to tackle your pursuer. They maintain enough distance that you don’t feel them on your heels yet. While the apartments above have lights on, the road is pretty desolate. There’s no one but you and your new acquaintance.

You’re more annoyed than anything. You don’t want to deal with this. You’ve never understood why someone would bother to mug a random pedestrian. They’re not likely to have anymore than you do.

Desperate times, you suppose. Although every third day feels like a desperate time in Gotham.

You duck down a laneway to give them a chance to realise their mistake.

You stop halfway through and look up at the windows with bars above. It’s a painful fifteen seconds before the figure approaches. The first thing you spot is how appropriately dressed they are in the darkest of shades: black boots, black hoodie, black pants, black gloves.

“Man, c’mon,” you sigh to yourself as they advance. Louder this time, you tell them, “You’ve got one chance to rethink this.”

The person—who you assume is a man considering his imposing build—pauses only momentarily.

When he paces forward again, you ready yourself to just get it over and done with. The quicker you put the imbecile on his ass, the quicker your ass gets to bed.

However, the muscles in your legs freeze in place, no longer able to swoop his weight out from beneath him.

It’s his eyes.

Something swims in the sea-foam glass of them.

Recognition of a past life.

Although it’s hard to get a proper look because of the hood, you know his eyes stay on you. Calculating. Confused.

You choke quietly on the two syllables: “Jason.”

His head tilts like he doesn’t quite understand. The knit of his brows draws your attention to the scars that glimmer silver under the moonlight.

Your heart pangs at the ghost in front of you. He looks so different compared to the last time you saw him, no longer a scrawny kid just learning about the gym. You’re not the same height anymore. He’s wider, bulkier. He’d be terrifying if you didn’t know him.

But his eyes weren’t always so green tinted. It’s different. It’s not the only thing that’s different.

You say his name again, disorientated. You watch him as much as he watches you.

His voice cracks as he whispers, “Why am I… here?”

That’s his voice. Deeper, but just as scared.

It’s the meanest trick anyone’s ever played on you.

You look beyond him to the main road. The only thing that comes to mind is shit, you got knocked out back there. Maybe you’re dying in the street right now. Stupid. Stupid, stupid.

“You’re not here,” you say, more so to yourself. But you don’t want his apparition to go. You never wanted him to go. Missing him is entwined in the very fibres of your being.

“I’m not?”

You shake your head sadly. “You’re dead.” Your voice is barely audible, even in the vacant alley.

Jason’s eyes drop to his body. He surveys himself. A hand climbs towards his neck and he pulls at his clothes, uncomfortable.

You pat at your own skull, searching for a bloodied patch. “I wish you weren’t.”

His gaze snaps to you. “I don’t…”

He wants to say that he doesn’t remember. Anything. His mind’s fractured. Deep down, he thinks he knows you. He doesn’t know why. There’s flashes. One of them led him to you.

It hurts. There’s an ache in your chest as much as there’s one in his. His brain hurts, too. Like something hit him, hard.

Jason’s fists curl. You move closer and when his name rolls off your tongue, it slices into him. He steps back, troubled.

Jason must be his name, but he’s not sure he can trust it. Trust you. Even though his body yearns for your compassion.

You look sad. It makes him feel worse. You rub at your eyes, hoping the fog and fumes have just gotten to you. That when you blink your eyes open again, you’ll just have been passed out.

Jason’s still there when you do. Helplessly, he doesn’t know how to proceed. So he just turns and walks away.

You don’t stop him. Instead, you go straight home to bed.

You wait for the stupor to end; for the world to make sense again.

And you wait.

And you wait.

But nothing rights itself.

Jason waits, too.

And he waits.

But every morning he’s still drawn to you, tied to the hook at the end of an invisible fishing line.

You haven’t felt right since your encounter with Jason’s ghost, but you keep it to yourself. What’s anyone supposed to do, anyway? Everyone goes on with their days since his demise, so you have no other choice but to do the same.

You weren’t mugged because nothing was taken. You weren’t hurt, either. And yet, walking the same route makes you nauseous.

You do it anyway.

Despite how awful it feels, you’re compelled to stop in that damned laneway. It’s empty. Dark. Wet. Stinks of trash.

“Dead,” comes a voice from behind you. It makes you jump out of your skin, even though you know its owner. You whirl around. “I’m dead?”

Jason’s much closer this time. Only a foot apart. He wears the clothes you last saw him in.

It both is and isn’t a question. He doesn’t know. Fuck, he wants to know something.

He looks at you haplessly. As his eyes trace your skin from your temples to your collarbone, he feels the breeze of a faraway memory. Softness.

You swallow. “You were,” you whisper. “Don’t you remember?”

His voice is hoarse as he says, “No.” He’s scared, because while his mind might not remember, his body certainly does. Trauma’s laced into every cell at this point. He just can’t connect the dots. He thinks of death in colours: green and orange, black and blue.

Slowly, he raises a hand, palm out, gloved. An offer; another question. You look down. You meet him shakily as your fingers touch his. He’s there. Physical.

“Am I… real?” Jason asks. “Here?”

Dumbstruck once more, you graze over his palm. He holds the weight like a real person would. You prod at him to further test it. He rebounds easily.

“I think… you might be.”

It’s his turn to investigate. Your hands flip. He traces a vein to your forearm and feels your warm pulse. He can’t help but think I know you, even if it’s buried deep.

It’s when your fingertips slip under his sleeve and touch his bare skin that he jerks away like he’s been splashed with acid. He makes a choked sound. You chew on your bottom lip to keep the tears away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice strained. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. It’s raw, and this time it isn’t about the invasion. It’s about your failure. It unearths grief and love. “I missed you,” escapes, and it’s painful to hear and painful to say.

Jason’s head tilts. He swallows. The words keep him standing in front of you. He thinks you might mean it. It means something to him, at least.

When you look up, it’s with wet cheeks. He wants to cradle them and wipe them dry. The thought makes his own heat up.

“You don’t remember?”

He shakes his head stiffly. “None of it makes sense.” Admitting it makes him feel like a child even though he’s clearly aged since his last memories.

“Okay,” you say, deflated.

“I… I know you, don’t I?” he offers pitifully. He doesn’t want you to mourn him. “I feel like I do.”

You stare at him for a moment. You’re slow to nod. “You were my best friend.” You look at the ground unsurely before you say, “I can show you.”

Jason agrees. You take out your phone and scroll, then hand it to him. He finds an abundant digital album. He squints as he scrutinises each photo.

But he can’t deny what he sees. It’s him, and it’s you. Us.

A young version of you both. You don’t look as different as he does.

It’s when he scrolls too far that something more stirs in him. The image is compromising and vulnerable. A scan of a photobooth strip; a typical shoot that ends with an impassioned kiss, your hands indented into each other’s skin and tangled hair.

His thumb stays on the screen as he draws over it again and again.

“Oh,” is all he can say as he understands why he wants you above everything else when he’s fresh out of the grave. You’re home.

You’re nervous as you watch him. He looks up, gaze softer. Shockingly, his own nerves have eased, although he doesn’t know what to say.

Instead, you ask him, “Do you trust me?”

It gets caught in his throat on the way out but he says, “Yeah.”

“Come with me?”

“Where?”

“My apartment,” you say. Seeing him hesitate, you add, “You can shower. Or sleep. Eat.”

It’s both a win and overwhelming when he gives a rasped, “Alright.”

He follows you to your building, although he stays a few steps behind. You let him have the space. He probably needs it to absorb what he’s learned.

Jason refuses to shower or sleep but he does sit on the couch with you. You wrap a blanket around his shoulders so he can be more comfortable. It smells like you—like safety. He holds onto it tightly.

You feed him crackers and cheese and water. He nibbles, slowly, eyes moving between your face and the apartment. It’s well lived in. He thinks it must be a while since he’s been gone.

You talk to him in a soft tone like he’s fragile. He is, but it still hurts.

“Did you just… wake up one day?”

He looks at his fingernails. He’s washed the dirt and blood and grime from them time and time again, yet he continues to feel the stains. You notice and it puts a frown on your face.

“Yeah. Down there,” is what he says.

You have so many more questions, but you ask, “Where did you go after?”

Jason shrugs like it’s nothing. “Shelter,” he mumbles. “Old safehouse.”

You sigh, exhausted. Not because of him, of course, but the whole situation is a tragedy. You don’t know what to do. An inkling of doubt hides in the back of your mind: what if you really are imagining all this?

But you owe it to him to take it seriously. Help him. You loved him so damn much, after all. Even if it breaks you again.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, sensing your anguish.

“Don’t be,” you’re quick to comfort. “I’m glad you found me, Jason.”

There it is again—Jason. He swallows. He likes when you say it. It helps him feel more secure.

You peek at him from under your eyelashes. “I… I just don’t know what to do,” you sigh. “I could call Dick?”

The name echoes in his mind. He dredges through cleaved memories to figure out who that is. He must look confused because your mouth forms around the answer, although he beats you to it. He blurts out, “Grayson?”

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “Do you remember him?”

His face scrunches and his head hurts from trying to recall the man. “A little,” Jason says. “He’s my… brother.” However, as he realises the problem at hand, it sets off panic. “Don’t tell him,” he stumbles, “Please. I don’t—”

“Okay,” you murmur. You place your hand near his.

He looks pained as he says, “Don’t tell my family.” He doesn’t know why yet, but he knows he doesn’t want to see them.

You nod. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.” His fingers brush yours. “I… I wish I could remember you properly.”

“Maybe it’ll come back with time and rest,” you tell him gently. You’re hopeful. Out comes a yawn. “Do you mind if I…?”

“S’fine,” he shrugs.

“Will you stay?”

“Guess so.”

You smile at him feebly. “I’ll be over there.” You point to your bedroom. “Wake me if you need me.”

He nods.

Jason does stay, if only to cut himself on your sobs that last well into the night.

A/N: Weekly updates!

😁 Going to do a one-time tag in the notes for people who have enjoyed my previous works ->->->->

[jiminstonic]

No Guardian Angel | jjk

pairing: The Crow!Jungkook + g/n reader

word count: 3.1k

genre: thriller, dark romance, angst, some fluff sprinkled on top

warnings: VIOLENCE, mild gore, blood mentions, profanity, kidnapping, harassment, death, description of a corpse (sorry if i missed anything)

— synopsis: “Sometimes, love is stronger than death.” ~ The Crow: City of Angels. At first, Jungkook only wanted revenge, nothing more. But now, your love is something he wants just as much.

With a gasp of air, his mouth is blocked by the plastic of a trash bag. It’s so dark that he’s not even sure if his eyes are really open, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to find the air that just won’t make it to his lungs. Frantically, he starts to struggle against the ropes that dig into his numb flesh. He can hear the ropes strain as he tries to move until the tell-tale snap makes him freeze. He wasn’t anticipating waking up in an overly humid garbage bag, but he really didn’t think he could’ve ripped the tough rope that kept his limbs glued to his body.

However, it’s only a short moment before he rushes to tear at the plastic that surrounds him. He pulls it apart and fumbles to get it off of his head. Although his lungs harshly constricted, he regrets the first breath when all he’s met with is a godawful smell. With a grimace, he roughly yanks off the rest of the rope and plastic that makes a mummy of him.

The banging of rain is loud, booming all around him as he realizes where he is. A dumpster, how lovely. Without much force, he’s able to lift the cover and let it fall with a bang against the metal. Rain now falls freely onto his skin as well as the garbage that he’s quick to climb out of. The sky is dark with not even a hint of the moon past the worn-down buildings on this side of the city. Streetlights and neon signs make up for the moonlights absence, reflecting off of the puddles that litter the streets.

Yet those same puddles aren’t what cause him to fall instead of land flat on his feet. The dumpster is hardly high, but his legs shake as he becomes dizzy from the sudden movement. With several huffs, he lets his legs give out to sit on the wet pavement and lean back against the dumpster to take in his surroundings. Well, the best he can with swirling vision that has a migraine creeping up on him.

He’s in an alley, that much he can easily tell. The buildings on each side cast shadows that aid in the rainy nights sinister nature. How in the hell he got like this—he has not a single clue. Despite the amnesia, his eyes continue to droop as his body is slowly regaining strength. Maybe he’ll just take a little nap. Wouldn’t hurt, right?

He’s nearly asleep when a loud cawing jolts him back to consciousness. Head snapping to the direction it came from, he finds a crow perched on the edge of an old trashcan covered in burn marks. The winged darkness seems to be looking right at him as it continues to caw—call out to him—and shuffle on its clawed feet. Another caw, caw, before the crow swiftly glides down to the ground. Right next to a body.

The realization has him jumping into action, as if the engine in his body just roared to life, to hastily make his way over to the one lying still in the rain. It’s hard to see much of anything, but he still makes out the familiar features of the body.

“Tae...Taehyung?!” The sight of his brother lying in a pool of his own blood was enough to send currents of panic, anger, and confusion through him. Trying to wake Taehyung up would be something anyone would do, but he knew better with the way Tae’s chest was unmoving with his clothes thoroughly drenched. He had been dead for a while now.

Yet he still needed his dear brother close. With tears disappearing with the rain and a heart so full of grief, he pulled Taehyung’s body into his, holding him close as sobs erupted from him.

Within a second of embracing his brother’s dead body, visions flashed in his mind. Memories. Taehyung’s wide smile and boisterous laughter. ‘We’re in this together,’ he’d say, ‘It’s us against the world, little brother.’

Then flashes of his scowl appeared. A memory of them running the streets together, Taehyung adorning his signature denim jacket, when a scream could be heard. Jungkook knew not to get involved with things that he wasn’t in to begin with, but Taehyung didn’t listen, and the last thing Jungkook would ever do is turn his back on his brother. The screams had led them to a dark alley, finding a group of scumbags harassing someone. Taehyung didn’t even hesitate to lunge at the filthy group of people, didn’t even consider the fact that they were outnumbered. Didn’t even realize that the group carried various weapons.

The memories had Jungkook holding his brother’s body tighter, but the flashes only persisted.

Taehyung had managed to distract the group with his sudden swings, letting their victim fall to the ground and desperately try to get away. But the group was quick to jump Taehyung. The sight of the men holding their blades high at Taehyung had Jungkook seeing red. He was able to get a few punches in, but they were both overpowered. One of them dodged Jungkook's punch to spin him into a chokehold, facing Taehyung who wasn’t winning much at all.

Stupid, stupid, Jungkook thought. If they weren’t outnumbered, the brothers probably would’ve been able to beat these motherfuckers. But of course, Taehyung didn’t care about anything other than helping people, saving people.

Jungkook was forced to have a front-row view of his brother getting punched, kicked, and stabbed. Although he was in pain from the hits he took himself, Jungkook swore he could feel every hit his brother was taking, and every stab was a sting in his chest. He struggled to get out of the chokehold, not being able to bear the sight in front of him any longer. But before he could see his brother’s body falling limp, his vision became darker and darker until there was nothing left.

The memory has Jungkook jolting, still holding his brother’s body close. He can’t leave Taehyung here to be pecked at by animals. So, he takes him to the one place he knows his brother would want to be laid to rest.

Your wrists burn with every little move you make, the rough rope seeming to get tighter and tighter on your skin. It’s surprising that you haven’t started to bleed yet. You’d be able to feel it dripping down your arm from where your wrists are tied above your head, holding you up just enough to feel your toes scrape along the cement floor. It’s almost impossible not to wince.

“Don’t pay to cry now, sugar,” the man sitting in front of you says gruffly. The cigarette hanging from his spit-covered lips clouding the room in smoke, enough to make you want to cough up a lung. The only piece of clothing on him that isn’t bloodied up is the jean jacket he has over a dirty tank. “It’s because of you that me and my boys are even in this damn mess.”

“Me?!” You say between clenched teeth.

“Did I say you could fucking speak?!!” He stands up so fast that the force behind it knocks the chair back. With a firm grip, he takes ahold of your jaw, getting close enough to your face that you can smell his foul breath. “You’re just asking for it, aren’t ya?”

“Am I witnessing trouble in paradise, Smiley?”

“Someone doesn’t know how to keep their goddamn mouth shut.” The man in front of you, Smiley, doesn’t even look away for his response, keeping his menacing eyes on your face.

“That’s great, Smiley. But look, the boss man had some emergency business, so he won’t be coming for a while.” Aside from the sound of water droplets around the dark and musty room, you can hear the caw of a crow. Instinctively, you look in the direction it came from, only to see a crow perched on a high window. It caws loudly, almost as if it was yelling at the scene before it.

“Hmm,” Smiley hums, a smirk forming on his face. “Looks like we have time to kill, huh sugar?”

“No! No, plea—“ You thrash around, hoping to get anywhere that isn’t in this pigs hold.

“What the hell did I say about talking, you bitch! Stay. Fucking. Quiet.” Smiley raised his hand high and was about to bring it down hard across your face before being interrupted.

“For being called Smiley, you don’t seem to be too happy.”

Smiley’s head turns sharply, looking around for the unfamiliar voice with his hand still in the air.

“Who’s there?!” You’re thankful for the distraction that the voice becomes.

“I like your jacket, Smiley. Where’d you get it from?”

“I said, who’s there!?” At this point, Smiley’s delirious, rightfully paranoid.

“Couldn’t be that you bought it. How about from the man you killed !? Did I hit the jackpot yet, Smiley?”

“Motherfucker, who the hell are you?!” Smiley has finally let go of you, spinning around and yelling at all of the dark corners he can’t see through.

Suddenly, a dark figure falls from above, landing on his feet right behind Smiley, startling him.

“Your worst fucking nightmare.” With that, the figure lands a hard punch to Smiley’s nose, making him cup his face. He stumbles back, groaning in pain while the figure follows. You can see his face now, covered in white paint with sharp lines that pass over his blackened eyes. Two more black lines stem from the corners of his mouth, forming a smile. The dark, wet strands of his hair fall over his eyes, only adding to the threatening look in them.

He kicks Smiley in the stomach, hard enough to make him fly a few feet back and land on the cement with a hard thud. The man stalks closer to where Smiley lies when a shot is heard.

The sound reverberates in the room, making you jump. Smiley’s friend, who you forgot was even there, still has the shotgun pointed at the mysterious man, confident now that he’s shot. You don’t dare to take your eyes away from him, afraid that he’ll point the barrel at you next.

However, to your confusion, his confidence fades as his eyes bulge with fear while staring at the dark man. You can’t help but look as well, only to see him still standing there after being shot. He pops the joints in his neck before turning toward the other.

“Kinda tickled. Wanna try again?” He taunts, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach at what you’re about to witness.

The gunman grunts in frustration, hastily reloading while his target slowly takes more steps forward. Finally, another loud shot is fired, making you close your eyes for the brief moment. The mysterious man doesn’t even falter in his steps, not even with a bunch of metal pellets flying through his torso. Blood flies from his back, yet he’s still not fazed.

“C’mon! Give me your best shot!” At the last word, he lunges at the gunman, taking hold of the shotgun only to quickly push the end of it into the other’s face. The man falls back, rather hard, onto the ground while the dark one steps on his chest. With the barrel of the shotgun, he forces it into the other’s mouth, muffling his screams.

“Night-night.” Bang. It doesn’t even scare you anymore; you were practically anticipating it. The blood splattered on the cement formed red wings around the dead man’s head.

There’s only a few seconds of screeching silence before Smiley yells.

“Here!” He screams, hastily taking off the jean jacket before throwing it towards the mystery man. “You want it, fucking take it! You’re fucking insane!”

The other scoffs, dropping the shotgun to take quick steps towards Smiley, who starts getting visibly shaken again. The dark man grabs Smiley by the throat and pushes him up against the wall, choking him.

“Do you even remember who it belonged to? Huh?!”

“Some kid!” Smiley says, his words strained. “Little shit didn’t know how to mind his own fucking business.”

Mystery man becomes eerily quiet at that. You know that Smiley just cost himself his own life.

Something must’ve caught the man’s eye because he looks to the ground just before throwing Smiley down onto the hard cement. He takes Smiley by the jaw and makes a show of reaching out to the side with his other hand, only to grab Smiley’s cigarette that’s miraculously still lit.

“You know,” the man says, holding it up in front of Smiley’s horrified and pained face, “these things can kill you.” And without a seconds hesitation, he shoves the burning cigarette into Smiley’s bloody nose, burning his nostril. Even with Smiley’s screams, he doesn’t stop.

“Can’t you smell the nicotine? Such a foul scent.” The man’s words are pure venom, hatred laced in his tone as he watches Smiley suffer below him.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the hand he had around Smiley’s throat tightens before there’s a loud snap. Silence encompasses the room once more.

Although the men who kidnapped you are dead, you feel even more scared. This man...he could kill you the same way he did Smiley and his partner. You can’t even defend yourself since you’re still very tied up.

Silently, you watch as the man stands, finally looking toward you. His eyes are such a dark brown, piercing you with his stare. It isn’t until he starts getting closer that you start to struggle against the rope holding you up.

“It’s okay now. I’m not going to hurt you. Promise.”

You don’t say a thing, only glance towards Smiley’s lifeless body as a response.

“They got what was coming to them, didn’t they?” He says. His voice is different when speaking to you. The malice that was embedded in his tone before has now turned into something much gentler. Still, you eye him warily.

“You probably don’t remember me.”

Your brows furrow as you try to study his face from what little you can decipher beyond the makeup. Nothing.

“I tried to help you that night.” He says calmly. “My brother was the first to intervene, but I was there behind him.”

That’s when the realization hits you. You don’t remember much of the two men who tried to fight off your attackers, but you recall brief glimpses of them as you tried to run off. You remember the man in front of you.

“Here, let me untie you.” He doesn’t wait for a response from you, reaching up to tug at the knot that grips you. Finally, it comes loose and the rope practically peels from your skin. You fall forward, unable to land on your feet. When you topple over into your savior’s chest, he’s quick to catch you before picking you up bridal style.

You can’t help but fall into complete relaxation in his hold, your eyelids already starting to droop. The last thing you hear is his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you now.”

Jungkook blamed himself. How could he not? If he had just tried to convince his brother a little more to just stay out of it...nobody would be dead. Taehyung wouldn’t be dead.

On the other hand, you might’ve not been alive now if they hadn’t done something. It could’ve been you instead, and in a different scenario he might’ve not been affected by it so much. But right now, just the thought of your body being in the place of his brother’s has him clenching his jaw ‘til it hurts.

Which is why he has to make this right again—to not let his brother’s death be for nothing. It’s the whole reason he’s been given more time, right? Even if he is truly dead. There’s an inevitable grave with his name on it, waiting.

For now, he’s got some avenging to get done.

It’s his first time back in the small boat house, a place he used to call home, since the incident. It’s the safest place he could think of to bring you.

When he first touched you, flashes of your memory played in his mind. It’s all he’s been able to think about. How terrified you were that night, the things those men said to you, and what you saw once him and Taehyung showed up. Jungkook almost went weak at the first onslaught of visions, but he had to keep it together. For you.

Slowly, you started to wake up; the hazy sight of bedsheets being the first thing you see. It’s warm, the sheets impossibly soft, but that might just be from not being in a bed for twenty four hours.

Looking around, the small room is dark with only the moonlight casting through the window to illuminate it. Just in front of that window stands the man whom you can thank for your life. He hasn’t changed out of his all black outfit, the black turtleneck complimenting his form well, arms a bit more defined from having his hands in his pockets. You’re not even sure if he knows that you’re awake with the way he’s staring out of the window, obviously very lost in thought. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to bring him back to the present.

“So, are you some kind of superhero?” Your voice is low, afraid to cut the silence too harshly. For a moment, you thought he didn’t hear you with the way he still didn’t move, but then his head turned to the side. His side profile was a perfect silhouette in the moonlight.

You keep going when he doesn’t answer.

“Or a guardian angel...?” It was impossible for you to say it in anything more than a whisper, the thought being so far-fetched yet so believable at the same time. He’s saved your life twice by now, after all.

Jungkook can’t help but let out a slight chuckle. That was...kind of cute.

“I’m definitely not a superhero,” he says with a smirk, turning to face your form tangled in his sheets. How serene the sight. He could get lost in it if he isn’t careful.

“...And I’m no guardian angel.”

Silence returns between you as you’re left to study each other in the dim light. His eyes are dark, shadowed and so hard to keep contact with yet difficult to look away from. In that moment, you know you’re hooked on him.

“Well…thank you.” You say, pushing yourself up to sit against the headboard.

“No need to thank me.” He looks down at his feet. Is he really becoming bashful?

“After saving my life twice, it’s very much needed.” There’s a pause before you speak again. “But why did you come back for me?”

Jungkook paused, not expecting the question from you. He knew exactly why he went back for you; if you had been killed too, he would’ve set the world on fire. But he has no idea why. All he knows is that if anything were to happen to you, he would completely lose control.

To Be Continued...

a/n: this isn’t the best, but i’ve wanted to put something out for a while now. just anything, really. my motivation has been running short and i’ve jumped at every bit that hits me. i wasn’t originally going to post this in parts, but it’s literally all i can come up with so far, which is why a second part is undetermined. i still feel iffy about this one even tho i’m in love with the concept, so things may change a little when it comes to future parts. anyway, i’m so glad that i finally have writing posted again and can’t wait to do it more again <3

© jiminstonic March 2022

tag list: @mimlove 

[cryptidcasanova]

Second Time Around (2)

Gaston x Reader

Summary: If the horrible, unkind prince can have his day in the sun maybe others deserve the same chance at happiness.

This is a Gaston story. He is brash and loud and absolutely primeval, but a brush of amnesia should do the trick.

Part 1​

The man fought off a fever for days, tossing and turning against the covers. Hot and cold, you help with compresses and blankets and soups. 

In and out of consciousness you tried to talk to him, but it never went very far. 

This beast of a man could hardly hold his head up. 

His wounds had been healing steadily as the days passed and he tensed against your help at first, like a caged animal, but he never fought against your help, but you wished for something more. You had so many questions. 

The most noise he made was at night, between low grumbling snores and sharp pangs of distress. It looked as though he was dreaming. The sour nightmares must have tortured him.

In the evenings you retired to your chair, learning to live with the neck pain until one morning you woke and the man was gone. 

You looked around, hoping it was a trick of the light but you were wrong.

The beastly man was gone along with his clothes and the pocket knife you kept close to the pantry.  He had stolen away, barely alive and all alone.

And then you heard a vicious yell that tore through the woods.

The man.

Jumping to your feet you followed the noise blindly outside the cottage. You looked around anxiously. He could have gone anywhere. There was another yell, sharper this time, and you almost tripped over tree roots as you ran to the edge of the forest.

He was in pain. The yell was brimming with anguish.

You found the man on his knees. He was half dressed and looked like a wild man, staring up through the tree line like it would give him the answers he needed.  

The man let out another gripping bellow before covering his face with his hands. The man wasn’t injured. He was weeping.

Your heart broke for him. 

So you emerged from the shadows, slowly stepping through the leaves to him. He heard your approach, turning away to hide his face.

He was swelling with a sudden pride, afraid to share in his sorrows. 

You frowned, a pang of guilt coursing through him. You didn’t know him. You were in no position to console him.

“I’m sorry.” You were embarrassed for sneaking up on him. “I’ll let you be.”

As you turned away he stilled, turning to face you once you had looked away. The man pushed the dark hair from his face.

“Wait.” 

The man parted his lips, letting his eyes settle on you.

“Please wait.” He implored. “You saved me from the storm. Why?”

You looked over your shoulder with a small quip of your lip.

“You needed help.” You answered thoughtfully. “And I wasn’t going to leave you to be eaten by the wolves.”

It was a joke. Mostly a joke. 

He must have registered the lightheartedness of your words because he looked up to you with a crooked, almost broken grin of his own. 

“Thank you.”

As he stood you couldn’t help but watch the way he towered over the bushes and the bramble. 

His shoulder must have felt better because he stretched his arms easily. You didn’t notice the sack across his back before, but before you could question it he pulled the sack to his front.

“I was hungry.” He explained, opening the sack. 

Rabbits. Four decent sized hares were stacked inside, and you raised a curious expression. How did he manage that? 

Rabbits were quick and agile. You never had any luck catching them.

Pushing aside your surprise you found his stormy eyes already looking down at your own. You held back a shudder as his stare matched yours.

“What?” You hummed out jovially. “Were you sick of the stew?”

As you walked back toward the cabin you missed the hint of smile against his lips.

It rained again in the evening, and instead of boarding up the doors you enjoyed the melodic noise of rain pattering against the walls.  The man sat inside, stoking the fire. The warmth of the room was a steady contrast from the doorway where the wind and cold were.

He had spoken very little during the day, making himself busy with gutting the hares and chopping firewood outside. You didn’t have the heart to interrupt him.

But now, in the quiet confines of your home you could begin to ask your questions. There were so many, so many that you had thought of.

“Were you in the war?” 

It was a fair question to ask. He was of age and certainly looked healthy enough to be sent to the front lines. Your heart ached at the thought.

The question left him twisted up inside. The man stared into the flames, letting his mind drift.

There are things he remembered, things that did not make sense. If he said them out loud you’d think he’d gone mad. 

Talking teacups. Magic. Beasts he could only imagine in children’s stories. And then there was falling. He was always falling. 

But he wasn’t remembering blood and explosions. He wasn’t seeing images of any war. With a lofty exhale he looked back to the fire. 

“I must have been.”

He knew it. He was of the right age and stature, and the scars littered across his skin told hidden stories of the past. Parts of him could vaguely remember that there were battles, or at least that he had heard of them.

He wanted to remember. He so desperately wanted to remember his life and you could see it. 

Maybe you could help. Setting down your cup you followed his gaze into the flame. 

“My father was in the war.” You sympathized. There was a sad smile lingering on your cheeks. “He was a general.” 

You could see the way he looked at you and the small cottage you lived in. You knew his next question without him having to ask it.

“After the war he couldn’t handle the way that men pillaged whatever they could get their hands on. So many women were left widows. And so many more were left as unwilling mothers.” 

The bitterness on your tongue wasn’t lost on him. 

“So my father sent me away.”

The man grunted.

“He wanted you to be away from the fighting.”

Not entirely. You stepped closer, leaning against the frame of your chair.

“He wanted to keep me away from the aftermath.” You frowned. “But that was years

ago.”

Your father wasn’t wrong. After the war so many women were left destitute with babies on their hips, and the men that did come back were not men at all. They were monsters.

They took what they wanted. They took the women they wanted, and brothels and pubs took over the businesses of the past. It wasn’t safe to be a woman in the city. You had an education, a proper upbringing. 

You had skills and a life of your own. And that is why you were sent away.

While you were wrapped up in images of the past the man looked your way. He was wary, the creases below his eyes were more prominent than before.

He must have had his own experience in the wild.

“It’s dangerous here. To be alone in the woods.”

His words shook you from your stupor. A slow frown was painted on your lips.

“It’s dangerous everywhere.” 

You closed up the cottage for the night and retired to your chair without giving the man another word. 

He wouldn’t understand the struggle you fought against. He wouldn’t understand the heaviness in your chest. You had fought and you had fled, and you were finally safe. As the flames licked up the chimney you dozed off into a dreamless rest.

The man watched you out of the corner of his eye before standing and making his way back over to the bed. 

His gaze was unsteady. He was lost in his own turmoil, and he wouldn’t easily overcome it. Regardless of the daunting tale you told you took him in with no hesitation. You didn’t know him. You didn’t owe him anything. And yet, you were helping him. 

He would find himself, he was sure of it.

And as he wrestled with his own thoughts, the man realized one thing; he was better off with you than alone in the woods with his daunting memories. 

Taglist is open! 

Taglist: @nikkitc0703

Dividers are by the immensely talented @firefly-graphics​.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[thrillridesz]

heart racing ▫ j.yn

in part of the adrenaline rush! collab hosted by @lucas-wongs​ + @ickjun​

⇢ pairing: jaehyun x reader (f) (ft. other nct members + twice’s jeongyeon)

⇢ genre: fluff, angst, racer!au, best friends to lovers

⇢ warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions and consumption of alcohol, alcoholism, hitting rock bottom

⇢ synopsis: once a revered member of the racing industry, jaehyun has been living at rock bottom for the past few months following a tragic accident that effectively put him out of racing. it seems as though nothing would get through to him, not even you. will he ever break out of the constant loop of doubt and start seeing things for what they really are?

⇢ word count: 8.04k

⇢ fic playlist: get you to the moon - KinaBeats ft. Snøw | Amnesia - 5SOS | You Belong With Me - Taylor Swift | Confetti Falling - Big Time Rush | Go Season - Devin Bronson (highly recommended for the racing scene) | Love Story - Taylor Swift 

⇢ a/n : unedited! also posted on this account because I’m considering merging my nct account with my tbz writing blog also PLEASE check out the other writers’ works ^^ we’ve all worked hard on our fics

“Jaehyun, you’re ruining yourself.”

The dim room reeked of stale alcohol and something mouldy as the empty beer bottles that littered the floor clanged noisily against the surrounding furniture, leaking golden yellow liquid all over. Old, worn clothes were draped everywhere, stained and darkened with murky stains while the battered television flickered weakly to live, showing nothing but static. The walls were streaked and striated with scratches, as if someone had just been clawing desperately at them and on the floor amidst the empty glass bottles, were pieces of scrap poster paper. Sunlight peeks in through the drawn blinds, giving a teasing glimpse to the bustling outside world from the sad, decrepit apartment Jaehyun lived in.

Sprawled on the couch with nothing on except a wrinkled pair of jeans, Jaehyun’s eyes were devoid of emotion - blank and dazelike. In his hand, his fingers held on limply to the neck of yet another bottle of beer, possibly his nth for the day. His usually shiny hazel brown hair was greasy with filth and his bare chest was sticky with sweat from being cooped up all day in this tiny, stuffy apartment of his. His jawline was starting to grow a hint of stubble given how much he’d completely let himself go and dark circles were appearing underneath those intense eyes of his.

Slowly, Jaehyun lifted his gaze from the floor to look at you, the first flicker of emotions that he’d ever displayed in the whole day. You stood before him, arms akimbo, your gaze sharp and piercing. He smiled, a smile that held no mirth or happiness.

“Oh, you’re still here.”

You shook your head, ripping the bottle of beer from his grasp. As you approached, the bottles, clothes and torn pieces of paper on the ground almost made you trip and you tutted under your breath.

“Of course I am. I’m your best friend who is somehow still here with you. Best friends help each other.”

He chuckled nonchalantly, waving his hand at the door. “Well, feel free to leave then. I don’t need your help.” His eyes held a hint of anger as he did, something that did not escape your notice.

“Jaehyun,” you said softly, placing the bottle on a nearby table as you dread what was to come next. “Please, not this again.”

Your words only served to fuel the fiery spark of anger in his eyes as he said in a barely controlled tone, the irritation radiating from him in ripples that threatened to evolve into waves, “Why not? I’m a fucking wreck and a loser anyways. Leave like everyone else did. Leave like…” His voice wobbled, “leave like Jeongyeon did.”

Your heart fell and it took almost a godlike willpower not to let your emotions show. Was he still thinking about her?

“Jaehyun-”

“What? Are you gonna say I’m not a loser like you always do? Cut the fucking lies. Everyone out there is saying the same thing, what makes you think you can convince me that you’re not thinking it either? Hm?” He spat, the drowsiness in his demeanour dissipating fast as red hot anger replaced it. There was so much internal frustration within Jaehyun that just seeing him like this was enough to break your heart. It was one thing to see him in this terrible state but it was quite another to see him directing his anger towards you.

You drew in a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and to stop the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes. Having been there with him every step of the year ever since the both of you were children playing and horsing around the neighbourhood, you found yourself desperately missing those much simpler times and wondering how things became so wrong.

For as long as you could remember, Jaehyun had always been interested and had a natural flair for racing. There always existed a competitive streak in him that thrived off a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was a game that could have a clear winner or incited competitiveness, he was all up for it. As kids, the two of you used to compete over everything, be it for the last popsicle in the convenience store down the street or past the gates of your school. It was as if racing was something he needed in order to live. It wasn’t until sophomore year of high school did Jaehyun decide to take his love for racing to a professional level. He began to dive deep into the motorsport industry, starting out as a mere rookie in auto racing. He never did apply to college, preferring instead to invest all his time into his newfound life career.

His rise to fame was quick, quicker than most. Within his first year, he had won a number of races, beating even some of the well known names in the sport. Every other month, he was winning trophies and exorbitant cash prizes which in return earned him the recognition of famous sponsors and racers. Bumper stickers from the various sponsors decorated the back of his ride and it was no time at all before Jaehyun began to don some of the most expensive sports gear on the tracks. With his smouldering good looks, he also appeared on the front pages of magazines and newspapers, all while attracting a loyal fanbase made up of both racing enthusiasts and adoring admirers.

To everyone else, he was the suave, handsome and effortlessly cool young racer who was practically born to race and to do it well but to you, he was your childhood friend… and your first love. In front of the flashing lights and cameras, Jaehyun knew his way around the crowd. He knew exactly when to flash one of his dazzling, dimpled smiles and how to work the crowd - it was just one of his innate charms. Yet, you knew that underneath that, that flashy, extravagant Jaehyun, was the Jaehyun you grew up with and had gradually fallen in love with.

As children, he was there for you whenever you needed him, always ready to lend a helping hand when he noticed that you were stuck in an unfavourable situation. You distinctly remember what had happened in second grade. It was a bright and warm summer’s day, the lovely scent of sweet peas floating in the air as the sun bore down on the earth. Pigeons flitted over the sidewalks, pecking at the cemented floor and the leaves of the oak trees that lined the streets rustled gently in the wind.

You fell with a loud and heavy thud on your bottom, feeling the leaves crunch noisily under your weight. Fear and trepidation coursed through your veins as you stared with eyes wide at your tormentors.

“Look at her, she looks pathetic. Do it, Johnny! Do it!”

A tall, hunkering boy flanked by his cronies stood over you, his dark, massive shadow engulfing you as you frantically scrambled backwards. Tears were beginning to stream down your face and a sharp pain shot up your spine with each move, owing to the impact of the fall. There were scratches on your hands as you dragged your palms over the rough gravel in an attempt to move away.

There was a malicious glint in Johnny’s eyes and his lips were curved into a devious smirk as he stared down at you, domineering and intimidating. The veins in his arms and hands were bulging angrily and as he clenched his fists, you felt your stomach sink. Your legs began to feel like jelly and your vision was beginning to blur from all the salty tears. You were struck with fear and the sense of helplessness you felt made you feel both ashamed and furious at yourself yet there was nothing you could do.

You held your hand up to shield yourself from the impending attack as the bully lifted up his fist.

“Hey! How about you pick on someone your own size?!”

The group of you turned to see Jaehyun, eyes blazing with anger as his chest heaved. His wind-swept hair hung over his eyes, a surefire sign that he’d run over and his cheeks were red from exertion. Even from afar, he was clearly no match to Johnny’s larger build, much less the whole lot of them.

“J-Jaehyun?” You spluttered, shocked.

“Who is this clown- Ow!” Johnny stumbled backwards as a rock pebble hit him on the head, promptly ricocheting off his forehead and bouncing onto the ground. His jaw was clenched in pain and when he removed his palm, a reddish bruise had blossomed and there was even a faint trace of blood. There was a split second of stunned silence before Johnny turned almost magenta with rage.

“GET HIM!” He roared and his cronies shook out of their daze, immediately going after Jaehyun who’d already ran a good distance before the reality of what had just happened set in. His mocking laugh rang through the afternoon amidst a cackle of profanities and threats yelled at him.

It was a laugh that remained in your memories all these years. It was a laugh that strengthened you, a laugh that spoke so much of willful courage and youthful rebellion which was everything you’d eventually come to associate with Jaehyun. That laugh was bright and so… him.

Yet now, you could see none of that playful mischief and vibrancy in those eyes. All that is left is emptiness.

“You’re not a loser, Jaehyun,” you began softly, “you never were in my eyes. You were a fighter.”

Those beautiful eyes you adored so much narrowed at you, his face twisted into a scowl.

“A fighter? Guess what, y/n?” He sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “I fought. I fought endlessly but did that work out for me? I threw in everything I could, every little thing. I worked hard and put in a hundred and one percent of my effort.”

You stared at him, your heart aching for him as a single tear began to roll down his cheek, tears of anger, indignation and pain.

“But did that work out? No, it didn’t. If anything, it left me a wreck. People out there call me a loser, a has-been and even my girlfriend has left me. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put in, how much I fought because at the end of the day, everyone is only here because of what they think I am. They saw me as a champion, an up and coming and the moment I wasn’t anymore, they all dropped me in a heartbeat. What are you waiting for, y/n? Why the hell are you even still here?”

His words echoed through the empty apartment and out loud, it sounded bleak, harsh and biting. His anguished voice tore at your heart and as each word left those lips, it felt like your heart was slowly breaking apart. Neither of you said anything for a moment, locked in a silent, unspoken fight as he held your gaze steadily. His eyes were cold and there was the look of a broken man in them.

“I am here because I love you, Jaehyun,” you said finally, your voice quivering. “I don’t care who or what you are and it pains me to see you tear yourself down like this because I know you are not the loser you believe you are. I don’t know how much of this I can take, seeing you ruin yourself.”

You can see the slight softening in his eyes and you gritted your teeth.

“I’m going to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I can’t see you ruin yourself and be able to do nothing about it. I’m not strong enough for that.”

With that, you left the apartment before he could see the tears in your eyes.

The miserable, empty can of beer clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the dank apartment.

Jaehyun barely lifted an eyebrow, his fingers growing slack without him even knowing. He stared up at the dark ceiling, a hooded look in those once bright eyes. The stench that hung around him was growing more intense by the day and it was reaching a point whereby he could almost smell himself but there was nothing in him that seemed to care.

Sounds of active civilisation outside drifted in through the windows and occasionally, he’d hear the honking of angry drivers on the roads or the laughter of children playing at the playground at the courtyard below. Normally, he loved waking up to these sounds or at least when he wasn’t off to the race tracks, when he was relaxing with a book in his hands. Now however, he found them irksome, irritating and he wanted nothing more but to block them out. He wanted absolutely zero reminder of the world outside.

Grunting, Jaehyun dragged himself off the couch. As he trudged heavily back to his room where his comfortable bed beckoned to him, he turned to stare at the large, imposing front door where moments ago, you’d slammed shut as you left him to his own devices.

Guilt tugged at his heart and for a split second, Jaehyun contemplated running after you. When you left, there was an indescribable sense of hollowness that engulfed him in a way that he couldn’t quite understand or explain. The apartment was filthy, dark and small but somehow with you around just a few minutes ago, it felt just a little bigger, a little warmer. As much as he hated to admit it, his heart was calling to him to reach out to you, run after you. The crumpled look on your face haunted him but he shook the thought from his mind.

It would be better if you left him. If you knew what was good for you, you would.

The anger in him was beginning to resurface at the thought of everything that had happened over the past few months. His career plummeting on a downward spiral right after his recovery, the exact opposite of what was predicted by his agent.

He was born to race, his family and his friends had always told him so. He knew it himself, he could feel it in his blood, his bones, his spirit. Ever since he was little, Jaehyun had known that his career would have something to do one way or another with racing. As a child, he loved running, competing but most of all, he loved riding in his father’s pickup truck on the way to school. He loved the way the vehicle would zoom past the streets, overtaking other vehicles and he loved the feeling of the wind against his face. He loved the speed and everything about cars or racing. It felt natural for him to pursue a career in competitive racing and a natural he was.

After getting signed with a racing company, Jaehyun quickly rose to fame with his numerous championships, bagging trophies, medals and cash prizes in almost every event he participated in. Sports magazines and reporters would clamour over each other to score an interview with him. People wanted pictures with him, wanted him to sign an autograph for them.

He was the golden boy in the racing world, an untouchable.

In the racing world, everything goes a mile a minute and nothing waits for anyone. After the morbid crash at the June Tokyo Prix, Jaehyun had sustained several fractures to his ribs and a severe concussion that left him in the hospital’s intensive care unit bedridden for several months. The pain was unlike any other and every single move hurt immensely but what suffered more damage than he did was his career and his relationships.

Within months, the racing career he had so painstakingly built up for himself collapsed before him. Due to long inactivity, brands and sponsors began to drop him, slowly at first then steadily one by one. He was also constantly under the media’s scrutiny for a period of time, their cameras and microphones thrusted in his face while he lay helpless on the hospital bed. The bright flashes blinded him and the loud noises made his head pound and even now, he still remembered how that experience was like, shuddering every time it crossed his mind. It had taken Jaehyun countless hours of physical therapy before he could even think of racing competitively again.

Yet when he did, he quickly realised he never could revert back to his old self, the one who got off on adrenaline kicks while zooming along the tracks at breakneck speed, the one who only knew what it was like to win. He was slower, less coordinated. His body could no longer take the pressure racing would subject it too, or at least not quickly enough for him to make a full, stunning comeback.

The tabloids and news had run wild with his fall from grace, writing up horrible, demeaning articles about him. His rivals had mocked him to his face and he could even sense the visible disappointment from his fans emanating from the stands whenever he’d lost yet another race. The thing that really broke the camel’s back however, was when his girlfriend Jeongyeon initiated a breakup.

Jaehyun had hoped that things would turn for the better, never one to give up. He’d trained tirelessly everyday, pushing his brittle body to the limit. He never let up on himself, gritting his teeth through all the physical and mental pressure he had imposed on himself. When the final text was sent, Jaehyun could remember distinctly how hopeless and distraught he’d felt. It felt like his world, the empire he had so painfully and relentlessly crafted for himself from scratch was breaking bit by bit. To add salt to the wound, the next time he’d seen her on television, her body was plastered against his biggest rival, Yuta. Her arms were wrapped around his and her lips pressing against his cheeks with no shame whatsoever for the interviewer interviewing him, no sign of the girl who’d once told him that she loved him with all her heart.

What was once determination and naive hopefulness soon devolved into anger and resentment. Jaehyun began to let himself go and the change was drastic. Where there once existed a time whereby he’d rise from his slumber early to visit the gym, he now regularly slept well into the late afternoon. His diet began to consist largely of takeout, junk food and alcohol and his apartment got more and more cluttered by the day. He’d stopped contacting his friends and family, ignoring their calls and texts, preferring to fester in his own solitude. It wasn’t long before an odour had started to emit from his place, a nauseating mixture of stale pizza, beer and pure filth from the lack of showers.

His appearance was also no longer polished, but rather haggard as if he’d aged five years in a matter of months. He was beginning to lose his fit stature, the healthy glow he’d once been prized on by magazines and gossip columns dimming. It got to a point whereby Jaehyun had begun to avoid looking at his hideous reflection in the mirror, his self-hatred growing with each day.

A poster of him in his racing gear and his race car was tattered and wrinkled on the floor, stained with ketchup and soda. Staring at it blankly with eyes empty of any emotions whatsoever, Jaehyun swiped it up and in a swift moment, he tore it up with a large rip before trashing it somewhere on the floor.

Flopping onto his comforter, he almost moaned in pleasure as he sunk into the soft sheets. Reaching for the air conditioning control, a loud smack on the ground roused him from his hedonistic haze. His hair was sticking up in all directions as he peered over the edge of his bed to see a picture frame that had fallen from his night stand.

Holding it in his hands, he looked at it with a nonchalant air.

It was a picture of the both of you a few years ago, back when he was just kick starting his racing career. He hadn’t yet made a name for himself then as the two of you leaned in for the picture.

You had on a bright, illuminating beam on your face, your eyes alive and glittering with happiness. Your hair was down, wisps of it framing your face as the sun brought out the colour and shine of it. Next to him, you’d completely dwarfed in comparison. He had his arm around you, bringing you to his side and from the picture, Jaehyun could feel a smile begin to crack on his face at the comical height difference.

He’d looked completely at ease here, carefree with the recklessness and restlessness of the soul beneath shining through his dark eyes. His hair was wavy, styled down in that ridiculous fashion he wanted so badly to leave back in high school. He had worn a dimpled smile on his face, the look of someone who knew he was destined for greatness and believed in it.

Jaehyun was about to put the picture down when something caught his eye. He leaned in closer.

There was something about you. At first glance, it would have been clear that you were smiling for the camera but upon closer look, it looked as if you might be smiling at him instead. Your smile was softer, eyes gentler from the first time he’d seen the picture. It was the sort of smile that struck him in his heart, the kind of smile that would make its recipient feel loved, appreciated.

“I want to be a racer when I grow up.”

You turned to Jaehyun, eyes wide as saucers as you popped the ice popsicle out of your mouth.

“Why?”

He shrugged, still struggling with the wrapper of the popsicle. The two of you sat on the wooden bench, side by side as the other kids ran around the park, playing rounds of tag while their parents or babysitters sat watching over them. The sun was glaring down on the earth and though it was a great day to go out to play and sweat it out, it was also a perfect day to find an excuse to buy popsicles with what little pocket money your parents had given to you two. It wasn’t an opportunity to be missed.

“I really like racing. I don’t know if there’s anything else I’d want to be,” he said simply, grinning as he finally succeeded in breaking open the plastic.

You tried to hide the blush that was beginning to creep up to your cheeks, looking away from him.

“My mom says being a doctor is good.”

As soon as you said it, you immediately regretted your words. Jaehyun scrunched up his nose in disgust.

“No way! It’s so boring. Do you want to be a doctor?”

Quickly, you shook your head fervently. “No!”

“Then what do you want to be?” He asks curiously, sucking on his popsicle.

You are quiet for a while as you ponder over his question. What exactly do you want to be when you grow up?

“...A writer.” You said finally and he swiveled around to look at you, clearly not expecting your answer.

“A writer? Hm, why?”

“I just really like reading. I want to write interesting stories that people will like,” you take a tentative lick of your popsicle, the icy, sweet taste of apple flavouring coating your tongue, “Like fairytales!”

Jaehyun broods over your answer, seemingly deep in thought. For a moment, neither of you say another word as you sit together under the warm, sunny day, enjoying your popsicles.

“I want people to like me too.” He says suddenly, his eyes shining. “People will like my racing! I’m going to be a racer and people will like me to win!”

He hops to his feet, his popsicle raised as he made his declaration. There is a triumphant, toothy smile on his face and he says it with so much hope and gusto that you can’t help but feel drawn to his driven spirit. For a boy of five foot, there was a lot of motivation and energy in him and there was just something about him that got you transfixed.

Under the sunlight, his smile seemed almost blindingly bright with the shadows highlighting the charming dimples on those round cheeks. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy and your heart began to pound. Your words seemed stuck in your throat and you choked out, “I t-think you’ll make a good racer, J-Jaehyun.”

You thought your heart might burst as his smile grew wider, his dimples making deeper indentations. It felt like the sun might just be a little too hot since your face felt like it was positively flaming.

“Thank you, y/n.”

Suddenly, something caught your eye and shakily, you pointed at him.

His smile dropped as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“What?”

“Y-your popsicle is m-m-melting… down your a-arm.”

The elevator button made an uncharacteristic squeaking sound as Jaehyun jabbed repeatedly at it, his jaw clenched in impatience.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” he muttered frantically under his breath, pacing the lift lobby. The red letters above the elevator were moving at a snail’s pace and it seemed as if it’s stopped to pick up some passengers on the 5th floor. How long does it take for people to move into an elevator?

Jaehyun groaned in annoyance as he watched the number on the display crawl up slowly.

This wouldn’t do. By the time it’s here, it would be too late.

Immediately, he sprinted for the stairs instead, his heart hammering against his chest.

There was great fanfare as the rowdy crowd erupted into raucous cheers, the large, industrial sized party poppers going off with a bang, covering everyone in glitter streamers and confetti. Cameras were flashing and clicking away at every corner while throngs of sports reporters flooded the holding area, all trying to reach the champions for their coveted exclusive interviews. Agents and pit crews were all celebrating with the sound of champagne bottles popping and yells and cheers of congratulations ringing through the air.

Jaehyun stood at the top of the podium, shooting the cameras his trademark stunning grin as he posed with his golden trophy that looked to be about the size of his torso. The racing suit he was wearing was uncomfortably hot and he wanted nothing more than to strip from it but the adrenaline and euphoria he was experiencing far surpassed any feelings of discomfort.

This was it, the taste of success. It was everything he lived for, raced for. This was why he always trained so hard, from dawn to dusk. This was why he put his own body through all those hours of endurance training, gym and dieting. It was all for this single moment of true bliss enjoyed and savoured after the extreme thrill of racing. Here on the podium, towering above everyone else… He was truly where he needed to be, where he was born to be.

As he stepped off and the bodyguards swarmed in to escort him to his own holding room, Jaehyun couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Yet another trophy for display on his shelf back in his apartment. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it, the feeling of winning but then again who would?

Reporters were attempting to accost him at all sides, all screaming out the same old questions he had grown tired of early on.

“How do you feel after winning the prix for the third year running?”

“You hit a record timing today! How did you train for the race?”

“What do you have to say to your rival, Nakamoto who came in second this year? By a mere few seconds at that!”

Jaehyun nodded and waved at a few of them, still wearing a smile on his face but there was no answer evoked from him. He’d kept up a calm and cool demeanour throughout but once he was in his holding room alone, the moment the door closed shut behind him, he let out a loud, jubilant howl.

“Fuck yes!” He roared out in happiness before collapsing onto the couch, laughing to himself as he held his trophy above him. He badly needed a shower but he couldn’t care less, not with the trophy in his hands. Under the light, the gold shone and even as a seasoned racer, the excitement and happiness from winning never grew old. In the empty room, the victory felt even more profound, the reality of claiming the championships for yet another year sinking in.

He was in the middle of celebrating and basking in his own victory, he received a text.

Jy: how’s my man doing? congratulations on the win honey ❤️

Jae: thanks babe, it feels fucking amazing. you have no idea… also i missed you so much

Jy: we should celebrate. together, alone. tonight at my place? ;) we haven’t done it in awhile, i miss your body, your kisses

Jaehyun stared at the text. He should be happy, excited to see Jeongyeon again after so long. He had been so preoccupied with training for the big race that he’d barely had any time for her. He had missed her yet now that they were finally exchanging texts again after so long apart, he didn’t seem to feel the same anticipation.

There was something about that text she sent that seemed weirdly… detached. He had imagined their first interaction in over a month to be one that warmed him up in the inside, brought him to a whole new level of euphoria even after winning but if anything, this reality paled in comparison to the scenario he had looked forward to in his mind.

Jae: yeah sure

After pressing send, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and rested his head against the velvety cushion of the couch. Somehow, that very short exchange with Jeongyeon had dimmed his excitement and readiness to celebrate.

His phone suddenly rang, disrupting him from the reverie he’d found himself in.

“Must be Jeongyeon,” he thought to himself and for some reasons as he swiped to answer the call, he found himself reluctant to talk.

“Hello?”

“Jung Jaehyun! I was watching your race on television, congratulations for coming in first yet again! You were terrific out there.”

Y/n.

Jaehyun smiled, feeling his heart swell at your words.

“Thanks, y/n. I really appreciate it.”

“How about we meet for dinner tonight? I know of this amazing Italian place that serves the best lasagna, your favourite! My treat too to celebrate your win, how’s that?”

At the mention of lasagna, Jaehyun could feel his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering. The tangy tomato sauce, copious amounts of cheese and spiced minced beef with soft pasta… He would absolutely be down for some well-deserved lasagna after weeks of feasting on plain, watery salads. Dinner sounded like a great idea.

“Sure, I- Wait, I can’t,” he groaned, suddenly remembering his plans with Jeongyeon. Plans he didn’t even particularly look forward to.

“Why not?” You asked.

“I um…”

Fuck, why is it so hard to say it?

“I have plans with Jeongyeon tonight,” he said, ignoring the strange pang of guilt and indignation that hit him square in the chest.

“Oh! Oh, uh… That’s completely fine. Don’t worry about it, we can always have dinner some other day.”

“Really? That would be great! How does next week sound?”

“Sounds good to me!” Even on call, he could imagine you bobbing your head enthusiastically like you usually did and that brought a chuckle out of him.

“Alright, I’ll see you then y/n.”

“See you! Please rest well, you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he replied before hanging up.

What is this warm feeling in him?

Jaehyun raced out of the apartment complex, his eyes searching his surroundings.

The sun was glaring and he couldn’t see straight without squinting his eyes. He must have been a weird sight to behold - scruffy, pale from the lack of the outdoors and reeking of the garbage piled up in his apartment. An elderly woman walking past him tutted disapprovingly at his disheveled appearance, holding her nose as she did but Jaehyun didn’t seem to notice her. His mind was on something else, something more important.

A boy from across the street was staring at him with his mouth agape, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he shakily fumbled in his pockets for his phone. Jaehyun let his sights linger on him, wondering if he should have at least thrown on a coat but as he turned, he caught sight of a figure hanging by the bus stop, looking miserable.

He swallowed thickly, feeling the slight clench of his heart and without hesitating a single second longer, he made his way over.

The heart monitor’s methodical beating was driving him near insanity. If not that, then certainly the suffocating atmosphere of the hospital and the bandages wrapped tightly around almost every single inch of his body would. Not to mention the occasional undercover paparazzi who would try to inch their way into his ward.

Jaehyun stared up at the white ceilings, still as a plank. Every part of his body hurt to move, he couldn’t even turn his head without feeling a painful pounding in it. Sometimes, he would get dizzy spells so intense he actually felt nauseous. His appetite for food or anything in general had since plummeted. Everything, but racing.

He yearned to go out there onto the tracks, to resume his training. The Roman Prix is coming up in a month’s time and he was so far from ready. He needed to get out of this place as soon as possible, even if it meant jeopardising his own safety. His career mattered more than anything.

Jeongyeon hadn’t called either since the day he got admitted. Jaehyun had soon grown tired of checking his messages or asking his publicist for news from her, the feeling of disappointment felt deep within him. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him.

There was a gentle knock on the door and as the door creaked slightly open, you poked your head in. Upon seeing him, you smiled softly and made your way over to him. Jaehyun watched you approach, his eyes following you.

You had brought along a basket with you, seemingly full of items. As much as he wanted to know what you’d brought, he tried not to look overeager. “I made you something special today,” you said, settling down and practically vibrating with excitement.

“What?”

“Tomato minestrone soup!” You exclaimed, uncovering the lid as the tantalising aroma of tomatoes and a medley of vegetables drifted in the air. Jaehyun almost had to restrain himself from moving, lest he shift a bone out of place somewhere.

Somehow seeing you had sparked a certain kind of joy in him. Maybe it was a sign nobody had really forgotten about him yet. He had watched his number of visitors trickle down day by day and now that it was close to a month since he’d been hospitalised, after the tragic accident, he barely got any. Perhaps three or four a week if he was lucky.

You, however, you were different. You visited him almost every other day, no matter how busy you were. You visited his bedside even if you were worn out from a long day of work, even when you had things to attend to, even when no one else bothered to. You would bring along snacks whenever you did or homemade get-well food like fish porridge or chicken noodle soup you’d whipped up yourself, though they might be far from the usual gourmet fare he was used to back when he was still active when he would go for exquisite dinner parties. Usually, you stayed for a substantial amount of time and sometimes, you even stayed the night.

Jaehyun didn’t understand why you would do all of this for a friend, a friend who never seemed to have time to spare for you at that. More than anything, the feeling of guilt in him only grew stronger with each visit yet he was grateful, extremely grateful. Your presence was like a warm ray of sunshine in this dreary hospital ward. Whenever you visited, he couldn’t help but smile even though he could not find it in himself to smile. But when it came to you, it felt natural.

“Y/n!”

At the sound of Jaehyun’s voice, you turned and even from afar, he could see your reddened eyes - a surefire sign you’d been crying. Guilt and anger washed over him in waves and he tried not to think how many times he had been the cause of your tears. If only he could turn back time, he would have shook himself for ever dismissing you so lightly like he did, before he saw the situation for what it was.

He was blinded. Blinded by his obsession for winning, fame, glory and pleasing the wrong people. In a way, it felt like a fog had been lifted before him and now that he could see, think, feel clearly… He wasn’t going to let the right person out of his grasp. The person who loved him unconditionally, not just for his fame and achievements. The person who stuck with him through thick and thin but he was just too daft to notice it. The person who always felt like home whether he knew it or not.

You.

“Jaehyun? W-What are you…” You spluttered, desperately trying to wipe your tears from your face as you stared up at him.

It took a couple of seconds for him to regain his breath, his face turning red from embarrassment and exertion. He should really start leaving those beers and junk food alone.

“I…” He panted, both out of fatigue and relief, “We need to talk.”

“Jung is getting closer, any minute now Hendery!”

“I don’t believe this! Are we looking at a potential comeback for this prix? Push, push, push!”

“It seems like we might be! Here he comes! He is absolutely mad!”

The nascars zipped along the race tracks, smoke and some bits of burnt rubber and chipped metal trailing along its wake. They were a blur of colours to the spectators, who were practically glued to their seats as they watched the race reach its climax. A massive telescreen was displaying close ups and the ranking board with huge overhead lights that illuminated the stadium. The crowd was growing wilder by the second as the racecars zoomed past them, their attention fixed on one racer in particular.

The sleek nascar was streaked in royal blue and crimson red over a metallic black base, looking almost purple and black with how fast it was flying across the tracks. The wheels were spinning so fast that the friction between the tough rubber tire and the rough granite almost lit up the tracks. It was charging forward with a steely determination and ruthlessness, closing in rapidly on a green and white nascar ahead of it.

The adrenaline coursing Jaehyun’s veins was unlike any other. The thrill he got from racing could practically send him into an all time high and a cunning grin tugged at his lips as he stepped his foot down hard on the pedal, his hands gripping tightly onto his steering wheel. Rounding around a bend, he clenched his jaw as he pushed his body weight to the left, the muscles in his abdominals and biceps flexing and straining against his racing suit as the car drifted across the tracks in a perfect arc.

“Did you see that perfectly executed drift?! Insanity!”

“Jung is absolutely on fire!”

The thunderous cheers of the crowd and the loud hum of the race cars racing across the tracks faded into the background as he kept his eyes trained steadily forward. Any time now…

“Watch out, Nakamoto,” he whispered under his breath.

Steering his wheel sharply and accelerating much to the crowd’s excitement and trepidation, his race car was now driving side by side along Yuta’s. For a split second, the two turned to look at each other through the window and even though there was no way of seeing the other’s face through that helmet, something in Jaehyun told him that his rival was angered, shocked and… Fearful.

Jaehyun grinned beneath his helmet and without a second thought, he zipped forward, leaving Yuta behind in the smoke.

“He’s going for it, he’s going for it… Wait for it… And he crosses the line! The legend has reclaimed his spot on the top!”

“And that is how you execute one of the greatest comebacks of all time, ladies and gentlemen. Jung has done what we believed to be impossible and dominated the race! I wonder how Nakamoto feels about that?”

The other commentator chuckles into his microphone.

“Well Haechan, if I were him, I’d be pissed off for sure! But I’d also be worried… So very worried.”

The crowd was absolutely wild when he’d disembarked from the car and as he removed his helmet, he was greeted with camera flashes all around him. He shook his head, running a gloved hand over his hair and he took a deep breath. The air smelled of burnt rubber, smoke and… Success.

He had done it. He had made his comeback.

His pit crew made a beeline for him, slapping him on the back, their faces jubilant and lit with pure joy. His new manager, one that he trusted and helped him inch his way back to the top step by step, shot him a thumbs up which he nodded in acknowledgement as the crowd of sports journalists, reporters and photographers began to swarm in on him.

Yet, he paid them no attention. If this was three years ago, he would have basked in the glory, the attention but now he had greater concerns on his mind. His heart was pounding now for a different reason altogether and he could feel his hands growing clammy.

Jaehyun craned his neck and searched the rowdy media crowd. Where were you?

“Jaehyun!”

At your voice, he turned and immediately almost stumbled backwards as you crashed into him for a hug. The feelings of you against him sparked a joy in his heart, a joy almost greater than winning. He enveloped you in a hug, holding your waist as he nuzzled his face into your hair. Your scent of honey and jasmine was intoxicating, alluring and a welcomed change from the smell of smoke and rubble.

The two of you had been dating for about two years now, each day together better than the previous. After he’d caught up with you that day, it was as if you were seeing a different Jaehyun from the one you’d seen in his apartment. That Jaehyun who had caught up with you at the bus stop was the old Jaehyun you’d missed and it was as if a switch somewhere had been flipped. To this day, he had never admitted what changed while you were gone for those few minutes. He had subsequently apologised for everything he’d done, even things you didn’t see a problem with. It was shocking to say the least to see the unapologetic Jaehyun apologise for anything at all, but not more shocking than what entailed a few days later.

It started with a vase of luscious red roses being sent to your workplace followed by an invitation for dinner. Before you knew it, the boy you’d loved almost all your life was courting you with a passion. It felt like a complete dream, so much so you had been afraid to wake up suddenly and realise it was all just your imagination. He’d been more of a romantic than he’d let on and many times, you had found yourself completely smitten by his stunts that stretched from learning how to make homemade chocolates for you on Valentine’s Day knowing that you liked them, even though he was well known as a terrible cook to sending flowers up to your doorstep every other week.

Within a couple of months, the two of you were dating and deeply, wildly in love.

Amidst date nights filled with laughter and kisses, he had also been steadily climbing his way back up the ranks of the racing world. After ditching his unhealthy lifestyle he had been living for the past year, the change was apparent. He’d started hitting the gym, eating healthier and before long, he was in prime condition to start racing again. Training was long and tough but he never did give up. He was more determined and driven than you’d seen him and though the old Jaehyun would have been gutted at a loss, this new, better version of him never fussed over a loss of any kind, instead learning from his mistakes.

All of his efforts had led to this ultimate moment, the taste of victory on his lips.

You noticed he had been shifting uncomfortably and you looked up, puzzled and concerned.

“Jaehyun? You okay?”

He looked at you, his ears red, a sign that he was anxious, nervous.

“Jaehyun? What-”

Your words got stuck in your throat as he knelt down on one knee, the lights overhead bringing out the sparkle in his eyes and the shine in his hair. Those dark orbs were so full of hope, anxiety and love all intermingled in one and you found it difficult to believe that those eyes were looking at you directly, the emotions in them all for you.

Jaehyun withdrew a tiny, velvet box from his pocket and popped it open. In the box, was a tiny diamond ring, glittering and absolutely regal. The diamond itself was beautifully cut and interwoven into the metal band with microfibres of white gold and it simply shone as the camera flashes went off. The crowd was going bonkers, screaming and cheering with wolf whistles.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly, his voice gentle. “You have always been there for me, always been my better half. We have been friends for over a decade and lovers for merely two but it seemed as if we always were meant for each other. It took me so long to realise that and there is not a day I don’t regret not realising it sooner. You are my everything - my past, present and future. Falling in love with you was gradual, unconscious. I guess my heart knew you the one before I even did. It started with me being in a dark, dark place where I drowned in my own self-hatred and insecurities. I was beaten, defeated and I just gave up. Where everyone did the same, you never did. You were like a beam of shining light, shining upon me and guiding me even if I didn’t notice it at the time. But when I did, you glowed even more brightly than I’d envisioned. I’d been oblivious to your beauty both inside and outside for far too long and god knows how much I fucking regret it. I’m different now though, because of you. I am the best version of myself right now because I have you in my life. You taught me how to love, allow myself to be loved. There’s no universe whereby I’d want to be without you. I can’t see myself without you in my life. I need you, I love you.”

Tears were beginning to stream down your face and the stadium had grown quieter, all tuning into what was happening.

Jaehyun looked up at you, hopeful and so full of love that you thought your heart might burst.

“So I guess what I’m saying is, will you marry me, y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

[seijorhi]

I love your writing so much! Could you do something where reader gets amnesia and Hawks convinces her that he’s her husband? Thank you!

Of course I can! Hope you like it, bby!

Hawks x female Reader

TW amnesiac reader, dub con, kidnapping (kinda?), manipulation

Night Terrors

You jerk awake with a gasp.

The room is dark - it’s still early, and there’s an unfamiliar weight slung across you waist, a stranger cuddled up behind you-

No. Not a stranger, you remind yourself, but your husband. Hawks - Keigo, as he keeps telling you to call him. 

He stirs as you shove his arm off of you, pushing yourself up into a seated position and curling your arms around your knees. You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your breath ragged as your heart pounds trying to catch up. 

“Baby?” Keigo calls, his voice is heavy with sleep as he sits up and rubs his eyes, running a hand through his messy bedhead. “You okay? Another nightmare?”

You nod, wordlessly staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room as your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. It’s been like this every night since the accident, nightmares that plague your sleep. It’s the middle of the night and you’re running - driving through the pouring rain and there’s something chasing you, a shadowy figure that keeps getting closer and closer until you’re sure that it’s going to snatch you up and devour you whole-

But then you wake up, gasping for air like you can’t breathe and trembling like a leaf.

The Doctor said it’s a side effect of the crash, that it’s your brain’s subconscious attempt to make sense of what happened. Disconcerting, maybe, but nothing to be worried about. 

It’s not so much the dream itself that scares you, but the feelings it evokes - the terror that sinks its icy claws into you, the blind panic that slithers around your throat and squeezes until you’re choking on it.

You flinch as his hand comes down on your back, rubbing it soothingly as he scooches closer. “Hey, it’s just a dream. You’re okay, you’re safe here with me, you know that right?”

You nod, but it’s more out of habit than because you actually believe it. Hawks watches you with those golden eyes for a long moment before the corners of his lips twitch downwards into a frown and he sighs. Clearly, he’s not buying it. Gently, he lays his head against your shoulder, letting one of his wings wrap around your back and nudge you into his side.

“Talk to me, you know I can’t stand it when you shut me out,” he murmurs quietly.

A flash of guilt stabs at you. It’s not his fault that you can’t remember, that this whole thing feels alien and strange. He’s your husband, he loves you.

You take a deep, shaking breath and force yourself to relax against him. “I- the shadow, the one chasing me in the nightmares, it’s getting clearer every night. I think… I think I can almost see it.”

Hawks tenses, fingers curling around your chin so he can tilt your face to meet his gaze. “Y/N, you know what the Doctor said. Don’t force it. The memories might come back and they might not, but the dreams - they’re just that. We’re working on leads, actual leads. The Villain who did this to you, baby, we’re gonna catch them, I promise.”

A small part of you deflates, but you just nod once again. Keigo’s right. Of course he’s right, but you just can’t help yourself. You feel so inadequate, so useless.

You know it’s not your fault, but still.

Waking up in that hospital bed, your body wrapped in bandages, sensors and needles scattered across your skin with no memory of how you’d come to be there had been terrifying. And Hawks - Keigo - had been by your side the whole time, his hand wrapped snugly around yours. 

He’d tried to hide it, but the hurt, kicked puppy look in his eyes as you’d slowly pulled your hand back and innocently asked what the Pro Hero was doing in your hospital room wasn’t one that you’re going to be able to forget any time soon. 

Physically, you were okay - a few broken bones and some stitches, but that wasn’t the real damage dealt. Two whole years of your life - gone. Including the entirety of your relationship with the crimson winged Pro. A whirlwind romance, he’d called it, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he told the story of how the two of you met.

“We’re married?” you’d asked him shyly, staring at the pretty rock on your ring finger.

Hawks had smiled, probably the first real smile you’d seen since you’d woken up with half your memories missing. You had to admit, it was a good look for him. “Yeah. Six months now.” He’d given you a cavalier shrug, but his eyes were decidedly soft and affectionate when you glanced up, “When you know, you know I guess.”

You wouldn’t have blamed him if he left afterwards - none of this has been easy on him, especially with the threat of the unnamed Villain hanging over the both of you. Hawks is sure that the attack was an attempt to get at him, which is why he’s kept you at an isolated safe house a little ways out from the city. Nobody comes in or out, it’s just you and him.

But he’s assured you again and again, he’s not going to leave you anytime soon. On the bad days, the ones where you can’t seem to stop the frustrated tears that spill down your cheek, he’ll sweep you up into his arms and hold you until the sobs subside. 

He loves you - so, so much, but somehow that only makes things worse, because you don’t know how you’re supposed to deal with everything that comes with that.

One step at a time, according to Keigo.

It’s easy for him to say, but even though he tries to hide it from you, you know that with every touch you give, Hawks is left wanting more. He wants his wife back, and you’re still fighting not to blush when you feel his semi hard cock brush up against your ass when he comes up from behind to kiss you as you clean the dishes after dinner.

“I just,” you break off with a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to banish the nightmare from your thoughts. “I just want things to go back to normal.”

I want my memories back.

Hawks’ fingers stroke your arm and he hums thoughtfully, “No matter what happens, we’re gonna get through this together. I love you, m’not going anywhere.”

The words should bring some semblance of comfort, but there’s only a faint, lingering sense of unease that teases at your gut - maybe the bad dreams are affecting you more than you thought.

“C’mon baby, let's go back to sleep. We’ve still got a few more hours before I’ve gotta be up,” he whispers, placing a soft, feather light kiss against your neck.

But you shake your head absentmindedly. There’s no way on earth you can just fall back asleep now, not wired as you are.

Hawks pauses for a long moment before he shrugs and kisses you again, decidedly less chaste this time - and your heart leaps when his tongue suddenly darts out to lap at your skin. “No?” he asks quietly, pulling back so that you can see the hazy lust burning in those golden eyes of his as he smirks. “Well if sleep’s off the table, why don’t I try and find some other way to make my beautiful wife feel better?”

[apprentice-maliya]

soft and wounded and the night

pairing: asra/mali’ya cw: nightmares, amnesia word count: 3.4k song: solovey by go_a

In his dreams she’s always singing, though Mali’ya only hums.

I gathered the flowers, braided them into a wreath

She was facing him with her back in that memory, her attention to the sink while honey curls swayed gently under the green kerchief at every tilt of her head. 

She’d let hair down, he noticed. That was rare. Once, she’d told him it would always get in the way when she was working.

Her hands washed the dishes in circular motions, slow and careful not to let one slip. Alone in her thoughts, Mali’ya breathes out the songs of her childhood in soft whispers and Asra wonders, each time they meet there, in the empty boundary between memory and reality, how could he ever forget that silvery sound?

He had heard her talk in her native language before, when she wasn’t yet fluent in Vesuvian and the confusion in her mind came out of her lips with frustration and embarrassment; he remembered the words being harsh and intricate and mysterious when she spoke to her aunt, words that crashed one against the other and merged together in a way so foreign to him that Asra could never completely understand.

But when Mali’ya sang, nothing else mattered anymore. All things faded out, all worries and thoughts, all shapes and colours; washed away by songs she knew by heart. It was then, only then, that Venterrean forgot all about its hardness, maybe lost to the water running down the sink or still lingering in her mouth in words of unspoken terrors. 

Braided them into a wreath, the rue and the periwinkle flowers

Even after all that time, Asra could never really give a name to the feeling. He was sure, though, that there was nothing more enticing than the way Mali’ya’s voice would die out like candlelight.

After securing the last plate in the cupboard, Mali’ya turned to him with that indulgent smile of hers he so much loved. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” she asked with curiosity, thinking about the days he would overhear her from his booth on the other side of the backroom’s wall, her own bedroom at the time. “It’s not the loveliest song. Or language, even.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early

Shaking his head no, Asra mirrored her smile from the kitchen table where he was sitting. “Actually,” he replied, lips up in a playful smirk, “It’s very, very lovely, if you ask me.”

Happiness was bright in the curve of her mouth as Mali’ya approached him, jade eyes dissolving for a moment into a line of thin golden lashes, pressed down in disagreement under her furrowed brows. He couldn’t help it. Instinctively, perhaps a bit too eagerly (but who was he to deny her?), the moment she made way between his parted legs to get closer and her hands ran up to cup his face, Asra leaned in to meet her touch.

Oh, how he’d missed this. The gentle palms, and the smallest hint of calluses on her fingertips; her thighs, too, which he held on to steadily, still so soft and welcoming as he remembered them. The scent of her freckled skin, something faintly floral, embracing him from every angle like a protection charm.

Carding her fingers through his hair in a way that it would give her free access, Mali’ya bent down to lay a kiss on his forehead. Her lips lingered there for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, and Asra tilted his head up to welcome what would come next.

So Mali’ya kissed him with no hesitation, her lips on his and his heart on a sleeve, the beats loud and attuned to hers, to the song her aura let out when their souls would meet.

It felt so right, it always did. It was the place to be. Always, forever, as long their bodies would last before turning to dust.

She smiled into the kiss and slowly began to pull away, while the smell of rain gathered gently around them. It was the same as when she enchanted her chamomile tea before going to bed, Asra recalled, hoping that the memories wouldn’t come back to devour her in her sleep; the same as when she found out about the kids, and healed the wounds on their knees with a simple ghosting of her fingertips. It was the smell of storms and worry, but she always looked hopeful when it rained.

I’ll stop soon, and you’ll be able to play outside again, she would tell Luz.

Asra wraps his arms around her. The song echoes,

My heart can’t feel good about this

Don’t go. Don’t go.

“Asra,” Mali’ya called, tender as ever. Any tinge of joy in her voice was gone already; and although she was trying to sound serene, and he couldn’t see the sadness in her eyes, he just knew it was there. He had learnt everything about her during the time they’d spent together; every gesture, every change in her behaviour when she would push aside what she truly wanted. And Asra knew this was for his sake alone, too. He’d been foolish to hope things could change; as if nothing could ever change, at last in his memories.

So he kept quiet.

Her hands were still caressing his nape when Mali’ya spoke again. “You have to wake up, love,” she murmured, returning his hug just as urgently.

She rarely called him that, Asra thought. Because she had grown up believing love was to be found in the little things, those unnoticeable acts of service towards the ones she cherished, Mali’ya had never been one for pet names or clamorous displays of affection. She would rather trust, offer, provide; pour her heart into everything she touched.

Love.

Four silly letters for one silly word. Asra still remembered a time before her in which it was just a meaningless concept he and Muriel did not dare to share with the world. But when she called him that, she made it sound like the poets had been right all along.

“You know you can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” He sounds like a whiny brat, of that much he’s aware. He holds her closer. Can’t they just go back to being kids? Can’t he make it right once and for all, can’t he make up for what he had destroyed with his own selfishness? Mali’ya squeezes her arms around him one last time.

In the distance, someone sings a song of longing and fear.

“Take care, love,” is her parting whisper.

Then Asra blinked and she was gone again, like smoke, bringing any trace of sunlight away with her. It was as if she’d never been there. As if he’d abandoned her once more. Shut her out. The one that had tiptoed so gently into his world, cradled his heart and soul in her hands asking nothing in return. She, Mali’ya, who was made of chopped roots and timid branches and radiated so much warmth he could drown in it. He’d taken her for granted from day one, apparently, because there was never a time in which she’d beg him to stay.

As though all strength had been drained from him, Asra leaned in on the table as the room dissolved around him, arms covering his face and fingers gripping his hair in a punishing hold because you killed her, Asra. You killed her and she’s never coming back. Never. And it’s all your fault.

It gets cold in the nightmare. The wind howls, scentless and cold, and this time the whiffs don’t carry any songs with them. Asra stays still. There are no tears he can cry; he dried them all a long ago, digging his hands until they bled on the black shores of the Lazaret.

If it hadn’t been for you, Mali’ya would still be alive. Breathing.

It took him but a second to put a face to the voice echoing in the void of his mind. It wasn’t like anything he had heard before, because now Mrs Heralia sounds angry, and disappointed, and her thick accent makes way among the words like it’s meant to stab him through his heart. And she would have all the reasons to do so.

Why did you leave, Asra? Why did you leave my niece alone? You promised you’d take care of her on my behalf. I entrusted her to you. Tell me, do you have any idea of what she must have gone through while you were away, warm and healthy and very much alive? Do you, Asra?

The voice was growing louder in his ears. Asra felt like his head was about to explode, but it was a blessing that his teacher wasn’t real, not physically there to make him stare into her soul and force him see all the hurt he’d caused to her only niece— The same he saw in his eyes every time he looked at himself in the mirror, a pretty wicked thing worn out by selfishness and anguish.

“I— I never wanted to— I thought she would—”

That she would come after you when you left? Oh, but do you know why she didn’t? Can’t you possibly imagine why she stayed?

Heralia let out a sigh, low and disappointed. Sharp. Asra could tell she was aiming for her killing blow.

Has she ever meant something to you more than a shadow that would follow you everywhere and console you in the dark?

Water gathered in Asra’s throat, setting it aflame as an apology fought its way out. He jumped up, forgetting about the chair he was sitting on; which, without making a single sound, fell quickly into the darkness rising at the edge of his consciousness.

No, he meant to tell his teacher. A last defence against the hatred dripping from her chin. She was more than that, so much more. But a choked sob came out instead, before another followed, and another, and another...

Suddenly he feels like a child again, out in the cold. Alone. Mrs Heralia has vanished, too, and in the wide, scary unknown around him that’s slowly drifting from pitch-black to candid shades of white, Asra feels it; death’s touch like ragged paper on his skin, passing him by, so his lungs are full of air again and his heart pumps louder in his chest. It could be heaven, just floating around aimlessly in pure light.

The first thing he hears is the familiar sound of cutlery clinking before him.

Asra opened his eyes, waking up to the small kitchenette on the shop’s first floor. Nothing had changed a bit since he came back from… Well, he couldn’t really remember. But small bouquets of dried herbs still hung above the stove, where the salamander was sleeping soundly, and familiar, colourful jars filled the cramped shelves.

Then he hears her. She’s singing, of course she is. She’s calling him back to her. And she must’ve been so close he thinks, maybe climbing up the stairs or folding some clothes in the other room, because her voice was all around him and he would have looked for her everywhere if only the kitchen hadn’t started spinning like crazy, merging colours and shapes and taking his breath away in heavy gasps—

In the end, like always, the dream takes over the memory too quickly to linger anymore. So Asra gives up. There’s no hope to win against his guilt, to pacify it once and for all. And he’s so tired. Tired of wishing for her to remember him. Or what they had. Her past, their past, the days spent together climbing trees and learning magic and holding hands. He’s tired of trying. 

Asra falls in the cold, again, curled up in the white nothingness around him. 

Take care, love.

That voice again. Just now, someone was calling out to him in the distance. But who? And from… where…?

All of sudden, memory and sleep parted from him. The cold, too, had disappeared. There was something warm and delicate holding his face, though he couldn’t tell what. It was soft and a bit rough around the edges, shaped like it was meant to be cradling him, and strangely enough, the air smelled like damp soil after a long night’s rain. His body felt heavier than before as well, out of his dream-like state, while his lungs still struggled to catch up with his frantic pants.

“Master? Can you hear me? I’m here, Master. You’re safe— Please, please wake up.”

A hand, that was it, carded through his bangs, pushing them aside so that his forehead could freshen up. As a matter of fact, he did feel a bit hot. Asra slowly cracked his eyes open to take in his surroundings.

He was in their bedroom. It was probably late night, or maybe early enough for the sun to rise. Not like he could tell. Fireflies swirled silently around him—no, not fireflies, but tiny spheres of light. Gentle hands cupped his face, thumbs slowly stroking his cheekbones.

A few inches above him, Mali’ya let out a long, relieved sigh. She was kneeling on the floor, probably feeling a little sore by now, nonetheless she smiled reassuringly in his direction. Her braids were messy, Asra noticed. A few golden strands curled on her cheeks, framing her eyes. How could anyone be so beautiful?

“It’s okay,” she murmured, a bit startled the moment their eyes interlocked. Asra couldn’t really see it, his vision hazy from the dream, but he knew of the hint of a blush that was about to spread on her face at the sudden realisation of their close, if intimate, proximity. Despite that, she didn’t pull away. If anything, Mali’ya’s aura grew warmer. “It was just a nightmare.”

Asra propped himself up on one elbow, but regretted it immediately. To leave him more space to move and stretch, her hands intertwined on her lap.

“’M sorry I woke you,” he blurted out, still fighting the remnants of sleep.

Mali’ya shook her head as to shush him, lips still up in the gentlest smile. “Don’t say that,” she coaxed him, but then she stopped, unsure, fidgety fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown. “Is there anything I can do? Like…”

Staring at her with an expectant look, Asra felt his heart flutter. He couldn’t help it, not with her being so thoughtful and sweet in her shyness.

“Like a cup of tea. Or I can brew you some chamomile, if you want, or...” Jade eyes pierced right through him like arrows from Cupid’s quiver, soft and sincere and always, always agonizing to stare into. “Would you like… a hug?” 

Asra sat up, fully awake now, smiling teasingly as he raised an eyebrow. “A hug. You sure make it sound important, do you?”

“You always hug me when I have nightmares,” Mali’ya replied, not taking any of his playful tone, although the red deepening on her cheeks said a lot about the embarrassment coming from his remark. “Fine,” she sighed, stumbling back up to walk to the kitchenette. “The tea will do.”

Asra chuckled. She’d never been comfortable with displays of affection, had she? Even before this whole mess it had taken her a while to step out her bubble and hold his hand just because, or kiss him on a whim, let alone anything like listening to her body when the words would fail them. And Asra had been happy, oh, so happy to witness the rewarding growth of her blooming confidence.

When he stepped into the small kitchen, Mali’ya was already crouched down beside the stove. She was saying something in a quiet whisper, looking apologetic, and a moment later she got up to pick a flower from the ones he’d brought her from the forest a couple of days ago, for her to dry. She knelt down again, offering a wild amaryllis to the salamander, and beamed.

“Thanks. And sorry for troubling you, little one.”

“He must have a soft spot for you,” Asra pointed out as he sat at the table. “I never seem to bribe him right.”

Mali’ya let out a small laugh, adjusting the teapot on the stove. “Oh, it’s not hard to please him. After all, everybody wants to be pampered once in a while.”

Resting his chin on the inside of his hand, Asra hummed quietly. “So do I get to be pampered, too?”

There is a thin line between this and mere selfishness, he thinks, but his heart speaks before his mind can catch up and properly elaborate his thoughts.

“Will you sing for me?”

Abruptly, Mali’ya stopped in her tracks, her hand coming down from the shelf where their cups rested. She didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t think of any songs.”

I’m sorry I can’t remember.

Asra felt his heart sink in his chest. “No, it’s—”

“Do you… do you have any suggestions? They say you can make a song out of anything.”

She still wasn’t looking at him, now busying herself with the steam rising from the pot, but the resolve in her voice was strong as ever. From the moment she’d first woken up from her slumber, Mali’ya had made so much progress; she was curious, determined to learn and catch up to normalcy, and stopped at nothing. There was always a way with her. She’d always been like that.

“Master?” she called out to him, their mugs in hand, and Asra quickly snapped back to reality.

“You remember the song,” he started, carefully threading each word so as not to prompt one of her devastating headaches. “That I would sing to you when you couldn’t sleep? It’s been a while, though, you probably—”

“The one about the lovers and the nightingale. Yes,” Mali’ya cut in, gently pouring the tea in his cup before filling hers. She nodded, then handed him the honey jar. “I remember that.” A small smile that barely revealed her dimples curved up her lips as she blew on the infusion. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“Ah,” Asra said. Was it just a coincidence? That she liked the same song she once used to love? His attention returned to the mug before him. “Is it?”

“Of course. You said you heard it from a traveller, right?”

“Something like that.”

Mali’ya looked down, pondering something. A tea leaf floated in the greenish drink in her hands, its corners burned by the hot water it had been thrown into. She tentatively took a sip. “Were they native? From—where does the song come from?”

“Venterre. I translated it,” Asra explained, though it wasn’t exactly how things had gone. There had once been a time in which he had been the one asking her to share the secrets of her mother tongue. A request Mali’ya couldn’t refuse him, no matter the difficulty of those foreign sounds. “And yes, they grew up there... but left at a young age.”

Mali’ya closed her eyes for a moment, lost in thought. Hadn’t she been smiling in the while, Asra would’ve thought he’d said too much. So he did the same. “Something’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering, what does Venterrean sound like? I’ve never heard anybody speak it,” she confessed with a shrug, and took another sip from her cup. “Though I suppose it’s not the loveliest language.”

“It’s actually very, very lovely,” Asra replied.

Beyond the curtains the sun began to rise, idly bathing the kitchenette in its warm and golden light. Mali’ya still pondered something, chin on her palm as she looked over the window. And just like the first time they’d met, two strangers in the Market District fighting for their lives in their own way, Asra couldn’t stop looking at her as she glowed before his eyes, ethereal and strong and beautiful in the fiery red of dawn.

With a quick motion of his fingers he pinched the tip of her nose, causing Mali’ya to snap out of her train of thoughts. “I can teach you some words, if you so wish,” he suggested before taking a long sip, and lowering his gaze. “Although I must tell you, it’s not the easiest language either. It might take some time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mali’ya shook her head, a smile carefully concealed between her lips. “We have plenty.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early My heart can’t feel good about this Nightingale, nightingale, what do I do now? I came to love him once—and cannot forget him.

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    It starts as it will end: in darkness.

    Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

    Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

    “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

    “You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

    “I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

    “Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

    More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

    The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

    Is it?

    “You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

    “I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

    “This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

    “No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

    “What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

    “Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

    Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

    Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

    If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

    “A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

    “Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

    “He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

    If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

    “Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

    The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

    “Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

    “Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

    “The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

    “The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

    “And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

    Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

    Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

    “Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

    “Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

    “No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

    Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

    “How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

    “Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

    Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

    “Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

    The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

    “Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

    “You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

    “Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

    “Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

    Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

    There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

    Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

    A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

    Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

    Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

    “What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

    “There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

    “I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

    “You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

    “I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

    “And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

    But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

    Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

    “Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

    “Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

    A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

    “Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

    “Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

    Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

    “I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

    There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

    “Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

    “Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

    Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

    “They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

    “Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

    Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

    “I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

    “Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

    “You think someone would give away their comrades’ position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

    She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

    Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

    “Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

    “I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

    “Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

    “Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

    “And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

    Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

    “They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

    “Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

    You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

    “I’m what?”

    “Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

    The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

    “You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

    “I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

    He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

    “I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

    Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

    Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

    “That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

    “Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

    You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

    “So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

    “I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

    Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

    Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

    And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

    The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

    That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

    You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

    She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

    Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

    Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

[shadowstalker732]

ALRIGHT LETS GIVE THIS POSTING THING A GO

MY REVAN TIME (one of them at least)

Also spoiler warning a guess for a game over a decade old? (Am I meant to say spoiler warning? Who knows not me)

(Please don’t yell at me about stats I do what I want)

Anyway first playthrough where I don’t stop and hard restart Tarris or Dantooine 13 times because choice reasons and me forgetting that stealth is useless and just letting the game auto level for me (learnt that the hard way), I’ve basically done Tatooine but I haven’t beaten the dragon yet cos I wanted to bugger off to another planet first and chose Kashyyyk. And I’m down in the shadow lands now (do not worry Zaalbar I WILL GET YOU BACK) and yeah that’s where I’m at.

ANYWAY, Shay or Shar Stalker (because the game won’t let me do non-binary) is a light side Revan. Good of heart dumb of ass and yet will still rob you dry if you place bets on a strategy game against them. Height wise around the 1.6m mark (5′3″ for the Americans). Prefers the double lightsaber look (currently got a short green one and a normal blue one for amnesia version). Not a flirt but definitely had something going on with my Exile in the past but that ended in the Mando war at some point… teenagers in war don’t usually do well mentally wise.. back story and post events of Kotor under the cut (also warning it’s long, like super long, and goes into their future story? As well)

SO BACKSTORY,

Shar got some Mando blood floating in their veins from some ancestor and that causes them to go full buir sometimes hence why Mission, Zaalbar, HK-47, T3-M4 and Juhani get bed time stores aboard the Ebon Hawk and chocolate space milk whenever they stop (Rev gets some too because who doesn’t love some good old Choccy milk), droid duo get cleaned basically daily while Bastila gets the bird for even thinking that this is a waste of time and resources.

Wait I said backstory… TEMPLE LIFE!

Rascal trio with Exile and Alek at their heels. All three, good of heart dumb of ass. Shar was a prodigy and excelled in basically all Jedi subjects at the time, was pretty popular with most people and just a nice person who didn’t stand for bullshit. Got into a few “heated” (honestly that’s an understatement) arguments with council members about how some things in the galaxy were handled but mostly had a positive response from people. At this time their main saber was purple and their off hand a short cyan. Joined the Republic in the Mandalorian wars a few months before their 17′th birthday. Didn’t not return to the Temple once after leaving for war.

The War 

(I should mention I get most of my knowledge from wiki skims (not deep reads) and other Tumblr posts so if it’s off canon… it’s my story and Star Wars is my sand box so I MAKE THE RULES HERE BABY!)

After many battles and the relationship between the battle trio growing stronger with time it was also weakening. At one point Shar and Exile had a romantic relationship going but only kept that going for a few months, they both decided that this was not the time to be doing this and if they both survived would actually give the lovers thing a shot (doesn’t happen). Throughout the war all three realise that they must make sacrifices to stop the war, the old saying “sacrifice one to save the many” is said often between the three at first before it becomes second nature. During one of the battles Shar’s cyan lightsaber is completely destroyed including the crystal being completely shattered. After taking the mantle of the Revanchist only uses the name Revan and never removes the helmet unless it’s only the trio and only then will respond to their old names. All three are slipping mentally in this war but have all managed to hold onto the Light side by trusting each other. After the mass shadow generator event Revan looses all contact with Exile (force and otherwise) and assumes death, despite it being Revan’s own order it’s a major pushing point towards the dark.

The End of the War

Revan faces off against Mandalore the Ultimate and slays him, in his dying breathe speaks of the Sith Empire growing in the Unknown Regions and how this war wasn’t only about giving the Mandalorian’s a good fight but also to weaken the republic for Ultimates Empire allies. Not many Mandalorians knew of the Sith truth behind the war and just followed their Mandalor’s word that this war would bring them the honour of a good fight, and it did in a way. After Revan learns of the empire growing hidden amongst uncharted routes, knew that the council would never believe them and so took matters into their own hands. Taking a fleet and insisting it was to chase down the last of the Mandalorian high command, Revan left for the unknown regions.

The Unknown 

Yeah everything went to shit. Rev and Alek get captured and Sith tortured and kind probed by old man Sith Emperor but in that time Revan gains acute knowledge via reverse mind prob, of how the Sith empire is running, where resources are coming from and key weak points. During this time Alek falls completely and Revan fains it for now. Torture continues for a good while until Revan makes the choice that they have been making all through out the war “sacrifice one to save the many”… Revan embraces the dark side and makes a plan, a plan to empower the known galaxy enough to destroy the “true” Sith empire by uniting it as their own Sith empire. Revan knows light will always rise to face the dark and that the light side is strong, someone will rise to take them down after the “true” Sith empire is defeated and only in death will Revan have fulfilled their promise to the unknown Mandalorian and finally be able to be one with the force. Revan embraces the dark fast and is soon sent off by the Sith emperor who thinks Revan is under his control to take control of the star forge and start building the Sith army in the known galaxy, Revan assumes command with now Malek as their right hand.

Beginning of Darth Revan

Basically what is described in the first Kotor game, Darth Duo go find star maps, get to forge, start fucking up the galaxy yadeyadeya. Malek pulls a sick move and fucks up Revan’s plan to stop the Sith Emperor and boom Amnesia time baby. Oh also during Sith times used a red and their old purple lightsaber but when they got captured by Bastila both lightsaber’s goy yoinked and locked up on Coruscant for simple reasons. 

No Memory Time Baby

Council is smart as fuck and call them Shay Stalker AKA their old name to see if that will reawaken light memories or thoughts in Revan and basically try and nudge amnesia Rev to stay lightside cos they don’t want to see their lost padawan fall back to the dark, (Jedi are a complicated subject), also ONLY SHAY no mention of their other name Shar at all! So that will cause problems later for poor Rev when they start remembering things :), basically the game from here on. Memories of a calm life on a farming planet before joining the military, lost both their siblings (AKA Alek and Exile) while away on service. Joined to stop the Sith from taking any more innocent lives. Throughout the game Shay try’s to help as many people as they can and choose the option that will benefit good and innocent people, constantly says fuck to corporations and nasty people, is not afraid to kill a bitch. As I haven’t completed the game fully (but I am planing a lightside finish and I’m not exactly sure when the “I am Revan” bit comes in I’m gonna leave this as it is. Oh and blue main saber and a short green saber with a crystal they managed to purify (AKA was red but returned to its natural colour through meditation and force cleansing, also helped by Bastila)

Memories

Like I said I haven’t finished the game yet BUT after the whole “oh fuck oh stars IM REVAN?????” Lots of shit starts to make sense and the force “spell” (I’m gonna call it spell) that repressed Revan’s memories had already begun to weaken somewhat before this point but this kinda opens the flood gates but not too far just enough for it to not make any sense at all. Team is there for Rev and the game finishes lightside. (Also I know I said this rev not gonna romance but this is post game stuff now and I just don’t wanna romance Bastila in game so yeah) ANYWAY, Revan and Bastila build a healthy relationship together and Revan starts to regain a lot of memories that their friends help them through. Revan remembers why they took the name Revan and actually goes to Coruscant to the high council to explain why they put on the helmet in the first place and the Council adheres to Revan’s request and returns the original helmet. The Star forged one stays in storage for now. Revan also requests their old armour and lightsabers to help regain memories as to why they fell, the council is hesitant at this request and only allows Revan to meditate with their old things at the main temple with a council member present. Over one or two years a lot comes back but there is still a few key dates, names, moments and details missing. Oh and Revan uses force powers to make Bastila preggers. IF BOBA FETT CAN SURVIVE A SARLAC AND PALPATINE CAN EXIST IN THE SEQUELS. REVAN CAN PULL FORCE BULLSHIT TOO!

The Unknown part 2: Electric boogaloo 

Revan finally remembers what made them go dark and realises they fucked up their own plans pretty bad and the Republic IS WORSE OFF THAN HOW IT STARTED COS OPPS REVAN ACCIDENTALLY KILLED A SHIT TON OF FORCE USERS LIGHT AND DARK SO yeah. Bastila was holding the brain cell of the force bond in this moment and Revan decides the best course of action is to go face the Emperor alone… fucking brilliant Revan how the fuck did you win the Mandalorian wars again my good sir? Revan tells Bastila that they (Rev) has been assigned a mission to infiltrate the remanence of Revan’s old Sith Empire and basically destroy it from within and that this mission is basically so hush hush that Bastila isn’t meant to know but Revan thought it only fair to say that they would be gone for potentially a long time for this mission and Bastila, unaware that this would be the last time she saw them, accepted this goodbye and hoped they would return before their baby was born. But Revan has always been a good lier… even to themselves. Without anymore fuss they left the Known Galaxy leaving all their friends and family behind never to be seen again to face off against the bitch that started it all. (I haven’t read the novels or played the SWTOR game and never plan to do either so again I say this is wiki knowledge that I’m doing what ever I please with that knowledge because Star Wars is a sand pit and I’m the kindy kid that’s decided to sit and play with it today)

Mmmmm Watcha SaaaaaaaAy

Revan gets their ass handed to them and imprisoned for three hundred years and tortured and mind probed AGAIN. Also cut off their connections to any other force user to ensure old dude couldn’t get to them as well. Absolutely not having a good time here. After the 300 years of PAIN the force within Revan gets so fucked up that their physicality splits into two entirely separate beings, Dark Revan and Light Revan. When this happens the prison breaks and Light Revan makes their escape and gets out barely alive while Dark Revan hangs back and swears allegiance to Sith Empire and starts plotting to overthrow old dude cos Sith. Light Revan makes it back to the council and they heal them and have a very hard time believing they are Revan until Revan perfectly describes a gift they gave Bastila before they left that now a descendent of Revan now owns. The council doesn’t understand how Revan split into two entire different beings but accept “the force acts in mysterious ways at times”. Revan is FINALLY given knighthood and helps prepare the republic for the Sith Empire that hasn’t attacked yet but definitely will soon. And this is where Tarre comes in.

Mando Time Yeah!

My Tarre will get his own beefy post (def not as big as this one) maybe tomorrow or the next day so for now it’s just what Tarre does and means to Revan. ANYWHO, Tarre becomes Light Revan’s padawan. (I should mention that Light Revan despite being called Light Revan is leaning towards a grey area within the force but isn’t down right evil like dark Revan is. Dark Revan is killing puppies of an endangered species cos their bored evil). Tarre is Revan’s padawan and becomes a knight. Revan enjoys teaching Tarre about the force and understanding how Tarre was brought up a Mandalorian and with the peace between Jedi and Mandalorian’s at this point was welcomed into the Jedi temple later than most. Revan raises Tarre like he is their own son/little brother and they form an extremely powerful force bond because of it. I’ll go in depth on Tarre’s post but Tarre still gets Mando training for 4 months of the year but the jedi training is the rest of the year. Revan joins Tarre when he return to Mandalore to continue his Mando training and learns more about Mandalorian history and culture while there. While on Mandanlore Light Revan truely feels relaxed for once despite random Mando’s sometimes jumping out and challenging them to fights because apparently Revan is now a ghost story and a feared mighty warrior legend and when anyone finds out that Revan is “alive” immediately tries to prove that they are stronger than Revan (which they are not). A few years after Tarre is knighted the war with the True Sith Empire begins.

I don’t know what to call this bit sooooo UWU

Battles, fights, old shit, it’s a war. Revan proves to be supper fucking useful in leadership but doesn’t do as much “sacrifice one to save the many” moves anymore. Revan keeps predicting what the Sith are gonna do an THATS cos Dark Revan is leading the, and Revan knows Revan best but not the reverse. Light Revan knows how Dark Revan will act but Dark Revan doesn’t know how Light Revan will act since Light Revan technically includes Shay/Shar, Mandalorian War Revan, Amnesiac Shay, and post Amnesia. While Dark Revan is only really Darth Revan and post Amnesia so Light Revan technically outweighs Dark Revan. I’ve probably butchered that explanation or done it too late but that’s how it’s gonna be cos it’s midnight and I wanna finish this and post it today. ANYWAY, final battle between the Revan’s. They have a massive duel on the battle field and eventually Light Revan strikes Dark Revan down but also receives some pretty nasty injuries. Light Revan understands the need to be whole again and as Dark Revan “dies” reunites with that half of the force and Revan returns but Revan is so done, so fucking done with living and trying and they had a good run and now they have what was Dark Revan’s and Light Revan’s injuries all on one body and sure if Rev really tried they could probably suck the life force out of some Sith warriors to keep themselves alive but… they just don’t want to. Eventually Tarre finds the fallen Revan reunited at last and stays by their side as Revan finally lets go and becomes one with the force. After the battle Tarre brings Revan’s body back to the Temple to be burnt as Revan had requested but their armour, lightsabers, and other possessions would be taken to a place only Tarre knew of to be sealed away until a far descendent of Revan’s comes along to claim them as their own. The war isn’t over and Revan’s passing only fuels Tarre further into defeating the Sith empire that the republic eventually does after 20 years of war. 

Conclusion 

And that’s the overall story of this Revan, I know very long, very deep, wtf this is your second post after a what? 1 year break? Actually let me check… yeah nope about a year has passed since my Crash post. If you have made it this far thanks for reading my first ever “decent” post about something I’ve been developing for a while now in bits and pieces. Sorry it was so long but then again I did miss a lot of shit. If you want to interact and ask more questions about this Revan go ahead my ask box is open (don’t be weird tho and just cos I post long doesn’t mean you have to ask long unless it’s legit). I’ll try and get the Tarre post out tomorrow around this time too or earlier depends. Thanks again for taking the time to read my word vomit. Also sorry if there are any spelling mistakes I have missed.

Have a good one!

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: slight mentions of amnesia and returning memories

Word Count: 1.5+k

Author's Note: the story's a bit changed now and as you might notice, I deleted the third, fourth and fifth chapter, because I plan on adding more things into the story line that are behind their events. I hope it doesn't bother you, guys, but I promise there won't be anymore changing. Fingers crossed.

Wattpad link: here

story masterlist - main masterlist

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Chapter 3: The Art of War

You both decide that the best course of action is to take advantage of the daylight and get to work on fortifying your base with items you'd found beforehand. Nick proves to be lot of help as you dance around each other in sync and ask for assistance whenever it's needed. You didn't think that you'd be working as a unit even after knowing each other for barely twenty-four hours. The chemistry between you is uncommonly good, but it might be because of the events of last night.

You sometimes bump the other's arm, but Nick has an exceptional number of questions and requests thrown your way every time it happens.

Though, one of his requests seems unusual.

“Hey, mind handing me the paint brush from the shelf?”

Your gaze shifts from his figure and the aforementioned item quizzically, wondering what he'd need it for. Although your confusion seeks answers to your silent question, you slowly move towards the shelf, not daring to turn your back towards him as the neutral and almost bored look his face sports tells you he has something mischievous on his mind. Or strange.

The feel of the brush is surprisingly very familiar in your hand, light as a feather. It's as if it was speaking to you, tempting you. Foggy memories buzz around your mind space and as a spark flies through your head, you grimace uncomfortably. Nick gives you a worrying glance, but doesn't approach you further. Nor does he speak to you since he can see the slight pain going across your features.

With a noticeable shake of your head, you push the thought away, opting to focus on the matter at hand, “What exactly is it that you want to do with a brush that serves for painting the walls?”

“I was thinking–“

“That's dangerous for you,” you interrupt, “don't want your brain to fry, do we?”

“As I was saying, I was thinking,” he playfully glares at you, “that we could paint few signs with threats to ward the intruders off.”

“Nick–“

“Hold that thought,” he advances towards you with a grin, waving his hands to help himself articulate his plan better, “I know it sounds stupid, which I don't think it does, but let's go with that, you gotta trust me. How many people would decorate their outer walls with childish signs that warn them?”

“Exactly–“

“Nah-uh! It does sound dumb when I say it like that, but it's worth a shot, ain't it?”

You sigh loudly and, with the acceptance of loss, hand him the tool. He squeals a small 'yes!' in victory and pumps his fist into the air, doing a little dance. You huff out a laugh, finding the situation funny despite him asking for a small and unimportant thing.

“Indeed. Truly a child at the heart, aren't you?”

“I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

With his small victorious moment over, he bounds from your view and you can hear the ruckus of pans and pots banging in seconds, only imagining the man-child ransacking the whole kitchen for who-knows-what. You return to your assigned job and wait for him to come back, opting to busy yourself with work as he searches for what he supposedly needs for his plan.

• • •

After what feels like an hour, Nick returns with buckets of various colours. Three hanging of each arm as he stabilizes his body to prevent the disaster in the form of bright pink, purple and red along with their neon variables. He motions towards the buckets with his head, prompting you to help him get them down. You cross your arms across your chest, sassily pointing to the sofa you've moved to the corner of the room, “You can put it there, can't you?”

“Oh, damn. That's what I get for helping you?”

You roll your eyes, but go slip the heavy containers off of his arms, carefully putting them on their respective spots on the ground near the wooden boards, “Where did you even find these, Nick?”

He puts his finger to his mouth, shushing you in the process, “A magician never reveals his secret, does he now?”

“You're not a magician, dude.”

“Let a poor guy dream, will you?”

Rather than answering his rhetorical question, you squat down before flopping onto the floor on your bottom, beckoning him to do the same. Nick follows, unhooking another brush from his belt hoops and presents it to you with the handle pointing towards you.

“Why thank you for this beautiful stuff I can wield with exceptional power,” you take the tool from him and instantly bend forward to tap both his shoulders with the bristles, “I now pronounce you as the Majesty's guard.”

“Who's the child now?”

“Still not me,” you press the handle to your sternum proudly, mischief flashing across your eyes, “We better start painting or we'll never get anything done. How exactly do you imagine the finished product to look?”

“I don't know,” he shrugs, “Improvise.”

“The instructions I, oh so, craved,” you shake your head, dipping the brush into the bright red absentmindedly. Nick slides one board over to you and you apply the first stroke, paint gliding across the surface smoothly.

The same faint memory flickers in your mind.

This one is clearer and you can even distinguish an image forming.

Confusion etches onto your face unknowingly to you, but the man across you catches onto your expression when he lifts his head. His eyes observe your own clouded orbs and he gently sets his brush on the floor, cocking an eyebrow as yours furrow together. He watches for any signs of you returning back to the present despite him not knowing what's going through your head.

He'd very much like to know, but of course, he'll wait until you will be ready tell him what's up.

Before he knows it, you're shaking your head to get rid of the picture in your mind. Nick gives you a worrying glance, silently asking you if you're okay with a quick raise of his chin.

“I'm fine, don't worry.”

With your disorientation and slower reaction time, you hardly get to register his movement and it takes your brain a couple more minutes (having to cross your eyes to confirm his actions, too) to realize he's booped your nose.

With neon pink paint.

Neon.

Pink.

Paint.

Instead of an outburst like he seems to have expected, you let your face stay stoic.

Silence envelops you both, sitting there and waiting for the others' move.

Few of the birds you have around the neighbourhood happily chirp and only after a while does a sinister smile appear, “I see. A death wish.”

Nick scrambles to his feet as quickly as he can, but you're faster, curling your nimble fingers around his ankle and harshly pulling him back down to the floor.

He lets out a small 'oof!', eyes wide with fear when he gets a glimpse of you.

For a reason, might you add, as you swing your arm at his head with a bright red paint brush in your hand, striking the right side of his hair.

An offended look crosses his face, “You did not.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You'll pay.”

“Bring it,” you challenge and have just enough time to duck out of the way, barely missing his attack of purple. You crawl away from him on all fours, before standing up swiftly and booking it down the stairs, Nick's yells following you as he chases after you with a readied brush.

Though, just before you get to the stairs, he tackles you to the side and sits on your back to prevent you from running away. You feel the paint glide across the back of your thighs, “Another point for me.”

“We're doing points now?”

“You better catch up, slowpoke, or else I'm going to destroy you–”

The answer he gets to his call-up is a strike of red to his torso and a laugh as you dash down to hide, the signs left forgotten.

• • •

By the end of your small war, you come out with multiple colourful splotches on both the back and front of your thighs and few on your arms and face. You have basically come out unscratched compared to your human counterpart.

He's very close to being a living highlighter.

You have mainly struck him with neon colours and the occasional red that he rightfully deserved. His whole torso, chest and back now adore beautiful variants of pink and purple with some places being neon red.

His painted arms are actually not your doing, despite him throwing the blame at you in the heat of the moment. With how he had declared the war in the first place, you were surprised he was the one who called truce in the end.

After washing up (which, to be truthful, didn't do much), you went to tidy everything up and got back to building defences as the sun has not gone down yet.

At the end of the day, you've done quite a good amount of work on your base, but you can't take away the fun Nick made with the paint war you had. You can only hope it'll be enough to keep away the Shadows and not attract more attention than you can fight off.

You fall asleep quite easily, exhausted to the brim from the day's events.