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softpascalito · 2 days ago

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Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter III

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 6.5k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we finally get a little glimpse into the life of the vestals in this chapter. i'm trying to write this in a way that requires no prior knowledge of them, but if it sounds interesting to you, i'd highly recommend reading up on them, it's very interesting! also wanted to mention from here on we will dive into how acacius and our vestal get to know each other (until we reach the plot of gladiator II again). enjoy! <3

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) vero - yes paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials bonam noctem - good night

Chapter III

211 AD

You whisper small apologies under your breath as you carefully pierce the needle through Acacius' skin, feeling him tremble under your touch. “Only one more, then I am done. I promise,” you mumble, casting an anxious glance at his face and the cold sweat building on his forehead. “Take a deep breath. Stay with me, vero?”

He nods, his voice rumbling deep in his chest when he speaks up. “I always stay with you.”

“That is not what I meant,” you mumble back and wince as he tenses at the last stitch. You quickly tie the loose ends of the thread together and lift the wet rag to his arm again, wiping down the fresh blood that's trickling from the wound. It’s not too much but you do not need to be a medicus to know that he has lost too much of it today.

Your hands shake as you reach for your gown, ripping a long shred off it. Acacius raises his head at the noise, staring at you. “What is this for?”

“What do you think it is for? That wound cannot stay unprotected.” You reach around his arm, beginning to tightly wrap the linen around it, soon covering the red stains that slowly appear on the first few layers. You have seen him wounded–in fact, you can barely recall a time where he has been completely healthy. But you haven't seen him so weak before. His head keeps drooping, like he will fall asleep in his seated position in mere moments.

With a satisfied nod you tie the bandage into place, nudging the General's shoulder as you make to stand. “Acacius.”

Soft brown eyes stare up at yours, a sliver of something odd in them. It only lasts a moment–then he shakes his head as if to get rid of the ill feeling settling over his body. “You have to go.”

“I cannot leave you alone when you are like this. You need someone to watch over you. You’ve lost blood and the wound–” You are cut off by a strong arm curling around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap like it costs him no effort at all. At least he is limiting his movements to his unwounded arm.

“Acacius–” Before you have a chance to speak properly, his lips crash onto yours. The kiss tastes of blood and wine and desperation. You do not have it in you to put up any resistance, instead letting him take what he so clearly needs in this moment. Your hand creeps up his chest, ghosting over his red tunic and the exposed skin of his neck until you reach his hair. A small sigh travels from your mouth into his quite involuntarily when one of his soft curls wraps around your index finger. The world could crash and burn around you. He would still find time to press his lips onto yours, to hold you tight.

When he pulls back, you’re both panting, his chest rising and falling next to you. His arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist and you reach for his hand, intertwining it with your free one. A squeeze is his immediate response. His eyes fly back and forth between your eyes and you can practically feel his words coming. You’re half tempted to kiss him again, just to keep him from speaking.

“Dulcissima, I need you to listen to me.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives a firm shake of his head. “No. There is no time. I need you to take the path at the back of the house. Go back to the Temple. If anything happens–”

“What would happen?” You interrupt, your voice shaking slightly. Your stomach lurches slightly as you think back to what he has told you mere weeks before. His troops, that will be landing in Ostia and marching towards Rome.

“If there are riots–”

“No. I'm not leaving you. Not now,” you choke out, raising your voice slightly. It echoes eerily in the otherwise silent atrium. You know your tears are as imminent as the riots outside the door.

“If there are riots–” Acacius repeats, and you hate how controlled and stern his voice sounds. You aren't one of his soldiers. Yet he speaks to you like one. You’re ready to follow him no matter where he goes. But he is not your General. “–I will personally make sure some of our best soldiers are sent to protect you and the others. We have always protected the Vestals with our lives, you know we have.”

A choked sound leaves your throat because he is already speaking like a man who doesn't plan to return in the morning. Acacius pulls you in closer, wrapping both arms around your trembling form. His dried blood leaves stains on the linen of your white dress. No matter how careful he is with his hands, he always leaves you stained. Red, no matter where he goes. He turns flourishing cities into battlefields and their citizens into grievers. Wives into widows, children into orphans.

No more.

“Rome will fall. Won’t it?” You whisper into his chest and you feel him sway slightly as he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath before nudging your head back just enough to press his forehead against yours.

“No. The Emperors will fall. Rome will rise out of their ashes.”

His face tells you that he is speaking the truth. And this is precisely what scares you. “I want to stay with you. You cannot make me leave,” you whimper, squeezing his hand so tight that it must hurt. He presses one last kiss to your forehead before nudging you up with his leg, forcing you to stand again.

“Truthfully, I cannot make you. I can only ask.” A sad smile decorates his lips as he looks up at you, his eyes gone soft. “Besides, it is bad luck to touch someone marked for death, dulcissima. You of all people should know that.”

***

209 AD

You carefully balance the slender pot of water between your hands, the ceramic cold against your fingertips. Tending to the herb garden is one of your preferred duties, allowing you to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin while you work. The temple is never cold, not with the fire of Rome burning in its middle. But the longer your shifts become, the more weary you become of the lack of the sky and sun above.

Tipping the pot over ever so slightly, you let a thin string of water flow down onto the row of small herbs that stick out of the ground. Your head tilts upward towards a blue sky, just enough to peek over the roof of the house that you and the other Vestals live in, located right next to the temple of Vesta��and conveniently at the foot of Palatine Hill.

You can see the General’s–no, you mentally correct yourself, remembering your conversation with him–Lucilla’s house from here, at least the part that is not hidden by trees. You haven't seen him again since taking his will and storing it safely in one of the upper chambers, labeling it carefully and placing it on its assigned shelf, to be retrieved only in one of two cases–on his command or his death. The thought makes you shiver and you mumble a quiet prayer for him to the earth below you.

You see people, mostly women, come to the temple to pray to Vesta. To ask the goddess of the house and hearth for safety, for enough food on their table, for the health of their family. You pray with them, of course. You pray for each and every citizen of Rome. But you remember what one of the older Vestals said to you when you arrived at the house as a mere child, picked for nearly a lifetime of service.

Her eyes had been kind as she had bent down, adjusting the veil that was still much too big on your form.

“She is not just in the flame, my child. She is in the smoke that rises above and the earth that stretches below. Vesta will always hear you. She will always be near.”

You bow your head towards the earth at that, setting the pot aside to instead place your hands between the green and brown, fingertips grazing the earth that feeds you.

It is one of your tasks to pray for all of Rome, often with a special few words for the soldiers, to ask Vesta for their safe and victorious return. But the image in front of your eyes shifts as you speak the prayer that falls off your lips so naturally. It summons the memory of the gentle, brown eyes that promised you their trust.

Keep him safe.

It is a prayer you repeat over and over again, sending it into the earth as well as the air as you kneel under the roman sun, asking for the gods to hear you.

When you raise your head again, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust once more to the brightness of the day, he is there.

You called on the gods. But it is Acacius who has appeared.

You see him taking slow steps through his garden, one hand outstretched as he lets it brush past the fields of lavender. Your own hand, still tucked into the bed below you, moves against the herbs absent-mindedly as your eyes stay fixed on the small figure above the Forum Romanum.

He’s too far away to make out his expression–or even his face. But the broad shoulders, the red paludamentum, the gentleness with which he carries himself–they all let you know it is Acacius you’re looking at. It’s like he has heard your prayers and instead of waiting for one of the gods to answer, he has taken them upon himself.

It happens more frequently after that. The courtyard garden of the Vestals spans almost the entire length of the house, with two small pools lowered into the ground on each side. You pass around it by day and by night and your gaze flies between the columns and upward more frequently than ever.

Just in passing, of course. Just for reassurance. A constant, a joyful moment when you spot his figure. A pinch of something else in your stomach, something you force yourself to ignore, when you see Lucilla's robes billowing in the wind while she walks beside him. He rarely wears his armour, but when he does, it glistens in the sun, reflecting the rays of light, almost blinding.

You often wonder what he is thinking about. If he is pondering the next campaign, possibly even politics, though you have rarely heard about him being involved in them. He strikes you more as a soldier than a politician. A man as loyal to his army as he is to the Emperors.

“Senator Gracchus told me that they are moving some troops south,” Severa announces as you settle down for your evening meal. She is about your age, having been chosen in the same year as you. And she has taken the most interest in politics out of all the current six priestesses, often volunteering to deliver and pick up scrolls from the palace or the senate to hear the news of the day.

“Did he say why?” You ask as you reach for the carafe of wine, motioning towards her glass and, at her nod, pouring her some. You repeat the motion with your own glass before leaning back again.

“No. But I suppose the people further south are not happy.” Her voice drops slightly as she speaks. “They do not wish to risk an uprising, that I am sure of.” You nod carefully, casting a glance to the other side of the room where the two eldest vestals are taking their meal. It is not your duty to meddle in politics. You are the guardians of the hearth of Rome. Day and night, one of you is always in the temple, watching over the flame. Making sure it does not burn low.

If extinguished, it is not just the fall for the Vestals. It predicts the fall of Rome. So now more than ever, you do your duty carefully.

“May I ask you something?” Severa leans towards you, always keeping one careful eye on the others. Making sure neither of you are drawing attention to yourself.

You nod, adjusting your voice to her level as you set down your glass. “Of course. Is something the matter?”

She gives a quick, short shake of her head. “No, not the matter. I was just curious–” You raise a brow at that, though you both know neither of you mean each other harm. “Curiosity is a dangerous trait for a Vestal.”

“Curiousity is a dangerous trait for any woman,” Severa whispers back, lowering her eyes onto the floor. You understand why. It is not easy to speak ill of something. It is simply not in your nature. It goes against the years of teaching you have sat through. “You brought the will of the General, did you not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly at the mention of Acacius and shift onto your side, hoping that the dim light inside the room hides the way your face flushes. “Yes. The first one I collected, actually.”

“You collect Generals now?”

Neither of you can successfully stifle the giggles that follow her question and you quickly bow your head, just as one of the older Vestals calls out to you. “If you are finished with your meal, please retire to your quarters and get some rest.” You both nod, whispering apologies into their direction as you stand up.

“I am to guard the flame tonight,” Severa adds softly and the other of the two women nods.

“Then you may take your fellow priestess to her quarters and head to the Temple after.” You mumble your good nights to the others, walking along the courtyard in silence. The noise of cicadas fills the night that has settled over the valley. When you stop outside the door to your cubiculum, you pause. “Why did you ask about the General?”

For a moment, you think Severa will not answer, her shoulders shrugging slightly as if to dismiss her prior interest. “I heard some of the Senators speak of him. I merely wondered how he seemed to you.”

“Kind,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He was kind to me.

Her brows furrow slightly but then she nods, giving you a gentle smile. “I better go and not leave the others waiting. Bonam noctem.”

“Bonam noctem,” you repeat quietly. A few moments later, you pull your door closed behind you and begin to undress. When you crawl into the bed placed near the far end of the room, your mind is already distracted and you allow your thoughts to slip out of the small window and rush up the hill. They settle between a field of lavender and wait for a light to appear in one of the windows of the house, just as you extinguish yours.

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gatorbites-imagines · 8 hours ago

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micheal meyers fic if you still write for him? 🎃

I rlly liked your other fics with him, not a big fan of him being characterized as overly affectionate so I rlly liked your kinktober fics about him

something in a similar vein to that? smut or no smut is chill, just him being infatuated in his own creepy way

Michael Myers x male reader

Headcanons

Im happy you like my stuff :3c ive never imagined he was overly affectionate either, it just didn’t feel like it fit his character very much, ya know? No hate to the people who write that, I just like imagining him as a creepy guy, standing there… menacingly…

I think the only way you two could have met where you made a lasting impression is if you were somehow at the same asylum as him. Be it as a doctor or a patient. But I’ve never read a fic where the reader was one of the doctors, so that’s what we’re gonna go with here.

Joining up at smith’s grove sanitarium hadn’t been your first choice, since it was known as a pretty run-down place, that treated their patients more as prisoners than people. It may have been a place for the worst of the worst, but they were still people in your eyes.

You get Michaels attention by somehow wrenching his care from Dr Loomis’s hands, using all kinds of laws and loopholes to rip it from him and then running for the door pretty much. To you, what Loomis did should get him placed in jail and his license removed, as it could only have made his patients states worse.

Building a relationship with Michael is what many would call impossible. But you believed that every person had something special that fueled them, and just being treated like a worthwhile human being always seemed to do the trick.

It took months, if not years for you to really worm your way into Michael’s heart, or whatever was left of it. He hadn’t really had many positive male people in his life, something you also blamed Dr Loomis for, but over time he grew closer to you, in his own way.

To others it may seem like Michael was the same as always, but at this point you’ve worked with him so long that you know him. You can feel his attention follow you, even when you are on the other side of the yard where the patients get sunlight.

It’s no shock that you are most patients’ favorite, especially after you become head of the hospital, after a very long and stressful battle with those stuck in their old ways. It made you start cleaning house, getting rid of bad caretakers and methods to replace them with better ones.

You took it extremely seriously, and would have any so called interviewers or investigators removed from the premises, to not mess with your patients’ care.

You gain a bit of a reputation in the media at how incredibly cruel you can be to the people who wish to use and abuse your patients. Some call you crazy for protecting them, especially as everyone knows Michael Myers resides there.

But to you, it doesn’t matter. You have no spouse, no children, you haven’t talked to your family since you left home at 18, all you truly have is your job, so that is what you use your energy on.

And if a lot of that time is spent with Michael, then so be it. Having Michael actually emote or pay attention to you, is a big step in the right direction in your book. You can never get him to talk, but he does succeed in learning a couple of signs, though you suspect he only does it because he knows it makes you happy.

Later you would look back on Michael’s escape as something you blamed on yourself. Over the long time you had been his caretaker, you always made sure to be there on Halloween, since it was such an important date for him.

He never told you this, obviously, but you could tell. It just happened that you had needed surgery around that time, something you couldn’t put off as much as you wanted. If you wanted to keep caring for your patients, then you needed it done.

So, it truly shouldn’t have been such a surprise for one of your nurses to call you in a panic that Michael had somehow gotten out. Being bedbound, there wasn’t much you could do but give orders from home and watch the tv.

You didn’t technically live in Haddonfield, but you lived close enough that you could bike to town for groceries if you needed to, but also so you could drive to work without much issue.

Seeing no reports of murders outside the usual made you sigh and slump in on yourself. You had put off taking your pain medication, wanting to be clearheaded and aware, just in case you needed to be. And what else kept one clear in the head but pain.

As bedridden as you were, there wasn’t much you could do when you heard your back door open. You only knew it was that door, as it had a loud squeaky hinge you never got fixed, as it wasn’t like you used that entrance much.

Seeing Michaels looming stature shouldn’t have been a shocker either. What did amaze you to a certain, professional extent, was that he hadn’t put on his usual coveralls or mask, instead it was one you two had made together using safe materials.

There was no verbal or physical reply when you spoke to him, outside of a slight rise of tension in his shoulders when he heard you grunt in pain, as you turned to look at him.

You didn’t want to call the hospital, knowing just how volatile Michael could be. And you may have replaced many doctors and nurses, but they still feared him, all but you at least. The only thing you truly could do was speak to him, to make him stay so he didn’t go kill anyone.

Maybe it was the years of care you had given him, but Michael at some point moved closer, just staring down at you and the bandages around your stomach.

You had a feeling he wanted to poke it or maybe just unwrap it, but you had worked with him about other people’s pain tolerance. Michael still only seemed to care when it was you, but you put a lot of stuff in his notes about your professional opinion and growth.

There were worse caretakers than Michael. In all reality he wasn’t really a caretaker. A lot of it was just him standing by the door, in the corner, or right at the foot of your bed to watch you. Hed shuffle after you wherever you went in the apartment, even carrying you when you couldn’t move too much.

you had decided to heal enough to bring him back to smith’s grove when you healed enough, already knowing how violent Michael could be with other people.

To Michael though, this meant more than you meant. He wasn’t one to feel lust or much romantic attraction, but he was drawn to you and attached enough to just stay, to even bring you your pill bottles and water, like how you would to him at smith’s grove.

You theorized it made him happy, in his own way, to know he was helping in the ways he knew how. Another more paranoid part of your brain did worry about what he did when you slept, since the pain medication had that effect.

Nothing ever looked out of place, but you did catch him kneeling beside your bed on more than one occasion, just holding your hand. Or the times hed place your hand on top of his head so you would caress him.

It was inappropriate for a doctor to do such a thing with his patients, but Michael seemed calmer and more at ease when it was just you two. He couldn’t cuddle in bed with you, and neither did he seem to want to, but being held and coddle in small amounts seemingly worked for him.

Michael clearly wasn’t pleased when you took him to return to smith’s grove, but he actually came along without issue. It caused a whole media storm, but over the years you had mastered those too. As long as it helped your patients, then you would do it, to a certain extent.

And if giving Michael weekends at your place where he got to stalk you around your own property was what he needed, then so be it. you saw it as progress, in his own, weird way. Hell, Michael even started sitting and having dinner with you instead of just hovering. To you that was a win, no matter what others said.

#male reader #michael myers #halloween #slasher #michael myers imagine #michael myers headcanon #michael myers x male reader #michael myers x reader #halloween imagine #halloween headcanon #halloween x male reader #halloween x reader #slasher imagine #slasher headcanon #slasher x male reader #slasher x reader #doctor reader

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revelboo · 14 hours ago

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RAHHHHH the rammatra fic outta nowhere had me going ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

(Tbh I think he and genji were my gateway drug to robots)

Absolutely scrumptious as always

Anti-Gravity Pt 2

Ramattra x Reader

• Ankle screaming when you put weight on it, you use the length of rebar like a cane to pick your way closer to the pinned Omnic. He still has one good arm, so you’ll need to be quick. Drive that rebar deep as you can, through that baleful optic and out the other side. Omnic aren’t people, they’re not alive, just a clever impersonation of it. Except. You remember months ago, getting caught on the outskirts of a mob running down a lone Omnic. Watching them pull it to the ground, but doing nothing to stop them. It wasn’t your problem, you just wanted to go home. But it hadn’t begged or pleaded with its attackers. All it had said while it still could speak was that it was ‘seen in the light of the Iris.’ Like it believed it was more than just a machine. Raising the rebar, you stare down at it. Him, Ramattra. A machine. Just a machine.

• Servos curling in a fist, he tiredly watches the human poised to attack him. One side of your face smeared with blood from a sluggishly bleeding wound at your temple. Baring your teeth at him, rocking forward, but faltering. And your hands are shaking as you make to lunge and then stop yourself again. Finally meeting his optics. “You’re a monster,”you tell him, voice tired as you slump down on a pile of rubble nearby. Above the two of you something shifts and dirt patters down. He understands that hate in your eyes, but your mercy takes him by surprise. “You deserve to die,” you add, voice angry now. At him or yourself?

• “If I’m a monster, it’s because your kind gave me no choice,” that low, digitized voice growls as he tries to drag himself more upright before giving up. Head tipping back to stare at the rubble above them and you follow his stare even as his words whisper through you. Make you think of that Omnic dying for no reason at all, torn apart by that mob. What had it even done? Just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Dared to exist?

• Growling softly, he knows that if they start messing with the debris above, it’s likely to come down and your mercy will mean very little when you’re both crushed. “There’s always a choice,” you counter, rolling up your pant leg to gingerly prod at your ankle and he watches your little shoulders hunch. From above, there’s another shower of dirt and rocks, the drip of water becoming a steady stream from a busted pipe.

• You’re afraid to take off your sneaker and see how bad it really is. Afraid you won’t be able to get the show back on if you do. The only thing you’re certain of it’s that you can’t stay here. You’re not sure if you’re in the sewer or in some kind of maintenance tunnel, but you don’t want it to become your tomb.

• “Your naïveté will get you killed,” he growls, watching you turn your attention back to him. To his trapped leg. While you can still walk, he can’t. Not alone. Doesn’t have the energy to swap back to nemesis form to try and free himself, too damaged to risk it. Ignoring you since you’re apparently not going to try and end him right this moment, he tries to free his pinned lower leg. Tensing when you limp over and drive that rebar under the broken wall crushing him and pushing down on it like a fulcrum. Too small to budge it at all, but still trying. Above them something creaks and scrapes. How long? Minutes or hours? And he follows your attention when it drifts toward the dark tunnel. “You can’t see in the dark, but I can. Find something sharp. Metal.”

• You stare at him, attention drifting back to his lower leg. Knowing you’re not going to get him free in time, but he’s right. It’s pitch deeper in and the only light is coming through the shifting rubble. You’ll never find a way out without him. Limping sends jagged shards of pain through your leg and knee, but you find something useable and carry it over. Feeling oddly squeamish as he positions it against the joint of his knee and you realize what he wants. Just a machine, you remind yourself as he tries to saw at the joint, making a low, snarling sound of very real pain. And you grab the sides of the metal fragment and drive it down. Again and again, feeling the edges biting into your palm. It takes both of you to sever the lower half of his leg and your palms are cut up and sticky with blood as you offer him a hand. “You’re still a monster,” you tell him as he lurches unsteadily upright with only one leg and one arm. Skin crawling as he leans on you and nearly knocks you both down with his weight. He’s silent as you grit your teeth and start moving, letting him use you for balance. Because even if he’s a monster, he doesn’t deserve to die like this. No one does.

#ramattra x reader #ramattra

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melancholy-of-nadia · 1 day ago

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heart on the window #1 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: You lost your job, got cheated on by your boyfriend, and had to give up your home—all in the span of a few weeks. Life hasn’t been kind lately, and just when it feels like you’ve hit rock bottom, your mom suggests an unexpected solution: move in with Seokjin, her friend’s son, who you vaguely remember as your annoying childhood rival. You haven't talked to him in like 15 YEARS. But begrudgingly, you agree, hoping for this to be a temporary fix, only to find yourself in a more complicated situation when you discover Seokjin has some dirty little secrets. As you attempt to rebuild your life under his roof, tensions rise, boundaries blur, and you’re forced to confront not only your messy circumstances but also your growing fascination with the man you thought you once knew. note: i actually didn't plan to drop something so soon post me starting my new job, but i had this mostly done but had to edit it up a bit. i've been debating to write a roommate au but couldn't decide which member, until i read @daegudrama's moon over flowers fic where jin is a "content creator" ;) also that jin dating simulator game that released yesterday was a perfect combo to add this with warnings: mild language, roommate! seokjin, stressed out reader, fluff, emotional vulnerability, jin being jin, jin's college frat buddy! namjoon cameo, drinking, implied sexual fantasizing, implied adult content live streaming (camwork), very descriptive solo mast*rbation, voyeurism, dirty talk drop date: November 28th, 2024, 9:00pm pst word count: 7.9k crossposted on ao3 here

–

This is the state of affairs of your life at the moment. 1. Your boyfriend cheated on you. 2. You lost your job (not your fault) 3. Andddd now you have nowhere to live.

Well… it’s not that you don’t have a place to live, but you don’t want to crawl back to your parents' home after making a very big declaration when you were 18 that you would not be coming back to live there.

Now in your mid 20s (that are slowly creeping into your late 20s), you regret being that loud mouth girl that didn’t understand a damn thing at that age.

You should’ve been smarter about your decisions, starting with your taste in men. You should’ve listened to your friends warnings about Mingi.

You’re on the phone listening to your mom scolding you over your stupidity and lack of preparedness. You roll your eyes as you continue packing your items into boxes. She suggests you coming home, just as you figured she’d do, but you tell her that you feel bad about coming back at your big old age. “Then why don’t you live with Sunghee’s son?”

Who the fuck is Sunghee? “Who?”

“You don’t remember? The mother of the Korean boy you went to school with in elementary school?” You have no clue who she’s talking about. This is something that happened like 15 to 20 years ago. You can’t believe she remembers something so obscure. “I still don’t have a clue.”

“Agh, i’ll go search through some of your old elementary school photos and send you the photo of him later.” You hear some shuffling on her end, probably guessing she decided to get up and go look at your old photographs in the living room shelves.” But I recently saw his mom at a coffee shop! And she told me her son was living in the same city as you and was looking for a roommate. I mentioned that you were in some situation where you might need to move soon and she gave me her and her son’s contact info.”

“I see.”

“Oh wait, hold on, I found it.”

You hear her snap a photo and within a few seconds, you see the notification on your phone peep behind the call. You click on it and when you open the message, the memories of long ago have finally clicked.

“SEOKJIN?! That weird Korean kid?!”

“Weird kid?! You were friends with him, weren’t you?”

You scoff, “Barely, I mean, he and I were always at each other's necks because he always tried to one-up me in any way that he could.” Recalling those annoying memories from that era was making you get upset all over again. If it wasn’t him completing the times table tests at a faster speed than you, it was him showing off the Pokemon cards that you didn’t have. If it wasn’t that, it was him showing off his level and ranking in Maple Story. That damn nerd.

It’s been years, but the thought of it still urks you.

She sighs, “Well, if you’re willing to look past that at your big old age, this is probably the best option you have.”

Could you do that? Maybe. But knowing how he was back then, he’s probably grown to become some loser virgin shut-in with no life. Maybe he’s a tech bro, which would make this even worse now.

“I think about it, but this is probably the last resort option I’d even consider––”

Your mom cuts you off with a sharp sigh. "Fine, suit yourself. But you don’t have many options, do you? Just call him. He might have changed!"

You don’t answer her right away because the idea of calling Seokjin still doesn’t sit well with you. You’re stubborn, yes, but the universe has also served you a big slice of humble pie lately. It’s probably time to stop holding on to petty grudges from a childhood you barely even remember.

"Okay, okay, I’ll think about it," you mumble reluctantly.

The call ends after a few more half-hearted lectures from your mom about responsibility, and you toss your phone onto the bed, glaring at the contact info she forwarded. You can’t help but click on Seokjin’s number. There’s a photo of him attached to the contact, and for a moment, you don’t recognize him at all.

He’s…hot.

You blink. This cannot be the same kid you argued with over best MapleStory boss (Seokjin opting for Pink Bean, while you said Guardian Angel Slime). The Seokjin in this picture has flawless skin, sharp cheekbones, and full lips curled in a smirk that screams confidence. His hair is styled perfectly, and his outfit—a crisp button-up and a fitted blazer—makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine.

"No way," you mutter under your breath.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself typing his name into Instagram. It doesn’t take long to find his profile because he has mutual followers and a blue checkmark.

Huh? Why a blue checkmark?

…he has 200,000 followers?

Scrolling through his posts, you see screenshots of video games, clips of intense gameplay, and the occasional selfie with gaming equipment in the background. His captions are filled with gaming slang and memes you barely understand, but the sheer number of likes and comments on every post is undeniable.

One clip catches your eye—a short highlight from a League of Legends game where he pulls off an impressive play, and the comments are flooded with people hyping him up. “JinGod strikes again,” one comment reads. Another says, “Of course he’s the best mid-laner NA. Who else?”

Curious, you dive deeper and discover he has a Twitch account.

Oh! So he’s a streamer?!

Not just any streamer, either—he’s big enough to have sponsors and a massive following. His Twitch bio is straightforward:

Seokjin | Variety Streamer | Big laughs, bigger Ws | 1 PM KST

His stream schedule includes games like Elden Ring, Valorant, League of Legends, and even Getting Over It. There’s a link to his YouTube channel with clips of him absolutely demolishing opponents, mixed with funny moments of him raging at frustrating games.

You stare at your phone, trying to reconcile this version of Seokjin with the kid you used to fight over the last Uncrustables sandwich at lunch. This Seokjin is smooth, funny, and clearly thriving in a world you know nothing about. The comment section on his posts doesn’t help—it’s filled with people thirsting over his voice and his “handsome gamer vibes.”

“Great,” you mutter. “He grew up to be a famous nerd.”

You hate to admit it, but you’re impressed. And irritated.

Of course, Seokjin grew up to be that guy.

You put your phone down and stare at the pile of boxes scattered across your room. It’s not like you have a ton of other options, and if you��re being honest with yourself, the idea of moving in with Seokjin suddenly feels a lot less horrifying. Maybe he’s not the same insufferable kid you remember.

Or maybe he is, and this will be your worst nightmare.

Before you can chicken out, you force yourself to pick up your phone and dial the number your mom sent you. It rings twice before a deep, smooth voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi. Is this…Seokjin Kim?” you ask awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of how unprepared you are for this conversation.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“It’s, um, [Y/N]. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“[Y/N]?” he interrupts, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “The same [Y/N] who used to cry every time I beat her at anything in elementary school? Of course I remember.”

There it is! The Seokjin you cared about so deeply.

“I did not cry!” You roll your eyes, grip on the phone tightening.

He laughs, a low, rich sound that’s somehow both infuriating and…nice. “Sure, you didn’t. So, what’s up? Why are you calling me after, what, fifteen…twenty years? Where did you even get my num–”

You take a deep breath, already regretting this.

“My mom said your mom said you’re looking for a roommate.”

There’s a pause, and then he says, “...I am. Why?"

"I need a place..."

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you think he’s going to hang up.

“Ah, well why do you need a roommate?” he asks finally, his tone careful, almost guarded. “I thought someone like you would have, I don’t know, a penthouse or something by now with the amazing corporate job my mom told me you have.”

Now this is going to suck to explain to him that whatever decent apartment you had earning a 72,000 salary at your old job is… nonexistent.

You blink at the assumption and quickly fumble for a response. “Haha, not quite. Most places are too expensive in this economy and I’m, uh, downsizing.”

“Downsizing?” he repeats, skepticism dripping from the word. “Why?”

“Because I want to focus on… minimalism.”

There’s silence on the other end, and you can practically hear him trying to decide whether to believe you.

Oh this was a terrible decision to make. Now he must think you’re a fool!

You glance around your room at the boxes piled with all the clutter you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away and wince. Minimalism is definitely not your thing.

“Minimalism,” he echoes, his tone still doubtful. “Right. Well, I do have an extra room, but I’m not sure you’ll like it here.”

Your grip tightens on the phone. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Let’s just say I stay up late…,” he replies vaguely.

He must be referring to his streaming career that he isn’t telling you about right now. Wonder if he’s embarrassed by it.

“And I don’t really have time to deal with a high-maintenance roommate.”

The audacity! You did not ask to be attacked right now.

The jab makes your jaw tighten. “I’m not high-maintenance!”

“You sure? Last time I checked, you were the type to lose it over someone messing with your stuff.”

“That was elementary school! I’ve grown up since then.”

“Hmm,” he says, the sound light but still noncommittal. “We’ll see. Come check the place out tomorrow. Noon okay?”

You pause, thrown by his sudden shift. So he’s actually down with you as a roommate? Let’s not get high hopes up now. And if that doesn’t work, you know what? That’s okay. You will find a way… you hope.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates before adding, “And bring references.”

“References?!”

“You can never be too careful,” he replies smoothly, but there’s a faint edge in his voice that you can’t quite place.

“Fine,” you snap, already planning to forge something if necessary.

“Great. See you then.”

The call ends before you can say anything else, leaving you staring at your phone. Something about the conversation feels… off. You can’t tell if it’s his hesitance, the cryptic mention of odd hours, or the subtle curiosity in his tone when he asked about your situation.

Or maybe it could be that it’s been around 15 years since you last talked to him so this entire situation feels like a fever dream.

Whatever it is, you’ll find out tomorrow. One way or another.

The next day arrives quicker than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a massive gated complex that looks like it was ripped straight out of a luxury lifestyle magazine. The building towers above you, a blend of sleek modern design and Mediterranean touches. Creamy stucco walls, wrought-iron accents, and lush greenery climbing up the sides of the buildings make it feel more like an exclusive resort than an apartment complex.

The entrance is lined with tall palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, and the scent of freshly mowed grass mingles with the faint floral fragrance from meticulously arranged garden beds. A stone fountain, its water cascading in perfect tiers, sits in the middle of a circular driveway where luxury cars are parked like they belong in an auto show.

You glance down at your outfit, a simple pair of light wash boyfriend jeans and a blue collared sweater, suddenly feeling underdressed.

“He’s living here?” you mutter under your breath, squinting at the address Seokjin sent you last night again to make sure you’re in the right place.

As you shift awkwardly with your bag slung over your shoulder, the wrought-iron gates buzz, and Seokjin steps through.

If the apartment complex wasn’t enough of a surprise, he certainly is.

Gone is the awkward kid from elementary school, and in his place is a man who seems perfectly at home in his expensive surroundings. Dressed casually in a fitted white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and a pair of ripped jeans that look way too good on him, Seokjin walks toward you with an easy confidence. His dark hair is styled effortlessly, and even from a distance, you can see the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“[Y/N],” he calls out, his voice smooth and unmistakably amused.

You shift your bag again, suddenly hyper-aware of how you must look standing there in front of the grand gates. “Seokjin,” you reply, your voice coming out a little more clipped than you intended.

As he approaches, he looks you over, his smirk growing wider. “You’re on time. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing. “Maybe because I’d be the last person you’d want to ask for help.”

“Desperate times,” you shoot back, ignoring the way his eyes glint in amusement.

Seokjin chuckles and gestures for you to follow him. “Come on, let’s see if you can survive the tour first.”

He leads you through the gates, where a polished path lined with greenery opens into the main courtyard. The sound of water trickling from another fountain fills the air, and you catch glimpses of the complex’s amenities—an infinity pool that looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel, cabanas with flowing white curtains, and a fitness center with floor-to-ceiling glass walls showcasing state-of-the-art equipment.

“This place is ridiculous,” you say under your breath, craning your neck to take it all in.

Seokjin glances back, his smirk still in place. “You’re not wrong. But wait until you see the inside.”

As you step into the lobby, you’re greeted by marble floors that gleam under the warm glow of chandeliers. The air smells faintly of citrus and something luxurious you can’t quite place, and the concierge greets Seokjin with a polite nod as he leads you to the elevator.

“You’re really living the dream here,” you say, unable to hide the note of disbelief in your voice.

He shrugs, leaning casually against the elevator wall. “With the jobs I have. it has its perks.”

The elevator dings, and as the doors slide open, you catch a glimpse of the hallway—plush carpeting, modern art lining the walls, and soft lighting that makes everything feel impossibly serene.

“Ready?” he asks, stepping out and turning to look at you.

You hesitate for just a second before following him. “As I’ll ever be.”

Seokjin leads you down the hallway, his footsteps silent on the plush carpeting. You’re still processing how this guy, the same kid who used to shove his Pok��mon cards in your face, is living in a place so fancy it makes your last apartment look like a broom closet.

“This is my place,” he says, stopping in front of a sleek black door with a digital keypad instead of a regular lock.

He types in the code, the lock clicks open, and he pushes the door wide to reveal his apartment.

Your first thought is that it’s huge.

The open-concept living room stretches out before you, its floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the space with natural light. The view outside is stunning—a panoramic sweep of the suburban city skyline and the sparkling blue ocean in the distance. Inside, the place is immaculate, every piece of furniture modern and deliberately chosen. The couch is a neutral gray sectional big enough to seat a small crowd, and there’s a massive TV mounted on the wall, flanked by minimalist shelves filled with what looks like expensive collectibles and gaming gear.

The kitchen is just as impressive, with marble countertops, a matching backsplash, and stainless steel appliances that gleam under the recessed lighting. A sleek island with barstools separates the kitchen from the living room, and you can’t help but wonder if this is where Seokjin spends his time making whatever expensive coffee you saw on his Instagram feed.

“Well?” he says, stepping inside and kicking off his sneakers near the door. “Don’t just stand there gawking.”

You snap your mouth shut and step in, slipping out of your shoes and placing them neatly next to his. The polished hardwood floors feel cool under your socks, and you hesitate, unsure where to stand.

“It’s… nice,” you say finally, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Seokjin chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. “Nice? That’s all you’ve got? Most people would be drooling right now.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he says, his grin widening. He crosses the room and gestures for you to follow. “Come on, let me show you where you’d be staying.”

He gestures toward the main living area, leading you down a short hallway on the left side of the apartment. “Your room would be down this hall,” he says, motioning for you to follow.

You step into the guest room as he opens the door. It’s spacious, with a queen-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens and a tall, minimalist dresser tucked against one wall. A sleek desk sits by a large window, which offers a view of the glittering cityscape and the ocean beyond. The soft gray walls and warm lighting make the room feel both modern and inviting.

“There’s an en-suite bathroom,” Seokjin says, pushing open another door to reveal a compact but luxurious bathroom with marble finishes and a rainfall shower.

“This is… nice,” you admit, turning to glance at him.

“Only the best,” he replies with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “Your hall is completely separate from mine. My room’s on the right side of the apartment, so you won’t have to worry about me invading your space.”

He nods toward the opposite end of the living room, where another hallway extends. “My room’s down there on your left. I have a bathroom in front of it too. Oh. and you’d also have the laundry room and a storage closet near your side.”

You glance back at the main living area, noting the layout. His section of the apartment seems just as private, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved that you won’t be tripping over each other.

“It’s set up pretty well for roommates,” you say carefully, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Glad you think so,” he replies, leaning casually against the doorframe. “This room used to belong to a friend of mine. He was here for an internship a little over a year ago, but he didn’t stay long. Left everything the way it is in case other friends needed a place to crash.”

“That makes sense,” you say, looking around the room again. “So why are you looking for a roommate now?”

Seokjin hesitates for just a second, his eyes flickering toward the window.

“Well, it would help with a couple of expenses,”

Your brow furrows. Expenses? You glance around the luxury apartment, mentally tallying the rent for a place like this. With what you know about Seokjin’s successful streaming career—and the office job your mom mentioned—he’s probably doing more than fine financially. But you decide not to press him on it.

Instead, you nod. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“And…” He trails off, his expression softening. Oh, so he is going to explain. “I don’t know, as I’m getting closer to thirty, I guess it might be nice to have someone around. Keeps things from feeling too…quiet.”

The honesty in his voice surprises you, and for a brief moment, you see a different side of him. One that’s not teasing or smug, but… a little lonely, maybe.

You nod again, this time more slowly. “Fair enough. This does happen as we age.”

Seokjin straightens, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it came. “Anyway,” he says, his tone shifting back to its usual playful edge. “We can talk about me more later.”

He gestures for you to follow him back toward the living room.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk first?” he continues, his smirk fading slightly as his expression turns unreadable. “Just want to make sure we’re on the same page before I let you move in.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

You follow him to the couch, your curiosity about his reasons for taking on a roommate still lingering in the back of your mind.

As you settle onto the couch, Seokjin sits across from you in a sleek armchair, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. It’s like he’s studying you, trying to piece together the situation without asking directly.

“So,” he begins, leaning forward slightly, “I already know you lost your job.”

You freeze. The words hang in the air, and your stomach sinks.

“How do you know that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “My mom told me earlier today. She’s the one who convinced me to even think about this arrangement.”

Heat floods your cheeks, embarrassment prickling at your skin. Of course. Your mom couldn’t just leave you well enough alone so she told his mom.

“Oh,”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly, likely noticing your discomfort. “Things happen, you know? Besides, knowing you, you probably have some savings tucked away to cover rent, right?”

His words hit harder than he probably intended. Sure, you’ve got a little money saved, but it’s dwindling fast. The thought of handing over any of it feels like admitting defeat, a glaring reminder that you’re not where you thought you’d be at this point in your life.

As Seokjin keeps talking, his tone casual and reassuring, his words blur into the background. You’re trapped in your own thoughts, spiraling.

How did it come to this?

Broke, jobless, and now sitting here asking for a place to live like some helpless kid. You remember being so confident, so sure of yourself when you left home. You went through grueling years of studying finance in college and graduating. Now you’re here, facing the reality that you’re nowhere near where you thought you’d be.

It’s just so pathetic.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a tear slips down your cheek and lands on your hand.

Seokjin stops mid-sentence. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice cutting through your haze. “Are you… crying?”

You wipe at your face quickly, but it’s no use—the tears are falling faster now, and you’re too overwhelmed to stop them. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, mortified. “I don’t even know why—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts, his voice gentle in a way you didn’t expect. He shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you carefully. “It’s okay.”

You shake your head, still swiping at your cheeks. “This is so stupid. I just… I hate being in this position. It’s not where I thought I’d be, and it’s just…” You trail off, your voice breaking.

For a moment, Seokjin doesn’t say anything. Then, he reaches for a tissue box on the coffee table and holds it out to you.

“Here,” he says simply.

You take a tissue and dab at your face, trying to pull yourself together.

“I get it,” he says after a pause, his tone softer now. “Life doesn’t always go how we plan. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Really?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. But you’re not alone, okay? And if you need a place to figure things out, I’m offering you one. No strings, no judgment. But knowing how you’d feel bad for not paying back, just pitch in for some groceries or takeout every once in awhile.”

His words hit you harder than the tears, and you feel a small spark of hope for the first time in a while. Maybe, just maybe, this could work out.

You take a deep breath, the tissue in your hand crumpled from how tightly you’ve been gripping it. “Thanks, Seokjin,” you say, your voice shaky but genuine.

He gives you a small smile, his usual teasing edge softened. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just don’t leave your dirty dishes in the sink, and we’ll be fine.”

A faint laugh escapes you, surprising even yourself. “I think I can manage that.”

He stands up, stretching his arms overhead before motioning toward the hallway. “If you need help with your stuff, just let me know.”

You nod, feeling a little more grounded. “I will.”

The next morning, you’re standing outside your old apartment building, the last of your boxes stacked neatly by the curb. Before leaving the day before, you did ask Jin if he could help you move some of your stuff, and he somehow kindly agreed.

You’ve barely had time to double-check everything when you hear the rumble of a truck pulling up. Turning toward the sound, you see a sleek gray Ford truck roll to a stop in front of you.

Seokjin hops out of the driver’s seat, dressed casually in a lavender hoodie and dark wash jeans, looking every bit the picture of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. On the passenger side, another guy climbs out, taller and broader than Jin, with dimples flashing in a warm smile.

Woah, he’s kind of cute.

“Morning,” Seokjin calls, striding toward you. He gestures to the other man. “This is Namjoon. He’s here to help out with the heavier things.”

“Hi [Y/N],” Namjoon says, his voice deep but friendly as he extends a hand. “Jin told me you needed an extra set of hands, so here I am.”

You shake his hand, still a little taken aback. “Thanks. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.”

“He’s an old college buddy,” Seokjin explains, leaning against the side of the truck. “We were in the same professional fraternity back in the day. That’s how we met.”

Namjoon chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, Jin somehow convinced me to join since we were floormates. Said it would look good on my resume. Ended up being one of the best decisions I made, though. The networking was great, and we had a lot of fun.”

“Too much fun,” Seokjin adds with a smirk. “I think we spent half our time organizing events and the other half trying to keep Namjoon from breaking stuff.”

Namjoon groans, his dimples deepening as he laughs. “Okay, that was one time—and it wasn’t even my fault!”

You find yourself smiling at their bickering and brief memory despite the stress of the day. Their banter feels easy and natural, a dynamic that’s comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. It’s nice to hear Jin had a pretty cool college experience.

“Well,” Namjoon says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started. The sooner we load this up, the sooner we can get everything settled.”

Between the three of you, the boxes are loaded into the truck in no time. Namjoon lifts the heavier ones like they’re nothing, while Seokjin teases him about showing off. You carry the smaller items, grateful for their help and relieved that the process is moving quickly.

Once the last box is secured in the truck bed, Seokjin glances over at you. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, brushing your hands off on your jeans. “Yeah. I’ll follow behind you guys with my car.”

As your car and his truck pulls away from your old apartment, you find yourself feeling a little lighter. It’s still hard to believe this is your life right now, but it doesn’t feel quite as overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe, this new chapter won’t be so bad after all.

The move-in process is exhausting but efficient. Seokjin and Namjoon take charge of the heavier boxes while you focus on the smaller ones. Your room starts to take shape, with your bed frame set up in one corner and your essentials arranged along the walls. The other boxes you don’t need immediately are stacked neatly in the living room, ready to be taken to your parents’ place for temporary storage later.

After two hours of hauling, unpacking, and arranging, the three of you are sweaty and starving.

“I think that’s everything,” Namjoon says, leaning against the couch and wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“Pizza?” Seokjin asks, already pulling out his phone.

“Pizza,” you and Namjoon echo in unison.

“And chicken wings,” Namjoon adds with a grin. “We earned it.”

“And beer,” Seokjin finishes, smirking. “That sounds good to you?”

You nod happily.

Within half an hour, the smell of pepperoni, garlic, and fried chicken fills the apartment. The three of you gather around the coffee table in the living room, the TV playing 30 Rock quietly in the background. You sit cross-legged on the rug while Seokjin and Namjoon sprawl on the couch, all of you diving into the food like it’s the best meal you’ve ever had.

“So, Namjoon,” you start between bites of pizza, “what do you do now? Not breaking stuff as Jin mentioned, right?”

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that makes you smile. “Thankfully, no. I’m working in publishing now, managing creative projects. Still a little chaotic, but at least it’s not as physically dangerous.”

“Only mentally,” Seokjin teases, raising his beer.

“True,” Namjoon admits, clinking his bottle against Jin’s.

“What about you?” Namjoon asks, turning the attention to you. “What do you do?”

You hesitate, picking at the crust of your pizza. “I worked at a fashion company, but the company underwent some layoffs. So this is kind of…a transitional period for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s been a tough market, but with your focused attitude and experience, I’m sure you’ll find something new soon.”

“I hope so.”

After a few more slices and some casual conversation about work, gaming, and travel, the beers start to settle in. The atmosphere grows looser, and the conversation takes a turn into more, juicier topics.

“So,” Seokjin begins, leaning back against the armrest with a mischievous grin. “Getting into a more interesting topic…Relationships. What’s the story there?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “All of a sudden? Why do I feel like this is a setup?”

“It’s not a setup. We’re just curious. Plus easy topic to become closer.”

Namjoon chuckles, “Don’t bring me into this, Jin,”

“Well…” You pause, debating how much to share. The buzz from the beer nudges you toward honesty. “Without going to deep into it, let’s just say my last relationship ended badly. Cheating, lies, the whole package.”

Seokjin winces. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” you admit, swirling your drink. “But honestly, it’s probably for the best. I’ve got enough on my plate right now without dealing with that kind of drama.”

Namjoon nods thoughtfully. “It’s hard to find someone who’s actually worth your time these days. Everyone’s either too focused on themselves or doesn’t know what they want.”

Seokjin chuckles, a slightly bitter edge to his tone. “Or they’re just not ready to commit, no matter how much they say they are.”

You glance at him, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor. “Speaking from experience?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “I plead the fifth.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t press further. You decide not to either.

“What about you, Namjoon?” you ask, redirecting the spotlight. “Any tragic love stories to share?”

He grins, shaking his head. “Nothing tragic, thankfully. Just a lot of learning experiences. I’ve been too focused on work to really put myself out there lately.”

The conversation continues, flowing easily despite the heavy topic. As the night stretches on, you find yourself feeling unexpectedly comfortable. Seokjin and Namjoon’s company has been a comfortable change of pace from prior weeks of being alone and dealing with the aftermath of your ended relationship and job. Being all alone with your thoughts hasn’t been easy. Lost in a whirlpool of negative thoughts. And with your closest friends, Yunjin and Wendy, living miles away, even leaning on them hadn’t been an option.

But for the first time in a while, you could even say you feel happy to be around others.

The clock on the wall creeps past 11:00pm, and Namjoon glances at his phone with a small sigh. “I should probably get going before it gets too late.”

“Already?” Seokjin teases, though his tone is more playful than serious.

Namjoon chuckles. “Some of us have a really early morning commute tomorrow, Jin.” He stands, stretching his arms overhead before reaching for his jacket.

“I do too, you know!”

“But hey, this was fun. I’ll definitely swing by again. I’ll see you for your monthly Marvel movie nights, right?”

Seokjin grins. “You know it. You can’t miss those!”

Namjoon laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Let me know when the next one is.”

You and Seokjin walk him to the elevator, chatting casually as you descend to the ground floor. Outside, the air is cooler, a light breeze stirring as Namjoon’s Uber pulls up to the curb.

“Thanks for helping out today,” you say, offering him a grateful smile. “I don’t think we could’ve done it without you.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon replies warmly. “And welcome to the apartment. I’m sure Jin’ll keep things interesting for you.”

Seokjin snorts.

Namjoon smirks. “See you both soon!”

With a wave, Namjoon climbs into the car, and you watch as it drives off into the night.

You and Seokjin linger outside for a moment, the hum of the city quieting as the car disappears from view.

“Well,” Seokjin says after a beat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess it’s just us now.”

“Looks like it,” you reply, feeling a strange mix of ease and uncertainty.

Well you did just unload some emotional baggage about your shitty past relationship earlier. The alcohol running through your veins isn’t helping either.

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the entrance. “Let’s get back inside. You’ve had a long day.”

You follow Jin back to the apartment, the soft hum of the elevator ride and the quiet hallways lulling you into a peaceful state. Once inside, the two of you automatically start tidying up the coffee table and living area, picking up empty beer bottles, wiping down surfaces, and folding the napkins that had been left scattered. It’s a quiet, easy rhythm, and before long, the space looks just as pristine as when you first arrived.

“I think we’ve earned a good night’s sleep.”

You nod, stifling a yawn. “Agreed. Thanks again, Jin… for everything.”

He shrugs, his expression light but genuine. “Don’t mention it. Get some rest, Roomie.”

You laugh, “Will do.”

With that, Jin heads down the hallway to the right, disappearing into his room. You make your way to the left, to your room, the soft padding of your steps on the hardwood floor the only sound.

Once inside, you close the door and lean against it for a moment, letting the day’s events settle in your mind. Your room is still sparse, with only the basics unpacked, but it feels cozy enough. The bed, made with fresh sheets, beckons invitingly, and your unpacked boxes wait patiently in the corner, reminding you there’s more work to be done tomorrow.

You slip into something comfortable, wash your face, and settle under the covers. The bed is surprisingly soft, the kind that you could sink into and never leave. But despite the exhaustion tugging at your body, sleep doesn’t come right away.

Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to Jin’s easy demeanor since you’ve started talking to him again. His kind words. His quick, charming smile and laughter. His height—tall enough that you had to tilt your head to look him in the eye. And those plump lips of his…

Huh? No, no wait a minute!

You blink at the ceiling, catching your thoughts veering dangerously south. What the hell is wrong with you? Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s the fact that kindness from a man feels so foreign after everything you’ve been through. Whatever it is, your brain is doing laps around something you absolutely should not be thinking about.

Gross. Stop it. You scrunch your face in frustration, trying to shake the image of Jin’s stupidly handsome face from your mind.

This is Seokjin, your childhood rival, the annoying kid who used to show off his stupid gaming collection and beat you at literally everything. That’s all he is. That’s all he’ll ever be.

He is just kindly letting you stay with him, but you know he’s going to be waiting for you to move out soon enough.

With a groan, you roll over and pull the covers up to your chin, willing your thoughts to calm down. Sleep. That’s what you need. Just sleep.

With a groan, you roll over and pull the covers up to your chin, willing your thoughts to calm down. Eventually, you manage to quiet your mind, and your eyes drift shut. Slowly, the tension in your body melts away, and for the first time in what feels like ages, you fall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

It’s the kind of sleep that cradles you, soothing the jagged edges of your worries. The stressors in your life—the layoff, the breakup, the uncertainty of your future—haven’t disappeared, but for once, they feel distant, safely tucked on the backburner. This new chapter isn’t perfect, but at least one major burden has been lifted, and that’s enough for now.

Until it isn’t.

The urge comes on suddenly, pulling you from the cocoon of rest. You blink groggily, your senses slowly catching up to reality as you register the weight pressing against your bladder. Turning your head to the side, you squint at the clock on your phone: 2:33 a.m.

You need to pee.

You groan softly. Of course. Why wouldn’t your body choose the middle of the night to interrupt what was probably the nicest sleep you’ve had in months? Throwing off the covers, you shuffle out of bed and head for the bathroom, still half-asleep and stumbling in your room as you walk inside the en-suite bathroom.

The cool tile under your feet jolts you a bit closer to full consciousness. The soft hum of the apartment at night feels oddly soothing, even as you fumble to turn on the light.

After finishing up and washing your hands, you pause for a moment, the dryness in your throat making itself known. Great. Now you’re thirsty too.

The memory of Jin mentioning the case of bottled water he keeps under the kitchen sink stops you. Sighing, you quietly slip out of your room, padding into the darkened apartment.

The space is eerily still, the shadows from the streetlights outside casting faint patterns across the floor of the living room. You make your way to the kitchen, carefully navigating around the furniture, not wanting to stub a toe or knock anything over.

Opening one of the cabinet beneath the sink, you find the water bottle case Jin mentioned. The plastic crinkles as you grab a bottle, and you wince, hoping the noise doesn’t carry too far. Closing the cabinet as quietly as you can, you straighten up and twist the cap open, taking a long, refreshing sip.

As you stand there, your gaze drifts toward the living room and the hallway that leads toward Jin’s room. You notice light seeping from below the doorway. Is he still up? Shouldn’t he be sleeping? He did mention something earlier about needing to head into the office in the morning.

Well… maybe he’s streaming? Jin has been kind of hesitant to talk openly about his side hustle, but after your harmless sleuthing on his Instagram the other day, it makes sense to have this type of scheduling. His posts, the tags, the casual mentions of late-night work—it all points to streaming. And why not? No shame in being a streamer. Plenty of people are wildly successful doing it. And he’s probably catering to overseas fans in Asia during these hours.

You shrug to yourself. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not your business.

Deciding not to overthink it, you turn to head back to your room. But after a couple of steps in the living room, a faint noise catches your attention.

You freeze.

A voice… soft, low, and unmistakably a moan.

Your breath hitches as the sound cuts through the stillness, sending your thoughts racing. What was that…?

Haha… you must be overthinking things.

For a moment, you stand there, unsure whether to move or pretend you didn’t hear anything at all.

But now, from this angle, you notice something else. Jin’s door isn’t fully closed. It’s very, very slightly ajar.

The realization makes your pulse quicken. You’re not sure why—it’s not like you were planning to barge in or anything. But the faint glow spilling from the room and that sound… it feels like you’ve stumbled into something you weren’t meant to witness.

Your eyes dart to the gap in the doorway, then back to your water bottle. Just go to bed, you tell yourself. Whatever Jin is doing is none of your business. You’ve already overstepped enough by loitering here in the middle of the night.

But your feet don’t move.

Instead, you find yourself stepping a bit closer, trying to make sense of what’s going on. The soft glow of a screen flickers against the walls, accompanied by faint, muffled sounds—another low moan, followed by a voice, Jin’s voice, quiet but distinct.

He’s probably just streaming, you reason, though your mind betrays you, replaying the noise you just heard. That didn’t sound like any gaming commentary you’ve ever heard.

Your curiosity battles with your better judgment. This is weird. This is weird. Go back to bed, you scold yourself. Yet, you find yourself taking a hesitant step closer, your bare feet silent against the floor.

Peering at the slight crack in the door, you catch a glimpse of Jin sitting at his desk, his back to the door. He’s wearing a loose-fitting hoodie, the hood pulled halfway up, and his headphones cover his ears.

You hesitate for just a moment too long, your eyes flickering back to the gap in the door. Jin shifts slightly in his chair, and that’s when you see it—his hand moving slowly, deliberately, along the length of his member.

Oh my god…

Your breath catches in your throat as the realization slams into you.

You catch yourself lingering, unable to look away despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to turn back. Jin’s hoodie hangs loosely over his broad shoulders, the fabric shifting slightly with his movements. His hand moves with deliberate intent, wrapping firmly around his length as he strokes himself in a slow, unhurried rhythm.

The motion is mesmerizing, almost practiced—his grip tightening subtly at the base before sliding upward, then loosening as his hand glides back down. His fingers flex with precision, coaxing soft, breathy moans from his lips, barely audible but enough to make your skin prickle.

He shifts in his chair, angling himself slightly toward the camera, his movements smooth and calculated. His legs are spread comfortably apart, the outline of his frame illuminated by the soft glow of the monitor. The confidence in his actions is undeniable, as if he’s done this countless times before, every motion intentional and deliberate for the audience he can’t see but knows is watching.

Your heart pounds harder when his strokes pick up pace briefly, then slow again, teasing, calculated. His chest rises and falls in measured breaths, and every now and then, a low groan escapes, richer and deeper than the softer sounds he’s been making.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Jin murmurs suddenly, his tone smooth and teasing, almost playful. You jump up slightly from the sudden spoken words. His strokes grow a fraction faster, his hand tightening briefly before loosening again. “Bet you’ve been waiting all day for this.”

The faint click of his mouse follows, likely scrolling through the flood of comments. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, and he tilts his head as if he’s reading something amusing.

“Oh, you want me to go slower?” he says, his voice dropping a notch, rich and deliberate. His movements follow suit, his hand sliding torturously slow along his length, eliciting a low groan from deep in his chest. “Patience. You’ll get what you’re asking for. Just keep watching.”

He shifts in his chair, leaning back slightly, his free hand brushing over his thigh. “Such a needy audience tonight,” he adds with a smirk, his tone dripping with mock indulgence. “But I guess I can’t blame you. You love it when I take my time, don’t you?”

Your breath catches as you hear the faintest hitch in his voice, a sign that even he isn’t immune to his own ministrations. “Mm, that’s it,” he murmurs, his strokes quickening again as his chest rises and falls in heavier breaths. “Keep telling me what you want. I can’t get enough of it.”

The chat on his screen is moving so quickly it’s impossible to follow, but he clearly can. His responses are measured, tailored, and completely immersed in the moment.

“You’re spoiling me tonight,” he says with a breathy laugh, likely reacting to a particularly generous tip or comment. His hand slows again, teasing, his thumb brushing over the tip of his length in a way that draws a soft, shuddering groan from his lips. “Guess I should return the favor, huh?”

His voice lowers further, almost a whisper, intimate in a way that makes your heart pound. “Let me know how much you’re enjoying this,” he says, his words melting into another low moan. “Because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

Your pulse races as you watch him lean back slightly, adjusting his position to maintain his pace, his focus entirely on the screen and the comments it displays. The intimacy of the scene feels almost overwhelming, and it’s enough to snap you out of your trance.

You step back, your breath hitching as you force yourself to retreat. Whatever this is, you weren’t meant to see it!

And yet the image is burned into your mind as you close your door, your thoughts swirling in a storm of confusion, embarrassment, and curiosity.

Oh my fucking god…

The soft click of the mouse breaks you from your trance, and you realize you’ve been standing there far too long. Before Jin can notice anything amiss, you step away from his side of the apartment as quietly as possible, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

You retreat down the hall to your room, shutting the door behind you with trembling hands. Leaning against it, you try to catch your breath, your mind racing. Jin, your childhood rival and now your new roommate, is apparently living a double life you never could have anticipated.

Never mind.

This new life that you’re living, will not be easy at all.

a/n: happy thanksgiving!! this is another very short series i plan to make with around 3-5 chapters. i'll keep brainstorming and slowly writing this along with my a(myg)dala fic series... but this is very brainrot not too heavy focus on plot so i probably won't take long to continue it compared to the other series hehe!! thank you all for the support and for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

#seokjin x reader #jin x reader #kim seokjin #bts smut #jin smut #seokjin smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #smut #heart on the window #bts fic #bts #seokjin x y/n #jin fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n

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javier-pena · 2 days ago

Text

the duel

Pairing: knight!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Mature

Summary: When a grave injustice is done to you, there is only one man who will defend your honor.

Notes: I know I'm the slowest writer ever when it comes to working through my 10k follower celebration requests but we're getting there. A very sweet anon requested "Can you just look at me? Please?" with Din Djarin and my brain made that into a medieval AU somehow. Dear anon, I'm not entirely sure this is what you had in mind but I had THE most fun writing it, and I'm so so in love with knight!Din that it's going to be incredibly hard to let him go. As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who said this is the best fic I've written recently - it's amazing what I can achieve when there is no smut to overthink!

The air smells of smoke and horse manure and cold. It smells of blood and death too, but Din isn’t quite certain that he isn’t imagining that. No one has died here, at least not today, and if he keeps his cool, then the sun will set without him having taken yet another life. All he has to do is immobilize his opponent, make him surrender. If he can do that, he’ll win more than one victory today.

He bows, deeply, in front of Lord Marlowe and the assembled guests. To his left, Rhyswald the Crusader does the same, the insincerity evident in the way he inclines his head, moves his feet. Din has every reason to hate Lord Marlowe, every reason to wish the worst on the other man, but he wouldn’t dream of disrespecting him, least of all in his own house.

Rhyswald lifts his head, runs a gloved hand through his blond curls, and dons his heavy helmet. Din ignores the smirk on his face, the way he bares his teeth in something resembling a snarl. He can’t let these things get to him if he wants to walk away from this duel victorious, his hands clean. He lifts his own helmet, ready to hide his face behind the T-shaped visor, when he sees you stand and abandon your seat next to Lord Marlowe. You walk to the edge of the berfrois, your pale blue wool dress looking almost white in the soft light of the winter morning, your dark blue coat billowing behind you. You don’t wrap it around yourself, even though the cold morning air makes you gasp. Your eyes are fixed on Din’s, but he can hardly bear to look at you, his heart in his throat threatening to choke him.

You reach the edge of the berfrois and you seem so close that he thinks if he just extended his arm, he could touch you. And then you extend your arm and his hands begin to tremble. If he had to draw his sword right now, he wouldn’t be able to hold up the weapon. There is something in your hand, a piece of white silk, and you smile at him before letting it go, the cloth gently gliding down in the calm air, toward Din. He steps forward, his hand outstretched, and everything around him vanishes – the lists, the nobles, Lord Marlowe on his high-backed chair, even Rhyswald and his vile face. It’s just you and the token you’re bestowing on him that Din sees.

He secures the piece of silk around his left lower arm, gently pulling it tight with his teeth. By the time he is done, you have returned to your seat, regarding the spectacle before you with cold detachment. Like him, you can’t let this get to you. The world begins to come back with shouts and the sounds of stomping hooves and Rhyswald’s voice snarling some insult Din doesn’t quite catch. He walks over to his horse Razor, tied up at the edge of the lists. Razor is covered in Din’s colors, the dark blue of his father and the silver of his liege, its black fur shiny with sweat already. Din hoists himself up, takes his shield from a knave, and draws his long, heavy sword. With a deep breath, he turns Razor to face Rhsywald.

Din tastes blood on his tongue as he charges at his opponent, blood from where he has bitten the inside of his cheek. Rhyswald’s helmet is obscuring most of his face, but Din can imagine the smirk he is wearing beneath, sure of his victory. After all, didn’t he fight in the crusades? Didn’t he risk his life and soul for king and country? And where was Din while his fellow countrymen were risking their lives overseas? Where was he? Din raises his sword high above his head, channeling all his strength into his right arm, and a growl erupts from his chest, drowned out by Razor’s hooves hammering against the frozen ground.

Din manages to hit Rhyswald’s shield, but the steel glides of the leather reinforcements uselessly. Rhyswald misses Din’s shoulder because he twists out of the way in time but even before Din manages to turn Razor around, he’s there again with a second attack, splintering the top of Din’s shield with a forceful blow. Din changes direction, his back facing Rhyswald for a moment, but the bold move pays off. When he goes in for a second attack, the other man parries his blow with a surprised shout.

Beneath the horses’ hooves, the ground slowly breaks open and becomes uneven while the knights try to gain the upper hand. They are evenly matched, Din has to admit that, but whereas he fights for an advantage, Rhyswald fights to humiliate. When Din parries a blow, Rhyswald tries to hit him with his shield, when Din tries to free his sword, Rhyswald tries to punch his chin or scratch his unprotected lower arms. The longer the horses dance around each other, the harder it is for Din to keep the promise he made to himself.

“You should give up now,” Rhyswald suggests after a while, his voice coming out in strained pants, “because I will kill you if you don’t.”

Din doesn’t reply because there really isn’t anything he could say.

Rhyswald tries to grab Din’s arm but almost loses the grip on his sword and has to straighten his back. “Did no one teach you manners, boy? You answer your superiors.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Din presses out through gritted teeth, the blade of his sword coming down hard against the spaulder protecting Rhyswald’s shoulder but bouncing off it without leaving a mark.

Rhsywald pulls back his steed, disengaging, and Din drops his arm to relieve his straining muscles. “Why not? Did your little harlot forbid you to speak? Because she knows if you talk to me, it’ll only expose her lies?”

Din doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop himself from charging at Rhyswald in a rash move and missing him when he swerves.

“Oh, so it’s true?” Rhyswald taunts, making his horse prance around Din’s. “Do you always do as she says?

“Shut up,” Din growls. Rhyswald’s grating voice is making his blood boil.

“Apparently not,” Rhsywald remarks, and Din can make out the smirk beneath his helmet. “So tell me, do you believe her little story? Or do you know she’s a liar?”

Din spurs on Razor, the pounding hooves quickening his heartbeat. He’s aiming the blade at Rhsywald’s head, but his opponent predicts the move long before Din can carry it out. Their blades clash and send out sparks. The force of the impact makes pain shoot up Din’s arm and he grunts. Rhyswald doesn’t let him catch his breath. He lands blow after blow, and Din can barely keep him in check while Razor nervously prances beneath him.

“That would explain why she picked you as her champion,” Rhyswald goes on while his blade comes down hard against Din’s shield. “Gullible Din Djarin who’d do anything for the taste of a ma–”

Din kicks, hard, and is surprised when his foot connects with Rhyswald’s middle. Rhyswald gives a shout of surprise, and Din knows his eyes are wide beneath that helmet. With a rattling crash, Rhyswald lands on the hard, trampled ground and his horse takes off with a whinny. Around them, the berfrois erupt with cheers.

Din closes his eyes and the sound changes. It now is the gentle rustling of newly grown leaves swaying in a warm spring breeze. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in Headdon Fort walking the corridors, climbing steep stairs. Outside the windows, the world is breaking out into colors, bright and fresh, while inside the mood is dampened by bad news recently received. As a knight passing through, no one has informed Din of the tragedy.

Din doesn’t know what he is looking for, only that he is too restless to quietly sit in a chair yet too exhausted from his recent travels to spend his time training. The fort is almost empty since everyone is enjoying the spring sunshine, and Din, in turn, is enjoying the quiet. Until he hears a stifled sob, turns a corner, and finds you leaning against the damp stone wall. You’re crouching, face buried in your hands, a scroll of parchment lying at your feet, and your chest is heaving with violent sobs.

Din should walk away, spare you the embarrassment of being seen at such a vulnerable moment, but he can’t. It’s not his upbringing and training, the chivalry demanded of him. It’s the love he feels for you that makes him rush to your side instead of turning away from you.

You must hear his heavy footsteps despite your preoccupation, and you look up, eyes red, cheeks wet. “Din,” you breathe, your voice hoarse.

His chest tightens at the sound of his name coming from your lips in such a familiar manner. He steps in front of you, unsure whether he is allowed to approach, flexing the fingers on his right hand, still stiff from a recently sustained injury. “What do you need?” he asks.

You smile at him, gently, your grief momentarily forgotten. “It’s Eldrin,” you answer. “He … he died.”

Din’s chest grows tighter, a feeling no longer welcome. Out of your brothers, Eldrin was his favorite. Din had always looked up to the older man, and Eldrin had always treated him like an equal. “How?” he asks.

You shake your head as a new wave of grief rushes over you. Din can’t bear to see you like this. He drops down to his knees next to you, the floor uncomfortably cold through the fabric of his chausses. But he doesn’t care when you lean into him and bury your face against his shoulder. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything anymore except the warmth of your body against his and the way his heart flutters in his chest.

Steadied by Din’s presence, you finally answer. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Din echoes, slinging an arm around your shoulders. The bright spring sunshine seems to darken at your words, and despair settles over the both of you.

“He was trying to save a friend,” you go on, your words muffled against Din’s tunic. “Lord Raaf. He had gotten into a fight, and Eldrin was trying to help him. They were all drunk, it was a stupid, drunken fight.” You sob, and Din can’t help himself. He kisses the top of your head, and feels a stab of pride when you pull him closer.

“Raaf,” you go on after you have somewhat collected yourself, “he said Eldrin got stabbed in the back. I don’t know why.” You look up at him, your eyes impossibly bright with tears. “Why, Din?”

“I don’t know,” Din replies. He could talk about honor, call the murderer a coward, curse his name, but none of these things would help you. Instead, he asks, “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you reply, grabbing fistfuls of Din’s shirt. “He’s dead.”

“Does Raaf know who stabbed Eldrin?”

You nod. “A knight. He calls himself Rhyswald the Crusader.”

“There are witnesses,” Din goes on. “Lord Raaf. He saw it happen. Rhyswald will be brought to justice.”

You give him a tired smile. “I don’t want justice. I want Eldrin to be alive.”

Din’s stomach knots painfully, as if he had been stabbed himself.

It’s the same pain he feels now, back on the lists, watching the murderer push himself into a kneeling position, reaching for his sword. “Stay down,” Din whispers, but Rhyswald lets loose a deep growl and stands, picks up his mud-caked sword.

“You coward!” he shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I should have known that you won’t be able to win this fight without cheating.”

“Enough!” Din barks. “Do you surrender?”

There are whispers all around him as he waits for an answer.

Rhsywald spits, and it comes out red. “No.”

The whispers stop.

Din circles Rhyswald, Razor snorting beneath him. “Then you have made your choice,” he declares with a heavy heart, raising his sword.

Rhyswald charges. Razor, surprised by the sudden movement, rears up and then collapses, the front legs giving way, breaking with a sickening crack. Din hits the ground, hard, the impact pushing all the air from his lungs. One leg gets buried under Razor’s body, while the other twists at an odd angle, and he loses both his sword and shield. The crowd gasps, there are one or two shouts, but Din only hears the blood rushing in his ears, and the rattling sound of Razor’s dying breath.

Din’s vision darkens when Rhyswald casts his shadow down on him. He pulls his sword out of Razor’s chest with a sickening squelch and huffs. “There. Now we’re evenly matched.”

Din places a gloved hand on Razor’s back, the body warm and alive to the touch. He can’t allow himself to feel, can’t allow Rhyswald’s dishonesty to get to him. He pushes the horse off his leg and stands, ignoring the pain in his calf, the way his vision goes dark as blood pounds behind his eyes. He limps to where his sword lies half-buried in the mud, then to where his shield sticks out of a heap of soil. He picks up both weapons, his grip like iron, and turns to face Rhyswald.

They circle each other; every other step is agony to Din, but it doesn’t escape him that Rhyswald holds his elbow at an odd angle or that his helmet has shifted, obscuring his view. Din shakes his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears but it doesn’t help. He loosens the grip on his sword, then tightens it again, and before Rhyswald can take on a defensive stance, he rushes toward him, his only goal to inflict as much pain as possible. He can let himself have that, he decides, as long as it doesn’t cloud his judgement.

Steel meets steel, and Din’s ears are now ringing with the sweet sound of combat. Rhyswald manages to keep him at bay, but no matter how hard he tries to get a blow in, Din doesn’t let him. He forces Rhyswald to defend himself, forces him to back away from Razor’s dead body, forces him to fight for his life. Rhyswald is strong, his defenses are tough, but once in a while, there is a crack in them, and Din exploits it ruthlessly.

Rhyswald’s shield splinters in half after Din hits it repeatedly, and the two halves fall to the ground, useless. Din can’t help but smile a cruel smile, already tasting victory, but without the additional weight, his opponent is faster and finally gains the upper hand. He pushes back against Din’s assaults with vicious jabs, forcing Din to divide his attention between parrying Rhyswald’s blows with his shield and defending himself with his sword.

Din’s arms grow heavy, so heavy that every time he has to raise his sword it feels like a task impossible to accomplish. Rhyswald seems to tire too – his footfalls are heavy and he grunts every time he swings his sword at Din. But when the blade lands against Din’s right cuisse, he feels the blow in his entire body and his knee gives way, making him stumble. Rhyswald goes for Din’s standard next, and it’s only through sheer force of will that he manages to parry that blow. The audience gasps, groans, and then falls silent.

“Don’t you hear?” Rhyswald hisses, pushing his blade down against Din’s. Every muscle in Din’s arm is screaming for him to give in. “They hate you. They want to see you dead. Why don’t we give them what they want?”

He kicks Din in the chest, swirls around, and with the force of a final blow lets the blade of his sword rush toward Din. Din lets out a hoarse shout as his lower arm is sliced open and hot blood spurts out, drenching his tunic. Steam rises in the freezing air.

“You should give in now,” Rhyswald suggests. “It would spare you the pain and humiliation.” He reaches for Din’s injured arm, for the piece of silk tied around it; Din draws back with a hiss. Darkness settles over Rhyswald’s face. “Have it your way then.”

He raises his sword high above his head at the same time as Din raises his shield, and when blade hits wood, Din pushes himself up, flinging his cover at Rhyswald. He feels bile rise in his throat at the effort; instead of air, it feels like he is breathing in fire, but he stands, and Rhyswald struggles for a moment, caught off-guard by Din’s resistance. Still, Rhyswald has a point – it would be so easy to give in, to stop here and let fate take its course.

The glove on Din’s left hand is growing heavy with blood. He glances down to examine the damage and his eyes land on the piece of silk Rhyswald tried to touch, the token you gave him, convinced he would be victorious. He promised you, did he not? He offered his services to bring you justice, to right that terrible wrong that had been done to you. He can’t give up, no matter how much he wants to. Not when you are up there in the berfrois, all your hopes resting on him. Your hands are doubtlessly clenched in your lap, your eyes are wide with terror. You are praying, he is sure of that – not to a merciful God, but to him, begging him to keep going.

“You’re tougher than I had thought, I’ll give you that.” Rhyswald’s voice sounds tinny from beneath his helmet, and it lures Din out of his thoughts and back onto the lists. “But you still have to resort to tricks to gain the upper hand.”

Din is barely listening to the words. His eyes are roaming Rhyswald’s armor, looking for a weak spot, a small opening he could attack. There is nothing, not even a loosening rerebrace. But the way Rhyswald is holding his sword, his grip lax … if Din could disarm him, this fight would be over.

With an outcry, hoarse and violent, he storms at Rhyswald who is too late to raise his sword to defend himself. It flies out of his grip and lands somewhere to his right, halfway sinking into the mud. There is some careful applause coming from the berfrois, one or two cheers, as people are trying to figure out what just happened. Din feels a smile forming on his lips, one that is cold and calculating, as he allows himself this small indulgence because no one can see it.

Rhyswald looks at his useless sword, lets the implication of it no longer being in his hand sink in. Then he huffs and rolls his shoulders. Din steels himself for another insult, hopes for a swift surrender, but stiffens when Rhyswald loosens his heavy morning star from his belt.

“We’re just getting started,” he sneers.

Din rolls his neck, his shoulders, then flings his sword from him. There is one faint shout of, “No!” somewhere in the distance, and all he can hope is that it did not come from you. “Forgive me,” he whispers, pulling his pernach out of the loop on his belt.

When Rhyswald charges, morning star swinging at his side, Din is ready for him.

The air around him warms as the lists vanish and are replaced by a ground of dust, dry air being swirling up in the hot summer sun. Din takes a step to the side and twists his upper body, avoiding his opponent who rushes past him with a curse. Din turns and kicks him in the backside so he lands on the dry ground, face first. The other men clap and cheer, and Din runs the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat and dirt.

That is when he spots you rushing toward him, your hands balled into fists at your sides, your footfalls heavy with anger. Din hears the other knights snicker, one or two whistle, but he ignores them. His entire world has become you – there is no room for anything else.

“What happened?” he asks as soon as you are close enough to hear him.

You stop in front of him, your eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t know who else to talk to,” is all you say.

Din softly closes his hand around your elbow. “Come,” he says, “let’s go.”

There are some lewd comments, some more whistles, but you don’t seem to hear them. You let yourself be guided into the shadow of one of the trees in the enormous courtyard, where the heat is a little less punishing, and prying ears have a hard time overhearing your conversation.

Din takes in your appearance, your fine dress, your long hair, braided intricately, and his face heats with the realization of how he must look next to you, dirty and sweaty and half undressed, with his tunic hanging open and its sleeves rolled up, curls rumpled, hands brown with dust. You don’t seem to mind though.

“Rhyswald was acquitted.” Your voice is strained with anger and hatred; Din barely recognizes it. “The king has acquitted him.”

Din wishes he could offer you words of comfort. Instead, all he manages is a suppressed, “What?”

It should not be like this, was not supposed to go like this. You were convinced the king’s verdict would bring you justice, and Din was convinced of the righteousness of your cause. After all, Rhyswald had stabbed Eldrin in the back, in front of witnesses. Maybe you had misheard the king, misunderstood his verdict.

You lower your eyes at Din, and for a moment he thinks you’re redirecting your anger at him. “He didn’t believe Raaf, said Raaf was too drunk to know what he saw.”

“But there were others,” Din presses, unable to make sense of it all, “other witnesses. People who say Rhyswald …” He finds himself unable to finish the sentence.

You begin to pace beneath the shadow of the tree, your face shiny with sweat. “None of them confirmed Raaf’s story. They said it was too dark, they can’t be sure of what they saw, Rhyswald wasn’t drunk, they want to believe his story. The king said it wasn’t enough.”

Din watches you pace, rooted to the spot by his uselessness. He hears the clanging of swords, the shouts and cheers – the other knights must have resumed their training, already tired of poking fun at him. He hears the song of a bird high up in the tree above you, and the high laughter of a little girl somewhere close by. They all go on with their lives as if the world had not just ended.

“There must be something we can do,” Din finally says. “Maybe the king will reconsider if …”

“If what, Din?” you snarl. He flinches. You notice, and your face falls. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help but there is nothing we can do to change his mind. There is only …”

“You can’t give up,” Din interrupts you. “There has to be a way. We will find one.”

Your face softens as you gift him a smile. “There is one way. The only way. But it’s hopeless.”

“Tell me,” Din demands, taking both your hands in his.

You lower your gaze to where your hands are joined. “Trial by combat,” you answer. “If God’s verdict were to be in favor of my brother …”

Din tightens his hold on you. “Why would that be hopeless? Aren’t you convinced of Rhyswald’s guilt?”

You wind your way out of Din’s grip. “It’s not that. I don’t have a champion.”

Din blinks, trying to sort through his thoughts. “I’m sure your fiancé …”

“Lord Marlow accepts the king’s verdict,” you cut him off. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Din pulls you close. “Yes. There is.”

The sharp pain in his right arm brings Din back to the present. It has to be broken, judging by the way it uselessly hangs at his side. When the morning star hit the rerebrace, Din could hear the sickening crack it made. Rhyswald could too, and it put a cruel smile on his face, one Din could see all too clearly now that Rhyswald lost his helmet somewhere in the mud. Din tries to flex his fingers, tries to bend his right arm at the elbow, but the responding pain makes his vision darken and stars dance in front of his eyes.

Opposite him, Rhyswald looks how Din feels. His bottom lip is split, his teeth are red with blood. He spits and a tooth lands at his feet. Din inhales sharply and tries to straighten his back, but Rhyswald chooses this moment to charge at him, the morning star long forgotten, lost somewhere on the battlefield. Din glances longingly at his pernach, now too heavy for him to wield with his broken arm, then widens his stance, bracing for the impact.

Rhyswald is aiming for his shoulder, but Din takes a calculated step back and Rhyswald misses. He stumbles but immediately regains his balance, his eyes wild with rage. Din can’t help but smile.

Rhyswald reaches for Din’s left arm, which is still bleeding, and Din hisses when his hand closes around it, hard. He struggles against the grip, but can’t use his right hand to push Rhyswald off, and when he yanks back his arm, he only pulls his opponent toward him. Rhyswald closes his other hand around Din’s throat, but Din twists back his head, then brings his helmet down hard against Rhyswald’s temple. That does the trick.

Rhyswald stumbles back and Din falls forward, grunting in pain. He can make out the tears and dents in Rhyswald’s armor where he was able to do some damage with his pernach, cut so deeply he drew blood, but it wasn’t enough. Rhyswald still stands, still fights. And Din knows he cannot take much more of this.

Rhyswald kicks, aiming for Din’s legs, and when Din tries to evade him, his leg gives way and he folds, falling to his knees in front of Rhyswald. Then his head starts ringing, and he realizes Rhyswald is pommeling the helmet with his bare hands, trying everything to make Din surrender. And Din wants to. By God, he wants to! He’s so exhausted he can’t even tell if this fight is real or if he blacked out minutes ago and this is all a fever-induced vision.

Rhyswald lands a kick against Din’s chest, and Din crashes to the ground. It has begun to snow, and as he is lying there, looking up into the sky, he can see the flakes dancing around him. When Rhyswald straddles him, sinking to his knees on either side of Din’s torso, he can’t find the fight in him to oppose him. Instead, he lets Rhyswald punch him, his chest, his chin; his head rings every time Rhyswald’s fist connects with his helmet, but there is no point in fighting back when it’s so easy to lie here and watch the snow come down gently.

Rhyswald curses, trying to pull Din’s helmet off his head. But his gloves are slick with blood and mud, and he cannot find purchase against the smooth iron. Din shakes his hands off with a grunt and his head comes to rest on its side where he has a clear view of the berfrois. A clear view of you.

You are halfway out of your chair, your eyes wide with shock. His chest constricts, the pain unbearable, so much more violent than anything Rhyswald did to him today. If he doesn’t fight back, this will be the last thing he sees, his last conscious thought will be that he disappointed you. And maybe that’s what he deserves. He killed so many people, ruined so many lives – this is his punishment for all the hurt he brought into this world. What’s one more broken person? What’s one more ruined life? Of course, the only thing he can give you as his present on your wedding day is for you to watch him get butchered. He lived his life dishonorably, of course it has to end the same way.

Drained, he closes his eyes, waiting for the end to come.

When he opens them again, it’s you he sees. Your eyes are bright, and you try to hide a grin behind the back of your hand, but he gently takes your wrist and pulls it away from your face. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile like this, and he wants to savor every second of it.

You kiss him again, and it’s as if he was forgotten how to breathe. All he feels is the gentle press of your lips against his, the way you’re still so unsure but so, so eager to have him like this. It makes his heart bloom like a meadow in springtime. He can’t help himself – he has to cup your cheek. You shudder against him in response.

“Let us stay here forever.” The words are out before he can stop them.

You glance up into his eyes, your face so unguarded it makes him want to fight for your affection. Makes him want to die for it too. “I wish we could.” You push him back against the hard stone wall of the alcove you’re hiding in. “Let’s not talk about it.”

The next time you kiss him, he can taste your grief on your lips. “There’s –,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“No.” You touch your finger to his lips, and he freezes, blood rushing downwards, tight between his legs. “Din … I’m so sorry.”

There is nothing for you to be sorry for, no choice he regrets making where you are concerned, but hearing you say those words makes a lump form in his throat. “Don’t.” He kisses you to hide the ache that has to be written all over his face. “It’s what you have to do. You have your duties, as I have mine.”

You lace your fingers with his, squeezing them hard. He presses his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling.

“I’ll always be yours, Din. Always.”

Din reaches for his dagger strapped to his thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain. Rhyswald’s triumphant grin is wiped off his face when Din knees him in the crotch before stabbing him between his ribs where his armor has shifted. Rhyswald lets out a pained grunt, his eyes falling shut, as he tries to grab Din’s wrist to pull the dagger back out. Din does it for him, relishing the wet sound it makes against Rhyswald’s flesh. Then he pushes Rhyswald off him and rolls onto his side, arm braced against the other man’s chest, pushing himself onto his knees. The pain that is everywhere in his body now is almost unbearable, makes him want to vomit and pass out, but the sight of Rhyswald’s eyes, widened in terror, keeps him going.

Din closes his left hand around Rhyswald’s throat and Rhyswald starts kicking his legs in panic, clawing at Din’s fingers and arm. But Din doesn’t let go, only pushes him deeper into the mud. This isn’t the first time he is taking a life, and he knows it won’t be the last, but he will never again enjoy killing someone this much. He tightens his hold on Rhyswald’s throat, watches as his eyes begin to bulge, and he feels a strange calm come over him. It’s easy to grab the dagger, even with his broken arm, so easy to press the blade against the skin of Rhyswald’s throat, and even easier still to cut, one smooth motion, followed by blood, so much blood. It seeps into Din’s gloves, hot in the freezing winter air, drenches his hands so all the world can see he has taken another life.

Din doesn’t let go until Rhyswald’s eyes cloud over and he stops twitching. He pushes himself away from the dead body, a pained growl passing his lips. He isn’t shaking – that will come later – but he isn’t feeling the satisfaction he thought he would feel. He raises his eyes and glances up at the berfrois, up to where you are sitting. It’s not as if he had expected you to jump out of your chair and cheer for him, but he had hoped for some acknowledgement of a job well done. Instead, he finds you staring at him, eyes wide with terror, and he looks down at his soiled gloves and the man next to him, his throat cut open like a red, angry maw.

You would look at Din like that. Not with relief or adoration, but with terror. After all, now that you have seen his uglier side, you recognized the kind of monster he truly is. And who could love a monster, even if that monster killed for you?

Din kneels in the cold mud, eyes fixed on his hands, his terrible hands that have done so much bad in this world. He should have surrendered, should have let Rhyswald kill him. But there are men carrying his corpse away, and Din has to go on living, knowing the only person he truly loves despises him. He wishes there were cheers or curses, people talking, getting ready to leave, discussing the duel, anything, but it’s so quiet and he is alone with his thoughts that are so loud. He’s even alone on the lists now, Rhyswald’s corpse having been carried off, and still, he can’t bring himself to get up and leave. He can’t even raise his head because looking at you again would kill him.

His world turns pale blue as you come to stand in front of him. You kneel, not caring about spoiling your wedding dress – you’re kneeling in the dirt and blood, and you say, “Can you just look at me? Please?” but Din can’t. He doesn’t want to face your hatred, even if that makes him a coward.

Your voice is so soft as you repeat that, “Please,” and it does something to him, reminds him that he can never refuse you. His broken arm twitches painfully as his heart picks up speed, and then he looks up.

You have a soft smile on your face, one he had thought he’d never see again. You raise your hands, lifting the helmet off his head, and then you press your forehead to his, just like he did with you before you told him you’ll always be his.

“I love you,” you whisper into the cold winter morning.

That’s all he needs from you.

If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian #10k follower celebration

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midnight-mourning · 8 hours ago

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*Taps mic* Heard y'all like Moon around here, you're in luck, this one's for you

massive, MASSIVE thank you to @lunarmoves for beta-reading this chapter!!

She put a lot of time and effort into making my BS readable for y'all and it's greatly appreciated <3 <3 <3

Shay also makes really good dca stuff (also sebastian solace but I know very little about the fish tbh) and you should check her out!

Also, happy 200k+!!! We're only 297k from truly becoming the 500k enemies to lovers slowburn of our dreams lmaoooo

But for real I apologize for such a delay with this one. If you'd like to hear my excuses/reasoning they're below the cut, or you can just go read the chapter whatever suits ya ^-^

Tag list (if you would like added please see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

CW: medical stuff & additionally a bit of unreality mentions

Okay going to try and keep this simple bc I've said parts of it before

So as most of you know, I've been sick for 3 months now

I've now been on two rounds of steroids, and currently on my third round of antibiotics, which are basically keep me fucntional, not improving

besides general discomfort and pain, my memory has been pretty shot at times, I will go through the day and barely remember what I did/what I'm doing/what I need to do

as someone who had brain fog caused by covid a few years ago, this was genuinely a scary experience because ultimately, this has been worse

i've felt out of control of my body, having times where I'm mid thought and then instantly lose it

this is not my normal, I usually pride myself on my memory, so losing it has been incredibly devastating and scary

this was not helped by the fact that the quick care I went to (THREE TIMES for this) basically kind of sort of tried to gaslight me into believing nothing could be done and that it's not an infection

so not only has this entire thing has gotten dragged out so much more, which makes me sad tbh, but I've also felt like I've been going crazy bc it felt like no one was believing me when i said I was sick and not getting any better (including friends, family, coworkers etc, though unintentional on their parts to be fair)

I feel like I've lost three months of my life and coming to terms with that has been, yeah

on top of all that, I'm still in school AND doing grad stuff, and while the school side of things has been okay (thank god), grad's had it's moments, won't get into it but have had multiple issues with my advisor that have been at times just really tough to deal with

Confused spirit got pushed to the back burner, because i quite literally at times could not think, and when it comes to this fic, where there's multiple ongoing plot threads, characterizations, lore, and so on to keep track of, it was just, impossible to me to even consider writing for it

having shorter stuff like promptober, the oneshots and such was great to keep me writing, and also still interact with everyone in the community, plus i had a lot of fun with them so that helped too

this is all to say that I do sincerly apologize for the delay, and at the very least I should've clearly communicated about there being a hiatus, when this all started I thought i'd be down for two weeks max, then as that time kept increasing I just kept putting it off and putting it off because i thought i was going to get better, and then I didn't

I do this for fun and for nothing else, fic writing isn't content (it's engaging with fandom) and i have to remind myself of that sometimes but given that I've been around in some capacity on and off I feel I should've said something in some regard

Having said all that, I'm doing okay now! Still sick, but as long as I'm on meds I'm functional, stuff is getting managable with grad, and hopefully have some fun things coming up irl! Point is, the last three months haven't been the best, but they've been alright, due in part to all the support you all have given me, so thank you for that, can't say it enough :)

Okay, I think that just about covers it, thank you for taking the time to read all of this if you did <3

#thank you again Shay it is very much appreciated #despite all the difficulties #i enjoyed this chapter a lot #and I hope you all do too ^_^#fnaf dca #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca fic #Confused Spirit #x reader

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the-flying-robins · 3 days ago

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The main thing that led to this fic going in the complete opposite direction than I planned was mostly spite. I hate that DC dropped so many threads with the reboot.

Putting it under a cut cause it's kinda long and spoilers for my very much in progress fic

You're telling me there's not an amazing storyline that could be told diving into Dick getting sick and facing the real possibility of his death being caused by an illness? And not a stray bullet or major fight? The man who ties his self-worth to the number of people he can help being unable to help people because he's too ill is an amazing thread to pull on.

And just I need Lian to live. I like angst as much as the next dickroy shipper, but death of a child is a level of angst I can't write myself. But that means you have a post Batman Dick practically coparenting Damian, and Roy with Lian. And how would those 2 interact?

And idk maybe I'm not familiar enough with Roy to really dive into this yet. But both nuclear radiation exposure and extended heroin use both can lead to liver failure or cancer. So pulling on that some more, I think there's a lot that can be done with Roy's feelings on it.

And I think (know) Dick would have a DNR, there's no way a passively suicidal man with a need to feel useful would allow himself to reach that sort of point. And at the same time Bruce would never stand for a DNR in regards to Dick (at least I don't think he would) so Dick needs someone to be his emergency contact, he needs a medical proxy who will respect his wishes.

And when looking into Same-sex marriage laws, civil unions, and non-married partner rights for NY the timeline lined up way too well with 2011-2012 for me to not be hooked.

So you've got pining Dick & Roy, they need a way for Roy to be present for it all without question, they need to make sure Roy is the one with a say if it comes to it.

#dickroy marriage fic #i start a lot of sentences with and huh?#anyway i yapped!#if anyone wants to talk about it more with me ill love you forever (i already do!!)

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slippinninque · 1 day ago

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💕Early Birds🦃

Fontaine x blackfemreader

Warnings: fluff, long fic, soft!taine, holiday vibes

With a slight twinge in your bent wrist, you woke smooshed between the solid wall of your man and the couch. It was easy to get your arms resettled and you sighed at the feeling of being held. When had the two of you fallen asleep? What time was it?

Hell, it didn’t even matter…

Your granny would have been sick if she saw how you gorged and lazed about, all up under and over a man. Truth was that this may have been the best holiday you had in a long time. No walking on eggshells, no constantly serving the ungrateful and spiteful.

This Thanksgiving was all about what you wanted to do in your house. If you wanted to invite your boo over the night before to bring in the festivities, you could. The house was fragrant with the smell of the season–sugar, spice, and Pine-Sol.

Carefully sitting up, you gave a big stretch and in doing so roused your couch-mate,

“G’morning to you…”

“C’mere…let me tell you something.”

“Nope, that’s a trap…” You tried to wriggle away but Fontaine brought you closer, rolling onto his back and arranging your afghan in the process. You managed to find Fontaine’s phone wedged between you and you checked the time, 5:45am. Happy Turkey Day! The phone was tossed back into the couch-nest as you laid your head onto his chest.

Fontaine massaged the back of your head, fingers deep in your new growth, “The food is put up, we don’t need to get up right now. Do we?"

“Maybe I was going to get whipped cream, huh?”

“How when we used it up all last night for the milkshakes?”

“Urhm…maybe I was gonna make some! Smarty…”

Fontaine snorted and slipped his hands down to cup your bottom, which was a very good counter argument to getting up. You swore he was stuffed with lavender or something with the way his touch could sooth you right back into dozing.

The night before replayed across your mind.

With the main events either cooling off on the counter or resting in the fridge, the two of you saved the desserts for last. You threw a few cookies into the oven and Fontaine surprised you by taking the lead on making an apple pie. It was your favorite to make thus far as Fontaine insisted on kissing you in between bites for a ‘proper perspective’ on what the eater was enjoying.

The TV played on mute when the stereo was on, the two of you working around each other in the kitchen to prepare dish after dish. You both agreed that Thanksgiving really started the day before, the holiday should be spent getting full and laughing at old reruns.

You shared your preferences of sweet potatoes vs candied yams. Fontaine showed you how to open a pop can without its tab. You told him of the importance of having dinner for breakfast and he agreed.

Fontaine told you about his holidays before his little brother’s passing. You described the last holiday that made you decide to never come home for the holidays. You could hear the loneliness in his voice as he avoided the subject of his mother, only insisting he usually preferred to be alone on days like these.

It was something you could relate to, knowing more than enough people but still feeling so singular. It was a feeling that you steered away from, instead focusing on the friends who texted you well wishes and promises to link up soon.

You also focused on how well your spare apron fit Fontaine. You couldn't take your eyes off him as he accompanied you, showing no signs of slowing down or getting tired of your constant ideas of what else to put into the stove.

Kissing in the kitchen, Fontaine lit by the bronze-blue sky peeking from the window felt like a gift and you kept the feel of it beneath your heart for rainy days. You could imagine every holiday going on like this, loitering the kitchen snacking and waiting for more food to get done before eating again.

The couch became home base as you both were suddenly too awake for bed but not to be sitting up at the dining table. You grabbed some Uno cards and Fontaine found your rolling tray, both of you bringing food from the kitchen to spread across the low table. Fontaine was yours, the two of you playing and smoking until you fell asleep.

Presently, you opened your mouth but your stomach spoke for you. It murmured rudely enough that Fontaine noticed and laughed as he released you.

“Alright, little chipmunk. I’ll give you what you want.” Fontaine sat up and you did as well, stretching high to the ceiling. Fontaine did the same with a groan, teasing you with a peak of skin when his shirt rode up.

The morning made him very soft, Sleepy ‘Taine was something else. You liked how he looked wearing your afghan when heating up your plates and you liked the smell of your soap on Fontaine’s warm skin when he came from the shower.

You had everything set up for the two of you. Two dinner trays pushed together with your plates coupled with the left over treats from the night before provided the perfect spread.

Fontaine settled close to you, pulling the blanket over both your laps. You broke open the 2-liter to pour cold juice into cups for each of you. You don’t know why but your stomach filled with butterflies when Fontaine turned to give you a little smile as he found the remote.

“Ready?” he asked. You thought of the hours ahead do you, filled with nothing but this.

“Oh, for sure..."

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✨Ending notes:✨ I'm soooo sorry it took so long @mcondance! It's mainly vibes but I hope that you enjoy it! Thank you all for reading 💕✨💖✨🤸🏾‍♀️💜

💕Taglist💕: @megamindsecretlair @thadelightfulone @mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful

@8ttached @thadelightfulone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @longpause-awkwardsmile

@ms-angiealsina @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93 @sageispunk @hunnishive

@notapradagurl7@mcondance @harmshake

@miyuhpapayuh@mogul93 @kindofaintrovert @blowmymbackout @kindofanenigma

#fontaine x black reader #fontaine x reader #x black reader #fontaine x black!fem!reader #fontaine x blackfemreader #john boyega #fontaine #x blackfemreader #they cloned tyrone #john boyega fic #submission fic

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1dmonthlyficroundup · 2 days ago

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— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for November 2024! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ Lost and Found by @signofcomfort [T, 33k, Louis/Harry]

Harry, the misfit wolf in the pack, always longed for affection but was too drowned in his own loneliness.

The pack alpha Louis Tomlinson shapes the future of his pack to be more accepting and welcoming, but would Harry ever return?

＊ No More Days Alone by @signofcomfort [M, 6k, Louis/Isaac Anderson]

Isaac finds himself lost amidst the tour but Louis is always there to find him.

＊ I want yesterdays love by edensrose / @holdingthornsandroses [M, 4k, Louis/Dev Patel]

“We’re going on holiday before the term starts again,” Oli announces in their kitchen the day after the art opening.

Louis looks up from his cereal bowl.

“Who is we?”

“I’ve rented us a cottage near the beach. Me, you, Calvin, Rick, and Dev.”

Louis makes a noncommittal noise but can’t deny his heartbeat racing at the mention of Dev.

＊ i tell myself i'm done with wicked games by haveufoundwhaturlookingfor / @sup3rbloom [T, 5k, Louis/Michael Clifford]

Omegaverse: Alpha Louis has never questioned who he is, a strong, loving Alpha who defies stereotypes. When he meets Michael, a beta, he certainly doesn't expect to fall for him (and hard).

＊ To start again by @loretheloner [E, 27k, Louis/Michael Blackwell]

Louis finds himself slowly falling for a bandmate again, despite Oli's warnings against it. Michael finds himself slowly falling for his boss and fighting against the ghost of Louis' past relationship. They find a way to start again.

Or a canon compliant story that follows Michael and Louis from the summer of 2019 to June of 2024. Written for prompt SS of the Louis Rare Pair Fest 2024.

＊ I've drowned and dreamt this moment by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed [T, 2k, Zayn/Louis]

There has been a rivalry between them since they were young. Since the very start of their careers. It’s always been Louis and Zayn, the ones to watch. The ones to do battle and ultimately share the podium.

They push each other to be better, is what the world says.

They hate each other, is what Zayn and Louis say.

And it all comes to a head in Val d’Argenton.

＊ Countdown by @allwaswell16 [M, 2k, Louis/Thomas Shelby]

Tommy Shelby, pack alpha of the Peaky Blinders, has taken notice of The Garrison Pub’s new barmaid, an omega named Louis. A prequel to One Part 2 of One

＊ if we were butterflies by @blueskiesrry [E, 52k, Harry/Louis]

“Is this how I used to look at you?” His hand hovers just over the collarbone of the sculpture, like he’s caught between wanting to touch and wanting to pull away, wanting to leave and wanting to stay.

Eyes stuck on Harry, unaware of anything else in the room, Louis whispers, “Something like that,” wondering now if he ever quite did it justice.

or: after recruiting harry to model for his sculptures and coming to know all his edges, louis loses him to a life more prosperous than he can provide. he finds harry again four years later.

＊ Whole Lot of History by Blue_Green28 / @bluegreen28fics [E, 73k, Louis/Harry]

Louis and Harry have a whole lot of history. With 3 children coming out of their twelve years long marriage they are essential parts of each other's lives even though they have moved on with new partners since their divorce ten years ago. Or have they?

What happens when Harry finally gets some money to open the coffee shop he had always dreamed of and they spend more time together to plan everything? Does their love still have a chance?

＊ Flying Over on My Own Tonight by @haztobegood [E, 1k, Louis/Jack Cochrane]

Louis is on his way to Monterrey, Mexico, where he'll headline Tecate P’al Norte music festival for the first time. A text from Jack makes the flight a bit more interesting.

＊ Sisterhood by @haztobegood [M, 2k, OT5]

Liam was thankful to have found sisters like Harry, Louis, Niall, and Zayn after running away from her parents. They opened their door and their hearts, their once-abandoned farmhouse becoming a safe, comforting home. Then one night, an unexpected visitor arrived, revealing the dark secrets of her new family.

＊ The Kiss of Sleep by @haztobegood [NR, 666 words, Louis/Harry]

Louis shook his head. “I’m proper knackered.” Too many nights on the road with the noise of the tyres rolling beneath them kicked Louis’ insomnia into high gear. He’d only been able to nip off for naps between soundcheck and their shows so he’d have enough energy to perform properly. But just barely. Now, with two days off and a plush king size bed calling his name for the first time in weeks, Louis needed to catch up on sleep.

＊ Love's A State Of Mind by @enchantedlandcoffee [T, 3k, Harry/Louis]

“Your omega?” Louis asked softly, trying his best to keep his voice steady. “Hmmm.” Harry smushed his face in Louis’ shirt, his hand moving up to mess with one of the buttons. “He’s great, my omega. He’s kind and passionate and funny, even when he makes jokes about me.” “He- He sounds great, button.” “He is. You are.” What?!

OR Childhood friends, Harry and Louis, have been inseparable ever since they met. However, presenting as an alpha and omega drove a wedge in their relationship. One night, after Harry drunkenly confesses one too many things, Louis snaps. He realises that, despite loving his best friend so much, he needs to move on before their love tears them apart. He just needs to get the stubborn alpha on his side. Part 1 of Flower & Button

#28th appreciation #1dsquad #1dficlibrary #1dficvillage

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withthewindinherfootsteps · 6 months ago

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So we know that Wei Wuxian's treatment after his death was horrible. Even if nothing could impact him directly, there was still neverending slander, hatred, misinformation, theft...

But, for a while after he died, the sects did try to impact him directly – namely, frequently trying to resummon his soul. And today I'll explore the possible reasons for this, their likelihoods, and why I'm so, so thankful that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the summons. Because, spoiler alert (or, you know. maybe not)... none of them are good.

(Long meta ahead)

In my opinion, there are four likely motivations for this: confinement, coercion, torment, and potentially destruction.

Out of all of these, confinement is probably the most likely motivation, at least for most sects (Jins and Jiangs excluded, though it was likely what the Jin sect said their motivations were – but I'll get to them later). This one is the most simple – we know spirit-trapping pouches exist, and we know the sects also placed 120 stone beasts on the Burial Mounds to prevent Wei Wuxian's soul from escaping. Therefore, this seems to be the most likely motivation – and fortunately for Wei Wuxian, probably also the best case scenario, though it still certainly isn't a good one.

For the second, coercion – this is where the Jin sect come in (more specifically Jin Guangshan with the help of Jin Guangyao). Due to their wealth and resources, they're likely the sect who played the largest role in the soul-summoning rituals. We know what they're willing to do to try to gain power – keeping Wen Ning under the pretence he was burned to death and trying to control him with the nails, and working with and helping Xue Yang torture people to help him refine his demonic cultivation, in order to have the Yin hufu fixed. Along with working with many other cultivators, alongside Xue Yang – Jin Guangshan really, really wanted that seal.

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources and these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

(Note that working with these cultivators very likely happened after Wei Wuxian's soul had failed to be summoned, since this happens some time after Wei Wuxian's death, whereas the soul-summoning ceromonies presumably started happening very close to it.)

In the previous paragraph, he's also quoted as having 'lusted after' the Yin hufu, which we already knew but it's nice to have a direct quote as evidence.

Now, would Wei WuXian willingly work with the Jin sect in doing this? No. We know that, and, given Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life (refusing to hand over the Tally, not being afraid to stand up to the sects, etc), I’m pretty sure Jin Guangshan knows that, too:

He beat around the bush a couple of times, using all his skills, yet Wei WuXian didn’t give in no matter what, and it made him run into a bunch of obstacles. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

So this could actually make things go two ways. One, I'm wrong and that wasn't actually part of the Jin sect's motivations, since they know they wouldn't be able to control him (and in that case, had they managed to summon him, I could imagine them putting him in a spirit-trapping pouch and doing something similar to what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue's head. Which, also, not good). Two, it was a part of their motivations, and they hoped to find a way around that. After all, there are other guidao users out there now, and Wei Wuxian would now be a gui*. Also, cultivators can obviously harm ghosts – see the very existence of Night Hunts, and I'd include Xue Yang's talisman-caused destruction of A-Qing as well (while he isn't a traditional cultivator, talismans can be used by everyone).

Now, would either of these methods actually work? I'm inclined to think not really (and I expand on the former method in a note below). Would that stop Jin Guangshan/Jin Guangyao/the cultivators they employ from trying? Especially considering Jin Guangshan's lust for power?

I'm inclined to think no, too.

For the third, look no further than Jiang Cheng's reputation of capturing and torturing demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death, due to thinking they could be him. And this does happen – Jin Ling knows and talks about it, and there's not real motivation for him to negatively lie about someone he loves. Also, when they come across each other at Dafan Mountain, we're told this in Jiang Cheng's inner voice:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. - MDZS Chapter 10, EXR translation

This mainly shows that he's tortured people before, rather than that he's tortured people because he thinks they're Wei Wuxian, but this reason is confirmed by Jin Ling in Chapter 24. Of course, the reason is also mentioned in this chapter, and there are other moments in the chapter that illustrate my point better**, but they come from second-hand sources which I know are easier to deny. Do take note of Jiang Cheng's expression both times he comes across 'Mo Xuanyu' (after he suspects he's Wei Wuxian) in Book One***, though:

After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring [Zidian] again. He spoke softly, “… Well, well. So you’re back?” - Chapter 10, EXR Although his face had always been clouded, marked with arrogance and satire, it seemed as if every corner of it had come alive. It was difficult to determine whether it was vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy. - Chapter 23, EXR

This does seem to line up with what people say his attitude to Wei Wuxian is – there doesn't seem to be any happiness at seeing him again at all. The only time a word that could suggest that ('ecstasy') is used, it's accompanied by 'raving', and considering the context and the other possibilities of his expression, it's... probably not due to happiness at being reunited.

So, considering 1) this, 2) his contribution to the Siege specifically intended to kill Wei Wuxian, and 3) that at the time of frequent soul-summoning Jiang Yanli's death would be even closer for him, I feel pretty confident in saying that yes, this is likely a motivation for the Jiang sect in trying to re-summon Wei Wuxian's soul after his death. And, as mentioned earlier, cultivators can harm ghosts (and we know Zidian is able to remove souls posessing a body from that body, and that Jiang Cheng used Zidian on 'Mo Xuanyu' in Chapter 10. If it wasn't able to restrain/harm ghosts, or other methods weren't able to, why would he risk Wei Wuxian's soul escaping?).

And finally, option four: destruction. We're heading into much more speculative territory here, so don't consider this on par with the first three. But consider this:

We know there are some spells, like Xue Yang's talisman used on A-Qing and the body-offering ritual, that can ruin the returning soul’s reincarnation cycle by destroying it. Therefore, soul destruction is possible.

The 'main'/supposed reason for summoning Wei Wuxian's soul back is to stop the "cultivation world, or even all of mortal land" from being "faced with the most insane damnation and revenge, sinking into nothing but chaos and despair" when Wei Wuxian inevitably returns. While, as mentioned above, I severely doubt this is the motivation for certain sects – and to me is likely a rumour which the Jins (again, especially Jin Guangsha) fanned the flames of to justify summoning Wei Wuxian back for their own purposes**** – there are other sects which would take it more seriously.

Although likely disrespectful, people already thought it served Wei Wuxian right to die without his body intact by the time of the second siege – something believed to negatively affect your reincarnation in your next life*****. This is only the logical next step, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people would believe that, again, it would serve Wei Wuxian right, or would at least lead to less harm of the world in the long run.

For these reasons, I could definitely see this as an option for some sects, especially the sects who consider themselves more 'righteous' (cough cough the Nies under Nie Mingjue cough cough). After all, evil is evil and good is good, and the evil deserve what's coming to them. And what better way to prevent that than from preventing his soul from returning at all? So for the Nie sect – and likely some of the smaller sects involved in the Siege, since among them, additudes probably vary – yes, I do think it could be a motivation.

I’m not as sure about the Lans being willing to go this far, and that’s largely for two reasons. One, Lan Wangji’s presence and his relationship to Lan Xichen, who does (not always, but he does) let this affect how he treats Wei Wuxian. An example of this is that, when Wei Wuxian's return is made public, Lan Xichen does let him hide and shelter at the Cloud Recesses instead of trying to pursue him, likely majorly due to Lan Wangji. I'd argue that the aftermath of the Nightless City also acts as an example of this, although it definitely isn't perfect. But though he, Lan Qiren and the 33 elders do come to find Lan Wangji and do not let him continue to shelter Wei Wuxian (after they see Lan Wangji's feelings), Lan Xichen doesn't use this opportunity to kill/capture Wei Wuxian, despite Lan Wangji being in a worse condition due to having fought 33 elders, Wei Wuxian being catatonic, and Lan Qiren likely supporting this outcome (especially considering he was the one who led the Lan sect in the Siege – chapter 68, Wei Wuxian's POV). And he did let Lan Wangji take Wei Wuxian back to the Burial Mounds after:

After he went out of his way to send you back to Burial Mound and returned in such low spirits to receive his punishment, how long he kneeled before the Wall of Rules! - Chapter 99, EXR

Again, this was right after the Nightless City massacre – there isn't any goodwill towards Wei Wuxian at this point in time.

Of course, the Lan sect did participate in the siege after Lan Xichen knew of Lan Wangji's feelings towards Wei Wuxian, which Lan Xichen was no doubt a part of (although Lan Qiren lead the Lan sect in the siege, Lan XIchen had to have at least known/given his support, if not participated.) And it should be considered that Lan Xichen letting Wei Wuxian shelter at the Cloud Recesses was after Wei Wuxian had been back for a while, and had not caused the downfall of the Cultivation World, like many suspected he would after his death. And of course, as stated previously, his handling of the aftermath of Nightless City wasn't perfect either (though please note that his main motive here was to protect Lan Wangji from being potentially executed, rather than anything about Wei Wuxian himself). So caring about Lan Wangji doesn't mean he won't harm Wei Wuxian. But I do think he could find bringing Wei Wuxian's soul back to completely destroy it a bit excessive. There is, though, the chance that the elders of the Lan Sect would react to this differently, and of course they would have a sway on both Lan Xichen and the Lan sect as well.

The second reason is smaller, but there seems to be more focus in the Lan sect than in others when it comes to letting ghosts rest peacefully/helping them move on. And that could definitely lead to more resistance to the idea of summoning a soul back to destroy it as well, which could especially impact the elders. So I'd assume that the Lan sect would be the most likely sect to summon Wei Wuxian's soul back just for confinement, or just for some way of making sure any resentment is disippated, his spirit moves on, and he can't cause more harm to the world (eg via Inquiry)******. Not that he would or does as a ghost or as a reborn person, but that's unfortunately not relevant to this.

But yes, as a motivation for the Nie Mingjue-led Nie sect? Absolutely.

So, these are the main motives I suspect to be behind the attempted summoning of Wei Wuxian's soul after his death (and if I've missed any, please let me know – I'd love to have a discussion). And, of course, none of them lead to anywhere good. Because of course it wasn’t enough to besiege Wei Wuxian, murder the 50 non-combatants he was responsible for (and throwing them into the blood pit as a mark of disrespect because why not?), and lead to his death via him getting torn apart. It wasn’t enough to steal all his inventions, and use them commonly while still slandering him with no reprieve – or to steal his notes and give them to people like Xue Yang to study (Villainous Friends, again) and to use for their own, extremely extremely harmful, purposes. Of course, the cultivation world has to try to harm Wei Wuxian after death as well ((:

We don't know whether Wei Wuxian rejecting the summoning ceremonies was conscious or unconscious, but if it was the former, these are very likely reasons he refused to return in this way. If it was unconscious – for example, maybe during the frequent soul-summons his soul was in a weakened state due to him dying from a backlash of resentful energy and getting torn apart, and it healed over time but not before the soul-summoning rituals stopped – well, I can only be thankful.

Finally, let me leave you on the thought that – although it may well have happened since we don't spend much time in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot campaign – there isn't even any textual mention of this happening to Wen Ruohan. Who, while not being a guidao user, was still very dangerous, still an extremely powerful cultivator, and still had a lot of reason to feel resentment. So.

:')

Thank you for reading!

*Considering what we see of how Wei Wuxian's guidao functions – redirecting the ghosts'/corpses' resentment into doing something they'd want to do, eg attacking people, and directing it towards a target – I'm not sure using it to force a spirit to do something 1) extremely specific, and 2) explicitly against their will would actually work. Iirc the closest thing we get to this in text is Wei Wuxian using the corpses of Wens to attack other Wens in the Sunshot Campaign, but he's still just directing their resentment to a target of his choice, and fierce corpses do tend to be on the less concious side of things (hence why Wei Wuxian had to awaken Wen Ning's consciousness). Considering how Wen Ning attacks Wei Wuxian and the Burial Mound Wens before his consciousness had fully awoken, I... really don't think those fierce corpses were able to differentiate (or didn't care).

Meanwhile, ghosts seem to be a bit more in control of themselves – see A-Qing, and Wei Wuxian's own descriptions of his ghost self.

That, alongside ghost!Wei Wuxian being able to resist his soul-summoning and the fact that pretty much all of the new guidao users are a lot weaker than he was, does make me think that this this wouldn't work. I do wonder about Xue Yang, since his methods are pretty different as well, but he's more of a modao user than a guidao user (he controls living corpses rather than dead people) and I don't think you can insert physical nails into ghosts?? Though if he was specifically instructed to figure out some way to control ghost!Wei Wuxian (who's probably kept in a spirit-trapping pouch in this scenario), he might be able to do something at least. Though also he was also struggling to piece Xiao Xingchen's ghost soul back together, so he may struggle with those areas?

Well, whatever the potential outcome, I'm so so happy once again that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the soul-summonings...

**Mainly this:

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life. - Chapter 10, EXR

But I have heard people say 'you can't prove that it's just more rumours' before, and I wanted my evidence to be as watertight as possible.

(And, off-topic... isn't it really sad how Jiang Cheng, in the present day, is described as young? Because, for a clan leader, he is. And another thing he is, is close in age to Wei Wuxian – who was killed 13 whole years prior :') )

***And do note that the only other time they run into each other before Wei Wuxian's identity is revealed to the world apart from this is their brief interaction at Jinlintai, where he can't just act however he wants. The next time they run into each other after it, Jiang Cheng is literally taking part in another siege against him, and still extremely hostile ("surrounded by hostile energy, face insidious, staring straight at him" – from EXR chapter 60). Then he loses his spiritual powers and can't do anything. By the time he regains his powers, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants' corpses have saved everyone during the Second Siege, and though public opinion hasn't properly shifted quite yet, it will soon after Sisi and Bicao tell the story of Jin Guangyao, and voila, a new scapegoat (do note that he doesn't completely bar Wei Wuxian from entering Lotus Pier after the Second Siege, though). Plus, throughout it all, Lan Wangji is still constantly present, which makes it hard for Jiang Cheng to really do anything. And then he's finally faced with the Golden Core reveal, which does alter his motivations towards Wei Wuxian (obviously the resentment is still there – read chapter 102 – but it's also mixed with other complex emotions, and he seems to start being able to move away from that a little in Chapter 103). I still definitely wouldn't describe Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him as positive, but it isn't at the point it was at the start of the novel (eg Chapter 10).

But even if his attitude does change, or would for whatever other reason apart from the reveal, that still doesn't change an initial motivation so isn't relevant to this meta. We know his intentions at the start.

****It's also possible they may have originated it, but I think WWX's reputation was bad enough for it to form naturally. Though you can trace a major part of that back to them, too.

*****That belief isn't outright stated in MDZS, but the fact people are specifically talking about the status of WWX's body in the aftermath of his death suggests that this belief does have some grounding in the MDZS universe, at least? And we know MXTX has included it in TGCF (though that doesn't mean it's definitely in MDZS), so she has used it in her works. If this isn't the case in the MDZS universe I am sorry (although that could also mean there's less importance placed on not disturbing the reincarnation cycle in the world of MDZS...? Which would work towards my original argument) – I don't want to spread misinformation that something is definitely true, I just think there's evidence to suggest it is true, which isn't the same thing.

******Again, I think this would depend on who ends up having more influence over who in the Lan sect. After all, normal resentful spirits only do what they do because of their resentment in death, whereas Wei Wuxian is 'dangerous' because of who everyone thinks he was in life – so him being reborn naturally could also 'cause a lot of harm to the world' during the time period this version of him would live in, unlike the resentful ghosts they appease. This could definitely lead to many advocating for confinement, I think.

#writing this takes me back to my nie huaisang one #'detective metas' i'd call both of them #as opposed to analysis of characters or themes #it may be less 'meaningful' but it's still fun to explore and speculate within a world you love #...albeit maybe not for this one because. mdzs jianghu when i get my hands on you-#also i fully acknowledge i may be wrong #but again i'd love to have discussions about these! debates and knowledge exchange are what leads to better understanding of source materia #which is a major goal of mine in writing these #mdzs meta #my meta #wei wuxian #mdzs cultivation world #long post #mo dao zu shi #gdc #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #魔道祖师 #mxtx #detective meta #<– if i ever make this a tag #also i feel like you could write a fic (angsty or not so angsty depending on where you go with it) where the lan sect somehow-#-summons ghost!wwx back (not sure how bc the jin and jiang sects would probably want 'custody' of him more - and i don't think summoning-#-rituals are done by just one sect at a time? but imagine it happens) and idk he's kept in a spirit-trapping pouch or sth #lwj probably isn't told bc of what happened after nightless city - elders can't really trust him in matters to do with wwx #but maybe lxc feels bad for him or sth (especially bc he's mourning him and stuff + what happened after he found out wwx was dead)#and tells him and maybe brings wwx's soul to him for a bit so wwx can respond to inquiry #and they talk and obv. wwx is NOT happy with the situation (both rn and yk bc of the VERY RECENT SIEGE)#but but but! the thing that would stop this being completely depressing is that LWJ HAS A-YUAN SO WWX FINDS OUT HE SURVIVED #also lwj's injuries would likely come up at SOME point which would lead to wwx finding out abt nightless city afermath #AA NOO THE TAGS WENT ON FOR SO MUCH LONGER BUT I GUESS TUMBLR DOESN'T ALLOW SO MANY i'll have to make another post...

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benevolenterrancy · 5 months ago

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Do any NieYao (or general 3zun) shippers follow me? I've been tossing around the idea of a nieyao fic but I'm getting tripped up by timeline shit because good lord JGY's life is a nightmare... is there anyone who wouldn't mind either:

a) chatting with me about timeline/canon stuff to help me get sorted

b) sending me recs of their favourite nieyao fics 👀 for, uh, strictly research related purposes for sure for sure

#mdzs #nieyao #man i've been wanting to try writing someone nieyao related for ages and finally stumbled across a prompt that intrigues me #but it's always intimidating approaching a character/ship you haven't done before... so much canon to get sorted out in my brain first 😫#i just finished my two Long Fics and i'm waffling between projects right now :( i need something to sink my teeth into #i have a whumpy post-burial mound siege wangxian oneshot that needs a bit more love to get the ending and flow right...#and a meet-in-childhood wangxian fic that's just fun and cute that i really need to return to... since writing that soulmate au this one go #backburnered and i would really like to look at it again #and a very silly different-third-meeting hualian fic but it's a case fic and involves serious plotting before i can do much with it *sigh*#so instead of dealing with any of that i'm chasing this plot bunny instead god help me #when you want to write but nothing feels quite right... at least putting meng yao through a breakdown might be fun #bene speaks #this is me rambling #i will be on a nine hour plane flight soon so i need some ideas to chew over... not that i'll actually have a laptop to write on god save m

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splickedylit · 2 years ago

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The ROTTMNT fandom has been incredibly sweet about The Kindness of Collision and it's been very galvanizing! Full set of illustrations is finally done and updated into the fic and I am once again holding out these weird hurt/comfort turtle timeline shenanigans to you, the internet. UoU

Thank you to the people who pointed out that if old man Mikey has hair, he must grow hair at some point in the future, and double thank you to the people who drew him looking very cute and made me stop hating the idea lol

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #rise mikey #rise donnie #rise raph #rise leo #Splickedydoodles #these were always going to get a full photo post when they were done tbh because I'm very pleased with how they turned out!#I am not a person to @ people but if you like rottmnt go read somerandomdudelmao's comics they are very cute and also tragic in places #and I know I got some of my Bad Timeline headcanons from Cass although this fic took so long to write I don't remember which ones haha

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avelnfear · 2 years ago

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Chapter Eight

Masterlist

Talia wasn’t as cold as she was made out to be. Not in the depths of her heart, anyway. She couldn’t have been with her childhood friend that had kept her company, telling her tales of the outside world and showing her ways to win fights without showing her hand. Eventually, she’d understood how special her friend was, but even before then she’d been keeping her softer demeanor hidden. It would not do to show the League of Assassins or Father that she wasn’t as cold and unbothered as an Al Ghul should be.

Her friend featured in her dreams as often as in her waking moments, although the dreams were so different from what her life was like. It showed her in a very different environment, older, with a son, Father was long dead, and she was just meeting her friend for the first time as a grown woman. It showed her the consequences of her friend knowing their history too soon from the start, and anytime she was tempted to spill the beans about what she knew it was quick to remind her. The dreams were clearly not always in order and some details were hazy, but she was grateful for the valuable information they provided.

As was inevitable, her friend had to stop visiting for a period of time due to the rules of time travel and all that. She didn’t look for them, knowing that she’d find them again when the time was right. Father never found out about her friend, although he was suspicious for a little while about what she was hiding until she threw him off the scent with a more feasible “secret” than a time traveling friend from other lives. On the outside, she shouldn’t have had the level of experience needed to lie to Father, but, on the inside, she knew how because she’d lived longer than him.

All this rushed through her head in seconds as one of her people knelt before her. She hummed lightly to let him know that she wasn’t upset, merely thoughtful, and his relaxation only proved to her that this was the right way to lead. Leading through kindness and respect rather than fear and respect. The information was so much more free this way, and the loyalty was even stronger.

“You did well Simon.” She practically purred the words as a plan with several contingencies sprung to the front of her mind. “Keep watch as you have done for so long and don’t worry about interfering just yet. Everything will work out. Report back to me when the day is set for that man’s plan, and remember Plan Ouroboros.” She nodded her dismissal, and the nod was returned as Simon retreated to his post.

Talia settled onto the ground with her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knees. She let her eyes close, extending her awareness to make sure she was still alone in the room while she descended into thought. It would not be wise to let down her guard even in her own room at the heart of a stronghold that belonged to Father. She needed to be careful, now just as much as ever and maybe even more than usual.

This situation was truly one that she could never have dreamed of, even when she’d discovered that she was not alone in her memories with the arrival of her precious child, her shining star. He’d kept it fairly under wraps, enough that no one who didn’t know what he should be acting like wouldn’t pick up on it, but she picked up on it, responding by nurturing him the slightest bit more in whatever way she could.

It’s not to say that she didn’t hope for her and her child to reunite with the friend they both knew, no, Talia had always hoped that such a situation would happen. She just didn’t think it would be so… perfect. The friend was currently away, there was no evidence of anyone else remembering anything, and she was currently in a position where taking over the League, with her friend and Plan Ouroboros to help, would go off without too many issues in most scenarios. It was absolutely wonderful, almost as wonderful as the faces of her loved ones as they realized just who she actually was and who she stood with.

That thought led her to think about Bruce, her Beloved. At first, she’d thought what they’d had was true love, but now, through the lenses of hindsight, she knew that it was true love, in a different way then her first imaginings. Bruce was her Beloved Brother, which made it a little weird when she remembered he was the Father of her precious child, but she dealt with those feelings as they came. Choosing to ignore them most of the time, like right now for instance.

Talia wondered how her other precious child was doing. It had broken her heart to have to curse him to deal with the side effect of the way she brought his mind back, but she knew it was a necessary part of his character going forward. She’d not tried to manipulate him nearly as much nor in the same direction as previously, but she still knew he’d done some heavy things that he’d surely regret, again. She hoped that one day he would see her as the maternal figure she’d hoped to be.

Her friend was going to absolutely tear Father apart, but that wouldn’t be beneficial. No, to truly make the amount of impact while maintaining the distance they wanted, she’d have to be the one to face Father. Which meant that she’d finally be able to show her friend the fruits of her labor combined with the genius of their training. It would only make the shocked faces of her loved ones even more amusing and entertaining. It would single handedly prove that she was correct to hide cameras all over the League’s bases, aside from all the obvious information gathering opportunities.

Talia was starting to grow restless, itching for a weapon in her hand or something to do, somewhere to move, but that was not what this exercise was for. She already had great self control, but there would never be any harm in making sure to hone that particular skill. Out of spite towards herself, she emptied her head of thoughts for the next two hours.

A knock at her door pulled her out of her thoughts, it appeared that it was time to go on a mission, and, judging by the breathing pattern and the depth of said breathing outside her door, it was one of Father’s minions and it was urgent. This was likely the mission to go and set up the structure that would be used to kidnap the Bats and the Birds, how amusing.

Standing and wiping any and all signs of emotion from her face, she made towards the door, this would prove to be very interesting, no matter how the cards fell.

~`~`~

Elle stared at her sleeping original, at her ma. They’d talked to Ghost Writer who’d told them that he’d do some research yet promised no results. She’d read between the lines to see that Ghost Writer just wanted a good story with plenty of suspense this time around. Danny had been mildly annoyed at the prospect of waiting, which she understood given what case they were looking for the answers to, but he hadn’t gotten too angry, meaning there must still be time or hope left. Clockwork had worked Danny till he was ready to drop, and even sleeping as much as he had didn’t fully get rid of the exhaustion.

Her thoughts were a mess because of the excitement-anxiety-happy-belonging that churned in her core due to the upcoming chance to live with Danny. She knew that she’d have to watch her behavior in order to not accidentally incriminate her beloved template to any of their precious bats, but she could, no, she would do it. Elle wanted so badly for all of them to remember, to know what all they’d been through together, but it just wasn’t meant to be.

She hoped that there wouldn’t be too many misunderstandings with her around. She’d only been speaking in Ghost Speak for a couple of years now, and it never really translated all that well into simple conversations in mortal languages. Elle had been exploring the Realms for those years, only using mortal languages again when she needed to go on missions now and then to keep Danny safe.

Putting that thought from her mind, she curled around her original once again, basking in the complete sense of safety that they were giving off. Things would be okay as long as she always had her wonderful parent to come back to. She just hoped, prayed and desired for her Pops to wake up, or his memories to at least. She wasn’t sure just how stable her original would remain without him by their side.

~`~`~

Jason had slept until just an hour before Danny returned, and he was now standing outside of their door, building up the courage to knock. He didn’t know why it was so difficult, it was just Danny after all, but something was telling him that knocking on the door would change a great many things. It seemed nonsensical at best to assume that something so simple could truly change so much, but Jason hadn’t gotten this far by ignoring his instincts.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock, only for the door to swing open and an unfamiliar girl to look up at him, blinking slightly in shock. A wide, teasing grin swept over her face as she leaned back to face further into Danny’s apartment and called out, “Ma!! Tall, Dark and Handsome is here to see you!!” Jason flushed at the words. What?!

Did Danny have a girlfriend? Who? Why hadn’t they told him beforehand? Had Danny moved or gone missing? Who was this strange girl standing in the doorway? Why did she seem to recognize him? What was the nickname for? Why-? What-? Huh-? He could swear his brain was shutting down because his vision was going all weird and he could hear a strange humming that seemed to bubble in volume.

“-ason. Jason. Jason!” He suddenly became aware of the fact that he was laying on Danny’s ridiculously comfortable couch while Danny’s face swam into view in front of him. “Can you see me, Jason? Do I need to give you the same treatment I gave Tim?”

Jason flinched at the idea of being slapped like that, it had sounded like it really hurt. “No, no, I’m… good, I think. Um.” Why was Jason fumbling on this so hard? There was no real explanation for it.

“Ma!” The word was extended teasingly from someone out of sight, the voice was gleeful and reminded Jason of the girl who’d opened the door. “Is Tin Can awake and aware yet?”

Tin Can? Wait, did she know who he was? Who was-

“Danielle Helene Rhea Nightingale, you stop teasing our guest right this instant.” Danny’s voice cracked like a whip with all the intensity of one of Alfred’s commands. He was glaring at someone behind Jason, and the fire in his eyes captivated Jason. It was so intense and so breathtaking and- he stopped the train of thought right in its tracks before it became a train wreck and got himself slapped.

“Sorry Ma.” It was the sort of dragged out apology done by someone who’d been reprimanded about this very thing far too many times. “I’ll be good.” The girl walked around the couch and into his sight, looking properly chastised.

“Why does she call you Ma?” It took a second for Jason to recognize that he was the one who asked the question. The other two were looking at each other by the time he did, having a silent conversation that Jason couldn’t understand.

Danny sighed. “We come from a place that often uses a language that doesn’t translate well into any language that I know of. It’s a small town on Earth with a lot of immigrants that taught me their language. Elle here is my adopted child, and she used only that language for a couple of years. Old habits die hard and all that. The actual translation, before you ask, is a little bit close to something like: the parental figure who primarily looks after emotional needs that is there for their child in any time they are needed. English translates that to Mother and all the variations of it due to the supposed gender roles enforced by the history of the language and other stuff like that. She also tends to call me Pa or Da as well, but she’s been calling me Ma since I agreed to let her come live with me full time now that I have a safe space.”

The girl, Elle, nodded behind Danny, affirming what they were saying. “Yeah! I might have some weird stuff that I say sometimes, but I’ll always try to elaborate if it’s brought up that there’s a misunderstanding!” She beamed at him with a massive smile that lit up the room better than the lights were.

“Oh… That makes sense. What does the language sound like?” He felt his head tilt, internally cursing the fact that he’d started to copy a couple of Danny’s mannerisms, his brothers would never let him live that down.

Elle and Danny shared another series of looks that Jason couldn’t translate. “Are you sure you want to know? It’s not very… human in nature.” Elle seemed almost, afraid? concerned? conflicted?, one of those three or maybe all about the answer she would receive.

“I gathered as much from the translation and how you two are dancing around the subject. If you don’t want to share with me, then don’t, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re someone Danny cares about, so you’re someone I care about.” He tried to smile to show more emotion than his voice was giving off, but he didn’t think it worked because Elle looked close to tears.

“It’s your decision Little Rocket, you decide. I’m not quite comfortable speaking in that language right now, so it’s all up to you.” Danny was more gentle and soft in voice and face and behavior than Jason had ever seen, and it made him fall more for him. Wait-

“Okay then, here goes!” She opened her mouth and made some sort of noise that sounded like sunlight filtering through water on a warm and sunny day mixed with the feeling of lots of clouds covering the sun while simultaneously feeling like watching the stars on a windy night while on a tall perch covered in the warm sensation of knowing where you’re going, who you’re going to, and how far you’re willing to go to get there over the rippling view of watching light bend at a molecular level all spiraling with the distinct flavour of peppermint and spearmint combined. It was an odd sound, but it wasn’t one he hated. The strange flavour was something he could do without, but the overall sound gave him an odd sense of peace-joy-mine. It was beautiful.

Looking over at Danny, Jason saw the sheer look of pride on their face, and it just made Jason fall even farther. He could admit it, to himself if no one else, that he’d fallen for his gorgeous neighbor with the wonderful fighting skills, mysterious past, good cooking skills, and the beautiful behavior around children. They were stunning, marvelous, funny, and loyal. He had always been able to feel something in his chest screaming in joy every time he was around his wonderful neighbor, but he’d ignored it before now.

~`~`~

Talia smiled darkly as she went over the plans her people had leaked to her about Father’s plan. It was wonderfully stupid, leaving her plenty of room to separate her precious child from the group to keep him away from the devastation and destruction that would surely be wrought upon the League when this plan went through. She checked the date for the kidnapping against the schedule in her mind, causing her smile to grow in darkness and size. Yes, that date would be perfect for the maximum destruction of Father’s ways.

She composed herself before turning back to Simon, who’d brought her the wonderful news. “Wait until the prisoners are with Father and you will not be missed before activating Plan Ouroboros. Alert the others. Thank you for bringing this to my attention and following my orders.” She received a simple nod as Simon headed out, but she considered that enough, knowing that her orders would be spread among all of her followers.

Turning, she walked deeper into her quarters. There was a small window of time for her to prepare everything that she would need to make Father’s devastating plan immediately backfire, but she was still confident that it would happen. All she needed to do was finally reach out to an old friend of hers as soon as Ra’s decided where he was going to imprison their loved ones. Truly, nothing could be as wonderful or exciting as this. Then again, her friend always was one prone to surprising things. Oh how interesting this was turning out to be.

~`~`~

Ra’s Al Ghul was excited. Everything was proceeding according to plan. Finally, he would have all the tools necessary to rule the world for all of eternity. All that was left was a little kidnapping, a little torture, and a little bit of breaking a civilian with wonderful connects, and he would have what was rightfully his. He couldn’t wait.

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