#like the friends in general really have chipped down so much of his walls despite how high they still are but also? theres a certain healing
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danny's friendship with each of the friendgroup healed a certain part of him in general. but theres a part that also wants to say that honestly? i think his friendships' with the guys in their own way really hit on something in his head and heart.
his 'friends' during his youth and teen years were not decent people, decent friends, in the absolute slightest and it definitely skewed his thoughts on interacting with, trusting other guys so much because of it.
so i feel that meeting and slowly warming up to the others just truly started to piece back those bits of him that he'd lost when he was a kid, really.
#like the friends in general really have chipped down so much of his walls despite how high they still are but also? theres a certain healing#that came with getting closer to and befriending leland & sonny (& johnny dep on verse) in particular that i find very important#in his eyes. healthy guys friendships yknow? guys getting to be silly and openly caring and loving vibes yknow? its different than hes#been used to & while hes a stubborn ass most of the time - i think he does know deep down just how much impact positively theyve had on him
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“Name’s Ronno, and these are the boys, Stab and Jab.”
FULL NAME: Angelo ‘Ronno’ Spiridakos BASED ON: Ronno (Bambi II) FACE CLAIM: Nicholas Galitzine PRONOUNS: He/Him BIRTHDAY: 12 July 1999 CURRENT STATUS: Taken
Character Information || CW: Miscarriage, Alcoholism ||
Konstantinos Spiridakos came to America on a student visa. He lands at the college in Willowdale, where he meets and befriends Wilden Lightfoot. It is many years later, however, before the Spiridakos family crosses paths with the Lightfoots, yet again. This time, it is in a place called New Mushroomton, just outside of Detroit. Konstantinos is married now, has two young children - Lyra, who's six, and Angelo, who is three - a lovely young wife, Daphne, expecting a third child, and the shine of hope in their eyes. It is only once they set down roots, in a small apartment in an impoverished area of this small, Detroit suburb, that the Spiridakos family realizes that, perhaps, America was not the dream Konstantinos had initially believed it to be.
The rules that governed the city itself were, to put it mildly, ugly. To put it bluntly, they were cruel. The city presented itself as Magick friendly, but the stringent rules and regulations placed upon any Magick were, oftentimes, dehumanizing. The Spiridakos children were taught early on, despite this, to wear their Magick status as a badge of honor, unable to hide it away; it was actively illegal to do so, and would have resulted in hefty consequences none in the family wished to face.
(Satyr, while not dangerous, had been misinterpreted by myth and false information. Fun-loving, occasionally mischievous, nature spirits, they were now equated to lecherous, hedonistic drunkards. It was this misinterpretation that often found Konstantinos unable to find work, the children unable to find many friends, and Daphne so stressed about her life she lost her child.)
Life for the Spiridakos family isn't sparkling, but it does become better upon relocating when Konstantinos finds a job - after fleeing from a group of anti-Magicks that had threatened the children, of course - and meeting Laurel Lightfoot. Konstantinos remembers the name Lightfoot fondly. His children learn to, as well.
The Spiridakos and Lightfoot children get along like a proverbial house on fire, Ian and Angelo, Lyra and Barley. The children played, got into (and out of!) trouble. Thick as thieves, they were, and Angelo adored his friends. When he’s about ten and Ian eight, however, Ian leaves. The Lightfoots leave.
For a while, it leaves a bit of a rift. People Angelo cared about – Ian, Barley, his mother – kept leaving. He didn’t quite know why, if it was something about him, or just the place they lived, in general. He learned from that, though. Keep yourself a bit harsher, a bit aloof. Make yourself unapproachable, even mean, and people won’t want to hurt you. Won’t want to leave.
For a long time, well into his teenage years, Angelo projected himself as a bully, as someone with a temper and an anger under his skin that kept people at a distance. It wasn’t until he was just out of high school, or nearly, and lonely that he realized how much he’d really lost, what he’d messed up having to hide behind thick walls and multiple layers. The only time he was himself was when he flew to Greece to visit family and his mother, when he could find her. Daphne was aloof during those visits, almost timid, like she didn’t want to know the young man her boy had grown into. Like she was afraid to face what she had left behind. He’s twenty-four, now, though.
Angelo is steadier, calmer. Still with a chip on his shoulder, sure, but he takes it out less on the people around him, those he cares about. When he was about twenty-two, give or take, Ian Lightfoot reached out. They spoke, reconnected. Became friends again, if you could call it a friendship.
(Angelo certainly hoped that he could). And, well, he heard all about Swynlake. So, he figures, why can’t he make a detour, stay for a while? Catch up with Ian properly, see what this town has to offer. Hell, maybe he’ll even decide to stay, for a little while.
✓ Talkative, forward, confident
✖ Abrasive, braggart, mama’s boy
Character Suggestions
None
Current Relationships
None
Possible Relationships
click here!
Magical Abilities
Satyr
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Wishlist!
My surgery is the 19th (a week from tomorrow)! I don't expect anything from anyone, but I definitely would be really happy to get well-wishes on my recovery! And for anyone who wants to get me something, I have put together this wishlist for your convenience. I will reiterate again that I am not expecting anything from anyone! That said, the remainder of this post will be incredibly self-indulgent on my part. You have been warned.
Physical things:
A puzzle. Preferably pretty! You know the things I like: bright colors, math, cats, space, red, plants, etc.
Earphones, if you can find the kind that aren't the little buds in the ear that for some godforsaken reason make up 99% of earphones these days.
Sweets. Here are some things I like: chocolate, cheesecake, ice cream, fruit. However, I am easily overwhelmed by large quantities of sweets so absolutely no need to go overboard on quantity. Also, I probably won't want to eat until ~5 days after the surgery.
Fic:
Homestuck:
My shipping wall is here.
I would love fic focusing on a pale couple, particularly one of the ones below. In general I like fics that put the romance in pale romance, with longing and fluttery feelings and worrying over small gestures--just no makeouts or sex.
Sollux<>Terezi!! The OTP!! I'm love them. Things I like about this ship include: They each have such high expectations of themself, and find it hard to let go of their perceived responsibilities to relax and attend to their own needs. Sollux in particular I see as really awful at taking care of himself (regularly eating, sleeping, showering), but we've seen that Terezi is capable of self-destructive spiraling as well. They each tend to see themselves as responsible for things that aren't their fault, and I think they'd each find it much easier to take care of the other than themself. Conversely, they have a lot of trust in each other's competence--when the chips are down, there's no one they trust more to have their back. I also really enjoy the childhood-friends-to-moirails aspect of the ship, how deeply they know each other, and watching them be incredibly inept at addressing their feelings despite their competence in other areas. They banter a lot, which is fun in its own right, and I also love watching them banter to avoid addressing their feelings for each other (which they inevitably end up having to face).
John|June<>Vriska - Things I like about this ship include: John being able to talk Vriska through her problems in a way that the other people in her life can't, because he has some distance from them. I think it was already a sign of Vriska's character growth that she was able to admit to John both that she killed Tavros and that she was having mixed feelings about it, and I am more interested in seeing Vriska get to make a fresh start through bonding with someone who wasn't involved in her previous history than trying to seek forgiveness from people she's personally hurt. I want to see her be able to grow as a person. And on John's side, I just think it would absolutely rule for him to have a badass who is 8000% ride-or-die, "my moirail deserves the best", in his corner. And, I'm not normally one for post-canon content (frankly even the back half of act 6 is on thin ice), but I loved this post and would be interested to see something building off it. Specifically going with the angle that trolls don't have much of a concept of coercive gender assignment, compared to us, and Vriska being totally comfortable with her transness and able to help June through her process of discovery, while still being super traumatized by stuff that June is able to help her through from her own perspective.
Kanaya<>Karkat - Things I like about this ship include: Them relying on each other / retreating to each other in times of great distress. Kanaya being attracted to dangerous situations, and Karkat grounding her and being her voice of reason. Them being dorks over their trashy romance novels together, and having long, involved discussions about why the characters are perfect for each other. Kanaya feeding from Karkat, and the trust that demonstrates.
Folykl<>Kuprum - I have a headcanon post for them here. Things I like about this ship include: The fact that they are gross and awful people who genuinely love each other. They're crass, they're mutually (and consensually) assholes to each other, they really do love each other.
The Locked Tomb:
Camilla<>Palamedes (as a crossover, or as some variety of queerplatonic relationship) - I like their utter devotion to each other and utter trust in each other's competence. I will have read Nona the Ninth and will be interested in stuff that builds off the Calamedes relationship development from that book.
Gideon/Harrow/Alecto - Harrow has two hands! Obviously there are a lot of different ways you could take the Alecto characterization, but I guess my headcanon for now is that she finds things like kissing and sex totally incomprehensible, is probably neurodivergent in the extreme, but she absolutely does love Harrow enough to haunt her and protect her however she can. And maybe that's something Gideon can come to respect or even love. Mostly I just want to see them all together in any way.
Locked Tomb / Homestuck crossover:
There is currently ONE crossover between TLT and HS on AO3, and I think that's a tragedy. Here are some things I'd like to see:
Locked Tomb characters as trolls so that they can have quadrants: Gideon♠️ Harrow, Camilla♦️Palamedes, Augustine♠️ Mercymorn (edited bc tumblr stole my quadrant symbols D:<)
Homestuck characters going through the Lyctoral trials at Canaan House. I just think it'd be a fun concept. Pair them up. Traumatize them in new and exciting ways. Fuck, I just thought of Terezi and Sollux as necro and cav, and now my heart is doing things.
Art:
I have this image in my head of Tavros, still paralyzed, on a climbing wall, able to make it to the top with just his arms. Maybe he has one hand on the top of the wall and the other hand in a fist pump, and he's just so genuinely happy.
Thank you again for reading all this!
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nephilim (trois)
you know where the cred goes 💙
cult au, supernatural au
yandere! ot7 x f! reader
warnings: yandere themes, violent behavior
life away from the kims resumed as normal and you warily readjusted to the boys’ presence in your life. although you gained their company, you also gained a new enemy. you should take extra care not to forget your place, as internal and external forces are constantly at work. the question is: do they work in or against your favor? the hours wind on, and strange occurrences only get stranger. after all, ichabod is most awake in the dark.
-----------------------------------------—————
In your dream, you saw Jimin, but he was not the same person that you had met earlier that day.
He stood atop Ichabod Chapel, combing through his black hair with his hand and looking down at you with brown eyes. But rather than the warm, twinkling eyes you recognized, his glistened in the moonlight, cold and hardened like topaz.
Despite the distance, you somehow managed to see him clearly. You could see his smile, warm and affectionate, completely unlike the gaze in his eyes. He looked as though he couldn’t care less about what was happening around him--his sole focus was on you.
He was dressed in pitch black clothes from head to toe, which were soaked in some foreign substance.
The clothes clung to him in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but he looked as though he couldn’t be bothered to change. In fact, he looked as though he relished in the substance.
Strangest of all were the magnificent black wings that rested on his back, curving their way through the shadows to reach up toward the night sky.
You eyes shot open as you woke with a start. It was still early, early enough that you could have gotten an extra hour or so of sleep, but you decided to just stay awake. Your dream had been much too unsettling...
You played around on your phone, internally debating your response to Jimin before typing something and sending it.
That’s so kind of you. I’m glad we met as well :)
You heard your mother’s knock on the door some time later. With a sigh, you lifted yourself from the warmth and safety of your sheets, getting prepared to brave the day.
--------------------------------------———————
The moment you entered the upperclassmen building, you were yanked to the side and pulled into an empty classroom. You looked up in alarm but relaxed when you saw who it was.
Mana gripped you with something akin to fear, glancing around suspiciously to make sure the coast was clear. Once they were satisfied, they closed the door and hugged you tightly. “(Y/N), you whore! You have no idea how worried I was. How dare you not text me last night? How long did you spend over there? What happened?”
You smiled at your best friend’s antics, their overprotectiveness chipping away at your lingering unease from this morning.
You recounted your experience at the Kim household, telling them about the beautiful, secluded home in the woods, the brothers’ actions, their graceful talent of a mother, and the demanding presence of their father.
“Honestly, I was a little scared.” you recounted, sliding your bag off your shoulder. “There were so many things to be wary of, but I just spent the whole evening being as polite as possible.”
They nodded along, engrossed in your story.
“Mayor Kim is seriously intimidating, and Mrs. Kim read my fortune—said something about power and being careful of the people around me--and the library, Mana, you would have loved it-”
“Hold on, girl! Back up.” Mana interrupted. “The mayor’s wife said what?”
“Oh,” you slowed down. “Mrs. Kim touched my palm and said I held a lot of wisdom and power, I guess within me, and that I should be wary of those around me because they may try to take it.”
They gave you a pointed look. “I knew it. The second I saw Jimin look at the empty seat next to you from the front of the classroom, I got a bad feeling. To think the warning would come from his own mother...”
“What does that mean?” You asked, furrowing your brows.
“I think you should just continue to be wary of the Kims...” Mana murmured, crossing their arms. “I know we always play it safe, but the closer to them you get, the more peril you’ll be in.”
You sat down in an empty chair. The possibilities for being hurt in this town were certainly far from rare, after all. But for them to claim the brothers would try to hurt you, even though you did nothing to provoke them...?
“Mana, do you think they might try to do something to me?”
They shrugged. “I’ve said what I felt I needed to say.”
“But steal my ‘power’?” You held up two fingers and scrunched them for air quotations. “What could the most influential people in town possibly want with me or my supposed power? What would they even do with it?”
What power do I have?
Mana looked at you concernedly while you pondered your own question.
Power? To you, it was overrated. Power was nothing but an elite show of force, all over the world but especially in this town. It was used and lorded over others, and ripped families apart. You did not consider yourself very powerful.
You remembered your obedience toward Mr. Kim in spite of your fear and suspicion, and the way you had to rub your mother’s back as she heaved up everything she ate on the side of the road after leaving their house.
Yeah...power was currently far from your grasp.
You shrugged. You were going to follow Mrs. Kim’s warning either way; after all, nothing good came of being too expressive or open in this town.
Mana turned away from you as you both heard the bell ring for the fifteen minute warning. You picked up your bag as they led the way out the door and up the stairs toward your classroom.
When you stepped into the door, you glimpsed Jimin sitting at his desk with a disturbed frown on his face. The moment he met eyes with you, however, he was all smiles.
“(Y/N)!”
You walked down the other side of the aisle and sat in your seat, turning toward him with a smile. “Morning, Jimin.”
“Good morning! Thanks for replying to my text! How was your rest? I hope you got much more sleep than yesterday night.” His eyes wouldn’t move away from yours, all big and awestruck like a puppy’s.
You nodded. “Of course! Thanks for worrying, though. You didn’t have to.”
“Of course I did. I’ll always be concerned for your safety and well-being, (Y/N). If you feel like you ever need somewhere to go or someone to confide in, feel free to reach out to me, okay?”
His tone turned strangely serious in comparison to how he greeted you moments before, you thought. Still, you gave him a small smile.
“Sure, Jimin. I really appreciate your concern and the offer...”
He beamed and nodded, turning to give his greetings to Mana, who seemed surprise that they were being spoken to at all. As they conversed, you reached into your bag and pulled out your materials for the morning lesson.
“Did you end up choosing a mythological creature for your project yet?” Jimin asked.
Their mouth twitched upward. “My partner and I decided to research nymphs...I don’t know too much about them, he pretty much chose our project topic.”
They reached over and ruffled your hair. “You lucked out with (Y/N) here, she really knows her stuff.”
You scoffed and swatted their hand away from your head. “You mean I lucked out by not being partnered with your lazy self? You’re absolutely right.”
Jimin watched the two of you bicker back and forth, fighting the urge to smile.
The teacher entered the room, placing her materials on her desk. You and your peers silenced as you prepared yourself for the long day of classes.
Right here, surrounded by your community, your classmates, and your best friend...yes, this was the time where you felt the most normal.
Deep down, you knew you wanted to leave Ichabod--without a doubt. But you feared the outside world all the same.
The people outside wouldn’t be able to understand the things you had went through. They would giggle away your paranoia and reassure you of your safety, having no perception of the actual dangers you faced.
They didn’t know the things that could set you off, the things that the people around you could understand with the simple exchange of a glance.
But you quieted the thoughts of your precarious future as the teacher began her lesson, falling into the routine once more.
----------------------------------------——————
Before the Kims even stepped foot into town, it was the Augustuses who ruled Ichabod with an iron fist. Their family came from old money. They had lived here for generations upon generations, their stature being crucial to the survival of the town. They oversaw the law enforcement of Ichabod.
Nearly thirty years ago, when the town was still overrun with violence, miscreants, and chaos, the Augustuses did nothing to keep the peace. They sat from their high horse with other prominent families and watched the middle and lower classes struggle.
The then-head of the family, Rufus Augustus, was especially known for ignoring his duties.
Then Kim Moonsik stepped into town and established his position as mayor and, more importantly, as a servant of the divine Wylynne.
Once he saw how poorly Rufus acted, he fought to remove him from his position.
The man was too proud, too unwilling to give his position and title up to this “holy”, foreign newcomer.
Mayor Kim had wanted to execute Rufus. It was his son, Aloysius, who had gotten down on both knees and begged for his safety.
Two months later, both Rufus and his wife were sent to Wylynne as divine warriors, leaving the new head and his family to take his place.
The Augustus family were now the Kims’ right hand men: their enforcers and watchful guards within the walls of their kingdom.
The current head, Aloysius, was the chief of police, his wife, Domitia, a commander of her own squad.
Their daughter was Kim Namjoon’s aide, the vice president of the student body.
While the majority of the citizens of Ichabod feared the Kims, there were those select few who would cross the line between fear and respect. These subjects knew well enough to keep their distance away from that dangerous family, but revered them with an eery obsession.
Aemilia Augustus was one of those select few.
She was raised in luxury and privilege. The luxury of complete ease in her environment and the privilege of knowing that, no matter what she did, no normal citizen in this town was powerful enough to go against her or her parents.
She grew up adhering to the law. The laws of Ichabod specifically, as they would apply to no other.
Aemilia thought of herself as town royalty. She essentially was, considering her family was only a step down the hierarchy from the Kims.
Her parents were, in short, bootlickers. They trembled underneath their cloaks every monthly meeting, clutching the sophomore’s arms with grips strong enough to rival coconut crabs as they waited to see which poor, unfortunate soul Mayor Kim would call out next.
But when he called them in the middle of the night, ordering them to dispatch officers to “discipline” yet another citizen, they readily responded as if they were family friends carrying out an old grudge on behalf of the other.
Yet another reason why Aemilia found her parents’ subservience so utterly pathetic. They were subjugated to become nothing more than mindless, fearful followers.
She found her grandfather’s actions absolutely foolish. The opportunity for power and reform was well within his grasp, but his narrow mindedness prevented him from making the proper preparations.
She did not want her parents’ life for herself, nor did she see it anywhere in her future.
Aemilia wanted to rule rather than be ruled. She had no intention of leaving Ichabod--rather, she saw herself marrying one of Mayor Kim’s sons, the best son, and ruling beside him as his queen.
All of the students at Ichabod Academy knew her name and prestige. She felt that she had the entire school underneath her beck and call.
She never had to explicitly say what she wanted, because everyone else was already prepared to grant her wish. After all, who was brave, or stupid, enough to go against her?
Imagine her surprise when she walked into the cafeteria the next day and spotted you, seated with Kim Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Kim Jungkook, smiling up a storm.
A little nobody doing something no one, not even she, had ever gotten to--she’d never heard your name before, she thought to herself, whispering to one of her friend’s to tell her who you were.
You were driving a nail into her carefully crafted plans.
And if you thought you would get away with it, you clearly had another thing coming.
-------------------------------------———————
Your cheeks were starting to hurt.
All you had wanted to do was go get lunch with Mana and Jimin. You skipped breakfast this morning, as usual, and your stomach was growling throughout the majority of morning classes.
When you had jumped up to run off to the cafeteria, you slammed into Taehyung, who had been waiting for you by the door. He in turn backed up into Jungkook, who was standing silently behind him.
The long, black haired boy caught his older brother with one hand and prevented you both from falling.
Apologies spilled out of your mouth and Taehyung grinned his boxy grin, apologizing for scaring you. He pounced on Jimin soon after, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
“Jimin told me about you guys going to the cafeteria for lunch! I really miss the three of us eating together, and getting to know you yesterday was so much fun, (Y/N)! Would you mind if we joined you...?”
He turned those puppy eyes on you and you found yourself with no reason to refuse. You nodded yes, despite feeling Mana’s laser vision tearing into the back of your skull.
Thus, here you are.
If entering the cafeteria with one Kim yesterday caused some whispers, you knew today would cause full on conversations.
You smiled awkwardly at the brothers with your lunch tray in front of you, suddenly having lost your appetite. Then you clapped your hands together.
“Ah! How rude of me--Taehyung, Jungkook, please meet Mana. They’ve been my best friend since childhood. Mana, this is Jungkook and Taehyung.”
Mana waved in a good natured manner at the boys. You tensed as you watched the interaction.
Taehyung eyed them suspiciously, and you surmised that he was giving them the same “test” that you received yesterday afternoon. Thankfully, his lips split into that broad grin once more as he leapt across the table to pull them into a hug.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He cheered.
They grunted, sending you a look of bewilderment over his shoulder. “Yeah, you too...?”
Jungkook mumbled out his greetings soon after.
After Jimin finished scolding Taehyung and he calmed down, the conversation took off. It was hard not to feel relaxed around Jimin and Taehyung together, for their exuberant natures made for fun conversations. You even felt Mana lowering their guard a bit, cracking some jokes that had the four of you disappearing underneath the tables in giggles.
Once again, you were almost able to forget what life was like in this town. You slipped into a comfortable sense of normalcy, picturing yourself as five school friends who had recently met.
Nevertheless, you never should have let your guard down. You never should have forgotten your place.
And by the time you did remember, it was far too late.
A cold substance spilling over you shocked you into reality, your vision obscured by a bubbly, brown trail dripping down your back, over your hair, and landing in your lap, staining your skirt.
The cafeteria, once boisterous, went completely silent.
You heard a stifled snicker from behind you just as someone else began to speak.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
You turned around and spotted none other than Aemilia Augustus, standing there with her spotless uniform and lunch tray held firmly in her hands.
Behind her were her two best friends, Brooklyn and Constance...one of whom did not have a lunch tray.
It appeared to be on the floor directly behind you, half of its contents spilled over your back and the other half over your head.
“My dear friend wasn’t watching where she was going and ended up tripping.” Aemilia continued, turning around to face one of them. “Constance, why aren’t you apologizing?”
The blonde had one hand over her mouth and another behind her back. She removed her hand from her mouth, which you presumed was meant to hide her smile, and stepped forward.
She bowed a little. “I’m so sorry. I can get someone to pay for your laundry bill, or I could buy you lunch next time?”
You felt Mana's eyes on you, but surprisingly, the first person you looked at was not Mana or Constance, nor was it Aemilia.
You met eyes with Jungkook across the table. His dark eyes glinted dangerously, glued onto Constance and her every action. Taehyung and Jimin shared his look, glaring at the blonde. Taehyung’s hand clenched into a fist on the table, crushing the soda can he held in his hand.
The brothers met your gaze, waiting to see what you would do next.
You blinked the brown liquid out of your eyes and turned to her with a politically polite smile. “It’s fine, everyone makes mistakes. I’m pretty clumsy myself. There’s no need to pay for anything, I can just wash my uniform when I get back home. All is forgiven.”
How extremely like you, the brothers thought. How extremely like you to not draw attention to yourself at the behest of these hags.
The whispers picked back up in the cafeteria and Aemilia sent you a smile right back. She walked over to the table, stepping into the space between you and Jimin.
She gently set her tray onto the table, picked up the napkins on your tray, and proceeded to wipe some of it off your face.
“I’m glad you forgave Constance for her mistake, but still, sitting in a dirty uniform all day probably won’t be comfortable.” She spoke placatingly.
You were momentarily frozen, mystified by her treating you like a child. At least you could see clearly again.
She put the napkin down. “Why don’t you come with me to the student council office for now? We can get you a new uniform there.”
“Oh, you don’t have to go that far-”
“She’s right, you don’t want to have to sit in sticky food for the rest of the day. I’ll come with you,” Mana interrupted with a tone that left no room for permission.
Mana stood, pulling you up with them. They picked up both your bags, kicked the tray back in the blonde’s direction, and followed Aemilia’s lead out the cafeteria and away from the callous whispers.
As you walked out, Constance smirked, squeezing the Pepsi can hidden behind her back.
After the three of you left, Jimin slowly lifted his gaze, casting it onto Aemilia’s friends.
They scrambled to clean up the mess, bowing multiple times.
Before Brooklyn and Constance could scurry away, however, Taehyung lifted a hand, pointing his finger at the blonde. He bent it in a “come here” gesture. She inched over, trying and failing to hide her giddy expression.
She clutched the tray of trash in her hands, her heart pounding in her ears as the younger sophomore leaned toward her.
He whispered something in her ear, a malicious smile creeping its way onto his face.
Constance paled and she stilled. The tray she was holding went crashing to the floor.
Jimin smirked as he looked at the filth, living and non-living, and picked his bag up, swinging it over his shoulder. Jungkook scoffed and glared at them, prompting them to finally leave.
Brooklyn picked up Aemilia’s tray and pulled at Constance. The blonde managed to unfreeze herself and walked away trembling. What she was trembling from--fear or admiration--no one could tell.
The brothers looked at each other and nodded. They stood in unison and left the cafeteria.
-----------------------------------------—————
You had thought yesterday was going to be the most eventful day of your life, but clearly, Wylynne had more in store for you than you could ever imagine.
Not only was your uniform left a mess, but your stomach was growling louder than ever, considering you had been too shocked to eat your meal.
You traipsed down the hallway, cringing as you felt the stickiness of the soda travel from your thighs to your socks.
Now that you were no longer in the heat of the moment, you re-examined your response. You seriously doubted just how clean you’d be able to get in the bathroom. You were honestly thankful for Aemilia’s offer and for Mana insisting you take it.
Of course, you could have gone the rest of the day in your soda soaked mess of a uniform out of sheer pride, but now you wouldn’t have to.
Mana kept you right beside them as Aemilia walked ahead, her strawberry blonde pony tail swinging gently with each step she took.
Aemilia Augustus reeked of luxury and privilege. She did so in a way that few could ever come after her for it, you observed.
She exuded grace like Mrs. Kim did, but hers was different. She looked as though she felt she earned everything she got.
Rather than Mrs. Kim’s gentle elegance, Aemilia was righteous and indifferent. She knew her place, and reveled in it.
“That witch has something to do with this,” Mana harshly and quickly whispered in your ear. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve incurred the wrath of Strawberry Shortcake and her she-devils.”
“It’s fine,” you whispered back. “We know she didn’t do it, and she’s offering to give me a new uniform before class starts. It’s fine.”
You cut Mana off with a look, internally suppressing a rising negative attitude. There were too many eyes on you, too many ears around you.
Aemilia led the two of you to the third floor, walking until she reached a room at the end of the hall.
She pulled out a key and put it in the door, unlocking it. “Usually, we aren’t supposed to be in here during school hours to ensure that we’re working diligently in classes, but as the student body vice president, I have a key.” She winked and swung open the door.
“Now about that-oh!”
Aemilia stopped short and you walked behind her, peering over her shoulder.
Several windows lined the room, lighting it up with the midday sun. It was moderately sized, like that of a classroom. A wooden table set up in the middle with black, rolling chairs pushed up against the edge of the table.
Kim Namjoon sat at the head of the table, several papers spread out around him and glasses perched on his nose. He looked up, peeved at the intrusion.
“Aemilia...to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The strawberry blonde smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. President. I have a student here who went through a bit of an accident at lunch. We’re just coming to get her a change of clothes.”
Namjoon made no reaction when he spotted you behind Aemilia. He nodded at her, gave his greetings to you and Mana with a small smile, and turned back to the paperwork.
Aemilia waved, implying the two of you could follow her in. The floor was made of a royal blue, lush carpet, and you winced as you dirtied it with your wet shoes. “What are your sizes, (Y/N)?” She questioned.
“I’m a (size) for the shirt and (size) for the skirt.” You quietly stated.
She nodded and walked to the back of the room and disappeared around a corner into what you presumed was an atrium of sorts. You heard a door open and the shuffling of clothes.
Mana entered, sitting on one of the seats lined up against the wall. You stood by one of the walls and peered out of the nearest window.
In the distance, you could see the dark leaves of the forest trees peeking over the tops of buildings and homes. Different students were making their way across the quad, heading back to afternoon classes. You sighed and placed a hand over your stomach.
“Here you are!” Aemilia returned with a uniform shirt and skirt in your size as well as a brand new pack of socks on a hanger. “Usually, the emergency uniforms cost students some additional funds, but you won’t have to worry about paying for it. This one’s on the house.”
You took the hanger gingerly. “Please, you’ve already done so much. The least I can do is pay. I’ll be making it out to the student council?”
Aemilia shook her head. “You really don’t have to, it was Constance’s fault. I’ll do you this favor for her.”
You smiled. “I insist. Please tell me how much is it.”
Aemilia leered at you, her eyes searching for whatever you possessed that made you think you even had the right to challenge her.
This bitch.
“If you insist! It’ll be $30. You can make it out via cash or check to the student council. It’s due by the end of the week.”
You nodded and gave both students a bow. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed your day. I’ll be going off to class now.”
Aemilia returned your courtesy and Namjoon gave you a small wave.
You locked arms with Mana, left the student council room and headed to the bathroom.
-----------------------------------------—————
“I’m telling you! There’s something so messed up about that girl!” Mana complained loudly as you stood in the bathroom. You unbuttoned your shirt and proceeded to clean soda residue off your chest, arms, and legs.
Ichabod Academy consisted of three types of bathrooms: men’s restrooms, women’s restrooms, and a gender neutral restroom. There was only one and it was jammed into the basement, and it was your and Mana’s safe space because hardly anyone else ever came down here.
“Even if there is, what am I going to do, call her out on it?” You muttered as you took off your socks, wiping as much of the stickiness as possible off with a warm, wet napkin.
You dried your arms and threw the rest of the napkins away, then went into a stall and took your clothes off completely, changing into the new uniform. “I don’t have the mental energy required to play her mind games today. How much time do I have left?”
“Fifteen minutes.” They said, unlocking and locking their phone. “No, but you seriously haven’t heard of her? Of what she does to people who get too close to the Kims?”
“There’s been someone else getting close to the Kims?” You questioned dryly, pulling the socks on.
“Got, as in past tense, love. Anyone who associates with the Kims excessively, according to her, in any form or fashion has died by her hand.” Mana said. “She practically worships the ground they walk on.”
“She wouldn’t be the only one,” you replied nonchalantly.
“You remember Grace Ster?”
“The girl from our freshman class who left to be homeschooled?” You frowned, buttoning up your shirt.
“Yes! The only reason why she was sent home is because Aemilia blew a fit and ended up tormenting the poor thing until she didn’t want to show up anymore!” Mana said.
“All Grace did was hold hands with Kim Taehyung. In drama class. For a skit!” You could see them throwing their arms up in disbelief through the crack of the stall door. “That’s why I had you go along with her. If you kept being so stubborn, she might have publicly humiliated you even more in the cafeteria. I wanted to make sure she didn’t get the chance.”
“Oh...thanks, Mana.” You smiled slightly.
You walked out the stall and folded your dirty uniform, placing it inside your book bag. You didn’t really have a response, not necessarily shocked by Aemilia’s nature. Something had told you she was different than the persona she made an effort to display.
You washed your hands and slung your bag over your shoulder. “We should just get back before we’re late.”
Mana patted you on the back as you dejectedly walked back to class.
-----------------------------------------—————
When you stepped into the classroom, you got a number of looks and comments, people whispering under their breath about how you dared to anger the queen bee.
Jimin had, once more, been waiting for you. “(Y/N)! Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” You said. “Aemilia gave me a new uniform to change into.”
As you sat down, your stomach growled loudly.
Jimin’s eyes snapped back up to meet yours. “You didn’t get to eat, did you? She dragged you out before you could even touch your food.”
You shrugged. “I’ll just eat after school. It’s not the first time I’ve gone without eating and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
Jimin eyed you worriedly as Mrs. Hargrove burst into the room, full of nervous energy as usual. “Good afternoon, students!”
You and your classmates chorused greetings in return. You internally sighed at how long of a day this was turning out to be.
Jimin continued to fret over you throughout the rest of afternoon classes. You kept reassuring him that you were fine. No, you didn’t need anything from the vending machine, yes you would tell him if you got too hungry.
You reminded yourself that he wasn’t Mana or one of your other classmates--you wouldn’t be able to tell him off, even if you kind of wanted to.
The end of the school day finally arrived and you walked out the double doors between Mana and Jimin.
Jimin pulled you toward him. His brothers stood several feet away from the rest of the student body, watching as Driver Bin pulled up to the corner.
“(Y/N).” Jimin smiled at you, but the look in his eyes was serious. “Remember, you’re much, much stronger than you think you are.”
He reached his hand down to gently squeeze at yours, and held onto your hand for a bit more before letting it go. “Those petty people are nothing compared to you.”
He let go of your hand and walked toward his four brothers, who began climbing into the vehicle. Hoseok and Taehyung lifted their arms to wave goodbye, and you lifted yours in a half-hearted wave as they pulled away.
You stepped to the side and on one of the benches outside of the school. Mana stood next to you, leaning against a pillar.
You eyed students warily as they linked arms to walk home together in bunches or ran to the curve of the street in front of the school to hop into their parent’s cars.
A glossy, strawberry blonde ponytail soon caught your attention as it hit the light of the afternoon sun.
You watched Aemilia walk toward a gray car resting beside the curb, her hair perfect as usual. She waved farewell to her friends and made eye contact with you over their shoulders.
The girl glanced at you. Her eyes were teeming with disgust, but all she did was smile at you as she bent down to sit in the car.
Should I be scared? You thought to yourself as her driver closed the door. They drove away, heading toward the Augustus residence at the center of the city.
Mana popped a bubble of their chewing gum. “(Y/N), your mom’s here.”
You lifted your head and spotted your mother’s familiar car making its way down the pickup line.
You stood up, brushing off the back of your skit and walked with Mana to the car. When Mana entered the backseat, your mother scoffed with a smile. “What’s this?”
They beamed and blinked rapidly at your mother. “Oh please, Aunty (M/N), won’t you take this poor child home?”
You giggled as your mom rolled her eyes. “Just put your seatbelt on, Manareyyn.”
Mana gasped and hushed her. “Not the full name, Aunty! Am I a complete stranger to you?”
You laughed, feeling relaxed in the presence of your loved ones.
When you got home, you had the interesting combination of leftover takeout and your mother’s cooking for a meal.
You put both school uniforms in the wash and informed your mother of what happened at school. She prepared the funds for the council and handed the check to you.
You went upstairs and took a shower, washed your hair, and completed some homework assignments.
Soon enough, you both turned in for the night.
-----------------------------------------—————
Later that evening at the Kim residence, Namjoon stood outside of Jimin’s room. The younger boy had summoned him and the rest of their siblings for some kind of conference, but he wasn’t keen on staying too long.
He sighed and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Jimin’s voice sounded from the other side. Namjoon twisted the doorknob and pushed it open.
The rest of the brothers were already in the room, he noted, seated on Jimin’s king sized bed.
He shrugged in response to their irritated gazes and climbed onto the mattress.
“Now that everyone’s here,” Taehyung stated, side-eyeing Namjoon, “we can properly begin our discussion.”
“How long is this going to take?” Hoseok interrupted. “I have several assignments that need to be completed, and dances to choreograph.”
“Yes, and I have stacks of paperwork I need to finish for student council.” Namjoon sighed.
Jimin leaned back. “You don’t necessarily have to be here-”
Hoseok leapt up, walking over to the door.
“-unless, of course, you wish to know how to help our angel.”
The senior stopped in his tracks and looked over at Jimin, gaze darkening.
“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t help (Y/N),” Jungkook said, playing a game on his phone. “Namjoon hyung said that she needed to come to us on her own.”
“I still stand by that statement. The more we pressure her, the more she’ll back away.” Namjoon coolly replied. “She’ll come find us, of her own volition, eventually.”
“Then what are you talking about?” Hoseok asked.
“It appears that people at school are mistaken about who deserves the most respect from them,” Taehyung said.
“Your subordinate stepped out of line today, Namjoon hyung.” Jimin followed.
The older boy shifted his gaze onto his younger brothers. He thought back to today’s lunch period when (Y/N) and her friend entered the student council room. The girl had shifted uncomfortably where she stood, and he thought he’d heard the faint sound of a stomach growling.
Hoseok scoffed at his silence and turned to look at him. “Don’t tell me it was the Augustus bitch. I told you to throw her away ages ago.”
“No, it was one of her underlings,” Namjoon stated, recalling the girls’ conversation. “The blonde airhead in love with Taehyung, Constance. She must have ‘accidentally’ spilled her lunch all over (Y/N), no doubt directed by Aemilia herself.”
Taehyung glowered at the reminder. When he leaned over to whisper into Constance’s ear, the idiot was smiling as if it was the best day of her life. The acrid smell of her perfume made him gag. It nearly suffocated him.
It was nothing like (Y/N)’s. Her scent caressed him from afar and washed over him when they were close, promising warmth and consolation.
Her scent was probably ruined by the stunt that scum pulled in the cafeteria.
When he saw Constance holding the soda can, he’d wanted to reach his hand around her neck and-
“Ah, I see.” Namjoon smiled, his realization coming full force. “So, you want to prepare a lesson of sorts.”
Jimin nodded. “People need to be well aware of how to treat (Y/N) before and especially after she takes her place by our side. This can a good teaching moment.”
“Okay,” Hoseok hummed. “And how are you going to go about doing that?”
“Like Namjoon hyung said, we can’t directly interfere without it being too obvious.” Taehyung said. “But-”
“-there’s no reason as to why we can’t distribute due punishment.” Jungkook finished, his lips twitching into a smile.
Namjoon grinned, nodding. “How about the three of you tell me everything you saw in the cafeteria this afternoon...spare no details.”
-----------------------------------------—————
Chance Pierre was a quiet kid. He never bothered anybody and preferred to focus on his studies.
Students often found him tutoring a classmate in between classes or reading in the library, and they nicknamed him the freshmen class’ Kim Namjoon. Not that they could say it so loudly around the guy’s younger brother, Kim Jungkook.
Chance Pierre dreamed of becoming rich and influential enough to come back to the town, save the people inside, and burn the Kims to the ground.
He wanted to find a way out of Ichabod using his intellect. He would appeal to Mayor Kim, explain how he hoped to bring excellence to the town by pursuing his academic career and spreading the word about Wylynne and all of the moon’s grace.
Surely, the mayor would let him take his intellectual influence outside. And he would be able to escape the hellish nightmare that was this town.
Thankfully, he and Jungkook were not in the same class. Even though Chance was at the top of his specific class, if he wanted to place first in the entire freshman class, he would eventually have to confront the youngest of the Kims. A conflict he’d been readily avoiding.
Still, despite his academic prestige, he was still what high schoolers would call a “nerd”. He was bullied by his peers, the same peers that he wanted to spare. They mocked him for his financial status, for his intellect. The goddess forbid he ever share his dream of leaving Ichabod, for they would mock him for that as well.
Chance entered his home and it was quiet, as usual. His parents worked late hours and he often had no one to talk to. The spirits in the walls were his friends, he liked to joke.
He took his shoes off and just as he was about to turn to go upstairs, something was thrown over his head.
His vision went dark and he immediately began to struggle. He kicked and fought, his breaths rapidly increasing. The inside of the material was coated in what smelled like bleach and alcohol.
Chloroform.
Chance tried to hold his breath, cursing himself for struggling earlier, but he only delayed the inevitable. The boy’s movements slowed and his assailant pulled the bag around his head tighter and tighter until he blacked out.
Hours later, the police station was visited by his mother in the early morning, the woman hysterically crying and clutching onto Chance’s discarded book bag as she reported her son’s abduction.
-----------------------------------------—————
You were awoken by your mother entering your room. You looked up at her inquisitively, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes.
You both had several hours of rest left, so why...?
She wordlessly approached your bed and lifted the covers, and you scooted backward to give her space. She lay down next to you, slipping her arm under your head.
You felt her press a kiss to your forehead. She started playing with your hair and humming a little, like she used to do when you were little. You drifted back to sleep in the comfort of her arms.
Yet in the morning, she was gone again, off to work an early shift at the hospital.
It was a gray, rainy day today.
Mana’s dad had been the one to take you to school that morning, and both he and his child chuckled as they saw you running out the door with a clothing bag and your book bag in the rain. You had entered the car squealing from the cold water droplets.
When you walked into the building, you had almost expected another horrible, suspicious “accident”.
If only that had been the case.
You and Mana entered the lobby to find your classmates gathering around the school bulletin board, where another missing poster had been put up.
A freshman. He’d been taken sometime last night, you gathered from the horde of students in front of you.
The boy looked slightly familiar to you; he was probably someone you were accustomed to passing in the halls.
You sighed, your heart falling in your chest. That was probably why your mother was clinging to you in your sleep this morning...
You met eyes with Mana’s, whose own flashed with sadness and anger.
There was no telling where this kid was going to show up again. If he was lucky, he would make it back to his family in one piece. If not...
The double doors opened again, bringing in an icy breeze with them, and the halls instantly silenced. You turned away from the crowd and watched as the Kim brothers walked in.
Jungkook strolled along with his head held high and headphones in his ears, indifferent to all the stares.
Namjoon walked through the students, smirking as they parted for him with Hoseok, calm as can be, a couple of feet behind him.
Contrary to yesterday’s kind and bubbly energy, Taehyung had a dangerous glower on his face. Jimin was expressionless, his eyes glued forward as the brothers made their way to their respective buildings.
If they noted the amount of students surrounding the bulletin board, they certainly did not show it. There was no sign of concern, or pain anywhere in their expression.
This was why the Kims, while so close, felt so distant from the rest of the student body.
It’s one thing to live in a town like Ichabod and experience the horrible things that happen here. It’s another thing to refuse to look deeper and question everything around you.
It’s another thing to live here and think that these types of occurrences are alright.
You shivered. Yes, you remind yourself. This is the atmosphere. This is the place I am in.
You were not in a normal high school or a normal town. The law of your land simply could not compare with that of anywhere else.
Never far behind them, Aemilia Augustus entered, her posse at her back. She followed the Kims, a serene, pleased smile on her face.
No doubt she had knowledge of what had happened to that freshman, but she would never tell.
She passed by you and Mana, looking you up and down.
That one glance told you more than anything you had gathered in your conversation yesterday.
This is the difference between us, it proclaimed. I am safe on the inside, while you are disposable on the outside.
You are nothing.
Aemilia walked past the two of you, continuing on her way to class. Brooklyn and Constance followed behind her, staring dead ahead.
The blonde was far from her usual picture perfect attire--her uniform was wrinkled, she was dragging her feet, and her eyes were red and puffy. She made no move to look at you or Mana, seemingly caught up in her thoughts.
Soon after they left, movement in the halls returned to normal as students walked to their classes. At some point, you finally forced yourself to move.
The chill from the rain and wind settled in your bones and you shivered on your way to class.
The teacher had not arrived yet, as usual. Your classmates didn’t even have the heart to discuss rumors or joke around. Every movement seemed to break the silence.
You walked down the aisle and sat next to Jimin, waving at him in greeting. He gave you a small smile in return. You silently took your books out your bag, not wanting to bother him anymore after this morning’s display.
The cold couldn’t seem to leave you alone. Your shivers persisted and within a few moments, you were shaking so badly you couldn’t hold your pencil straight.
Mana sent you a concerned look but you waved them off, circling your finger to tell them to turn back around.
You put your writing utensil down and tried to hold your own hand still when you felt Jimin shift next to you.
He caught sight of your trembling fingers and he removed his school cardigan, handing it to you.
You tried to refuse his offer, pushing the fabric back into his hold, but he spread it out, draped it over your shoulder, and lifted your hand to slip one of your arms through.
What is it with people thinking I don’t know how to take care of myself? You thought as you gently pulled your arms from his hand, slipping them into the cardigan and pulled it closed.
He watched with a satisfied smile as it draped down your sides and shifted in his seat to resume his staring ahead.
You thought back to the other night.
His gaze was just as caring, just as frigid as the one from your dream.
You shivered again, hiding it by shifting in your seat. The class sat in silence until your first period teacher walked in. Without another word, she quickly began her lesson.
------------------------------------------------------
During lunch, Mana had to go to a meeting with one of the teachers, and Jimin and his brothers were nowhere to be found (not that you were dying to sit with them), so you took the opportunity to clear your debt with the student council.
You walked up to the third floor and went to the end of the hallway, fiddling with the paper and clothing bag in your hands. As you approached the door, you tentatively turned the knob and found that it was still locked.
You were contemplating sliding the envelope under the door when a voice sounded out from behind you.
“What have we here?”
You turned and found Kim Namjoon leaning against the wall behind you. He didn’t have his glasses on today, but wore a playful and righteous look on his face.
“(Y/N) ah, it’s wonderful to see you. I see Jiminie is still making sure to take good care of you.” He smiled in a good natured manner and you flushed, remembering the sweater your classmate practically dressed you in himself.
“Yeah...it’s been really chilly,” you muttered. You bowed slightly in greeting. “Good morning.”
“How have you been?”
“I’m alright. I didn’t want to bother, I just have the uniform I borrowed yesterday and the money I owe the council.”
Namjoon put his leg down, gently kicking off the wall and approached you. He flicked his hand toward the door. “Oh, is that so? Why didn’t you come in?”
“The door was locked-” You watched in surprise as Namjoon opened the door easily, without having pulled out a key. “...or not, I suppose.”
I must not have twisted the door hard enough because of all the stuff in my hands...
“Come on in.”
You entered the room cautiously. Namjoon took his place at the head of the table, placing his bag at his feet. “The uniforms go in the closet in the atrium, around that corner.”
You nodded and walked the same way Aemilia went yesterday.
There didn’t appear to be much in the atrium--there were two restrooms, a vending machine, a place to hang coats and bags, and the supply closet.
“Speaking of clothes, I apologize for not being able to assist you yesterday. I was terribly behind in some student council matters and worked all night to finish it all.” The student council president stated from behind the other section of the wall.
You hung the wardrobe up and walked back out, sliding the check in front of Namjoon on the table. “It’s completely fine, it wasn’t anything important.”
“I don’t think so,” He gestured for you to take a seat in the chair to his right. “Would you mind telling me what happened in the cafeteria?”
You hesitated, prepared to brush it all under the rug, but boy’s gaze sharpened and you found yourself taking a seat.
“It was an accident,” you began. “Someone tripped and spilled their food on me at lunch.”
Namjoon hummed. “Who was it?”
“A friend of Aemilia’s. I was sitting with Mana, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook at lunch and we were talking, and then I felt something cold run down my face and back.” You looked down at your lap, folding and unfolding your fingers.
Namjoon rested his chin in his fist as he looked at you. “I take it that it was Constance, as Aemilia said yesterday, correct?”
You nodded.
“So, Constance managed to trip and splatter her food all over you, and only you, as you sat at your lunch table, which is fairly out of the way of the center of the cafeteria. A table that had plenty of room for people to walk around.”
“How did you know where I was sitting?” You asked.
“Jimin informed me of the basic details, but I wanted to hear the story from your perspective.” He reasoned with a smile. “This...accident...also occurred well into the meal, when everyone else was already seated.”
You frowned. “It doesn’t sound like you think it was an accident.”
“It sounds as though she were targeting you, (Y/N).” Namjoon said, removing some papers and textbooks from his bag. “I’m simply speculating off of what I know. I’d advise you to be careful of Aemilia and her ‘acquaintances’.” He said, smiling a bit worriedly.
You looked away, thoughts racing rapidly in your head.
You were already wary of the girl because of her status and the things you’d heard from Mana, but you found something incredibly unsettling about being warned about her from Kim Namjoon himself.
He’s one to talk.
Namjoon asked you to spend the rest of the lunch hour with him, as he felt he needed some company to complete the rest of his documents.
He offered to purchase snacks for the two of you, and after that you could hardly refuse. You pulled out some assignments of your own and worked in tandem.
Hazel eyes peered through a crack in the doorway of the student council room. They saw you and the student council president, sitting together as though you were the best of friends, discussing certain books or classes with an intermittent joke placed every now and then into the conversation.
Hazel eyes saw nothing but a repulsive wench taking what was supposed to be her place. Speaking to her future husband, her future king. The longer she gazed upon the heinous sight, the angrier it made her.
She made a move to swing open the door and announce her presence, but dark brown eyes met hers through the crack and Aemilia stilled.
She was not surprised that he had managed to sense and spot her, as she had been able to tell long ago that the president was a master of perception. Yet the usual polite warmth that she so loved was gone. It was replaced by unyielding anger.
His eyes were alight with purple fire.
He was angry because she almost interrupted him being with you.
Aemilia let go of the handle to the student council room, letting the door click closed. She shoved past the shoulders of her minions friends, raging down the hallway until she reached an empty classroom.
Once inside, she locked herself in there and began throwing around the desks, chairs, anything within her arms’ reach.
After she quelled her rage, she pressed her nails into her palm and decided: no, she would not be going out like this. She would not allow that pretentious shrew to chip away and what she so carefully built, what she strove for.
(Y/N) (L/N) would soon experience hell on earth. Aemilia Augustus would make that happen. She swore it on her family name.
(Y/N) (L/N) would never return to the school in one piece, of body or of mind, as long as she could help it.
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whumpay day 11: "don't touch me!" / "don't leave me."
request from @wolfwarden: I’d be really interested to see day eleven with Warriors (and maybe Time/Mask involved?).
Sooo I've been working on a multi-chapter fic about Warriors and Mask/Time for a while now. This prompt fit with a scene I had in mind, so I took the opportunity to write it. I hope that's okay! Still works as a self-contained story, I think. :) Hope you all enjoy~
warning: aftermath of torture
The rusted lock and warped wooden door surrender to the Fierce Deity’s boot with no resistance, and he steps into the dark chamber, tracking bloody footprints across the stone floor. As his pitiless gaze lands on the figure against the back wall, he stiffly halts, deterred by an unfamiliar tugging on his consciousness.
The child is trying to regain control.
Fierce Deity blinks, maybe feeling something akin to surprise. The child needn’t struggle so ardently. With all proximal threats vanquished, the presence of a war god is no longer required.
As soon as the mask is removed, the child reappears in a swirling cloak of magic. Mask is instantly overwhelmed by the room’s rancidity, the stenches of blood, sweat, and grime mixing with mildew and rotting wood. The chamber is poorly-lit, half of its lanterns extinguished, and the remaining dim, flickering flames cast odd shadows across the ghastly sight before him.
With hands and ankles bound, the Captain is on his knees, limp and sagging in the metal collar that chains him to the wall. Sluggish rivulets of red wind down his neck and bare chest, and ribbons of blood and saliva dangle from his mouth. Mask edges closer, grimacing at the scabbed lacerations that crisscross the Captain’s back, at the exposed and irritated nailbeds on his fingers, at his bruised and swollen shoulders.
“Captain…?” Mask chokes out. “Captain? Are…are you awake?”
Tentatively, he reaches out to press his fingers to the Captain’s neck, searching for a pulse, but the Captain jerks away from his touch, grumbling something incoherent.
“Captain, it’s m-me. It’s Mask.”
He reaches out again, smudging the blood on the Captain’s neck as the older hero again flinches away.
“Don’t,” the Captain groans. He sounds agonized and exhausted, and it carves fissures into Mask’s heart.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself, swallowing as he glances around the room. “Keys. There’s gotta be keys for…”
The only furnishings in the room are a shoddy chair and table, both looking liable to splinter under pressure. Reticent, Mask moves toward the table and tries to ignore the stained implements haphazardly tossed there—dagger, pliers, skewers—as he hunts for keys to the shackles. The longer it takes, the more his concern burgeons, as he worries he will have to retrace the path Fierce Deity took. One of the captors might have the keys, and Mask isn’t keen on rooting through the pockets of dead people, especially ones that died by his own hand…
Then he spots the key ring, antique and shabby like everything else here, and a surge of excitement urges him forward—but he freezes, staring at the chipped bowl beside them.
It contains broken, bloody fragments of teeth.
Nausea sweeps over him. Mask swipes up the keys and bolts back to the Captain, his hands shaking as he tests each key in each lock and chucks aside both sets of manacles with a resounding clatter. The skin on the Captain’s wrists and ankles is chafed and blistered, glistening with pus, and Mask struggles to block out images of the atrocities the Captain must have endured over the past week.
Last to come unfastened is the collar, and Mask’s relief is overtaken by horror as he discovers the short spikes ringing the inside of it, leaving behind their bloody mirror image on the Captain’s neck, and he tries not to remember the generals and the queen wasting time on bullshit debates, all while the Captain was here praying for a rescue he would have assumed was imminent—
With no restraints to support him, the Captain collapses into Mask’s arms, grunting in pain, and Mask feels lost, feels severely underequipped to handle this situation in any sense.
Arms trembling, the Captain attempts to worm out of Mask’s hold, and the kid reacts swiftly, easing his friend up and into a sitting position, leaning his weight against the wall.
“Captain, it’s okay now,” Mask asserts, false confidence in his tone. “It’s me. Those people are— They’re not here anymore. You’re not gonna get hurt anymore.”
At last, the Captain cracks his eyes open, taking a moment to register the person crouched in front of him. Blood dribbles from his mouth when he mumbles gibberish.
“I-it’s okay. Don’t talk. I’m gonna help you, okay? And then we’re gonna get out of here.”
The Captain licks his chapped lips, reminding Mask to pull out his waterskin. He holds it up and helps the Captain drink, hoping he’s not ingesting too much blood, or any spare bits of teeth.
When he’s finished drinking, he draws in a deep breath, wincing, and rasps, “Real?”
“…Wh-what?”
It takes a moment, but he eventually croaks, “You. Real?”
Mask’s stomach lurches. “Am I…real?” The Captain watches him silently, motionlessly, without expression. “I— Yeah. Yeah, I’m real.”
This avowal earns only a languid blink.
Mask bites his lip. “Hey, y-your shoulders are, uh. Dislocated, I think. Can I check?”
Not expecting an answer, he cups his hands around one of the joints as gently as he can. The Captain twitches, makes an awful, pained whimper as Mask conducts a careful examination.
Given how swollen and tender the shoulder is, Mask hesitates to pop it back in place—but it will be two or more days before they can reach a field hospital. Leaving it untreated seems unwise.
“I’m going to try and fix your shoulder.”
He aligns the bones and successfully pushes the joint together; the Captain grunts, winces. Mask moves to his friend’s other side, but as he settles his hands on his shoulder, the Captain wheezes, “Hurts.”
“I know,” Mask whispers. “I’m sorry.” His mouth twists as he studies the fresh blood still leaking from the Captain’s mouth and some of the shallow punctures on his neck. “I’ll do the other shoulder later. Let me find something for your, um, other injuries, okay?”
Tottering to his feet, Mask frowns as he glances around the gloomy chamber, which clearly has a single purpose. He doubts he’ll find medical supplies in here. “Look, I’m prob’ly gonna have to go somewhere else for bandages and stuff, but I’ll be right back.”
The Captain mutters something muddled again, and Mask offers a small smile that he hopes is somehow reassuring. He’s halfway to the exit, smashed remnants of the door scattered nearby, when the Captain calls out, strained and broken, “Don’t leave me.”
It takes Mask a moment to compose himself before turning towards the older hero. He forces his voice to stay level. “I have to go find things to treat your injuries. But I’ll be back really soon, okay?”
There are others who would leave him, Mask thinks spitefully, which is why he’s here alone now, on a solo rescue mission. There are so many cowards who left the Captain, despite all the sacrifices he’s made for his people, to suffer and die.
Mask recements his resolve. He has to stay strong so he can bring his friend—his brother—safely home.
Without effort this time, his voice is steady and sure. “I’ll be back soon, Captain. I would never leave you.”
#whoops i wrote about warriors for 3 prompts in a row :3#sorry if there's typos or stuff doesn't make sense. i'm v tired lol#but it's cool to give a lil sneak peek of one of my projects ^^#linked universe#lu#lu warriors#warriors#lu mask#mask#fanfiction#fanfic#whumpay2021#my writing#torture
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Please I want to know more about your clones 🤔🤔
I am so late to responding to this but GLADLY!! I love gushing about them though I have so many (like 50 I think) so I will try to stick to my main group ahh :)
Cross (he/him): Cross was my first clone OC ever, so he holds a very special place in my heart even if I do not draw him often enough. He’s a commander (CC-0044) and was present on Geonosis, though later returned to Kamino to help Alpha with the CC training program.
He got his scar in 21BBY and it’s actually not from the battlefield (none of his scars are actually from the battlefield). The scar comes from being whipped by a lightsaber hilt, which sounds funny out of context, but it wasn’t an accident.
He’s batchmates with @katanrocksketches ‘s OC Asch! The two were pretty close when they were in training, and Cross got his name before leaving Kamino. It was given to him because of his kind of uhhh, “cross nature” or disposition pfft. He softens up a bit between 22BBY-20BBY though the walls go up again after that :’)
Coming off Kamino, he was a stickler for rules and was not a big fan of clones tattooing themselves/dying their hair and whatnot (he didn’t even like having a name at first though his batchmates used it enough that it begrudgingly stuck). After meeting Sunny though, he lets him do one tattoo and ends up getting his number underneath his left eye. It is like, staying to how he believes they should be while also accepting that it’s ok to be individual.
Cross’s favorite color is red because for him, red represents Ando (my Padawan OC) and they are very close (NOT IN A ROMANTIC WAY. He sees Ando as his little brother or kih’vod to protect).
Cross actually does not know a lot of Mando’a because of his belief that they should not try to be seen as individuals. He distanced himself from anything that he considered “individualization”, and Mando’a was included in that. Sunny teaches him a little bit later down the line, and Ando also teaches him and Ten (another clone OC of mine) some Togruti, too
Part of Cross’s strict disposition comes from being subject to Priest’s death circles on more than one occasion (I might retcon that to Adral—a mando OC of mine—because I hate KT Ugh).
By the end of the war, he carries a lot of guilt. He loses a lot of the people he’s closest to because of his actions/orders, and he uh. Doesn’t live past O66 :’) he does get a very quick.. redemption.. arc.. kinda..
Sunny (he/him): Sunny was my second clone OC made around the same time as Cross, and he also holds a very special place in my heart :) I really love clone medics, there is just something about them that makes my brain go brrrr. I also think the irony of his name is great
Sunny’s name was originally Sers, but after writing him for a few weeks, I changed it because I thought Sunny fit better. His name was given to him by his batchmate, Aran, and while he vehemently protested against it, the name ended up sticking. He won’t admit that he actually likes it (though the tattoo and painting of his armor say otherwise anyway)
Sunny is the CMO of the 409th Corps (my OC military group basically). He’s a Lieutenant (or at a rank around there, definitely a CO at the least) and he does not back down. Ever. Even the people who outrank him will fall into line if he tells them to, Jedi included. He is not afraid to pull rank as a Medic, and his resting bitch face can be very scary
On the same line of thought as the rbf, he is basically perpetually scowling. He does not look approachable at all
Sunny loses the entirety of his batch on Geonosis, including Aran who he holds onto while he is dying. The Jedi leading Sunny’s company was.. not accustomed to war and failed to adapt when it was needed. Because of this, Sunny doesn’t necessarily harbor a dislike of Jedi, though he does not really trust many of them in leading positions. He also does not like that there are kids being put in the role of commander, he does see many Padawan deaths (he later comforts a dying Padawan that he was close to, I think I wrote part of that scene for myself and it was kinda upsetting oof) —> he gets his tattoo/paints his armor in order to honor his dead batchmates
Throughout the war, Sunny gets seriously injured only once after going down in an LAAT (where he nearly ends up dying too). Boost finds him, though he’s kinda accepted that he’s not gonna make it (I mean he does but it doesn’t look like he will for a bit). After Flip (younger clone OC) dies, he doesn’t really care if he kicks the bucket either :’)
Sunny is the only one out of my main gang to make it past O66. His chip doesn’t work at all, though he has to fight through his brothers (aha, the only ones who are still alive that he is close with) in order to save a Jedi youngling that was in the medbay at the time. After that, he goes on the run with the kid (clone dad clone dad) and offers his services as a doctor in the outer rim in order to keep them afloat
Boost (he/him) (she/her) [either or, there is no real preference]: Boost has gone through a lot of changes design wise. He started out as Dax, but then Dax became another OC, then she was Boost, though she had kinda short hair that was pushed back by a headband, then his hair was buzzed, and now we are finally at long hair Boost. Idk how to describe, but she is very shaped I think
Boost for his nickname from bear hugging his batchmates and lifting them off the ground when doing so. Also from fucking around in training where he threw another one of his batchmates in order to get from one ledge to another. All around just a name with silly origins that she liked and decided to keep
Boost and Sol are batchmates!
Boost is very tactically intelligent. She’s good at thinking on her feet, sees the bigger picture before focusing on details, good problem solver, etc. He is an ARC after all, there is good reason for his status and rank as a Lieutenant. That being said, he can also be very very stupid in the sense that off the battlefield, he’s oblivious. He does enjoy being the jokester of the group, and he sometimes plays up his dumbassery for jest, though yeah, a lot of people assume that he is not smart because of his demeanor which is very wrong
Boost is terrible. Terrible at braiding her hair. Sol is the best at braiding it, though she would never admit that even if everyone knows it. He started growing his hair out once they were off Kamino and hasn’t stopped since despite the fact that is technically not within regulations. Cross turns a blind eye and Ko (Jedi General) could not care less for inconsequential regulations like that
Boost is really good with kids, but good in the way a uhh.. chaotic uncle/auntie is. He’s a lot of fun to be around with, and being around kids makes him even more rambunctious than usual. He can be what is considered “childish”, pulling pranks and everything but like, he is very emotionally mature and knows when to be serious. Again, a lot of people kinda just boil her down to “dumb” which is really wrong, though it doesn’t bug him a lot.
Boost has a big sweet tooth!! He loves getting sweets when they’re on Coruscant, which they actually tend to visit frequently enough because of Ko’s status as a Sentinel (and also because Ko benefits what the Republic sees as the “propaganda machine” as a prominent General with a good track record).
Boost is romantically involved with @buttsalsa ‘s civilian OC Esta. I reblogged some art of them the other day, they are very cute :D
Boost doesn’t make it to Order 66 :’) I actually wrote out his death and cried after going back to read it LMAO It was rough
Sol (he/him): Sol was made as a package deal with Boost, and I feel bad because I think he gets overshadowed a lot but he is kinda like the rock for the group. When he dies, things really start to crumble but uh!! That is a sad thought for another time. Anyways, like I said, he is basically the rock and also a voice of reason for Boost’s shenanigans
Sol got his nickname after reading through some flimsi that their trainer had given him. He didn’t know if it had any meaning, but he liked the way it sounded and immediately began using it. Boost quickly picked up on it and the rest of their batch was very supportive
Sol loves reading. He specifically likes reading history, and Ando slips him what he can (fun fact, when Sol dies, Boost returns to their bunk to find a couple of holobooks that Ando had left and breaks down aha.. pain). Whenever he doesn’t feel like keeping Boost from causing trouble, he just sits in a quiet corner and reads his books while everything erupts in chaos around him
Sol’s favorite beverage is tea which Ko introduced him to. He has a few boxes he keeps with him when he can, and he shares them with Boost sometimes though he has to add a lot of sugar/honey in order to do that. If he could drink tea all the time, he could. On the flipside, he absolutely loathes coffee and doesn’t understand how Sunny can drink multiple cups on a day
Sol is kinda like the person that everyone is friends with even if they don’t realize it. He’s like.. the perfect emotional pillar, kinda the therapist friend in a group that desperately needs therapy. He’s more of a listener than a talker which is why it’s easy to overlook him, but he insists that he doesn’t mind much. That being said, it’s only once he’s gone that people start to realize just how much he did (aside from Boost who already thought the world of him)
Sol is also an ARC trooper, having gone through the training program together with Boost. He doesn’t have the same tactical knowledge that Boost does, but he’s good at mediating, long range combat, and also working through plans (he’s pretty meticulous). He and Boost balance each other out well, since he is like the “slow and steady” one out of them.
Sol is the first to go out of the main four (second out of my bigger group of six). He and his entire platoon are wiped out in a massacre as a result of false intel.. man :’)
Anyways, thank you for enabling to ramble about my ocs ToT I honestly just needed to infodump shdjf
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red, black and blue
She’d taken the photo in some empty parking lot in downtown LA, sunlight two years younger glinting off the hood of the Camaro. Billy’s moustache was still a couple of stray gold whiskers on his upper lip; his hair just past the tips of his unpierced ears. A different Billy to the one Hawkins had seen, but post-California Billy hadn’t had much time for Max’s amateur attempts at photography. Or for Max, in general.
“It’s a good photo.”
Jonathan Byers was not a formal wear kind of guy. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in his ugly suit- or maybe that was just an extension of how he was feeling. How they all were.
Max wrapped her hands around her elbows, suddenly regretting resisting her mother’s attempts to usher her into a jacket. “Thanks. I know he looks- different.”
Jonathan looked for a moment like he might offer her his ugly coat; then he probably remembered the uglier shirt he wore underneath. “He looks happier.”
“He was.” Max dug her nails into her skin. “He hated it here.”
Jonathan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Listen, Max; I know it’s not- it’s not really the same, but when I- when I thought Will was gone, I-” He swallowed. “Will is my best friend. I know that sounds really lame, but I just thought that. Maybe you’d feel better, or, I dunno. I know what it’s like.”
He was trying so hard. Max almost felt bad for him. “I don’t think you do.”
She’d wanted to sit next to Lucas, but her mom hadn’t. Some murmured nonsense about Neil not liking it; some louder nonsense about how they were a family and that now, more than ever, they had to stay together.
El became the compromise.
Not that Neil was gung-ho about El, either; not with the oversized flannel and suspenders she’d refused to change out of. Light blue eyes bore a hole into the side of Max’s head as she shuffled into the pew next to El. They weren’t the same shade of blue as Billy’s; he’d had more green to his, more like Max’s own. Neil’s were like ice chips.
A bony hand reached over, and Max looked up at Joyce Byers’s warm brown instead. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.
Stupidly, Max said, “He owed you a plate.”
El stirred. “I owe him my life,” she said quietly.
The last funeral Max had been to had been for some distant Mayfield relative. She’d been six and she’d cried all the way to Glendale because she was missing Jabberjaw. Then Dad bought her an ice cream and she’d forgotten all about Jabberjaw. She fell asleep halfway through the service, and they got home in time for Speed Buggy.
Billy’s service took half as long and felt an eternity longer.
Mom had offered to do a eulogy. She’d brought it up over breakfast, nervous eyes darting between Max and Neil, as if either of them would put up a fight. She tottered to her feet now, shuffling awkwardly to the front, in a dress a few laundry cycles short of being grey. For a fleeting moment, Max wished she had put up a fight. Billy would’ve died-
Max bit her cheek hard enough to taste copper.
Mom cleared her throat. “Billy and I didn’t know each other for very long, but I wish we had. He was a wonderful young man.” She dabbed at her eyes with a ratty handkerchief.
Max sank back into her seat. Maybe it was for the best; she could never lie about Billy the way her mom did. Not when all she could think of was the blood- God, so much blood, his blood- his last scream torn out of his chest by misshapen claws- apologies on a dying breath-
She stood up. Mom paused midway between some crap about Billy’s ‘respect and responsibility’.
“Maxine,” Mom said, mortified.
“I have to go.” She tore outside, knuckling her burning eyes.
The breeze nipped at her skin. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her hands up her arms. It was mid-July, for Pete’s sake.
She should’ve worn the stupid jacket.
She wiped at her face roughly. When her vision cleared, Lucas stood in front of her.
“Your mom’s done talking, if you wanna head back inside.” He kicked at a pebble.
Max kicked it back. It skittered away, just out of Lucas’s reach. “Not really.”
He squared his shoulders. “Mind if I join you, then?”
She shrugged. He hesitated for a moment before sidling up next to her, arms barely brushing.
“Steve’s giving his speech now.”
Max’s eyebrows reached her scalp.
“For the basketball team,” Lucas clarified, then added, a little awkwardly, “None of the other guys showed up.”
It shouldn’t hurt, but. “Yeah, well. Didn’t think Steve would, either. He hated Billy’s guts.” She dug her heels into the gravel. “You all did.”
Lucas fell quiet. “I didn’t hate him.”
Max snorted. “’Cause you’re not supposed to hold grudges over people who are-” She blinked back a fresh wave of tears. God, Maxine; you’re such a goddamn girl, Billy would’ve said. “You should. He was awful to you.”
“I didn’t hate him,” he repeated. “I mean, he scared the shit out of me, sure. But still. He was your brother.”
“That’s not an excuse. And he was my step-”
“He was your brother.” Lucas had turned on his side, fully facing her now. “And I know you lo- cared about him. And I’m trying to tell you that it’s okay to cry.”
Her eyes welled with tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to; not since Starcourt, not since she’d read the twenty-eight other names in the paper, not since she’d come home in an ambulance and her brother in a casket and Neil locked up Billy’s room and tore down everything else that had belonged to his son and threw it all in the trash like he’d been waiting to get rid of it-
Lucas held out an arm. Max buried her face in his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt and turning it translucent with her tears.
She cried long enough for her tear ducts to run dry, and then stood sniffling into the wet shirt. She was probably making it all gross with her snot, but she didn’t let herself get too torn up about it. The Sinclairs could afford a washing machine.
“Maxine.”
Max went rigid. Lucas, unbothered and oblivious, kept his arms around her. “Hey, Mr. Hargrove.”
She turned around slowly, just in time to catch the flicker of revulsion that passed over Neil’s face. “And who are you, boy?”
There was a painful pause. Max’s nails carved crescents into her palms.
“Lucas Sinclair, sir,” Lucas said at last.
Neil’s eyes were glacial. Max barely suppressed a shiver when they trained on her. “Maxine; something you learn when you grow older that there are a certain type of people in this world that you stay away from. And this boy?” Neil cut his gaze to Lucas. “This boy is one of them.”
Max reeled back. “I-”
“You stay away from my daughter, Sinclair; do you hear me?” Neil hadn’t raised his voice once since he’d started speaking. To any passers-by, this would look like a normal conversation. “Stay away.”
He didn’t wait for Lucas to respond, tugging Max away with a harsh grip on her wrist. She didn’t dare to turn around.
“I don’t want you anywhere near that boy, Maxine.” His hold loosened the closer they got to the car- Neil’s car, a respectable Ford sedan. She didn’t dare tug her hand free, either. “I hope you learn your lesson with this. Billy didn’t; not at first. I’m afraid I had to use more- forceful- methods with him. I trust I won’t have to do the same with you.”
Max turned to Neil despite herself. It was the first time he’d said Billy’s name since the Fourth of July.
His eyes gave nothing away. “Do I make myself clear?” His fingers tightened again.
“Yes, Papa.”
“Good.” Neil’s smile was a mirror of Billy’s; shark-like and vicious, moments away from tearing into your throat. “It’s about time you got some new friends, too. Girls your age shouldn’t be hanging around with boys too much.”
“El’s a girl,” Max told her shoes.
Neil scoffed. “Really? Did she show you proof?”
What happened to you, Mad Max? Billy would’ve asked. You’re not going to stand up for your little hick friends?
Or maybe-
I had to use more forceful methods with him - the bruises she’d see on Billy while his own knuckles remained unscathed- Mom whisking her away on impromptu shopping trips whenever Neil and Billy raised their voices- forceful methods -
- maybe he would understand.
★
Billy’s life couldn’t have fit into a garbage bag.
Max hadn’t gone into his room since she’d gone with El, but he had to have more than what Neil had thrown out onto the sidewalk. Outside the four walls of his room, it was like Billy hadn’t even existed.
She slipped out of bed in the quiet.
Billy had taught her how to pick a lock, back in California. “Use a hairpin, or somethin’- you got one of those?”
She unfurled her fingers. The hairpin was damp with sweat. She wiped it on her t-shirt, and slid it into the keyhole.
“Keep your big ears close to the door; you won’t hear squat that far away.”
She held her breath, pressing her ear to the cool wood.
“Wait for the sound- there, you hear that? That’s how you know the tumblers are in place.”
The door swung open with a soft click.
Max half expected to be assaulted by cigarette smoke and hair metal. But it had been almost a week, and all that Billy had left behind were stale air and silence.
She flicked on the flashlight. The blinds were drawn, the bed unmade, half his closet on the floor. Air the room out, and you could pretend he’d walk right in.
His schoolbooks balanced an ashtray; the desk was not for studying. Instead, he’d cluttered it with beer cans and tapes and a tree’s worth of loose-leaf.
She padded over and sat down in his chair, trying to imagine him hunched over the desk, scribbling on page after page in messy letters. Billy’s handwriting was just as angry as he was.
Her eyes flickered over song lyrics- snippets from the racket she’d been forced to sit through every weekday morning and afternoon. Somehow, silent car rides had lost their appeal.
Strange little doodles decorated the margins- band logos and cars and anatomically inaccurate depictions of women. “Gross,” Max said aloud, pushing the papers away with a theatric shudder.
The tabletop had not been exempted from Billy’s artistry; Max shone the flashlight on more band logos and cuss words and names engraved into the wood. Here there was a crude AC/DC logo, the lightning slash extending down to form the ‘t’ in ‘TWAT’. There was a ‘María’ right next to that, the accent mark angled in the wrong direction. Max remembered her; she’d gone out with Billy for all of sophomore year- the longest Max had ever seen him go out with one girl. She’d taught Max how to do makeup.
A few paces away was Tina- the prettiest girl in Hawkins High, everyone agreed- Laurie was a slut, but she’d complimented Max on her hair- and then Karen. Max traced the ‘K’; she didn’t know any Karens who went to Hawkins High- but then again, she barely knew all the kids in the middle school. There could be a pretty blonde cheerleader somewhere, talking to her friends over the phone. “Yeah, I went out with him a couple of times,” Max imagined her saying. She’d twirl a strand of hair around her finger, lips pulled down in a pout. “And now he’s dead. Spooky.”
She knuckled her eyes. The beam of the flashlight caught on the letter S.
She held the flashlight up, frowning at the name that made itself obvious. Stevie- except the ‘i’ was jammed haphazardly between the ‘v’ and the ‘e’, like it had been an afterthought.
She stared at it until the light flickered overhead.
“Shit!”
Max dropped the flashlight, head snapping back to the door. It hung ajar, just as she’d left it. Heart in her throat, she inched towards the doorway.
The hallway light flicked on.
Max held the flashlight close to her chest, knuckles bone-white and stark. She stepped outside, and the light turned on in the living room.
When she stood in the doorway, staring out at the lifeless room, the telephone started to ring.
Her feet felt heavy as cinderblocks. She plucked the receiver from its cradle, bringing it to her ear with shaking hands.
From the other side, someone breathed heavily.
Max pressed the phone closer, hard enough to hurt. “Billy?”
A crackle of static. Some peculiar noise.
Apologies on a dying breath.
Then, “Max.”
ao3
#stranger things#stranger things 2#stranger things 3#tw: death#tw: mentions of child abuse#tw: racism#max mayfield#billy hargrove#steve harrington#lucas sinclair#harringrove#lumax#el hopper#joyce byers#post season 3#stranger things 4
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Title: Subjugation.
Word Count: 3.4k
Pairing: Yandere!Kalim/Reader & Yandere!Jamil/Reader
Synopsis: Kalim tends to get spoiled rather quickly. Jamil knows this better than most, and yet, when his self-proclaimed ‘friend’ comes to him with open arms and a problem in his unusual relationship, Jamil doesn’t have a choice but to assist.
TW: Mind-Control, Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, Delusional Mindsets, and Implied Assault.
Jamil was, first and foremost, a servant.
Less of one than he used to be, sure, but he was still the one to cook the dorm’s feasts, the unlucky savior most hesitantly went to for help when they’ve gotten themselves into trouble, and when Kalim found himself in over his head, Jamil was the one to pay the price. Kalim preferred to dress it up in flowery titles and affectionate descriptions, saying they were friends or rivals or whatever he needed to when he was asked about the nature of their relationship, but in the end, Jamil was the servant and Kalim was the master. It was as undeniable as it is unchangeable, and as much as Jamil wishes it wasn’t, it had to be true.
If it wasn’t, Jamil would’ve walked away the moment Kalim opened his mouth.
“It’ll only be for a day,” Kalim whined, his words pulled into a prolonged, childish drawl as he leaned onto one of the many cushions littered across the dorm’s common room. It was late, too late for there to be any other students within earshot, something Kalim must’ve been counting on when he decided to approach a studying Jamil. His proposal had been simple, albeit one-sided, and Jamil’s rejection had been simple, too. Kalim was never one to take ‘no’ for an answer, though. “Not even a day - twelve hours. Eight, if you want. I’d take five minutes, if I had to.”
Jamil sighed, shaking his head, the gesture more for himself than his companion. With Kalim’s oh-so-frustrating tenacity, denial was pointless. He wouldn’t stop trying to convince Jamil until he lost interest in the idea of arguing, and even then, he would still manage to waste a good few hours Jamil was never going to go back. Currently, they were ten minutes in, and Jamil had already given up scratching down notes in favor of rubbing his temples, and Kalim was either kind enough not to point it out, or oblivious enough not to notice at all. “It won’t be that easy. If I give you a day, you’ll want two. That’ll turn into a week, and…” Another sigh. Kalim swatted his side gently, and Jamil gave him an insulted huff. “It’s not going to work out. I’ve had to deal with you long enough to know that.”
“I have some self-control,” Kalim countered, crossing his arms over his chest. “A little affection won’t turn me into some drooling, thoughtless infant.”
Jamil raised an eyebrow. Kalim glared, but it came off as more of a pout.
“Hypothetically, if I do ask for more time, you can refuse. That’s why I’m coming to you!” Once again, Kalim’s tone shifted, his excitement growing as if Jamil had yet to refuse. “I can’t stop myself from making another potion or casting another spell, but you don’t have to work your magic. You can say no, and I’ll have accepted it. That’s the beauty of it - nothing’s forcing you to help me.” The plea was punctuated with a smile, wide and eager and completely unaware of Jamil’s grimace. “You have restraint, I don’t. You don’t love (Y/n), I do. It’s perfect!”
Jamil clicked his tongue, closing his notebook entirely. With a deep exhale, he let himself fall into the velvety, plush cushion behind him, a hand rising to trace the shape of one of his braids. That was one of Kalim’s many, many problems. He viewed Jamil as a free agent. He thought that, regardless of the circumstance, Jamil would do what he wanted to and little else. In reality, Jamil would do what he wanted to unless it contradicted with what Kalim wanted. He’d tried going against his master, and it hadn’t worked. He wasn’t keen to try again without the aid of a thought-out plan.
He opened his mouth, but Kalim was talking before he could get anything out. Rambling, more accurately, but keeping Jamil quiet all the same. “I know it’s not the right thing to do,” He started. “It’s not like I wanted it to come to this. I just… I thought it’d be easier, once I got them alone. I put together such a nice room and I’m really, really trying to make them love me on their own, but it’s taking a lot longer than I thought it would.” He swallowed, pausing to square his shoulders. Jamil looked on, abruptly interested with the sob-story. “I just want to know they love me, too. I just want to hear (Y/n) say it, even if it’s a lie.”
That caught Jamil off-guard. He’d played a hand in your imprisonment, bringing you to one of the spare rooms in Scarabia while you slept and making sure no one was around to see it, but guessing at Kalim’s infatuation and hearing him admit to it were two very different experiences. Jamil assumed he would be disgusted. That was the right thing to feel, wasn’t it? He should be repulsed, disturbed, revolted, but seeing Kalim fight not to curl him himself, hearing him struggle not to let his voice waver…
It was different. Jamil didn’t think he appreciated the misdirection.
His eyes dropped to the carpet. “I can give you twelve hours, and not a minute longer.”
Instantly, all traces of Kalim’s anguish disappeared, and Jamil was tackled into a hug that left him lying on his back and desperately attempting to pry a boy-shaped mess off of his chest.
Already, he regretted doing anything to warrant it.
~
In the time since Jamil last saw you, a lot had changed.
Most of it was materialistic. Your abduction had been an impulsive thing, a request made by a lovesick boy on a night dark enough to make it seem like a possibility, so the space had been sparse and undecorated, just another single room in a tower no one had occupied since before Jamil was enrolled, but Kalim had made some… renovations, since Jamil’s last visit. Rugs and tapestries hung from the walls, eye-catching methods of sound cancelation, and whatever wasn’t plated in gold had a healthy coat of silver, instead. Evidence of Kalim’s presence was everywhere, from the half-empty can of his favorite energy drink sitting on a bedside table to the chipped paint on the posts of your bed, easily overpowering whatever signs of life you might’ve managed to leave in your weeks of occupation. Even you seemed to be scarce, a reflexive panic flaring in Jamil’s chest when he failed to find you from the doorway. He had to search for you silently for a moment, but there weren’t many places to hide.
Still, he almost wished you’d made a little more of an effort.
You were shivering. You had been since the moment he stepped in, your knees pulled to your chest and your face tucked into your legs and every part of you trembling so violently, it was hard to believe you hadn’t managed to shake yourself out of your own skin. A platinum chain kept you tethered to the furthest wall, and although the shackle was lined with a generous amount of dark, purple velvet, your ankle was irritated around it, the indent red and furious, your bare wrists littered with signs of similar abuse. He wondered if he should’ve brought something, a balm or an ointment or a hacksaw, but before he could turn back, Kalim tugged on the back of his vest, and Jamil remembered what he was here to do.
You uncurled as he approached. Hesitantly, at first, but as soon as you saw it was someone who hadn’t openly glorified themselves as your captor, your shell dropped away quickly. It was a frantic sort of desperation, one that pushed you to ignore the scowl Jamil couldn’t repress as he got close enough to see the bruises around your neck, the deep cuts that stretched down your arms, swirling from shoulder to elbow. Immediately, it dawned on him that there’d probably be more on your back, your chest, your thighs, but Jamil only took a second longer to realize that, if there was, he didn’t want to know. You didn’t seem to sense his aversion, just smiling, too happy to do anything more than sit back and stare.
If he’d been any kind, Jamil’s heart might’ve broken.
You thought he was here to save you.
“Jamil,” You gasped, your voice heavy with hushed excitement. You scrambled away from your safe-haven, your knees and your palms soon pressed against the stone floor, but if you were uncomfortable, it was secondary to your utter, primal relief. He let you latch onto him as he kneeled, resting his hands on your shoulders sympathetically as you buried your face in his chest, but you were pulling away quickly, your gaze flickering from his face to his arms to the open door behind him, like you couldn’t quite believe he was there. When you spoke, it was just as hasty, just as rushed. As concerned for him as you were for yourself. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t know what happened, I can’t… He won’t let me leave. I didn’t think I would ever--”
“I know.” It was a small reassurance, but an honest one. Your smile grew easier, as if he’d already promised to see after your safety. “I’m going to help. I just need you to do one thing before I can.”
“Anything.” No hesitation, no reluctance. You leaned back, but you refused to pull away, your grip on his biceps never loosening. “I’ll do anything.”
Despite his better intentions, he felt his grin broaden. “It’s simple,” He said, a hand coming up to cup your jaw. “I just need you to look into my eyes.”
Confusion flitted across your expression, bewilderment mixed with the beginning stages of betrayal, but following his commands came like a second nature, your stare meeting his before you can stop yourself. In a moment, his concentration sharpened and a familiar sense of power began to broil in his chest, something sharp and hungry reaching out, seeking a mind more malleable than his own. Unfortunately, you were the only thing nearby.
You opened your mouth one more time, but that was all you managed before you went slack, your eyes glazing over and your body going limp in his arms. You never looked away, though, never dared to take a breath he might not permit.
You were ready to serve him. You wanted to serve him.
And until he decided you were allowed to, you wouldn’t take a step he didn’t want you to take.
As soon as you went quiet, Kalim’s head poked around the doorway, scanning over your limp posture and Jamil’s unspoken control before he entered, barely hesitating before he collapsed at Jamil’s side. He took the signal, tilting your head back, making it clear who he meant to address. Not that you wouldn’t leap at any word he said, while you were like this. “Until I give you permission to do otherwise, you’ll treat Kalim as a lover. You’ll do anything he asks, and you will be grateful.” He gave himself a second to think, to add anything more specific that might’ve been necessary. His attention drifted towards your shackle, the cuff tighter than he remembered it being, a minute ago. “Whether you’re restrained or free, you will not leave the confines of this room. Other than that, act of your own volition.”
Your reaction was delayed, but just as Kalim began to get antsy, your face lit up, your neutrality quickly turning into adoration. Again, you moved forward, but rather than attempting to earn Jamil’s kindness, you threw your arms around Kalim’s neck, whispering something inaudible into his ear before giggling as you were pulled into his lap, the blatant display already starting to make Jamil feel sick. You fear was gone, replaced with something tender and affectionate, too loving to be natural. But, Kalim didn’t seem bothered. “This is perfect,” He cooed, his more stoic companion already near-forgotten. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, aren’t we, treasure? And all thanks to Jamil.”
You nodded enthusiastically, and Jamil sighed, more desensitized than he was defeated. “Twelve hours,” He warned, pushing himself to his feet. “And not a minute longer.”
Kalim smiled, his fingers moving to your hair, petting through it idly as he encouraged you to litter quick, playful kisses over his jawline. His stare was just as distant as yours. “That’ll be enough.”
~
It wasn’t enough.
In Kalim’s defense, he did make the effort to act like he was trying to stave himself off. There were weeks between the first request and the second, each day without complaint and only the occasional mention of how nice it was to hold you or kiss you or take you out of your restraints, but his request did come, and it came again two weeks after that, then one, then four days. Always for twelve hours, and always posed as if he’d never asked before. And, with some hesitance, Jamil always agreed.
He was just that generous, he guessed.
It was an improvement, he told himself. You couldn’t resume classes or get away from your captor, but you weren’t chained to a bed, either, or conscious enough to experience the brunt of Kalim’s ‘love’ as he forced it onto you. He caught glimpses of it, your one-sided bliss. You were kept away from the other students, but occasionally, he’d find you leaning on a kitchen counter sometime after midnight, watching Kalim raid the dorm’s pantry, or clinging to Kalim’s waist in the early hours of the morning, pouting because you knew you were going to be left alone until he returns. You looked healthier. You weren’t as afraid as you used to be.
Not when you were under his control, at least.
He could almost see why Kalim preferred you this way, if he was being honest. Laid across Kalim’s bed, silken robes splayed out around you and your arms outstretched above you, allowing you to admire the golden, jewel-encrusted rings dripping from your fingers. Even before your time in Kalim’s care, you would’ve taken any excuse to get something so gaudy away from you, but these were gifts from someone you loved, someone you worshiped. Right now, you’d sooner die than attempt to remove them.
He had to clear his throat before you’d glance in his direction, ripping your eyes away from the finery with a good deal of difficulty. He moved to speak, but you were faster, your reaction instantaneous, rehearsed. Something that’d been drilled into your head time and time again, by himself and by your captor. “Kalim says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
He smiled, unable to stop himself. “I’m just a friend,” Jamil explained, indulging your induced naivety. “I’m looking for him, actually. You don’t know where he is, do you?”
“Any friend of Kalim’s is a friend of mine,” You chirped, happily rolling onto your stomach. Instantly, your attention went back to your rings, but you were just fiddling with them, now, tracing the shape of perfectly cut rubies and emeralds. “He said he’d be back, soon, but he still left me alone. He never takes me with him, isn’t that mean?” The question was rhetorical, punctuated by a small huff. “He says he cares about my safety, but he’s gone for hours, sometimes. That doesn’t seem like something he would do if he cared about me.”
“How cruel.” If you noticed the dryness in his tone, you didn’t call him out, only nodding and sinking further into the mattress. He went on, if only out of curiosity. “And you stay with him regardless?”
At that, you perked up, straightening yourself just enough to cement your resolve, as well. “Of course,” You said, glad to prove your loyalty. “Kalim does so much for me… Staying put is the least I can do to show him how much I appreciate him.”
He didn’t push you further, only smirking as you babbled on, content to talk about anything and everything, as long as had to do with your never-dying dedication. It wasn’t long before he let the door close behind him, taking a seat on the edge of Kalim’s bed. In the moment, he told himself he was waiting. Kalim would come back to you eventually, so Jamil was just saving time, but even then, he must’ve known he was lying.
He couldn’t say he blamed himself, though.
Anyone would’ve had a hard time resisting a pet so obedient.
~
He’d almost forgotten how hard you kicked.
Even with your hands restrained, a pair of silver handcuffs keeping your wrists chained to the headboard despite your complaints, you still found a way to make your displeasure known. It’d been difficult enough to pin you down long enough to straddle your waist, earning Jamil a bruise on his bicep and a tight ache in his left shoulder, but your squirming wasn’t much of a reward, your closed eyes and your grit teeth only adding insult to injury. You didn’t try to scream, but your thrashing could’ve drawn attention on its own, violent and frantic and frustrating. For once, Jamil was glad to be alone with you. The mild-mannered reputation he’d taken so long to perfect certainly would’ve taken a hit if anyone saw him lose his temper so quickly.
“Stop!” You didn’t scream, but you weren’t afraid to yell, your voice pitchy, uneven, desperate. As distraught and as futile as the feet still beating at your mattress. “I’ll behave, I promise, I just--” The thought fell short, fading into a stuttered breath as Jamil took you by your collar (a thick, titanium thing too heavy for anyone to wear casually), shoving you down before you could attempt to sit up. You didn’t attempt to resist, grudgingly accepting the change with a practiced defeatism. A week ago, he might’ve felt bad for you, given you some space or let his mind wander to all the many reasons you had to polish such a specific skill. He wasn’t feeling that considerate, now. “I don’t want to be like that again,” You went on, quieter, but no calmer. “I won’t try to get away, I just can’t keep... existing like this.”
It was a messy promise, poorly worded due to panic and uninformed distress, but Jamil smirked, letting you go. You didn’t waste time, twisting your head to the side and pressing your cheek against the wrinkled sheets, but he didn’t move to stop you, either. “It’s not your call,” He grunted. “Kalim likes it, and you can’t act like a brat when you’re under my control. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he preferred it when you were dumbed-down and easier to handle.”
You shrunk, but you didn’t argue, didn’t correct it. You were desperate, but you weren't delusional. “I… I don’t care. I can be ‘easier to handle’ without your help.” You swallowed, your expression relaxing, but you never opened your eyes. “You’re not a monster, I know you’re doing this because you have to, but I need you to help me. You don’t have to let me go, just… please, I can’t keep doing this.”
He pursed his lips. “If Kalim--”
“Kalim doesn’t have to know.”
You spat the proposal abruptly, leaving Jamil stunned. The shock lingered, even when he processed what you were suggesting, rendering him speechless, silent. For a moment, he didn’t react. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.
And then, just as suddenly, he laughed.
“That’s so sweet! You think we’re friends, you think I want to help you,” He chuckled, the words coming out between forced, erratic gasps, only distorted further by the jagged edges of his stark, inescapable smirk. You stiffened, but it didn’t make a difference. Before you could steele yourself, his fingers were entangled in your hair, wrenching your head back by the scalp, prying your eyes open with all the grace of a drunken brute. You tried to look away, to focus on a wall or the ceiling or anything but Jamil, but he didn’t care. He was so, so sick of using his magic for something so easily accomplished.
He wanted this to be personal. He wanted you, the real you, kicking and writhing underneath him until you stopped. He wanted to see you submit and surrender all on your own, without his merciful, numbing help. He wanted you to scream and beg and act like you loved him just as much as you pretended to love Kalim, just as much as he deserved to be loved.
And he didn’t want anyone getting in the way, friend or master or something inbetween.
“I’m not doing this for Kalim, anymore.”
#yandere#yandere love#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere prompt#yandere oneshot#yandere drabble#yandere imagines#yandere scenerio#twisted wonderland#yandere twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland imagines#yandere twisted wonderland imagines#yandere twst#twst imagines#yandere twst imagines#twst#yandere kalim al asim#kalim al asim#kalim x reader#yandere kalim x reader#jamil x reader#yandere jamil#yandere jamil viper#jamil viper#yandere fiction#yandere fantasy#yandere fanfiction#yanderecore#yancore
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The director Joel Schumacher has passed away, and everyone's reactions have boiled down to two topics: 1.) "He was the guy who made the bad Batman films," and 2.) "Hey, he did lots of great films besides the bad Batman films!"
Thing is... I get it. I remember being a teenage comic fan in the 90's. Not just any comics: especially Batman! But ESPECIALLY Bart especially Two-Face. I remember how "Joel Schumacher" was a name that could invoke white-hot rage in myself and everyone in the fandom. He was our modern equivalent of Dr. Fredrick Wertham, the boogyman who had (far as we were concerned) single-handedly destroyed the mainstream credibility of superheroes.
Look at that picture, and try to imagine that this was the face so loathed and mocked by Batman fanboys in the 90′s.
Never mind that Schumacher didn't WRITE the Batman films. The main credit for that goes to Akiva Goldsman, who has gone on to win an Oscar and continues to find A-list success despite ruining other geek properties like Jonah Hex and Dark Tower. Never mind that Schumacher was at the mercy of producers who wanted the movies to be nothing more than merchandise machines and toy commercials. No, Schumacher was the only name associated with the films, and he was cast at the villain.
The fact that he was openly gay played no small part in making him an easy target.
One year after the disastrous release of the infamous Batman & Robin, the beloved fan-favorite cartoon Batman: The Animated Series (then rebranded as The New Batman Adventures on the WB network) produced an episode that featured a pointed jab at Schumacher. The episode was titled "Legends of the Dark Knight," a reworking of a classic 70's Batman tale where a group of kids share their own ideas of what the mysterious Batman is really like.
Halfway through the episode, the kids are overheard by another kid, who shares his own ideas about Batman. The kid, whose name is Joel, has long dirty-blond hair, and works in front of a store which bear the sign "Shoemaker," despite clearly being a department store. He waxes dreamily about the reasons he loves Batman: "All those muscles, the tight rubber armor and that flashy car. I heard it can drive up walls!"
This last line--a reference to a silly bit in Batman Forever--he says as he flamboyantly tosses a pink fur stole around his neck. To drive home the joke, one of the kids dismisses, "Yeah, sure, Joel."
At the time, it seemed like a cathartic joke for us REAL Batman fans. Now, it's clearly just cheap and gross. Instead of any actual criticism about the films, Joel Schumacher was just seen--even if just subconsciously--as the fruit who ruined Batman.
Over time, the hatred for Schumacher lessened. Starting with Blade, X-Men, and Spider-Man, on through to Batman Begins, Iron Man, and onward, superhero movies became huge mainstream successes, with greater fidelity to the source material than most adaptations we saw up to the time that Schumacher "killed" the superhero movie. There was no point in hating him anymore, if there ever was (again, Goldsman more deserves that ire, if you're gonna be angry about anyone. Why does he still get work?! WHY IS HE NOW WRITING FOR STAR TREK?!?!).
But even still, especially among Millennial and Gen-X fans, Schumacher is still--at best--considered a low point for fandom. Even though the same generations have come to appreciate and love some of his other films, such as The Lost Boys, Phone Booth, and the chillingly-prescient Falling Down, there's still this need for people to dismiss the Batman films as embarrassments that are best forgotten in favor of Schumacher's better films. And if they're to be remembered at all, it's to trash them all over again in a tone suggesting that the films are objectively, irredeemably bad.
Except they're not. Oh sure, if you go in looking for a grim and gritty capital-M "Mature" take on Batman, of course you'll hate them, just like you probably also hate the Adam West Batman show. Remember, that show also used to be hated by decades of Batman fans because of how it didn't take the comics seriously.
... except it did. The show was VERY faithful to the Batman comics of the 50's, which often out-weirded and out-sillied its TV counterpart. If anything, the show made some of those stories even more entertaining with camp value and jokes that added different levels of enjoyment to the adults watching. Comic fans resented how Batman became a pop culture joke, and increasingly fought against anything that was colorful and campy (which makes me wonder if this might also be related to latent homophobia). Whether or not they admitted/realized it, the Batman fans of the 70's and 80's carried a chip on their shoulder about a show that DARED to make Batman FUN.
And really... how is that any different than Schumacher's two films?
You don't have to agree, but I think Schumacher's films are fun. I think Batman Forever is highly entertaining, that Tommy Lee Jones and Jim Carrey are bringing their hammy A-games as much respected actors like Burgess Meredith and Caesar Romero brought to their roles. Same goes for Arnold and especially Uma in Batman and Robin. They KNOW what movies they're in, and they're all having a blast.
(How many of us remember the exact line Eddie says at this moment? I bet you probably do too, which should tell you something about how memorable this movie is)
Now, BF and particularly B&A are by no means GOOD movies, but you can't tell me that you couldn't have a blast putting the latter on at a party and riffing it with friends. It's not a pretentious, ponderous, self-serious slog like, say, the shit Zack Snyder cranked out (apologies to the one or two cool Snyder fans here, I just find his films interminable). Even besides the many things I could say to defend Schumacher's Batman films (that's a whole other essay), you can't say they were boring. They were entertaining, even if on a level of making fun of the film, and that is NOT as easy as it looks.
Let me put it to you this way: Batman Forever has, objectively, one of the worst takes on Two-Face I've ever seen. He's one-note, he's kind of a rehash of Nicholson's Joker, he gets completely overshadowed by the Riddler, he gets killed by Batman in a way that completely betrays the whole “DON’T KILL HARVEY” arc with Robin, and worst of all, he CHEATS on the coin toss. That alone would be enough for me to condemn this depiction in any other Two-Face story.
And yet, even I--the most passionate, opinionated, and picky Two-Face fan you will EVER know--still have a soft spot for Tommy Lee Jones' take on ol' Harv. He’s just too fun, too flamboyant, too damn extra not to love. If only all bad takes on Two-Face could be this fun!
But that’s the thing: it’s not because the script was good. Oh god no. I've read the script, and if it were put on the page like a comic, I would have hated it just like any other bad Two-Face comic. I have to imagine that, as director, Joel Schumacher deserves the bulk of the credit for pushing the restrained and laconic Tommy Lee Jones into that oversized performance, and making it a delight to watch despite everything it does wrong.
I'm rare for my generation to have learned how to stop worrying and love Schumacher's Batman. But the younger generation, the up-and-coming Gen-Zs getting into Batman, don't share the same grudges we did. There's a genuine, shame-free enjoyment of those films among The Kids, many of whom are LGBTQA+, who love the jokes, the silliness, the camp, the Freeze puns, the swag of Uma Thurman, and the homoerotic subtext between Two-Face and the Riddler. Maybe it's just a reaction to so much GRIM, SERIOUS shit that DC and their fanboys are trying desperately to push even today.
But comics--especially Batman--have a long history of colorful, stupid, fun shit. Schumacher's films carried on in that tradition, and they should be appreciated on their own merits by those of us who aren't limited by narrow ideas of what Batman "should" be, and who still remember how to have fun.
Schumacher's Batman films should no longer be seen as embarrassments. They didn't ruin superheroes. They didn't ruin Batman. They didn't even ruin Two-Face. Nor should they be disregarded in favor of Falling Down, like losers in a respectability competition. They're fun. They're entertaining. And they didn't pretend to be anything else.
And if you still think they're bad... I mean, objectively, you're not wrong! But be mindful of the reasons WHY you think they're bad, because on another subjective level, you may not be right either. And it's certainly not worth holding a geek-grudge over after twenty-five years.
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Help I can't stop--
--writing little fics that all involve saving Fives and sometimes other people and then just having Domino hugs at the end. so. yeah. This one has Tup in it! And an Ao3 link~
no warnings ^_^ about 6400 words, very fluffy by the end
Tup liked the busier nights at work, which he hadn’t quite expected. Bartending was a lot more pressure than working behind the scenes--washing dishes or prepping food before the night started--but Tup honestly liked it. Maybe it was his military training rising to the constant stream of orders and people and voices, or maybe he just liked the other bartenders better than the kitchen staff. Whatever it was, tonight was looking to be one of the busiest that week, and Tup only found happy anticipation to meet it.
Maybe a part of it was bartending meant he didn’t have Fives constantly over his shoulder, watching his every move to make sure he didn’t blow their cover or something. After over eight months here, eight months of considerable safety, he still hadn’t relaxed. The only reason Tup was “allowed” behind the bar in front of the customers was the cantina’s owner, Mira. She was the only reason either of them were alive after literally washing up on her doorstep during flood season, so she held some sway. She’d given them beds, meals, she’d never once threatened to turn them in for desertion--all for the requirement they help the aging weequay with her business, the Mirage cantina and inn. They would be fools to refuse, and if that meant Tup was up front, he went up front.
He still worried, naturally. Not so much about the GAR finding them anymore, not so much about the Jedi coming after him, not so much about how each day would end, those fears had largely subsided. Mostly, he worried about his brothers. Fives had explained the chips to him, as much as he knew. It had been a chilling revelation, and it still gnawed at both of their minds, despite having theirs removed. It was constant knowledge that each of his brothers had a ticking time bomb stowed in the back of their brain, just waiting to turn them all against the very people they were built to serve. Fives had sent an encrypted comm to the first person he thought might know how to help: Kix. Hopefully the medic would be prudent with the little knowledge Fives had sent, and hopefully he would know to keep it a damn secret until something concrete could be done about it.
Despite this--despite all of this--Tup had to leave it be. This little riverside town in the far outer rim rarely got news of the war unless battles approached, and just about no mention of Corusanti or Republic politics at all. He had no way to know what was happening. He had no way to affect what was happening. He had to leave it be. Tonight was busy enough without adding the small chaos of his own inner thoughts.
Fives had yet to accept this. Fives… Tup had been serving with Fives for almost a year now. He’d been through plenty of battles with him, hell, he’d survived Umbara with Fives. Fives had a way of… condensing his personality on the field, a way of putting the softer and more vulnerable parts of himself carefully away into some safebox behind walls to protect it from whatever he saw or did in the heat of war. But, afterwards, the old jokes and friendly punches came back in full force, usually helping everyone relax after the battle.
Fives hadn’t taken that safebox out yet.
In fact, Tup wasn’t sure Fives had escaped Ringo Vinda yet. He still saw the same guarded expressions, the same sharp, scrutinizing stare from the field. Maybe it was Tup’s “youth” showing. Shininess. But it had been over eight months since they’d escaped Kamino, and well over six since they’d faced any real danger. Fives couldn’t keep those walls up forever, could he?
Tup couldn’t really remember the last time he’d heard him laugh.
“You got everything you need over there?”
Tup pulled his mind back to his job. “Yeah, thanks, Dan,” he turned to his co-worker over his shoulder. Danula was Mira’s granddaughter, and definitely Tup’s favorite to work with out of the other bartenders. They got along famously--the first nattie friend he’d ever had.
“Looked a little lost in thought,” she replied. “Can’t have that on a busy night, you know?”
“Yeah, ‘course not,” Tup nodded, already moving to refill a pair of glasses. Service with a smile. Wasn’t that one of General Fisto’s mottos? He could have sworn he’d heard it from one of Commander Monnk’s men. Maybe in the same conversation about eating raw seafood like it was okay (which it wasn’t, it was disgusting). At least on a drier planet, he didn’t have that to bother him.
Tup caught sight of one of the regulars making his way through the crowded cantina. He glanced over his shoulder again at Dan, who was now at the other side of the circular bar. She’d be happy to see him.
“Hey, Carreth, good to see you,” Tup greeted the weequay who had arrived.
“Minnow--” Tup’s cover name, part of the precautions of desertion-- “a busy night, I see,” he smiled, craning his neck to catch a glance at Dan behind Tup. Mira and everyone who worked at the cantina knew about Carreth’s crush on Dan. Mira was fine with it, Dan’s parents were fine with it. Dan… had literally only figured it out last week. She was warming quickly to it, though. Carreth was nice, and frankly, too far gone to do anything stupid.
“Yeah, Mirage is a popular place this week,” Tup answered. “I’ll grab Dan for you.”
“Ah--I should tell you,” Carreth said, raising a hand and leaning in. “I noticed a group of your ah… family in town. They might make an appearance.”
Brothers. Tup paused, putting down the bottle of rum he’d pulled for Carreth. “How many? Can you tell me the color of their armor?”
“Kind of… black and red?” Carreth answered, tapping a finger on his chin between two horns. “Only five of them.”
Black and red? Odd. But he just nodded, casting an eye towards the doors. “Thanks for the heads up.” He filled a glass of Carreth’s preferred Corellian rum and left the bottle, then turned to get Dan.
He nearly bowled her over instead, only catching himself with half a second to spare. “Whoa! Hey, sorry--”
“Clones--at the door,” she said at the same time.
He looked. Well. He’d be hard-pressed to miss the guy who looked more Alpha-class than CT, which was more than a little worrying. But he didn’t recognize the armor at all. It didn’t even look regulation. Who were these guys?
“Okay, okay, yeah,” he said, seeing the new arrivals had put Dan on edge almost more than they had him. “Carreth just told me, he’s over there.”
“He did--wait, when--oh.” He turned her around and gave her a gentle push towards her admirer.
“Don’t worry about me, okay?” Force, he was happy Fives had the night off. He would have dragged Tup out of the bar and upstairs to their room before Carreth had finished the warning.
Tup stood his ground, now switched places with Dan on the bar. He kept an eye on the squad of five, watching carefully as they found a table on the edge of the room, then even more carefully as two of them made their way up to the bar in the center of the room.
Dan--Maker bless her--nearly gave up Carreth’s winning smiles to take their orders, but Tup wanted to find out exactly what they were doing here. He waved his hand at her, urging her back to her station.
The two men did stop and stare when he faced them over the bar. “What can I do for you?”
He used their pause to get a better look at them. The one on the left had long dark curls held out of his face by a red bandana with a small skull visible on one side of it. Speaking of skulls, it must have been their squad symbol, because half a skull was tattooed in black over the left side of his face, and the design was replicated in white on the helmet under his arm. The other, Tup had to do a double take, only because he’d never seen a clone with… studs? Ports? Metal… things implanted into his head, clearly visible because of his close haircut. Another quick glance caught the glint of cybernetic metal for a right hand. This guy had seen some things.
“Hi,” the first clone said, a little hesitant.
“This is a surprise,” the other said, a bit more confident. “Pleasant one, I guess.”
Tup shrugged. “As long as you’re not gonna get me in trouble, there won’t be any unpleasant ones.”
The second clone smiled and nodded. “I think some drinks and credits are all that need to change hands here.”
Tup liked this guy. Or at least respected him. “I can do that.”
The tattooed clone rattled off the orders in a way that said these were regular drink requests from the squad.
As he busied himself pulling out five glasses for them, the second clone asked, “Is that a tattoo there?”
Tup looked up to see his head tilted curiously, left hand pointing under his own right eye. “Uh… yeah.” He’d used to keep the teardrop tattoo covered, either a bandage or makeup when Dan could help him, but he’d been leaving it bare lately. Abruptly, Tup was aware that his looks hadn’t changed that much since Ringo Vinda. His hair was still long enough to keep in a bun, and the only difference was the shaved right side of his head where the chip had been removed. He hadn’t wanted to shave his whole head to start over, and he kind of liked the new look. But he still looked a lot like… well. Himself.
“I served with a brother with a mark like that, just looks familiar,” the clone said.
Small talk, clone style. Tup could do this. “Yeah, what was he like? Or is like.”
The other shrugged. “Kinda quiet, pretty nice kid. Didn’t know him for that long before…” He rubbed his head. “Well. Before a few incidents.” Tup could only imagine. “Never found out what happened to him, though. Guess he ran off before I got out.”
His squadmate turned a raised brow on him. “This the one your batcher dragged off about the…” He glanced at Tup. “The thing?”
Tup tried not to stare too pointedly as he finished off the third drink and moved on to the last two--the more complicated orders of the group. That sounded an awful lot like Fives talking about the chips.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Tup.”
He was rather proud of himself for not losing focus and completely ruining the cocktail by adding about three times the vodka needed by freezing up while pouring. But also who the ever-loving kriff were these guys? He started running through what the bandana-ed clone had just said. Unfortunately, he was stopped mid-review by the other one interrupting his thoughts.
“Hey, that reminds me. Can I ask something?”
Tup carefully finished the drink at hand and nodded, now kind of wishing he’d let Dan handle this. “Sure.”
“You haven’t seen any other clones since you… left, have you?”
“No, don’t think so.” Technically not a lie. He and Fives hadn’t seen any others since deserting. But, he could no longer avoid the obvious question of his own. “Can I--um… what do I call you?”
“Echo.”
Well. Tup was pretty sure there would only be one Echo who knew his name and might even be looking for him. There was only, of course, the small hurdle of his supposed death about… a year and, what--five months ago? But that might be the “incidents” he had mentioned earlier, and of course, it would explain his mention of the batchmate Tup had disappeared with.
Fives.
“Give me a minute,” he said, and hurried over to Dan across the way.
She must have been hyper-aware of the little conversation, because she had turned around before he made it to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing, I promise,” he said. “I just need you to fill in for a few minutes, there’s something I need to take care of, then I’ll be right back, okay?”
“What?”
“Just--” He floundered a moment, debating how much to tell her. “I know one of them. He’s Blue’s best friend--like best best friend--they haven’t seen each other in a year, longer than that.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Please, they need to talk to each other, I just need to bring him upstairs, okay? Nothing’s wrong.”
Her eyes narrowed at him, her already lined skin gaining more furrows. But, eventually, she nodded, shooing him away with her hands. “Fine, but I’m not finishing this shift on my own.”
“I’ll be back,” he promised again, moving to the little door in the circular bar. He weaved his way around customers to Echo. “Hi, I’ll start over,” he began, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the music. “I’m Tup, Fives is upstairs, I’m taking you to him, okay? Cool.”
Without waiting for an answer (because it had to be yes), he grabbed Echo’s wrist and began tugging him through the throngs of people and around tables towards the “Employees Only” door that led upstairs. Echo didn’t protest. In fact, he didn’t even say much except to add to Tup’s many “excuse mes” and “thank yous” as they pushed through people to get to the stairs.
But once the door had swung back shut again, he pulled Tup up.
“What?”
Echo breathed a quiet laugh. “Hello to you too, Tup. Take a breath.”
Tup released his wrist and let him climb the stairs at his own pace. In doing so, he finally noticed Echo’s boots didn’t look quite right, and it took him several seconds to realize this was because there were no feet attached. The more he looked, he recognized cybernetics from at least the knees down on both legs. “Oh, sorry.” He wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for dragging Echo away or for not realizing what had changed.
“It’s okay.” He put a hand on Tup’s shoulder as they climbed. “How are you both? You and Fives.”
“I’m pretty good,” he answered, silently agonizing over the slower pace Echo had set. “Fives is uh…” He paused, trying to find words that wouldn’t alarm Echo too much. “He’s… been better?”
Echo raised a brow at him, hesitating a step before continuing at a slightly faster pace. “What do you mean?”
Tup sighed. “He’s… I dunno. It’s like he’s…” Words failed him again, and now they had reached the landing on the second floor. The room he and Fives shared was only five doors down. “It’s like he’s hollow, but he’s too full of too much at the same time. It’s why I didn’t want to wait for him to see you.”
Echo nodded, gesturing for Tup to lead on. “I understand. Probably wouldn’t have wanted to wait even if he was okay.”
A knot of anticipation was slowly tightening in Tup’s chest as they approached the door and Tup knocked. He knew Fives was here, and it was technically Tup’s room too, but Fives didn’t like surprises. Anymore, at least. This had to work. If there was anyone in the galaxy who could get Fives out of this person hell he’d put himself in, it was Echo, right? That was how it worked: Echo and Fives, Fives and Echo, the Domino twins, always. Tup wasn’t sure what he’d do if this didn’t work.
______
The first thing that struck Echo about the room was the clear division of lived-in disorder and absent organisation. The room itself was clearly meant for customers and had simply been repurposed to allow Fives and Tup to live there semi-permanently. There were two beds, a connected ‘fresher near the door, a table with two lamps between the beds--all the trappings of a typical (if low-end) motel. But the bed farthest from the door remained impeccably made up in military fashion, there were no personal belongings out that weren’t currently in use, not even a stray sock. It was a CO’s dream, sure, but…
He looked at the other bed--Tup’s bed. It was made, but not impeccably so. There were stray clothes in one corner, a datapad thrown on the covers, little knickknacks on the table beside it. It looked lived in. Tup had claimed this space, a while ago, from the looks of it. Echo remembered the state Fives’ bunk had been in sometimes, the utter chaos happening below his own bunk. What had happened?
“Fives?” Tup stopped where the room widened out to their sleeping area, and Echo stopped behind him.
His batchmate was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a mouse droid in front of him in carefully disassembled pieces, next to a soldering kit and a datapad. He looked a bit like Tech at the moment, except for the distinct lack of goggles and the tank top and shorts.
But it was definitely Fives. Same little tattoo on his temple, same stupid goatee on his chin.
“What’s wrong?” Fives asked, not looking up from the mouse droid’s guts. Echo frowned a little. Tup hadn’t been exaggerating. He sounded… flat.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Tup answered. “There’s someone you should see, is all.”
That made Fives look up, and his reaction was instantaneous. He shoved the soldering iron into its holder with one hand while the other found a blaster pistol that had been hidden behind his body on the bed and raised it at Echo. “Who the hell is that?” he growled in a voice Echo had only ever associated with battle. The voice alone was enough to set him on edge, like Fives had just given a warning of enemy incoming and hadn’t just pointed his blaster at him.
“It’s Echo!” Tup shot back, stepping more fully in front of him--between him and the blaster. “Fives, it’s Echo. Maker’s sake, put the blaster down.”
“Echo’s dead, and people lie,” Fives replied in the same stern voice as he rose from the bed to stand at its foot. “Get away from him.” The pistol never wavered, true to ARC standards.
Echo knew he was unrecognizable. When he’d arrived at the RMB on Anaxes after being rescued from Skako Minor, it had been painfully obvious just how much he didn’t look like himself from the way that Jesse and Kix and Hardcase and the others had reacted. Now, with a different haircut, and metal limbs, and no handprint of any kind on his armor, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that Fives didn’t believe it was him. But it still hurt like something vital had just crumpled inside his chest.
“Fives!” There was a note of desperation in Tup’s voice now. How long had they been living like this? Echo remembered the urgency with which Tup had dragged him up here, not even bothering to find out what they were doing here, or if they were a threat to their safety. A while, then.
“Get. Away.”
“No! This is ridiculous!”
“You can scan my wrist if you want,” Echo cut in, holding up his remaining arm. “ID tattoo.” The subdermal pattern of invisible ink would pull up his public military record on any device, displaying his designation and current and previous stations.
This made Fives pause, actually thinking about it.
“Please, Fives?” Tup asked.
After a tense moment, Fives exhaled sharply through his nose, which meant he had relented. He pointed towards a dresser with his free hand. “Fine, grab the scanner.”
Tup took a step forward, then paused to ask, “You’re not gonna shoot him, right?”
A muscle in Fives’ jaw flexed. “I’m not gonna shoot him.”
Tup still moved cautiously, keeping a close eye on Fives as he left his position between Echo and the blaster aimed at him. For his part, Echo slowly moved to take off his vambrace and glove on his left hand, then pulling up the sleeve of his blacks a few inches. Tup stood in front of the dresser between them, fiddling with the handheld scanner.
“Do you wanna do this?” he said to Fives, sounding… tired. Poor kid.
Fives shook his head. “You do it.” It was the gentlest his voice had sounded since they’d walked in. It gave Echo some hope. If Fives could still care this much about keeping Tup safe, the rest of him was still in there. It was just a little buried.
Tup walked over and he held out his wrist for him. The scanner sort of… tickled a bit, after being part of a computer for several months with the Techno Union. It seemed whatever they did to him had made him a bit more sensitive to the electromagnetic spectrum. The stripes of the ID tattoo lit up blue briefly as the device picked them up, and there was a soft beep when it finished.
“Sorry about this,” Tup murmured while the device was processing.
“Don’t, it’s not your fault,” Echo replied with a small smile.
He returned to Fives, holding out the device as a hologram display appeared from it:
ARC-1409
Formerly 501 Legion, Torrent Co
MIA: [unavailable]
POW retrieved from [unavailable] by Gen. Anakin Skywalker, CT-7567, CF99
Reassigned to CF99
It was different than the one Echo had seen, because the GAR devices and droids could pull up his full record, dates included, but it had the important stuff. Echo skimmed the short document, then watched Fives read it through. He saw his batchmate’s eyes hover on the picture in the upper left corner, taken about a month after his rescue. He looked much better now than in that picture. Fives read it through twice, and after the second time through, he reached out and took the device from Tup. The arm holding the pistol lowered its aim from Echo’s head to his feet.
“I have a shift to finish,” Tup said, stepping away once the scanner was out of his hands. “Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”
Fives didn’t respond, just watched Tup turn and leave.
And that left the two of them alone.
For a moment or two, they didn’t move. Fives seemed lost in thought after reading the document, and Echo didn’t want to startle him. Eventually, he clicked the device off and set it down on top of the dresser, the arm with the blaster now hanging loose at his side.
“How did you find us?” he asked quietly, still facing the dresser. His voice was still unreadable to the inexperienced ear, but Echo could hear a difference. He was still wary. But he wasn’t actively threatening him, and that was a distinct improvement.
“Accident,” Echo replied truthfully. “We needed to stop for fuel after a mission, and the boys wanted a drink, so…” He figured the rest of the story was self-explanatory. When Fives didn’t follow with another question, he added, “Do you believe it’s me now?”
Fives’ empty hand slowly curled into a fist on top of the dresser, then slowly relaxed. “I think so,” he answered.
“Can I ask you to put the blaster down?”
His batchmate looked down at the weapon, like he’d only just noticed it. After another moment of thought, he set it down beside the scanner, then finally looked up at Echo. “What happened to you?”
He shrugged. He was used to people staring at him by now, with all his machinery, and even more used to that question. “An explosion and a few mad scientists.” He took a step towards Fives, encouraged when he made no move for the blaster in response. “The Seppies handed me over to the Techno Union after they pulled me out of The Citadel.” He gestured to his legs and head with his prosthetic hand. “They did all this.”
“Why?”
Echo took another step towards him, scrutinizing his face for the tells and signs he had grown up learning. Even ARC training couldn’t hide it all from him, so despite the emotionless front Fives had put up--and had had on since Echo had walked in, he could tell a few things. Most glaringly, he was exhausted. Beyond exhausted, in some aspects. Clearly, he hadn’t been sleeping well, if at all, for days at a time, if the shadows under his eyes were anything to go by.
“To get the strategic algorithm,” he answered, keeping his voice soft and even, giving no signs he could see how bad Fives looked. “The one I made with Rex. I guess they were using it on Anaxes about two and a half months after you and Tup left. Rex recognized it, and that’s how they found me.” Fives nodded. He looked numb behind the exhaustion. He rubbed his face roughly, and Echo took another couple steps forward. “No one’s coming after you, Fives.”
He watched his shoulders tense, hands still over his face.
“I mean it. The stuff you sent to Kix about the chips--you did the right thing. We’ve figured a lot of it out, we know Tup wasn’t in control of himself on Ringo Vinda. We know someone set this whole thing up. No one is coming after you, I promise.”
Slowly, Fives’ hands lowered from his face, and Echo’s heart leapt. Finally, he could see something in his eyes. They were no longer forcefully void of emotion, guarded by walls built during ARC training. It would have made Echo smile, if what he saw hadn’t been such overwhelming loneliness. It made sense now that Tup had described a kind of hollowness. If he’d seen something like it before Citadel, he would have wasted no time dragging his brother into a hug and not letting go until he felt the stress ease from his muscles. But then was not now. Fives was hurting, yes. But Echo had to be patient.
He stayed put as Fives moved again, this time over to the foot of the bed to sit on the floor, leaning back against the bedframe. Drained. “Is Tup mad at me?”
Echo did smile then, a small smile, and a little sad. “Oh, Fives,” he sighed.
Fives, always loyal to his brothers first, and the Republic second. Fives, who had always hated being left alone for any amount of time, no matter how brief. Fives, who had always spent extra time with the shinies after their first battles to make sure they took care of themselves. Fives, who had sensed the chips ran deeper than first thought, and risked his life gathering what he could to save his brothers. Fives, who had suddenly found himself without anyone, except Tup, and had done everything in his power to keep his little brother safe, no matter what it would do to him.
“No, I don’t think he’s mad at you,” he finally said, walking the few steps over until he was standing to Fives’ left. “A little frustrated you did this to yourself, maybe. But not angry.” He gestured to the floor next to his brother. “Can I sit?”
Fives nodded, barely a dip of the chin. “I just wanted to keep him safe,” he said in a very small voice.
“You did,” Echo told him as he sat down next to him, but facing towards him. “You did a great job. No one even thought to look here, no one had any idea where you two had gone.” He set down his glove and his vambrace that he’d been carrying since taking them off. Then he started taking off the rest of the armor on his arm, setting it all in a pile off to his far side.
Fives watched him, curious, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he wanted to know, “What did you find out about the chips?”
Echo frowned as he unclipped the sides of his chest plate and pulled the whole thing over his head. He wanted Fives to relax, to let go of the stress he’d been carrying. Talking about what they’d discovered, and what they had yet to figure out, would just get him thinking again. “Do I have to tell you now?” When Fives’ only response was dropping his gaze to the floor between his feet with a minuscule shrug, Echo elaborated. “Fives, as your batchmate, let me say this: you are dead tired. You look like you’ve been running on fumes--mentally and emotionally, if not physically--for about two weeks. Kix would scrape the medic symbol off his shoulder bell if he let you go anywhere in this state. I would rather wait until tomorrow, so I can make sure you get a good night’s rest and some breakfast, and then I will tell you and Tup everything. Okay?”
Fives knew he was right. Echo knew that he knew he was right. He drew his knees up to his chest and rubbed his face again. “Okay,” he sighed, but he didn’t look happy about it.
Echo smiled again. “You know you missed my nagging,” he said, holding out his hand.
To his utter delight, the corners of Fives’ mouth pulled up ever so slightly. He put out his hand, hesitated a little, but finally let it land in Echo’s. “Yeah, I did,” he agreed, linking their thumbs and holding tight. He let his head fall back against the mattress behind him, avoiding his brother’s gaze, but Echo’s trained eye saw the muscles in his neck constrict, saw the small stutter in his breathing, and he already knew.
“Looks like rain, huh?” he said quietly, squeezing his brother’s hand. It was an old code from Domino’s cadet days. They had all been so damn stubborn, none of them had wanted to admit when they needed a good cry. So, they had used Kamino’s weather as a cover. Fives and Echo had kept it up, even when it no longer made sense on a ship in the middle of hyperspace, for example.
Fives shut his eyes tightly and nodded, squeezing his hand in return.
“C’mere.”
He uncurled from where he sat against the bed and let Echo gather him up in his arms, holding him against his unarmored chest--because he had been pretty sure it would end up like this. Fives pressed his face into his left shoulder immediately, wrapping both arms around his torso and digging his fingers into his blacks. Echo rested his chin on his brother’s hair and put his hand on the back of his neck, holding him there while he unraveled.
How long had it been since he had seen his last batchmate? Something approaching two years at this point. Echo hugged tighter upon remembering that, and upon remembering what it had been like trying to put his life back together after the Techno Union without him. He was determined to keep Fives from going through anything like it now, even if this reunion was far from what he might have imagined.
After some time Echo didn’t bother to track, he felt Fives settle in his arms and heard his breathing descend to a more normal pace. He pressed a kiss to his head and ruffled his hair. As much as he hated hearing Fives cry, this was light years better than the calculating and emotionless man who’d had a blaster pointed at him a few minutes ago. It hurt, yes, but it was human. If it made Echo’s heart twinge a little, it was worth it to know this was normal.
“Feel better?” he murmured. Fives nodded silently, loosening his death-grip on his brother’s blacks. “Can we get off the floor now? My knees aren’t what they used to be.”
The noise Fives made was somewhere between a sob and a cough as he sat up from where he’d been slumped against Echo’s chest. But he was smiling, weakly, so it must have been a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”
Echo helped him wipe away a few stray tears. “You’re a kriffing mess, brother,” he smirked. “Maybe you can get some sleep until Tup’s shift ends, hm?”
“You’re staying, yeah?”
“Of course I’m staying,” he assured him, a little affronted he would think otherwise. Fives nodded, letting his head fall forward until their foreheads touched. Echo leaned in and felt a shaky breath of relief leave his lips.
“I really need a drink.”
Echo sat up with a smile. “You and me both, but I think sleep will be better for you.”
______
It was a little after midnight by the time Tup had finished his shift and he was climbing the stairs to his room again, this time with three beers in his hands, because he felt bad about whisking Echo off without filling his order. Echo’s new squad was still downstairs. He’d explained what had happened to them, and they had all been surprisingly accepting of it. Echo must have told them about Fives.
He hesitated in front of his door, one hand on the handle. He couldn’t hear anything from inside, which… was probably good, right? They’d had over two hours to themselves. Either they’d settled things, or they’d stunned each other. Well. He pushed the door open, knocking on it lightly as he did so.
“Hey, guys, I’m back.” He walked softly until he was in the main part of the room, then he smiled.
Echo and Fives were laid out on Fives’ bed, the latter tucked safely under his batchmate’s arm. It was the first time Tup had actually seen Fives asleep in weeks. Usually, he was still up when Tup went to bed, and awake before Tup got up. It was also the first time in months Fives had willingly put himself in contact with another person. He noticed Echo’s full kit was piled at the foot of the bed, along… along with his legs, yes. He was still getting used to that.
Echo was blinking sleepily when Tup walked in. “Hey, Tup,” he smiled. “Those for us?”
Tup held up the three bottles. “Yeah. I… felt kinda bad you didn’t get your drink earlier.”
Echo nodded. “Oh, it’s alright. But, I will certainly take that drink now, as soon as I get this lump off my arm.” He waved the hand attached to the arm Fives had pinned down.
Tup walked over and sat down on the end of the bed where Echo’s feet weren’t. “I’m glad he’s asleep.”
“Yeah, me too,” his older brother agreed, rubbing Fives’ shoulder. “But, I said I’d wake him up when you came back.” He patted Fives’ shoulder a bit more aggressively. “Come on, brother.”
It took a while, but it worked eventually. Fives grumbled quietly, at first shoving his face deeper into the pillows before Echo dragged his arm out from under him, then he hauled himself upright. Echo similarly pushed himself up, leaning against his brother.
“Hey, Fives,” Tup said, still a little uncertain.
Fives rubbed his eyes, then blinked groggily at him. Echo ruffled his hair roughly to help him wake up, and a tiny smile appeared on his face. A real one, too, not one of the tight, professional smiles Tup had seen him use in the past. “Hey, Tup.”
A huge smile lit up Tup’s face. Echo had done it. “That’s more like it,” he said triumphantly.
“Yeah, I know,” Fives said, looking a bit sheepish, which was awesome, because Tup hadn’t seen many emotions out of him other than a range of unhappy in way too long. “Sorry about… everything.”
Tup’s smile softened a bit. “Thank you. It’s okay--I mean, I’m glad you’re okay.”
He nodded back. “Yeah, well… we’re getting there.” His eyes landed on the drinks in Tup’s hand. Tup had picked out one he knew was a favorite. “Those aren’t being saved for any special occasion, are they?” he asked, gesturing to them.
Tup smirked and held them up. “Just this one,” he answered, and handed them out.
He was about to get up to get a bottle opener, then watched as Echo’s cybernetic hand plucked off the cap like it was nothing. Fives blinked at his batchmate’s open bottle, then held out his to open as well. Echo rolled his eyes, but obliged. Fives smiled again, clinking their bottles together before taking a swig.
Echo held out his hand to Tup, whose bottle remained unopened. “It’s the most hand-like thing this thing can do, please,” he urged, so Tup held out his bottle and let him open it.
Then Fives scooched back to sit against the headboard and gestured Tup over as well. “C’mere,” he said, “I’ve been a dick to you, I should start making it up.”
Tup gave another huge grin and got up to get on the other side of the bed. “Good to have you back,” he said, maybe a little smug, as he kicked off his shoes and carefully climbed in so he didn’t spill his drink.
“Glad to be here,” Fives said, putting an arm around Tup’s neck and tapping their foreheads together lightly. “Good on you for bringing in the heavy artillery,” he added, gesturing with his bottle to Echo on his other side.
Tup could only give a nonverbal sound in reply as he took a drink. Then he sighed contentedly and relaxed against Fives’ side. He hadn’t quite realized how much stress he had been carrying because of Fives, and it was all leaving him in a rush, like he’d just taken off his kit after a twelve-hour march. He felt light, and happy, and safe. And hopefully, it wouldn’t be too long before they could really go home, and he could see the rest of his brothers. The thought made him smile as he listened absently to Fives and Echo chat about nothing in particular. Yeah. This was good.
#looks long huh#my writing#my fanfic#tcw fanfic#i write things sometimes#arc trooper echo#arc trooper fives#clone trooper tup#fix it fic#domino twins#*cries in loving domino squad*#this au brought to you by:#EVERYONE IS FINE#userblossom
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☁ studying together ( x reader hc's) ☁
characters: midoriya, bakugou, todoroki, kirishima, yaoyorozu, uraraka, + ashido
genre: fluff <33
☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁
I. Midoriya 🌳🍀🌻
this poor boy is so excited to be spending time with you
but he will not take his nose out of his textbook
he can't help it
he's so happy to be in the hero course he takes his schoolwork a little too seriously
however, you can use this to your advantage ;)
normally you're almost as invested in his journey to becoming the next Symbol of Peace and achieving his dream as he is
and you would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize it
So you were silently bouncing off the walls with glee when you realized he was impervious to distractions when it came to studying
literally anything is fair game
which is why studying with him is your new favorite time of day
pet his hair
kiss his cheeks
climb into his lap
pat his head
hold his non-dominant hand
hug him from behind his chair
rest your head on his shoulder and take a nap
do whatever you want
you can basically do anything to him while he's studying without having to worry about distracting him
he will blush a little bit of you kiss him but but you think it's adorable
lol turn on whatever tv or music you want
but only if you're done with your work!!
hes very adamant that you keep up with your work as best you can do you can graduate side by side and be pro heroes together someday
K. Bakugou 💣💥 📢
he would totally be the one to invite you to study and he would probably want to study in his dorm
it's super quiet and nobody will bother you guys because they know it's that spiky gremlin's room
overall his room just has a really relaxing atmosphere
you love being near him as much as possible
and he's much more affectionate in the comfort of his dorm room
but that doesn't mean he's gonna go easy on u ;-;
he still has his gruff attitude and will make sure you're studying every day
or else he will call u baka and force you to sit down and study until you know all your material
he's actually a great tutor tho
he writes out all the work for each problem and explains them thoroughly
all while holding in you in his arms while you sit in his lap
sometimes you can convince him to play a game with you where every time you get an answer right he gives you a kiss
but you whine when you get one wrong and he won't kiss you
he huffs before giving you a kiss while still trying to look annoyed
stupid girl he mutters
but he pulls you a bit closer to him to hide his blush and moves on to the next problem despite your giggles
S. Todoroki ❄🔥🍜
he doesn't really need to study but he doesn't know how to just .. relax
like he doesn't know how to not do what his dad tells him to do
and his dad wants him to study
it's just easier for Todoroki to do what his dad wants than to rebel
that is, it was
Until he met you and the dekusquad
obviously everyone cares about their homework and wants to graduate well and go Plus Ultra!
but study sessions with Todoroki usually end up just being you guys trying to help him be less hard on himself while you have him as a captive audience
he doesn't really mind, though, especially when it's just you two
the intimacy of studying together in comfortable silence and just
enjoying each other's company
makes his heart go (* ̄∇ ̄*)
like i said he doesn't really need to study so he'll just end up helping you review material
please just ... hold his hand :)
after you're done studying for the day just pull him into a hug and over to your bed
he needs a nap
you feel warm fuzzies inside from how caring he's been to sit with you while you finished your homework and bring you warm tea
you don't even think you just
Time for cuddles :3
it becomes your daily ritual to study together and then cuddle
he always falls asleep in your arms with a small smile
E. Kirishima 🗿🗿🗿
(HAHAHSHNSJ THE 🗿 EMOJI OMG I'M LITERALLY SO FUNNY LOL I'M CRYING)
"Okay, Y/N, let's study hard and do our homework like men!" *fist-pumping the air and grinning like an idiot*
"...what's so funny? "
he doesn't care if you're not a man it's his trademark
he likes to study at his desk because he says it's "important to stay focused and work diligently"
generally he is the least focused person, ever. besides kaminari.
however, he's so energetic and enthusiastic that once you sit down and start studying he'll be able to keep your motivation up until you've finished all your homework
GREAT at studying for tests and quizzes (in theory)
he will never give up
like I said he could keep studying for hours once he sets his mind to it
So you have to compromise and get him to study in short bursts throughout the day to help him have a better chance of remembering anything ;-;
his memory is not great but it's kinda cute
you, being the smart cookie that u are, realized the best way to help him memorize things was to study with flashcards frequently throughout the weekend while doing other activities
so you plan to hang out together and do something fun every week while having your study material on index cards in your back pockets
it's a literal study date.
a weekly date out to the mall or the park or a little coffee shop but with math trivia thrown in randomly throughout the afternoon!! :D
Of course he was ready to turn it into a game he's a literal puppy
he just wants to show you you can be proud of him
you giggle lightly when you hear him say that and let him know that you'll always be proud of him, no matter what
M. Yaoyorozu 👑🏆☕
studyblr wants what u have.
studying in momo's room makes you feel like a Victorian young lady studying moral philosophy, writing poetry about the mourning doves outside the garden window, and waiting for her husband to come home from sailing the seven seas
it's your Belle moment where she's in the royal library except it's every day
stacks of beautiful, old books
the smell of the crisp, white pages
soft classical music floating through the air
the window cracked open slightly
and you are the luckiest student in all of UA because you get to study with the smartest girl in the whole school
she's also gorgeous and sweet and perfect which def doesn't hurt
u know that joke that ur teacher can spend a year explaining something and u never understand but then a random indian guy on YouTube explains it in 2 minutes and you finally get it
she is that random indian guy
you will never struggle with a single concept after you start studying with her
And she's so proud of you for every little question you answer correctly
(even thought she's the one that explained it all so well in the first place)
it's the definition of comfortable silence
she insists that neither of you study too hard and that you take lots of breaks to stretch
she says its to help you stay concentrated but really she just wants to feel your gentle hands on her shoulders as you massage out the knots
you take turns kneading the tension out of each other's shoulders
you feel a pleasant tingle down your spine at the feeling of her soft breath on the back of your neck
She pulls away and you share awkward smiles, neither of you realizing the other one of blushing, too
(((*≧艸≦)ププッ
O. Uraraka 🌜🚀🙏
ur actually super productive study buddies
Like u started studying together and then all of a sudden you were almost at the top of your class
she's just so sweet that being with her gives you the energy you need to write that essay all in one sitting instead of procrastinating like a normal person
Shows up at your dorm with snacks and drinks to keep your energy up!! :D
even though she's still going to end up getting sleepy anyway later in the afternoon
You get most of your studying done at the beginning of your study date so it's not really a problem
you know she doesn't have a lot of money to be throwing around so you pay for dinner every night
It's usually takeout but sometimes you guys make your own dinner for fun!
it always turns out almost inedible and burned because neither of you were paying attention to the stove
don't let baku see it or he'll start screaming about how you need to try your best at everything so he can beat you fair and square and that includes cooking too
neither you nor uraraka can handle spicey food so you never eat what Bakugou cooks for the class
You grab a few bags of chips and some sushi and shut yourselves in your dorm to pull an all-nighter study session about once a month
it should make you tired but, again, studying with her is so enjoyable that you don't mind
u two enjoy each others company in studying so much that you sometimes read ahead in your textbooks just to be able to study more
overall, hanging out with her is just lighthearted and filled with giggles
and you just so happen to get all your homework done along the way
M. Ashido 👾👽🚿
"studying" with her is so much fun
Hanging out with Mina in general is so much fun
it's impossible not to smile when she's around so even if you have a huge exam tomorrow, all your worries fade away just from being with her
She is pretty distracting in cases where you actually wanted to get stuff done
But you don't care
Change of plans
you're doing mani pedi's with Mina
No more studying
it's not as bad as it sounds though
You're not slacking off or anything and you can still keep your grades up with help from your other friends like Momo and Iida
you guys are just goofing off in the privacy of your dorm room when you should be studying
"It's not a crime to be young, Y/ N ;)"
she's just so energetic and happy like a little pink ball of sunshine
you can't help but laugh at her silliness and cute antics after a long day of classes
she makes your heart beat faster like you're on a roller coaster but without the nerves
somehow you feel giddy and comfortable in her presence at the same time
it doesn't matter what you two are doing, you always have fun
make sure she goes to bed on time, though, or she might end up baking a seven-tier cake at 3 am and Bakugou will scream at you for waking him up
don't feed her after midnight lmao
i started writing this after i almost died of boredom in my online calc class. my senioritis is already kicking in and it's still September (。-ω-)
#boku no hero academia x reader#bnha x reader fluff#bnha headcannons#bakugou katsuki x reader fluff#midoriya izuku x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#shoto todoroki#Uraraka ochako#uraraka ochako x reader#Mina ashido x reader#yaoyorozu momo x reader#yaomomo#Kirishima eijirou x reader#eijirou kirishima#mha x reader#my hero academia x reader fluff headcannons#study date#hc
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Dulce Periculum
➤ Halloween!au, highschool!au, (vague)80s!au, punk!yeonjun x reader, general horror, ghosts, fluff, angst
↳ when yeonjun’s best friend dares the two of you to spend Halloween night camping in the abandoned old school your whole city thought was haunted; you think nothing of it. After all, there was no way the rumors of spirits that would follow you home were true, and you really wanted the prize from winning the bet.
Warnings: general horror themes, breaking and entering, underage drinking and smoking, mentions of drug use, ghosts, mentions of blood, hauntings, creepy shit in general so don’t read if you’re sensitive/not a fan.
Word Count: 4,994
A/N: I hope no one is surprised that I wrote an actually scary Halloween fic 💀 this was so much fun and totally captured all of the things I really love the most! It also felt so good to write another long fic for Yeonjun since I definitely don’t do that enough. As always, I didn’t proof read or edit this, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway! (also pretend this gif is dark hair Yeonjun for the vibes)
•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•
“Seriously?” Yeonjun lifted a dark eyebrow as he popped a potato chip into his mouth. You held out your hand to silently ask for one that he set in your hand with no hesitation. Your usually populated lunch table was eerily empty today, and even inside the walls of your high school, the chill of the October air had you leaning into Yeonjun’s body to soak up his perpetual warmth. Across the table, Johnny sat on the top of a chair, exaggerating his already insane height as he spoke down to the two of you.
“Seriously, man! The place is haunted. My cousin went there once a few years ago and-”
A laugh bubbled out of your throat at the sight of tough looking Johnny; donning his classic black leather jacket and silver belt chains, a half burnt cigarette glowing eerily orange at the end with a thin streak of smoke leading it’s way to the ceiling, visibly frightened over the idea of a haunted old school.
“You’re losing it if you think the place is actually haunted. Johnny. It’s just a town legend for gods sake. People just go there and get high and fuck. It’s called Grave Academy. You think that shit is for real?” You spat, disbelief soaking every edge of your voice. You loved a good horror story just as much as the next fucked up teenager, but there was no fucking way that half burnt building was actually haunted. Beside you, your boyfriend had reduced himself into a fit of giggles, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you until you were almost sitting in his lap. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, the cool metal of his lip piercing making your nose crinkle.
“I love when you act like that,” he whispered, gently biting at the lobe of your ear before laughing even more at the gagging noise Johnny had begun to project into the air. Yeonjun backed away just as suddenly as he had descended on you, taking his scent of mint and smoke with him.
“What’s your point, Johnny? Just tryin to scare us?” Yeonjun asked, balancing his chin on his palms as he stared lazily across the table again.
“The point is a dare,” Johnny began, leaning forward as if he were about to tell a secret only your ears could hear. “I dare you to spend Halloween night at Grave Academy. Then you’ll see how haunted that place actually is.” He took a long drag off of his cigarette, ignoring the pointed throat clearing of a cafeteria worker you knew for a fact smoked at least three a day while sitting in the parking lot. Johnny waved her off and reached into one of his jacket pockets, producing the worn leather wallet that he kept on him like a religious talisman. From its folds he produced a crisp, wonderfully green 50 dollar bill and held it between his fingers. Your eyes widened at the bill, and if it weren’t for Yeonjun’s hand on your thigh stalling you, you would have been launching yourself across the table to snatch it from Johnny. “I bet you,” his voice was muffled around the cigarette, “this 50 dollar bill and a six pack that the two of you couldn’t spend a whole night there without getting spooked.”
You and Yeonjun exchanged incredulous looks as Johnny continued to watch over the two of you.
“Well, yeah,” Yeonjun announced, standing so abruptly that the chair he had once occupied was sent skidding awkwardly against the tiled floor. He extended a paled, jewelry decorated hand across the table and waited for Johnny to meet it in the middle. As soon as their hands connected, the smirk on Yeonjun’s face widened. “It’s a deal.”
-----
Halloween of ‘87 brought along frigid whipping winds that cut to the bone. You and Yeonjun had layered up in all your warmest clothing but he still had to crank up the heat in his old car as the two of you drove to the abandoned school to meet up with Johnny. With your hands tucked underneath your legs, you grumbled, “it’s way too cold for this shit, Jun.” Still focused on the road, Yeonjun hummed in acknowledgement.
“Got another idea for how to make 50 bucks and get a free case of beer?” He finally glanced over to you, eyebrow arched in question as you pouted. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll warm you up when we get there.” Despite the chill of the air, a warm blush sprouted on your cheeks that Yeonjun only smiled at as he made the final turn before crunching the gravel of the parking lot under the tires. Johnny was already there, leaning against the side of his car with a freshly lit cigarette balanced between gloved fingers. Seconds after Yeonjun parked the car, Johnny was next to it in two large strides, leaning down and knocking on the driver’s side window. Yeonjun pushed the door open, forcing Johnny to step back instead of getting nailed in the legs with the heavy metal.
“Hello to you too,” Johnny grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest like a scolded child. “Nice of you to finally fucking show up.” Yeonjun laughed as he rounded the car to pop the trunk and haul out the copious amounts of blankets and pillows you had insisted on bringing.
“What, Johnny? Afraid out here all by yourself?” Your boyfriend teased as you scooped a pile of blankets into your arms. Johnny exhaled through his nose, throwing his hands in the air.
“Well fuck, Yeonjun. I don’t know, is it wrong of me to be afraid of the ghost of the little kid who literally got possessed and killed all of his classmates? Or the fact that all the kid’s spirits are stuck here? Plus, it’s Halloween so you know...the dead walk among us and shit.” He was shifting on his feet, taking intermittent drags from his cigarette as he spoke. You snickered to yourself, the weight of the blankets in your arms making your muscles a bit sore.
“Can we just get this over with?” You ask loudly.
“I would love to,” Johnny nods, patting Yeonjun on the shoulder and gently shoving him toward the old, slightly crumbling building. After the initial fire, the lot had been bought and rebuilt as a halfway house for troubled youth. The company ended up going bankrupt and the building was left to rot.
“If you two make it out alive, my money and beer are yours.” Yeonjun nodded as a gust of wind ripped through the lot, sending a complaint flying from your mouth as you glared pointedly toward your boyfriend. He took the hint easily, maneuvering his blankets under one arm and placing the other at the small of your back.
“See ya tomorrow, Johnny,” he waved him off easily, pushing you forward through the rusted, overgrown gate. You heard Johnny peel out of the parking lot just as you and Yeonjun stepped onto the first cement block of steps. An old sign hung at the top of the entrance, paint chipped off in large strips that have disintegrated with time. For a moment, you hesitated, your chunky black boots seemingly stuck to the surface under you.
“C’mon,” Yeonjun encouraged, walking up the next four steps until he wrapped his free hand around the tarnished iron handle. “Aren’t you cold?” He asked, prompting your feet to move behind him. You wouldn’t admit it to Yeonjun, but a slight feeling of anxiety was beginning to make your palms sweat. Producing a flashlight out of his pocket, Yeonjun readied himself to step into the building.
The door opened with a high groan, it’s hinges crackling underneath the weight of Yeonjun’s push. From your spot just outside the door, it was hard to understand the layout of what was once considered a grand building. Hiding slightly behind your boyfriend’s broad shoulders, all you could see was part of a staircase which surely had steps rotted away from years of disuse. A sudden fear for the integrity of the floorboards shot through you, and if you had had a free hand, you would have clutched it into the soft material of Yeonjun’s jacket.
Forever fearless, he took the first step inside the building and hummed thoughtfully.
“Well,” his dark mass of hair swished around as he looked side to side, “no ghosts that I can see.” You knew he was joking for the sake of your comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to rally back as you took a tentative step inside. From this point, you could see the interior of the entry hall in its full glory.
Wallpaper, which you assumed was once a gentle cream color, was peeling in jagged, messy strips to expose the inner structure of the house. A more recent addition, the various colors of spray paint from other visitors, struck a stark contrast with Above you, a dangerously loose looking chandelier hung. It was small enough, but still obviously made with a tough metal that had begun to fall down with the water-logged sagging and cracking of the plaster ceiling. The image of it falling down had your stomach churning. Maybe Johnny had been right.
Slowly, the two of you made your way inside, surveying the floors through the measly yellow light of the flashlight until you found a good spot to place your blankets. Although it was “good” in the sense that there were no massive holes in the wall or ceiling to expose you to the cold, you still felt uneasy. As you set to work laying down a thick patch of blankets to protect you, Yeonjun took a lap around the room to see what he could find. This room, like all of the others, had streaks of spray paint on almost every surface. Most of it was harmless, and it almost gave you comfort to know that so many other people before you had come here and made it back out alive. Not that anyone would miss you or Yeonjun if you didn’t. Another shiver, this one not borne from the cold, ran down your back. Once you’d made a successful little nest, you found the will to walk over to Yeonjun again.
He was slouched a bit, studying something with a surprising intensity. When you walked up behind him and slipped your hands under his jacket-mostly to warm your hands- he startled a bit.
“Did I scare you?” You teased, pushing your face into his back as you nuzzled up closer.
“No, just surprised. Can I steal the flashlight?” Pouting, you handed it over and resumed your snuggling in hopes that he would finally catch the hint. If you were going to be stuck in this creepy house all night you might as well have some fun. The vague thought of stealing a cigarette from Yeonjun’s back pocket crossed your mind, and your hand was well on it’s way until he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Just- look at this,” his voice was higher pitched, bordering a bit too close on surprised for your liking. Your mind buzzed as you slid to his side to lean into the point of interest. While you were making up the blankets, Yeonjun had been messing with what seemed to be an inconspicuous old blackboard, shut tightly due to years and years of misuse. Somehow, he had managed to slide it open, revealing a second layer of blackboard underneath. For a second, you were going to make a joke about skipping school and forgetting what a blackboard looked like- until you saw the writing.
Inside the ring of light casted by the flashlight, a sentence made of slightly messy, too close together letters stood.
“Don’t let him catch you.”
Neither you or Yeonjun moved as you processed the words.
“Jun,” your voice was wavering, choked over the tears building in the back of your eyes. “Maybe we should-”
“No, I’m sure it was just someone here before who messed with it. It wasn’t even that hard to push and there were obviously other kids here before us.” He turned on his heel quickly, putting your backs to the wall and taking your hands in his calloused palms. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, but he still looked the image of perfection.
“Still cold?” He asked, eyebrow cocked as he leaned imperceptibly closer to you. All thoughts of fear vanished, replaced quickly by the heat that swamped you upon seeing the gleam in his honeyed eyes. You couldn’t ignore the way the black metal of his lip ring glinted in the low lighting.
“Y-yeah,” you confirmed quickly, tearing your eyes away from his lips just long enough to get the message across. Swiftly, he pressed his lips against your own, the cold brush of his nose skimming against yours making you giggle. He laughed back, using his hands tangled in your hair to keep you steady as he walked you backwards in a direction only he could see, deepening the kiss until you forgot that you were deep in the heart of Grave Academy.
----
Morning came surprisingly fast after you and Yeonjun had worn yourselves out to your heart’s content. When you woke up, it was to the soft sound of the fall breeze rustling what was left of the leaves on a nearby maple tree. In the stark daylight, the building felt like much less of a scare than it did last night. As you laid on Yeonjun’s chest, blankets piled high over your body for insulation, you almost felt at peace. Even the once ominous looking spray paint on the wall now made you chuckle as you read the curse words and artist tags that overlapped in a rainbow of colors. The movement stirred Yeonjun awake, his eyes blinking slowly until he finally adjusted to the daylight.
“Hey,” he croaked, voice thick and full with a surprisingly restful night of sleep. “Feel up to a beer later? Celebrate our survival?”
You smacked his chest playfully out of reflex, silently reveling in just how easy this bet with Johnny had turned out to be. Your pile of protective blankets slipped down your back, exposing you to a rush of cold that made you frown.
“How about we get going? I’m starving.”
Yeonjun took no more convincing than that, fully motivated by the idea of food. It took almost no time at all to fold up all the blankets and make sure you hadn’t left anything behind.
“Oh, the flashlight!” You stomped your way back over to the blackboard where you’d left it, feeling much bolder in the sunlight. You pocketed the flashlight easily, tucking it away in the jacket that used to belong to your father. As you straightened back up, you came face to face with the same board that had almost sent you straight home last night, only to see that there was nothing written on it.
The blackboard stared back at you, totally blank. The cramped, messy words from yesterday night had completely vanished. Not even a trace of wiped off chalk stayed behind to suggest that Yeonjun may have erased the words without you noticing. A sick feeling washed over you, nervousness balling in the pit of your stomach until you felt like you could pass out.
“Y/N?” Yeonjun called, whining as the blankets weighed him down and his stomach growled. His voice snapped you out of your stupor as you quickly turned, striding toward him in confident steps to assume him- and yourself- that everything was just fine.
----
“Yeonjun,” you hissed, leaning across your desk to better catch his attention. He turned lazily, half asleep as a result of the 20 year old projector video. “Did you steal my pencil?” You accused, slightly annoyed that he would have the nerve to take one of the very few school supplies you still bothered to bring, even if just for show. His eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head.
“No, why the hell would I take your pencil? I stopped taking notes in sophomore year. Are you sure you didn’t just drop it?”
Violently, you shook your head.
“I already looked, Jun! It’s gone! I literally just had it!” Anger bubbled in your chest as you abandoned all reserve. Yeonjun’s eyes went wide with concern as the teacher turned toward you and shushed loudly.
You spent the rest of the day in an angered stupor, having to borrow a pencil from the nerdy kid who salivated over you every day in biology. It bothered you much more than it probably should have, but losing the pencil seemed to set off an odd emotion within you. You were many things, but you were never disorganized or forgetful. There was no way you simply lost the pencil.
----
Senior year crawled by and your missed days of school stacked up quick. You and Yeonjun wasted the days away, sharing cigarettes and liquor bottles until the day was over. On one surprisingly nice winter afternoon, the two of you went for a walk. The route was innately familiar, as you’d been walking it since you were both young children. As you curbed the corner near Mrs. Berger’s house, Yeonjun stopped dead in his tracks.
“Did you see that?” He asked, grasping at your forearm and making you slip a little on a patch of ice.
“Did I see what?”
“That- over there!” Yeonjun pointed toward a patch of bare trees laced with snow. There was nothing odd among them, but he was clearly convinced. “You don’t see that?” He hissed, an edge of fear in his voice that made you glance around for possible threat.
“No, I don’t. Yeonjun, are you okay?”
“Seriously, Y/N, now is not the time to fuck with me,” he pleaded, pulling on your arm harder. He was scared.
“Yeonjun, let’s go, let’s just go back to your house, please, you’re scaring me-”
“SHIT, go go go!” Suddenly he yanked you into the snow covered yard to your right to avoid the slip of ice as the two of you sprinted, hand in hand, not stopping for a second until you reached his home.
Chests heaving, you sunk to the floor with tears in your eyes. Yeonjun slumped into the couch, hand resting on his stomach as he tried to calm himself.
“It was-” he gasped loudly, “a little boy. He was wearing like-like a fuckin’ school uniform? Just standing there like a- a little demon. And then he started to walk, and when I realized he was coming near us I just fucking panicked.”
If you weren’t already breathless, the words would have sucked the air right from your lungs.
Don’t let him catch you.
----
You and Yeonjun had made a vow to never speak of that day again. Silently, you both had an inkling of what was going on, but neither of you wanted to admit it. Who would?
Two days later, the two of you sat in the parking lot of a fast food joint, passing a cigarette back and forth. Neither of you had slept more than a few hours, and you were starting to feel it as the pull of another tension headache came to wreak havoc. Yeonjun said nothing as you closed your eyes for a few seconds, allowing yourself to succumb to a comforting darkness. The pain began to subside as you let yourself tire, the steady sound of Yeonjun’s breathing lulling you even further.
Just as sleep began to invade the edges of your mind, a faint whisper sounded. You couldn’t quite make it out, so you just assumed maybe it was the way the wind whipped or your mind filling in some gaps. Just as you relaxed again, the whisper reignited, louder this time. You couldn’t make out the words, but the voice was childish and made your heart race. In a panic, you tried to open your eyes, but they wouldn’t budge.
“Y/N, why won’t you play with me?” The voice asked. “You came to visit and then you just...left me.” Fear wracked your body the longer you fought against the voice. You knew that you hadn’t fallen asleep. This was not a dream.
Suddenly, the face of a wide-eyed little boy crowded your vision. His eyes were piercing, upturned nose charming enough to distract you for half a second. But it didn’t take long to register the streaks of blood running from his hairline down to his chin, dripping off in thick drops. It was almost like you could feel them falling down, landing with a wet plop every time. A sick grin split his face, revealing a mouthful of blood just as dark and thick as the stuff running down his face. Your heart was hammering loudly, threatening to burst right out of your chest. Hot tears streamed down your face as you fought against whatever was ailing you.
“Don’t you want to play?”
Suddenly, like coming up for air from underwater, you were back to reality. The sunlight burned your already sore eyes, washing out your vision so much that you almost didn’t see Yeonjun hovering over you as best as he could within the confines of the car.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, gathering you into a tight hug as your body shook. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, wiping at the tears on your cheeks.
“I-I wasn’t asleep,” you sobbed, grabbing at his arms desperately. “It was him,” you choked out, shuddering at the thought of that demonic little boy whispering to you. Yeonjun swallowed harshly, slumping back into his seat with a shake in his limbs.
----
That night, you both skipped sleep. Yeonjun turned on all the lights in his bedroom and made sure that every single door to the outside was locked before you laid down together. On the small screened television a late night program played nonsense that provided welcome white noise. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t forget the image of the little boy dripping with blood. How he called you by your name and implored you to play.
“I think it’s the same,” Yeonjun finally said.
“The same?”
“Yeah, the same...the same kid. The one I saw outside, the one you saw. I think it’s the boy who-”
“Please don’t even say it,” you whined, burying your face into his shoulder. Deep down, you knew exactly what he meant. It was a million times scarier to hear it out loud.
The sound of the talk show host suddenly quieted, television shut off suddenly with a crackle of light.
“What the fuck,” Yeonjun groaned, getting up to check the outlet he had the unit plugged into. The plug was still secure in the outlet, giving no answer to the sudden end of your background noise. “Maybe the cable went out,” he suggested, dropping the subject as quickly as he began it. He wasn’t much for late night television anyway. On a normal night, he would have tried to make idle chit chat, or maybe even bite a few bruises into the column of your neck; but today he simply laid next to you and played with your hair.
In what first seemed like a stroke of luck, the television set roared back to life. Both of you sat up in alarm, confused at the sudden change, but you had almost no time to ponder it as the rest of the lights in the room cut, plunging you into a sick darkness. Immediately you cried out, indescribable anxiety crawling up your throat and leaving you speechless. Yeonjun tensed, selflessly guarding your body with his as the television flickered static patterns at you. A high pitched whine emitted from the speakers, prompting you to search the sheets for the remote until the sound stalled.
With all other sources of light drained, the television seemed to glow as bright as a full moon as scrolls of distorted text began to roll across the screen. They were a bit hard to make out, pixelated and cramped at first, but soon became clear as day in their full form:
YEonJuN, Y/n
WhY wON’t you PLAy WiTH ME?
YOU CaMe tO visiT mE, BuT yOu DIDN’t StaY.
I aM LOnEly.
i KILled aLl OF mY FriENDS.
Too stunned to react, you simply clutched onto Yeonjun’s shirt for dear life and squeezed your eyes shut in hopes this really all was some awful dream.
“Holy shit, Y/N, Y/N!” Yeonjun yelled, forcing your eyes open just to witness the sight of the same horrificaly thick and deep red blood you’d seen earlier begin seeping from the top of Yeonjun’s bedroom walls. Everywhere you looked, streams of blood stained his walls red, ruining the collection of poster you’d memorized. The room smelled so strongly of iron that it made you gag, the threat of puking right at the back of your tongue. The television began whining again, high and shrieking until morphing into the sickly sweet voice of a young boy.
“Don’t you want to play? I promise I’m nice.”
Upon recieving nothing for a response from either of you, the voice let out a sigh.
“Fine. I guess I’ll just have to force you to play with me.”
The television fizzled out again, plunging the room into temporary darkness as both you and Yeonjun shake with fear. As if nothing had even happened, the lights resumed their warm yellowy glow, exposing completely clean walls.
----
“You two look like shit,” Johnny laughed, picking at the soggy tater tots on his plastic lunch tray. He had recently dyed his hair a deep black, and the dye was still staining the sides of his neck and his hands. “On a bender?”
Yeonjun gave a noncommittal laugh, eyes downcast as you shrugged loosely.
“Jesus, some bad cocaine? Did you buy from Taehyung? I told you he’s the worst to-”
“Stop, please,” you groaned, a tension headache permeating from the base of your neck to the top of your head. “You wouldn’t even believe us if we told you.”
“Try me. I’ve gotten blow from all of Bangtan, they aren’t the most trustworthy all the time, especially that Namjoon guy. He charms you into thinking it’s good and then-”
“We did not buy blow from Bangtan!” Yeonjun exploded, drawing the attention of a few passersby.
“Oh.” Johnny blinked, shocked by his best friend’s sudden loss of temper. “What’s wrong?”
“Grave Academy,” you mumbled, laying your head on the cold tabletop as Yeonjun rested a steady hand on your back.
“Huh? You were there months ago.”
“Yeah, that’s the issue. We were there months ago and we’re both still,” Yeonjun paused, unsure of what to even say. “We’re still getting haunted.”
“You what?” The hurried scrape of his chair had you looking up again just as he crossed the distance until he was right next to Yeonjun. “My cousin...he- he had the same thing happen.” A sudden edge of sadness overtook his voice and your eyes widened.
“Really? D’you think this happens to everyone?” Desperation spilled out alongside your words although you tried to stop it.
“I think...I think that I’m definitely fucking with you.” Johnny laughed, standing back up to his full height as both you and Yeonjun deflated. “My cousin is literally insane. Always has been. So it was no surprise to us when he started ‘seeing ghosts’ and finally got himself carted away.”
“Fuck you, Johnny.” Yeonjun snorted, pulling you up with him as he left the lunch room in a hurry and waltzed straight out of the school.
----
“What do we do?” Yeonjun’s eyes were bloodshot, for once a side effect of nothing but lack of sleep.
“We can run.” You suggested weakly, picking at a loose thread on your sweatshirt. “If we stay here we’ll either get send to the looney bin or murdered. And no one will miss us here, anyway.” Yeonjun knew you were right, but the thought plagued him still. Would running away even help?
“I guess you have a point.” He surmised, glancing around the home that he had come to run basically on his own. Since the death of his mother, his dad had been reckless and absent, only sending enough money for basics in a manila envelope every few months. If he left, the house would be reclaimed by the town and no one would be any wiser to why the two of you left. Just your run of the mill high school dropouts.
“I’d rather run away with you than die here.” You added, shrugging again as you imagined some kind of perfectly twisted life traveling the country with Yeonjun, living day to day. “Maybe you can finally start that band and I can be your groupie,” you joked, running your hands through his greasy locks and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll start packing a bag.”
The next morning, you and Yeonjun said what little goodbyes you had to make. You visited Johnny, telling him an abbreviated lie about a cross-country trip that he bought well enough. If he suspected anything when Yeonjun hugged him for longer than he had in their entire friendship, he didn’t say much.
The two of you made a stop at the cemetery, bidding farewell to your respective parents, before climbing back into his old Chevy. It was kind of hard to believe that all of your belongings fit snugly into his trunk, but it made escaping that much easier in the end.
The town you’d grown up in disappeared in the rearview mirror, and as you held Yeonjun’s hand tightly between your own, you hoped that your misfortune would disappear too.
You would never tell Yeonjun, but even as you drove miles and miles away from Grave Academy, you could still hear the little boy whispering every time you closed your eyes.
#choi yeonjun#yeonjun#yeonjun x reader#yeonjun imagine#yeonjun fluff#yeonjun angst#yeonjun imagines#yeonjun scenario#yeonjun scenarios#yeonjun reaction#yeonjun reactions#txt#tomorrow x together#txt imagine#txt imagines#txt fluff#txt angst#txt au#yeonjun au#txt x reader#tomorrow x together fanfic#yeonjun fanfic#txt fanfic#tomorrow x together fluff#tomorrow x together angst#tomorrow x together au
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a/n: hello to the fellow twst people who came here from my twst blog welcome to my secondary brainrot
warnings: general yandere themes, non consensual drug use, some spoilers for kaeya’s backstory
♥︎ kaeya alberich
kaeya is obsessive in an almost paranoid way, which is almost surprising seeing how laid back and relaxed he seems to act most of the times. despite his seemingly sociable attitude, kaeya is similar to his brother diluc in that he doesn’t get close to others because he’s scared to lose them (or scared that being associated with him could bring them harm)
maybe that’s why it comes as a shock to the city to hear that the cavalry captain has gotten together with the mysterious honorary knight- everyone knows kaeya flirts and gets around, but nobody’s ever seen him settle down like that
it’s... almost cute, at first. he’s far from touch starved, but emotionally? kaeya seems to seek their attention and warmth almost selfishly, dragging them around on “missions” that are mostly work he’s supposed to be doing alone to eat up their time, interrupting their own tasks and missions just because he wants to see them
“aw, are you mad at me?” he’s got that playful tilt to his voice, the one he always uses when he’s trying to make things go his way or he’s trying to egg someone on. by now, the outlander isn’t sure which effect he’s trying to have on them; this is the third time kaeya swooped in and interrupted their daily commissions for the adventurer’s guild, putting them behind schedule and messing up their plans for the day. the spot in their bag where they would have put away the cecilias they had meant to gather in the evening but didn’t get the chance to just makes them more upset- but kaeya’s sudden embrace makes them drop that train of thought. “now, now, let’s not get angry... i’m really trying my best here to show you i love you- don’t you love me, too?”
kaeya seems to think the ends justify the means- the path to the best ending isn’t necessarily a pretty one, or so he says. he’s well aware of when he starts to use emotional manipulation to pressure his dear traveler into doing as he wants, he’s entirely aware of how he’s monopolizing their time
after all, the easiest way to get them to be as attached to him as he is to them is to break them down and build them back up as he sees fit. it’s cruel, it’s bad, but kaeya is the type of man who relishes in the looks of fear and doubt in other’s faces, and the type of lover who relishes in gently comforting the traveler as they cry when he’s the one who caused their tears in the first place
most of it is just to make them depend on him. oh, don’t get him wrong- kaeya’s well aware that the traveler can fend off for themselves. he’s seen how they fight, how they seem to move with battle experience that should be born from years and years of training despite their youthful appearance. but that strength is also what gives them freedom- and kaeya is not barbatos, and he doesn’t plan on giving them such thing
“can i go to springvale today...?” kaeya almost smirks. who would have thought the powerful hero of mondstadt- the outlander who swept in, who saved the city from dvalin, who once challenged boreas for training- could be reduced to such a meek creature that felt the need to ask for permission to simply wander outside the city’s walls? to outsiders, it might seem like it was just the traveler ‘settling into the relationship’, but he knew better than that. days of subtle manipulation, of using just the right words to drive them to tears, of comforting them while choosing his words oh-so-carefully were the hard work that was showing off now; a hero slowly being reduced to a docile partner
he doesn’t want to be abandoned. kaeya fears loneliness more than anything else, something he keeps hidden deep inside of him- vague memories of being abandoned on a rainy night, of his adoptive father’s passing haunt him, the ever stubborn feeling of being unwanted despite having so many swooning for him- it’s as if every little piece of the travler’s free spirited soul he chips away is a reassurance, a guarantee to him that they’re his and they’re going to stay
there’s no real limit to what he’ll do. he’s always careful enough to keep them right in his palm; even when the relationship has gone far from just a toxic relationship and fallen off into something worse, it’s as if they’re far too deep do climb out. it’s not easy to leave an abusive relationship, and kaeya is always one step ahead in making sure it’s damn near impossible, presenting himself as the only solace for the traveler
it’s almost an art how he’s the one making their life hell and also the one who comforts them and gives them a sanctuarium to “heal” and “feel loved”. whether it’s him destroying their hopes of seeing all archons, claiming it’s simply impossible, or implying that if their sibling truly were alive, word of them would have probably gotten to mondstadt already, kaeya is always careful enough so that his darling’s anger and grief doesn’t fall quite on him, so that he can be the one to gently comfort them and hold them in his arms
“shh, it’s okay darling, you couldn’t have known anything so terrible would happen.” he holds his lover’s shaking body as they cry into his shoulder, hands rubbing soothing circles into their back. despite this, the look in his face isn’t one of a man consoling his lover, but rather a smug smirk. they heave another sob: oh, they have all the rights in the world to be sad. how tragic that the particular knight who’d become their friend had to pass away so brutally- they’d simply asked him if he could gather some lampgrass for them, an innocent request, and he’d ran into a ruin guard. it’s your fault for asking him to go seemed to be the only thought that ran through their head, and kaeya, despite all his comforting, didn’t seem to downright deny it. after all, they didn’t need to know the poor knight happened to ask kaeya where he could find the lampgrass, they didn’t need to know kaeya just so happened to mark a location on his map where it just so happened he knew a ruini guard lurked nearby. kaeya may be a knight, but he’s never been to righteous- it’s not as if he directly spilled someone’s blood just because they got too close to his lover, right? suppressing a chuckle at the thought, he made sure his voice was still in a comforting tone as he spoke, “next time, just ask me for any favours. no need to go and talk to others and have this tragedy repeat, right?”
it’s almost laughable, really, how much kaeya seems to circle around and pull strings just so he can make everything work the way he wants. realistically, it’d be just so much easier to just chain down the traveler, to just downright get rid of paimon instead of constantly bribing her with food or sending her off with amber to the point where the little fae seems to almost forget about the traveler- but kaeya needs to be loved. he doesn’t need the love to be healthy or to be real, it’s ok if it’s born out of manipulation and dependence. but all he does, he needs it to work into driving the traveler into a dark enough headspace wherein he is the only light in their life
... but that said, he’d rather have the traveler be his and lose their love than lose the traveler’s love and also lose them. ideally, they won’t abandon him because they love him (because he’s broken them, because he destroyed the hero of mondstadt and made them into a docile and codependent pet, because he’s destroyed their world and shown himself as the only alternative) but if needed, he’ll make it so they won’t abandon him because they can’t
after all, kaeya loves the sight of fear in their eyes. if they’re so eager to leave him, then perhaps he’ll just continue to indulge in their tears and their begging- this time wholy embracing the fact he’s the one that caused such things. it’s as easy as sleeping potions mixed in their foods to keep them pliable and docile, as easy as a chain keeping them locked to a basement; a treatment so hellish it makes them crave for the toxic hellhole of a relationship he offered before
“aw, are you uncomfortable? it’s too cold down here, isn’t it? poor thing. should i get you a blanket? do you think you deserve a blanket? if you keep acting good, i might get you one tomorrow.” it’s torture, the way he so gently traces their cheek, the way he looks at them with so much warmth in his eyes despite him being the one who’s got them chained up to a fucking basement. their brain screams at them to jerk away, to not give him the satisfaction of accepting his touch, but they’re cold, and despite being a cryo user, kaeya’s touch is so warm that they almost unconsciously lean into it. he laughs, the noise echoing in the almost empty basement; all that’s down here is a ratty old cot, a makeshift bathroom, and the heavy metal chain attaching them to one of the thick wooden support beams on the wall. cold nights like these almost make them miss being back in kaeya’s room, huddled in with him after he’s fallen asleep- probably after offering some comfort after driving them to a breakdown some hours earlier. but that’s long gone, now replaced with kaeya’s almost sadistic glee in keeping them down here, in seeing how the already broken traveler just shatters into a shell of their former self, how even now when he’s being outwardly antagonistic they’re starting to still try to find comfort in him: truly turned into a weak, docile, dependent little thing.
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jihoon had never really felt the need for a travel buddy, until he finds himself alone in europe on christmas night. cheers to long lost friends and warm strudels!
— pairing: lee jihoon x reader.
— au: friends to lovers, writer!jihoon.
— genre: fluff.
— word count: 1864.
— song: we all fall in love sometimes — elton john.
this is for linh, from your tct secret santa! i really enjoyed writing this for you, and i hope you’re having a merry christmas and some very happy holidays!
The scene in front of him is almost a perfect one. Sitting down in the middle of a cheery café, Jihoon can’t help but wonder what it would take to complete the picture.
There’s a strong scent of freshly brewed coffee rising from his cup, meeting his nose in the form of thick, creamy wisps of warm steam. He can see them clearly in this lighting; soft, color-tinged light coming from the stained glass lamps that almost cover the entire roof, illuminating the entire place like a sort of luminous kaleidoscope. Just like every Christmas night (according to a bright red flyer pasted on the door), a live band plays instrumental covers of famous festive pieces, accompanied with the occasional singing of the clients. There’s the distinctive sound of an espresso machine mixing in with the music, all blending together with happy cheers and excited conversations.
The place was nothing fancy; full of small families and large groups of friends. Everyone is happily drinking from a colorful assortment of cups that assured each and every one of the clients held a different one, including Jihoon’s pastel blue mug, and snacking on the varied home-made pastries.
In the end, the only person Jihoon could see sitting alone in the vivid establishment is himself. Everyone around him is talking loudly to one another, laughing at inside jokes in words he can’t really understand if he’s not actively focusing on it.
He can see people passing by from the large window in the opposing wall, the stars in the night sky shining bright over their heads, and it strikes him: he’s by himself, in a foreign country, being alone in all the possible senses of the word. There’s really not much he can do except sip on his coffee and write along in his notebook, listening to the music and occasionally looking up to appreciate the carved wood decorations laid all over the cabinets.
He had, much to all of his friends’ dismay, hopped on a plane in an effort to cure his writer’s block with a bit of foreign inspiration, looking for new, exciting people that could somehow inspire new, exciting stories. And he had been successful, or at least effective, no matter how much he wishes he could have someone to share a cup of coffee with in the middle of a bursting restaurant.
“Jihoon? Do you mind if I join you?” He hears, and can’t help but think of the irony behind his last thought and the incoming question.
The voice comes to him like a flashback from his past: from breaks spent together in highschool, sharing snacks while sitting down on the staircase. It’s soft as he thinks back of a childhood spent together but an adulthood spent apart, of old friends separated by the harsh passing of time.
“The waiter said there aren’t any free tables left, but since we’re both alone, I thought we could share. He offered me a place at the bar, but it’s right next to where the band is playing. ”
He’s not sure what to answer, because he’s not even sure what to think. He’s surprised, wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights as he looks up at you, recognizing you as he thinks of how different you look.
“Alone?” Jihoon asks, finally finding his voice as he closes his notebook. “How did you know?”
“I saw you through the window,” the voice adds. “That… sounds weird, sorry. What I mean is I was waiting to get in and saw you while I was in the queue. A table for one is not that hard to recognize.”
Jihoon nods. “Sit down, it’s alright.”
And so you do, looking all over the place as you do in an attempt to take everything in. Because honestly, your surroundings are a lot to process when you think of all the colors, sounds and scents mixing in like some sort of surrealist artwork you still don’t understand. You try to divert your eyes from the guy sitting in front of you, his platinum blonde hair falling over his face as he looks down and writes in his notebook.
“I’ve never been here,” you comment.
And Jihoon looks up, because even though you had asked to accompany him at the table, he wasn’t really expecting a conversation. He always welcomed one, though.
“Me neither,” he says. “I’m just here on vacation.”
“Yeah, me too,” you answer.
“On the holidays?”
“Well, what a better place to experience the season’s magic than getting to travel the world, don’t you think?”
The waiter arrives. Following your old friend’s advice, you order a latte and a warm apple strudel (the latter being a suggestion from the waiter because, after all, it was the house specialty). Jihoon gets a refill for his coffee and a pastry just like yours before the waiter walks away after being called to another table.
“Are you writing?” You ask, pointing to the small notebook as you take off your scarf. It’s burning hot against your neck now that you’ve finally found refuge from the cold.
Jihoon nods. “I’m working on a story. That’s the reason I’m here.”
“A Vienna love story?”
“Could be. I… still don’t know the route it will take,” he confesses. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the waiter finally passing your order to the baristas. “I’m just jotting down ideas as they come to me.”
“You always found inspiration in the strangest of places,” you say. Jihoon smiles at the words, a soft laugh accompanying them. “A whole different country, for example.”
In all honesty, Jihoon had never thought he’d ever see you again. You had moved away for college and never really met up again, both of you way too busy with your own lives to find some middle ground. Or even look for it. He had buried himself in trying to write the next big literary classic, and you were completely dedicated to doing your own thing. In the end, it had all seemed way more demanding than trying to catch up with the person that used to steal your blueberry jelly-beans when you were kids.
You look away from him as your coffee arrives. The moment you set your eyes on it you’re happy you listened to Jihoon’s advice, the creamy foam on top showcasing a clearly drawn tulip. You’re also met with a steaming, puffy bun covered in fine powdered sugar, some of it instantly melting as a product of the heat.
“I never expected to find you here,” you comment as you empty a small packet of sugar into your coffee. “I mean, no one expects to find their old childhood friend while vacationing in Europe, but still. It’s a nice surprise.”
And he agrees, because out of his entire trip, seeing you here had been what had taken him by surprise the most. It almost felt like going back in time, or being in an alternate universe, following a completely different timeline. Somehow, being with you inside a small, quaint café in downtown Vienna feels like a big what if, completely different from the route your lives had taken.
It seems like a story told by a different narrator, actions improvised and producing an entirely different outcome. And it feels nice.
“It’s weird,” he says. He takes a sip of his coffee, feeling the warm beverage travel down his throat, soothing it. “I don’t know if it will sound crazy, or just extremely weird, but it almost feels as if time hasn’t passed at all.”
“What, are you still stuck in the marvelous nineteen’s?” You joke. He smirks in your direction as a retort to your words.
“It just feels way too familiar, even when it’s entirely different,” he adds.
“It’s just us having been good friends, once upon a time,” you say. “I guess the bond still exists, even if it’s buried deep inside.”
You notice him staring as you bite into your strudel, but you don’t really make anything out of it, because as he looks at you under the colorful light, he knows what the what if refers to. What if he had told you how he felt back then? How we was completely in love with you, knowing you like the back of his hand and thinking he really could see himself sharing his life with you as he always had.
“Oh, I read your book when it came out last year!” You comment excitedly, once you’ve swallowed down the treat. “I can’t believe I was childhood friends with this generation’s Shakespeare.”
Jihoon laughs, feeling the blood rising to his cheeks. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“No, it was amazing!” You continue. “You were always so amazingly talented. Even my mom read it, and you know the only things she ever reads are the nutritional tabs when she goes grocery shopping.”
“God, do you remember going grocery shopping with your mom, though?”
“You were always her favorite, she kept buying you those chilli powder candies in exchange of you backing her up with her choice of chips.”
“I can’t believe I agreed on buying family-sized sour cream chips only on the promise of tangy chilli powder candies.”
And he laughs. He laughs, wholeheartedly, throwing his head back as he feels a weight finally being lifted from his shoulders. He laughs, to his entire soul’s content, for once being able to get lost in the feeling of it. It’s a feeling he knows, a feeling he misses, and it feels like coming home. Somehow, despite being miles and years away, your smile has brought him back to days spent in the sun, basking in the warmth of the summer.
He looks at you, a big grin plastered on both of your faces, a direct aftermath of the laughter, and he can’t help but feel like he’s just been given a second chance. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in coincidences, but as you look back at him, smiling as wide as your face allows, it almost feels as if the entire universe has conspired in reuniting you, once again, on Christmas night in a foreign country.
The band begins to play a very familiar song, one he can easily recognize even when the words sung are not ones he understands. But it speaks of home, and of love, and it’s finally, once and for all, something he can be completely sure he’s feeling.
And so he opens his notebook, his pen rolling effortlessly over the thick, creamy paper as he writes down the title of his next novel, undoubtedly his biggest hit to date. His first ever dedication, completely inspired by the moment he’s sharing with you. And the moments he hopes will come.
It’s a tale of two lovers separated by the cruel will of life, finally finding each other a thousand moonlights since their ways had parted. It’s a tale of hope, of love conquering even with the odds completely not in its favor. It’s a tale of luck, after all, of second chances finally allowing for happiness.
He smiles when he reads the words.
Coffee, Vienna, and love regained.
#tct secret santa#svtsource#caratwritersclub#seventeen scenarios#jihoon scenarios#woozi scenario#seventeen scenario#woozi scenarios#jihoon scenario#seventeen x reader#svt scenarios#svt fluff#woozi fluff#svt scenario#svt x reader#woozi x reader#mar.writing
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Be Who You Are (No Compromise)
A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU
Chapter 8: Rules of Engagement
AO3 Link
Words: 8988
-----
Julie POV
…
Julie remembered the day they’d first announced the marriage. She, Ray, Carlos, and Reggie were visiting Tambor, before Queen Claire and King Xavier had sprung the question on them. Ray had vehemently disagreed, but they’d insisted that he raise it to the council. And when it passed, Julie remembered the exact green glow of the screens reflecting on her dad’s face, and she’d shaken her head, stormed out of the Tamborian royal office with Alex right behind her, angry tears streaming down her face as she’d ran back to her room.
She and Alex were pissed. They were angry, scared, sad, horrified, and betrayed. Alex especially. He’d never come out to his parents, but he’d still explained how horrible he felt, as if his parents were doing it to spite him.
There had been lots of not-so-royal language used that day, and today was no different.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Julie shouted, not caring if her walls weren’t soundproof. She’d stayed silent the whole walk back to her room with Alex and the brief passing of Reggie, who’d gotten the details from Alex. Now it was her time to freak out.
“I’m officially ready to fake my death, Lex,” she decided, fists by her sides. She hated this. Since when did they get to control her life? It was her life, for God’s sake! Princess or not, nobody should have to be in an arranged marriage.
Her voice choked.
“I’m not, really,” she admitted, “but I want to. If it means we get to run our own goddamn lives, I”ll do it.” She tore a hand through her hair and blinked back tears to no avail.
“I’m so sorry,” Julie finally said. “You don’t deserve any of this.”
“Neither do you.” Alex mussed his hair and sat on the end of her bed as she paced. “It’s majorly fucked up.”
“It really is! I didn’t choose to be Princess Julie Molina, Heiress to the throne of Dahlia.” She said her own long title in a faux posh voice, gagging at the sound and bile rising in her throat. She walked into her bathroom, fixing her hair to be natural and down, nothing braided or tied. Angrily scrubbing tears away, Julie stalked to her closet and changed into sweatpants and a big t-shirt, not bothering to pick up her suit off the floor.
“We have to raise major hell for the council members who voted for this,” Alex decided as she walked back out.
“As much as possible,” she agreed.
Worn out, she flopped next to him. He wrapped his arm around her and she squeezed him in a friendly hug, letting his head rest on her shoulder. She felt a tear soak through her shirt, but didn’t care. He needed this.
“Fucking hell,” he said.
“Amen to that.” That elicited a halfhearted laugh, and Julie smiled a bit.
“It’ll be okay,” she finally said.
“No, it won’t. But we’ll survive.”
“Yeah.”
…
“Ow, Mira!” Julie exclaimed, trying not to move as Mira quickly moved the pin by her side as she marked the fabric for the outline of her wedding dress. It was a very tedious process; Julie looked like she was wrapped in giant pieces of fabric and lace… because she pretty much was. Mira and two other tailors were taking exact measurements to make sure the dress fit perfectly, then they would sew it and make adjustments as needed.
Unfortunately, that meant Julie had to stand very, very still and hope she wouldn’t get stabbed by the needles.
She wasn’t having much luck.
If she’d counted correctly, Mira (and the other girls, Soleil and Jenna), had accidentally poked her twelve times, in varying places, but generally around the side, waist, and shoulders.
“Sorry!” Mira said through her teeth. “Just trying to get this fitted properly.”
“It’s okay,” she sighed, doing her best not to slouch. MIra’s hands fell.
“If you want to talk about it…”
“Thanks.” In all honesty, she did not- especially since she didn’t know Soleil or Jenna very well, and didn’t want to spill her guts about hating the wedding when they were around. Plus… talking about it just made it more real.
“Your highness, this dress is going to be stunning on you,” noted Soleil excitedly, further proving her point.
“I bet,” she said with as much faux enthusiasm as she could muster. “You guys are incredible.”
“Aww, thanks!” replied Jenna. Julie gave a smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything else.
…
After the grueling process of getting legally stabbed by her best friend over and over with tiny blades for the purpose of creating a goddamn wedding dress, Julie changed into more comfortable clothes; a t- shirt and jeans.
There was going to be a storm blowing in tonight, so she figured she may as well go outside before she would end up soaked. But, who would she find sulking in the field but a certain snarky gay?
She stood for a moment, watching him pick at the grass, before finally sighing.
“Why don’t we go work on a song?” she suggested. “I can get Luke and Reggie, plus the rest of the group if you want, and we can work out some stress.” Alex shrugged. Julie waited for a few minutes, hating how depressed he was. She was too, of course, but what kind of friend would she be if she let one of her best friends sit alone and feel sorry for himself? Besides, she was aching to work on song.
“Alright,” he finally replied, and Julie smiled.
“Awesome.” She stuck her hands in her pockets
“Let’s go, drummer boy.”
…
Playing the piano had always been therapeutic for Julie, until her mom passed away. Then she’d hardly been able to listen to any music without being reminded of her. But she was back on her groove, and the keys were familiar in the way you could sink into your best friend’s arms and know you were home.
She played the opening chords and began to sing, closing her eyes and feeling like it was just her and the piano in a universe of music and colors.
When Luke, Reggie, and Alex jumped in at the chorus, she opened her eyes and jumped up with the mic, dancing around as she belted out each note with more conviction than before. She walked around the room as she sang, dancing with Reggie, Alex, and Luke. She wandered over to where the rest of the group was sitting and dancing along, and she gave Willie a high-five as she passed him.
Luke sang the second prechorus with her, and the smile on his face only grew. THey harmonized each note, voices melding together as the music rose and Alex jumped in with the drums as they went into the next chorus, singing an ode to hope and persistence.
During the bridge, Luke held her gaze the entire time, and her heart soared as she belted out the last bridge note, riffing as the others held the background vocals.
When the song ended, her hair was frizzy and heart pounding, but she felt alive and free. She fistbumped Reggie, grinning, and hugging Flynn, who told her over and over that they were incredible, and that she was assigning herself the role of band manager. Carrie had automatically volunteered to be the costume designer, and Mira had taken offense to that, because “I’m literally her lady-in-waiting, Wilson!”
Julie couldn’t help but laugh at her friends.
“Okay,” Flynn finally said, “girl time.” Julie laughed but agreed, waving to the guys as she wrapped her arms around Flynn’s and Mira’s shoulders, Carrie on Flynn’s other side.
They walked out of the studio and wandered all throughout the palace, chattering mindlessly about everything and nothing. Mira insisted that mint chocolate chip ice cream was the superior ice cream, to which Flynn retorted “totally! Like, are you ever eating chocolate and you think ‘hey, you know what would go great with this? Toothpaste!’” Carrie had promptly lost her shit, and Julie was the only one on team rocky road.
“Personally,” Carrie said, “I-”
“We know, you like neapolitan you fucking lesbian,” Flynn said with a grin. Carrie gasped in mock offense.
“Hypocrisy at its finest! You’re just as lesbian as they come.”
“I never claimed to not be a hypocrite,” Flynn defended. Carrie huffed and crossed her arms.
“I’m breaking up with you. We’re broken up now.”
“Fine, but I get custody of Julie!”
“Wait, since when am I your child?”
“Since we’re both older than you,” they told her in unison.
“Uh huh, yeah, by a couple weeks! I’m a legal adult, and neither of you get custody of me.”
“I’m disowning you,” Carrie declared.
“Me too,” agreed Flynn.
“Me three,” Mira chimed in.
“Oh for the love of-”
Their playful bickering continued for at least an hour, wandering the long halls of the palace, weaving in and out of corridors and dragging their hands along railings.
The wedding never crossed Julie’s mind once.
Despite the whole situation, they still managed to be lighthearted and have useless arguments, bicker and love each other all the same. Julie hugged them closer, relishing the warmth of having them close to her. Carrie’s strawberry shampoo was faintly there and she breathed it in, calming immediately. Flynn linked their pinkies together, and Mira kept her hand on Julie’s shoulder. Julie didn’t realize she was crying until Flynn asked if she was okay.
“Yeah,” she said, and it was strangely true. She wiped her eyes. “I’m not even upset right now, but I’m still crying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I do,” Carrie informed her.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Absolutely nothing.”
-----
Reggie POV
…
Reggie sat in the studio, suit vest draped over an empty guitar stand as he sat on the piano bench, sleeves rolled to his elbows and hands on the keys, silent but arranging themselves in chords. He hummed to himself quietly, sighing and closing his eyes.
As he played the first chord, soulful and melancholy, he started to sing.
“We’re no strangers to the dark
Every time we find the light
But no matter how much it hurts
Glowsticks have to break before they shine.”
He closed his eyes, letting the chords play only from muscle memory. Normally, he didn’t do much songwriting on his own, but this song, Glowsticks, was one that he’d written for Julie after Rose’s passing. He’d never gotten around to giving it to her, though, because of how much her love for music was affected. For a year, she hadn’t played or sang a note, and he knew that it would’ve been too painful.
Eventually, he’d forgotten about it.
But when he’d seen the heartbroken look on her face the hour before, coming back from the royal office with dry eyes but hollow and chipped, the memory of the page he’d torn out of his journal and stuffed in a drawer came flooding back.
And now here he was, like it was only yesterday he’d written the chords, shaky with tears but determined. This time, his eyes were dry and his hands steady, but his heart ached for Julie, for Alex, for Luke, for Willie.
His voice started out lighter and airy, with a slight rasp as he played the soft melody along with the base, but as he reached the second chorus, his voice sank to his chest, belting out the lyrics and playing the piano strongly, chords echoing in the soundproof room, the acoustics bending his voice to all angles until he was wrapped in a song of tragedy and pain and strength and hope, earthy and rich but airy and light.
“So breathe
Just breathe
You're already shining
You can break
You’ll be okay
I'll keep you safe until you rise.”
His breath shook as he flipped the last word from a powerful chest voice to a soft, airy falsetto, sighing as he played the last, low chord.
Reggie left his eyes closed, slowly taking his hands off the keys, resting his elbows on his knees and turning, finally letting the light pierce his eyes.
…
���Your highness,” called a palace staff member. “If I could steal you for a few minutes, could you give your opinions on possible place settings for the wedding?”
“Yeah sure,” Reggie replied, standing from the large leather couch in the palace living room, doing his best to smile at the young man. He was tall, and muscularly built, but his freckles, wide brown eyes, and messy red hair were proof that he was probably the human embodiment of sunshine.
“We were thinking white with gold accents,” he said, swiping through a few photos on his tablet. Reggie did his best to pay attention; they were, admittedly, beautiful. Soft white tablecloths and napkins lined with plates, each plate with gold paint on the rim, the wine glasses clear cut crystal, the same golden lining as the plates.
“That’s beautiful,” Reggie agreed. “Julie and Alex would love that.”
“I’m glad you think so! My advisor was skeptical, but I think it’s a nice scheme.”
“I do too.” He looked away, hating that he was giving suggestions for his sister’s unwanted wedding.
“Your highness, are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he assured him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Sure,” he said softly. “Did you have any thoughts for flowers?”
“Dahlias,” Reggie said after a moment. “They were our mom’s favorite, and they’re Julie’s favorite too. I think she’d like purple.”
“Purple dahlias,” the man repeated. He opened an interior design modeling app, dragging tables around the virtual room and adding glass vases with bouquets of dahlias, plus the occasional orchid scattered throughout. Reggie stared in awe; even though it was just a digital rendition of the ballroom, it was gorgeous. The crackled marble floors shone in the light of lanterns and string lights, adorned with pillars and tables arranged in neat rows. He felt like he was in the ballroom, getting a peek at the future.
And yet, his heart sank.
It seemed to do that a lot lately.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Reggie met the man’s eyes. “You seem pretty down.” He sighed.
“I am, but I’ll be okay.”
“Alright. I’m Elliot, by the way.”
“I’m Reggie! Nice to meet you.”
“You too!”
…
“Dad, are you sure there’s no way to stop the wedding?” Reggie had gone to see Ray in the royal office an hour ago, to discuss an assortment of things, but always returning to the wedding.
“I’m sure. I hate it as much as you do, believe me, but I’ve explored every option.” Reggie shook his head.
“There has to be something-”
“Mijo, you can look all you want, but there’s nothing we can safely do. Even though there are multiple ways to stop the wedding, it wouldn’t be safe. There would be tension between Dahlia and Tambor, maybe even Krypto. Best case scenario would be rumors and unrest in our own kingdom, but even with that, Julie and Alex would be the subject of a ton of scandal for the rest of their lives.”
“I just hate it.”
“Believe me, I do too. I’ve done everything in my power, but I can’t endanger millions of people.”
“I know. And Julie wouldn’t want you to, either.”
“Exactly.” Ray pulled him into a hug, and Reggie buried his head in his shoulder. “Mijo, I’m so sorry. You’re a good brother.”
“Thanks,” he whispered. Ray nodded.
Someone knocked on the door. Reggie pulled out of the hug and, when Ray nodded again, he opened the door to see a short woman with pale skin and straight, dark hair reaching her shoulders, and bangs brushing her eyebrows. Her wide eyes were behind round glasses, and she gave a bright smile.
“Ah, Prince Reginald, just who I wanted to see! I’m Esther Pearlridge of the Dahlian Times. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions regarding your sister’s upcoming wedding?” Reggie glanced at his dad, who didn’t object, but gave him a look that seemed to say, it’ll be okay.
“Sure.”
“Your majesty,” Esther said to Ray, “you’re welcome to come along.” He agreed, and Reggie was eternally grateful.
…
“Your highness-”
“Please, call me Reggie,” he told her. Esther smiled.
“Reggie, the news of the wedding’s date being moved up came as a pleasant surprise to everyone across Dahlia, and surely Tamborian citizens as well. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
“Well,” he began, clearing his throat. “It’s definitely a unique situation. And while it is exciting, what a lot of people don’t consider is how stressful it must be for Princess Julie and Prince Alex. I mean, Alex is my age, Julie about a year younger. Arranged marriages are already very fraught situations, but this one especially.”
Ray smiled from his position behind Esther, letting him know he’d played it well.
“Of course,” she replied sympathetically. “That is a perspective that not many people consider.”
“Yeah.”
“How do you feel about Prince Alexander?”
“Oh, Alex is great! He’s quickly become one of my closest friends. Although, his taste in Star Wars characters is questionable. Everyone knows Han Solo is the best, right Esther?”
“Obviously! Though, I was always partial to Leia, myself.”
“Valid,” Reggie agreed.
“Moving on to the next question, what do you think will come of Prince Alexander becoming the Dahlian Prince Consort as your sister, Princess Julie, ascends to the throne?”
“Well, Dahlia is currently doing amazing. Homelessness rates are at an all-time low and still dropping; at this rate, they’re projected to reach zero by next Summer. Wealth equality is stabilizing even more, and our education system is constantly being revised and reviewed by scientists and historians to make sure the content is correct and unbiased, as well as by child psychologists to make them good learning environments for students. And our environmental status is one of the best in the world, second to the Republic of Isala. Greenhouse gases in our region are extremely low, and the CO2 levels are dropping as our reforestation teams plant more and more trees along the grasslands.
“Knowing my sister, and Prince Alex, I have no doubt that they will lead our country further into the future. Especially Julie; she may be a princess, but take it from her brother: she’s stubborn as all hell, but always about the right things. She and Alex will face struggles, as all people do, but I’m positive they’ll do great things.”
“That’s so nice to hear. And from other people, we’ve heard that they expect Princess Julie to be the best, most connected ruler in Dahlian history. Do you think this is true?”
“I would expect it to be, yeah! Julie really tries to connect with people, and tries to see things through others’ points of view. She’s always done that. She doesn’t want to stay secluded in a palace; honestly, I doubt anyone could keep her here if they tried.”
Esther laughed. “If I may ask, how are preparations for the wedding going?” Reggie fought the rising sadness in his chest.
“They’re going great! Although I’m pretty sure Julie’s gotten stabbed a few hundred times by the needles her lady-in-waiting is using to fit her dress.” Esther laughed again.
“Well, that’s all the time we have. Thank you so much, your highness. Always a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Yeah, you too! Thanks.”
As Esther rushed away, laptop under her arm and a pencil over her ear, Ray gave Reggie a warm smile.
“You did perfect,” he told him. “Excellently played.”
“Thanks. I just wish I actually felt as optimistic as I sounded.”
“It’ll be okay. I’m sure of it.”
-----
Willie POV
…
Willie’s phone buzzed with a text from Julie, with a request for their group to meet in her room, and if her tone was any indication, it wasn’t good. He ran to his quarters, doing his best to brush the flour Lilian had thrown at him after a witty remark out of his hair. Changing into a sweater and jeans, he made his way up the curving staircase and down the long hallway before knocking gently at Julie’s door.
“Come in.”
He walked in, heart sinking when he saw the upset look on Alex’s face.
“What happened?” Carrie asked from behind him, walking in with Flynn by her side. They were soon followed by Luke, Reggie, Erik, and MIra.
“They moved up the wedding,” Julie finally said, her fists curled. Willie’s heart dropped all the way to the ground, leaving his veins pumping blood made by nothing more than an organ beating rhythmically, called the heart but only doing what was necessary for physical survival. His actual heart, his emotions and love and memories, all froze, and he shook his head vigorously, forcing it to settle back in the center of his chest, taking a deep breath.
“Why?” he had to ask. Alex snorted.
“My parents gave an ultimatum disguised as helpful advice.” Each word was dripping with venom, but there was sadness behind it. Willie took his hand, feeling him clutch back as if he were the only thing holding him together.
“And there’s nothing you can do to stop it?” Flynn asked. “I mean, you and Jules are the Prince of Tambor and Princess of Dahlia. There has to be something you can do… right?” Julie shook her head.
“Nope. There’s been so much buildup and excitement that there might be riots and tension between our countries if we called it off so abruptly. We can’t risk anyone getting hurt.”
“Okay, but-”
“Mira, treason would definitely get people hurt.”
“Jules,” Mira said, “you have a good heart. It’s super annoying.” Willie cracked a grin at that, as did Alex.
“Even then, though,” Alex cut in, “my parents clearly want this. And they’re super influential. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they threatened trade routes but made it seem like it was for the ‘greater good.’”
“I hate to admit it,” Reggie said, “but he’s right. Sweet words can be even more dangerous than declarations of war. Especially if they twist the blame.”
…
After another hour of scheming, ranting, and trying to lighten the mood, Alex fell asleep near the wall in Julie’s room, curled up against a pillow. Willie watched him softly breathe, looking so much more peaceful in rest.
“We should let him rest,” Julie said. “It’s not like our group hasn’t done slumber parties before.”
“Yeah,” Carrie agreed. “He needs sleep.”
“All of us do,” Erik pointed out. Willie nodded, sitting next to Alex and putting his hand on his shoulder. Everyone found a spot and drifted off, and Willie had a feeling he was the last one awake. But, soon, he was able to curl up against Alex and find himself in a deep, dreamless sleep.
…
Willie had never been so grateful that he hadn’t been asked to bake.
He wasn’t sure if he could handle baking wedding cake samples for this situation. Any other time, sure, but not when the guy he was in love with was being forced to marry their other friend, neither of whom were interested.
He stared at the mirror, eyes blank. He hated the numbness overtaking him. He’d done his best to stay positive, to remember all the tips he’d picked up for focusing and not getting dragged under, and while they’d worked to some extent, he couldn’t deny the fracture in his heart. They were powerless; ironic, considering they were all either royal or close acquaintances of royals.
But, even with all of that supposed power at their fingertips, they couldn’t do the one thing they wanted to.
He wasn’t sure just how long he stared blankly at his reflection, but when his phone buzzed with a text from Julie, telling their group that they were going to practice in the studio, he made himself plaster on a smile and go join them. He hadn’t seen Alex play a full song before; this should be fun.
When Julie started the song, her powerful piano playing moved the whole room, voice strong and bright as she sang the first verse. Then, in the prechorus, she led into the big, adrenaline-pumping beat with a riff and belt,before finally going into the chorus. But all Willie could see wasAlex, whose face was a bit red from playing the drums, hair falling in his eyes,his pink t-shirt rather tight against his biceps. Willie was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
As Alex held the beat, Willie tapped his foot and grinned, letting the upbeat song envelop him despite their melancholy circumstances. Julie and Luke belted out the lyrics, harmonizing with such grace that Willie wasn’t convinced that soulmates didn’t exist; if they did, Julie and Luke fit the model. And Alex and Reggie sang the background vocals flawlessly, adding depth to the song with their steady music.
When the song ended, Willie’s heart was pounding. He clapped with the rest of the group, standing up, but unable to speak. God, Alex had such an insane effect on him. Normally he was smooth, able to recover and flip around. He’d thought it impossible to fluster him; but, then again, Alex had a rather annoying habit of making the impossible seem like child’s play.
Then, Alex ran his hand through his hair in an unfairly hot way - the inconsiderate bastard. Willie did his best to settle his blush, but to no avail. He giggled as Alex tried to brush off a compliment but finally accepted it.
He stammered through a compliment, hating how flustered he was. And then, because the universe had it out for him, Alex pulled him in and kissed his temple. If Willie hadn’t already melted, that would’ve been the tipping point.
Somehow, though, he found the ability to breathe again.
…
“Dude, I can’t say this enough,” Willie stressed, “that was amazing! You guys seriously need to go on tour.” Alex’s musical laugh filled the air.
“Flynn has already assigned herself band manager. With her ‘in charge,’ we’ll probably be playing gig after gig- well, you know, when Julie isn’t busy running a country.” WIllie laughed.
“Yeah, fair point. But still! Your guys’s song is going to be stuck in my head forever.”
“Forever?”
“I have ADHD, ‘Lex. Don’t underestimate the song sticking.” It was true; ADHD had its pros and cons, but one aspect that seemed to be both was his brain’s innate ability to have twenty-nine songs stuck all at once, and the strange fact that the How to Train your Dragon main theme, Kahoot music, Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, Roses by The Band CAMINO, and Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) could all be combined to the same tempo- and the fact that it slapped.
As they walked through the long, windowed corridors, Willie got an idea. He grabbed Alex’s hand.
“Follow me!”
“What? Where are we going?”
“You’ll see!” They raced all the way to the west side of the palace, where Willie led him up a narrow flight of stairs, pushing open a door to reveal-
“Whoa,” Alex gasped in awe. “The roof?”
“The roof,” Willie agreed. “Cooler than you’d expect, huh?”
“Way.” Willie grinned; it was a beautiful view. The river curved and rushed around the bases of snow-capped mountains with forests decorating their slopes, and as he turned, the capital city of Dahlia was nestled between rolling hills, thousands of lights sparkling in houses, apartments, shops, restaurants, and offices. Headlights danced along the highways, and the striking comparison of the bright lights versus the dark, cloudy sky made for a dramatic view.
“Storm’s blowing in,” Willie observed as it began to pour, soaking his hair. Alex cracked up.
“You sure?” he asked. “This is the best weather this side of Constantinople.”
“Ah, but remember, now it’s Istanbul- not Constantinople.”
“Well, why did Constantinople get the works?” Willie giggled.
“That’s nobody’s business but the Turks.”
“You are such a dork,” Alex informed him, pulling him closer.
“I know!” He had to raise his voice over the rain, and Alex’s cheeks were flushed with the cold. Willie felt a calm rush of confidence wash over him with the falling rain, and he stood on his toes, reaching up to hold Alex’s jaw as he kissed him. Alex kissed back immediately, and sparks shot down Willie’s spine.
As he deepened the kiss, thunder rolled across the mountains. The clouds were practically black, but it gave a sort of calmness and confidence with it, like the soothing darkness of night cloaked with clouds of expectancy, waiting and hoping and understanding that love finds comfort in the dark, that there are risks in life, but that they had to be taken, because while the world might not have been made for them, they were made for the world. People, caught up in dreaming about what could be, lost sight of what is; so determined to be right and prove that someone else was wrong that they drive themselves mad.
“I’m gone on you,” Willie finally whispered, eyes closed and forehead against Alex’s. Alex didn’t respond, kissing him again. He sank into it, holding him close and letting the rain wash over them and combing his fingers through Alex’s hair.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he heard sizzling.
Without thinking, Willie jumped and tackled Alex, turning so he hit the ground and Alex landed safely on top of him. The rain blurred his eyes, but he heard crackling and felt the heat of the lightning striking the roof a hundred feet away from them.
“Son of a motherfuck what just happened?!” Alex asked. Willie could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips.
“I think you fell for me,” Willie joked. Alex rolled his eyes. He grinned; Alex was still laying on top of him, and Willie’s back was soaked by the puddle they’d landed in, but they’d avoided being struck by lightning, which was decidedly a good thing.
“That was too close,” Alex decided. “We should probably go inside before anything else happens.”
“Probably.” Neither of them moved for a moment, until Willie leaned up and pecked Alex on the nose, who immediately turned bright red, even visible in the darkness between the rising night and falling clouds.
-----
Alex POV
…
Alex had known his life was never his. If you’re born into royalty, unless you leave the royal family, you’re stuck there, and it influences your life forever.
He knew that.
And yet, until the wedding was moved up, it hadn’t really hit him.
His life wasn’t his, and it never would be.
He would be forced to be in the public eye, forced to marry a girl he wasn’t in love with, forced to live the rest of his life away from the person he was in love with, forced to watch the girl, one of his best friends, pretend to be okay as if she wasn’t also being separated from the person she loved. He would be forced to plaster on a smile, forced to live with this so that chaos wouldn’t erupt in Dahlia and Tambor.
So that he and the people he loved wouldn’t be exiled.
Alex was tired of being strong. He’d always been told by his friends that he was strong for dealing with this, strong for bearing the stresses of being put into politics so young, strong for hiding who he was from his parents because he knew it would only bring more pain, strong, strong strong. He wished he didn’t have to be.
“Hey, Alex?” Julie eventually asked, directing his attention away from his thoughts and his glazed eyes half-scrolling his Instagram. They’d been sitting for over an hour as the sun set outside Julie’s window, not speaking much aside from angry rants when they’d just gotten out of the royal office.
“Yeah?”
“Should we text the group chat to meet here so we can update all of them? Or would you rather not?” Alex sighed.
“We probably should. Not like we can hide from it.”
“Yeah.”
treason buddies
juju: Hey guys, some shit went down. Meet in my room?
flynnigan: oh fuck, do we even want to know?
juju: Probably not, but you should.
speed bump: i’ll be up in a sec, i’m trying to get flour out of my hair alkjdfskjldf
Me: skjlsdfkjlsdf lilian i assume
speed bump: yep, the bastard
rockstar mcsleeveless: i’ll be there in a sec. are you guys ok?
juju: Not really, but we’ll live
care bear: omw
short stack: same
personal stylist: i’ll be there in a minute
Alex clicked off his phone once the typing bubbles had all disappeared, blowing out a tired breath as he flopped backwards, half-hoping the fading sunset would let him dissolve with the growing twilight, let him become another fleck of light in a vast abyss that was somehow both cold and vast yet full of curiosity and glowing stars. What would it be like, floating in nothingness, waiting for someone to find you yet dreading the day your solitude ended?
Maybe he’d be part of a constellation. What one? Would he add to one that already existed, or would he be part of his very own? What would it look like? Maybe he’d be an owl, a drumstick, a wisp of a wish, floating in the air taking no shape at all, a shimmering question piquing the curiosity of anyone stargazing who happened upon his star, a gentle hope carried by a breeze, full of life and loss and wonder and apprehension.
Or maybe he’d be a shooting star, flying across the atmosphere in the blink of an eye, there, then gone in an instant, burning brighter as his fleeting life ended. Technically, they weren’t stars at all, they were tiny meteors the size of a grain of rice, only visible because of their dramatic, fiery demise. But maybe that was fitting. It wasn’t a star, and neither was Alex. He was more visible now than ever because of the marriage, bringing demise to his hopes like a burning scar, beautiful but painful to the individual.
It wasn’t a star, and neither was he. But shooting stars were meaningful, too. People wished on them; children, usually. But what a wonderful feeling it would be to have the hope of a child in your light.
The thought didn’t necessarily comfort him, but he didn’t feel as alone as before, didn’t feel quite as worthless.
…
After enduring the grueling process of venting and explaining the new situation to the rest of the group, trying to hold back one stubborn tear that kept fighting, Alex finally fell asleep. He wasn’t sure how “asleep” he actually was; he heard vague whispers of “we should let him rest,” and “all of us should.” But he couldn’t move, and he didn’t want to, either, so he left his weary eyes closed and slept, barely feeling someone’s hand on his shoulder and faint warmth next to him.
…
“Your highness,” a butler said, rushing up next to him with a tray, with tiny bites of cake arranged neatly across it. “Would you mind tasting these and telling me which three are your favorites?”
“Hm? Yeah, sure.” Ignoring the numbness fighting to grow in his chest, he tried each one, finally deciding on a few, and promising he’d sample the frostings later. Wedding cakes really weren’t something he wanted to be thinking about at the moment. He’d already had to stand still for hours while his suit was fitted, text Julie a million different pictures of flowers, to which she’d replied “just pick whichever one is poisonous so we can fake our deaths and leave it on our plates.”
He felt sick.
He did his best to avoid other people as he made his way out the back door of the palace, tearing a hand through his hair as he made his way to the field where he’d been with Willie, admiring (and despising) how much progress they’d made on the palace reconstruction. It was almost done, which was incredible, but horrible for him, since it meant they were almost done with the giant ballroom in which he would have to marry Julie.
All things considered, though it was beautiful; the creamy white pillars were identical to the ones on the other side of the palace, which had been repainted so it didn’t look patchy. Intricate flower beds were arranged at precise intervals, and the crystal-cut windows reflected sparkling mosaics of light onto the pathways. Lanterns hung on every pillar, unlit during the day but glowing with soft, gentle flames by night.
Alex sat in the middle of the field, picking at a stray blade of grass and relishing the warm sunlight on his neck, even though he was probably getting a crease on his crisp vest from how he was sitting, slouched as he sat on the hill, elbows on his knees.
After he’d sat and sulked for a considerable amount of time, Julie’s voice snapped him out of it.
“Why don’t we go work on a song?” she suggested. “I can get Luke and Reggie, plus the rest of the group if you want, and we can work out some stress.” Alex shrugged. He knew he was being immature, just sitting there and feeling sorry for himself, but it felt good to be immature. He should really do it more often.
But… there was a lump in the dirt that was giving his butt a bruise, and he didn’t feel like getting up just to sit back down, so he supposed he could go to the studio.
“Alright,” he finally said.
“Awesome.” the sadness in Julie’s voice was tangible, but she masked it well as she smiled and stuck her hands in the pockets of her baggy jeans, between the chain, and squared her shoulders.
“Let’s go, drummer boy.”
…
In the few days since he’d drummed, Alex had somehow forgotten just how therapeutic it was to bash a bunch of drums on a steady beat but still adding variety to spice things up. Julie had convinced him to let her invite the whole group- which, of course, included Willie, who was intently watching him play.
He bit his lip, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed as he kept going. A reluctant smile broke out on his face when Julie started singing the chorus and he jumped in with the toms and crash, flipping his hair out of his eyes and keeping the beat going. Reggie’s rhythmic bass playing combined perfectly with Luke’s chords and riffs, and Julie’s angelic voice tied it all together as if their music was a gift with a shiny bow.
When the bridge started, and Julie and Luke did their Thing™ (the whole dramatic, lovestruck staring-into-each-other’s-eyes move), Alex held the beat with a quiet, rhythmic tapping on the hi-hat. He and Reggie shared a look, and he swallowed the rising sadness in his throat, refusing to let some stupid marriage ruin this moment. They were in perfect harmony, bright with life and love. Then, when Julie went into the final belt, he came in strong with the drums, lip between his teeth and a huge smile begging to break free.
When it finally ended, Alex stood up excitedly, setting down his sticks and leaping across the kick drum to fistbump Luke.
“Alex, dude,” Luke said, “you were smoking.”
“Nah,” he deflected. “You guys-” he gestured to him, Reggie, and Julie “-were the ones on fire.”
“Dude.” Reggie lightly punched him on the shoulder. “Could you just own your awesomeness for once?” Alex rolled his eyes, but it was clear he wasn’t backing down.
“Alright, I was killing it.”
“Yeah,” Willie agreed from behind him. Alex whirled around, having forgotten he was there. He was sure his face was bright red, but hopefully he could blame that on the physical exertion that came with playing the drums. Willie, however, was blushing quite a bit, and Alex felt a bit of accomplishment bubbling up inside him.
“I’m glad you liked it,” he said with a grin.
“Are you kidding? I loved it.”
“I’ll say,” Flynn stage-whispered to Carrie, and Alex decided once and for all that Flustered Willie was his favorite. Willie cleared his throat.
“Yeah, I, uh-” he cut himself off, and Alex bit back a laugh, pulling him in and kissing him on the temple.
Alex knew there was a bubble of numbness and depression fighting to take hold of him, but at least for now, it was under control. He was filled with adrenaline and had their song stuck in his head, the feeling of his arm on Willie’s shoulder anchoring him like a ship in a harsh storm, letting him drift but holding him close.
They would make this work. Somehow.
“Should we run through it again? I was a little shaky during the second verse,” Julie said. Alex nodded.
“I’m down.”
“Same!” replied Luke and Reggie, and the rest of the group eagerly sat and watched. Alex grinned, raising his sticks.
“One, two, three, four!”
-----
Luke POV
…
“I’m so sorry,” Luke whispered. They’d moved up the wedding. The wedding that nobody wanted any part of, the wedding forcing the girl he was in love with to marry their friend, neither of whom were interested. They were already hurting so much, but there was nothing they could do anyways, then to add insult to injury, they’d moved up the wedding six weeks sooner. They didn’t even have two months, just a measly two weeks, and Luke could already feel them ticking away, feel his time with Julie ending, feel Alex’s heart breaking with each minute.
He reached up to hastily wipe away a traitorous tear rolling down his cheek, before wrapping Julie in a hug as she stood and walked to him. She buried her head in his chest, and his hand found her hair, combing through her thick curls.
…
At some point through the night, Alex had worn himself out venting and scheming plans to get out of the wedding and eventually fallen asleep. They’d considered waking him, but he was exhausted and really needed the rest. Luke still had his arm around Julie, leaning against the end of her bed sitting on a pile of pillows. Willie curled up next to Alex, and soon it had turned into another slumber party, but much more somber.
Julie’s soft breathing leveled, indicating that she’d fallen asleep as well. Luke smiled sadly; this was peaceful, but under horrible circumstances. But the gentle part of her lips as she breathed and the lack of a crease between her eyebrows made it worth it; she deserved any brief moment of peace she could get.
He traced soft circles on the shoulder of her t-shirt, running his finger over the hem rhythmically, a song playing in his head as he closed his eyes.
Golden specks flew around in the darkness as Luke whirled around, disoriented. A melodic voice in the background that he recognized but couldn’t place taunted his mind, flashes of brown eyes blinking by in an instant, a retreating curl of hair that might not have been there in the first place.
The ground solidified under his feet, metaphysical but firm for him to stand on. It was all black and glittered faintly in the soft light from stars that were somehow so close he could feel their heat, yet so far that they were like flecks of light in the endless black sky.
The packed black sand cracked beneath him with the sound of a woman’s gasp, sending him hurtling through the void, falling faster and faster as the sliver of light from the cracked ground above him faded until it was so small it wasn’t even visible anymore. The darkness was suffocating and hot as fire, yet thin and cool like a light sheet in the air, whispering silent nothings into his mind.
His back hit a new surface, knocking the wind out of him even though he couldn’t breathe at all. It was all black, the ground invisible, but a soft fog rolled across it, apprehensive but inviting and cool.
“You have to fight for what you want,” a voice whispered, and Luke was able to place it as the same voice as his mother when he was nervous for a competition in sixth grade.
“Things don’t always come easily,” another voice reminded him, the familiar sound of his father’s voice sending a shiver down his spine.
What was he supposed to fight for? There was nothing in this vast black expanse but him and these voices, plus a warm tingle to his right side that felt imaginary, but had a weight to it that he couldn’t help but relish.
The voices disappeared, even though they’d been silent, Luke could feel their absence. The smooth, invisible ground under his feet faded, leaving him floating as the fog disappeared, phasing into particles like stars that floated around him like fireflies as the world shifted to a regal, royal purple, swirling like a galaxy, the faint sound of a piano barely registering among the stars.
…
When Luke woke up, the warmth on his side made sense, because there was Julie, her head on his chest. He glanced over, seeing Willie and Alex sitting with their heads resting together, scrolling through their phones and occasionally showing their screens to the other and laughing quietly. Flynn was asleep on a chair, where Carrie was squished next to her reading a book. Reggie was scribbling something in a notebook and tapping his foot, with Mira leaning on his side weaving braids into Erik’s hair. Julie, meanwhile, was still asleep.
He gave half a smile to Alex, who returned it with a quick sign of “you okay?” He nodded, gently taking his hand off of Julie’s shoulder, who didn’t stir.
Yeah, I’m okay. You?
Pretty good, all things considered. Alex glanced up at Willie, who looked confused, and whispered an explanation as to why they were using sign language. Julie, Flynn, and Erik were asleep, and Luke didn’t want to move and get his phone.
What time is it? Luke signed, and Alex checked his phone, signing back that it was 08:12. Luke glanced back down at Julie, who was still fast asleep.
When did I fall asleep? Alex signed back to him with an inquisitive look on his face.
Around eleven. You were exhausted, and for a good reason.
Yeah. I’m still so angry. I just want to… he trailed off, thinking. Luke guessed he was trying to remember a sign word. In the end, he just mimed crushing something very violently. Luke stifled a laugh.
I’m right there with you. Neither of you deserve this. He glanced down to Julie as he said it.
Neither do you, Alex reminded him. Or Willie. His face turned forlorn as he added the last part.
Yeah. It just sucks. Alex rolled his eyes.
You can say that again.
…
Luke tapped his fingers on his knee, anxiety coursing through him, which was very strange. He had no idea how Alex handled it. Anxiety was not something he was used to; what was he supposed to do with the nervous energy rushing around him when he couldn’t do anything but wait?
In hindsight, the brief text he’d sent Julie to meet him in that one hidden corner of the gardens because he needed to talk to her probably wasn’t the best way for him to go about it, especially since now the grey clouds hung over the sky like death hovered in a cemetery.
He’d rehearsed what he was going to say a million times, but it hadn’t ever seemed perfect; not that it would have mattered, because when Julie walked towards him, a smile on her face, hair down with frizzy curls bouncing over her shoulders, all of his thoughts drifted away, never to be seen again.
“Hi,” he said pathetically. She gave a halfhearted laugh.
“Hi. Is… everything okay?” Luke nodded. Then, he shook his head. A stray raindrop hit his face, the storm slowly crying itself out.
“Julie, I…” he sighed. “This probably won’t be half comprehensible, but I just need to get it off my chest.
“I know that we can't be together. I know that life just wasn't on our side, and I hate it. but I love you.” his heart both lightened and sank with the confession. “I love you, and I want you to know that, no matter where either of us end up in life, with you as queen and me as some guard, you will always be in my heart. you will be my heart in its entirety, wholly and truly.
“I tried to come up with the perfect things to say, tried to articulate and rehearse my feelings, but I guess that’s the thing about emotions. They can’t be described in an accurate way; especially love and pain. I’m not even sure there’s a difference between the two; love hurts, but it’s exhilarating; pain burns, but it makes you feel alive. But they both demand to be felt. And they’re so intense, so beautiful and full of fire and fury in their own regard that I’m not sure they can be described at all. Only with comparisons, but it’s never the exact same, because while pain demands to be felt, love demands to be seen. It’s why it hurts so much to hide it; that hurt, that pain, it demands to be felt, like fire demands to burn and the ground demands to quake and the rain demands to fall.
“I don’t want you to have to feel that pain your entire life. I don’t want you to love me and have to hide it. One illusion of false love is hard enough; but having to mask another layer, for me or you, would be impossible. So I think it’s best you forget me.”
“Luke, what are you-”
“Julie, we’re a grenade. People will get caught in the crossfire, and we’ll be burned completely.”
Tears streamed down his face, but it was impossible to tell with the rain now pouring, serenading his misery with its torrential downpour.
“No,” Julie said, shaking her head back and forth. “No. Luke, you’re going out of your mind. I’m not just going to forget you. If you think I can do that, then you don’t know me at all. Besides, acting as if something never happened is just a form of mental editing, purposely erasing things you regret. Well, that’s not how it works. If you want to break up with me… then fine. But don’t expect me to forget you, because that won’t happen.”
“Julie, I don’t want to break up with you.”
“Then don’t.” Luke looked up and pressed his lips together, even though his tears would be indistinguishable with the rain.
“I’m not. But I don’t want to cause you more pain.”
“I don’t care! Sometimes you have to fight for what you love. And as much as I wish we could lay down our arms, we can’t. I won’t. Not if it means I have to lose you.”
You have to fight for what you want.
Things don’t always come easy.
Luke shook his head, shoving his parents’ dream voices out of his head. He’d tried and tried, but now it was too late. He needed to cut losses so people didn’t get caught in the crossfire.
“Julie, I-”
“No! Aren’t you the guy who says you have to ‘smash those stupid rules out of people’s brains?’” Luke looked away.
“This is different.”
“Is it? Because you’re the most stubborn, bone-headed, amazing guy I know. You’ve never given up on anything in your life, so don’t you dare start now. I’m not giving up on you, either. So are you going to keep trying to make me? Or are you going to make it worth it?”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Well, news flash, people already have, and will continue to get hurt, because life isn’t all butterflies and glitter. So if you want to minimize the hurt, don’t deny your feelings. Don’t try to make me deny mine.”
“But that’s the point! People have already gotten hurt, and will continue to, because of this. Because of me. If people found out about us, there would be collateral. Probably our friends.”
“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for them,” she snapped. “Don’t try to act all heroic. Luke, you’re amazing and selfless and kind and strong, but you’re only doing this because you’re afraid. I’m afraid too. But this? This isn’t how we need to go about things.” Luke tore a hand through his hair.
“Don’t you get it, Jules? I love you. I love you, and I hate that I’m part of the reason you and Alex are going through all of this pain.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t suggest the arranged marriage. I know you just want people to be safe, I know you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t need to be protected. I can take care of myself, but I want you by my side.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but we’ll figure it out. I’m not giving up.”
She stepped forward and laced her fingers with his, and his heart softened. He gently cupped her jaw and brushed a raindrop off of her cheekbone, and she leaned up to kiss him.
“Please… stay.”
Luke didn’t want to hurt her. He knew staying would only make things harder, more dangerous.
And yet, he closed his eyes and nodded.
“Okay.”
#blue writes#bwya#bwya tag#be who you are (no compromise)#tuserjules#tracklu#usernell#userzuha#jatp#julie and the phantoms#netflixwewantjatp2
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learn to love without consuming (1/4)
fandom: knight squad relationships: arc / ciara, minor or one-sided arc / oc and ciara / oc word count: 4,603
a/n: eek. it's finally here. if you follow me here you know that i've been working on this for a few weeks (months?), but the idea has been sitting in my drafts for basically forever. almost since i watched the show to begin with. the recent resurgence of the ks fandom prompted me to dig this back up and gave me the motivation to actually try and finish, because fuck it! i love my babes and i want more of them.
so quick note is that this picks up pretty soon after the season 1 finale but disregards basically,,, everything that happens in s2. s1 and the finale proceed the same way except prudy never finds out ciara's secret, so she and warwick don't know at the moment. this chapter was initially gonna have more scenes that drove the plot/romance arc but once i got upwards of 6k with a few major scenes left i decided it would be best if i split the chapter up, so for now it’s just a lot of me trying to work around the convoluted knight squad lore to establish my own. i know that's not exactly what everyone is here for, but i promise things on the romance/action front will pick up soon. i'll place warnings as detailed as i can get without spoiling in the tags and notes as i go, but just anticipate fairly significant violence by chapter 3.
anyway! i have talked enough. the title is from thus always to tyrants by the oh hellos, the rating is t for swearing/violence, there are three more chapters that are in the process of being written, and reviews are like crack as far as i'm concerned. i really hope you like this! thanks for reading <3
dedications: this fic is first and foremost for @ciara-knightly, who is not only my amazing beta but also the whole reason this fic exists. she helped me so so much with the development of the plot and worked through it with me even way before i decided to really start writing it, and i wouldn’t have been able to do this without her. all of the notes she left after beta-reading were so so helpful and really made this whole fic make sense so basically i owe her my entire life. she inspires me to be a better writer all the time and i love her. everyone say thank you shona!!! also tagging my lovely friends and some people who have expressed interest, who are in no way obligated to read this; @juliesdahlias @mistyskiesrambles @dr-rigatoni @willexs @taylorswiftrulestheworld @onplanetmars @neshatriumphs @zackmartin @julies-molinas @soni-dragon @yagorlemmalyn @hopefulbeautifulfool @cactus-con @waterisntreal @onetwothreefarkle @bitchmilsky
summary: “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”
Ciara nods. “It is! I finally get to meet some of the other nobility, and actually get to be involved in Astorian politics for once. But my dad won’t let me go without an escort,” she says, and then hesitates. “Which is where you come in.”
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The morning before training that day, Arc is testing his skills against a heavy bronze padlock when Ciara enters the squad room and drops a brown paper bag on the table in front of him.
“These,” she announces as he raises an eyebrow at her, “are for you.”
He pulls open the package and is instantly greeted with a rush of warmth and the smell of vanilla. “Dragon puffs?” he says, half in awe. It’s a clear bribe, but he can’t help but shove a sugar-coated sweet in his mouth anyway. They’re an Astorian original and possibly the best thing he’s ever tasted; he’d tried them once at a bakery near the castle and hasn’t stopped thinking about them since.
“Okay, what do you want?” he says then, words muffled around the cream and pastry.
Ciara pulls a face at his manners, but still manages to blink innocently at him. “Can’t I just do something nice for a friend?” she tries, but it’s half-hearted.
He swallows and grins at her. “Nice try, Princess. Your dessert deliveries always come with an ulterior motive.”
Huffing a sigh, she sits down next to him. There’s this subtle air of anticipation lingering around her, one he can only sense based on how in tune they are after so long of being teammates. The two of them have this easy way of reading each other now; they’ve been spending more and more time together, something having shifted in their dynamic after the battle against Ryker. He can’t quite place what it is, but he knows it’s only brought them closer. “Do you know what the Council of the Five Kingdoms is?” she asks finally.
He shrugs. “Sure. Nobles from each kingdom used to have a big ball every year to talk trading and politics and other boring stuff…”
“Except there hasn’t been a council since Ryker’s invasion, because the kingdoms have been isolated and preoccupied with their own safety,” she finishes for him. Her fingers tug at the lacing of her leather gauntlets; she’s nervous, but he still isn’t sure why. “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”
Ciara nods. “It is! I finally get to meet some of the other nobility, and actually get to be involved in Astorian politics for once. But my dad won’t let me go without an escort,” she says, and then hesitates. “Which is where you come in.”
Arc chokes on his second dragon puff. “You want me to be your escort,” he says flatly, once he’s finished coughing, “to the Council of the Five Kingdoms?” Normally he’d jump at the chance to spend a night dressing up and eating castle food. But the council is a decidedly different scene; there’s a set of formalities, politics underlying everything, and too many chances for him to expose his lack of knowledge when it comes to Astorian customs. Not to mention that Catalias’ royals will be there. He doesn’t know if he can stomach looking them in the face, knowing what they did to Seagate.
Ciara grimaces. “Look, I know it’s not exactly your thing, but my dad won’t let me go alone. And this really means a lot to me.” Her eyes are pleading, and Arc feels his resolve chipping away.
“Can’t one of your actual guards go with you?” he tries. “Or, Prudy or Warwick or someone?”
“I’ve already talked to my dad about it,” she explains. “You’re the only Knight School student he’d let protect me, because you already proved you could when Ryker invaded. Besides, if something were to happen…you’re the one person who knows I can handle myself as Ciara.”
There’s this brief stretch of silence where Arc works his bottom lip, and Ciara looks as though she’s debating something. “Also,” she adds finally, with the soft flicker of a hesitant smile, “I thought it might be fun to go with you.”
Arc blinks at her, caught off guard by the admission. There’s this sudden buzz in his chest that he can’t push away; in truth, he doesn’t like the idea of her spending the night with someone else either. Maybe, by some miracle, this will actually be a good thing. “Alright,” he relents. “I’ll be your escort.”
Ciara’s face breaks into a grin. “Yes! Thank you!” She throws her arms around him, and he’s shock-stilled, a rush of warmth flooding through him as he hugs her back. When she pulls away, her eyes are shining with excitement. “Okay, I’ve gotta go tell my dad you said yes, and there’s a million things to do, but I’ll see you at training later. You are the best.”
“I expect dragon puffs for life!” Arc calls after her as she disappears through her passageway. He leans back into the couch, lightheaded, and in that moment, he realizes abruptly that there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
And he is so completely screwed.
*
Two weeks later, Arc is standing outside Ciara’s bedroom, waiting for her to finish getting ready.
It feels odd to be out here in the open. Generally his visits to her chamber are accompanied by an air of secrecy, but tonight, he’s a guest in the castle. He’s dressed like it, too, decked out in the guards’ typical formal wear: pressed brown pants, a white shirt laced up the front, and a navy leather jacket trimmed in gold, with Astoria’s crest on one shoulder. He looks kind of dashing, honestly.
Despite the confidence boost his new look offers him, his hand keeps drifting to the hilt of his sword. It’s sheer force of habit; he only associates this brewing sense of apprehension with battle, and his muscles are responding in kind. He’s glad, at least, that he turned down the other guards’ offer to lend him one of their ceremonial blades and instead has the familiarity of his own. Hopefully he won’t need it, but it’s a steadying presence all the same.
“Almost ready!” Ciara calls from inside, and Arc carefully unclenches his fingers from around the leather grip of his sword. He has to keep it together tonight; she’s made it clear how much this means to her. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass her in front of nobles from all five kingdoms.
Well, four, he reminds himself. Seagate won’t be attending. There isn’t anyone left to represent them.
The thought makes his stomach twist.
He’s saved from having to dwell on it by the sound of Ciara’s door unlatching. “Better prepare yourself, Princess,” he teases, leaning against the wall, “I look pretty good, and the last thing we want is for you to get too smitten—”
He breaks off as she emerges from the doorway, all the air in his lungs leaving in a sudden rush. He’s trying hard not to be the cliche of a guy scraping his jaw off the floor at the sight of a pretty girl in a dress, especially not like this, with Ciara—but he can’t help but think that it’s ridiculously unfair of her to come out looking like that. Her dress is a pale blue, falling gently off her shoulders and cinching at her waist, and her tight curls are weaved with strands of gold and tied into a low knot, some of them falling loose to frame her face. There’s a crown of gold leaves and rosebuds settled in her hair.
“You...um…” Arc searches for his voice, “you look amazing.” His mouth feels dry.
Ciara smirks and reaches up to adjust the collar of his uniform. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I’m definitely smitten,” she jokes, like it’s nothing for them to be flirting openly. It should be nothing. Except his skin burns where her fingers brush against his neck, and he suddenly wonders if she can hear his heart pounding.
He clears his throat. “We should probably get to the ballroom.”
She nods. “Give me your arm,” she says, looking at him expectantly. When he raises an eyebrow, she continues, “You’re my escort, remember?”
“Oh, right.” He lifts his arm obligingly, his cheeks warm.
“I really wish we’d had more time to go over Astorian customs,” she breathes as she takes it, more to herself than anything. “Between training and helping with preparations, I’ve been so busy…” His nerves must show on his face, then, because she squeezes his arm gently and amends, “Sorry. You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just stay close to me, okay?”
“Not a problem,” he grins without missing a beat, and Ciara scoffs and shoves him, the smile tugging at her mouth taking all the bite away from it.
They can do this, he thinks. The two of them have kept up appearances for each other for months now, have fought and trained and battled Ryker together. They’re Arc and Ciara, unstoppable duo. One little party should be nothing.
As they make their way down the hall towards the ballroom, flanked by guards, Ciara lowers her voice. “When we get there, most of the nobles should be inside already. The herald will announce my father first, then us, and then each of the other three kingdoms. We’ll be beside the thrones as they come in—you’ll stand by me, left side—and once they’ve all been announced, we can leave the thrones and mingle. Bow to each of the rulers as they come by.”
They had, at least, practiced his bow. Arc swallows back the dread in his throat; all he has to do is stand beside her and greet the other royals, it’s easy enough. For a moment, they linger outside the entrance to the ballroom, until an official-sounding voice announces the King. “We’re next,” Ciara whispers to him, eyes glinting with excitement. “You ready?”
He nods back at her, and the voice calls, “Accompanied by Sir Arc...Princess Angelica of Astoria!” They step into the ballroom, greeted with applause. Arc doesn’t think he’s ever been in a place this lavish; the walls are white, accented in deep gold, and the floors are polished to a gleam. The ceiling looks hand-painted, ornately decorated in constellations and swirling designs, and crystal chandeliers dangle over their heads, casting a golden glow over the whole room. He tries not to look too awe-struck.
They make their way to the platform on which the thrones rest, Ciara nodding and smiling and waving at the other nobles as they pass. She stands next to her father, and Arc takes his place on her other side, placing his hands behind his back and trying, for all the world, to look like he belongs there. He wonders suddenly if he’s stood too close to her, and if it would make things worse for him to shift over now, and if his indecision is showing on his face—
And then, almost imperceptibly and hidden from the ballroom’s view by the folds of her dress, Ciara reaches over and links her pinky with his. It’s a tiny gesture, a friendly reassurance, but Arc feels a tide of warmth swell in his chest all the same. He lets his gaze flit to her for just a moment, and her lips are graced with a small smile as she tugs his finger gently.
His breath hitches, and he fights to keep his face a passive neutral as the herald announces the next kingdom and he turns his attention back to the doorway.
“Presenting King Hugo, Queen Luciana, and their son Prince Isaac of Catalias!”
Arc’s stomach turns as the couple enters, trailed by their son, all three of them swathed in lavish red and gold. Their reputation precedes them; he knows little about the prince, but the king and queen are infamous for their hoarding of wealth, their favorance of the rich nobles and landowners of their kingdom over the common people. Arc knows them best for what they had done to Seagate.
His hand twitches for his sword, but he fights against the instinct.
True to form, the two have a haughty look about them, all starched clothes and stiff smiles as they bow to Ciara and the King. The two of them return the greeting with Arc following their lead—grudgingly.
“I am so pleased you could join us tonight,” the King smiles, a little tight-lipped. “It is high time that Astoria and Catalias united again.”
King Hugo nods back. “I couldn’t agree more. The honor is ours.”
Arc detects a veiled sort of tension between the two of them, hidden well underneath the cordial formalities. He glances at Isaac, whose eyes are trained intently on Ciara even as he and his parents move to greet the other guests. Something about it is unsettling.
He’s so focused on Isaac that he almost misses the herald’s announcement of the next kingdom. “Queen Damyanti, and her children Princess Aadhya and Prince Kavan of Khurjan!”
Queen Damyanti is the picture of elegance, draped in silver silk that almost seems to glow against her dark skin. Aadhya looks around fifteen, with the same deep eyes and regal expression, and Kavan must be ten or so. He grins toothily as the three of them approach the thrones and bow.
The King’s expression is much warmer now. “Queen Damyanti. It has been too long. I trust Khurjan is doing well?”
“Not quite as well as Astoria, perhaps,” she replies, and it’s teasing, no sharpness to it. “This ball is absolutely lovely. Princess Angelica, you look so beautiful. Just like your mother. I was so sorry to hear of her passing.”
Ciara’s eyes go soft. “Thank you, Queen Damyanti,” she nods back. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
“You as well. It’s a shame your sister couldn’t make it, but hopefully we’ll all gather again soon.” She gives a small, departing nod and joins the rest of the nobles, Aadhya giving them a bright-eyed smile and Kavan waving enthusiastically as they follow her. Ciara laughs.
“And finally...King Jesper of Vysalt!”
Arc is confused for a moment; he wonders if he had remembered the name of Vysalt’s king wrong. Then a young man with a head of dark curls and a smattering of freckles against tawny brown skin enters, his crown just slightly crooked. His eyes are wide and dark, and a jagged, white scar cuts across his cheekbone. He can’t be much older than they are.
“He’s the king?” Arc whispers to Ciara under his breath as Jesper makes his way over to them. “How old is he?”
Her expression twists a little in sympathy. “Seventeen. He wasn’t supposed to inherit the throne so soon. His parents were killed when Ryker’s army took over his kingdom.”
Arc isn’t sure what to say to that. He knows what it’s like to lose everything to Ryker—he can picture the flames every time he shuts his eyes. But he hadn’t known about Vysalt or the fate of its royals. They had been close allies with Seagate at one point, one of the only other kingdoms without much wealth, and their king and queen had been known for their generosity.
Somehow Arc had thought the damage had been done to Seagate alone, but now he wonders how the other kingdoms fared, if they suffered just as much. If any of them came out as unscathed as Astoria did.
“Your Majesties,” Jesper says as he bows, and there’s a note of pity in the King’s expression as he returns the gesture. Arc can only imagine how he feels about someone so close to his daughter’s age having to run a kingdom on his own.
“King Jesper. How are you doing?”
It’s a more personal question than he had asked the other royals, Arc notes. Jesper smiles easily; it’s soft, highlights his deep dimples and makes his dark eyes glimmer. “Well, thank you. Vysalt is recovering with time. As am I,” he adds, voice quieting for a moment.
The King nods back. “That’s good to hear. Let us know if there’s anything Astoria can do to help.”
Something flickers in Jesper’s expression, hard to read and gone so quickly that Arc wonders if he imagined it. The young king bows again before moving to join the others, but not before he catches Arc’s eye and smiles warmly. It surprises him—the other royals had hardly given him a second glance—but he returns it with one of his own. Beside him, Ciara lifts an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and something else he can’t place.
“What?” he asks quietly, and she shakes her head, glancing away.
“Nothing.”
He wants to pry, but the King is clearing his throat, getting ready to address the room. The chatter dies down as all eyes turn to him.
“My fellow Astorians,” he says in his deep, booming voice, sounding more formal than Arc has ever heard him, “and my guests from our neighboring kingdoms...I am honored to welcome you to our castle, and so pleased that we could all be in attendance tonight.”
Not all of us, Arc thinks, but no word of Seagate comes up.
The King continues, “For decades, our kingdoms have been isolated and divided by Ryker’s armies. We have long suffered under his forces, but his threat is gone for good. Thus, tonight is more than a council; it is a symbol of our victory, a symbol of our unity as we move forward and rebuild. So enjoy yourselves! After all, we have so much to celebrate!”
To Arc, the sentiment feels hollow. He got his revenge, and of course he’s glad that Ryker can’t hurt anyone else, but it doesn’t change the fact that Seagate is in ruins. It feels suddenly difficult to celebrate with the weight of his village’s absence lingering in the air around him. The rest of the partygoers don’t seem to share his hesitance, though; the room breaks into applause and cheers, several of the guests raising their goblets jovially.
Ciara gives him a subtle nudge, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Now we get to mingle,” she grins, leading him off the throne platform and towards the crowd.
He follows dutifully as she heads toward the table where the other kingdoms’ royals have gathered, Astoria’s king staying behind to greet the other royals. Queen Damyanti is in conversation with King Hugo and Queen Luciana, but she doesn’t seem entirely pleased about it, and Jesper and Kavan are laughing at something Aadhya has said. Isaac hovers next to them, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He has his father’s golden hair and clear blue eyes, but the frown on his face is entirely his mother’s.
It disappears, though, the moment he sees Ciara approaching them. “Princess Angelica,” he greets her, with a little too much enthusiasm for Arc’s liking, “I’m so honored to finally meet you. You’re even more radiant in person.” Before she can say anything, he takes her hand and kisses it swiftly. Arc narrows his eyes.
Ciara gives a forced-sounding chuckle and curtseys, pulling her hand back. “Thank you, Prince Isaac. I’m glad you could make it. Allow me to introduce Sir Arc, my guard and escort for the night.”
Arc bows—and if he never has to bow to another pompous royal again, he thinks, it’ll be too soon—and Isaac offers him a dismissive sort of half-smile. Any further interaction they would’ve had then is thankfully avoided by the other royals noticing Ciara’s arrival.
“Hi, Princess Angelica!” Aadhya says brightly, with a neat little dip of a curtsey, “I’m Aadhya.” When Ciara and Arc begin to return the gesture, she waves her hand with a tiny scoff. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Formalities. Just come sit.” She returns to her chair and pats the seat next to her, and Arc decides right there that he likes her.
Ciara takes the offered chair, and Arc takes the only other open spot, in between her and King Jesper. As Ciara launches into conversation with Aadhya, Jesper turns to him.
“Hi,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Jesper.”
Arc bites back a laugh at the unnecessary introduction. “I know who you are, Your Highness,” he replies lightly.
“I know. I was just trying to give you an opening to tell me who you are.”
Oh. That’s unexpected. There’s no prerogative behind his words, no assertion; Jesper’s grin is almost bashful, his voice easy and bright. He doesn’t sound like a king, just a seventeen-year-old boy trying to flirt. Arc can’t help but return his smile.
“I’m Arc,” he says. “Normally I’m a student at Knight School, but I’m the princess’s guard and escort for the night.”
“Wait,” Aadhya pauses her conversation with Ciara to lean over and look at him, “You’re the Arc who defeated Ryker?”
“I helped,” Arc says with a shrug, and the princess’s eyes go wide. She turns to Ciara.
“Were you there too?”
“I was—” Ciara pauses for a moment, “hiding. I was hiding. Arc got me to safety.”
He grins a little at her, tongue between his teeth, knowing it must be killing her to hide what she was actually doing. She narrows her eyes and kicks his leg under the table in response, a silent shut up. He lifts his eyebrows, like, I didn’t say anything, and she rolls her eyes in an entirely non-subtle manner.
Across the table, Queen Damyanti is watching their exchange with a raised eyebrow, Arc notices belatedly. She has a mildly amused look on her face, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she states, “Battling Ryker face-to-face must have been quite the experience.”
“What was it like?” Prince Kavan asks eagerly from beside his sister.
Aadhya elbows him. “Kavan,” she hisses, but Arc just grins.
“No worries. It was…” he trails, trying to think of what to say and suddenly aware that all the royals’ eyes are on him. He shifts in his seat. “It was scary, obviously. He had the Armor of Astoria, and a whole army with him, and most of the Astorian knights under his spell. But, y’know. We Knight School students are pretty formidable. We all took him on together. Wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise. I wasn’t half as scared as I would’ve been without my squadmates watching my back.”
He glances at Ciara, who smiles softly and nudges his foot, gentler this time. Jesper has that same unreadable look on his face and Aadhya has her chin propped in her hand, her expression amazed, but Queen Luciana gives a snide sort of scoff.
“It’s a wonder it took so long to defeat him, then, if a group of students cut him down so easily,” she says. “Perhaps Ryker was never as great a threat as we all made him out to be.”
There’s a cut of silence across the table in which Jesper visibly stiffens. “With all due respect, Queen Luciana, Ryker’s attacks were devastating. Or have you forgotten what happened to my parents?” he demands, without any respect at all. His eyes are blazing.
“I’m merely pointing out that the only real damage done was to the less...fortified kingdoms,” she sniffs. “Ryker only breached Catalias’s walls once, and he was driven out rather quickly.”
“Well, not every kingdom has Catalias’s resources.” Ciara sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully, frustration masked well behind them.
King Hugo gives a huff of a laugh; his blue eyes are cold. “My dear princess, you have no cause for indignation. Astoria lost the least to Ryker, what with your,” he waves a hand, “magic bubble.”
Ciara opens her mouth but falters, brow furrowed, and across the table, Queen Damyanti speaks up. “Nevertheless, Ryker was still a formidable enemy to all of us. We were only prepared for his attacks because he targeted Seagate and Vysalt first. And Seagate’s destruction is a clear example of his power.”
“Oh, even you can’t argue that Seagate was rotting long before Ryker got to it, Damyanti,” Hugo replies swiftly, and Arc’s breath catches in his throat. Queen Damyanti shrugs in agreement, her expression passive; Arc almost stands up, but Ciara’s hand on his leg underneath the table stops him.
“Don’t,” she hisses, just barely loud enough for him to hear, “Let me handle this.”
Though as it turns out, she doesn’t have to. Before she has a chance to speak, Jesper is already bristling, his voice sharp: “As if Seagate’s corruption justifies the destruction of its people?”
“It’s thieves and criminals, you mean?” Isaac scoffs. “Seagate was a wasteland. The kingdoms are better off.”
The words ring in Arc’s ears, alongside the pounding of his blood. They sound painfully similar to what Ryker had said to him on the mountain—rats and thieves, I did the five kingdoms a favor—and he thinks fleetingly that he’s going to be sick. He’s always known that Seagate was looked down on by the other kingdoms, but hearing them say so casually that what happened, the flames and the destruction and all of the death, was deserved—
“The people were only thieves and criminals because Catalias took advantage of them,” Jesper argues. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that it was your government that poured money into the gangs of Seagate for their own profit and allowed them to stage a coup in the first place.”
The words are deadly and cold, but Arc feels a flash of admiration for Jesper; the king has no obligations towards Seagate, and yet defends it like his own. King Hugo’s gaze hardens. “You’re blaming Catalias for Seagate’s problems?” he says with a derisive laugh. “If anything, Ryker’s attacks only revealed that Seagate was a kingdom full of people that weren’t worth saving.”
“That’s enough,” Ciara says abruptly. Her hand tightens on Arc’s leg, and he can no longer tell if he’s the one trembling or if she is. There’s this burning fire behind her eyes; she looks, Arc thinks briefly, the same way she does in battle. “What happened to Seagate was a devastating tragedy, and I won’t let you treat it as otherwise. Those who disagree aren’t welcome here.”
It’s a weighted statement, one she doesn’t entirely have the formal authority to make, but no one dares to contest it. A heavy silence settles over all of them. Arc doesn’t know how long he can sit there with all the heat under his skin; he doesn’t remember when his hand found the hilt of his sword, only that he’s gripping it tight enough that the leather bites into his palm. He wants to stand up and tell them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for him, a thief from Seagate. In truth, the only thing holding him back is Ciara. In a battle between her steady hand and the storm in his chest, she wins without even trying.
He doesn’t say anything or look at her, but her gaze flits to him for a moment and she just knows, standing up. Before she even opens her mouth, Isaac is on his feet too. “Going so soon?” he asks. “Would you care to dance, Princess?”
She looks at him coolly for a moment. “I would, actually.” And then, she turns to Arc, offering him her hand, “Sir Arc, dance with me?”
Arc blinks up at her and takes it as he stands. “Absolutely, Princess,” he says, letting her lead him away from the table and glancing back only long enough to catch the dumbfounded expression on Isaac’s face.
#oop#knight squad#knight squad fanfic#tiara thief#tiara thief fic#writing#my writing#fanfiction#arc#ciara#ks#//umanawrites#learn to love without consuming
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