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oingo233 · 3 years

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Rapture is a Boy (5)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior? And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader (Neutral)

Warning: angst, cuss words, self-doubt and self-hate, mention of cheating, lotsss of angst in this one, maybe even more than before.

Authors Note: Now, this chapter is a bit on the longer side but it is my favorite one so far. We get POV’s from Remus, you, and Sirius(excuse how much there is of Sirius, it’s not entirely intentional he just owns my heart), each filled with ANGST. And the lack of communication and the full throttle of angst is almost painful, but oh so juicy. I hope you all enjoy it, only a couple parts left, or one, until the end yall! I love you so much! Sirius POV in italics.

Word Count: 3k

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Part Five

****Letters To My Love****

Remus POV

Breakfast was over by the time Remus made it back to his dorm, but he didn’t leave to go to 1st period. Because on the endless and lonely walk back, his mind began to spin. He knew he wasn’t a cheat, but he was a liar. He lied to you about his being a werewolf for years because he was petrified of what you’d think of him when you found out. That you’d stop seeing his scars as beautiful stories but rather the makings of a monster.

He was more of a beast than he was a man, and for one night each month, a beast was all he became. How could you love him knowing that? Remus had yet to stop pacing the length of the boys dorm, ignoring the way little sticky notes on the walls with prank ideas came twirling down with every gust of wind Remus’s sharp turns created. He was a storm.

He repeated this thought for the better part of 1st period. How could you love him? You won’t love him, he tells himself, you never will, Lucy said it herself, he was just a disturbing truth. The thoughts made his stomach lurch. You will never love him again. These horrible, tantalizing thoughts were accompanied by beautiful moving pictures on his wall, which his eyes darted to every second despite how miserable they made him.

One picture was a large polaroid of the two of you laying on the common room floor, while your friends are all laughing around you, your arm was wrapped securely around his shoulders and he is laying his head on your chest. He was fast asleep, but a ghost of a smile was painted on his lips, your head was leaned back in laughter. While the picture moves, you only seem to laugh harder and Remus shook, his smile growing ever larger as he awoke to the sound of pure joy.

You will never love him again. With that heavy thought, and another glance at the picture he rushes to the bathroom, just in time to find the toilet, as he vomits into it. Utterly sick and riddled with anxiety and self-hate, but so much anger filled him. Why did Lucy have to ruin everything? Why did you have to leave him? Why did he have to be such a fucking monster? Why’d he have such god awful luck!

Sirius finds him in the bathroom, sobbing for not the first time that morning nor the last. Sirius rushed over to him, patting his back as he choked up extra pieces of last nights dinner. Sirius forgetting to retrieve his class book he forgot this morning, and was excused from class to quickly get. Herbology can wait, Sirius wasn’t going to spend his future with plants anyway.

“Remus, what’s wrong? What can I do?” Sirius knew it was about you, but why was he so sick? Little did Sirius know, that love and heartbreak is both the enlighting of the heart, and the sickness that plagues so many.

Remus was not immune to such poison, his strength lies elsewhere, it lies in the mornings after full moons and the steadiness of his hands before. It lies in his courage, in his determination and empathy. It lies in his silver tongue, but his strength does not belong to his heart because he gave his heart to you so long ago. And perhaps you gave him the greatest strength of all, love. Love, love, love, you gave it all to him and more. Now he was left empty and he felt it now in his stomach as much as he did in his heart.

“I am alone Sirius. I was alone in the room, then I saw our picture, (y/n) was laughing.” His voice cracked, fighting a sob. “They are the most lovely thing I’ve ever seen Pads...Pads do you think I told em’ that enough? That I love them?” Remus then turned to Sirius with the most gut dropping look of remorse, with a breath to match. Sirius nodded fervently, not sure how else to comfort a person in such a state. He rubbed circles on his back and reached for a tissue.

“Yes Moony, we all heard you say it a million times. But...Moony it isn’t over. Lucy lied to them, if you are honest -and I mean fully honest about everything- you two will be one again. Practically married again. So, gather yourself Moony. I will wait with you till the bell rings, yeah?” Sirius hands Remus the tissue and smiles down at him, trying his best to be encouraging Remus knew, it was the same smile Sirius gives him after hard full moons and the whole lot of them want to stay in bed.

But it did not work, Remus’s whole body sank into the floor as he wiped at his mouth. Sighing at the mess he was, flushing the toilet he stands.

“No. I can’t tell them-”

“Remus-”

“No! Leave it alone Sirius, you don’t understand. (y/n) deserves better than...than this this thing that I am, and will always be. This monster.” Remus throws the tissue down and storms out of the bathroom, back into the expanse of their room and now flouncing his arms around as he speaks. Voice thick with emotions. “Do you think they’ll still love me after they know the truth?” He sneers, almost laughing humorlessly to himself. Sirius stared at him in horror, still in the doorway of the bathroom.

“They’ll leave me Sirius, I would lose them twice. Twice! No,” Remus shakes his head, “Better I let them go now, I’d rather not go through this whole ordeal twice.” He motions to his vomit lined collar and messy locks. “Better (y/n) hates me for a lie, than the truth.” And that was the end of it. Remus turned his back on Sirius and began to pull clothes from his drawers, deciding that it would be best to go to second period. If he was to get over you, he must start soon.

Sirius was left speechless. Remus was angry, that was clear to see but he was often the only one who could get himself out of these ruts of self-hate. Him and you of course. So Sirius got his almost twice forgotten book and left. Before he left the room completely he turned in the doorway to say something to Remus, but he only watched as Remus softly tore the photos of you off of his wall, Sirius shut his mouth and left.

Your POV

The bell to second period rang through loud and clear, yet it wasn’t until the movements of the students around me, rushing to be free from History of Magic, that I began to move myself. Even then my movements were slow, sluggish and reflected the droopy feeling of my heart hanging loose in my chest. Like a portrait hanging sideways on one of the hallways, knocked loose by a groping couple, but my heart was knocked loose my the image of Lucy and Remus I’ve spun up in my head. Oh, I can just picture them together, so clearly.

His large hands roaming the plains of her back after making love, tracing words mindlessly as he has once done to me. His lips glued sleepily into the crook of her neck, as they cuddled after a long school day...just as he once did to me. It’s only been a day but my fingers are twitching to cling onto his and never let go. To hug and grip him, and my lips...well they tingle at just the thought of his kiss. My whole body abuzz with the idea of Remus, it has not yet caught up with my head, it does not yet seem to realize that Remus is no longer ours to hold and feel. He is no longer mine.

I finish packing all of my belongings into my satchel and hug it to myself instead of around my shoulder and waist like I usually have it. I thought this class would be much harder than it was, considering it is the only one I have with Remus today, but he never even showed. Coward, the bitter side of me thought, fucking coward. But I nonetheless picked out double the pages of parchment, and never once raised my head from the block of wood that is my desk. I was too focused on taking double the notes, both just copies of one another.

Now, as I walk out the door, not missing the way our professor seemed to pity the sullen look on my usual bright face, my only thought is on finding Sirius. Things have been tense between me and all The Marauders, but I like to think Sirius and I, though on very tense terms since our fight, are more amiable than James or Peter and I.

I was knocked off focus, and quite literally, by a blushing first year girl. “M’ sorry,” She mumbles, looking up at me like a scared mouse. I quickly glance up just in time to catch the retreating figure of a running Lucy, knocking even more people along the way.

“S’ alright, wasn’t you,” I smile sweetly at her and that seems to calm her nerves, she walks off with a little smile. But I was left with a rather large frown, was Lucy off to see her boyfriend, Remus? Is that what they are now? The thought made me sick, and the words made me even sicker. But there was little time to dwell when in the dwindling crowd I caught sight of a tall man with the messiest bun I have ever seen. Yet, Sirius pulled it off, I almost wanted to roll my eyes, he can pull many hairstyles off (many of which, I myself can not).

“Sirius!” I call, flapping a stack of paper in the air while trying to make my way through the crowd and towards him. He tells some friends of his from 1st period to go ahead, and waits for me with a tight smile.

“(y/n),” He greets, rather stiff. As if this whole thing was my fault, and we didn’t just have our whole friendship break through last night.

Sirius was staring down at you, soaking in the sadness of your eyes and the exhaustion shown through crinkles on your forehead. He took quick notice of the wrinkles in your outfit, and the totally clashing colors of the clothes underneath your robes. He wanted to frown, usually your outfits are well put together. But then again, Remus stormed off in his pajamas this morning, guess heartbreak makes you do even crazier things than love itself. But either way, Sirius felt awful after your argument last night and was having a rather difficult time expressing his emotions, so instead of apologizing like he knew he should, your presence just made him feel uncomfortable. A reminder of how he failed both his mates when it came to this whole breaking up thing. He regard the stack of papers with a raised brow.

I shove the papers into his chest, he cups them stiffly with one hand, peering down at them quickly and titling his head down at me in a frown.

“(y/n)...” He starts, but I cut him off.

“Before you start Sirius, you should know that Remus missed a very important class this morning,” I say, rocking on my heels and oddly nervous. A person can only take so much rejection and emotion in one day.

“But...why? If you think he cheated on you, I mean,” Sirius uncomfortably held the papers, waiting for me to respond. But I drew up blanks, why did I write him notes? Why did I go through the trouble of writing till my hand ached and protested? Was it because I still loved him? Yes, but also it was the way I dreamt last night of our first kiss and then the way he stumbled up the stairs with James, crying. It was guilt. But then I was angry, fuck this, I think, he doesn’t deserve to pass History, prat should re-take the whole boring class ten-fold!

“Nevermind Pads, just give them back,” I growl, tearing the papers from his hands and nearly ripping them. But then the wind seemed to remind me of how it is the season of the N.E.W.T.S and Remus so long ago said that maybe History of Magic will aide him in his test. I growl again and shove the papers back into a surprised, and quite frankly annoyed Sirius. His chest was really starting to hurt.

“No, you must take them. Give them to him...” I can’t bring myself to look at Sirius, oh what he must think of me. Such a silly girl to tend to Remus after all that he has done to me.

Sirius glanced down at the papers, your handwriting clear as day and neat. You clearly tried to make it easy to read, and the notes were well taken, informative. He looked between you and the papers and fought a smile. Even a blind fool could see how much you still adored Remus, but then he thought back to the conversation he had with Remus this morning. His heart overcame with something that felt all too much like real, physical pain. Sirius hands began to shake, how could Remus let you go. You’re one of the best things that happened him. Then another thought occurred to him, how was Remus to get out of the dorm again, or even smile again after reading your notes? It would break his heart all over again.

Sirius shook his head at me, placing the papers into my hand and ignoring the dumbfounded look on my face. “Merlin (y/n), are you trying to bloody kill him?” He says, addressing my notes and the sweetness behind the gesture. Perhaps it was too soon. But I was prepared.

“Oh, shove off it Sirius. My name isn’t even on the parchment, he won’t know it’s from me. Just say ya got a friend to take ‘em for him, yeah?” Sirius still looked uncomfortable by the matter. I cut him off before he even began, I could see him thinking. “Don’t want him failing N.E.W.T.S do ya?” Sirius takes a deep breath and tucks his lips in a disapproving frown wordlessly taking the papers and stuffing them in his bag.

“ave’ a good one!” He calls over his shoulder, almost wincing as he spoke, it was second nature to call such a thing in parting with a friend, but he was unsure of your friendship at the moment, and it was quite clear you weren’t going to have a good day. He turned to you with a tight smile, and loosened up at your own large smile. You finding the situation with an almost bitter sense of humor but humor nonetheless, he thinks to himself “good lad.”

The both of you part ways, reminiscing on easier times and missing them dearly.

Remus POV

Remus sat in his bed to study, which none of the boys do because they’ll fall asleep, and they usually did it together on the floor in a heap of papers, books, and spilled ink. But tonight Remus grew rather somber as Sirius handed him a collection of notes from 1st period. “aye, a friend wrote em’ for you. N.E.W.T.S comin’ up n all.” Sirius muttered, slowly placing them atop Remus’s chest, not looking him in the eye. Remus sat up in his bed to examine the papers, his hands shaking and crinkly the edge. He knew.

He quickly grabbed his parchment, and book, quill and ink before closing his bed curtains. He then proceeded to cuss and scream(more of a groan) under his breath. Of course he knew the notes were from you, it was silly of you to assume he wouldn’t. He long ago memorized every curve and line in your handwriting. Why did you have to care about him still? Why did you have to be so sweet and perfect? His heart wanted to run away to you, but he tried to focus on other things. But his mind went back to you once again, like a broken record. He remembers all the letters you’d write him, all the things you’d say.

He first memorized your handwriting over the summer after first year. He got several letters from James and Sirius, one or two from Peter, and one every 2 weeks from you. You adored hand written letters, and so he came to love them too. Then again 2nd year, then 3rd and 4th your owl came to his window time and time again, always sent off with a letter of his own writing. But 5th year, the year you two started dating, your friendly letters changed to love letters and it was those ones he clipped to his wall or kept in a special drawer, never throwing out one.

On particularly difficult nights, like ones before and after a full moon, when his body was drained and he was desperate for the warmth of friends and the dull ache to leave his body, he would pull out the letters his friends wrote him and read them. Then he’d pull out every love later you sent him and read it. He’d walk over to his bed and re-read them a million times, relaxing into his comforter and sighing with the memories of you that overcame him with each word like tidal waves. He’d hug them to his chest, then pull the next one out to read, all with the softest smile.

His pain long forgotten, he’d fall into a peaceful slumber with parchment and letter sprawled all around him. All greeted with...

My love,

And all signed with...

All my love to you,

(y/n)

Remus traced over your handwriting and hugged the notes under his chin and deep into his chest. As if they would become apart of him, and in that way you will always be with him. But you were, you were everything to him. I won’t part from my love, he thinks, my love is apart of me.

He decided then, that he would do anything in this world to win your affection back. He would bare his soul naked to you, just for the word “love” to slip from your lips and into his being. He was no longer afraid of your rejection, he just craved the chance to see what you would do, of what good could come from his truth unfolding itself before you. He craved your acceptance of all that he was, and above all he craved for you to love him once again.

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mistaeq · 3 years

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nijimura okuyasu: half and half

tw // hospital things at the beginning, angst, flesh bud

contains: have you ever wondered why is okuyasu's hair half black and half gray? and what about his facial scars? NO reader insert.

dora's note: this comes from my mind entirely. but i found this interesting, and i care a lot about it. i was scared of sharing it, but i think it's worth a read. i hope so. thank you in any case.

word count: 2.4k

"so, sir... what you're saying is that you have no clue of what happened to your baby?" the nurse asked. the adult held the older son's hand tighter, to prevent him from telling the lady what had gone down during the previous hours. he knew the child enough to imagine keicho wouldn't have stayed silent about it.

"not at all. i left the two of them in the kitchen and moved to my studio for a while. i heard screams and a loud cry, and when i went back to them, the little one was bleeding and... crying. i got so scared." listening to his old man's lies, five year old keicho left the place, running off of his father's grip, because he didn't even want to be touched by him.

the man obviously made sure he had left the bloody ring at home, that one ring that originated two deep, symmetrical scars, the youngest nijimura would have never forgotten. and all nijimura mansaku could do about it, was lie, and say it was an accident. okuyasu, keicho's little brother, was in need of blood because of that injury, and it's meant to give you goosebumps, to know his only parent doesn't feel even remotely guilty about it. he's just ready to do anything in order to hide what really happened. in order to save himself over his baby.

the truth is, that not even dio himself ever trusted nijimura mansaku. it was clear from a mile away, that a man like him had no interest in the vampire's plan and intentions, rather than in the money he could earn from that alliance. that's why, to keep himself from being betrayed, dio brando made sure he gave him the flesh bud, a disgusting octopus-looking thing, that carried all of dio's will and dna. no wonder, the presence of that made his attitude as a father even worse than it was before. he was already used to hurting his sons, it more or less began when nijimura juuno, his wife and mother of his children, died. but the flesh bud worsened it, at the point that he didn't know when to stop.

at this point, both him and keicho had taken a blood exam to check the compatibility with okuyasu's body, and at the end of the day, the closest one was mansaku's one. how does it feel to save the son you almost killed with your own hands? how did you expect a three year old baby to endure that wrath? and the best part, is that all he could offer was dirty blood. dirtied by the flesh bud, dirtied by dio. but it's always better than nothing.

as he was running around the hospital after the blood exam's result, keicho looked for his little brother's room everywhere, and successfully climbed over a chair to take a better look inside of the room from the small window on the door. okuyasu was quiet. bandaged, connected to a bag, full of transparent liquid keicho couldn't quite identify. poor baby wasn't sleeping, his eyes were halfway closed. the blonde one blamed himself. that should have been him, not his little brother, he thought. if he could take the pain from okuyasu, he would have done that.

that was, until he felt the strong arms of a sweet nurse picking him up from the chair and putting him back on the floor. "be careful there, little one... who's your guardian?" oh keicho, he felt the impulse to go on and tell the lady that his father had lied. okuyasu's injury was no accident, rather domestic abuse. but all he could do was stare in the nurse's eyes. she looked like mom. she really looked like mom. the child pointed towards the door with his chubby finger. the sweet lady's breath gently hitched. "is that your brother? then your dad is looking for you. we'll take good care of him, he'll be fine."

so... it was okay, right? keicho trusted the sweet nurse. he even accepted to hold her hand as she guided him back to his father. and in his mind, when after a bunch of days of hospitalization, okuyasu was allowed to come back home, keicho thought the sweet lady had cured him directly. after such a concerningly narrow escape from guilt, mansaku didn't touch his sons for a week. it was the best week of the babies' lives. somehow.

"aniki..." the blonde's heart broke, everytime he heard that weak voice in his ears. he was combing okuyasu's hair, he always did. a lot of black, dark hair. the brothers were pure opposites. keicho's eyes were green, a really beautiful green, at it. they looked like two fresh apples. "...why won't these signs disappear...? i am ugly..."

okuyasu's eyes, on the contrary, were gray. as gray as a cloudy day, when it threatens to rain. and sometimes, it rained a lot in them. "they will disappear, eventually." keicho lied. "they're called scars. they make you look strong, not ugly." he knew what to say. it was a lot, for a six year old who had grown too fast. yes. six year old. he had his sixth birthday, during okuyasu's hospitalization. it wasn't celebrated. none of the children's birthday ever got celebrated, after juuno's death. but the biggest present had been the return of his little brother from the hospital, and it was more than enough.

"mama was b-beautiful." the little one mumbled with a short giggle. keicho moved a lock of his own golden hair away from his shoulder. he liked long hair. his father always forced him to keep it in a bun or in that weird hairstyle he used to have when mom was still alive. she used to style her son's hair with a braid when she had the chance, though. and keicho loved the braid too. "am i beautiful too?"

okuyasu's hair, on the contrary, was shorter, and pitch black. the elder brother liked to dip his hand in it, and it would just disappear in a dark cloud. "yes, of course you are." keicho's hair came from the fatherly part. mansaku's mother, the children's grandma, was blonde. on the contrary, okuyasu definitely looked more like mom. everyone on her family side was dark haired. and always tried to make others happy. keicho started to comb the younger's hair with his hands, and took the chance to check out the black again.

black on the front, black on the sides. black everywhere, every black hair around the house was okuyasu's. black were the eyebrows, black the eyelashes. the little locks of hair sprouting from the top of his head were black. the whole soft center of them was black, and just like the rest, his nape hair was... gold? no way. okuyasu was black haired, come on. keicho's hands trembled, as he touched those unusual locks. they were warm, and gave him negative feelings. but he couldn't quite understand how could it be possible. it didn't even look like human blonde. it was just... gold.

how do one's hair just turn blonde? nobody in history had ever had his hair to get blonde, no, gold, all of a sudden. nobody, right? right after that one operation, right after that one blood-giving thing. five year old keicho, smart but naïve, as kids are, just thought, that since father's family side was blonde, getting mansaku's blood could lead okuyasu to get blonde too. little did he know dio's dna was running around that blood because of the flesh bud on his dad's forehead. and that such a thing, injected in a three - almost four, in october - year old was no joke.

every morning since then, keicho would wake up in the middle of the night to go check on his little brother's new golden hair, and couldn't admit he was rather jealous, at this point. okuyasu's hair color was much brighter than his. soon, the pitch black cloud was gonna turn into a golden wind. that's how keicho was gonna call it.

the golden wind had started to spread more in okuyasu's nape, and reached the sides of his head as well. all that was left, was a bunch of black hair at the top. for a while, that one issue with the younger's hair had been an amusement for the both of them. "what if aaaaall of me turns gold?" the baby often asked, and keicho had an answer, under the form of "dad would sell you if you did, sweetie", but he never dared to really say that.

september came, okuyasu's birthday was always closer, and keicho waited for it patiently. every morning, he woke up earlier than usual, to comb his little brother's hair and get to school in time. on okuyasu's birthday, the kid couldn't help but notice the golden wind was a little paler than usual, but he'd just laugh it off with his little brother. "see? it's because you're turning old."

"but i-i'm... i'm not that old." god, okuyasu was an hilarious baby. and they laughed even more. now that they could. now that they had a reason to. because just a week later, their life would have been doomed.

keicho would have come back from school, he would have greeted his small sibling and caressed the golden wind with joy. add a prayer to make sure dad would have been used to hitting them less than he usually did. or better, not hit them at all, if possible. or at least, this is what he had planned. but he came back to an awful scene. the worst he could see. as soon as he opened the door, he was greeted with his little brother, crying right in front of him. for a second, he thought mansaku had beaten him again. "okuyasu!"

everytime he would beat them, before he stopped doing that after his little brother's operation, there was something weird about the man. like he hurt them without ever attacking. little did the children know, that he had a stand they couldn't see. "did dad hit you again?" he ran to okuyasu. "that scum!" but the little one kept saying no, and holding onto keicho as if something was scaring him to death. mansaku's screams could be heard from the other room, as if he was in pain. and it was looking down at okuyasu, that keicho noticed...

he didn't know what it meant. but dio had died. and with him, mansaku's flesh bud had gone berserk. and with that, okuyasu's golden wind became a gray cloud. dio was dead. it was over. the golden wind was over. "your hair..." keicho mumbled, caressing his little brother's hair. "what's happening..." he asked himself, as followed by the little one, he looked into the kitchen to see what was up with mansaku.

we all know what happened next. the man turned into a creature, not worthy of being called a man. the vampire had died, and the effect of his existance...

"...and the effect of his existance marked you for life."

the teenager's lips started trembling, as he pushed the tongue on his cheek's inside to prevent himself from crying. "okay, fine, it's a nightmare, after all. i'm gonna wake up in some minutes... and go to school... with josuke."

"i'm sorry, okuyasu." jotaro tightened his grip on the papers in his hands. the temperature in the nijimura household was dangerously cold, and the atmosphere caused by the topic they were talking to each other about was even worse. the marine biologist could swear the air was warmer, before he had finished explaining. "the foundation's been examinating all of your brother's childhood diaries. along with the testimonies josuke and koichi gave us about what your brother told them before his death."

"so, jotaro-san... i have these scars because the flesh bud made my father go mad." okuyasu stood up. "and i have this..." he pulled his hair in fury. "...this fucking hair because of dio's blood." jotaro started to feel not so much at ease. would have it been better for him to shut up about it? in josuke's opinion, it was the best choice. okuyasu deserved to know. "what is it, did that... scumbag mistake me for a customizable doll?" tears couldn't be held back anymore. kujo took his hat off.

"the hair thing happened to his son too. giorno giovanna, my... great grand uncle. but his hair changed from black to blonde when dio was dead, already. i think it's because it's a matter of parental genes, while you just had a direct injection of them when you were three, causing your body to react immediately."

"great granduncle..." okuyasu repeated, looking at the ground. "it's amazing you still have a great granduncle... and josuke is your uncle... you have your parents... and you have mr. joestar... and... a mrs. joestar, i believe...? and your daughter..." a couple of heavy tears fell on the ground from okuyasu's jaw. "you have such a big family, jotaro-san... i'm so jealous..."

how many families had dio destroyed? jotaro remembered of jonathan, even if they never met. jotaro risked seeing his mother die when he was seventeen. he witnessed friends die, when he was seventeen. and could, somehow, understand how would it feel for a teenager to lose his family. but maybe, he couldn't imagine how was it to come home to nobody. in his life, he used to come home to his mom and to his wife and daughter for a brief time. the kind of relationship he had with them is unrelated.

how does it feel to come home to nobody but a creature that barely remembers who you are? "josuke told me you would have probably said that." the marine biologist stood up, and in front of okuyasu's shocked gaze, he hugged the teenager. the younger one didn't even know what to do. did he have to hug back? did he have to stay still? he was hurting, but any kind of contact could make him melt. he trusted jotaro, he was a man to admire, in okuyasu's eyes.

"josuke told me so. and i agree with him, okuyasu. you're part of our family."

"family... t-thank you." the teenager finally hugged back.

he felt happy.

it was a painfully new sensation.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part four #diamond is unbreakable #nijimura okuyasu #jjba fics #angst

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opbackgrounds · 4 years

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Oooh can you do a post on the tenryubito?

So I feel like this is going to be an unpopular opinion, but I pity the Celestial Dragons.

That isn’t to say that they aren’t all (mostly) abhorrently evil megalomaniacs with an institutionally enforced god complex who treat the torture of human(oids) with the same blasé disregard as a kid pulling the wings off of a fly, but there’s a part of me that just finds them pathetic. The Celesital Dragons are a group of people who have the world as their silver platter, yet are so small-minded and infantile they literally trap themselves in a tiny bubbles because they’re too scared to breathe the same air as the so-called lesser races.

There was a time when I didn’t think much of the Celestial Dragons because I thought that Oda’s exaggerated storytelling had gone one step too far. They were too cartoonishly evil to be believable—nothing but a bunch of mustache-twirling villains too ridiculous to be taken seriously—and though I found Luffy punching one in the face very cathartic I wasn’t terribly invested in the World Nobility as a worldbuilding element.

But if there’s something I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older, it’s that there is a depressingly-large number of cartoonishly evil people who through no merit of their own find themselves wielding enormous amounts of power, and the Celestial Dragons are more realistic than I ever thought possible.

The Dragons are One Piece’s exploration of the idea that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Eight hundred years is a ridiculously long time to be in control of a single territory, let alone an organization as massive as the World Government. To put it in perspective a little, eight hundred years ago was when the Magna Carta was signed. Even real-world dynasties tend to have major fluctuations in power over the course of generations, but It seems that the World Government—and by extension the Celestial Dragons—have for eight centuries kept an iron hold over what they consider theirs.

Which just happens to be everything.

The actual origins of the CD tie into series lore and will probably play a big part in Robin learning about the True History, but I fall in the camp that believes that they originated on the moon because 1) they’re the Celestial Dragons 2) there’s gotta be some significance to Enel’s cover story, and 3) Oda clearly modeled their hairstyles and clothing off of the King and Queen of the Moon from the movie The Adventures of Baron Muchausen

Which, if true, makes them a foreign imperialistic force that used military might and a totalitarian regime that specializes in censorship and terror in order to turn the One Piece world into a giant colony while presenting itself as an egalitarian, unifying coalition where no single ruler is fit to sit on the Empty Throne.

And to think, there are some people who don’t think One Piece is political.

What’s really fascinating is that most of the rank and file Celestial Dragons don’t seem to realize their own history. Their traditional enemy has become a bedtime story used to scare children, and they’re too preoccupied in their petty games and pleasures to even notice that they’re not really the most powerful people in the world. It’s like their freedom to commit atrocities is the world’s worst example of bread and circuses, because as long as their attention is held by the shiny new slave or fixated on bringing in another tribute then they can’t use their immense power to actually do anything, and for the most part they’re too stupid to realize they’re being used.

Granted, I’m doing a lot of guesswork here, but we don’t really know where Im and his giant pointy crown fits into all this, or how aware the average Celestial Dragon is of his existence. Is he a world noble? Are the Elder Stars? I personally don’t think the latter are, but is it possible that there’s an even more secret and exclusive group within one of the most secretive and exclusive groups on the planet? And what in the world does the straw hat locked in a freezer have to do with any of it? Was that the treasure Doflamingo used to blackmail the Celestial Dragons into submission, and if so, who did he parlay with during his negotiations? Because I can’t see idiots like Saint Charlos or Mysogard before his character development giving two shits about any of it. Was it CP0, and if so, how much do they understand about the man who sits on the Empty Throne?

What I’m trying to say here, is that there’s a whole lot we don’t know.

What isn’t guesswork is how little the Celestial Dragons understand about the real world, and this is where I go back to feeling sorry for them. Even the best-intentioned noble we’ve seen so far (Homing) has no idea of what it is to be “human”.

This mansion is just...comfortable. It’s a downgrade. It’s how Homing thinks normal people live, and he thinks he can just plop his family out in the real world and live a quiet, normal life without blowback from a population that has suffered terribly at the Celestial Dragons hands. His ignorance and naivety, while well-intentioned, is staggering.

Because remember, slavery is technically illegal within the World Government. Only criminals and people from nations not affiliated can be taken to auction. What initially seems like a kindness turns out to be sending pigs to the slaughter, because what nation wouldn’t react the way this one did once they found out the truth?

Because what the WG (and by extension the CD) have done is punish nations who don’t kowtow to their power in order to fulfill the demand for slaves. Even the bit about criminals is terrifying when this is a world where for some it’s a crime to even be born, to say nothing about the Celestial Dragon’s refusal to obey their own laws if it means they can get what they want, when they want it.

The whole Homing situation puts a different spin on Doflamingo’s speech during the Marineford War. People who have only known peace can’t understand those who have only known war, and that lack of understanding is what ultimately led to his undoing.

That’s not to say that the Celestial Dragons are incapable of change on an individual level. One Piece is, ultimately, a very optimistic series, so while I was initially surprised that Saint Mysogard returned during the Reverie chapters as a good guy, upon later reflection it made sense with the points Oda was trying to make during the Fishman Island arc—that if different groups can try to understand one another, they can get along.

But it took an extraordinary event in almost being killed by his own former slaves and an extraordinary diplomat in Queen Otohime to change the mind of one (1) Celestial Dragon, and it doesn’t look like Saint Mysogard has been able to bring anyone else around to his point of view in the 10 years since he realized he was, in fact, human. And when feel like you’re due everything because you’re a god, why would you want to lower yourself to the position of a lessor being?

The Celestial Dragons are trained from birth to think of other human(oid) beings as less than animals, where sadism and torture aren’t only encouraged, but celebrated. The system has corrupted to the point where there’s no incentive to change and no oversight to prevent the abuse of power, and with the ability to call the admirals on anyone who pisses them off the average person has no hope of fighting back. It’s difficult to guess how noble the progenitors of the current Celestial Dragons were, but judging by what we know of the Void Century we can guess not very. At the same time, it’s hard to imagine them starting out as the mustache-twirling villains as we see in the current day. The only difference between the Nefertitis and the other kings was one man’s choice to stay with his people. In an alternate universe Vivi could have been a Celestial Dragon.

Now there’s an AU idea.

At the end of the day, the Celestial Dragons play an important role within the One Piece universe, but they are not, by themselves, important to Luffy. He hates their guts and enjoys punching them in the face, but he’s a pirate, not a Revolutionary. The future for One Piece is delightfully opaque, and it’s hard for me to see how the Natural Enemy of God ends up tearing the system to the ground. Will the Straw Hats end up going to space? I don’t know, but there are a lot of people who think it’s at least a possibility.

I personally find them at their most interesting when they’re playing the part of the outside influencer. The Celestial Dragons have only been the direct opponents to the Straw Hats a handful of times, but they’ve played a direct role in the lives of so many other characters—both heroic and villainous—that without them the series could not exist as it currently does.

And that’s the power of good worldbuilding. I don’t need Luffy to face off against Im to be satisfied with the series. In fact, he was brought in so late that I’ll be a little disappointed if he ends up as the final boss fight. I’m okay with the Revolutionary Army storming Mariejois off-screen, because while those are important players and major chess pieces, that’s never been where Luffy’s focus has been. He’s the man who’s going to become the Pirate King, and until the Celestial Dragons somehow get in the way of that dream he’s not going to bother with them. This lack of focus allows the inherent darkness of the Celestial Dragons not to overshadow the more lighthearted, whimsical aspects of the series. They explore certain themes that are important to One Piece, but the story doesn’t dwell in the mire, and I think it’s all the stronger for it. .

#long post #celetial dragons #world building #sarc talks

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weeb-stomper · 4 years

Text

Motels

Mirio Togata x F!SexWorker Reader

Prompt: “I’m tired of being your secret.”

Word Count: 1,404

A/N: I thought, the prompt usually makes people think that there’s a half in the relationship begging for love and so I did a little subverting of that. Sorry, it’s pretty angsty. Also, I felt like this piece was a lot more about reader than it was about Mirio, so he’s not actually really in it outside of reader’s thoughts.

@reinawritesbnha Haha, I feel like this is maybe not your normal type of fic but I’m really kinda proud of how this turned out and wanted to share with you.

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You’ve always hated motels. The horrendous patterns of the carpets that never seem to change no matter where you go, the stale air that never freshens despite the open windows, the dirty sheets that smell like the hundreds of people who have abused them no matter how many times they’ve been washed. You hate the artificial swirls and patterns that cover the ceiling in every room and the judgemental eyes of the desk workers who have come to be familiar with your presence. You share a moment of awkward eye contact with the woman behind the counter tonight as you collect the small room key, not missing the pitying look in her eyes and the sad smile that takes her lips. Your finger traces the large number eighteen emblazoned on the plastic tag, and you huff out a mirthless laugh.

“Key to misery…” you mumble to her, turning on your heel to head towards your prison cell for the evening.

Your fingers trace along the sparsely decorated walls, occasionally catching against a raised edge of the peeling paint. The smell of the dingy hall was gag-inducing, memories of your history in any given one of these disgusting rooms flooding your mind despite your efforts to knock them back, and your forward progress halts. You can see it up ahead. The dirty white door set into the wall accompanied by the dimly shining bronze eighteen drilled to the wall beside it. Breathing isn’t so easy at the moment, knowing that as soon as you step into that room the waiting game begins. Your now-long hair tickles the small of your back, kickstarting your nerves once more, and your heart hurts.

Taking a shuddering breath, you teeter forward, falling into an uneven gait. The soreness in the soles of your feet radiates up your calves, the strappy black heels having long since blistered your feet through the thin black nylon tights that clung to your skin. Slipping the key into the lock, you take one last look at the nightmarish halls that surround you before slipping through the door and locking yourself into your nightly cage.

You forgo the lights, opting instead for one moment longer of semi-peace. One extra minute of not being able to see your reality, and you could indulge in the fantasy of being literally anywhere else. Crossing the small room to the far left corner, you drop your bag into the padded chair that resided there. It was a terrible muddy yellow color, musty from overuse and under-cleaning, and (for tonight) home to a large bag of gifts from your client. A grimace mars your face as you pull out an intricate black-lace teddy, laying it out on the bed before slipping off your thick black coat. The cool air of the room stings against your previously shielded skin as you continue undressing, removing your shirt and folding it carefully before placing it, along with your skirt and jacket, inside the cheap particle board dresser drilled into the wall below the cheap and old tv. There’s something calming about separating your personal belongings from the job you do. Like locking your personality inside an industrial safe and exchanging it for the illustrious mask you don for the sake of the people who seek you out in the darkest hours of the night,

You cast a side-long glance at the old digital alarm clock sat on the simple bedside table. 8:52 flashes back at you in angry red lettering. Eight minutes to prepare before the ever-so punctual hero arrives to inadvertently destroy what little sense of ease you’ve managed to scrape together in the days since your last meeting. You’ve seen others since you last met him, but he was always the worst. Maybe because he’s a hero. Maybe because you know how truly sadistic he is behind that golden smile. But most likely because he demanded things be so extraordinarily personal. He treated every meeting with you like a beautiful secret meeting between a count and his mistress, cloaked in darkness and complete with loving embraces and chaste kisses before a teary departure. Forcibly disconnecting from your internal monologue, you turn back to the lacy article resting gingerly on the bed below you.

The scratchy material of the lingerie gouges canyons in your skin as it slides up your legs to settle across your torso, and a chill of a different kind tears through your muscles. Wearing the gifts was never pleasant, the sheer material writhing you in a permanent sense of discomfort, but there was something especially terrifying about tonight. You knew him well enough now to know that he’d been gearing up to something bigger than normal, and your instincts were screaming that tonight was the night it would culminate into whatever he’d been planning. Those thoughts, however, were for later. Now is the time for preparation, for rebuilding the mental barriers that he insists on tearing down every. Single. Time. Time to guard the parts of you that you’d rather not share and the words that you’d rather keep to yourself.

The smell of oranges turns your stomach. He loves the smell of oranges and had bought you his favorite version of the scent to coat the room before he appears for his evening visits. A generous spray for each pillow and blanket, pull back the sheets to spray the mattress, mist the doorway as per request. You can hardly control the rising bile in your throat, but you manage to choke it down. In a way it makes sense for him to seek the scent of oranges. It’s like a child reaching for a security blanket, a man seeking solace in the scent of summer. Fitting for the someone who “shines like the sun”, as his friends tell the news reporters in interview after interview. Lazily strolling to the large bag, you almost laugh. Your hand snakes inside, gripping the leather bound handle of your least favorite gift. A long, eight tailed braided flogger. Your fingers trail along the name etched into the handle, the weight of it amplified by the memory of the heavy strikes it’s performed on your skin time and time again.

Laying the weighty toy across the foot of the bed you take one last look at yourself in the cloudy mirror on the wall. Hair frames your face in a way that you’ve come to hate, in a hairstyle that he’s picked out for you. A long braid down your back that swings just so when you walk. You don’t understand why he always insists on it, he’s only going to rip it to shreds 20 minutes from his arrival. Sitting gently on the bed, your shoulders slump forward, and you remember better times. Being small, running through parks and playgrounds with friends and family, your feeling the wind rush through your short hair. The feeling of that smile stretching and splitting the chapped skin of your lips. You’d grown out your hair when he’d asked you to. The pay was too good to refuse. You miss your short hair.

A hollow feeling slams against your weary bones as a knock sounds at the door. Your eyes shoot to the clock. 9 o’clock on the dot it screams at you, dread settling deeply in your bones. You rise from your spot on the bed and walk languidly to the door. You can almost watch the mask fall over your face as a sensual smile slides onto your lips, a foreign and bizarre sensation. The door clicks open and there he stands. Looming impossibly tall above you, golden blond hair swept back and away from his face. The piercing blue of his eyes rakes up and down your body in an appraising gaze, a certain softness to his face that you knew better than anyone to be as false as the love he claims for you. He offers you a hushed greeting as he steps inside the room, pressing a small bouquet into your hands that is identical to every other he’d ever brought, right down to the bright yellow ribbon tied around the stems. You watch him as he approaches the bed, pulling his shirt off before lifting the play thing from amongst the bunched sheets. You can already feel the merciless strikes against your skin as the door closes to seal you in for the evening.

You’ve always hated motels.

#mirio togata #my hero academia mirio #myheroacademia #my hero academia #mha #boco no hero academia #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mirio togata x reader #Self Insert #angst #tw sex work #female reader #fem reader

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threeletterslife · 3 years

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chana, what are some of your pet peeves while reading a story? like things such as bad grammar. btw i love your works!!

god i love this question so much. and thank you for reading! 🥺🥺🥺i really appreciate the love!

i’m seriously going to sound like a grumpy ol’ bitch saying this but i have a LOT of pet peeves lol. i have such specific, meticulous taste that it’s hard for me to find stories (internet fics and irl books alike) that pertain to my weirdass standards 😀

quick disclaimer! just because i don’t like some of these popular/infamous/adored tropes doesn’t mean they’re not bad at all! remember, i’m just rEALLy picky! here goes:

fake dating. (i hate it. i can’t stand it when a story’s main idea is fake dating. i just can’t seem to understand why anyone would want to fake date. the scenarios always seem so bs-ed or middle school-esque to me. but someone is always welcome to prove me wrong.)

bad grammar. (this one speaks for itself. i can’t stand bad grammar. this doesn’t mean i’ll jump on you if you make oNE little mistake <because, i mean, we’re all human, you know>. but if the grammar mistakes are consistent... and far too many... i will be pissed 😀😀😀) honorary mention common mistakes: every day vs everyday; your vs you’re; .” vs ”. ; affect vs effect; anymore vs any more; their vs they’re vs there; lay vs lie; except vs accept; then vs than; -- vs —

bland/generic y/n. (i love writing in 2nd pov. but just because this ‘y/n’ character doesn’t technically have a name... doesn’t mean... she isn’t allowed to have a personality. a bland or mary sue-type y/n with zero dimension can single-handedly deter me from reading the rest of the story. remember, y/n deserves a personality too 😭😭)

starting the story with “I woke up in my bed after hearing my eomma call my name from downstairs.” (this is just a very specific pet peeve of mine that triggers my fight or flight. i’m blaming this on wattpad.)

using honorifics and romanized korean. (this is going to be very controversial. but... i think it kinda has to be said. i do not want to read an english story that is very obviously not set in korea and have to go through words like “eomma” “oppa” “jagi” “saranghae” “hyung” “jimin-ah” “taehyung-ie” “unnie” “noona” and sometimes a whole SENTENCE in romanized korean. as someone who is korean, i find it—for the lack of a better word—cringy. because of some of the stories i’ve seen, i can’t even speak my own language sometimes without cringing. you could NEVER catch me calling my older cousins “oppa” anymore even though i’m supposed to out of literal respect and culture. and it’s thanks to the fact that some (thankfully, a minority of) fanfiction authors romanticize/sexualize it. don’t even get me started on my younger cousins/siblings calling me “noona.” i wanna d-word every time i hear it because it’s been so sexualized in the ff community that i just don’t feel comfortable with them calling me that for platonic/respectful reasons. but i digress. if i can tell the author has done research and it is written well and correctly and in a non-sexualized manner, then i don’t have a problem with it. still wouldn’t read though 😭😭)

idol au’s. (also controversial. but this is mainly my fault LMAO. once upon a time, long ago, little chana first stumbled upon bangtan and decided she wanted to venture into the fanfiction world for them. her first fanfiction was a jungkook idol au. and now she will probably never write another idol au again because she is scarred. but seriously. idol au’s make me want to cry inside because 1. they’re unrealistic 2. the writers usually do little to no research on korea/the music industry 3. personal (humiliating) history 😔which again, is totally on me. i feel like this pet peeve of mine is unjustifiable tho lmao. a lot of people adore idol au’s. but i just can’t get into them)

adding photos in the middle of the story. (this just boils my blood for no reason i’m sorry 😭😭to me, it seems unprofessional. BOOKS may have illustrations. but only if the illustrations are showing a SCENE that the writing describes. not necessarily an outfit. usually, when internet authors put photos in their stories, it’s to show the ootd/makeup/hairstyle/what y/n is supposed to look like. i’m personally not into that. i think that should all be up to the reader’s imagination! that’s why we read, isn’t it? to be able to create our own faces and scene layouts from scratch!)

social media au’s. (VERY controversial. and kinda ironic since i’ve actually made a whole ass text fic. but lemme tell you it was not fun and i will never do it again 😭i don’t know. i’m not very big on social media lol. and a possible romance developing from such unauthentic apps like instagram, twitter, snapchat doesn’t sit right with me. i’m more into traditional/authentic romance! the kind where you sit down face to face and talk and giggle for hours—without the presence of devices)

a bad ending. (man this one’s a very personal pet peeve of mine. imagine slaving away reading a 100k+ fic just to find out the ending is abrupt, the strings are left untied and your favorite character just... dies. for no reason at all. i hate that feeling of no closure. a bad ending doesn’t necessarily mean a SAD one. i prefer sad/angsty endings to a happily ever after. but i think the ending makes up the whole story. and to have a good ending, the ending must somehow still connect to the rest of the story.)

character inconsistencies. (i love character development as much as the dude next door but just because a character does a 180 out of nowhere doesn’t mean they actually developed at all. real people take time to change!!)

when there are author’s notes IN THE MIDDLE of the story. (believe it or not, i’ve seen this happen. it interrupts the flow of the plot and it looks unprofessional. and the fact that i used to do this when i first started writing ff’s bYE—)

when the romance escalates from 0 to 100. (i’m guilty of this. but it’s also a pet peeve of mine to read something like this LOL. but i get it. writing subtle developments in romance is hard 😭😭but it doesn’t excuse itself from being one of my major pet peeves 😀😀)

when mental illness, domestic abuse, trauma is romanticized. (this is a given, i think. don’t romanticize someone else’s struggles for your fictional pleasure, please!!)

telling instead of showing. (probably one of the biggest pet peeves of mine. too often, i see writers outright telling me that their oc is ‘independent’ and ‘strong’ or that oc and jimin’s romance is ‘unparalleled.’ but if i don’t feel that from the writing itself, i’m not going to be able to believe it. but if you show me that oc is independent and that oc and jimin are meant to be with little scenarios and anecdotes, that’s gonna be a lot more effective!)

when’s there’s no chemistry between the couple. (this is probably everyone’s pet peeve LMAO)

the “oh no! there’s only one bed!” trope. (i never understood this because. damn just take the couch or sleep on the floor. OR just sleep in the same bed with a pillow barrier. it’s literally not a big deal 😭unless 👀 idk this one 100% depends on execution)

and i saved the worst for last:

when you read 50+ chapters for an ‘ongoing’ fic but when you get to the ‘end’... you realize it’s been discontinued since 2017 😀😀😀(the pain is fucking real y’all)

um.... that was a lot 😭😭i’m sorry. i actually thought i’d be a lot pickier, but i guess i’m actually really lenient on types of tropes and au’s. i’m okay with basically 99.9% of all tropes (yes, including vampire, abo, love triangle, etc) because i believe all tropes depend solely on EXECUTION. so generally, i keep an open mind. (with the exception of fake dating, idol au’s, social media au’s and the tHeRe’S oNlY oNe bEd trope lmaoo)

basically, i’m quick to give things a chance but quick to leave too 😔😔

i swear i have more penchants than pet peeves 😭😭but that’s a story for another time!!

#ask #anon #chana #i had fun answering but i might've gotten too heated LMAO #if anyone can prove me wrong... please do #i want to prove myself wrong too 😭😭

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blackmaylovesfries · 4 years

Text

"You can't domesticate me" - Meeting him

Asked: No

Words: 1641

Sinopse: Seventeen Hybrid AU - Xu Minghao is a Western Marsh Harrier hybrid that hated humans. So you didn’t even knew his real name even knowing him for many years…

Notices: Guns (not fired) and mention to violence (not consummated) and to torture (not explicit).

BIRTHDAY POLL

Masterpost

Previous / Next

The8… That was the nickname you gave the wild hybrid that was unconscious now in front of you. The nickname was chosen because you had talk to him only 8 of the many times you two encountered each other. He hated humans with all his will and had many motives to that, you were sure of it, but for some reason he helped you and your team a lot.

You smiled as you recalled all the times you encountered him in the field and he actually acknowledged your existence. You couldn’t help but think that maybe he didn’t hated you enough to ignore that you were really trying too help hybrids… You were lost in thoughts when Junhui found you.

Your first hybrid sat besides you and smiled. He got used to come after lunch to make you company during the days the wild one was unconscious. He knew that you had a history with the other and didn’t wanted to let you alone waiting for him to wake up. The others you adopted made everything they could to help around the center so you didn’t have to worry about daily jobs.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice was low.

“I’m thinking about when I first meet him.” You laid your head on his shoulder.

“JB said that you had run into him a couple of times…” You nodded “Can you tell me about it?” You looked into his eyes and saw sincere interest in them, so you started to talk.

---

The first time you both meet was in your first solo case. Exactly, he was the boy you saw when you were going to rescue DK’s mom. You were 15 and estimated that he was around 17 years old when it happened. You didn’t get his name and he clearly didn’t wanted to give it to you.

You remember that in the first moment you thought you had seen a tail so you assumed he was an earth wild hybrid. You looked for him everywhere after that day for almost an year but even Youngjae didn’t found anything about him. The only info you had was that the family mistreating him and DK’s mother had him for about 10 years before you find them.

When you questioned the couple, they just laughed when you asked about the ‘land hybrid’ they had. They just talked about how unrule that ‘creature’ were and how they should used more ‘discipline’ on him. As the case were already a bizarre and heavy one, you just let them go to jail and went back to look for him.

On the day of the mission you had let him go alone but you couldn’t help but be concerned about him. After all those years of abuse, could the slim hybrid survive on the streets by himself?

But after an year looking for him, your parents convinced you to give up. They told you to focus your energy on your new team and yours harder and harder missions. When you showed resistance, they told you that you could find him again, in other mission. That convinced you. That was also how you had your second meeting.

---

You and your team were a bunch of underage teens running around saving hybrids from the worst the human race can offer. Your parents made sure to keep you guys busy so you could accumulate experience before getting real hard cases. You and JB were currently helping the Strike team from another center in China, near the borders with North Korea.

It was the first illegal audition you went in a foreign country. Your task was to behave yourself like a spoiled young madam, which wasn’t difficult to you.Now, thinking in retrospect, you could tell that was that mission that made you and your second-on-command to think that your team was invencible. You totally didn’t understood how that mission had a good result.

“Remember to pay attention, okay? We can’t have you guys fighting for all the hybrids, some of them should be sold tonight so we don’t attract suspicion too early.” The leader of the chinese team remembered you and JB before you all got out of the car. “Before they can transport the hybrids out we will interfere, so don’t worry about it. Focus on buying time for the team do all the recognition they need.”

Both of you nodded in understanding. The mission was quite easy on your side so you weren’t really worried. But you couldn’t imagine that you would see a familiar face as the first hybrid to be auctioned. It was him, the thin one from your first mission! You tugged JB’s sleeves and indicated the hybrid. The older one just rolled his eyes for you.

Just then, something must have happened on the infiltration team side, because suddenly the lights were all out. The people from your side, you, JB and two more, ran to the hybrids, trying to get them out of there as soon as a “Damn” sounded on your ears. Not waiting for any other sign, you jumped in the host, knocking him unconscious.

“It seems that I’m saving your ass again?”

“I’m not going to thank you, if that’s what you want.” His voice was still the same, even his acid ressentiment.

“No need.” You freed him from the ties from his hands behind his back and from his feet connecting him to the stage. “But you could come with me, you know? Or at least with them” You indicated the chinese team that were covering you and your division, shooting the guests that wanted to fight. The boy snorted.

“Humans really think that my species should rely on they, huh?” He grabbed the ends of the thin himation that he was wearing and softened his look. “I do know that I have debts with you. Someday I’ll pay them all. But don’t wait for me to bow for humans again.” Without any other sound, the slim hybrid ran, mixing himself with the shadows and leaving you alone to deal with all that mess.

---

It was almost 2 years after the first time you met that you two had a ‘real’ conversation. You were taking a vacation on the countryside in a hybrid protected village when you noticed him sitting on a coffee shop.You had gone out without your parents that day and was able to recognise the boy, even if he changed his hair.

“How fancy to meet you here.” You smiled as you sat on the chair in front of him. The hybrid just lifted his eyes from his book for a moment before returning to his reading. “Come on! Talk to me, just for a little, I want to know what a hybrid that hates human, I’m sure you have your reasons, are doing in a village protected by humans.” He didn’t respond “Considers it as a payment from the last time.” The hybrid sighed before finally putting his book down.

“I’m here visiting. Just that. I’ll get out of here before dawn today. Anything else?” His tone was rude but not entirely.

“Yes, what’s your name?”

“Not telling.”

“How old are you?”

“Also a no.”

“Well, you could help me here, right? I’m trying to be your friend. Quite hard I must say.” That made him inclinate his body in your direction like he was going to tell you a secret.

“Keep trying, dwarf.” And with a half of smile, he got up and paid his bill, leaving you sitting there alone.

---

The forth time you two met was half a year after. In the same coffee shop. You went there to inspect the security quality in the village when you saw the familiar boy. Again, with different hairstyle. Not learning from the last time, you sat in front of him again.

“Hey! Long time no see! I thought you were back in China?”

“Coming and going.” He didn’t seemed surprised by your sudden appearance. He kept reading.

“Oh… So… What’s your name?”

“Scram.”

“Come on! You told me to keep trying!”

“I wasn’t counting on seeing you again.”

“Wow, that hurts!” You were being dramatic. “So, are you telling me anything or I really won’t ever be able to know anything about you?”

“18”

“What?” He had whispered, with his eyes still on the book.

“I’m 18 years old now…” He appeared to think “And I’m chinese.” You opened a smile but he kept going “That’s all I’m telling you. Now stop bothering me, don’t you have some job to do?”

“I do actually.” You saw Youngjae walking in your direction. “I’m happy! Thank you for telling me.” Your tone was sweet when you said your goodbyes and you ran back towards Youngjae.

---

“Why are you telling him this old stories?” A raspy voice interrupted your storytelling with Jun. Both of you turned to the bed and saw that The8 had opened his eyes.

“Well, I thought you’d die, so I’m sharing all the debts you had with me.”

“I paid them all, don’t even joke.” Although he was weak, the hybrid still could stare at you. And he clearly wasn’t happy. “What am I doing here?”

“You fell. From quite high and wasn’t in your other form so you went straight to the ground.” you knew that the tone you were using could only be used to him. It was one of the singularities from your relationship.

“When I can get out of here?”

“As soon as all your bones are fixed.” He grunted. “It’s not like we are forcing you to stay, you know? We are just asking for you to wait until you’re recovered before going.”

“Keep the human doctors away from me.”

“Deal.” You smiled while dragging Junhui out with you and going to call the hybrid doctors.

Tag: @hopsiclesposts ; @woohoney ; @warm-smiles-and-blue-skies ; @childfmoonn ; @moonmin-miya ; @hope-ji

#Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen the8 #seventeen hybrid au #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #hybrid the8 #bird #bird the8 #xu minghao #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop x reader

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musicallisto · 4 years

Note

Hello! Could I get an HP ship? I’m short (5’0) but I’ve got a big personality to make up for it. Mid length blonde hair, Bright blue eyes, and tons of freckles. I’m very outspoken about things that I’m passionate about, and I speak before I think which lands me in trouble. I love to tend to my plants and succulents, and go exploring around my area. Otherwise I enjoy cooking, and being creative with drawing, painting or ceramics. For the prompts, either #06 or #12, I couldn’t decide at the time!

Casus Belli (Fred Weasley x Reader)

author notes: I have not explored the prank theme enough - *side eye at all the fics I have written with characters being mischievous and doing dumb stuff to annoy people they love* - nope, definitely not enough. Sorry for the wait, hope you like it!

prompt: #12. "How OLD are you?"

word count: 1k words

your song: cyndi lauper - girls just want to have fun

MOST OF THE time, the Great Hall at Hogwarts was a tranquil place. Students from all houses could reunite to brainstorm ideas for their common assignments; sometimes a heated, whispered argument would break out regarding the best way to tackle the parchment on Boggarts; and the busiest of afternoons consisted of friend groups pretending to work by passing notes around and flying. Working on your homework wasn't your favorite thing to do, but at least the environment was nice enough, with its vague odor of turkey and candles and rattling of quills, to help you concentrate.

That was, of course, until the Weasley twins decided to have a little fun by shattering the peace and quiet.

It was usual for your boyfriend and his brother to break in the Great Hall with an upteenth trick up their sleeve, with that mischievous chuckling and attitude you could see from a mile away; so in all fairness, you should've been prepared for them to do so, once again. But they usually made sure their arrival was noticed, and your studying session with Angelina had been unsuspiciously quiet until the moment they had snuck up to you.

"I don't understand - so the Salem witch trials were orchestrated by wizards to appease superstitious Muggles?" you summarized, staring in disbelief at your open book and empty History of Magic assignment.

"Seems like it, yes," Angelina muttered. She was far more productive than you, and had already blackened with ink a full page. You, on the other hand, thought nothing could be better than apparating out of there and into a sunlit greenhouse, to paint the surrounding flowers.

"Why do we even have to learn American history, anyway?" you grumbled, folding your arms and leaning back in your chair.

"It's more like Wizarding history," your friend replied without looking up from her quill. How she could be so unbothered and focus when spring was just around the corner and a million colors blossomed outside would forever remain a mystery to you.

What would also remain a mystery is how Fred Weasley managed to stand right behind you without you hearing the ancient floorboards creak under his weight.

As you were debating the policies led by the Hogwarts educative team and the Education Department of the Ministry of Magic, you felt a sudden tug at your hair from behind. Raising a hand to the back of your head, you brushed the fingers of the culprit as they retreated promptly. You turned around; right behind you stood your boyfriend Fred; a few steps back, his twin; on both their faces, the kind of smile that always makes you fear the worst.

"What are you doing?" you frowned.

"Nothing," Fred grinned, and you only then noticed that he kept his hands behind his back. "Can't I give my girlfriend an encouraging nuzzle?"

"Y/N..." Angelina murmured, her wide eyes stuck on your hair.

Overcome with a sudden rush of panic, you ran a hand through your hair.

Immediately, you knew something was wrong.

Fred and George burst out laughing and high-fived, but after a few seconds, their laughter unexpectedly died down, and their stunned silence told you something was very wrong.

"Maybe we've overdone it with the pigments," George suggested pensive, and when Fred nodded with a renewed amusement, you thought you would kill him right there.

For the moment, though, you were too preoccupied by your hair rapidly growing and changing color. Your once blond hair that barely reached your shoulders was now neon green, the brightest you'd ever seen, and you could feel your strands growing by the second like infinite ropes. You almost muffled a yell when they reached the seat of your chair, now longer than you'd ever had them, and yet still growing; you observed them until they stopped, maybe ten centimeters from the ground, and the top of your skull tingled for a few seconds as if it were swarming with ants.

Only then did you yell.

"What the bloody hell, Fred! What is this? How OLD are you to be doing that still?"

"I'm seventeen, dear. And as for the other question..."

As if they had repeated the theatrical unfolding of the entire ordeal, Fred and George triumphantly whipped out from behind their backs two brightly-colored hairbrushes, shining dimly in the artificial light.

"The Comb-a-Chameleon!" they exclaimed in unison.

"I chose the name," precised George.

"And I the design. A magical comb that can change the hairstyle of any witch and wizard."

"It's still in its early stages. It's not supposed to make a change so drastic..."

"We'll make a few adjustments."

"Thanks for being our test subject."

You were fuming. Fred, somehow, always managed to surpass himself in ingenious mischief with each new gadget he invented and prank he pulled. More than once, you had pitied the professors and students - mostly bullies or particularly insufferable Slytherins - who fell into his iron clutches, merely escaping with drenched clothes or funny hats... but to attack you! You! You, who had always been supportive of his every endeavor! You, his most loyal and trusted advisor, his rock in the storms, his girlfriend!

"That's all very pretty, but can I get my hair back now?"

Both twins exchanged a complicit glance, and your blood froze in your veins.

"Did we find a way to turn it back to normal, aside from waiting seventy-two hours?"

"I don't think so."

A growl rose in your chest, traveling all the way to your throat, until you could not contain it anymore. Bolting from your chair, you pointed an accusatory finger at Fred. Merlin, how ridiculous you must have looked with your bright green, abnormally long strands, swirling around your furious head like radioactive branches!

"Oh, this is an unforgivable affront, Fred Weasley. If it's war you want, then war you will get."

Both Weasley twins' lips curled upward ever so slightly, their eyes taking the unmistakable tint of an accepted challenge. Half of you regretted, as you usually did, speaking before thinking twice... the other half jumps in anticipation.

"This is war, then."

>> ships are closed

#ship drabble #ship request #hp #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #helloallthethingsilove #mywriting

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ohnohetaliasues · 4 years

Text

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 1}

(Kat)

This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever read, isn’t it?

Am I going to actively want to die? Yes, most likely. But apparently, because I run a blog like this, I can endure suffering.

Flashbacks to Blood Raining Night.

Here we go. We will start with the introduction, written by the onion lord himself.

I want to be direct, my name is Greg. I go by “Onision” online.

Okay, I dunno what it is, but something feels off about this sentence.

This book is made up of events that occurred in my own life mixed with fiction from the made up life of James. James is essentially a better version of myself.

I can’t imagine how good that could be, seeing as the man who wrote this is a child predator and is just an overall piece of hot garbage.

His home, his school & his life all resemble my own at his age.

Don’t ever use a fucking ampersand instead of the word ‘and.’ It’s just bad grammar.

The people James analyzes and is surrounded by are not so unlike those I’ve known as well.

Analyzes?

Why?

I have experienced much of the loss James has however his happier moments are more often than not also mine.

Then write a memoir. Not this.

I want to share my story without it being purely non-fiction.

I mean, some people do this with books about their lives, but this feels... Odd?

I simply felt this approach would make for a far better book. At points I cried while writing this, at others I laughed.

Congratulations.

I don’t care.

Stones To Abbigale is not just a book I wrote, it is a piece of who I am.

That’s a given for all writers, but I still don’t care.

I’m going to rip this book to shreds.

Okay here we go.

I was asleep until I met her, but when I woke, I learned the meaning of "perfect imperfection."

Is this Onion boy trying to be poetic?

It actually made me want to die.

I've always been the type of person to focus on stars as we spin beneath them, the cool breeze on a sunny day, scattered patches of grass under my feet, the world around me, often forgetting to even glance at the one within.

‘The one within.’

Okay so the way this is written makes those three things seem disconnected. I often do stuff like this when I write, but I’d write it like ‘as we spin beneath them, focus on the breeze on a sunny day, on the scattered patches of grass, etc.’

You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to rewrite that garbage sentence. This is all very waxing poetic and not in a good well structured way.

I had remained emotionally unexplored for so much of my life.

That must’ve been boring, not experiencing human emotions like the rest of us.

You sociopath, you.

It's painful knowing some can go an entire lifetime without understanding their own heart, an internal lock waiting for the right key to change everything.

Yeah, whatever, shut the hell up, you whiny idiot.

This is like an introduction by a teenager who just opened a poetry book and was like ‘yup. I wanna write like that.’

Except you aren’t William Blake or Walt Whitman and you never will be.

Sorry, Onion boy.

Except I’m not.

Die mad about it, grease ball.

It was the first Monday of November. I opened my eyes, blinded by my recently painted wall-to-wall white room. Even my bed frame, constructed of purely metal, was painted white.

Okay, cool. I’m a descriptive writer and I take every chance I can get to mention details, but even I find this description awkward. It feels irrelevant in this situation.

It bounced off the walls causing my eyelids to desperately clamp together. Painting my room like this was a clear act of subtle self-inflicted psychological torture.

Then why in the sweet hell did you do it? Do you enjoy suffering?

Actually, he probably does.

Because this is edgy as hell.

I was going through another phase, from darkness to light, and repeat. Seemed like the story of my life.

This is so edgy I am in physical pain.

You know your symbolism is good when it’s so random that you have to point it out and explain it to your audience.

My mom could see the darker colors were depressing me, I felt comforted by them, but found there were good aspects of both extremes. I was happy to visit either side, they are both so simple. But right now the intense light bouncing from wall to wall felt like it was ripping my mind in two.

Am I an idiot or is that just... word salad?

My mom didn't wake me. My alarm clock sat on my dresser with no explanation for it's failure to function. The clock only illuminated a blank stare with 8:17 written all over it's face. While entirely robotic, I imagined the clock to have the dumbest possible expression, one complementing its failure to behave any way outside its random glitch-infested nature.

That was the worst way to write a personification ever, but okay.

In the reflection of it's plastic face I could see myself unconsciously making the dumb expression I was imaging the clock to have. I laughed in my casual dorky tone and began to get ready to leave home.

I’m not laughing, idiot.

Without breakfast, I left for school with a bogus note in hand to idealistically explain my tardiness.

You... You wrote a fake note?

Do you realize you could get in trouble for that?

You’re an idiot.

I think most of my teachers were too exhausted to worry about small variances in our appearance from time to time. With how low their pay likely was, I imagined there were very few rules most teachers cared about.

That isn’t true at all. Teachers have to pay attention to rules unless they want to get, I dunno, fired.

It was another cold day in Lakewood. The wind hit my eyes forcing tears to form in the corners as I sped along the sidewalk at a no-doubt unreasonable speed.

I cannot imagine any good imagery for this scene. I’m just imagining this gif:

I passed Lauren and Raymon walking the opposite direction, no doubt headed toward the nearby church where all the students go to smoke, make out and hide out till school ends.

Um okay. Does this guy know that if characters don’t have relivance to the story, if they have no reason to be named, than they don’t have to be?

No.

Because he’s a 34 year old man baby.

They seemed so childish as they held hands and smiled excitedly as if they had gotten away with some tremendous crime.

That sentence seems so robotic I genuinely can’t.

Mr. Hanson, my heavy-set, middle-aged history teacher, rolled his eyes as I walked into class. "James, talk to me after class" he said quickly, looking away from me as if I were an undervalued employee who was barely important enough to make eye contact with let alone deliver a full sentence to.

It bothers me so deeply that a new paragraph wasn’t started when this character talked.

"I have a note," I said. He ignored me, and continued his lecture on yet another topic that would not only be completely useless later in life, but wasn't even relevant for even a few seconds after the words left his mouth.

Why is this teacher acting like a petty teenager?

I’m deeply annoyed by this.

And yeah, it’s relevant. You have tests, you idiot. Take notes. And it’s also history, which is, again, relevant.

In conclusion, shut your mouth and stop bitching.

There was only 15 minutes left in the class, but I felt it would be more stimulating to integrate myself into the room to yet again study my classmates' behavior than to sit in a hall watching the rows of scum covered tiles inevitably slide off the decaying walls.

That’s a health code violation, friends.

Or Onion is an awful writer and he thinks describing a school like this is a good idea. My money is on that.

For as long as I remember I've enjoyed seeing how people move around and talk to each other, like they're all animals at the zoo.

Something is wrong with you, friend. Liking to people watch is one thing, but doing shit like this is something else entirely.

Uh, try sociopath-like?

Creepy as hell?

We’ll go with both.

I would try to deliver a more accurate analogy if I felt there was one

Bitch, there is. I can’t name one off the top of my head because reading this makes me feel like my brain is melting out of my ears, but I’m 100% sure there is a better analogy. Even though this feels more like a simile.

but so many of them seemed incredibly unaware of themselves, just living life as if it were some generic predefined routine.

Oh, and you’re so much better obviously, you pretentious bastard.

Sometimes I felt like an alien who had a VIP pass to submerge myself in primitive human culture just for entertainment.

Congratulations, that’s also what you sound like.

I sense everything I can take in around me. The seemingly limitless audible tones, tremors in the voices of growing children rang in my ears. In studying people, I found myself gradually learning to literally feel the various personality types I encountered.

Do you... Do you have psychic powers?

If not, shut your damn mouth.

I hyper analyzed every inconsistent smell, the seemingly random clothing styles, freckles, and assorted hairstyles filled my mind with questions. Trying to rationalize and understand what sequence of events led them to decide who they would become.

You are the most pretentious protagonist I have ever read. I’m half a chapter in and I already fucking hate you.

This character is so poorly written and immediately unlikable. i cannot relate to him at all and if someone does, I suggest you go get some help because how this asshole is behaving doesn’t sound human.

I took favor of categorizing most everyone around me. The socially inept know-it-all, the dumb attention-seeking drama kid

On behalf of all drama kids, go fuck yourself.

and the bleach blonde bimbo who gets overly defensive at the slightest hint of criticism.

Do you mean you?

Onion obviously didn’t let anyone edit this garbage.

Then there were the kids who just hoped no one noticed them at all. There was so much to be seen, to be considered and organized in my mind.

Mhm.

I don’t care.

Class had just ended so I walked over to Mr. Hanson's' desk &

And*

placed the tardy note down in passing. As I walked out with the rest of my class, he called after me. "James! We still need to talk!" I responded but continued to walk outside the room. "I have to be early to my next class! Let's talk tomorrow!"

You’re an asshole.

And I hate you.

I walked quickly down the hall towards my art class, which was awkwardly placed in a trailer outside my clearly poorly funded high school.

Um.

Okay.

On my way to the class a fight had already broken out between two jocks who, no doubt, both had controlling, iron-fisted fathers who brainwashed them into believing conflicts between men are best resolved with the bloodying of their fists.

That’s a bold thing to assume, dear Onion.

These kinds of men plagued my mind with wonder. I could not conceive a scenario in which they could justify their primitive & pointless mentalities yet they would always continue to perpetuate their self-destructive attitudes as if it offered the slightest legitimate benefit.

Oh, shut your pretentious mouth.

Most everyone nearby crowded around the fight. None of them likely cared who was winning, what it was about or how far it went. All they ever seemed to show concern for was their own amusement, always excited to see violence without having to pull out their wallets to pay for it.

Are you joking?

Where are the teachers?

This is complete bullshit.

This is high school, not a fucking fight club.

Does Onion even try to make this believable? Or is he just vomiting all over his keyboard and just accepting whatever nonsense that makes?

As the sounds of flesh collided fist to cheek & chest quickly followed the howls from the surrounding students. They would scream "Oooohhhh!" as if it were sincerely delightful to witness creatures like themselves suffer & fall apart before their eyes.

The use of ampersands is making me lose my goddamn mind.

Even if I had time to stop, I never really took pleasure in seeing strangers hurt each other. Most all fights seemed avoidable and were often initiated for a senseless reason.

Go choke on air. This protagonist annoys me more than any protagonist has. I’m not joking. Fuck this dickwad.

I know, you could say it's more complicated than that, I would like to think it were as well, but reality trumps the way I wish things would be. There's no sense in fighting it when doing so rarely helps anyone.

While this is true, this is worded in a way that’s so pretentious it’s painful and also in a way that paints this protagonist in such a white knight-y way that it makes me want to die.

As I approached my next class the image of Abbi's face illuminated the neon walls of my mind like a projector teasing a theatre screen with fleeting moments of depth & purpose.

That is complete and utter word salad. Stop immediately.

Ever since I met her, she had occupied a part of my consciousness; whenever I wasn't near her I missed her to an unrealistic extent. You could call my longing sad especially considering we had barely talked; she just had a strange effect on me, one no doubt similar to a willful addiction.

That’s called a crush, but the way that was just described is so creepy.

There are people in life which we pass by on a daily basis, barely aware of their existence, but on an exceptionally rare occasion you can find a person who fills an area inside your little world you didn't even realize needed filling.

While that’s technically not untrue, it feels like a lizard person is trying to tell me what having a crush on someone is like.

As I walked up the creaking stairs into my art class trailer I could see Abbi was sitting at her shared-desk, alone, same makeup, hairstyle & general appearance I had thought about repeatedly over the last couple days. She was drawing pictures on her blue-lined paper, distracting herself from the cold that filled the oddly glowing room.

This... This imagery is so fucking weird.

I smiled slightly trying not to be too obvious and sat down on my chilled metal chair positioned a few seats to the left in front of her. Glancing over, I could see she hadn't moved at all, I felt like she didn't even notice me come in.

You aren’t the center of her world, so yeah, she’s focused on something else. That’s just how it is, asshat.

I wanted to inspire some acknowledgment of my existence from Abbi so I opened my mouth to greet her when my fingers brushed up against freshly smeared gum under my desk. "Eeew!" I shouted out on impulse. She looked up at me with a blank expression.

I’ve accidentally touched gum on the bottom of my desk before, as I can imagine everyone has, but I’ve never shouted about it like a lunatic.

Bursting into the room came a group of boys. "Dude I think John's done bro!" one of the other boys laughed, saying "Won't see them for a week at least."

Nobody talks like this. Have you ever spoke to another human?

I looked back at Abbi to see she also didn't react to their outburst. Strangely knowing that her apathy was generalized and impersonal gave me comfort.

There needs to be a comma after ‘strangely,’ but whatever.

Her influence on how I felt was obviously dangerous but I didn't care as no matter how fond I was of the idea that I was not of the world, I knew my place and had no real interest in pretending otherwise.

Explain to me how in the hell that’s dangerous.

Jason, one of the boys energetically praising the fight they had just seen, sat in his seat next to Abbi. I smirked watching her shoulders shift away from him. Her body language sent a loud message that she had the same impression of Jason as I did. He was just another moron, placed on this Earth to live his life completely unexamined,

That word is not used properly in that sentence.

a pawn that had no awareness of its own role let alone that it was just another tiny component within a massive unstoppably twisted game.

Shut your pretentious mouth because that doesn’t make any goddamn fucking sense.

I know it sounds morbid and condescending but my attitude was just something that naturally developed the more I studied human behavior.

Bullshit.

I would be more optimistic but I find doing so would be like walking into a room with no windows and turning out the light. If you refuse to see the world around you for what it is you're just wasting your eyes.

Being optimistic means looking on the good side of things. You’ve heard the glass half empty or half full thing. it’s that. And as someone who jumps between optimism and pessimism, being optimistic isn’t like this at all.

Don’t try to be poetic or funny, Onion. Those are two things that you aren’t.

Art class was about to begin. My teacher, Mrs. Stanley, who looked like she should have retired a ridiculous thirty years ago, approached the front of the room talking about how art is sacred. She also discussed the random object she had us all draw the previous school day and ironically graded it by using her own narrow-minded definition of art.

That isn’t ironic.

I always wondered how teachers could even attempt objectively grading art. Is there any logic behind validating a form of self-expression using a cold black and white mathematical system?

It’s a class where you have to follow the curricula. Shut your damn mouth.

And this is coming from someone who hated her art teacher. But this art teacher was so utterly closed minded that she didn’t accept anyone else’s creative process. She basically told us that if we didn’t follow her process, we weren’t real artists.

"Today I'm going to place you with partners" Mrs. Stanley said as she pulled out sheets of paper outlining our activities to come. "To keep this simple, I'm going to partner you with the person you are currently assigned to share a desk with" she said. I sighed knowing I was bound to be paired up with Alex, a guy I had specifically asked to be seated away from ever since he peed in a jar literally right next to me under our desk, acting like he was so cool for publicly exposing himself while simultaneously urinating.

That... He expected to be treated like he was cool for this?

That’s fucking disgusting.

It happened weeks ago and I still can't figure out what kind of crazy it takes for you to, in the presence of people you barely know but have to see nearly on a daily basis, pee in a jar held in your hand just beneath your desk in the middle of a classroom.

At first when I read this, I thought that the wayit was worded made it sound like Alex forced James to hold the jar while he peed in it, but okay, whatever.

What then? You show it off like you will be praised and accepted as if it were an accomplishment? Alex, despite being borderline mental, was one of my least favorite people to study.

It is actually physically exhausting to read this shit. James is a pretentious asshole.

I couldn't help but feel there was some defect in his mind that invalidated the point of conducting a thorough analysis of him.

This just makes it seem like James has mind reading powers.

He was completely irrelevant when considering the realities of normal human behavior.

Behavior you don’t act according to, you lizard person sociopath.

As I was off on a tangent in my own mind I heard a familiar voice ring out, one that inspired the very same emotion you experience when a song you had forgotten you loved, randomly plays in the background of your daily life. "Can I be paired up with James?" her voice was just as I remembered.

Is this Abbi?

I have a friend who spells her name like this, so I really hate that there’s a character in this shitty book who shares a name with her.

Despite her having not spoken in class in some time, she hadn't changed a note. Abbi had interrupted the teacher just to partner with me, but I asked myself if was it really just to work with me or just to get away from Jason.

Um. Okay.

The teacher, looking irritated but understanding Abbi's discomfort with Jason responded "Alex and Jason, you'll be partners. James, switch seats with Jason" "Thank you!" Abbi said with a slight smile. With a cocky grin Jason stood up and in a comedic fashion smelled his armpit. "Wow, I didn't know I smelled that bad" Jason said as he walked over to sit by Alex.

That isn’t funny and Onion boy isn’t funny.

Approaching Abbi was no doubt a way scarier act in my mind than it was to everyone around me, I felt like my head was burning from the inside out.

That’s a little extreme.

Nevertheless I continued to remind myself that her public outcry to partner with me could have meant nothing. I sat down next to her and did all I could not to turn into a complete dork on her. She reached out and grabbed the project outline that was being passed out. Mrs. Stanley began to read the description of the assignment. "Today you will both be taking something meaningful, but expendable, from your own homes."

If something is meaningful it isn’t expendable. Stop.

Mrs. Stanley looked up and emphasized, "That you own!" then looked back down at her paper. "You will tear those items apart here in class. You will then take those items and, using the adhesives, staples and the strings available in class, find a way to create something new out of those possessions."

That’s actually kind of an interesting idea. But like. Maybe with a cup? I don’t wanna rip apart something I care about.

She looked up and said in a low voice sounding somewhat like Dracula "Two, will become one."

That is unnecessarily creepy. It reads like an innuendo.

Also, what in fresh hell does Dracula’s voice sound like?

Did she say it with a Transylvanian accent? I’m confused.

Jason raised his hand objecting, "All due respect Mrs. Stanley I'm not breaking something of mine for this class."

Jason has the right idea.

She replied putting her hands on her hips, "That's fine Jason. We'll supply you with a toilet paper rolls, we have plenty of extras around here." Jason suddenly looked disturbed and sarcastically spouted "Freaking great!"

Why???

That’s better than ripping apart a t-shirt.

Mrs. Stanley asked, "Are you sure? Your grade shouldn't suffer that much if you two just take Alex's piss jar and tape it to a toilet paper roll. You're already failing this class."

What in the literal fuck?!

You cannot say that to students. No, you can’t say that to anyone.

Jason couldn't believe what she had just said

Same.

and Alex maintained an awkward frozen facial expression with his mouth slightly open in his normal weirdo somewhat robotic fashion.

"Oh my god" Abbi whispered under her breath with a slight smirk. I grinned uncontrollably; just seeing her amused was amazing to me.

That wasn’t really funny, it was just shocking.

I could hear a scream in the back of my mind reminding me my dorkiness and borderline obsession was escaping through my face.

It's not that I couldn't help being in awe of Abbi and basically every little thing she did, I simply didn't want to change how I felt. In a way, she was like your favorite song or book, you could pretend not to like it and in time with the right mental coaching maybe you would sincerely dislike it, but life just felt so much better embracing your condition entirely, letting all your nerdy admiration flow freely.

This just reads like an obsession. I don’t have the energy to actually express how romantic feelings actually feel, but this is terrifying.

Mrs. Stanley continued, "If there's anyone else who has an issue, please take it up with my 1800 number which is?" She put her hand up to the air signaling the students to react but only a couple kids replied aloud with her catch phrase. "1-800-BOO-HOOO" they mumbled.

Sweet Jesus.

So this is what it feels like to lose my mind.

She continued, "Good, now for the rest of class please work with your partner on what you plan to bring and draw up a prototype sketch of what you feel your final piece of art will look like." Mrs. Stanley walked to the back of her room and sat down at her 1950's looking rust-infested desk.

Is this school just a giant health code violation? And what the hell do you mean by ‘1950′s desk?’ All I got when I googled that were pictures of wooden desks.

I would always laugh internally when I looked at the old thing. Maybe it was my way of coping with the fact I attended one of the most run down schools in the state.

I have nothing that isn’t full of curse words and fact checking to say here.

"What are you going to bring James?" Abbi asked.

This sentence is put so Abbi looks like she’s asking if James is going to bring himself without the comma after the word ‘bring.’ Did Onion really not edit his book at all? These are simple and fixable grammatical mistakes.

It was amazing hearing my name pass her lips but I had no time to think, if I didn't respond right away she would think I was totally awkward. "I... have no idea..." I responded. Smiling she said, "I'm going to bring my hamster cage", I asked, "Did he die or something?" she laughed, "No, I never got one, the cage was just a gift from my dad."

But you’re supposed to cut it up.

Hamster cages are made of metal.

Does Abbi just have superhuman strength? Is she going to bring a pair of bolt cutters?

"Your dad didn't get you a hamster... for the cage?" I asked.

My question exactly.

Sometimes you just...

You just gotta give your daughter a hamster cage but no hamster.

She paused and started to lose her smile.

Oh fabulous, she’s one of those characters.

At the first sign of her smile fading I felt a crushing pressure in my chest. "Hopefully you can find something that will work with that," she said. I couldn't help but feel like a total jerk despite not even knowing what I did wrong.

That interaction was so... Weird? Robotic? i don’t know. Something felt wrong about it.

I had the overwhelming urge to fix how she felt so I took a gamble, "Well, I could always bring that weird vibrating thing my mom hides in her drawers all wrapped up in a cloth" I said.

What is wrong with you?

I cannot fathom what made Onion think this joke was funny.

She busted out laughing hysterically as a huge grinned filled my face. I was so happy I could get her to smile again. "Eeew! James!" she continued to laugh as the extent of my grin began to stress my cheeks. I couldn't remember a time when I was this obvious about how I felt.

This... Something is wrong with just... all the dialogue.

And with the formatting. You make a new paragraph when someone starts talking. A 34 year old man should know this. He writes like me when I first started writing, and while this probably means he just started writing, I was 11 years old when I wrote like this.

He is a 34 year old adult. There is no excuse for how bad this formatting and how generally terribly written these interactions are.

Abbi's laughing trailed off and she paused. Turning to me she said, "You... you didn't actu- ally... your moms?"

*Pained groaning.*

I responded, "No, I wouldn't know about that, but I'm glad it made you laugh." She responded, returning to a soft laugh "You're more goofy than I thought James." I sat next to her looking at my fingers interlaced in front of me; my wide smile relaxed but still filled my cheeks with warmth.

This entire chapter, everything here, is so awkwardly written.

As class came to a close Abbi patted me on my arm. I turned and she handed me a note. Instinctively I put it in my pocket and said "See ya tomorrow", she just smiled and walked away.

????

On my way to my next class, I opened the note. I didn't understand why, but it read "NISEONE."

Not knowing what to make of it and with little time, I stuffed it back in my pocket to look over later.

Yeah, that’s cryptic as hell.

Not feeling like skating home,

Oh, we’re really getting into edgy 2000′s shit now.

I got on the bus to see all the normal rejects and misfits waiting. Davis, a short and scrawny kid who had been my best friend since middle school despite being one grade behind me excitedly waved me over.

Oh, good, more terrible characters.

"James! Nice to seeeee you!"

Oh, this bitch needs to die.

he said in seemingly the dorkiest way possible. I smiled as he stood up giving me the window seat, knowing very well by then that I preferred it.

Um. Okay.

As I sat down I began looking out the window, analyzing the little humans running left and right to get on their busses.

Buses*

And I am going to eventually kick your ass for this pretentious bullshit.

Something reached out and caught the corner of my eye. I immediately shifted my head to see what it was and quickly realized it was Abbi standing in the parking lot by some beat-up sedan.

"What'cha looking at James?" Davis asked. Without hesitation I began to respond, "Oh, it's Abbi, she's in my art..." my heart sank as I witnessed a boy I barely knew, named Seth, walk up and kiss Abbi on the lips.

Oh, boo fucking hoo. Get over the fact that she has a life outside of your crush on her.

"James?" Davis said, but by that point his voice was a faint echo in the darkness my mind instantaneously lost itself in. I felt like after a life of numbness I was finally about to truly feel warmth for the first time only to have it all taken away in an instant, leaving me hopeless in the shadows, alone once again.

Cry me a goddamn river.

You angsty pretentious idiot.

Don’t give me angsty word salad about how sad this makes you, I don’t actually care at all.

I looked down at my knees feeling as if I lost all muscle control in my neck.

That isn’t a thing that happens ever when someone is upset.

"Are... you ok?" Davis asked. I responded with hesitation "...I'm... just stupid."

You spoke to her once, you fucking dumbass.

"No you're not. You're one of the coolest guys I know!" Davis replied. I continued my silence as he offered words of encouragement. "Okie dokie, well, you're awesome and should be super happy so if you want to talk, I'm your buddy so... so I'm here to talk."

That’s uh, nice of him.

But the way he’s talking sounds like... almost mechanical? All he’s done since he was introduced has been compliment James.

I was too focused on the con- flict raging in my mind to hear anyone at that point. I couldn't think about anything but Seth kissing Abbi the entire trip home.

Oh, get the fuck over it.

That night my mom was literally just serving lentil beans she prepared on her crock-pot for the billionth time, a fair exaggeration but still, it was excessive to say the least. My sister was behaving as she usually did at the dinner table, talking about how stupid she thought school was and how she couldn't wait for college. "How was work mom?"

I mean, I’m also tired of high school. I’m really done with judge-y teenagers.

I asked trying to keep my mind off the haunting images looping in my mind.

YOU HAVE HAD ONE FUCKING CONVERSATION WITH HER. CRY ME A FUCKING RIVER, YOU BITCH.

Any normal person would express disappointment over the fact that a person they like has a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner in general, not go into a damn depression about it.

"Well, no one at work respects me or listens to me and I generally can't stand it, but you know, we still have food on the table" she said in a stern tone.

That

That is weirdly passive aggressive and mechanical.

My sister barked as food flew out of her mouth, "Well at least it's not high school. I'm learning how to be a successful person from a bunch of low-income losers."

Oh, I guess bitching runs in the family.

My mom replied "Whatever your teachers are, they have full-time jobs, which is more than a lot of people can say." My mom gave my sister Lisa a disap- pointed look. Lisa was well known for showing little respect for hard-working people. To her it didn't matter how much you gave back to society, it only mattered how much money you made.

That’s a very black and white way to look at things.

After the rerun of lentil soup I washed the dishes per my mom's orders and headed to the shower. I sat on the floor of the tub thinking about Abbi, barely feeling the water as it hit my chest.

Sat on the floor... while water hits your chest? Are you like sitting with your back arched so the water can hit your chest?

This imagery is so odd.

I was so consumed with what I had seen that I had completely forgotten the note until that moment. I quickly reached over to my pants resting on the toilette.

Why the fuck did you spell toilet like that?

That’s literally the word for ‘toilet’ but in French. It isn’t a spelling used in English. It just makes you sound even more pretentious.

Also, he reached over to the toilet to grab the note from his pants while he’s in the shower?

It’s gonna get wet, you idiot.

I had hoped I read it wrong the first time and that it would make sense with a second look only to see it read exactly what I gathered in my initial passing glance. "NISEONE"

I fucking hate you, Onion.

This literally looks like you scrambled your screen name up.

Die.

In a fire.

I mumbled to myself. I joked with the idea in my head that she handed me the wrong note but still assumed it wasn't a failed attempt to say "Nice one," which could be taken as a compliment if you were desperate enough.

That joke, while just a little funnier, is still fucking lame.

Seconds into looking at the note my eyes widened, having figured out what it meant, I jumped up slipping to my feet and screamed "YEAH!!!" I had cracked it, only to immediately after feel completely stupid for not having figured it out sooner.

I’m just done functioning.

My mom screamed through the door from her bedroom "WHAT?" I responded "Sorry! Nothing!" I hurried to finish showering.

I’d just assume he got really into jerking off.

I’ll see myself out.

Staring at my phone wearing only a towel, I smiled as I typed in "NISEONE" or "647-3663" into the number keys.

That is the most cryptic and strange way to give someone your phone number.

I assumed we shared the same area code otherwise she likely would have given me a longer sequence of letters and I was right. After two rings I got an answer. "What do you want?" a disgruntled man's voice asked.

This... This girl gave this guy a home phone number?

I guess that’s fine since this is probably set in the early 2000′s, but it’s still odd.

Like a bad engine struggling to start in a monster movie I clumsily belted out a response "I... uh... I was looking for..." An unenthusiastic female voice in the background said, "Give me the phone." "Whatever" he said dropping phone in front of her.

James can apparently see through the phone, or he wouldn’t know that probably Abbi’s dad did this.

"Hello?" I could recognize the voice now it was Abbi.

Trying to hide my excitement by maintaining a normal tone I said, "This is James." Abbi excitedly screamed

Like how girls screamed in Disney Channel shows?

That’s ridiculous.

and responded "Oh my god you figured it out!" Hearing her optimistic tone I laughed saying, "So... why..." She interrupted. "I was hoping to find out if you figured out what you're bringing to art class."

Why the hell didn’t you just fucking ask? Or give him your regular phone number? This is just unnecessarily complicated.

I said "Oh!" and looked quickly around my room. I couldn't see anything immediately so I just said, "I'll... surprise you!" She then replied "Oh come on, tell me." My eyes locked on to a plausible item for the project. "How about my... bear... I'll bring my bear!"

You’re okay with destroying a teddy bear? Okay, I guess.

I said. She replied "Oh, ok, oh! I have an idea. Instead of the cage, I'll bring in a stuffed animal of mine and we'll make like, a zombie bear."

Sounds fine.

I don’t care.

You guys are fucking boring.

I laughed "Awesome" I said. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow ok?" she replied happily. I answered "Ok, byeee."

I would appreciate it if you would fuck off.

I can’t believe this shit is on GoodReads.

Just before she hung up I could still hear her laughing, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment and a lasting smile as if it were painted across my face.

That’s the end of chapter one?

Oh god, okay.

That was.

Terrible.

The characters are bland and flavorless and I cannot get attached to any of them. I can already tell I’m going to completely despise this.

I’ll see you next time. I need to go think about my life.

~Kat

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drmedicsgamesurgery · 4 years

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Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 12 (Summary)

Oh boy things are getting crazy this chapter.

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage @jinjojess @hopeymchope

CHAPTER 15- Trust, Choice, Hope, Despair, Pity, Sympathy, Sacrifice and, just maybe, a Conclusion

> Enter Prague Castle

> Do not enter Prague Castle

St. Vitus Cathedral is the largest church in the Czech Republic. It is located in the heart of Prague Castle. It is both a symbolic building in the Czech Republic and a royal tomb that has been there for generations. This representative building in Europe was said to have been built over six hundred years, so there should be many architects involved in its construction, and it is not known whether its construction policy has ever been offset. I pray for the soul of the original. That is, if there is such a thing.

Then to follow on as usual.

The story is simple. A young man tried to take over the world.

A young man had extraordinary adventures one after the other, until finally, he got what he wanted, and was able to return home safely. And he lived happily ever after.

The problem is all of the means that were taken to that end.

This story should have a happy ending.

As soon as we entered St. Vitus Cathedral, we saw that God was standing in front of a large altar. The light shining through the stained glass shrouded his whole body, and his blond hair and blue eyes shone because of the thin pigment in his skin. God is bathed in this light enjoying this right of His. He huffs and says, "The time is five o'clock in the afternoon, not too late but not too early. I suppose the same could be said about my expectations."

The beautiful and charming voice echoed through the church, and I felt blessed.

Byakuya Togami.

My God.

"Sorry I am late, Byakuya-sama."

After only a few hours of reconvening, I felt as if I had been away from him for a hundred years, my voice trembled.

"I didn't say it was not too late or too early. Don't make me overturn my recognition."

“I am very sorry, I have kept you waiting.”

"I didn't wait for you at all. It was you, 'Blue Ink', who is currently covered in scars."

“I guess this is the so-called summer experience.”

"Can you write ‘Journey Under the Midnight Sun’ in your state?"

"About that..."

"Do not hesitate without my permission."

"I lost Borges. I am no longer the Super High School Level Secretary. I can't write ‘Journey Under the Midnight Sun’ anymore."

"Since you can't write ‘Journey Under the Midnight Sun’ I have no more uses for you. Wherever you now wish to go, then go."

"This is where I want to be and it’s not ‘Journey Under the Midnight Sun’ that brought me here, either. I heard that broadcast from you."

"I didn't intend to call you here."

"Alright."

I didn't take his words seriously. He looked at me. I felt that the situation raised some red flags. He deliberately cleared his throat and changed the topic. "If you have any questions, I can answer them for you, and only you."

Shinobu asks him how he managed to escape the train wagon, and he says that he borrowed a phone and called Sonia. She thought he was the Impostor since their voices are the same so she opened the door and he escaped. She was also the one who threw the incendiary bomb at Shinobu.

"You borrowed a phone? How is that even possible?"

"I borrowed the phone from a soldier who pointed his gun at me. That other party happily loaned it to me, and even said, 'I have always supported you.'"

After all, even now there are people who support Byakuya Togami as a result of him being Super High School Level Heir and know he is unlikely to do anything as rash as world domination. As a result, it’s no wonder people are still supporting him.

Kazuya arrives on the scene and Byakuya at first asks if he would be angry with him, though Kazuya says to forget about it. Kazuya has something that he is missing and reports on Minoru’s death. Byakuya responds that he won’t pity Kazuya’s loss and states he will never die. He’ll crush Kazuya’s ambitions, achieve world conquest, and then lead the Togami Family towards a new frontier.

“I’d stake the Togami name on it.”

Shinobu interrupts to ask what he intends to do about the Impostor, to which Byakuya begrudgingly responds he will let them escape. He says that there is no need to worry about him, since he received a leak saying that all of the Despair High Schoolers fled.

"Oh, I won't run away."

The voice comes from behind and Shinobu turns around. It’s the Impostor, standing on the altar with them, wearing the same style clothes, the same parted hairstyle, the same glass and the same everything as Byakuya, next to a silver coffin. The only difference being the large amount of fat, which the Imposter proudly bulges out. Imposter smiles behind their glasses and says "Heh, on this stage, I am also one of the actors. Of course I won’t leave. Let's start the performance and complete this story."

Apparently, when Byakuya was retrieved, so was the Imposter and thus they have been together in the castle for the time being. Byakuya says his victory is at hand, but the Imposter comments that the Imposter will win. Byakuya’s history will lose to the story the Imposter wrote. The Imposter lists examples of times where people in history created falsehoods and promoted them as truth towards the outcome they want. Imposter remarks that Blue Ink would know about that all too well.

I used to write the biography known as "Journey Under the Midnight Sun". I was devoted to writing a book that was purely composed of historical facts and excludes all virtual components. My efforts ended in failure. I wrote only the things I wanted to see. I saw it, and all of it was fabricated. It was a fictional work. ‘Jesus Christ is a white man’. [1] ‘Takeda is a stupid man’. [2] ‘The Empress Dowager Cixi is cruel and tyrannical’. [3] ‘The Japanese army is brave and warlike’. [4] It's a fabricated story all too similar to those. A fake book that people can't stand. A story of falsehoods far removed from the truth.

"Heheh, the truth is not important at all. Stories have the powerful ability to warp and distort history. Listen, Mr. Authentic, no matter how perfect your history, I will impose a story that suits my ideals, push others down, be greedy, endless. A history you cannot overturn."

Byakuya calls his bluff, but the Imposter is confident it can be pulled off.

“However, before my story starts, other fake books must be exposed to their true colors. It is enough to have one fake book in the annals of history. I will cut off all the other fake books and make decisions for them in their stead." says the Imposter.

As soon as he says that, a person drops from the ceiling. It’s the Super High School Level Soldier, Mukuro Ikusaba. She immediately charges Shinobu, who thinks that the reason she was saved by her from Yuika was that everything was planned. She must be one of the Despair High Schoolers.

“You will not harm my sister!!”

Kazuya quickly intervenes, using his dim light-blue lightsaber to hit the military knife the attacker is holding and making it fly away. However, she is holding another one on her left hand, and uses it to cut open Kazuya’s right arm. An unidentifiable red-black liquid spurts out. The lightsaber gradually disappears. But she doesn’t stop there. She kicks him on the ground and presses him under her foot. She then stabs his left eye with her military knife and pulls it out of its eye socket. She then gives it to the Impostor and steps aside.

“Heh, and here… is the first book.”

Shinobu is horrified by the scene of the Impostor playing with Kazuya’s left eye. As a reaction she shielded her own eye with her hand, and came to a realisation. She also had an empty socket. Her right eye, where Borges once was. Not only that but his right arm, where her fake arm also was.

A prosthetic arm and eye?

"...return it to me," Kazuya turned his face with only one eye towards the Impostor "Give me my talents, give it back to me, give it back to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee----"

"Kazuya Togami, don't call false abilities talents," said the Impostor "Your sword is not a talent at all. It’s a mechanically made fake. How can that be called a talent?"

Kazuya exclaims that Imposter is wrong, and that the sword was a gift given to him by god himself in his time of need, and not to joke around like that. He will not accept what Imposter says as true.

"What are you talking about..." My voice was shaking. "And Kazuya... your eyes, your hands...what happened?"

"These? Sister, what are you talking about? They have been like that from the very beginning."

“From the very beginning? When was the beginning you are talking about?”

“When my village was attacked, I lost them then.”

"Impossible..."

"Heh heh, it seems that the older sister and younger brother are completely immersed in the fake book’s unreality. Kazuya Togami, Don’t you understand that not only was your sword fake, but your memory as well? The K2K system is installed in your eyes."

"So what?"

"So your existence is illusory. You have had a very long dream thanks to the K2K system of the failed 'Bible Plan'. That's all. Did you like your dream? After all, it was a dream tailored for you."

"I am me, I am Kazuya Togami and this will not change!"

“The Kuchinashi Village fire and the Biggest, Worst Incident in the History of the Togami Family are events that did happen but they have nothing to do with you. You were not there when they happened, this is the reality.”

"No! I am Togami Kazuya! My body burnt up in Kuchinashi village. My hope burnt up at Touajou Castle!"

"The judgement begins."

The Impostor picked up Kazuya’s eyeball and crushed it without hesitation.

"AGH!” cried Kazuya, but then he fell silent, staring with his mouth open wide, body stunned. I knew that when his eyeball was crushed, something vital in his heart was destroyed.

"Heh, can you still say that you are Kazuya Togami? The memories of the 'Biggest, Worst Incident in the History of the Togami Family', the memories of 'Blue Ink' and the life connected with the Togami’s, these are closely related. Everything is a dream that starts with the story AI's K2K system. Now that has been destroyed, that history and those stories have abandoned you, you are not Kazuya Togami. You are no one."

“No, I am… I am Kazuya Togami…”

Tears rolled down Kazuya’s face. Seeing my younger brother quietly cry tears of failure, I was upset. I stood in front of Kazuya, screaming at the Imposter and said, "You are not allowed to bully him!"

“Older sister, ‘Blue Ink’.”

“I am Kazuya’s sister.”

"Your memory is also utterly and completely false."

She turns it around to him and asks isn’t he is in the same boat? However for the Imposter, his lack of identity is his strength and he never has to wonder ‘Who am I?” unlike Shinobu or Kazuya.

"I will not worry about this kind of thing, because I am who I am."

"I have said it a hundred times. Your current self, your 'I' is an ambiguity created by the K2K system."

"Even if my memories are all falsified, I am still alive like this. Even if there is nothing in my mind to rely on, I have this flesh and this consciousness."

My existence is indeed ambiguous. I am alive now. I am thinking. Nothing can guarantee me that I am, except for this irreplaceable physical feeling. Even so, I will not waver, I will not collapse, I will stand firmly on the ground. I will clench my teeth and tell me that my memory is not important at all. The K2K system is not important at all, because I can be self-sufficient in this kind of story, at least now.

A scream echoes in the cathedral. It’s Kazuya, who fainted and fell on the ground. The Impostor doesn’t pay attention to him and keeps talking to Shinobu (who is relieved Kazuya is unconscious and hopes he’ll be better when he wakes up). The Imposter is impressed by Shinobu and comments that she has a solid ego, yet it’s still fragile. Imposter however will not be affected by whatever ‘Blue Ink’ says. After all, the Imposter is the one who shall become Byakuya Togami.

“So if Kazuya Togami is not really Kazuya Togami, then who is he?” questions Shinobu.

“Kazuya Togami… may not be a real person in the first place.” [5]

“I am so tired of this talk already.”

“So then, who are you?”

“I am Shinobu Togami, of course.”

"Your basis is very simple. As long as there are two elements, the mind and the body, you can form the so-called self. Now then, allow me to eliminate all of that for you, just like the anonymous one on the floor as asleep as the dead. Let me destroy everything you know."

"I will not be destroyed, and Kazuya will be revived. If you believe in yourself, you will be able to keep yourself, and Kazuya needs to understand that soon."

"After hearing what I am going to say next, I don't know if you can still stick to the same opinion. Then I will decide for the second fake book," said the Imposter. "Do you know your own true identity?"

"My own true identity?"

"That said, why do you think you were being loaded up with the K2K system in the first place?"

“This is because…”

In order to prevent Hope’s Peak Academy from finding out the existence of the K2K system, K agreed to install it in Borges. At least, that is what I heard.

"If he just wanted to hide the existence of the K2K system, there was no need to put it in your body. Have you not thought about it? Has your ‘God’ not told you anything?"

When I heard him say this, I almost subconsciously turned my eyes to Bakuya Togami. Byakuya’s eyes did not change their colors, and they did not waver, but instead straightened to my sight. If this was a peaceful time, his attitude would have made me happy, but now it made me feel terrible.

But before she can think about anything, he speaks again. Byakuya Togami ordered Borges to be placed in her body. Shinobu comments that it was for the creation of his autobiography, but the Imposter points out that for the Super High School Level Secretary having Borges would be largely pointless. Byakuya knew what kind of havoc the K2K system would bring, yet he still ordered it to be placed in her body. He knew her personality and memories would become warped. Yet, he still ordered it anyway… a ruthless and cruel God, is he.

"The reason why he put the K2K system into your body is because there was a reason for him to do that. He needed to give you a false story that will make you believe in a false history."

I was extremely eager to find the truth from that sentence. I wanted to find out the truth before the Imposter announced it. At least to make myself more calm. However, before I found the truth, the Imposter had already said the next sentence.

"The Togami you hopelessly thought yourself to be was Shinobu.. Shinobu Togami is no longer in this world. She was killed in the Biggest, Worst Incident in the History of the Togami Family."[6]

"...Who am I?"

"You are the 'Kudan', you are the Secret to the Togami Family’s Prosperity."

Translation Notes:

[1] “Jesus is a white man.” This is a fairly common misconception due to the fact that many anglo-saxon paintings from the middle ages tended to draw him that way. In actual fact, since most of the bible took place in the middle east he more than likely had a bit of a tanned complexion.

[2] “Takeda is a stupid man”. I’m not 100% sure on this one but given context clues in the book I think it's safe to assume it’s referring to Lord Takeda Shingen. Funnily enough his original name was “Tarou” which is also Dadgami (Kijo) Demoncastles original name.

[3] ‘The Empress Dowager Cixi is cruel and tyrannical’. According to documents in China at the time, women in chinese culture were heavily disrespected so there was much slander put against her that it’s actually quite difficult to tell what is the truth and what is not.

[4] ‘The Japanese army is brave and warlike’. To specify this likely refers to the WW2 army as japan no longer has an official “army”, but they have the JSDF, which is basically just a self defense army. What she means by this is the sort of riled up patriotism that all countries in ww2 had to boost morale for their side, however the japanese army did some pretty nasty stuff to POWs and more. The type of war crimes you only hear about in horror films.

[5] If you want my theory, I believe Kazuya was a real person, however this person poised as Kazuya is someone we already do know. The one K mentioned in chapter 13 who worked on the Bible Plan, and became a psycho murderer. As for who the real Kazuya and Shinobu is, I suppose I shall get to that in the next chapter summary.

[6] Byakuya in DR1 also said they were Killed in the Legacy Crown Championship, but specified that he meant dead as Togami’s. This is possibly the same context for the reason I shall get to in the translations notes next time.

To Be Continued

https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

#DRT #DRT3 #danganronpa togami #Danganronpa:Togami #Danganronpa: Togami #Danganronpa #DRT3 Summary #Summary #Part 12 #Imposter fucking rektd kazuya lmao #literally crying #XD

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exosmuttytalk · 4 years

Text

Exo’s DO MV hairstyle rating: a comprehensive list

What is Love, 2012.

Probably the longuest DO’s hair ever been. Surprisingly, I don’t mind it. For some reason, the demarcation between the super long and super short hairs isn’t that stark. I like that. It looks super dated, tho.

Final rating: 5/10 KS

History, 2012.

A different version of the previous hairstyle but leaving the waves aside. I like it because it seems more achievable in his (probably) pin straight hair. Looks soft and fluffy :D

Final rating: 6/10 KS

Mama, 2012

Eh, no. He looks like a fluffy rhyno. What are those spikes on the sideburns? I bet all that fringe hair without gel to hold it flings straight into his eyes.

Final rating: 2/10 KS

Wolf, 2013

Let’s agree that everybody looked horrendous in Wolf. Like ma boy here who could be strutting the best catwalks in Syberia but the moment he stopped walking he’d freeze to death because he’s not wearing a coat. He looks like a fluffy mushroom and I wouldn’t eat one of those.

Final rating: 0/10 KS (Shame)

Growl, 2013

This must have been the “wildest” color KS’s ever wore, right? I don’t really know about this one. I can appreciate the attempt to change the color, as it’s very obvious he’s not one to experiment much with that sort of stuff. So A for effort. Now, that fringe is all messed up. When his hair falls down naturally without being gelled up he probably has strands sticking out in different directions and all different lengths.

Also, the more I stare at this picture, the more I can sense Uncanny Valley creeping from my toes up and I don’t like that.

Final rating: 3/10 KS

Miracles in December, 2013

Here KS has what in my language is called a bowl cut. I don’t even know if that’s the term in English and I don’t really feel like looking it up.

Either way, from what I’ve seen in the Korean media I’ve had access to is that this hairstyle seems to be super common among teens and young adults. That surprised me because where I am it’s a hairstyle reserved to little kids.

I understand the appeal, tho. He looks soft and cuddly despite having been ghosted. He’s not menacing (because you can’t see his brows). Makes you want to give him hot cocoa and bundle him up inside a big, soft, fluffy white blanket.

Final Rating: 8/10 KS

Overdose, 2014

So baaaad... I mean so gooooooooood.

I really like this one. It’s longer, but it’s longer in an unniform manner. Also, this looks like he’s woken up in the morning with each strand of hair in a different possition. He’s then washed his face and making sure he’s wetting his hair as well. He’s us’ed a comb to make a very precise parting but then hasn’t combed through the rest of the hair, so now that’s getting dry, all the strands are starting to stick up again.

That’s very relatable.

Final rating: 8/10 KS

Call me Baby, 2015

This is one of KS’s best looks and I will die on this hill.

It’s rather short. Blunt. Structured. Has a little flair but the flair is not too long that it sticks into his eyes. The color is natural and dark but has subtle golden and redish highlights. Looks very effortless. NOICE.

Also, filled in, strong eyebrows.

Final rating: 9.5/10 KS (Because there’s always room for improvement)

Love me Right, 2015

Ohh, yes. This is the second main contender to the first position, Again, to me this looks effortless, which is exactly the type of lifestyle I can see KS having. Chill, easy, no fuss, manageable. I woke up like this and I think I last brushed my hair two days ago. A natural man.

I love the styling too.

Bonus Chanyeol happily vibing in the brackground.

Final rating: 9,5/10 KS

Sing for you, 2015

KS is barely visible in this MV. You know he’s there; you can feel him looming ominously around the borders of every scene. You can hear his voice. But you can’t really see him. The natural darkness of a B&W video shot in a supposed snowstorm grants a shadow for him to disguise himself into.

That’s the reason why I’ve had to take those screenshots directly on the mv and why we can barely see his hair. But we can imagine. Looks shot and functional. Not so short and functional as it’s military counterpart. Seems like it would be nice to stroke it. It’s not flashy or attention grabbing. Discreet, but with a little room to play, represented as the spikiness of the fringe area.

Imma give this one a lower rating because I feel there’s another hairstyle that unites all those characteristics and that both KS and I like better.

Final rating: 8/10 KS

Lucky one, 2016

This is just a shorter version of the Sing for you supposed hairstyle. It’s alright. Although it’s a little bit lazy, I feel it fits the aesthetic of the video quite well. Clean and neat. I like how his perplexed expression during the beginning of this mirrors my own façade so well every time I rewatch this MV.

Final rating: 7/10 KS

Monster, 2016

The styling of the hair may be the exact same as in Lucky One, but I don’t really care. My eyes dart directly to the bruise on his cheeks and the scar on his eyebrow. The holes and burns on his clothes. There’s something really special in a rugged man for me.

Final rating: 8.5/10 KS

Lotto, 2016

This is a problem, because there’s two main stylings of which I hate the first one and really like the second one. In the first one, they obviously wanted him to look like he actually jumps into the cages with the roosters and physically trains them on fight. The second one looks pretty standard, soft and floofy. It’s shiny too and it looks healthy. Also I like the pirate like clothes styling here.

I’m conflicted.

Final rating: 4/10 KS

Dancing King, 2016

He doesn’t have a lot of screen time in this MV. Most of the time, he’s either on rehearsals or performing. He wears a lot of caps. I never really understand the purpose of a cap if you’re not out in the sun (or scaping fans and papparazzi). Seems easy to knock off accidentally, a gust of wind could suddenly come by and snatch it off your head. You are going to make it all sweaty because all that dancing and then you’re gonna have to stick it into the washing machine. Can you put a cap on the washing machine? Does it lose its shape or smth?

I digress. The cap is, despite all the previous reticence, one of the few accessories he seems to wear irl. So Imma going to give him a good rating for realism and for giving us a little more BTS content.

Final rating: 7/10 KS

Coming over, 2016

It was impossible to find still of the video but he wore the same styling as in this card, We have to set things straight. 2016 was a hell of a year. They released six different MVs, one of them a collaboration and one of them in japanese. There’s just not enough time for drastic hair changes. Hair doesn’t grow that fast. And it’s easier to leave the more lowkey members in a simple style so you have more time for the not that lowkey members. I get it. Imma a bit bored but I get it.

Final rating: 6.5/10 KS

Kokobop, 2017

Yeeeeees, the change we’d all been waiting for. Aaaaand I hate it. I dislike that his hair matches his jacket. I dislike the fact that even his eyebrows look color coordinated. If it wasn’t for the blue shirt, he’d look as if he had been passed through a sepia filter. Not into it.

Final rating: 3.5/10 KS.

Power, 2017

I love this whole look. Almost everybody’s looks, in fact. It seems like it was a very fun video shooting. We hadn’t seen a KS smile since love me right. He looks so young and playful, so boyish.

There’s not much to say about the hair. It’s all carelessly hidden under a crownless cap? and some other accessories, but we can appreciate he’s gone back to his natural color. Praise the stylist noonas.

Final rating: 7.5/10

Universe, 2017

Ahhh, my white whale in the shape of a head. You were short and fleeting, but at least there’s a MV and a whole film to remember you.

I love bald KS. I definitely don’t appreciate Eggsoo, but what’s not to love about a shaved head? Especially, his bald head. He’s extremelly symmetric and looks so uniform all around. It probably feels like a stroking a very dense but soft brush. He’s said himself he like this hairstyle. It’s strong. Durable. Reliable. Pragmatic. Still, soft, aesthetically pleasing. All KS really is.

I also love the lighting and the clothe styling in this MV, it’s like a honey and caramel wet dream.

Final rating: 9,5/10 KS

Electric Kiss, 2018

There’s not much to say about this either because it’s not easily visible. Looke like he has his sides shaven. The top is definitely longer but not a lot. Unceremoniously passes.

Final rating: 6/10 KS

Tempo, 2018

I think he looks specially good in tempo. Boyish but not too much. Longer hair, which is a change. The worst part is that he doesn’t have a lot of parts and even less screen time. I love how his lipstick matches the background.

Final rating: 7.5/10 KS

Love Shot, 2018

I love this. Men driving are a kink for me. Black hair, yes. Aviator jacket, yes. Strands of hair loosely framing your face, yes. You usual stoic expression, yes.

Final rating: 7.5/10

His final MV pre-enlistment was a success. Let’s hope for more good looks when he returns.

#exo #DO #do kyungsoo #exo hair #do hair #exo hairstyle

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still-love-the-moon · 4 years

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Wish you were here

I would like to say in advance, it’s all @theuniversezecho‘s fault for what I’m gonna post. Also a big thank you to @hide-in-imagination because she helped me tease shortie till the bitter end. We love you shortie.

"Take it slow. Tell me all how you've grown, just for me. Could we all reminisce? Better yet, here's a pen make a list. Fill it full with all the things I've missed"

Ramiro Ponce used to love Christmas when he was a kid. The way the snow slowly danced in the air, moving loosely until it landed on the ground, how every other kid seemed to be so happier at that time of the year. He loved making snowmen, and throwing himself on the ground, rolling in the cold snow with a bright smile on his face.

He can't explain why suddenly he hates it. Why he can't stand being in the Roller and hear Luna rants about meeting all together in the Mansion to spend the holiday together, why he finds himself spacing out whenever he sees something that reminds him of her. Why he still reads the letters she wrote for him when they were younger, all the notes that they passed during classes and their pictures together. All the days spent together training for a competition.

He needs to breathe, the Roller has become too small and they are always so happy there. No one remembers her. How could they forget Ámbar? She was the one who brought them high, the best skater in the Roller.

He grabs his bag, suddenly getting up from the small table. Luna stops talking and everyone turns to him. He got their attention, but he doesn't want it. Ramiro quickly walks out of the bar, not wasting time to say goodbye to anyone. Matteo holds Jim's arm, understanding that their friend needs some time alone, making her sit down again. He is always like this during the holidays.

"'Cause I could barely drive past the school without stopping to think of you, and how we used to act the fool"

He can't stop running. It's like the cold air against his face makes him feel alive again. He can see, with the corner of the eye, the people in the cars looking at him worried. It's not normal to see a boy running in the middle of the frozen sidewalk.

Then he abruptly stops. He blocks himself on his feet, eyes locked on the old buildings. It's their old school. The place where they got closer, where they spent their days before going to the Roller to skate their problems away- turns out that her problems couldn't just disappear like that. The last place he saw her.

She was looking just as beautiful as always. Lately, she only wore complicated hairstyles, but that day she left them to fall on her shoulders. She was wearing a white blouse- almost as white as the snow that surrounds him right now- and some jeans. She never wore something like that, it always was fashionable and expensive. That was the first sign that something was wrong.

The second was her expression. She was just standing against a wall with an apathetic expression, but he knew that deep down she was fighting with her own demons.

She was leaving Buenos Aires for good. She needed a break from everyone and everything- she needed to find out who she was. She already said her goodbyes to everyone else- Monica and Alfredo.

It took him one second to realize that she was about to tell him goodbye there because of their history. Another one and he realized that she wasn't probably going back to them- to him.

He begged her to stay, to not leave them- him- behind, but she held his face in her hands, smiling sadly- her way to ask him to forgive her.

And now, he finds himself starring at the window of their old class, where they used to sneak out to spend some time away from the other people. He wishes he could go back to those times when everything was easier and when Ámbar was with him and they were all together- where they had a possibility. When he used to sneak in the Mansion in the middle of the night to watch a movie with her, trying to not wake up her godmother, or when she poked him in his arm until all his attention was on her and only her- even if she always had all his attention. When he kissed Ámbar on the balcony of her room before sneaking back to his house, leaving her with a smile on her face- that would disappear after a few hours, when they would have to deal with the real world again.

"But worst of all I wish I'd called at least a thousand times or more, just to hear what I've been missing"

He throws his hoodie on the chair in his room, letting himself fall on the bed. He misses her. He misses joking with her, getting her pissed off and then kiss her until she smiles again. He misses her blonde hair that always scented like vanilla and her cold eyes so determined on being the best. He misses her voice.

She tried to call him the first months after she left, but he couldn't find the strength to answer. To hear her voice and know what she is doing and how happy she was feeling. His life was miserable and then she stopped calling. She stopped everything.

But now, he wonders what her life was like in there, how she truly felt. If she was really happy or if she was just faking it.

"If a picture is all that I have, I can picture the times that we won't get back. If I picture it now it don't seem so bad. Either way, I still wish you were here"

Ámbar loved taking pictures and he never had found the courage to delete or thrown away any of them. He still has all over his room. On the wall, on his nightstand, and on his desk. She is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. All that is left of her now are just some stupid photos and the memories they have of her. He wants to go back in time and kiss her the day she left, to pick up the phone and speak with her. He wishes he could hug her right now and hold her close.

All of their pictures together bring him back to the good old times. When they were happy, young and in love. When she was alive.

But now Ámbar is death and he won't see her ever again. He won't see her smile, her blonde hair or he won't hear her laugh. She is gone forever. Ámbar

"Don't say everything's meant to be, 'cause you know it's not what I believe"

Matteo knocks on the door, hoping with all of his heart that Ramiro will not leave him outside at the cold. He is freezing and he knows that the other boy needs someone to rant to. He understands that he misses Ámbar, he does too. They didn't work as a couple, but they were friends and Ramiro wasn't the only one to break down when they found out she died.

He can still recall Monica's face full of tears, the phone in her hands and her trembling voice when she told them the news. Ámbar was dead. A car crash when she was going back home. The drunk driver survived, she didn't.

Ramiro opens the door, eyes red and cheeks wet with tears. There is no need to talk, not between them. Christmas stopped being a happy holiday when Ámbar died on the 23rd of December.

"It wasn't supposed to be her"- the Chilian says, trying his best to not cry anymore. The Italian smiles sadly, lowering his eyes on the ground- “No, it wasn’t”.

#soy luna fanfiction #sou luna fanfiction #rambar #ramiro x ambar #ambar x ramiro #ramiro ponce #ambar smith #my ff

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justimajin · 5 years

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His First Love ⟨Part 1⟩

➸ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

➸ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Future Smut

↳ Vampire AU, Reincarnation AU

➸ Words: 2.3k

➸ Warnings: none

➸ Summary: Each night, its the same dream; drenching tears, specks of blood and a heart torn in half. Each night, you wake up trembling and filled with the fear of how crystal-clear the nightmares were, more and more endless questions ready to spur from you. The biggest question however, was always left unanswered - who was the man that never ceased the opportunity to appear in them?

➸ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2

Your feet stride along as you walk to class, but you don’t catch the simple sounds of buzzing conversation flowing between students nor the heavy thuds of them walking near you – being so absorbed in your own racing thoughts from the previous night.

“...come back to me...”

Tightening the grip on your bag, you can’t solely ignore the voice that spoke to you in the dream, the words continuing to echo inside of your mind on repeat. It had always been like this, these constant nightmares that would never leave you alone and you would always wake up wondering why.

Why was someone like you having these dreams like this in the first place and why was it that you couldn’t figure out the reason for the whole puzzle from the pieces being placed in front of you? The frustration just continues to grow inside you and you feel completely defeated because the answer seemed to be so so close to you and yet so far away.

In the midst of all this, the key question that remained implanted in your mind, ceasing to disappear because it had to do with him.

Who was the owner of the voice?

That voice. The voice that sounded so raw, deep and beautifully tuned, yet was laced with so much distress. The voice that never ceased the opportunity to make its way into your dreams repeatedly and was leading your own mind into overdrive from the emptiness of recognition which fueled your growing need to just know.

The thoughts in your mind continue to keep you wrapped around them and the sleep deprivation you were graciously suffering from wasn’t going to come to your aid when you collide straight into someone’s backpack.

“Oh my gosh are you oka-Y/N!” The voice exclaims, and you’re soon being hoisted to your feet to the morning greeting of your friend’s long ruffled grey hair and concerned eyes.

“Ow…” You wince at your sore back and attempt to kneel down to grasp your fallen bag, but he quickly beats you to it.

“Here,” He gently hands it back to you, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine Taehyung.” Throwing the bag over your shoulders, his wandering eyes don’t leave you when they take in your current gloomy state.

“Y/N why do you look like you just crawled out from the Underworld?” He questions, and you roll your eyes at the childish bluntness that would overflow easily from him.

“I haven’t been getting any sleep.” You state, walking next to him to get to your class.

“Do you ever get sleep?” Taehyung questions and you sigh at his acknowledgement of your own terrible habits. It wasn’t like you had any way of controlling when or where you would get decent sleep, thankfully without a nightmare seeping through and leaving you restless once again. Walking into your history class, you scan the room and recognize the familiar black coconut hairstyle tucked away in a hoodie, his eyes down-casted on his phone.

“Getting sleep for me is equivalent to Jungkook being separated from his games.” You say, sitting down next to the gamer who doesn’t even flinch at your arrival. It’s only until Taehyung forcibly removes his phone that his attention turns towards the two of you.

“Hey give it back!” Jungkook yells and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at him.

“Hello to you too! We just came in case ya didn’t notice!” Taehyung peeks at Jungkook’s phone, who surprisingly glares at Taehyung and looks ready to knock him down.

“Jungkook did you join a cult and not tell us?” Taehyung questions, turning to you with confused eyes and you notice the odd writing on Jungkook’s phone before Taehyung is tackled to the ground.

“That’s none of your business!” Jungkook’s loud tone makes you wince. You already know from first hand experience that he didn’t like to be teased much but it’s the sudden aggression in his behaviour towards Taehyung that has your eyes widening in surprise. Tae and Jungkook were close, almost like brothers and their fights would usually ensue about video games if anything with the occasional bickering surrounding them.

So why the abrupt change now?

“Stop fighting! What’s wrong with you Jungkook?” You question, and he immediately greets you with a glare to your surprise that makes you blink twice, but it eventually softens down as he continues to gaze at you.

“Y/N you look really tired again…” He whispers, and you raise an eyebrow at the sudden turn he takes with the conversation.

“Treat Y/N like a princess while pinning me to the ground, what the hell was that Kook?!” Taehyung says, brushing off the dust from his jeans.

“I…sorry.” He quietly whispers while you and Taehyung give each other a strange look from his apology.

“It’s okay but why were you reading some weird scripture?” You can’t help but lean slightly forward at the sound of Taehyung’s question, wondering yourself as well.

“It’s for a history assignment.” Jungkook down casts his eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip while shifting in his chair. Taehyung gives you a ‘can you seriously believe this’ look and you know where he’s coming from since Jungkook was never really all that good at lying to the both of you. You decide its best to drop the topic, after all you were personally drained from your nightmares preceding the day before.

“By the way Y/N what’s going on with you?” Taehyung asks, grabbing a seat to sit with the two of you.

You let out a deep exhale, rubbing your tired eyes with your hands before looking up to see Taehyung’s as well as Jungkook’s eyes concentrated on you in concern.

“The dreams.” You simply state and Taehyung’s eyes widen.

“You’re still having those?” You nod, letting out a shaking breath.

“I just…keeping having them and it’s the same dream constantly.” You explain. “And I always see him.” You quietly whisper the last part.

“I thought by now they would stop…”

“Y/N I think you should see someone about this…” Taehyung suggests, and you ponder about it. You suppose it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but you had no knowledge surrounding something like this – completely clueless about the topic.

“But who?”

“There’s psychologists that specialize in it…they aren’t hard to find.” Jungkook whispers and you raise an eyebrow at his knowledge about the information.

“I guess I could go see one, I haven’t slept in days.” You honestly say, the worst part about the dreams was that it was taking away all of the precious sleep you needed. You had tried countless of things – taking sleeping pills to help fall asleep, exhausting yourself out so you could properly sleep and even at one point attempting to stay up and sleep throughout the day. But the nightmares always happened without warning and just right when you think you might get the tiniest amount of sleep, you’re left being haunted by the repeating scenes with no escape.

Your professor eventually arrives and begins talking about the history lecture, but you had your mind occupied with more current events. Jungkook had given you a contact but you don’t question where he found it from or where he had discovered it, instead quietly accepting it from him. Deciding upon yourself to go see this person, you’re already prepared to find out the answers to the questions that would remain unanswered until this point.

Kim Sun.

The words are written in a bold, black colour at the top of the door in front of you, quite literally informing you of who exactly was at the other end of the door and you reach forward, hesitantly knocking a couple of times. You hear the faint sound of heels trampling against the floor from behind the door and soon you’re greeted to a gorgeous young lady, long brown hair framed around her delicate cheek bones and wrapping around the white coat she wears alongside a large set of glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Upon seeing you, she simply smiles.

“Hi, L/N Y/N right?” She asks, and you slowly nod, following her into the room.

“Please, take a seat.” She gestures towards you and you nervously sit down. Perhaps you had underestimated how intimidating this could be since after all, you hadn’t spoken to anyone about this aside from Jungkook and Taehyung and you do understand that it isn’t the most normal thing to actually talk to someone else about without sounding the slightest bit crazy.

“So,” Sun says, sitting down on the chair from across you, “What brings you here?”

Taking a deep breath, you lean forward, still feeling unsure of how to go about with this but then Sun gives you a reassuring smile to begin and you decide it was finally time you received the answers you were searching for.

“I’ve been having these dreams…where I die.” You inwardly sigh at how terrible it already sounds but continue to go on.

There was no turning back now.

“And I always see…this person, in every single one of them.” You take another deep breathe, “I always hear him crying in my dreams and I just don’t understand why I have these dreams, they just don’t want to leave, and I don’t remember the last time I got a decent amount of sleep without worrying about seeing him in my dreams and-“ Sun gestures for you to stop.

“Y/N, just breath in and out.” You do exactly as she tells you, not realizing how much you had repressed inside yourself, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you with this.”

Her words are comforting to you, encouraging rationality when you, yourself don’t quite understand how to explain what was going on with you anymore. She leans over her desk and grabs her clipboard, opening it up as she asks you questions.

“Do you recognize this man?” Sun asks, and you shake your head.

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Does he look similar to someone you’ve encountered before?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Sun continues to question you, asking you more about yourself and your own life. You tell her the basic story – how you were just a regular college student studying history, how you grew up as an orphan when your parents had unfortunately met with a car accident, how the dreams initially started off once in a while when you started college but slowly increased with intensity as time passed by. Laying out the whole entire book that was your life, you’re surprised to see Sun grow more and more deeper into thought.

“Describe your dreams more for me.” Sun simply asks, and you wonder if she’s trying to form some type of connection between your own life and the dreams you faced.

You explain to her how the setting almost never changes in your dreams, the same white forest always being the location you were facing the dreams in. You also go on to explain how there were different types of dreams, ranging from you hearing the sound of water or you just simply seeing flakes of snow, but the common factor was always seeing him.

And that was where everything would go wrong.

There was this continuous trend with a level of fear evoking from both him and you, shaking you to the core of your bones. Unconsciously, water would seep from your eyes through your encounters and images of blood would flash. You couldn’t accurately comprehend exactly what this all meant, only the fact that he would suddenly be dragged away from you as the dream vanishes and you were left with a desperate need to see him again, no matter how painful the dream had been previously.

It was so utterly terrifying because it felt so incredibly real, to the point where you could properly distinguish if you were inside a dream anymore or if you were actually facing a mixture of your own reality.

Oddly enough as you sprout any ounce of information you could possibly remember and pluck out from the dreams, Sun simply looks intrigued instead of revolted from your descriptions. You begin to wonder if she truely does believe you as she tries to listen and understand you.

However soon you finish explaining everything to her and you realize that Sun had stopped talking notes down on her clipboard all together in between your recollections. It occurs to you that she must of done that because there wasn’t anymore information she needed from you and you’re proven right when she requests for you to discuss it further on a later day, as she had remembered to make a phone call ironically once you had finished. You nod, feeling slightly defeated and wondering to yourself if it was even a good idea to come there in the first place as you gently close the door behind you in regret.

Sun on the other hand, contains an astound expression on her features when you exist, hastily grabbing her cellphone and scrolling down to the familiar name that appears. She presses on it and patiently waits as the phones rings, until she hears a groan, the sleepy voice of the owner sounding as if they were about to protest to being called in the first place.

“Yoongi.” Sun whispers, her eyes swirling with a dark colour, “We’ve found her.”

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

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Kira (7)

CHAPTER 7: A Part of Me

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: fluff. Father-figure. Bossy wolf.

Warnings: nothing, really. A liiiiiiiittle blood.

Word count: Wasn’t able to eat lunch today because I had to go give my driving test today. Come back and my colleagues hand me the worst share of work. It’s not like I was skipping on work to have fun! I was out in the bloody heat getting my freaking papers authorised! *inhuman screaming*

And then people have the audacity to say it’s easy to have a healthy mind. Eat, sleep, breathe, repeat. *snarls*

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

There is a bittersweet scent of citrus floating in the air with a welcoming silence that you cannot remember of hearing since far too long. A string of sweet chirps somewhere does not allow you to open eyes. Instead, they play the right nerves inside your head to send you deeper into slumber.

And you would have, had it not been for the unknown source of heated touch on your back that wakes you up instantly to find Fenrir lounging lazily beside you on your bed.

"Really?" You look at him, the morning in your voice and eyes heavy, "ever heard of asking permission before getting into bed with someone else?"

He plainly huffs and slides his legs on your side of the bed.

"Wonder where you get that from," you softly announce into the thin air before walking out of the room and into the garden.

It has nearly been a week but you can still not get over the fact that you can feel such stunning, mellifluous silence of nature right next to the worst, most inconsiderate of places. The green expanse covered in the dense trees with birds and animals you'd never had the pleasure of seeing before in a place like this somehow fills you with a bit of irrevocable joy every day.

How was I able to survive in that heartless pit?

Without answering your own question you go back inside and turn towards the hallway leading to the kitchen to get yourself something cool and liquid to start your day with right after you've brushed your teeth.

And like always, you forget which path to go down in order to reach your destination, wandering down the corridor you think might lead you towards some honey and lemon at least.

The doors- same everywhere, frosted glass framed in oak- do not make things any simpler. Frustrated, you walk the one you are the closest to; that seems like the same direction that the kitchen door was facing last night when you went to ask Ygritte for the fifth time about the desserts and wine.

Your fingers move forward to turn it and realise a second late that it's not shut all the way, already turning halfway to reveal another person inside.

You recognize him from his hair but it is your first time seeing those black strands moved up into a bun. At that moment you are aware of the fact that you've never been a hairstyle enthusiast but watching part of those dark tresses bundled up sends an incredulous wave inside you.

And that's not all.

The strands left behind over the neck, kissing the shoulder, and covered in sweat as the muscles underneath them move when the arms- that you thought were definitely frail under all those expensive suits- take the weight of the entire body up.

Now as much as the biceps should have been distracting for your suddenly aware and observant eyes, they seem to dilute the lustre in front of what you see at the naked back exposed to you.

Lines running about, discoloured, uneven skin like dark valleys that the sweat beads take refuge in, running down their length.

What are they? Remnants of old cuts or burns . Or maybe something worse.

You don't know when that uncomfortable feeling returns in your chest because you're too engrossed in those scars. You don't even realise when Loki sees your reflection in the glass wall in front of him and turns around to question your presence. And just to add to it all, you do not even remember when your glasses fog up because the moment you're bringing yourself back to earth, Loki is already two steps close to you, his green- and somehow oceanic- eyes boring into you.

"Did you have a business here?"

He doesn't even try to hide the annoyance in his tone, neither does he acknowledges the flinch of your body at his voice like you're waking up from a trance.

"Nothing," you clear the hoarseness in your throat before whispering, "sorry. I uh...I was looking for the kitchen."

Not wasting a second standing there, you rush out to breathe and unintentionally run every possible scenario inside your head.

What the hell kind of fifty shades of fucked up is going on?

Whatever it is, you tell yourself you want no part of it, already preparing the rest of the day inside your head as you retrace your steps and get ready to give your boss the night he wants.

"This is atrocious."

"That she unintentionally walked in on you working out?"

"She saw my scars, John. This is not something I am open to sharing with people."

Loki paces inside the one place that relaxes him- his observatory and library.

"I don't even like sharing it with you but this woman is making things harder for me," his tone is one smooth line but John can sense the fumes rising up in the air around him.

"Well, if I were there I would have told you to sit down and breathe but... clearly that's not happening."

Loki stops and turns to look at the screen with John's upper half giving him a casual shrug.

"All right. Okay," the psychologist clears his throat and sits up, "let's figure this out, shall we? Why does it matter that she saw what she saw? Do you think she will talk about your scars to someone?"

An uncomfortable twist of jaw later Loki crosses his arms. "She better not."

Loki takes a short lungful, a fine line crossing between his brows. "Though she doesn't seem like she would."

"And why is that?"

Loki turns to the screens. His hands go inside his pant pockets on their own as he sighs.

"I have a particular set of... features I look for in the people who work for me."

"...You mean to be adaptive and loyal to you?"

Loki can feel the smirk sitting right at the edge of his lips when he hears John's words.

A tsk escapes his lips before he takes a step towards the screen to slide back a winged chair, rest it right in the middle of John's field of vision, and settle down in it.

"Let's just cut to the chase then, shall we? You, John, are a man of intellect. I can presume you think you have me figured out."

It is John's turn to smile. But his only reflects kindness.

Closing his notebook, he sets it down on the table by his pen before easing back into his chair, resting his hands on his legs.

"I am here to hear you out. To help you work through whatever it is that troubles you. But you have to understand that once we start looking at the scars we might find wounds under them that are old and still haven't healed from the inside. So, the real question, Loki, is how much of yourself have you dared to shine a light upon?"

"It's okay, Kira. Why don't you go? I will take care of this."

No matter how many times Robert says it, he cannot seem to get you away from the group at work, installing the final string of backyard lights.

"Yeah, just a minute," you mention as seriously as you did the other seven times.

But this time he runs out of excuses to get you inside, placing his hands on your arms before making you walk towards your side of the house.

"The guests are about to arrive in twenty minutes," he pleads softly.

"Good! Because I am saturated," you announce, letting him take most of your weight as he takes you inside. "And I think I look fine."

"Okay but please have something before the guests arrive. It's rude for the hostess to fall ill in the middle of festivities."

It's refreshing to hear when Robert doesn't force you to 'get ready' but it's a twist-of-your-stomach weird to hear him call you the hostess.

"No, I'm not-" and just as Loki's face flashes in your mind, you cannot help but consider the weight of his words- "...yeah. I guess I am the...hostess."

Fenrir does not like the idea of strangers in his house but he lets it pass once Ygritte takes him away to a place in the estate unknown to you with the bribe of his favourite delicacies.

Washing your face, you put some moisturiser on. A bit of mascara and you are good to go, hoping no one would notice the dark circles beneath your eyes, thanks to your glasses.

The first step into the hall opened to the guests and you are already feeling out of place in your maroon blouse and black Palazzo trousers.

Faces you had only seen in magazines and news are standing there with the elegance of a black swan, dressed in fabrics and cuts that you would never dare to dream of.

Most of them are admiring the artwork you took out from Loki's available inventory and diligently skimmed through their history before putting the best works up. By now you were modestly acquainted with the technique, the source of paints and the artists' inspiration behind those works; all but three of them.

"Great! I'm not the only one who has no idea why they're here."

A cheery feminine voice calls out from behind you and you have to turn at the scarcest sight of something jovial in this tight atmosphere building up around you.

The broad-rimmed glasses, dark hair and the stretched smile reflecting the perfect white lights up some part of your heart.

"Darcy Lewis?" The tide of excitement in your voice spills over the brim and you have the catch yourself and tell your lungs to breathe.

"Yup. That's me. Wait. Do I know you? Have we already met?"

You shake your head but don't bother calming down your already heating nerves. "No, we haven't. I'm Kira. I read about Jane Foster's work and your contribution to it. It's amazing. You're amazing."

Too much?

You are trying to simmer down your brain before deciding to fry it completely for the embarrassment it just put you through right when you hear Darcy snort.

"Contribute? If by that you mean moved the equipment around, slept through a desert storm, threw curse words at those lazy government guys when they took away Jane's work, and all of that when I wasn't even getting paid, then yes. I am that Darcy Lewis. And heck yeah I'm amazing," she winks and finger guns at you. "And Kira, you...how do you know Loki?"

Here comes the inevitable.

"I'm his assistant."

Darcy blinks, takes a step back, scans you from head to toe before stepping closer than normal.

"Blink twice if you need my help to escape," she whispers, making you chuckle.

"No, I'm-I'm good. I knew what I was getting into."

This time her glare is patient and observant before she passes off a shrug.

"Suddenly you seem really hot to me."

You manage to give her a slight nod after the surprise has diluted a bit. “Thank you? And if I may ask, if you're so sceptical about Loki then why come here at all?"

Now, this seems to bring back that signature smile on her face.

"Because it's Loki," she simply shrugs. "He might be an ex-madman of sorts but everyone knows he has an air about him. Me, personally am-"

"Here for the food?"

Loki's voice comes quite close behind you, freezing you right where you stand.

"You better stop sending me those emails before I act on my urge to parcel you a dead crow."

You and- unbeknownst to you- Loki furrow your brows and tilt your head in mild surprise.

Darcy's eyes go wide in surprise. "Jane. That was Jane. That's what she said when I was leaving for here."

Saying that she slowly moves away and blends into the crowd of guests to do what was here to do.

Please don't say anything. Please don't say anything. Please don't s-

"We need to talk."

Your heart wants to jump out if your chest and fall flat on the floor. Instead, you just turn and face him with a forced smile on your face.

"You have guests here-"

"Who are more interested in every distraction you've come up with."

The green in his eyes seems shallow; superficial.

"And I'm in charge of that everything tonight," you declare softly before walking away to look for an excuse to busy yourself in.

Robert's men have eyes everywhere while Ygritte has help to cater to the needs of the guests and neither of them want you to worry your mind with anything for the rest of the night no matter how hard you try.

Giving up, you try to find your way back to your side of the house to get five minutes to compose yourself and come back with some preparedness to interact with all the people that were your responsibility for the night.

The silence on the east side is welcoming as you walk through the connecting corridor, smiling at the fish in their now lit-up pond and observing the flowers sleeping all around them.

Your space, at last.

"Nice quarters you've got here."

The little jumpscare you feel at the voice is far less concerning than the clench in your gut when you turn around to see the person who has followed you here.

"VK," you address the man dressed in blue that shines under the dim lights of your living room nursing a glass of whiskey in his hand, "can I help you?"

He simply nods.

"Yes, please. I am curious. Very curious as to how-" he takes a step closer to you, making to retreat- "did a newbie like you-" he moves closer further, forcing you to step away till you hit the glass- "end up soooo close to a man like Loki?"

“I mean PA, yeah sure, whatever. But it hasn’t even been six months and you have created quite a stir since your arrival, haven’t you?”

You want to slide to the side away from him, but his arm blocks your way right as you think of doing it. With him dipping his head closer to you, you can smell the alcohol in his breath, turning off all the alarms at once.

You want to speak, tell him to get away from you but you stay frozen, your mind going white, the blaring sirens inside your head drowning every other sense of judgement.

"How did you-" his face is closer to your head now, his nostrils taking in the smell of mint from your recently shampooed hair- "manage to get his people to turn to you?"

"VK, please-" your voice withers away as he puts his glass down on the table with a loud bang.

"I see the way Robert looks at you. Even that maid. They look at you as if you're some...some delicate work of art they should protect. Is this what you really want, Kira?"

The second his fingers try to move the loose strand of your hair away from your face, your body twitches away, trying to melt into the glass behind you. "Because I'm sure I can show the world-"

"That's enough."

The voice is a long lost familiar that surprises you inside out before it turns into a tide of relief as VK backs away from you to turn and see the source of interruption.

Anthony Edward Stark stands right across you, killing VK with just his looks.

"Now, get out of here before I kick your ass to the moon and trust me when I say this your boss would not mind even for a second," Stark declares ever so blankly, throwing daggers at the excuse state of a man standing in front of him. "In fact, this would be the first time we would agree on something."

It's not a surprise to watch VK dumbfounded at the sight of the most influential man on earth and scurry off into the direction where he came from, trying to make sense all the way of what just happened.

"Thank you, Mr Stark," you finally breathe, blinking away the tears as fast as you can.

Tony still has his eyes out for the figure walking away from the corridor and does not turn back to you till he is sure that man won't be coming back here.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

His words- along with this parental anger in his eyes- catch you off guard.

"...I'm sorry?"

"Loki's assistant? Really, Kira? You were making models of renewable energy sources for the UN and writing tear-jerking poetry the last I saw you. And now you're-" he vaguely gestures at everything around him.

You try to settle down your accelerated heartbeat to come to terms with what you just heard.

"You...you remember me?"

The flinch over his face seems like you just threw an insult at him.

"Of course, I remember you. You were twelve. It's not easy to forget a peaceful kid who took care of the entire battalion that had come to visit Stark Industries. I should've given you a medal for that."

He goes on to tell you what he remembers from your visit as he pours you a glass of water and sits down on the sofa beside you.

"I thought I was invisible," you mock a laugh for your own amusement.

"Well, you suck at being invisible to the people who have their eyes out for people like you," he states matter-of-factly. "But seriously though, what are you doing working for Loki."

You smile and shrug.

"I'm...working for the one company that seems to care about the people here, Mr Stark."

"Oh, sweethe-"

"Yes, I know all about the past. I just..."

You do not have words.

Tony can see the light glisten in the corner of your eyes.

"Kira," his voice is softer than you remember, "is everything okay?"

You bite your lip to stop the upsurge of emotions swirling inside you on the thought of the man you looked up to nearly all your childhood sitting down next to you to ask you if everything was okay.

Tony is way too familiar with the look in your eyes and it doesn't take him more than two seconds to decide.

"Tell you what," he looks at his watch before turning to look at the entrance to your side, "there's still an hour before dinner. How about you spill everything out and then we make a run for everything edible your puny boss has thrown his money at tonight. And we can make fun of the paintings that I do not get. Especially that piece with just black sticks and paints sploshed like blood."

Your furrowed brows de-stress themselves all of a sudden as a light laugh leaves your lungs. "Oh thank God! I thought I was the only one."

It is a relief to be done with the greetings when he knows half the people here have shown up just for the sake of curiosity and the other half did not bother turning up.

"I told you he wouldn't come," Solaris brings Loki a glass of champagne. "T'Challa is quite obstinate when it comes to the people he does not trust."

"Standing on solid ground. I somehow like that better than him showing up here and stealing the show from Stark."

The glasses clink and the champagne is downed immediately.

"Ooh!" She exclaims, "easy there mister. I don't want the host to be running on booze while his guests look for an excuse to entertain themselves. And the world."

Loki rolls his eyes at her. "Just because you don't see me drink doesn't mean I can't hold my liquor, Solaris. I just don't like how it tastes."

Solaris cocks her brow at him and a tender smile grows on her lips. "Wow. You are the second person to say that to me tonight," she whispers, downing her own glass. "So, were you able to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Whatever's the reason you threw this party and collected these people here."

Loki questions her with just his stare.

"Oh do not give me that look, Loki. You know what I was before I started working for you. I know you don't do anything without reason. So out with it."

And just like that, the blankness morphs into a satisfactory smirk.

"I think so, yes."

The band in the garden outside lets the jazz fade away to give the stage to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

"Where's Kira?"

Solaris' smirk is hidden from Loki's view as she takes another glass of champagne from a waiter passing by and turns her features to ones who have not a clue of a single thing.

"Um...I saw her chatting with Stark a couple of minutes ago. By the way, he hugged her, I feel like they are acquaintances."

Two seconds and she is already unwrapping another layer.

"Which you already know," she states more for herself than Loki, her eyes narrowing in all the suspicious thoughts. "Didn't stay here then. I think she went out into your big grassy lawn that way."

"Leaving the guests unattended?"

"She's interacted with them tonight more than you have in your lifetime. Now go make sure she's okay out there."

The air under the open sky is cool and makes it easier for you to walk further down the stony path. Not to mention the treat that is the starry sky above, glittering with no possible end.

A small structure stands in the midst of the plain field that stretches for miles and is not as wide as it is tall- almost making you compare it to a tower.

Curiosity is one alluring creature that sings for you to get closer to the structure that has a door and two windows on either side secured with iron bars.

The door has no handles and you have to search for a way to get in till you notice the biometrics systems attached in the wall to your right.

Oh, what the hell.

I already am in some sort of trouble with this guy. Might as well make it two.

Your hand and iris are scanned and much to your surprise the screen brings up your name with the message 'welcome' with the sound of the door clicking open.

You step inside and have to catch your breath at the site of wooden shelves rising from the ground to the top with nothing but books. The smell of old pages fills your lungs and calms your nerves better than any drug. The skylight above lets the stars peep in and you wonder what this place looks like during a full moon.

A desk made purely of rosewood sits by the wall in front of you overlooking the garden outside, housing a makeshift desk, coarse blank pages and a couple of fountain pens.

You let your fingers feel every little thing over the surface as you walk in awe of the things unfolding around you.

Old books on biology, ancient texts of forgotten civilizations, planet's geography, world's history, collection of diaries of war prisoners, works of fiction from around the world- there is seemingly nothing that has been forgotten by this room.

And another one just leads to the stars.

A telescope taller than you takes up half the space in the room and you have to step up the stairs leading to the platform where it stands to admire it closely.

"Well, I'll be damned," you whisper to yourself as you walk over the netted iron flooring in your boots.

"Careful with that," Loki announces out of the blue and you find yourself losing all sense of balance in his cat-like presence.

Your one hand tries to grab onto the iron support bars while the other looks for something over the body of the telescope that just so happens to be polished to perfection. Neither things help you in time as your ankle twists and you collide with something sharp and hard on your way down.

A groan escapes you.

Well, that was graceful.

The stars seem to leave streaks behind them till your head finally clears itself and you see Loki's face right over yours, a scrunch between his brows as his green eyes are looking at you in some deep thought.

Must be thinking of how I put all the ballerinas to shame.

Even if you want to tell the sassy part of your brain to cut it, it somehow eases the blow on your ego.

Moving your arms to your side you prepare to get up only to feel Loki's fingers wound around them.

"Don't. You'll end up falling again," he speaks softly but there is an edge of 'how careless can you be' somewhere in there that leaves a papercut on your feelings.

The heat builds up and rises from your chest to your neck and gradually to your cheeks.

It's hard to keep your eyes locked with his. It's harder to look anywhere else. The tiniest grooves on his skin are the prettiest site in this light. The strands of his hair are like the darkness of this night falling down to grab you; in complete contrast to the paleness of his skin.

Were you noticing the sharpness of his cheekbones now? Was he even human?

No one is supposed to have such god-like features. Especially not a man who was once insane enough to do the things he did.

The same man now sits on his knees by your side to help you feel better.

"It's better now," you declare as you try to rise up.

Loki hands support one of your arms to get you on your feet.

"Oh dear," he breathes out.

"What?"

You turn around for an answer and feel a light sway inside your head. Fortunately, Loki is quick to grab your shoulder. Unfortunately, it's the wrong shoulder.

"That," he answers as you wince at his touch and feel pain be replaced by horror as he retrieves his stained fingers and walks you down the stairs.

"You're bleeding?"

He really has to give you the look before he even acknowledges your words.

"No, Kira. You are bleeding."

Taking you out of the observatory, he points you at the cosy couch- that even has a blanket- by the window in the room of books.

"Sit."

You do as you're told.

Loki takes off his suit jacket and puts it over the back of the winged chair before folding his sleeves up and walking towards the study table.

Were his arms always this...nice?

You watch as he loosens his tie to undo his collar button and bend down to open the drawers and take out what seems like a first aid kit and come back to you.

You do not even know when your hand tucks away your hair behind your ear as you try to hide the heat increasing up over your face, dreading that he might be reading your thoughts.

"Take off your shirt."

"Hm?"

Alarm bells should be going off throughout your existence right now but all you feel is a sudden rush of a tide of a freshwater lake all over your body.

"It's ruined."

You look at your shirt, then at Loki and back at your shirt before you shift and turn to one side on the couch to unbutton it.

What bra am I wearin- oh it's the black one. That'll do.

You feel the couch dip behind you. So does your heartbeat.

The shirt is off, resting in your hands. Your fingers move over the thread torn apart when you feel him pushing your hair aside from your shoulder. You help with that bit and place the bunch in the front.

It is hard to sit straight through the peaking tension as neither of you says a word while you mentally prepare yourself not to jump this time when you feel a foreign touch against your skin.

What you don't know is that Loki is trying to avoid the same thing.

The coldness of the wet cotton comes in tiny pecks on your back, nothing less than little wet kisses of morning dew.

"The cut's not that deep. It should heal within a week."

His voice is tender. So is his touch. So sweet that when you no longer feel the cotton on your skin, it leaves a tiny sting in some part of your soul that suddenly lights up when the surface feels a cool blow over itself. Every part of your skin feels goosebumps at his mere action. Some parts of you don't want him to stop.

One part suggests something further beyond your rationale and you have to snap out of the trance of your own imagination.

You still don't realise how tightly your fingers are wringing the deep red fabric in your hand, pressing down further when another blow of cool air lands on the burning wound.

"I'm sorry for barging in on you like that this morning."

Your voice shivers. You cannot hide it no matter how hard you try. The fieriness that is building up around your neck and someplace else is making it worse. So much worse.

"I didn't mean to."

A ripping sound goes off behind you before you feel a bandage being pressed lightly over your wound.

"You caught me off-guard this morning," he finally speaks and the words seem so alien from his mouth.

"I guess we're even now," you mutter, undoing the broken red threads.

Loki looks at your reflection in glass protecting his most treasured collection. He should not be staring at your unaware face like that and yet he cannot look away.

It is one thing to be obligated to take care of you as your employer but it is another when Tony Stark himself comes over to Loki to give him an earful about taking care of you 'ten times better than you are thinking right now'.

And why wouldn't he? You had given him everything he wanted to get out of this party tonight. You had served him Tony Stark on a platter.

"I should go before I break something else," you try to joke, bringing Loki out of his train of thought.

"Wait," he instinctively responds by disappearing up a flight of stairs you did not notice before and coming back with a crisp deep blue shirt.

"Wear this."

The colour seems to compliment you and it doesn't look borrowed once you have tucked it inside your trousers.

But as luck would have it, Stark and Solaris know the difference the moment you walk back into their field of view.

"You know, if you want I can talk to Pepper and she can take a look at your resume."

"I'm fine, Mr Stark. You've already done so much for me."

"Absolutely. I've done more than enough by giving your science project an A+. How could you possibly exploit me after that?"

You burst into giggles and Tony's face lights up on watching you like that.

Even Loki stands mesmerised as he pretends to talk to a foreign ambassador while his eyes keep going back on you.

"Here," Tony brings forward a small black velvet box, "this is for you."

He doesn't tell you the contents inside the box till you have taken it in your hands.

"No takebacks," he quickly announces and you open the lid and have to suppress an aching gasp.

"No." You are scared.

"Yes." He is excited.

"This is too much."

"I swear it's not."

"Mr Stark, it's literally a flower made of stone!"

"Semi-precious stone, mind you. Okay. I'm off now. Don't show it to your boss. He's a cat. He likes glowy things. Don't lose it either. I'm not getting you another one."

"Listen, you obnoxious diva," you begin, rubbing your eyes to wash away at least some tiredness, "I have had a very long day. I am tired. I am barely able to stand. I am hurt. So, I need to lie down and get some sleep. And for that, I need your furry ass out of here."

Fenrir looks at you blankly before rolling over to the other side.

"Son of a bitch," you growl at him before pulling the duvet from under him and plopping down in your bed.

Your breath eases and so does your heavy head.

"It won't be a bad idea to take up Mr Stark's offer, would it, Fenrir?" You whisper, your eyes looking at something beyond the ceiling above you.

"It would be nice, I guess. Working for him in New York."

Silence.

A distant command of Fenrir's name comes from the halls on the west end to which Fenrir replies with a tired irritated whine.

"Fenrir, come out here before I kick you out of the house," Loki's voice echoes from the other end of the corridor, making the wolf sit up next to you.

"Hmmm," you mutter under your breath, watching the wolf leap and rushed out of the door to follow Loki's voice, "maybe some other day."

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