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shaiyasstuff · 2 months ago

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trace | sylus | finale

synopsis : You hadn’t just held a candle for him. You’d built entire constellations. content : angst, highschool!au, emotionally constipated sylus now playing : Slow dancing in a burning room - John Mayer(Live in L.A.), In the stars - Benson Boone and Those Eyes - New West toward the ending

part | one | two

“We’re coming to you live from the hometown of rising basketball star, Sylus—”

The TV buzzed faintly in the background, but you weren’t listening. Not really.

“Little Ziera~” you cooed, cradling the squishy eight-month-old in your lap. She giggled up at you, wide-eyed and drooling, her tiny hands reaching for your face like you were the funniest person alive.

You chuckled, gently pinching her fingers. “She’s way too cute to be your kid.”

Shaiya scowled, tossing a cushion at your side. “At least she’s mine. Where’s yours, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m perfectly content as a single, thanks.” You turned your attention back to the baby, who was now trying to eat your finger.

But then—quietly, like she was just thinking aloud—Shaiya said, “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

Your hands paused for just a beat. Then you smiled again, letting Ziera curl her fingers around yours.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shaiya scoffed. Again. Loudly.

Honestly, you were beginning to think it was her love language. “Sure. That good boy from college—Xavier, right? You dumped him outta nowhere, said you wanted to ‘focus on your career.’”

She gave you a look. “Y/N, I’ve known you since we were fifteen.”

You sighed, eyes flicking to her out the corner of your eye. She wasn’t wrong. “It’s not because of Sylus,” you said.

But your voice cracked on the lie.

Another scoff—Shaiya should bottle them by now.

“It’s been seven years, Y/N.” Her tone softened. “Aren’t you tired? Zayne and I… we worry about you.”

You clicked your tongue, a little sharper than you meant to. “Not everyone gets to meet the love of their life in high school, Shaiya.”

That came out harsher than intended.

But the truth was, you were tired. Tired of pretending the past didn’t claw at your chest every time you let yourself breathe.

Seven years.

That’s how long it’d been since you walked away. Since you packed your bags, left the town, the memories, him.

You had everything now—graduated with a degree in art history, landed a solid career at a museum, built a life.

You should’ve been proud. You were, most days.

But then the nights came.

Nights where you stayed late restoring paintings under soft lamplight, and something—always something—would trigger it.

A shade of gray, the exact tone of his hair when the gym lights hit it just right.

A cluster of rubies embedded in an old frame—the same red as his eyes.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just color. Just coincidence.

Until the night you couldn’t hold it anymore—drunk, curled up on Shaiya’s couch, sobbing into her shirt while she held you like she used in high school.

You didn’t even know why you were crying.

He was just a childhood friend.

Just a boy who made you laugh at the worst times.

Just someone who promised you the stars and gave you silence instead.

Just someone.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because when it came down to it, he had looked at you—eyes you swore once saw your soul—and called you just someone.

And no matter how far you ran, how many museums you worked in, or how many masterpieces you restored…

The little girl in you still ached.

Still waited.

Still wanted to be held and told she wasn’t just someone.

She wanted to hear she was enough.

You sighed, pulled back into the present as you shifted Ziera into your arms. She settled easily against your chest, warm and safe, her tiny breaths brushing your collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead. “It’s just—”

The words caught in your throat for a second. You hesitated. Thought about leaving it there.

But then, softly, “Maybe it’s because I’ve always held a candle for him, you know?”

You glanced at Shaiya.

She didn’t say anything—just nodded. The kind of quiet nod only best friends give, when they don’t need you to explain further.

“And it hurts,” you added, voice barely above a whisper, “because I really thought he felt the same.”

And for a moment, that truth just hung there—between the two of you.

Quiet, and heavy, and real.

That night, after Shaiya and Ziera had gone home, you sat by the window with a cup of tea, lukewarm and untouched.

The television was still on.

Static humming from a sports channel running a rerun of the same segment. His name blinked across the bottom of the screen.

Sylus. Local hero. Rising star.

You didn’t even have to look to know which footage they’d chosen—his college tryout game, the one where he scored at the buzzer, the crowd on their feet.

His smile had been blinding that day. And distant.

You reached up to close the window, but stopped.

The breeze carried something soft through the screen—a faint echo of summer air, gymnasium sweat, and old laughter.

It was almost cruel how memory worked.

How your body still knew the sound of his laugh even if your heart had tried to forget.

Your fingers curled tighter around the mug.

You weren’t supposed to be here, still thinking about him.

You weren’t supposed to flinch every time you heard his name in passing—not supposed to feel like this.

You told yourself you’d moved on. That what happened in high school was just a chapter.

But the truth was, he’d never really ended. Just... paused.

Like some song you couldn’t stop humming in quiet moments.

Your phone buzzed beside you, dragging you back. A message from your museum supervisor—something about the new restoration project starting tomorrow.

You stared at it blankly for a moment before locking the screen again. You weren’t ready to return to a world where red paint made your breath catch.

Outside, the street was quiet. Not even the moon felt like it wanted to watch you tonight.

You leaned your head against the cool glass.

Seven years. And still somehow—

You missed him like it had only been yesterday.

“So, what do you like to do?”

The question echoed like a crack in glass—sudden, sharp, uninvited.

You blinked, and suddenly you weren’t sitting by the window anymore.

You were ten again, barefoot on sun-warmed pavement, fingers sticky with popsicle syrup.

He had looked down at you, taller even then, shadows of mischief in his eyes.

“Uhm… drawing. I like to draw dragons.” You’d said it softly, barely above a whisper, clutching your sketchbook to your chest like it was something sacred.

He’d grinned—wide, toothy. “Cool. I think that’s the first time you said more than five words to me.”

You remember blushing, shoving him lightly, and the way he laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Back then, it was simple.

Back then, he made you feel like your shy little world—quiet sketches and messy water colours—mattered.

You blinked again, the present folding over the memory like a sheet pulled over a bed.

Your tea had gone cold. Your heart, colder still.

It was stupid, how one memory could unravel you. How one boy could still live in all the soft places you thought you’d outgrown.

You curled in tighter by the window, knees pulled to your chest, eyes fluttering shut.

You hadn’t just held a candle for him.

You’d built entire constellations.

The morning was gray.

Muted light filtered through your window as you pulled your coat tighter around you, bag slung loosely over your shoulder.

The streets were still quiet, the city not yet fully awake. Just the soft murmur of passing cars and the gentle hush of your boots against pavement.

You didn’t mind the silence.

It gave you time to think.

To breathe.

To feel the ache you kept neatly folded beneath your clothes.

Halfway to the museum, your phone buzzed. You glanced down—Mom.

You answered with a small smile already tugging at your lips.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Y/N, good morning, sweetpea,” came the warm voice on the other end, the one that always sounded like a hug, no matter how far you were.

You shifted your phone between shoulder and cheek. “How’s Dad? Is he still trying to fix the garage door himself?”

Your mother huffed out a laugh. “He refuses to admit defeat. Says retirement hasn’t dulled him a bit.”

You smiled to yourself, rounding a quiet corner as you neared the main avenue. “Tell him to be careful. Last time he nearly threw his back out.”

There was a pause. Then her voice softened, like she was already switching gears.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I bumped into Mrs. Qin the other day at the grocer’s. She said Sylus just got featured in some sports article—local paper did a full spread.”

Your smile faltered.

You didn’t say anything.

Your mother, oblivious, continued, “He’s doing so well, that boy. She says he’s still in town. Isn’t that something?”

You gave a noncommittal hum. “Yeah… something.”

“She wanted to pass along her regards,” your mother added. “Said she misses the days you two ran around like stray cats. Honestly, I don’t think she knows how to cook dinner for less than five people.”

You laughed—quiet, breathy.

Your mother didn’t know what happened between you.

No one really did.

And that was how you preferred it.

Because the moment you’d try to explain—really explain—it would sound pathetic.

Like you hadn’t grown past it. Like your heart hadn’t aged with you.

And how could you tell your mother, of all people, that the boy she still calls sweet had once looked at you like you were nothing?

So you didn’t.

You never did.

You let her memories live in peace. Preserved in the way all mothers choose to remember things—softer, warmer, easier.

“Anyway,” she chirped after a moment, “your father and I are settling just fine. It’s nice being back. Quiet. Familiar.”

Your breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

Back.

You knew they had moved in recent months. Something about the coast getting too loud, too expensive. A small town would be better now that your father had retired.

Back to where it all started.

Of course.

You swallowed, the weight of those words pressing against your collarbones. “I’m glad,” you said quietly. “You deserve the quiet.”

“We do,” she agreed, and you could hear her smile through the phone. “Alright, darling, I’ll let you go. Be safe at work, hmm? And eat something. You sound too thin.”

“I love you,” you said softly.

“Love you more.”

The call ended, and for a moment, you stood still beneath the streetlight.

Sylus.

Of course you knew what he was doing.

You always knew.

You didn’t have to stalk his socials, didn’t have to ask around.

Your mother was more than happy to fill in the gaps. She thought she was doing you a kindness—keeping you connected, reminding you of simpler times.

But all it ever did was open old wounds in quiet, invisible ways.

He was doing great.

Of course he was.

Living his dream, chasing the future, smiling for cameras and shaking hands with people who only knew the part of him he allowed them to see.

Not the boy who once cried on your shoulder when his father got sick.

Not the boy who made you laugh so hard your sides hurt on rainy days.

Not the boy who said you were just someone.

You inhaled slowly.

Then you turned and continued walking, the museum finally coming into view through the morning mist.

It stood like it always did—still, ancient, beautiful in its faded elegance.

Your sanctuary.

Your second skin.

And even though your heart was still somewhere between yesterday and never again, your hands knew what to do.

They always did.

You slipped off your coat and tossed it over your bag, offering a tired smile as you greeted your coworkers.

A few nodded back, some mid-sip in their coffees, others too focused on their stations to look up. The usual.

Sliding into your spot, you pushed up your sleeves, snapped your gloves on, and leaned over the covered piece waiting on your desk.

“What are we working on today?”

Your colleague turned with a grin that said you’re not ready.

“The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun. The original.” His voice held a hint of reverence.

You blinked, processing. “Wait—the one? From the Brooklyn Museum?”

He nodded, practically bouncing. “Mmhmm.”

You stepped closer, the curiosity already pulling you in. “How’d it end up here?”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “No idea. Word is, the chief wants you on it specifically. Said he needed your touch.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you shook your head, amused.

When you peeled the cloth back, your breath caught a little.

There it was—delicate, dark, divine. The paper had aged, but the power in the strokes still pulsed like a heartbeat.

You leaned in, careful. “This piece is so light-sensitive. I don’t even want to know what they had to do to get it here safely.”

And yet, here it was.

Fragile. Faded. Still here.

Still waiting to be restored.

“UV lamp—now.” You flicked a hand toward the supply cabinet. Your colleague tossed you a mock salute and half‑jogged off to fetch it.

When the violet glow finally washed over the paper, you held your breath, moving the beam as delicately as a fingertip tracing silk.

Hairline fractures spider‑webbed beneath the surface and the varnish had yellowed into the color of old honey.

“It’s a miracle it’s still holding together,” you murmured, shoulders tense. “I’m afraid to even breathe on it, let alone touch.”

You set to work with that quiet, unwavering focus people always praised—steady hands, breath held soft.

Outside, daylight bled into twilight, then into ink.

One by one the overhead lamps clicked off as colleagues drifted home, until only your desk lamp burned, a lone circle of gold in the cavernous studio.

By the time the last door shut, you were alone with the Dragon—brush poised, silence thick, night pressing its palms against the windows.

You sighed, stepping back from the table, eyes sweeping over the painting with a tired kind of pride.

It was still far from whole, but something about it already breathed easier.

A quick glance at your watch made your stomach drop. “Shit,” you muttered. It was late—too late.

You peeled off your gloves, fingers stiff, and tied your hair into a loose bun as you moved around the room, quietly packing up your tools, storing everything with the care you always gave your work.

On your way out, you ducked into the bathroom, intent on washing the day from your face before heading home.

Back in the dim studio, the painting remained where you left it—battered and beautiful, raw in its incompletion.

Like it was asking the world to see it.

Look at me.

Even like this.

Especially like this.

You were halfway out the studio when you stopped cold in the hallway.

“My phone.”

Of course. You’d left it on the desk again.

With a sigh, you turned back, your steps echoing softly in the empty corridor.

The room was quiet when you re-entered, humming with the silence of things left unfinished.

You spotted your phone easily enough, tucked near your sketch pad.

But just as you reached for it, something tugged at you.

Your gaze shifted.

To the box.

To it.

Just one more look.

You told yourself it wouldn’t matter.

But it did.

Because the moment your eyes found the painting again, the breath left your chest.

The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun.

And suddenly, you were thirteen again—flat on the pavement after tripping over your own feet, and him, Sylus, standing above you with that crooked grin.

“You’re so clumsy,” he’d laughed, offering his hand. “But damn if you don’t fall like it’s poetry.”

It was bright that day too.

Sunlight catching in your hair.

His shadow falling over you.

And you, smiling like the world wasn’t heavy yet.

Your fingers hovered above the paper now, inches from the Dragon’s wings. They curled like tension incarnate, massive and wild.

The red used in his form was so vivid it almost bled—rage, desire, hunger. He loomed over the woman below, poised to consume.

And yet the woman—radiant, untouched—was bathed in golden light, her figure fragile but unyielding.

Like hope.

Like the kind of faith that doesn’t flinch even in the face of ruin.

Your lips twitched slightly.

Funny.

It almost looked like the two of you—how he was always the storm that never quite swallowed you, how you were always the light that refused to dim, even when it hurt.

You stepped closer, eyes drifting from the Dragon’s horns to the space where the woman stood, untouched but watched.

Desired, but distant.

Blake had painted divine conflict—man’s hunger for purity, the beast’s need to possess what it could not reach.

And maybe that’s what it was with Sylus, too.

He had looked at you like that once.

Like you were something too sacred to hold, too precious to keep.

And still, he let you go.

You pressed your hand lightly to your chest, heart aching in that slow, familiar way.

Maybe that was the tragedy.

You had always wanted to be chosen.

And he had always feared breaking what he loved.

—•

"Hey, you made it, man. And I don’t just mean the trophies or interviews.”

His friend grinned, throwing an arm over Sylus’ shoulder like no time had passed at all. Like they were still in high school, ditching practice to watch sunsets on cracked bleachers. “Look at you. Big shot.”

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh, head tilting just slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... busy.”

His friend gasped, hand flying to his chest in mock betrayal. “Damn. You sound like an adult. Since when do you apologise, Sylus? What happened to that brooding teen who quoted Nietzsche during suicide drills?”

Sylus smirked, eyes glinting with something dry and familiar. “He still quotes Nietzsche.”

“Thank god,” his friend exhaled dramatically. “Thought for a second you grew out of your villain arc.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Sylus bumped him lightly with his shoulder, the kind of nudge that said I missed this without having to say it at all. The rooftop party carried on behind them—music floating into the night, glasses clinking, the occasional cheer breaking through.

But up here, tucked just slightly out of reach, time felt slower. Softer.

“You’ve changed, though,” Sylus said after a moment, watching him from the side. “Less of an annoying gnat.”

His friend snorted. “Marriage does that to a man. That, and budgeting spreadsheets.”

Sylus laughed—just a breath of it, low and worn-in. He leaned against the railing, city lights flickering against his jaw, casting him half in gold, half in shadow.

Then came the silence.

The kind that wasn’t awkward. Just familiar.

The kind that curled in the spaces where memories lived.

“You ever think about those days?” his friend asked quietly. “Before everything?”

Sylus didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on the skyline, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Sometimes. When it’s quiet enough,” he said eventually. “Not often. It hurts.”

His friend nodded, something softer settling over him. “You always carried more than you let on.”

Another pause.

“You ever think about her?”

Sylus stilled—not noticeably. Just a flicker. But his friend noticed. Of course he did.

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above the wind. “More than I should.”

His friend didn’t push. He just let the quiet stretch, like the space between heartbeats.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, gently.

Sylus was silent again. Long enough for the city below to change shape. Long enough to feel like the answer wasn’t easy—because it wasn’t.

“Yes,” he breathed. “But it’s the kind of regret you learn to carry. Like it belongs to you.”

His friend looked at him for a long second, then sighed.

“Damn. You really did grow up.”

Sylus smiled faintly, still watching something only he could see. “Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

His friend leaned against the railing beside him, shoulders just brushing, the wind curling around them like the edge of a memory.

“You ever think about that day?” he asked, voice quiet. “Back of the school. When you pulled her aside.”

Sylus didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to ask which day.

Of course he remembered.

“It was quiet,” he said, after a moment. “She looked at me like she believed—just this once—I might choose her out loud.”

His fingers curled around the railing, knuckles whitening.

“And I almost did.”

His friend said nothing.

“I wanted to,” Sylus continued, voice low, fraying at the edges. “She was standing there, waiting. Not saying anything, but… you could see it in her eyes. She just wanted me to say something. To give her a reason to stay.”

He paused. Let the ache stretch.

“And then Colin showed up. Laughing like he always did. Loud enough for the whole world to hear.”

He exhaled, bitter. “And suddenly I felt it—all their eyes on me. Watching. Judging. Waiting to see if I'd cave.”

A humorless laugh slipped through his teeth.

“So I did what I thought would protect me.”

He stared up at the sky, like the stars might offer penance.

“I let her go. Stepped back. Said she was just someone.”

His friend winced but stayed silent.

“Colin was always watching,” Sylus said, quieter now. “Picking at me. ‘You’re too soft, man.’ Like caring made me something less. And I let him in. Let his voice sound louder than hers.”

His jaw clenched.

“I was seventeen. Thought being loved was a weakness. Thought wanting her made me small.”

The rooftop pulsed faintly with music behind them—voices, footsteps, laughter—but it all felt far away. A different world.

“I watched her walk away,” Sylus said. “Again and again. Every time I didn’t say the truth… I lost her a little more.”

His friend glanced at him, gentler now. “And what was the truth?”

Sylus turned, just slightly. His eyes were far-off, distant with the weight of what-ifs.

“That she was never just someone,” he said. “Not even close. She was… the only thing that ever felt real.”

His voice dropped to something hoarse, something wrecked.

“And I buried it. Smothered it. All so I could look untouchable to a boy who hasn’t mattered in years.”

His friend studied him for a long moment, then asked, softly, “Do you regret it?”

Sylus didn’t speak at first. The silence said enough.

Then, at last—

“Every version of me that failed her still lives inside me.”

He breathed out slowly, shoulders heavy beneath the weight of it.

“And when I dream of her…”

His voice broke, just faintly. “It’s always the same. She’s standing there, waiting. Same look on her face. And I still can’t say it. Still can’t move.”

His friend swallowed. “And if you could?”

Sylus looked out at the skyline, eyes softening like dusk.

“I’d tell her I’m sorry—for every moment I made her feel small. For every time I let silence answer when she needed something more.”

A pause.

“I’d tell her I loved her. That maybe I still do.”

Another breath.

“That she was the only thing I was ever sure of. And I let her think she was forgettable.”

The wind shifted.

The city lights blinked on like stars waking up too late.

But you were gone now, weren't you?

Gone in the way people leave when they’ve waited too long.

Gone in the way things break—not with a sound, but a silence too deep to fix.

And the boy who once stood behind the school, heart in his throat, was still here.

Only now, he finally knew what he should’ve said.

His words faded into the wind, swallowed by the quiet hum of the city.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, after a long pause—

“I did try to warn you,” his friend said, nudging Sylus with his shoulder. “Told you back then you were a dumbass. Pretty sure I said it with love.”

Sylus huffed out a breath—almost a laugh. It caught in his throat.

“You said a lot of things,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, I was a genius ahead of my time.”

Sylus gave him a look, dry and unimpressed.

His friend grinned. “Come on, you remember. I told you, straight up—‘One day she’s gonna walk, and you’re gonna hate yourself for letting her.’ What did you say back? Something moody and dramatic, probably.”

Sylus stared out at the skyline, jaw tight, but the corners of his mouth pulled upward—just slightly.

“I think I told you to shut up,” he murmured.

“Classic.” His friend laughed. “And then you probably quoted some depressing philosopher about how love is a social construct and solitude is eternal.”

Sylus exhaled, almost smiling. “I was unbearable.”

“Oh, completely,” his friend agreed. “But she loved you anyway. That was the miracle.”

The words hit gently, but they landed all the same.

Sylus went quiet again, the ghost of that almost-smile fading.

“I didn’t deserve it,” he said.

His friend shrugged. “Maybe not. But she gave it to you anyway.”

There was a pause.

“And that’s the thing about love, man. It’s not about earning it. It’s about not running from it when it’s right in front of you.”

Sylus didn’t respond.

He just leaned forward on the railing, eyes following the moving lights below, the wind tugging softly at his sleeves.

“You think she’s happy?” he asked, so quietly it almost got lost in the noise.

His friend didn’t answer right away. He didn’t pretend to know.

“I think,” he said, “she found a way to live without you. Doesn’t mean she stopped carrying it.”

Sylus nodded, once. Like he already knew.

“Then I hope,” he whispered, “she’s carrying it gently.”

His friend looked at him—really looked—and for a moment, he saw not the man Sylus had become, but the boy who once stood behind the school, paralysed by fear, and too proud to say stay.

So he softened his voice.

“You’re not that kid anymore, you know.”

Sylus let out a slow breath.

“No,” he murmured. “But the damage he did still follows me.”

His friend clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then stop walking in circles. Say what you needed to say. Even if she never hears it.”

Sylus closed his eyes.

And for the first time in years, he let the words rise to the surface—not for you, not for forgiveness—

But for himself.

“I loved her,” he whispered. “Not the way people write about in books. Not in fireworks or storms. Just… the kind that stays. The kind that never leaves.”

His friend didn’t speak again.

And they stood there together, in the silence that followed—

Two boys who had grown into men.

One of them still learning how to hold a love that had already slipped through his fingers.

The bus rumbled to a halt outside the stone-fronted building, its tall archways casting long shadows across the pavement. Sylus stepped off last, his duffle slung over one shoulder, hoodie up, the curve of his jaw set in quiet disinterest.

He barely looked up as his teammates filed out in front of him, laughing, stretching, nudging each other like boys who had never had to carry silence the way he did.

He didn’t want to be here.

Team trip, they said. Something educational. A museum visit arranged by one of the girlfriend’s contacts—some kind of PR move, a filler day in the middle of the travel schedule.

He had tuned most of it out, earbuds in and hood drawn. The only reason he’d come was because the coach had raised an eyebrow and said, “It’ll look good on your record.”

So he came.

And then he stepped inside.

The museum was quiet in the way sacred places always are. Light pooled in through high skylights, catching in the stillness of glass displays and the matte sheen of aged canvases.

Footsteps echoed softly across the floor. Voices were hushed.

He thought it’d be boring. Forgettable.

Instead, something in the air caught him off guard.

It wasn’t anything big. Just a shift—like walking into a dream already in motion. Like he’d been here before, in some other life, though he knew he hadn’t.

He stayed at the back of the group, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

The tour guide was saying something about Renaissance anatomy studies, but Sylus wasn’t listening. His eyes moved slowly across the walls, the halls, the corners.

And then—

He saw you.

By accident. Through a pane of glass.

He hadn’t even realised where he was standing until his gaze drifted beyond the sculpture in front of him, to the adjacent exhibit room across the way. The angle was odd, warped slightly by reflection.

But—

It was you.

Or someone who looked so much like you that his heart stopped, just for a second.

You were focused on something—framing a sketch beneath a mount, your gloves brushing delicately along the edge of paper. Your hair was tied back, slightly messy, like it always was when you worked.

You weren’t speaking. Just moving with that quiet kind of precision you’d always had.

The same posture. The same shape of your hands.

His chest pulled tight.

He blinked once. Hard.

But you were still there.

He hadn’t imagined it.

It was you.

You didn’t see him. Of course you didn’t.

You were half-turned, too busy with whatever task had your attention, the same way you’d always been—losing hours in careful work while the world spun unnoticed around you.

He hadn’t seen your face in seven years. Not in real life. Just fragments. Photos he couldn’t stop from surfacing online. Sketches. Dreams.

He stood frozen, barely breathing.

He wasn’t ready for this.

Wasn’t ready for how much it would undo him—just the sight of you.

You looked... the same. Not in the literal sense, maybe. But in the way that mattered. Like memory hadn’t gotten it wrong. Like time hadn’t eroded who you were.

His teammates had moved on without him, rounding the corner toward the next room, oblivious.

He remained rooted, eyes fixed on the sliver of you he could still see.

Something ached deep in his chest—sharp and quiet and familiar.

He had no idea you worked here. No one had told him. No one had mentioned the city, the museum, the chance.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t fate in some grand, poetic sense.

It was accident.

Cruel. Perfect. Unbearable.

Eventually, you stepped out of view. Just like that. Gone again.

And Sylus was left standing there, feeling like seventeen all over again—like he’d let something slip through his hands before he even had the courage to hold it.

He didn’t follow.

Not then.

He walked the rest of the tour like a ghost. Nodded when his name was called. Laughed, once or twice, when someone elbowed him in the ribs.

But his thoughts were somewhere else. Still trapped behind that glass, in the brief glimpse of someone he thought he'd never see again.

When they reached the front entrance, the team began to pile toward the waiting bus. Some were still talking about the exhibit. One had picked up a souvenir book. Someone else joked about stealing one of the miniature busts.

Sylus was the last to approach the doors.

He hesitated.

One foot on the step. One hand on the bar.

This was the part where he walked away again. Quietly. Predictably. Like he always had.

But his hand dropped.

And without another word, he turned around and ran.

Back through the glass doors. Back through the marble halls.

He didn’t know where you’d gone. Or if you’d even still be there.

But this time—he couldn’t walk away.

Not again.

Never again.

He pushed through the glass doors, barely registering the startled glance from the staff at the front desk.

The museum had begun to empty out, the soft lull between exhibits settling over the air like dust. The quiet made every footstep echo too loud. Every breath sounded like it didn’t belong.

He didn’t know where you’d gone.

Only that he’d seen you. That you were real.

That maybe—maybe—this was his one chance to say something before silence caught up again.

Sylus ran.

Through the corridor lined with oil portraits, past the faded sculpture garden, around corners he didn’t recognise, past velvet ropes and signs that blurred as he passed them.

He didn’t care where he was going.

Only that you were here.

Somewhere.

His hood had fallen off. His breath hitched in his chest, fast and ragged. The air was cool but it burned in his lungs.

You couldn’t have gone far.

He skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with a display of 17th-century ceramics. A few heads turned. He didn’t look back.

She was here. I saw her. It was her.

His thoughts were fragmented. Uneven.

Memories bled into the walls as he ran—your laughter echoing behind him like the sound of shoes on tile, your voice layered over faint museum ambience.

He half-expected to see you every time he turned a corner. Half-feared you’d already left.

What would he even say?

I’m sorry?

I never stopped thinking about you?

You were never just someone?

None of it felt like enough. But he ran anyway.

He turned another corner—too fast this time—and his shoulder clipped the edge of a glass panel. He winced, stumbled, righted himself.

Still nothing. Just walls. Art. Names that didn’t matter.

Until—

There.

Down a narrow hall, where the light fell in soft gold, you were standing in front of a newly installed piece, clipboard in hand. You were scribbling something. Focused. Calm. Unknowing.

And suddenly, he couldn’t move.

His steps slowed. Each one heavier than the last.

You hadn’t seen him yet.

But he saw you—fully this time. No glass. No tricks of light. No doubt.

Just you.

You were older now.

But there was still something achingly familiar in the way you tilted your head when you studied art. In the crease between your brows. In the gentleness of your hands.

His chest rose and fell, breath uneven.

He stood a few feet behind you, like he had all those years ago—too afraid to cross the distance. Too afraid to speak.

But this time…

He stepped forward.

The sound of his shoes made you stiffen slightly, sensing someone behind you.

You turned.

Your eyes met his.

And for the first time in seven years, Sylus looked at you without hiding.

He didn’t say a word.

Just stood there, chest heaving, heart loud in his ears, as everything he should’ve said a lifetime ago swelled in the silence between you.

And this time... he wouldn’t run.

masterlist

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shanastoryteller · 8 months ago

Text

i know spn hates good writing and also sam, but the dumpster fire of s4 really could have been salvaged if they'd just played ruby and castiel straight

by which i mean

ruby should have been one of the good guys (honestly it feels like the writers changed their minds last second regarding her anyway)

castiel should have been the villain (which, let's be clear, he totally was)

the point of this is that it would force dean to confront his own bullshit and maybe figure himself out, which not only would have been good television but would have been satisfying to me, personally

sam's problem is that he wants there to be a good equal to every evil. that he believes goodness exists even where it doesn't, that he always wants to give things a chance, that he always has hope. they sound like good traits, up until they're used against him. they reach the station of angels are bad eventually, but it should have been more immediate and visceral, that there is no greater good here. sam should have had this knocked out of him, which would have shattered him in way, to lose this thing he's depended on his whole life, but it really would have hammered home that it's choices that really do matter, not circumstances

dean's problem is always that he sees monsters as monsters with no grey area, that sam always has to play his moral center the second anything becomes complicated. then he goes to hell, breaks, tortures innocents, and an angel yanks him out and tells him that he's a righteous man

dean desperately desperately wants this to be true

because it's sam who they had to look out for, sam who was destined to go darkside, sam with the demon blood

dean doesn't have that excuse

he's just a human man with a hunger for violence who never learned to curb his appetite. who was instead pushed to gorging himself on it, who is left broken and desperate and angry by what he did to save himself. his whole life, his whole self perception for thirty years, was about protecting innocents. then he betrays that in hell. do you think he kept count? how many innocents he destroyed against how many he saved? the day it equaled out, do you think he wished he could weep?

dean is so unbelievably messed up by hell. not the torture he endured, that's barely a blip, but the torture he inflicted is what haunts him

so he needs for sam to be the bad guy

he's using his powers, he's hanging out with demons, he's drinking demon blood. he's the monster. he's inhuman

(he's using his powers and hanging out with demons and drinking demon blood and still he's doing less harm than dean, still he's trying to save people. dean can't accept this, because he can't be the rotten one. he'll forgive sam anything, but never himself, so it has to be sam. because he can fix sam, he'll always love his brother, so if he's evil there's stil a path forward there. but if it's dean? if he's the one going evil? sam's left him before. why would he stay now? if dean is the one going darkside then he loses everything. himself. his brother. it has to be sam)

dean is projecting all his own shit onto sam because he can't deal with any of it, which is why he treats sam like shit, why he treats him in a way that he's never treated him before. it's how he treats himself. and sam has no idea what to do with this, is left reeling and hurt and broken himself by dean doing this to him. sam never thought dean would leave him to die in the panic room, because dean wouldn't, not the dean he's known his whole life, not the dean that loves him. not alone.

but dean would do that to himself. and since sam is his proxy for himself, it's what he does to sam, but sam doesn't know that so all he feels is the weight of betrayal and grief and rage

isn't it funny, almost? the demons brought sam back just as he was, exactly the same. the angels bring back dean but he's not the same. dean comes back wrong, comes back different. but no one wants to say that. to deal with it

having ruby be evil and castiel venerated justifies all of dean's spiraling, all of his punishment. he was right all along, sam was the problem, don't you see?

boring

ruby stays loyal to sam, a demon who chooses something different, who chooses the boy with the demon blood because there's something compelling about sam winchester, as tempting as the apple before eve, and ruby didn't get where she is by knowing better

(remember when sam pulled all the psychic kids together, acted as leader, and resisted azazel? there is a leader in sam, a compassion in him, that azazel had to cheat in order to beat. and if ruby can show him how to win against demons then-)

castiel let sam out of the panic room. he's following orders, because that's his job, and damn the consequences. this should have been seen as the act of betrayal and evil that it was, castiel proving he was never really on their side at all, never on the side of preventing harm. it also would have made his redemption arc mean something, it would have given castiel a lot more to work with if they'd had to really bring him back over

ruby realizes too late what killing lilith means. tries to stop sam, but now that she's here it's too late, kill or be killed. sam accepts that, is willing to die rather than start the apocalypse. but then dean is there, and he can't watch his brother die again, he just can't. so he kills lilith to save dean, when he would have been willing to die himself

ruby gets them out of there. they discover what castiel did, that he pushed forward the apocalypse rather than prevented it

this breaks dean. he finally snaps, but it's good, because everything he'd used to shore himself up before had been terrible and rotted and corrosive

a righteous man is not a good man. dean is forced to confront everything he's done in hell, and after he'd gotten back, everything he put sam through, how he left him in that panic room and almost killed him, how he's treated him for the past year. how it was a demon who tried to help in the end and an angel that damned them

and how sam saved him anyway, damn the consequences

we should have returned to what the show had been building up to from the beginning - that sam loves his brother enough to do terrible things and dean has no idea how to deal with that

so we've got sam and dean on the run with ruby, castiel's slower and much juicier redemption arc, and dean having to pick up the pieces of himself while sam tries to figure out how he gets them out this mess. and sam's guilt is justified here, his aching sense of responsibility, because this time he kills lilith knowing it'll free lucifer. he makes that choice, for dean. and he's determined to fix it

just. demon blood tainted sam and turncoat ruby trying to save the world. the angels trying to end it. all while dean finally accepts the crushing guilt of what he's done and starts to work through it, starts to work on becoming the brother sam lost, on once more being the steady thing sam can hold onto no matter what it takes, because sam choosing him reminds him of something he'd told himself he forgot

he doesn't want to be a righteous man, a torturer, a demon, a victim, a martyr

he just wants to be sam's brother. the one he looks up to, depends on, loves

he wants what he's always wanted

to feel worthy of his little brother's affection

#i have a lot of feelings about how s4 tried and failed to make everything sam's fault #sorry you've spent so long establishing the inherent goodness of this character that now the whole 'maybe he's evil' thing is just cringey #also dean i'm so sorry with what they did to you #you deserved better #supernatural

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rachetmath · 4 months ago

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Nora's Plan B

Hey Nora.

Nora: Sup Em, whicha want?

Emerald: Say if Ren doesn’t work out would you date Jaune?

Nora: Yes.

Emerald: What?

Ruby: What?

Weiss: What?

Nora: What? Is that a big deal?

Emerald: Explain.

Nora: I mean I call Jaune a fearless leader for a reason.

Weiss: But Cardin-

Nora: Let’s break it down. Jaune let Cardin get away with what he did was because of his transcripts however that’s also because Jaune was used to situations like because no one has ever helped him with that. Think about it, how many friends Jaune had before Beacon?

Ruby: Hm.

Nora: Plus the moment Cardin threatened Pyrrha his attitude took a whole 180. Shoot after the Ursa he was ready to fight Cardin again.

Ruby and Weiss: Yeah, she’s not wrong.

Nora: Next, Cinder would have to watch Jaune’s progression in order to set up a good team for us to fight. Didn’t she?

Emerald: Yeah.

Nora: And Jaune stood up for Pyrrha when everybody was laying pressure on her. That’s something.

RWE: True.

Ruby: But Nora sometimes Jaune-

Nora: Hold on, yeah, Jaune has his hissy fits but then again, don’t we all grieve differently. Plus Ruby, Qrow waited until we were attacked by Salem’s forces to explain everything. Instead, he could have just told us from the start. He was doing unnecessary things. So yeah Jaune has every right to be mad. I say Qrow should have counted his blessings that Jaune was willing to help him at all if you weren’t around. Or Jaune kills him by his own hands.

Ruby: Oh.

Weiss: But then he- Oscar-

Nora: With Oscar, Jaune admitted he overreacted with him. But, again, understandble. We grieve at our own pace. And I mean seriously Ozpin hadyears to stop Salem and he hasn’t done it. Ozpin might as well be just as bad as Salem. Also if you have not noticed back in Argus the moment he pushed Oscar to the wall none of us were ready. Remember how Yang looked?

RW:

Nora: That was fear. I will say that takes points away for being attractive but it also shows he has a breaking point. Which for most people needs to be avoided cause someone could end up dead. But again Jaune proves he has control of his emotions by letting Oscar go.

Yang: Yeah she’s not wrong.

Ruby: Yang how-

Yang: Stay on topic. Look I’m cool with Ren and you know I- I understood why he was upset but the moment he realized his tone with Jaune-

Yang: He knew. He knew he f**** up but then Jaune’s response- Oh my god.

Yang: He maintained his composure. His behavior proves he learned from Argus with Oscar. He still was willing to talk with him.

Yang: If that’s not maturity then I don’t know what is. Just saying.

Ruby: But Jaune in the Ever After was-

Yang: Okay let’s compare. Ren was upset about Atlas and Mantle. Instead of being upset about it and following orders, what else has he done to fix anything? Nothing. And when he finally expressed himself it was after Oscar got kidnapped. And we were stranded in the middle of miles in snow with no food or transportation. Meanwhile, leaving those thousands of people to die.

Me: But didn’t you start it?

Yang: Doesn’t matter.

Me: Yes it-

Yang: Shut up. And in the Ever After Ruby…. …. We were there for a day and we made Little homeless. Robbed the knights. Almost died playing a game of chess with a spoiled brat. Fought our inner demons. And destroyed a city market with people in it to save ourselves from Neo. In one day mind you we did all of that.

Ruby: Holy-

Yang: Now with Jaune he wasn’t dismissing our problem but we were contemplating at the wrong time.

Yang: Mainly because a storm came.

Yang: He then brought us to his home.

Yang: And let's recall he was waiting for us. Something he didn’t have to do. At all. And what did we do? Judge the man for taking care of a bunch of children who want to die.

Yang: Then we brought Neo to him.

Yang: And Ruby -

Ruby: No further comments.

Yang: And Ratchet.

Me: *sigh* Okay. Fine. If you have seen my list of Jaune ships or seen any of my post on Ren and Nora., my outlook on them is not good. But after thinking about the reason I hate Nora, I steadily realized, ‘man, what I am saying, she’s better than Sakura.” She doesn’t physically or mentally abuse Jaune like Sakura does to Naruto. And unlike the other besides Pyrrha she’s consistent with Jaune. So I'll admit I was petty with her in volume seven and eight. I can see Nora’s Arc happening.

Nora: Thank you. Anyways Emerald I would date Jaune as my plan B. Especially if Ren and I don’t recover from Atlas.

Emerald: Well damn. Too bad you got competition.

Nora: *laugh*

RWE: *shocked*

Nora: Let them come. But remember, team JNPR. And team JNRO. And team RNJR.

Weiss: What is that- oh my god.

Nora: That’s right. I’m number two. I’m the second. I’m always beside Jaune. Not Pyrrha. Not Ren. Me. He’s the leader. But the queen of the motherf***ing castle. Bye ladies. *leaves*

Yang: Damn.

Weiss: Oh no, I better act fast.

Ruby: I need Ren to clean up his mess quickly.

Emerald: She most definitely

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #emerald sustrai #lie ren #jaune x nora #nora x jaune #rwby nora's arc #nora's arc #rwby topaz #jaune x emerald #weiss x jaune #ruby x jaune #rwby lancaster #rwby whiteknight

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deramin2 · 1 year ago

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Orym's argument against Ludinus Da'leth and the Ruby Vanguard is essentially "The purpose of a system is what it does."

This is a systems theory coined by Stafford Beer around 2001. He posited there is "no point in claiming that the purpose of a system is to do what it constantly fails to do." It does not matter what someone tells you a system does if it does not reliably do that. The things it does consistently do are the actual purpose of the system.

Ludinus (and Liliana) claim the purpose of the Ruby Vanguard's violence is to free Exandria of oppression from the gods. Orym's point is that they have not consistently protected anyone from oppression. They consistently murder innocent people, indoctrinate vulnerable people into doing terrible violence (including children), support a ruling class that dominates the population through mind control and eugenics, and seek to release a predator so terrifying that the warring alien gods and native primordials worked together to seal it away as a threat to both of them.

So the logical conclusion is that the purpose of Ludinus' system is not to free anyone from tyranny, it's to install himself as the tyrant. And it does not matter what Ludinus says it's for or even what he believes it's for. The purpose of a system is what it does. And Orym has been personally and repeatedly victimized by what it does. Why wouldn't he keep reminding them of that?

Add onto that, the Ruby Vanguard is a death cult. They lure people in with believable lies. They use propaganda to control how people view them and to convince people to support them. Liliana has been groomed into a true believer who genuinely thinks what she has been told is true and that Ludinus' system does what he says it will. She has been convincing other people of this for years. Not because she's an inherently bad person but because everyone generally tries to convince others that what we believe is true. It is actually dangerous to let a cultist try to talk you into the cult's perspective. That's why Orym shuts it down.

Orym was already on edge but it's fully in a breakdown after FCG's sacrifice. One more iteration of Ludinus' system consistently murdering the people he loves. But he still told Imogen he wants her to have a good relationship with her mom again. He wants Liliana to make it through the other side of this. But that has to involve consistently stating the reality of what's happening against what she believes.

Ludinus believes in the rapture of the revolution. Burn everything to the ground on a fundamental level and a new perfect society will grow, with him to guide it. The reality is that kind of power vacuum consistently leads to horrific violence and conditions often get much, much worse. Especially for vulnerable people, who often do not survive. A lot about the gods' relationships to mortals probably needs to change, but this an incredibly dangerous gamble to fix it.

The purpose of a system is what it does. Any suggestion otherwise is cold comfort to Orym's family in the ground.

#POSIWID #critical role #critical role spoilers #critical role meta #critical role campaign 3 #Bell's Hells #Orym of the Air Ashari #Ludinus Da'leth #Liliana Temult

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fangirl-problems101 · 5 months ago

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“I Don’t Lose”

“Bakugo and l/n–you’re sparring partners today.”

Our favorite hothead finds himself being challenged by the most annoyingly sunshiny girl (literally) he’s ever laid eyes on

katsuki bakugo x fem!reader wc: ≈1.3k

✨🧨✨❤️✨🧨✨❤️‍🔥✨🧨✨❤️✨🧨✨❤️‍🔥✨🧨✨

The sun filtered in gently through the windows, the air so still you could see the dust peacefully wafting by--until Bakugo.

"OI, MOVE IT, DUNCE FACE!"

You sighed. 'For a moment, it was quiet.' You didn't bother opening your eyes as you heard the chair behind you scrap across the floor, opting to simply face the window next to you and bask in the glorious sunshine.

It wasn't that you disliked Bakugo, but sometimes the yelling was a bit excessive. You looked down at your fingers, twirling some of the light around them.

'Sure he's easy on the eyes, but how does someone get through life this long by just being cranky all the time??'

"Whatcha thinkin' about, Y/N?" Pink hair and a big grin pulled you from your thoughts.

You laughed, spinning some of the sunshine into a thin rubberband and braiding a small fringe of Mina's hair, "Just about how I'd go crazy without your positivity, Mina."

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

Something Y/N didn't realize was that she was constantly being watched by two ruby red eyes.

"Dude, you're lowkey stalking at this point." Denki whispered.

Bakugo snapped his gaze to the living battery, "Why don't ya shut your face instead of spewin' crap?"

Kirishima popped his head over Kaminari's shoulder, "Bakubro, he DOES have a point. Maybe you should just do the manly thing and ask her out!"

"Tch. Get yer eyes fixed, both of you."

They opened their mouths to argue when Aizawa slunk into the room and they hurried back to their seats.

"For this period, you'll be split into pairs of my choosing for sparring. Please keep damage to a minimum today." Bakugo's eyes couldn't help but flit back to you as the listings got rattled off.

'I wonder what the chances would be. She'd be too easy to beat, just throwing sparkles or someth--'

“Bakugo and l/n–you’re sparring partners today.”

Both you and Katsuki's eyes widened.

'Well crap.'

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

Standing in front of him, you couldn't help the competitive urge starting to thrum inside your chest. 'I WANT to beat him, I want to show him I can stand my ground.'

"Don't go gettin' any big ideas, idiot."

"And why's that?" You pouted, but Bakugo saw that glint of mischief and determination in your eyes. He knew that look well, but what he didn't know was how his heart would start beating faster seeing it on you.

He scoffed, looking away with a slight pink tinge on his ears, "Because I'm only holding back enough to not cause major damage. Don't need ya crying all the way to that old lady and wasting her time."

"...so what I'm hearing is that the all-powerful and illustrious Murder God Explosion Lord-"

"That was an absolute freaking butchering of my-"

"-is scared, and holding back."

His eyes narrowed. It didn't matter how cute you were, NOW you've got his blood starting to simmer.

"Yer gonna eat those words, Twinkle Toes." He growled.

A wicked grin stretched your lips, "Oh, sweet thing, I think you don't even realize what you're up against. Because I don't lose."

And just like that, the dance began.

The room was filled with bursts of light and smoke, of yells and cries and growls. You were practically twirling around his attacks. You hadn't even begun to use your quirk, merely dodging and evading his own attacks and gleefully watching him get more and more riled up.

"STOP MOVING FOR ONE FREAKING SECOND!!"

The entire time, you never stopped smiling, and then you activated your quirk. Your abilities were practically the opposite of Tokoyami's. While he had 'revelery in the dark,' you had a friend in anything that emitted light--including Bakugo's explosions (and even Denki's electricity and Aoyama's sparkles).

You flicked your finger.

His palms quickly fizzled with smoke, the explosions instead drawing into your own hands. The flames were unpredictable, but still a light source, so it was fairly easy to manipulate. You opted for more of a fluid approach, the fire looking like a smooth stream of water circling your arms. He gritted his teeth and kept trying to land a hit, kick, spark, anything on you, but each time, it just flowed right to your growing flood of fire and light.

You fluttered your eyelashes, "Still think I'm gonna run off crying, Katsuki?~"

He stuttered to a stop, a deep red growing on his cheeks. An opening.

All the fire you had kept snatching from him now rushed at him, physically tangible and blindingly bright. It swept him up by the back of his collar, bound up his wrists, and had him pinned to the wall in a matter of seconds.

"And that," his wide-eyed stare snapped to you, "is checkmate, sweetheart." Your lips curled into the sweetest smile, blowing him a kiss and a wink.

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

Needless to say, the poor boy was humiliated, yet very much impressed and even more in love and in awe. He grumbled about how you hadn't sparred fair and that he had taken it easy on you, opting to walk away kicking the ground instead of arguing things further.

'How on earth does someone look so gorgeous while completely destroying me?'

He dragged his hand over his face, replaying how bright your smile was and the gleam that never left your eye, how you genuinely were having fun while he was tripping over his own feet and looking like a complete idiot in front of you and everyone else.

Yeah he intended on taking it easy on you, but you definitely started to get under his skin when he quickly realized how difficult it'd be to land any sort of hit on you. Not that he wanted to hit you, he just had a reputation to uphold. That was hardly sparring! No counters, no blocks, just avoidance and twirling and your wonderful laugh...

He shook his head. 'Knock it off. That's exactly why you were caught so off-guard.' This wouldn't do. He'd need to spar more often with you so he could figure out how to get the upper hand and not be distracted anymore.

A soft knock sounded from his door.

Bakugo grumbled under his breath and trudged over, "I already told you, hair-for-brains, just-"

But it wasn't Kirishima at the door. Instead, he was peering down at a bashful, fidgeting you.

Your hands were fiddling with the hem of your shirt, eyes peaking up at him with a nervous smile. "H-hey..."

"What, come to gloat? It was dumb luck, you overgrown nightlight." He grunted, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. His voice had no real sting to it though, more of a soft poke.

"I actually came to apologize... I was kinda maybe a bit of a brat-"

He raised a brow, "Maybe?"

You glared up at him, "Lemme finish before I change my mind and start a lightshow in your room whenever you try going to bed at 8-freaking-pm, old man."

"M'kay."

"As I was saying," you cleared your throat. "I'm sorry. Even though it was fun, and honestly kinda cute, seeing you so lost."

"So is this your way of confessing?" His smirk slowly grew into a grin.

A chill crept up your spine as your jaw dropped and a furious blush bloomed on your cheeks, "WAIT NO THAT'S NOT-"

"Because I accept. You're welcome."

Heat exploded in your chest, "W-wait, hang on-"

He leaned down and cupped your cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead (also trying to hide his own red face), "You're mine now, 'sweetheart.' If I were you, I'd get used to it."

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

this is my first time writing anything on here! i haven't written in a while, so I'm pretty rusty🥲

sorry if he's a bit ooc😖 wanted a fic of Bakugo learning what it feels like to be awestruck and get beaten by someone he's head over heels for

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howi99 · 6 months ago

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A Knight second chance 7

Yang: *surprised to see Jaune sitting at the dock* Jaune! *Walk to him*

Jaune: *looking back at Yang* Yang? What... Wait, did Blake run away? Is this why you are here?

Yang: What? Why would she run away? *Shaking her head* Wait no, don't change the subject! Do you know how much dust i had to use to find you!?

Jaune: *surprised* Finding me? Why?

Yang: *frowning* We found a girl crying her eyes out while saying your name! What the hell happened!?

Jaune: A girl cryi- *realising who She's talking about* P-Penny!? Why was she crying?!

Yang: She keeps saying something about a bridge and how she was sorry to have asked you to do something.

Jaune: *realising what happened* Oh no, no no no nO NO! *Getting up quickly* I was so stressed, i probably used my semblance on her without knowing!

Yang: *surprised* Stressed? By her? What, did she try attacking you?

Jaune: *shaking his head, distraught* No! Oh heaven no! She's the sweetest girl i know! She wouldn't hurt a fly! W-where is she!?

Yang: With Ruby at the park near the airport, but-

Jaune: *start sprinting in that direction*

Yang: J-Jaune, wait! We can use bumble- and he's gone... Damn he's fast.

___________________________________________

Ruby: *looking up at the Atlesian specialist* ... Are you related to Weiss by any chance?

Winter: *Looking at Penny with a stunned expression* ... She's crying?

Ruby: *nervous* I found her like this, i swear! A-and she refused to move from my side since! *Wriggling a bit* ... I kinda need to use the bathro- *sees Jaune running towards them* J-Jaune?!

Penny: *looking up, seeing the knight stressed expression* Jau-

Jaune: *hugging the broken girl, using his aura to heal her mind* It's ok! It's okay, i'm here now, it wasn't your fault.

Penny: *hugging back the knight* J-Jaune, i saw everything, I FELT EVERYTHING! I NEVER SHOULD HAVE ASKED YOU THIS!

Winter: *unsheathing her sword, pointing it towards Jaune* What did you do to her!

Jaune: *not looking at Winter* My semblance... I use my soul to heal and amplify others.

Winter: *frowning* That doesn't explain-

Jaune: *annoyed* What part of using my own soul, my memories and feelings don't you get?! She just lived through my most traumatic memories because i wasn't in control!

Ruby: *looking at her friend with worry* Jaune... Are you... Are you alright?

Jaune: ... I'm better than i was. Now let me fix her... *Looking up at Winter* Please...

Winter: ... *Sigh* You will have to answer to my superior afterward.

___________________________________________

Ironwood: *blinking, seeing Penny glued to Jaune's side* ... *Goes to speak*

Jaune: If i let her go for even a second, i will have to go back to square one.

Ironwood: ... And how long will it takes?

Jaune: *sigh* A day... Maybe two.

Ironwood: *frowning* That won't be-

Jaune: I already know she's a robot, general. My soul is currently inside of every single bolt of her.

Ozpin: *cocking one eyebrow* A robot you say? *Eyeing Ironwood* Interesting.

Ironwood: That was classified information.

Jaune: ... General, Penny's eyes can glow in the dark and her swords are connected to her back. She even have lasers. It would be a miracle if nobody saw through the disguise.

Ironwood: ...

Penny: *looking a lot better* General, it wasn't friend Jaune's fault if the accident happened. I should have listened to him and backed away when he asked for it. Please, do not punish him for my mistake..

Ironwood: ... *Sigh* I wasn't planning to punish him. Accident happens all the time.

Ozpin: *serious* However, Jaune's mental health could become a problem. *Looking at Jaune* Henceforth, you are expected to see the school psychologist. Is this fine with you?

Jaune: I... *Sigh* Yes, that's fine...

#jaune arc #yang xiao long #ruby rose #winter schnee #james ironwood #professor ozpin #penny polendina #rwby #rwby au #a knight second chance

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synthient · 2 months ago

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If Aliss has been alone for 15 days, then she shouldn't still have an unhealed scratch on her arm from when she fell and scraped it in the chaos. Self harm? (And more mirroring?)

The captain was 14 when she left home and joined the forces. Ruby's biomom was 15 when she had her. I assume we're framing the 1st Doctor as a teen (grand)parent by association

Belinda and Mo are casually chatting in front of Aliss without their screens on. We get a shot of Aliss looking anxiously back and forth between them, struggling to read their lips in profile. When Belinda finally looks at Aliss to include her in the conversation ("Have you ever heard of-"), that's when the entity appears for the first time. As some sort of symbol of her resentment/sense of exclusion?

Aliss jumps up, says "Look at me! I'm all clean!" and does a 360 twirl. The soliders flinch and raise their guns, but nothing happens. Does this indicate she has some level of control over the flinging-people power? Or at least that she knows exactly how long someone can be behind her back before it kicks in?

It seems like there might be a pattern where people catch glimpses of the entity at the moments where Aliss's irritation or anger bleeds through? She's definitely putting on a performance of not knowing what happened/what's on her back, and she seems to be playing up the "I just want to go home" thing at least a little for sympathy. Is one of the themes here the performance she has to give of the good, sympathetic, grateful disabled person, and the consequences when she lets her real frustrations show?

Pointed shot of Rogue's ring as the Doctor enhances the "we don't know what it is!" clip. This leads into his realization - "Oh, my old, old head!" Where did the radiation come from, he asks? The planet's star is burnt out, but it used to be an Xtonic star. The Doctor is a star, and a star that's collapsed = a "burnt out" time lord? I'm also reminded of the Psychedelic Sun that turned the Meep evil (another Master mirror).

The soldiers try to form a circle around Aliss to see what's behind her. She pleads with them to stop, but doesn't, say, back up against a wall. When asked "or what?" her face hardens.

Just as the first soldier steps behind her, Aliss grimaces a little, then winces at the scream. She's not thrilled about this, but she's not shocked or horrified either

"Don't go behind Aliss!" "Please don't turn your back on me!" The power kicks in when you enter the point in Aliss's field of vision where she absolutely can't see what you're doing or read your lips. Maybe this isn't some instrinsic "rule" of the entity...but the entity reacting to her emotions about people "going behind her back"? (The thing everyone keeps literally and metaphorically doing?)

"Something came out of the well, and now it's behind me. And they said it was laughing." This is more Master/untempered schism mirroring btw

Belinda is the one who lays out the points on a clock theory. Could Aliss and/or the entity have started following those rules based on her theory? (her narrative? her investment of meaning?) Is that why the 360 turn earlier didn't do anything?

Doomed Soldier Guy declares that they should kill the entity. It's possible that Aliss is so intertwined with the entity that you can't kill one without killing the other. When she says "because if you kill me, it goes behind you," is that a "rule"? Or an improvised self defense?

"And I met something so vile. It had no face. No name. No self." The Doctor has no (consistent) face, no ("real") name, no (fixed) self. Natch the Master. This is still about the Doctor hating what he sees in the mirror

"Clearly bodies have been broken by some kinetic force, manipulated either by Fenly, or by something in collusion with, or in control of her." Doomed Soldier Guy may be an idiot, but he's also right lol

"Either we disprove this story, or we meet the enemy." It's all about the story that's being crafted around these events, and proven or disproven

The power activates again not at the moment we see the volunteer step behind her, but at the moment we see Doomed Solider Guy step directly in front of Aliss. His pose suggests that he was going to shoot through her to get to the entity

The resulting massacre is edited chaotically enough that it's not always clear how people are getting behind her back (whether they moved there or she turned slightly), or even if they were directly behind her. This probably mirrors the characters' experience - they assume The Rule is being followed, but in all the chaos, how could they be sure? Then the captain tells Aliss to turn 180 - finally giving her "permission" to weaponize it against the guy who actually threatened her

"But...it's not my fault." "I know," the Doctor says. Aliss nods a little too eagerly, and her expression looks more like she's assessing whether he believes her

"I'm sorry. You're contaminated." "You are diseased," is what the Master got when the time lords refused to take him to safety with them. "But...my daughter!" Missy's daughter, the My Daughter Died And I Forgot arc, etc

The Doctor says "she's not leaving this planet. Not with that thing," and Aliss actually rolls her eyes mid sob. I think another element here is the idea that Aliss isn't neatly separable from her shadow self, her negative emotions, her willingness to kill if it's the only way out of here - but it's easier for the Doctor, if he can draw a hard line between the sympathetic victim and the monster

"Don't turn your back on me. Please don't turn your back on me." Apart from everything else, if that's not the Master @ the Doctor...

When the Doctor tries to address "the thing behind Aliss Fenly...my old friend," we keep getting shots of Aliss's confusion and then exasperation. Again, there's no neatly divisible thing behind me - you're talking to me. I am your friend.

"It knows my name." And the Doctor smiles as he cries. If the entity is a mirror - of Aliss, and now of the Doctor - then he's talking to himself. He's seeing what he wants to see: that the monster is still his old friend, still knows him more intimately than anyone else.

And that, of course, is when the Doctor realizes that "the way out" is to use a mirror

He switches from talking to Aliss to the thing behind her again - "you stone cold murderer" - and Aliss gives a wry smile.

"What if the thing behind you...is you?" YES. IT IS.

"It broke all the mirrors," so they assume mirrors are the Secret Kryptonite. Aliss broke all the mirrors. Days after the massacre. She still had the open wound from the mirror shards. She didn't want to look at herself.

Aliss smiles just before the "mirror" closes behind her. And then the kinetic force gives her a nice gentle shove forward into the Doctor's arms, so they can all run away together.

And as people have already noticed: Aliss mouths "thank you" to the Doctor from the airlock, her eyes are dead, the lights on her helmet are out, and the wrong number of people are on the monitor.

imo, I don't think this indicates Aliss was "just" possesed, or dead all along - anymore than the Master is.

There's a kinetic force blast just after Aliss leaves. This is the point where maybe another entity has made itself known? Or maybe Aliss just took one small piece of the entity with her, and the rest of it was still there? Or...as long as there's still someone left to look in the mirror (so to speak), a new entity can still be born from their reflection (give form to their shadow self, their darkest impulses)?

Mo is the first to insist that "It's not me." Belinda can hear the whispers, so they assume it's her...but the Doctor could hear the whispers from Aliss's shadow. The whispers were probably it trying to birth a new shadow from his psyche - that's how it knew his name. Belinda only heard Mo's shadow whispering.

(I think Mo's reaction shots in this scene also imply that she secretly suspects it's her, and she's staying quiet/letting Belinda take the fall out of fear)

And everything from that point on is pointless. They assume the answer is self harm - shooting Belinda, the captain killing herself. Aliss self harmed, and it didn't help. You can't carve your shadow self out of you, can't kill yourself into not having a dark side.

...Not that that's gonna stop the Doctor from trying 😜🤙

#(sorry for the color coding lol. think that was the biggest discovery here & it'd get lost in the wall of text otherwise)#doctor who #the well #doctor who spoilers

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nipuni · 13 days ago

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We are all caught up with Doctor Who!!! We were five episodes behind with all the travelling and family visiting but we did a DW marathon and MAN WHAT WAS THAT!!! We were not expecting that finale at all LMAO going to share our thoughts about it under the cut for spoilers at the end of the post!

In other news my family flew back to Argentina a couple of days ago so we are back to normal schedule, meaning I have a lot of art to post and a lot of games to play, and by that I mean mostly Clair Obscur!! Been dying to start it, I've heard so many great things about it and I feel I'm going to love it so I'm excited!!

Now DW thoughts!

My favorite episodes this season were "The Well" and "The Story & the Engine" Even though I don't think The Well needed to be a Midnight sequel and could have stood on it's own I'm not too bothered and I'm a big fan of cosmic horror and sci-fi episodes so I'm biased. And the Story and the Engine, absolutely gorgeous visuals and themes, the characters too just consistent and great all around. Joy the the world was also fun, I love the concept of the Time Hotel. I miss the monster of the week self contained episodes I think we need more of those!!! As for the other episodes I think some were fun to watch and aesthetically so impressive but I kept getting distracted by the convoluted and questionable politics, what in the Kerblam was going on with the messaging lmao!! what's with the protester turns terrorist villain theme? the conservative podcaster arc? the Eurovision power of song fixes racism and genocide? I'm trying so hard not to read much into it because it's infuriating I'm going to bite someone. I also don't like the portrayal of UNIT in these seasons, or UNIT in general tbh but that aside, what are we doinggggg 😭

Now for the final episodes I have so many thoughts. The Belinda character assassination was so rough and unnecessary, every Ruby appearance and role in this season could have been Belinda's I really don't know why we needed to bring Ruby back so soon if at all? The ending felt and was confirmed by RTD to be very last minute and you can tell the exact point at which they knew that Ncuti had to leave and pivoted the narrative but I still feel it could have been done so much better. Did we really need to give Belinda a motherhood plot one episode after we established this as a nightmare scenario in a 1984-esque world, and put her in a box for the entire episode hello? Now this is very personal and not an objective critique of the plot but I really dislike stories about babies to an irrational degree so I was not very happy about that whole debacle in the end and so much of 15th's run having something to do with babies and family aaaaaa But!! I also have a feeling that there is something bigger going on with this recurring theme that has yet to be resolved, and it probably leads to Susan so I'll wait it out.

That reveal in the end!! 15th deserved a 3rd season, the seasons are already so short now there is not enough time for full character arcs please!! I understand that Ncuti had to leave for work reasons apparently? but this felt so sudden and jarring!! and listen I don't think Billie is going to be the 16th doctor, she was not introduced as such in the credits and her posts about it on social media are also very vague so I'm pretty sure she's some version of Rose / Bad Wolf and she is going to be only in the specials acting as a sort of in between like the 14th doctor for another arc of closure (I also feel David and Billie are Russel's panic button when something goes awry in production and they need someone to step in to fill in the gaps lmao )

ALSO!! I think reality is still altered for a reason that we will eventually find out once we deal with the whole Pantheon. Maybe I'm being too hopeful lmao but I think those little changes left like the color Teal, the border between Sweden and Norway (Bad Wolf bay?), Mavity, the Poppy focus and flower motif, Ruby's memory and overall mystery, Susan's messages and the focus on family and The Doctor's lineage. I don't know it all feels like it's wanting to go somewhere and I'm hoping it does and Russel can land it better this time along with The Boss and the remaining Rani (speaking of her, why didn't Omega eat the other half instead!!! I wanted to see more of Archie Panjabi come on!!! she was so good) and uuhh Rogue in superhell or whatever. But also I tend to read too much into things and trust the writing promises and then get disappointed so we will see uughh 😭🤞

That being said!! BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLEIIEIFJIEIGHAIOFH MY GIRL MY GIRL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HELLOOOOO ❤️❤️❤️ I'm playing with 14th and whoever Billie is now like dolls in my mind, I can't wait to see where this goes. I'm here for it!!! I'd be fine with her being 16th too honestly!! I don't care!!! nostalgia bait fan service perhaps but I'm the fan being serviced baby let's goooo

#personal #doctor who #nipuni blogs

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buellersfueller · 13 days ago

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I won't lie, I was fine with the idea of the doctor clinging to a child. I figured it paid off the line from the Beatles episode about how despite Susan's existence time travel meant they hadn't had a child yet. It felt well enough in line with the Doctor's broader last of my kind angst. Belinda being so down for it was a little startling, but whatever, she's a nurse who cares about people & we have no evidence against the reading.

But rewriting reality and the sacrifice of the regeneration was centered on the Doctor's child, and his grief at that loss, even only half remembered. The reality readjustment is a complete nightmare, and all the worse because it isn't treated as such. Like a Belinda ran into the forest to scream about this like an hour ago. I would know I binged the whole season today to avoid spoilers. As everyone has been pointing out it's a complete contradiction when held to the Point of the last episode. The horror of the domestic sphere, the flattening and agony of hegemony. And what, that's Belinda now? She was a person up until the penultimate, and by the end of the finale she's unrecognizable, and that's after she was shuffled out of frame for the majority of those episodes. Unreal. It was so refreshing to have this companion who was genuinely frightened by the Doctor, who saw them as dangerous and their life as more scary than exciting, and the slow seduction (so to speak) was really very compelling. Shifting that in this way is beyond the pale. I'm just so sad to lose her in this way.

And for another thing, why should we have to lose Gatwa over this. He's been so incredible but he's hardly been around. Two whole episodes without him between his two seasons, both in favor of Ruby, and now fully sandwiched between legacy returns, to minimize his role as the doctor. He brought so much life and joy to the role and I'm just so bereaved to see him go. And no amount of Billie Piper can fix that.

And another another thing! Bringing Rogue back just for him to be implied dead? Are you fucking serious? Like, this is the least of my concerns with the finale. There are bigger fish to fry in terms of structural issues and racist misogynistic writing choices. However. Why. Why bring him back just to say I love you and then die. Why not adjust him back in? Why why why? One of many great joys in Gatwa's run was the queerness of his performance as the Doctor and I'm both worried we're seeing the last of it as a major character element and disappointed they stirred that one back up to this end.

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #dw spoilers #ncuti gatwa #belinda chandra #ncuti!doctor #i literally came back to doctor who for himannd because of the good things i heard about his performance #i never even watched the 10 return

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misasimagines · 3 months ago

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friendship bracelets / reader x Caleb / (Love and Deepspace)

included characters: Caleb!

rating: SFW! Completely wholesome

warnings: Unrequited yearning on both sides. Reader is a little tsundere. GN!

You sat on the floor of Caleb's living room, the sun shining through the open window and down onto your lap. It kept you warm on this cool morning and additionally lit up the project you were working on. Sunlight made your collection of relatively cheap beads and charms glint and sparkle like diamonds.

You threaded another bead onto the bracelet and held it up against your own wrist to check the placement. It was a mix of orange, red, and purple beads, and at the very center, you had snuck in two charms that bore your own initials. It looked to fit your own wrist too well so you were adding on some extras to make sure it would fit Caleb's without cutting off his circulation.

It was silly, even though you took it completely seriously, to be making a friendship bracelet for your adult, male, military employed bestie. It was even sillier to put your own initials into it as if you had some kind of claim over him. Which, as you snuggled up in his hoodie, you thought it wasn't that far from the truth. Caleb was always very loyal to you. Any request you made of him, he did everything he could to fulfill it. Any mood you were in, he did his best to match or or fix it. Anything you wanted, he'd find a way to get it for you. And the way he looked at you when you rambled on about something or even just stumbled into the kitchen for coffee in the morning... You flushed to think of that look.

It was setting yourself up for heartbreak to think it was anything serious.

You finished the bracelet and pulled the ends together, tying them so it could be tightened and loosened to a certain point at will. Slipping it on your own wrist, you tested the fit again. It slid down to your hand and you had to splay your fingers out to keep it from falling off. It made you think about Caleb's hands, how much bigger they were than yours. If you thought too hard, you started thinking about his fingers fitting between your own- about the roughness on his knuckles, the calluses on his palms, the-

Again, heat filled your cheeks and you tugged the bracelet off and began hurriedly putting away your craft supplies. Caleb was your friend. He'd always been your friend, and no matter how much it made your stomach sink, you had the feeling he'd always think of you like a little sibling. You scowled at your own mess as you scooped beads back up into their baggies. This minor craft project had really invaded the entire coffee table and a good chunk of the floor. Part of you felt compelled to quickly tidy up before Caleb got back because you knew he would usher you away and clean it up himself. He would pat your head, lightly tease you for making a mess, and then put everything back away on a shelf in a closet you would have to climb to reach.

“It's more convenient for me to put it there,” he’d say. “You can always ask me to get it for you,” he'd say. “It's not my fault you're a pipsqueak,” he'd say, and then he’d ruffle your hair and make it a knotted mess.

Why were you making him a friendship bracelet again?

The front door swung open and Caleb walked through, startling you out of your frustration and causing you to spill a bunch of amethyst and ruby toned beads out all over the floor.

“No!” You whined petulantly, watching them scatter and roll away.

Caleb stopped at the entryway, taking off his earbuds and setting them down next to his keys. He had just gotten back from his morning run, still wearing his stupidly tight tank top and shorts that left little to the imagination. Not that you were wanting in that regard. When it came to Caleb, you had a VERY vivid imagination. Vivid enough to make you blush if you let your thoughts drift that far. Thankfully, his own annoying voice broke you out of that dangerous line of thought, “Interesting assassination tactic, pips. Alerting me to the old marbles on the floor tripping hazard trick?”

You glared at his levity, “You won't be joking when it works and you fall on your ass.” You crawled around picking up the beads and swearing under your breath when they seemed to dart away from your grasp. It's like they had minds of their own, fleeing for safety under the couch and across the room into the hall.

“I don't know, I think I have it in me to crack a few jokes even with a cracked skull,” he retorted, crouching down and grabbing up a few beads to help you.

It wasn't even a question to ask him for help, and your frustration ebbed away at the familiarity of his presence. His constant, unsolicited assistance could be annoying, but there was something undeniably comforting in how reliable and predictable he was in that regard. “You'd be making dumb comments in the grave,” you snarked, a little softer towards him.

“Someone has to brighten the mood in the graveyard,” he agreed, already holding more beads in his hand than you had managed to collect. “Unless you plan on visiting regularly to keep me company?”

You looked up at his playful smile, and he held out a handful of beads for you. “Not sure how much brightness I’d bring when I'm mourning your death.” You held out your hand to accept the beads.

“Hmm,” he cupped your hand with one of his own to keep it steady before dropping what he'd collected onto your waiting palm. “And here I thought you'd be celebrating your successful assassination.”

Your cheeks flushed red and you felt frozen in this gentle touch. His hands were hot, maybe slightly sticky with sweat from his exercise. Breaking yourself out of your Caleb induced stupor, you responded, “I’d regret it immediately.”

The sincerity of your comment left you both quiet. He retracted his hand and found an empty bag for your beads, holding it open for you to put them back.

You quickly recovered, “Besides, when you're dead, no one cooks for me. It's really inconvenient.” You carefully directed your handful of plastic baubles into the bag.

Caleb sealed it up and tossed it next to you with the others, “All I am to you is a personal chef, I see.”

You shook your head and grabbed the bracelet, “Nu-uh. Would ‘just a personal chef’ be the proud owner of a one of a kind, handmade, artisan bracelet from yours truly?” Holding it out, you suddenly felt a surge of embarrassment. What if this was too childish?

As you began to pull it back, he grabbed your wrist and pulled it back between you. “Go on then, put it on me,” he smiled warmly at you.

You felt nearly feverish as you pulled the bracelet down over his hand and cinched it around his wrist. It fit perfectly. He turned his hand over to admire it and you made yourself busy fidgeting with a bag of fruit charms.

“I think you missed your calling, pipsqueak,” he praised you with a grin. “But…these are your initials. Trying to tell me somethin’?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, “It's a friendship bracelet, Caleb…of course the person who made it for you would include their initials. You know, so you…remember who your friend is and everything.” Your explanation sounded succinct and believable enough to you, but the soft, knowing smile he continued directing your way made you think he believed otherwise.

“Okay, okay, I get it. For a second I was thinking you were trying to mark your territory on me or something.”

Cheeks lighting up, you crumpled your bag in indignation and embarrassment because he TOTALLY read you, “I'm not a dog!”

He laughed and patted the top of your head, “Whatever you say,” he ruffled your hair even more to prove your point and you wiggled out from under it with a deep pout. He pulled back his hand and regarded the bracelet again with an expression not dissimilar to the one he gave you when you spent an hour rambling about your latest hyperfixation. “If it's a friendship bracelet, I should make you one too, right?”

You shrugged, still too embarrassed to emote otherwise.

“Teach me?” He tilted his head down to try to find your gaze.

When you lifted your eyes to look at him, you knew the bracelet meant more than friendship to you. The adoration in his face reflected everything you felt for him but couldn't say. You wanted to hold his hand and tell him yes, the initials meant you wanted to tell everyone who saw him that he was yours. You didn't want anyone else to be able to look at him and have a place in his heart. It was so selfish, so controlling, it made your stomach churn with guilt.

“Pips?” He prompted, concern etching itself into his face

“Yeah, sorry. Of course, I'll show you,” you tried to quickly recover, turning back towards the coffee table and finding the string to start it

Caleb gave you a second more of his worried attention, but when you stubbornly continued to set up for his own crafting session, he turned away and dug through bags of beads. You glanced over, curious what he was searching for, and narrowed your eyes when he found the bag of alphabet charms. He dangled it in front of your eyes with a playful smile, “Better start looking for my initials now, right?”

Chewing your lip, wondering what he was playing at, you shrugged indifferently though you felt anything but, “It's whatever you want.”

He tipped out some of the charms and started looking for a C, “It is what I want. Anytime we see these bracelets, we'll know we belong to each other.”

Your face burned and your heart raced. Rather than react like an adult, like someone who could admit to what they wanted, you elbowed him in the side, “Dorky ass,” you grumbled.

He just grinned as he kept sorting through the charms, occasionally looking at your own initials on his wrist with unabashed giddiness.

#lads #lads caleb #lads x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fluff #lads fluff #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #lnds #we need more caleb fluff in the world #i say while sitting on a caleb smut fic..... everyone avert your eyes ive been lost again

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the-air-nomad · 8 months ago

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Can you do more Fire Lord Ozai x reader? He's hot, and there's almost no fanfic with him (sorry if my English is bad)

I hope that you will like it!

A NAIVE DESIRE

You come from a noble family in the Fire Nation. So ambition and thirst for power run through your veins.

You are the fourth child in your family, so you had to fight for everything you have. Life has never been easy for you, being condemned to be the forgotten child of your family.

Although you had all the comforts and riches anyone could want, you always wanted more and more.

You have a charming nature, you are beautiful, intelligent and a fearsome firebender.

So it wasn't hard for you to be invited to a ball held in honor of Fire Lord Ozai.

Since you are already in your 20s, you have decided that this will be the perfect opportunity to find a fiancé who will help you climb the social ladder of nobility.

With this desire in mind, you dressed in a lovely dress that hugged all your curves. Over the dress, you wore a cape that had a phoenix bird embroidered with gold thread. You instructed your servants to tie half of your hair in a bun and let the other part fall freely down your back. You put a fine gold chain around your neck and chose some ruby earrings. Finally, you put on blush and red lipstick. You fixed your golden mask and left your house heading for the palace.

Once you arrived at the palace, you flashed charming smiles everywhere and spoke to all the nobles who caught your eye.

Everyone wore masks so it was relatively hard to tell who you were talking to without the person introducing themselves. But you ignored this crucial detail.

From the moment you stepped into the ballroom, you felt watched. At one point, you managed to make out the person who refused to take his eyes off you. He was a man, about 40 years old, and had amber eyes. You realized the man was probably part of the royal family. But you brushed that thought away, convincing yourself that he was most likely just a distant relative of the royal family, a descendant of Sozin's sister. Why would the Fire Lord be staring at you?

You acted like you didn't know you were being watched. You carried on with the evening as normal, although the man's gaze had begun to give you chills.

At one point, the man approached you. You tried to ignore him but the man you were talking to basically ran away with a look of pure terror in his eyes. You raised an eyebrow and then ignored the urge to flee to the colonies forming in your stomach. You turned to the man with a charming smile and he kissed your hand.

Calm down, it's just a distant relative of the royal family. The Fire Lord wouldn't waste his time looking at you like a creepy stalker. Isn't that right?

The man practically dragged you to a secluded corner of the room and started complimenting you. He said it was great to see a splash of creativity among all the boring guests. Then he started talking about war and destiny.

You looked at him, trying not to shudder at the fever with which he spoke of destroying the other nations. You mentally prayed that this man was not a general.

After what felt like an eternity, he looked you intently in the eyes and said that it was most likely fate that brought you together. He said that you two are the only ones capable of rebuilding the world because you are basically two phoenixes in a sea of blind dragons.

At this point, you knew you had gone too far tonight.

You knew very well that the fire lord was a sadistic and possessive man. So you continued to act like you didn't realize who you were talking to.

You changed the subject and started talking about mythology, hoping to bore him. But you did the exact opposite. He started telling you various stories and even talking about prophetic dreams he had had.

You smiled, hiding your fear as best you could and wanting to run and hide behind your mother's skirt.

You almost cried with happiness when several ministers called Ozai.

But your happiness was ruined seconds later when Ozai grabbed your arm and started dragging you around for the rest of the evening.

As the hall started to empty, you tried to make up excuses and say you didn't want to bother him. He grinned and told you not to worry about it.

He pulled you closer and put an arm around your waist, holding you tight.

An hour later you yawned and asked Ozai to excuse you as you were exhausted. He raised an eyebrow and thought for a few seconds.

And then he grinned and started walking towards his quarters dragging you along. You calmly asked him to let you go, but as you got closer and closer to his bedroom you became frantic. At one point you even tried to push him away and run away. But he laughed and picked you up starting to carry you to his bedroom.

Ignoring the strange looks the guards were giving you, he entered his bedroom still carrying you.

He sat down on the bed with you on his lap. He took off his mask and so did yours. He cupped your chin and looked deep into your eyes.

Ozai: Hush, my queen. You're just tired and stunned. You are a clever woman and you will make a wonderful queen for me. And we will rule the world together.

Silent tears begin to fall from your eyes. But he ignores them and kisses you.

Although I do not own the characters from avatar the last airbender, this work belongs to me! I sincerely hope you liked it. please rate it and leave a comment! follow me to see my next posts! Don’t forget that the request are open💖💖💨

You can buy me a coffe if you want: buymeacoffee.com/TheAirNomad

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arc-misadventures · 11 months ago

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First of all let me tell you that I love Cinder's entry, so full of lore. but here I come with something for Vtuber au; So, for Ruby, Weiss or maybe some other vtuber that you want to introduce, react to the information update of one of the most important events of The World of Remnant: Hunter's and Monsters. Because the way cinder and jaune explained it, it was an important event at that time. PS: Your work is always amazing, so don't worry about how long it takes to do something as long as you feel good about it.

The VTuber: The Lady of the Grimm

Fall4Me had a plan for today’s stream, a plan she had been looking forward to implementing for quite some time now. Today she invited a special guest, and she was all to forward to once again meet her, Lady.

~~~

Fall4Me: Hello my underlings, how are you this fine day~?

~~~~~~

Kinder79: Our lady is here!

Judicatorsbanana: All hail the, Grimm Princess!

Linxder: Hi, Ember!

H3LL3R: Been better.

Rangerlion: Can’t complain really

ICSTARS: What’s the plan for today?

~~~

Fall4Me: That’s good to hear chat. Now then, for today’s stream we’ll be joined by a very special guest. And no, before you ask it is not, Errant.

Her body fell back in her chair, her body adopting a tired, and weary posture as she lamented the fact that her darling wolf would not be joining them.

She quickly brushed this aside as she resumed her stream.

Fall4Me: Now then, today we will be joined by a friend back from my days of playing, World of Remnant: Hunters, and Monsters. Today will be joined by my, Queen; The leader of the Cabal, the Queen of the Grimm: GrimmMonarch!

Appearing from the side was an elegant lady with skin, and hair as white as bone. Eyes as red as fresh fallen blood, and nestled in a black void, smiling enchantingly at the stream. For this was the LadyofDarkness, the GrimmMonarch.

~~~~~~

H3LL3R: Whoa momma

ToxickBattery: Why are all the ladies in Remnant so hot!

Piggu910: Is that a bad thing?

ToxickBattery: Just an observation.

Judicatorbanana: This going to be good!

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Why hello everyone it is a pleasure to meet you all this fine day, and hello to you as well, Ember, it is a pleasure to meet you again. How have you been my dear?

Fall4Me: I am well my, Queen. How are you feeling?

GrimmMonarch: I am quite well today. Well, bar the fact that my tea has gone cold, but that is nothing to really concern myself with.

Fall4Me: I shall get you a new cup of tea at once my, Lady!

GrimmMonarch: Ahh~! Ember my dear, you’re doing it again.

Fall4Me: EEEP!

The chat exploded into a choir of hearts as they heard the cute squeak escape, Fall4Me’s lips.

To those chosen few that knew; back in the days of, World of Remnant: Hunters, and Monsters, GrimmMonarch had adopted a stern, but caring motherly attitude to dealing with the, Cabal, and its members. A demeanour that, Fall4Me instantly gravitated to.

For, GrimmMonarch adopting such a demeanour had become a coping mechanism to dealing with the lose she could barely endure, and as to why, Fall4Me stuck so close to her was to have what she never had when she was young.

They were simply two broken people cleaning to each other to mend their broken hearts. And, while their hearts had mended, some old habits were hard to break.

GrimmMonarch: It’s been years since we last play, WoRHM, and yet you seemingly still haven’t shaken off that loyal subject persona of yours.

Fall4Me: I can’t help it! It’s reflex at this point!

GrimmMonarch: We will have to fix that bad habit of yours. But, in the meantime, what are we doing on this fine day?

Fall4Me: Well, my chat has been pestering me for quite sometime about something, and because you had more… involvement with this situation, I thought it would be best to have you around to tell everyone what happened.

GrimmMonarch: Situation?

The Lady’s eyebrow shot up as she mulled over the word, until her mouth opened as a hum of realization escaped her lips.

GrimmMonarch: You are referring to the, ‘Scorpion Incident,’ aren’t you?

Fall4Me: Yes. During a video where, Errant was…

GrimmMonarch: Errant? Do you mean, ErrantryPaladin by chance?

Fall4me: Yes, do you know him?

GrimmMonarch: We spent some time together after the, ‘Scorpion Incident.’ Do continue my dear.

Fall4Me: Of corse; Before I did my first stream, Errant saw my announcement video, and regaled his viewers with the tale about my character, his interactions with the cabal, and the bloody retribution he wrought upon the, Cabal.

GrimmMonarch: Oh, so it was him who unleashed that half baked, Grimm-Titan upon us.

Fall4Me: You didn’t know? No wait, he never told anyone until that stream, of course you didn’t know.

GrimmMonarch: No, but I always had this stinking suspicion that he did. There was something about, Errant’s behaviour that that told that he knew something about the, Titan attack, but he never said what that something was.

Fall4Me: I never suspected a thing, I had no idea that, that, Titan was encouraged into attacking the, Cabal. I thought it was mere happenstance that it attacked us.

GrimmMonarch: It shows you how effective, Errant’s plan was that we all were none the wiser to his scheming. But, enough talking about our, Rusted Knight. Let me regale you with the story of the rise, and fall of the, Grimm Cabal.

GrimmMonarch: I played WoRHM, for a long time. From the beginning to the end… I believe I had over four thousand hours on the game…

~~~~~~

KinofPenguin : 4000 hrs?!

buggermeoldchap: WoRHM was around long enough for someone to have played that long.

ICSTARS: Most of the top plays averaged 4-5 k hrs

RaverKitty: The highest was around 7 k

ToxickBattery: Was it, Headmaster Ozpin?

Meol’mucker: Who else would have played it that long?

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Because I played so long, my level was… two hundred and, thirtyseven. I was nearly around three hundred by the time I stopped playing.

Fall4Me: Two hundred, and thirty seven?! I guessed you were over level one hundred, but to be double that?

GrimmMonarch: The leaders of the academies, and well as myself, the former leader of the, Cabal each had an average level around two hundred, and fifty. It was part of the reason I was scouted to be the, Queen of the Grimm. I could have been the Headmistress of, Mistral Academy, but the idea of leading the, Cabal was an oh so much more tantalizing idea~!

Fall4Me: Who had the highest level; Headmaster Ozpin?

GrimmMonarch: You would assume, Ozpin, and you would assume wrong.

Fall4Me: Wrong?! But, he was the best headmaster among the five of you. How come he isn’t the strongest?

GrimmMonarch: You forget how the experience points is distributed. Ozpin mostly fought in teams, so the exp from a quest, or Grimm slaying was distributed among the team. If, you primarily fought alone however, all the exp would go to you. So, care to guess who had the highest level now, Dear?

Fall4Me: Uhhh… E-ErrantryPaladin…?

GrimmMonarch: Ding~Ding~Ding~! That is correct my dear.

Fall4Me: ErrantryPaladin?! He had the highest level…?! How high?

GrimmMonarch: At the closing of the servers, Ozpin had a level of three hundred, and sixty three. Errant however, he had a level of four hundred, and eighty two.

~~~~~~

RangerSnake: 482?!

emptythrone: It was nearly 500?!

Seventwothreepie: Probably played for at least 6k hrs

PlacatedBadger: Explain why he never joined in the tournament matches.

TheBadgers~!: He’d whipe the floor with an entire academy

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Why did he bother sending that, Titan after us? He could have levelled the guild single handedly…

GrimmMonarch: Considering what happened during the, Apprentice Massacre, I believe, Errant wanted to make sure we suffered. I’ve seen him be rather vindictive to rather cruel players in the game.

GrimmMonarch: Now then, while I was in charge of the, Cabal, I had several powerful members join the, Cabal. Yourself included, Ember. But, while I had several powerful members under command, we were all jokesters, and bullies to a certain extent. Until the massacre happened, the worst the Cabal did was have, Grimm attack settlements, and teams of, Hunters. We were seen as a general nuisance that added spice to the game.

GrimmMonarch: But, after the massacre many of the, Academies started a witch hunt for our members, their attempts to find us mostly ended in failure. Until, Errant evidently sent that, Titan after us we were fine, but that, Titan crippled the, Cabal. Instead of causing Grimm attacks on settlements, and Hunter teams. We were stuck doing raiding missions in an attempt to recoup our strength. Many members left the guild because they couldn’t deal with the pressure the, Academy’s were mounting on them. And despite our best efforts, it seemed we were getting nowhere.

GrimmMonarch: That’s when several players decided to meet together irl, and discuss what they could do to fix the problem. And, this enters in stage left, the culprit of that fateful day… Tyrion Callows…

~~~~~~

Meol’mucker: Man that name sounds evil.

H3LL3R: Sounds creepy.

DaSting: I don’t like where this story is going.

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Wait, Tyrion Callows is his actual name?

GrimmMonarch: Yes it is. Most players use an alias while playing instead of their real name, however, since no one would know that it is his real name unless he told someone, well it worked at the end of the day.

Fall4Me: I remember the few missions I did with him, he was always seem unhinged. Wasn’t the, Apprentice Massacre his idea?

GrimmMonarch: It was indeed. He was sorely reprimanded when I discovered it was his plan. I should have taken that as a sign…

Fall4Me: A sign? A sign for what?

GrimmMonarch: Of things to come…

She hummed to herself as she contemplated what she was about to say; about how she could say it, and how her audience would talk what she was about to say.

GrimmMonarch: It was seven of them at a diner, including, Tyrian. There were several humans, and faunas there. While they were there, they discussed several ways to revitalize the, Cabal. But, peoples view of the, Cabal was ruined by the events of the, Apprentice Massacre, so it was neigh on impossible for us to recruit new members. And, because we had been raiding so many towns, dust depots, and general supply trains in order to rebuild the, Cabal after the, Titan attack, the Academies started making more missions to protect those assets. The Cabal was at a standstill, we couldn’t push forward with any plans because we were so broken. At that point, the Cabal was a dead man walking…

Fall4Me: Then what happened?

GrimmMonarch: One of them suggested that it would be best to abandon the, Cabal then. Everyone should abandon the, Cabal, me included. We couldn’t get any more supplies, we can’t get any new members, more were leaving every day, it was just a matter of time until the, Cabal was disbanded. The six of them agreed that this was the only course of action. They decided they would bring it before me at the next meeting. But, Tyrian… Tyrian snapped…

Fall4Me: Snapped…?

~~~~~~

DaSting: I REALLY don’t like where this is going!

Judicatorbanana:I’m starting to regret asking what happened.

LevenAngel: I regret a great many things!

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Tyrian started calling everyone a traitor, that they betrayed the, ‘Goddess,’ and that they will all be brought to pay for their transgressions.

GrimmMonarch: They told him to relax, since it was all just a game, but then… Tyrian grabbed a knife, and…

Fall4Me: He didn’t…

GrimmMonarch: Yes, he did…

Fall4Me’s voice fell into a small whisper as realization dawned on her at what that implied. She didn’t want her to continue this story, but she knew that she needed to finish it.

GrimmMonarch: Of the six people, three of them died due to knife wounds… the other three barely managed to survive, however medical personnel managed to come in time to save them. Thought his poison was quite effective.

Fall4Me: And, Tyrian, what about him?

GrimmMonarch: The police were in the area, so they managed to get there quickly, and when they were in the process of attempting to arrest him, he stung one of the officers, while the other one gunned him down.

Fall4Me: So he’s dead, Tyrian’s dead right?

GrimmMonarch: In the police report it indicated he when he attacked one of the officers there to arrest, Turian, his colleague unloaded his entire magazine into him. I can assure you, he is most certainly dead.

~~~~~~

Amogsus: Well that’s depressing.

Kalper: Sounds like he couldn’t differentiate reality from fiction

SuspiciousDucky: Poison? Did he have poison on him?

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Yes… SuspiciousDucky…

GrimmMonarch: Oh that’s a cute name~!

Fall4Me: Oh it is… Ahem! Yes that is a good question; What did you mean by, ‘His poison was quite effective?’

GrimmMonarch: What has, Tyrian’s character in game?

Fall4Me: He played this lanky scorpion faunas… wait…? Was he an actual scorpion faunas?!

GrimmMonarch: Indeed he was; Poisonous stinger, and all.

Fall4Me: Whoa… Wait, how do you know all of this? Did one of the victims tell you?

GrimmMonarch: Yes, and no. Tyrian said, they betrayed the, ‘Goddess,’ the survivors deduced that he was talking about me. So, I was called in for questioning by the police about this whole fiasco.

Fall4Me: They arrested you?

GrimmMonarch: No, nothing of the sorts. Just asked me some questions regarding, Tyrian’s personality, and the events that lead to this happening. I got to talk to the others who got hurt, and I learned their side of the story. After I received permission from them, and the police I told everyone in the guild what happened. That was where the end began.

~~~~~~

RangerSnake: Wait, Ember you didn’t know about all of this?

Linxder: Yeah, you were in the guild when this happened

7uwu7: Were you?

~~~~~~

Fall4Me looked away from her stream for a moment, before she replied to her chat’s question with a nervous lint to her voice.

Fall4Me: Uhh… No. I had stopped playing the game before this happened. I would have been there when it happened, but some… things happened.

GrimmMonarch: Best leave it at that chat. Now, I told the rest of the members of the, Cabal at a guild meeting what happened. Their reactions were varied, and understandable to the news of what, Tyrian did, and the loss of their friends. I then brought up one of the notions one of the members brought forward as to what the future of the, Cabal should be.

GrimmMonarch: Wether to continue rebuilding the, Cabal, or to disband the, Cabal. It was a unanimous vote to disband the guild… Even I didn’t vote to continue rebuilding the, Cabal. We were as good as dead anyway.

GrimmMonarch: We had one farewell party among us to celebrate the legacy, the good parts that is, that was the, Grimm Cabal. And, after everyone left one by one… all that remained was myself. I contacted the staff, informed them of what had happened, and then I told them to close the, Cabal. And, with that… the, Cabal died.

GrimmMonarch: You know… I always thought the last death cry of the, Cabal would be felt by the whole server as it fought to the death in one glorious battle for the fate of, Remnant itself!

GrimmMonarch: And, yet we left with barely a whisper…

Fall4Me: …

GrimmMonarch: So, there you have it chat; That is the tale of how the, Cabal fell. If those of you who were once players in, WoRHM, know only that the, Cabal was disbanded. Former members of the, Cabal who left the guild, and either returned to their former academies, or restated their account. Considering the nature of why the, Cabal disbanded the members didn’t want to talk about it, and just said, ‘There was an incident with a scorpion.’ Hence where the, ‘Scorpion Incident’ earned its name.

Fall4Me: Wow… I had no idea… I always assumed, Tyrian did something, but I would have never expected that he did that?!

GrimmMonarch: Yes… he did…

~~~~~~

Meol’mucker: Is this the first time, you told anyone about this my, Goddess? Outside of the Cabal that is.

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Oh my~? Calling me a goddess already~? Well, I don’t mind chat, but do show some restraint my dears~!

The chat swiftly exploded into a shower of hearts as the, Grimm Queen smiled sultry at the screen.

GrimmMonarch: But, no, I told the, Headmasters, and Headmistresses of the various academies what happened. I explained to them that the, Cabal was to be disbanded, and the various members would be either restarting their accounts, or simply return back to the academy of their origin. I told them to kindly accept them back in, and to not tell anyone about the, ‘Scorpion Incident.’

Fall4Me: And, you didn’t tell anyone else about all of this?

GrimmMonarch: There was one other who knew; Care to guess who~?

Ember’s model swayed as a brief laugh escaped her lips, she knew precisely who else learned the tale of the, ‘Scorpion Incident.’ After all, he had a knack for finding out about such things.

Fall4Me: Tell me my, Lady. How did, Errant learn about the fall of the, Cabal?

~~~~~~

7uwu7: Ha!

Amongsus: Knew it

DaSting: Who else but him?

emptythrone: That guy really gets around

~~~~~~

GrimmMonarch: Oh, how did you know it was him~?

Fall4Me: My darling wolf had the reputation across the server as an information broker. He had the most uncanny ability to find out about the most minuet of details that happened on the other side of the world.

GrimmMonarch: Indeed he did. Despite never seeing my human form before, he was able to instantly identify me in my human form, and I had not even said hello to him at that.

Fall4Me: ‘Human form?’

GrimmMonarch: What? Did you think that I always had this beautiful appearance you see before you?

Fall4Me: Well… that makes sense. But, I’ve never seen you in any other form, but the one I see before me. I never say you as a…

GrimmMonarch: As a what…?

GrimmMonarch: A human?

At the click of a button, the LadyofDarkness, The GrimmMonarch’s body changed, no longer was she a monster of death, and despair. Now lay before them for all to see was a lady of elegance that exuded an air of royalty that was unmatched by all those who stood before her. And, yet… when one looked into her eyes, one couldn’t help but see a sad little girl, longing for something forever out of her reach.

~~~~~~

Meol’mucker: YOOOOO!!!

7uwu7:😍😍😍

Laven: Damn!

ICSTARS: Who said she can be so hot!

RangerSnake: Smash

~~~~~~

Fall4Me: Ohh~! You look beautiful your grace!

GrimmMonarch: Thank you, Ember. This was the form I adopted before, and after the, Cabal. It is what I always imagined what, The Girl in the Tower’ looked like when I read that short story.

Fall4Me: ‘Fairytales of the World of Remnant?’

GrimmMonarch: That’s the one, in fact whilst I was using this skin, I went by the name, EVAnora, or EVA for short.

Fall4Me: That’s a nice name.

GrimmMonarch: Thank you~! Now, back to our, Knight. He stumbled upon me as I was slaying some, Beowulfs, small fry, hardly anything to worry about. Anyway, he walked over, and said, ‘I bare glad tidings to the, the LadyofDarkness, the Queen of Grimm.’

Fall4Me: …?

Fall4Me: Pfff! Ah-hahahaha~! Did he really say that?

GrimmMonarch: Indeed he did! It was so ridiculous I couldn’t help, but laugh at it as well. Despite, Errant’s reserved demeanour, he can be quite the endearing character when he wants to.

Fall4Me: Quite so, I’ve seen him converse with fellow players, he can be quite the smooth talker when he wants to. It’s can be quite scary at times…

GrimmMonarch: Are you referring to the time he swindled, Vacuo’s merchant guild into revealing where the slave camps were, or the time he caused the falling out of, Dazzling Spear Hunter Teams?

Fall4Me: Wait?! He did that?! I was talking about the time he tricked the, Crimson Brigade into attack the bandits base during the, Season of Fire event, that triggered a Grimm Horde event?!

GrimmMonarch: He did what?!

#rwby #jaune arc #cinder fall #rwby salem #rwby ozpin #tyrian callows

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heich0e · 2 years ago

Text

suguru's throat feels tight.

not in the nice way—like when someone pays you a compliment you aren't expecting, or you're given a thoughtful gift.

his airway is a vice; sticky and closing in on itself like a boobytrap in those terrible action movies that satoru always makes him watch, where the walls are slowly crushing inwards on the hero, leaving no obvious way to escape.

his face feels hot—too hot for the meagre amount of alcohol he's had to drink that evening. hot enough that he's sure his cheeks are flushed a vicious red. he looks down at his hands, still wrapped around the half-drained drink between them, and when he pulls one away from the circumference of the glass he sees the way his fingers tremble, moved by a force only he can feel.

he sets his cup down on whatever surface is within reach and looks for the nearest exit.

the bar is crowded, and every body that jostles him on his odyssey to the door makes him feel even more sick to his stomach—makes him acutely, and uncomfortably aware of just how many people are jammed into such a confined space. with every step he takes towards the fire exit (the one which at this point he just has to pray isn't connected to some kind of alarm) it seems to be growing further away, like his steps are a paradox he's trapped in.

finally, finally, his hands press down against the push bar of the door, and cold winter air hits his burning cheeks like a slap.

he's on his knees retching into the grimy snowbank that lines the back alley before the door has even fully swung closed.

"oh, wow,—"

suguru can barely hear you over the sound of his pulse in his ears. it was too noisy in the bar to make it out this clearly, lost in the thrum of the bass-heavy music and the spiral of his thoughts, but now it's unmistakable. it pounds in his head, under his tongue, trapped in the walls of his throat.

he lifts his head, his eyes bleary from the tears his exertion had sprung to them, and he sees a figure a few paces away from him with a cigarette lifted to their lips.

he blinks hard, willing the world to come back into focus. as it does (painfully slowly,) he can see you better. the first thing he can clearly make out is the oversized jacket you have wrapped around your frame (big enough that it can't possibly be your own.) his eyes flicker next to the bare legs that peek out from underneath it, and trail all the way up to the lines of your face as you watch him. but it's your eyes that make him falter for a moment: curious but strangely impassive at the same time.

"—rough night?" you ask, but you make no move to come any closer to him.

he's grateful for at least that small mercy, he can't help but think.

"sorry," he chokes out, spitting into the sludgy grey snowbank one last time just to try and get the terrible taste out of his mouth. he stands unsteadily, his hands braced against the brick wall of the bar to keep himself balanced. "i didn't even drink that much."

he's not sure why he feels the need to say it, or make any effort to save face when you've just seen him at what's surely one of the lowest points of his life. you're a stranger, after all. what does it matter, anyway?

you hum a bit, taking another drag from your cigarette. the sound is halfhearted, and it upsets him unjustly.

"i really didn't," he insists, wiping at his mouth with the back of his knuckles and turning to you properly. "i-i'm on these new meds and they've got me all fucked up."

your eyes widen a bit, and he watches the way the smoke slips out of your lips—painted a rich, ruby colour for the evening.

"no shit?" you ask him. "you shouldn't be out partying if you're sick, y'know. alcohol can really fuck up scripts."

"i'm not sick," he replies quickly. too quickly. too ardently to possibly be true. and the silence that follows is too heavy for such a cold, still night. he looks away, fixing his eyes on the road at the end of the alley.

"oh," you drag out the word, an understanding lilt in your tone. "those kinda meds."

suguru glances back to you.

"so," you take a step towards him, and it sets his teeth on edge. "what's your poison of choice then? paroxetine? fluvoxamine? good ol' fashioned escitalopram?"

suguru's head is still spinning from the liquor, but his pulse has died down a bit. now his mouth feels uncomfortably dry.

you keep going.

"are you taking it neat or did they give you a little chaser with it too for a bit more"—you make a little flourishing gesture with your hand—"oomph."

you're right in front of him now. close enough that the smell of your cigarette has finally reached him. suguru can't help but eye it covetously, longing for the pack in his own coat pocket, left somewhere in the bar. you follow his eyes and laugh a little, holding the half-smoked cigarette out to him. it has a lipstick mark on the filter, but he takes it anyway.

he sucks in a greedy, needy inhale.

the rush of nicotine hits him right away, comforting and familiar. his exhale feels almost rapturous.

he takes another little puff, then extends the cigarette back out to you.

"don't worry about it,"—you wave the gesture off—"you can keep that one on account of the whole... y'know..." your eyes flicker down to the snowbank where geto had just been retching.

oh, right.

"thanks," he mumbles appreciatively, wasting no time before he takes another drag.

the two of you stand side by side in the dingy alley while geto finishes off your cigarette. he crushes it under the heel of his boot, grinding it down into the cracked asphalt, once it's done.

"how'd you know?" he asks after a few more moments of silence. the cold is starting to get to him now—registering in a way that didn't when he first made it outside. the chill bites at his cheeks and his nose, stinging in its frigidity.

"know what?" you feign coyness, tilting your head a little to the side. he sees a flicker of something behind your eyes again that slips through the facade of composure—something mirthful, and maybe a little mean.

he swallows, and tastes tobacco on his tongue. "about the anti-depressants."

you laugh a bit to yourself, but the sound is strained like you're almost trying to bite it back. "don't take this the wrong way, but you just sort of look like the type."

he looks at you—really looks at you—then.

you're pretty.

he supposes he recognized that already, even if he didn't process it properly at the time. your lips look soft, your eyes draw him in, and in any other circumstance he thinks you might have been the type of girl he sidled up alongside in a bar just like the one he just fled and tried to start a conversation with.

but these aren't any other circumstances. you just watched him puke his guts up in a filthy alley and then guessed his SSRI prescription like the world's worst game show. and to make matters worse, his dick hasn't even been working right lately since he started these new pills.

as though life wasn't already cruel enough.

the fire exit flies open again, and all attention turns to it.

"there you are," shoko is standing in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the bar, cringing against the cool evening air. she frowns in suguru's direction. "we've been looking everywhere for you."

suguru watches as she ducks her head back through the doorway, but whatever she calls over her shoulder is lost to the music that's bleeding out into the alley from inside the bar. gojo appears behind her in an instant, his displeased expression brightening immediately upon seeing his friend. he pushes his sunglasses up atop his head, his white hair pinned back underneath them.

"suguru!" he cheers. "we lost you."

"i was just getting some air," suguru smiles blithely, in the way that he's perfected.

gojo shoulders his way out the door towards suguru, dragging him back towards the door with an arm slung around his neck. shoko's eyes flicker over to you.

"oh, hey," she says, nodding in greeting.

"shoko-senpai," you return her greeting politely.

"are you coming back in too?" she asks.

gojo and geto both pause in the doorway, turning to glance back at you.

"no, i'm heading home," you say with an easy smile, not unlike the expression geto had just shown. "you three have a nice night."

"get home safe," she calls after you, a lilt of curiosity in her tone. you lift a hand over your shoulder as you walk away, waggling your fingers in a lazy wave.

"who was that?" gojo asks as the door swings shut behind shoko. he leans in front of suguru so his voice can be heard over the loud music.

"she's a junior in my department at school," shoko explains, "don't you recognize her?"

gojo purses his lips as he contemplates it and then shakes his head definitively. it's not unusual for satoru not to recognize someone, especially a pre-med student instead of a physics student like himself, but suguru is a bit surprised that he can't recall meeting you previously.

satoru tugs suguru's arm back towards the thick of the crowd, and he braces himself for the oncoming barrage of stimulation. he freezes just before he takes his first step, whipping back around to the door.

"what's wrong?" satoru asks him, leaning over his shoulder. he's got his sunglasses on again, and now suguru can't through the lenses in the dim light of the bar, but he knows satoru well enough to picture the wide-eyed look of curiosity that must be behind them.

suguru's brow pinches in a bewildered furrow.

"was she wearing my coat?"

#suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing #tw mental illness #tw anti-depressants #tw vomit #geto x reader

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