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hunnyuwu · 4 years

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My Baby Don’t Like It || NCT Jaehyun+Mark [part I]

Premise: What went wrong along the way? After everything we had been through, you still chose to leave me?

Pairings : Dad! Jaehyun x fem! reader x Friend! Mark

WC: 2.1 K

Warnings: explicit language, some extreme fluff

Part I || Part II || Part III

"Hey baby! How are you today?" You were crouched down on your knees, shooting a silly smile as the most adorable four year old in the world ran straight into your outstretched arms, worming his way into the crevasse of your neck. You cooed into the kid’s ear, happy to see the boy happy and healthy. He withdrew from his squirmy snuggles to plant his tiny, moist lips on your soft cheek as his little greeting to his beloved Noona.

"I'm happy to see you, Noona!" A smile lit up his round, chubby features before he nuzzled back into the crevasse of your neck. You rubbed the top of his head a few times, messing up his short black locks, before getting up so that you were finally standing at your own height.

"Thanks for looking after him today, Y/N."

Your heart beat slowed down to a steady, rhythmic pace immediately. The slow, heavy thrumming taunted you as it rattled in your within the hollow shells of your ears. You interlocked hands with the small boy beside you before lifting your chin to see the person before you.

A gentle smile blossomed over your lips, a wave of calm washing over your body as you examined the familiar face before you, "Of course, Jaehyun."

"Remember Y/N, I changed my name." Jaehyun gave you a teasing jab, a dumb grin occupying his eyes. You flinched a little backwards, knives stabbing your poor heart as memories flashed at the forefront of your mind.

‘Yeah, but you changed it for her.’

"A-Ah, right! Sorry, have a good day, Yoon-Oh."

You released a breath that were holding for a little while as you saw Jaehyun hop into the driver's seat of an extremely expensive, luxury car. The flashy woman in the passenger seat threw an overstated air kiss to the little boy beside you, glancing your way soon after. A scowl replaced the smile you were holding onto desperately as she simply smirked with triumph. Your free hand curled into a tight fist as you watched the car whiz away, to the point that your knuckles turned white and your nails threatened to puncture the flesh of your palm.

She removed Jaehyun from your life,

And he allowed it to happen.

You and Jaehyun had known one another since primary school. On a bitter, cold day in the autumn of your second year, Jaehyun nervously approached your lunch table to ask if he could sit with your group, which you guys obviously said yes. While the friends you had in that group all eventually slipped away from your life through your years of schooling, Jaehyun and you had managed to maintain a close friendship. The close bond and chemistry the two of you had was undeniable to the public and private eye. Everyone thought the two of you would eventually get married, which you didn't mind them thinking in the slightest. Jaehyun had always thought the same too, even though there was no official romance. Just adoring looks, sweet gestures, lovely memories, and tense atmospheres.

In university, you finally confirmed your feelings for him, ready for that next step with him. You finally realized that he was your destiny, and you thought you were his as well.

Next thing you knew, Jaehyun found a girl from his economics class and the rest is history. They had an accidental child early on in their whirlwind romance, the one you were currently watching playing with stackable plastic blocks. Anger boiled your blood... you still loved Jaehyun to the depths of your heart, to the point that you regularly questioned whether you would ever be able to move on, but you couldn't understand how dense he was when it came to his girlfriend: Jimin.

Jimin wasn't your average, plain Jane college gal. She was simply receiving a business degree for the sake of having the piece of paper that she didn’t even work for. Jimin had her daddy's money and company waiting for her once she deemed herself ready for the role. When Jimin set her eyes on Jaehyun the very first class of economics, it was game over for anything between you two. Jimin made it her mission to claim Jaehyun as her own personal property, in other words her personal boy toy, basically making it her life’s mission to rid of you in his life. Or as she specifically explain it, 'spending quality time with boyfie while they were young.' You saw through her sugary sweet act from the moment you laid eyes on her when Jaehyun introduced the two fo you.

She was a brat, a snob, a snake, and any description with negative connotation that you could think of. You hissed as you remembered that the woman even convinced him that 'Yoon-Oh' was a more handsome name than Jaehyun. ‘How could he be so under her spell to not see the sort of shit she puts him through?’ You wondered.

‘The least she could be is a sweet, decent person to make Jaehyun happy in life.’

That would have satisfied you, but in the end, you knew that people never really get what they want. You were left high and dry while a snobby rich whisked Jaehyun away like he was never there to begin with. And the fact that the woman barely paid any attention to her child made you absolutely sick to your stomach. Hot tears pricked at your eyes as you watched the innocent boy giggle as he was currently in the midst of building a little block boat.

‘Taking random selfies with your extremely adorable child for your dumb Instagram page does NOT count as parenting, Jimin.’

As you reminisced on all of the times that you had to deal with Jimin's endless childishness and her possessiveness over Jaehyun, you felt a little tug at your sleeve. You smiled tearily as you saw one thing that significantly brightened up your bleak life.

"Noona?"

"Yes, Baby?"

"Why do you look so sad today?"

Your heart constricted like someone was squeezing it tightly, already feeling regret as you had been too absorbed in your own thoughts to give him your full attention. You didn't have an early education degree for nothing.

"Ah, just little things, Baby. Don't worry about it."

"But I don't want Noona to be sad! We should get you ice cream like you do when I get a boo boo!" Jaehyun's son, Jeno, happily suggested, probably just wanting to eat some ice cream himself. You were put into a bout of laughter as you lovingly looked at Jeno get up to 'go get you some ice cream to fix your inside boo boo.'

You complied as you simply couldn't ever say no to the precious boy, so you were on your way out to the local grocery store near your house, which you hadn't gone to in awhile. You peered down to the eye smile prince himself who was happily skipping alongside you, his tiny hand wrapped around the middle three fingers of your hand, a gesture that you you screaming in an internal maternal mess.

Jimin and Jaehyun have been so neglecting of this poor child lately, always going out on day long dates and luxurious overseas trips, obviously as per Jimin's request.

You had to say, you were extremely disappointed at Jaehyun for forgetting his caring, sweet roots. The child you were currently leading into a small grocery store was basically your own, you were more of a mother to him than Jimin could ever be.

"Hey, Y/N!"

You looked around to see who called out your name when you spotted a familiar face, causing you to stumble back with pleasant surprise.

"Oh hey, Mark! I didn't know you worked here! Master's degree yet?" You led little Jeno over to the cash register to greet him, gushing over seeing the adorable guy once again. You knew Mark when you were a senior in college, him being a spry sophomore at the time. While he was a music major and you were an early education major, you two fatefully ended up in the same science requirement classes, leading to a beautiful, supportive relationship to blossom between the two of you. You hadn't been able to see him as of late as you were busy with your job.

"Yeah, I’m here part time. Needed some money so I can pay off my college debt as I'm looking for a gig at the moment. But anyways, uhhh, y-you look beautiful as ever, Y/N. Is he your child?" You blushed at his compliment while looking down at little Jeno who Mark was gesturing to gently. Jeno was shooting Mark a suspicious glare causing you to giggle as you dropped a hand to pat his head.

"No, this is Jeno, Jaehyun's son. I regularly babysit him."

Mark gave you a confused look, something wasn't adding up for him.

"You and Jaehyun aren't together?"

You were taken aback at his lack of knowledge. You even told him about Jaehyun's girlfriend a long time ago, but it seems like he didn't remember. Besides, you and Jaehyun were very, very not together.

As you were about to explain, Jeno took the spotlight.

"Daddy should date my Noona! She's a lot better-"

"Shh, you shouldn't say stuff like that, Jeno." You cooed to comfort the pouting kid as you hoisted him up onto your waist to rock him a little. He was getting a little heavy for this, but you didn't mind throwing your back out for him.

Mark laughed to himself, throwing a loving gaze your way as you and Jeno bickered for a little. His insides turned to goop as he fell down the tempting rabbit hole once again.

"Well, if you're not with anyone right now... c-could I ask to maybe take you out on a date sometime?"

You abruptly paused your conversation with Jeno to whip your head to the blushing male. A little blush to match his crept up to your cheeks as you reeled over what he just said in your mind like a broken cassette.

"You want to... go out with me?" You whispered with a tilt of your head, needing a firm confirmation from him before you let your mind start playing tricks on itself.

"Yeah, if that's fine with you." Mark restated, biting down on his bottom lip as he awaited your answer.

Thoughts of Jaehyun’s beautiful, warm smile plagued your mind like a disease; you were still very much in love with him. Even if his actions gave you a whole list as to why you should give his ass up in a heartbeat.

You looked back into Mark's eyes, finally making up your mind.

"I'd love to, Mark."

"Really?" He choked out, already expecting a rejection coming his way. You were oblivious to it, but Mark had the largest crush on you ever since you became partners for your science class. Whenever he even thought of asking you out, he remembered how close you were to Jaehyun, so he always chickened out.

This was finally his chance.

"Yeah, of course I would." You said sheepishly.

"But what about Daddy?"

You looked back to Jeno who was inches away from your face with round, glassy eyes. You sighed as you gave his cheek a quick little peck.

"Your Daddy is happy with your Mommy, Jeno. Don't worry, you will always be the number one man in my heart, okay? We will have a bunch more playdates!"

Mark watched as you comforted Jeno, feeling his heart thump violently against his ribcage. He knew you were the one for him, and he truly pitied Jaehyun, for he couldn't even see the true beauty that was sitting in front of him for so many years. Mark prayed above, thoroughly thanking fate to bring you to him today.

"Excuse me, but are you checking out right now?" An elderly woman appeared behind you with a harsh glare, a sharp tongue to match her tapping foot. You bowed quickly, not too much so that Jeno wouldn’t fall off, muttering small apologies as you moved out of the way.

"You better give me a discount for the ice cream, Mark!" You yelled as you walked away with Jeno over to the ice cream freezer. Mark gave you a cute little smile before diving back into scanning the items that that woman gave to him. Though it has been hard in your journey to give up on Jaehyun, there may be just as amazing men that would be better for you out there. You sighed out happily, maybe things were going to improve for you in the future.

~~~

Part I || Part II || Part III

This mini fic is the result of when I learned that Jaehyun said he would have basically been a teenage dad if he wasn't an idol 👁👄👁

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shesquiinnsane-ar · 4 years

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He’s know when you’ve been bad or good So be good for goodness sake!

CHRISTMAS AND HANUKKAH. Throwing them into the same sentence as Santa Claus, at least in the more traditional sense sounded crazy. Her mother was Catholic, her Father was Jewish and they both had their views on the holiday season. For the family, whilst her father was around anyway, the Quinzels celebrated Hanukkah, using the first day of lighting their Menorah to also decorate their Christmas tree. Like every year in the Quinzel household the whole thing soon turned into an argument, talks about the ‘real’ Christmas, and how much of a creep the fictional Santa was made the whole scene just a mess, especially to anyone looking from the outside. As a child, Harley never got the chance to meet the ‘stupid’ mall santas that gave all her friends chocolate and little presents. Who didn’t want little toy cars and tiny hair brushes to remind them of their visit with Santa? Just because Harley didn’t see Santa then, however, didn’t mean she wouldn’t meet him. For the blonde, it just took a few more years and many twists and turns to meet the man himself, accidentally.

All the children of Gotham were lining up for the enjoyment of meeting the male, Father Christmas, the embodiment of joy. Literally, from what Harley learnt about him he just couldn’t be sad until the dark part of his mind took over his body and he went into shock. She’d rescued him, from that, pulled him out of himself and they’d been close since. So Harley could spot a fake anywhere. Hoping to catch up with the man she’d rescued, she waited patiently by the side of the makeshift grotto - and Santa stunk of cigarettes and alcohol. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t Santa - what if he confused the tutus and the trucks, what if he put a tutu on a truck? Harley couldn’t let the children of Gotham anywhere near this creep. Because like her mother had warned her all those years ago, this specific Santa was that exact creep because well, he wasn’t Santa. Just some creep trying to get close to children.

Whilst the queues were busy the jester occupied herself with trying to take out one of the elves, barely dressed and really not rocking the attire very well. Her lack of a smile screamed Christmas spirit was needed, probably of more than one kind. Losing her bat, she didn’t want to threaten the girl outright but they need someone who had met the actual Santa Claus, and she wasn’t even sure the man backstage could even spell Christmas. ❝ Sorry, gal! Ya been replaced. Santa ain’t interested in havin’ an elf who ain’t happy. He doesn’t want ya ruinin it fer the kids? ❞

❝ Santa doesn’t even care about the kids. He aint’ real ya know, psycho... ❞ The skimpy dress told another, unfortunate story that Harley did not want to delve into, especially if she wanted to take over the role to pay Santa a visit. Harley didn’t give herself a chance to second guess her actions as within seconds she’d knocked down the little elf girl. She’d get over it eventually but Harley had a job to do to keep Christmas in Gotham right on track. Changing into the...tube of fabric, that barely covered everything, she touched up her makeup, swapping the pink and blue for red and green, adding her old jester hat to the mix for fun before taking it to the stage, or more the grotto that Santa would be making his appearance in downtown Gotham.

❝ Gals and guys, ladies and gents! Sorry fer the mix up in the elf emporium some gal had a lil’ slip an’ is currently unavailable but...Santa is bright and on his way! Just gonna check he’s his usual Merry self as he wishes you a Happy Holidays! ❞ Rushing behind the scenes Harley couldn’t help but be disheartened by the smell. To say he stank of cigarettes was like saying Gotham’s streets had rats. It was undeniable and the kids wouldn’t want to go anywhere near him. She had to pull this off for the kids, for the parents, and in her mind for the whole of Gotham. She coughed to get his attention and the male looked at her, slight fear in his eyes. Clearly, he knew ho she was so hopefully, this was to go a lot smoother than planned. ❝ Look Mista’ I ain’t wantin’ t’ play no games I know ya ain’t Santa, trust me, he’s a much better guy than you are but ya gotta explain to these clued up kids that ya actually are Santa. An’ santa don’t smoke, he just drinks too much sherry an’ thinks about gals. So pick yaself up, brush the ash off ya suit ‘cause ya ain’t been down no chimneys yet and get ya fat ‘n’ merry ass out on that stage! ❞

The male nodded before racing into action, maybe he thought she was crazy, maybe he didn’t want to get his head smooshed in by a baseball bat, or a mallet for that fact and he made the right decision. ❝ Just don’t knock ‘em dead, but have fun! ❞ She waved before skipping onto the stage and down the steps by the first child and ‘Santa’ came out to a wave of cheers. Kneeling down to look the first kid in the eye she playfully winked. ❝ Looks like Santa’s all ready fer ya, kiddo. Go tell ‘im what ya want! ❞

#TUNESDAY DRABBLES.{ harley's solo adventures; diving into her world}#V; REBIRTH.{bubblegum blonde; sweet not stupid}#Hanukkah will be prominent int he next one ~ I just wanted something that was definitely more lighthearted after the intense Nolan drabble

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writtenfan · 6 years

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Sketched in Blood

Severus x Reader Imagine

As Requested...although I accidentally lost the exact worded request...here it is!

Summary: You're called into a hideously pink office after causing “trouble” in a class that shouldn’t be even called a class taught by Dolores Umbridge. You're left with more than just a mark. And he is left with more than just a simple concern...

“You should have kept your mouth shut like I requested miss/mr l/n” she said lovingly “But I raised my hand! students are allowed to ask questions aren't they?!” She cocked her head and pursed her lips pursed gazing at you “sweetly”. Then she took a small breath in and let it out in a soft musical way as she centered a small cat figure on her desk.

“Of course! All students can voice their opinions…” she said charmingly. “Buuut!” she sang as she rose gently from her table and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Within, reason…” she whispered

“...and some opinions...are...better than others.”

You let out a fake laugh. “Within reason, Whose’s reason, and what do you mean by ”better than others?”.

“Why within reason of the ministry of course!” she laughed sliding her hand off your shoulder and moving herself to the wall behind her desk to sort a few objects on her shelf.

“ You kept on asking about using spells..” she sighed sweetly as she picked up a small cat with angel wings and tapped it into a new spot “to defend yourself…” she picked up another and tapped it down, a bit harder this time. “After I told you so many times,” she picked up another. “There was no use.” she let it clink against the wood “for such a thing.” she swiped a finger across the shelf and looked at flicking away some dust. You stared at her with fuming eyes, who the hell did this woman think she was saying. “But that's wrong.” you spat, calmly yet aggressively. “Oh my my my….” she cooed looking at you with worrisome eyes holding her hands as if she was praying against her chin. “I guess. Living with muggles really has made you quite the aggressive oaf!” she said lovingly as she took slow steps towards you “It seems you may need the discipline, you oh so awfully missed out on as a child…” she cooed. “You need not raise your voice to your elder's young lad/lady…” she pulled out a small stack of papers from her desk daintily, and then an elegant feathered quill “ or deliberately disobey their instructions…” You were absolutely vexed clenching your hands against the side of the desk in front you. Aggressive? Oaf?! “What do my parents have to do with anything!?” you growled as she softly tapped the objects onto your tabletop. “Oh, everything dear..” she clicked her tongue … “sadly for you..more than you know…” she sighed staring at you with her small smiley eyes. “Go on. Write me some lines…” she pointed a finger at the paper. You glared at her, “write...hmm...I will control my behavior…” she seemed to ponder a bit as she looked at you… “and since you obviously don't have the mind of a real polite wizard-” “WHAT?!” “..and be quiet when told...” she whispered grinning brightly. You rolled the quil against your fingers wanting to snap it in your hand. You attacked the paper with the quill and wrote her stupid phrase down against the sheet. Your handwriting was messy and small. “How many times..” you muttered as you continued to write without concern..” she slid to her desk and sat down placing her elbows on the table and her hands under her chin. “Oh..As long as it takes for it to...sink in dear.” she gently spoke.

It only took a few minutes as a burning, tearing, sensation rose from your non-dominant hand. You hissed and threw the quill down on the table, it rolled onto the floor. “I will control my behavior and be quiet when told.” Every letter stung and tore and bled, You grasped your wrist and yelled out in pain. All the while Ms. Umbridge smiled softly at you, eyes pinned at your face. “Keep writing dear.” she cooed as she took out her wand and placed the quill magically back on your desk. The lines on your hand started to tear faster and faster until it caught up to what was on your paper. You breathed heavily out your mouth sweat dripped onto the paper, blotching up the words which made your hand sting even more as you saw the blood on your hand blend a bit.

“Keep the paper dry dear...my and I thought you had manners…you shouldn’t spit on your paper like a troll” she tisked turning her chair away from you, picking up a book of her shelf “Go on...write.”

You had left the office, your whole forearm was covered in now drying blood lines..you held your robe against your arm and then that arm against your chest, in stinging agony.

You were headed over to the nurse's office, despite Dolores instructions to “keep her punishment practices under hat or else. You cursed at her name and stormed towards the infirmary. But...the pain. Ugh. It hurt so much….You looked up from your arm and saw the light coming from a cracked door coming from a familiar office. You would just ask for something to help cuts and scrapes. Nothing more. You didn’t want her, to hurt you any more than she did already. You knocked softly. “Ugh...if you must...Come in.” you heard, from inside project. You stepped inside. The room was dimly lit and smelled of wet stone. Yet there was no one inside, “Professor?” you called softly as walked into the middle of the room. Automatically a head popped out of the closet to your right. You jumped, “Miss./Mr. L/n..”... he wasn’t wearing the robe over his suit and kept on patting at his top as silver powder puffed off. He walked towards you, in huge swift steps, when he stopped he flipped his hair back and adjusted it with his hand. “What brings you here so late?” You gave him the best normal smile you could muster, in return he gave you a rare soft grin back. “Do you have anything for cuts and scrapes...I was headed to the infirmary but...Its, really hurting a gal/guy and I could use something for it..” You weren't holding on to your arm anymore to not seem obvious. But he eyed up and down before letting out a low “hmph” in silent agreement. He turned with grace and moved back into the closet. You followed his steps and peered inside. It was filled to the brim with vials and glasses and tubes. You looked up, it never seemed to stop surprisingly. A long wooden ladder was the only thing that allowed you to go any higher, and he supported himself on it as he squatted down to gather a rather slim vial filled with blue liquid. He popped up and started heading towards the door, making you move out of his way. “Show me the wound. I need to make sure this is the right kind of mixture for your specific type,” he muttered holding the tube with his middle finger and thumb in front of him. You hesitated, he raised his eyebrow. “Come on. I don't have all day..”

“Uh...I’d rather not...I'd rather…” he rolled his eyes in response. “Fine then. I can't help you…” you nodded and before you turned away to leave. You absentmindedly reached for your arm as a pain shot through your nerves. He saw that motion and darted his hand for the cuff of your robe and yanked it back. “What in the world…” he muttered. The open damp air of his office made it sting harder. “AGgh” you shouted as he slammed the vial down on the table and placed his open palm under your arm as he pulled back your sleeve more and inspected the red words with disgust. “Who. Did. This?” he spoke calmly, although each word felt like a throat punch.

You began to laugh nervously, choking back some unwanted sobs. “Ms. Umbridge...b-but you can't tell anyone” your voice quivered. He let go of your sleeve and pushed against your back towards a nearby table. “Sit. Now,” he growled as he turned back around and swooped up the vial. He then sped over to a cabinet behind his desk and pulled out a long spool of a wool bandage. He rushed back to you poured some of the liquid on and watched it foam like soap. He held out the vial. “Hold,” he instructed. You grabbed the vial as he took both his hands and nimbly began wrapping the bandage around your arm. He was so careful it hardly stung as he mover your arm up and down so that he could get it around fully. He then took out his wand and muttered a word and you watched the bandage snap from its source and meld with its other end, snug and tight. A tear fell from your eye and onto your house pin. He looked down at your face with concern which then turned enraged. “That little....” he hissed looking down at your arm with a hand over his mouth as he thought on what he should do.

“Go back to your dorm and rest.” he pointed to the door. “Don't touch the bandage”.

You looked up at him and gave him a forced smile. “Thanks..”you softly choked as you moved towards the door, giving him one last pleading look “ and please...don't- don't get me into even more trouble with her now? Promise?” he nodded and you left. Feeling nervous.

SLAM

The china cats all jumped in their plates and hissed in fear.

“Oh Severus...please, don't startle them like that!” she hurried over to her walls and shushed and petted the china plates, fixing a few as Severus glared at her with fuming rage. “How dare you,” he growled. He took a step towards her. She snapped her head towards him keeping the look of absolute innocence on her face. “Do what? Severus...what is on your…” she sized him up quite noticeably “your...pretty little mind” he bared his teeth in a sneer. “You can't just go along causing students to harm themselves with your corrupt discipline practices.” She turned back towards the wall and gave a kitty plate one last pat before swooping in front of Severus, hands politely behind her back. “Oh and who says I have?” she asked curiously as she leaned forward and brushed some stray blue liquid from his chest. He lurched back and pointed at her. “Don't touch me,” he growled. He then swept his eyes around the room and saw a quill dripping red ink onto a bloodied cloth. She moved infront of his view “You really shouldn’t be listening to these students that hard Severus” she sang. Staring up at him without blinking. A cold chill ran up his spine, but that only fueled his rage. He had to think, he couldn’t just bluntly tell her off when she had the whole ministry at her fingertips, she would reword what he would say...probably even get them involved… “Just know that I will be watching you. To make sure you're really following the ministries, instructions. “ he pressed his thumb firmly against the back of his hand trying to control the words and actions he really wanted to commit. “I can't have my students with carved words into there flesh...it would be very unwise to continue this...Umbridge…for your sake. He took a step towards her, she didn’t even move. “Who knows what such a claim of disciplinary action could do to your reputation...especially if those assume you did so under prejudices against a specific sort of wizarding blood…” he cooed viciously. Her eyes furrowed a bit, and her nose scrunched in anger. But only for a second. She let out a huge sigh and fluttered her way back to her desk, slowly pushing the quill into an open drawer before shutting it softly..”why I don't know what your talking about Sevvy.., you don't have to worry...oh those awful students and their lies...oh woe is me..” she whimpered fakely. Smiling up at him. He couldn’t stand her anymore. He let out a low grunt before turning around and leaving the way he came. This time, one of those little kitties came tumbling down.

He kept on asking you how it was ever since that night. He checked your arm rather frequently and against your will, dabbing this and that on it. Trying to prevent major scarring...in the end, most of the words had healed fully, yet some words were left imprinted on your arm here and there and that made him curse at the crazy witch. You made a joke softly about how now you might look cool now at least. Although he didn’t laugh.

“If she ever bothers you again. Tell me. I don't care what she may threaten to do to me anymore. She can't hurt you under my watch. Understand?”

“Yes. of course...thank you...Severus.” You whispered as he hesitantly and gently rubbed his thumb across your bandage, before leaving the room.

#severus x reader #snape x reader #severus imagine #snape imagine #hp imagine

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vronnica · 6 years

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‹ ･｡ ☾ [ blackpink vc ] hey boys. soz for missing plotting hour and opening… my bf wanted a cheese and wine night, so y’all know i was knocked af for like 12+ hrs. but now i am back and ready for action ! HENNYWAYS,,, i’m acacia ( she/her ), i’m twenty years of age, and i hail from the pst timezone ! i love kpop ( specifically got7 and blackpink. however, my ult bias is vernon from seventeen. if you know, you know. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ), milk tea, and mac and cheese. sooo sorry you’re all trapped in this rp w/ me. but y’all will learn to adore my 3am messages and casual spam on the dash. with that being said, under the cut you’ll find out more about my piece of shit baby angel, ronnie ! if you want ur muse to be friends with the stereotypical rich bitch. keep on readin bbs ;) psa: if you like this then you’re obligated to plot with me srry but i don’t make the rules. ( i’m jk please like this or i’ll cry. ) i’ll either slide in your IMs or you can contact me on discord @ mlilk#3162

jennie kim & cisfemale • hey, isn’t that veronica moon? she is that twenty-two year old that’s been living in conyers farm for twenty years. did you know her family is worth $18B? no wonder she is so ingenious & haughty. she is known around the estates as the aesthete, after all.

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H E R D A I L Y R O U T I N E

in veronica’s dreams, she is the epitome of a morning person. in reality, she’s a two in the afternoon kind of person. however, her schedule does not allow her to do that. so she does everything possible to transform herself into a morning person. new white rays shine through the window as she lies in her queen sized bed. she lifts up the aqua colored silk eye mask and the warm ball of light filtered through her thin eyelids. it takes her a moment to adjust but eventually her eyes flutter open to reveal the exhaust in her chocolate brown hues. she extends her arm out to her bed side table, grabbing ahold of her phone. she clears out the notifications that do not automatically appeal to her and checks the ones that do. after five minutes of procrastinating, she finally slips out of bed.

ronnie trudges her feet against the hardwood floor, making her way over to her bathroom. with a flick of a switch, the bright light from the crystal chandelier fills up the room. she runs herself a bath. filling the tub with lavender and jasmine bath salts. her le soir silk night slip pools around her feet as she climbs into the warm water. she’s completely and utterly relaxed. the time passes too quickly and she’s back on her feet. she wraps the fluffy white towel around her small frame and walks into her closet. winter, her favorite time of the year. she picks out a classic veronica moon outfit. a light orange and black tartan patterned dress paired with her wool cashmere burberry coat. and with a single spritz of her chanel no.5 onto her chest, she’s ready for the day.

B A C K S T O R Y

moon jisung, ( chairman and co-owner of urban place resorts / hotels ) met vanessa ross ( retired model, turned fashion designer ) back in 1995 at one of vanessa’s casting calls. that, of course, was being held at urban place’s gangnam location. it definitely was not love at first sight. vanessa’s serious aura made jisung think she was a lawyer. jisung’s spazzy persona had vanessa thinking, “ this man is the chairman ? ” their relationship remained business. until one day jisung accidentally texted the designer one letter, “ q. ” from there, the relationship blossomed.

october 29, 1996, veronica moon was born, the moon family was complete, and they’re absolutely perfect. two years after she was born, jisung and vanessa decided to make a permanent home in conyers farm. therefore, veronica grew up in a really nice household. nice cars, designer clothes, and every day was a vacation. she was constantly spoiled. always given whatever she wants, whenever she wants. and of course, she’s used to getting her way all the time. ultimately making her: bad and boujee. her family is loaded. ( duh every1′s is. ) and she’s always been surrounded by lots of love and luxury.

being the only child, ronnie never had any consequences. in school, she became sort of a bully. she was very ruthless and cold. she had that, “i’ll do anything to get where i need to be,” personality. and if it meant paying someone to transfer the other student threatening her valedictorian spot, then yes, of course she’d do that. people either hated her or loved her. there was no in between. she kept her clique small. ( yes, a clique, which indeed was very exclusive. invite only. think of regina george or blair waldorf. ) she ran her school and she liked to keep it that way.

once she graduated she became more of an adult about things. but, old habits die hard. therefore, some of those traits she developed in school still linger with her til this day. just a little more filtered. ( truly, just a tad bit. ) she got accepted into almost every ivy league college. her mother gave her the option to just pass on college. her father on the other hand, encouraged her to go to school to have the major under her belt. ultimately, she decided to go to yale and major in art history. ( she chose yale because it was only a little over an hour away from conyers. ) though, now, most of her classes are being completed online.

present time: veronica is currently taking a semester off school to really think about what she wants to do after she graduates. at the moment, she spends a majority of her time working on her art. growing up she always had an artistic eye. vanessa ( being a fashion designer ) taught her all the techniques when it came to drawing for fashion. though eventually, veronica steered away from the clothing industry and found herself drawing more intricate works of art.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

too long; didn’t read: an angel with a halo unbalanced with horns, not a devil but not a saint either ?? kind yet has a backbone. softer than what she seems like. humorous and witty though understanding. mistrusting but willing to let loyalty speak. wealthy but tries not to depend on her family. stays away from the king glitterati lifestyle and fronts as if she’s just a normal gal livin’ in conyers etcetc.

she has that tell it like it is personality. she just calls it likes she sees it. even if she’s not exactly right. she’s literally drowning in her riches. making her materialistic af. some people might think she’s that dumb bimbo rich bitch. but she’s actually very VERY smart. witty and intelligent to be exact.

super particular when it comes to most things. ( high maintenance queen. ) she wants things done correctly. so she often runs by the quote, “ if you want things right you gotta do it yourself. ” she absolutely despises like relying on others to get things done when she knows she could do it faster and better. a little bit of a ocd queen.

her instagram = her job. it’s filled with ootds, selfies, food pics. but most importantly: her art. it’s the platform she uses to show people she isn’t just a pretty rich girl. she has talent. ( *insert "the kardashian's have no talent" - proven wrong in 7 minutes vid.* )

she’s very dedicated to her work, thus making her very goal oriented. she’s very creative and she’s actually a very good artist. she’s one of those people that set their mind to something and goes through with it until the end. i’m sure she picked up doodling and bullet journaling while growing up. *plays boss ass bitch vine.*

too long; didn’t read pt. 2: she’s slowly growing out of her tough head of hair and morphing into a young woman so beautiful over the years, but also at times, terrifying ?? self destructive ?? even if she’ll never let anyone see her deteriorate her insides sigh. she’s a hot mess. but she tries her best to hide that shit. yeye sweg.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

FRIENDSHIPS: she has plenty of friends, at least in her head. in reality, she just knows a lot of people through her many connections. so she has many affiliations. but never real friends. she’s very particular with the people she associates herself with. she believes that those around you reflect who you are as a person as well. therefore, she only surrounds herself with the best of the best. she may not be the best person to tell your secrets too either because she’s quite the gossip queen. but she can probably persuade you to trust her. rip. however, if you are a close friend of her’s, she’s very loyal to those who are loyal to her. which means she’d never do you dirty. but that’s only if she really cares about you. she’s a really great listener and she’s willing to give advice to those are willing to take it. plus, she’s the type to spoil the people she loves. so expect the best christmas gifts ever if u rollin’ with her.

honestly, she really does need to surround herself with good people with genuinely good intentions. so please, someone teach her what loyalty is.

bonus points if they’ve been friends for awhile. displays loyalty.

ENEMIES: she was bully in high school. so you know this girl has more than enough enemies ( and haters. ) she uses people, she pushes people around, etc etc. like she has some very evil intentions. she’s vengeful and irrational. she puts fuel to drama and loves to see people crash and burn. why ? she wants that reassurance that she is flourishing above all. she never wants to be belittled and will do anything to remain on the very top. however,,, ronnie does have some good intentions. she leans more to the chaotic neutral side. ( maybe tilted a bit more towards evil, but still. ) deep deeeeep deeeeeeeeeeep down the girl is trust issue central when it comes to letting people in. she can’t help it. she’s like that one rihanna meme, them: you can’t just cut people off. ronnie: *holds a pair of scissors* she doesn’t have problem with letting people go. so people think she’s a bitch because, “how could you just drop our five year long friendship like that.” and she’d just shrug. but really, she’s hurting beyond repair and will go home crying while eating a thing of ben & jerry’s chunky monkey.

there’s always that possibility where a friendship just didn’t work out. maybe they just stopped having time for each other and now it’s just mad awk. whatever it is, an enemy would b beaut.

veronica absolutely needs enemies. give her many. plenty. an abundance please.

LOVERS: i have a feeling she’s dabbled in the dating world. she’s had a few boyfriends, dates, etc. but most likely nothing LONG TERM. possibly because she doesn’t see the point unless it’s for marriage. just like her mom and dad. she has this [ beyoncé vc ] independent woman facade going on right now. which makes her seem like she doesn’t want anyone. but she’s secretly a hopeless romantic. this girl would love to be loved. and she truly needs it. she’s probably read tons of books about love and fluffy shit like that. it’d be a hard mission to win this girl over. but not impossible. she just has high expectations when it comes to relationships. so someone rlly needs to come here and treat this girl right.

100% dabbles in the quick hook ups for the sake of fulfilling those needs.

though, if the right person were to come along… she’d be loyal to them, completely devoted to just them.

CONGRATULATIONS ! you made it to end ! if you read all of this… i love you. i only ever write so much bc… it gets me in character lmao. also, i wrote all of this literally the moment i woke up so pls excuse any mistakes. i would really love to plot with everyone. so just slide into my IMs and we can get things started !! luv u *blows a kiss*

#trustfunds:intro #idk why i'm ALWAYS late to things #kill m e ;-)))

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overwatch-imagines-hub · 7 years

Text

Fictober - Ghosts (Oni!Genji)

Day eighteen caught up! Better late than never. Here’s another long fic for ya.

~~~

“No, listen, Mei, exploring the graveyard is going to be great,” you promised. You unlocked the front door to your house and shuffled in, setting down groceries behind you and taking your phone in your hand again. “It’s gonna be fun, we’re going to be fine, there’s nothing to worry about. We did it last year, remember?”

“I had to get my entire house cleansed,” Mei whined on the other end of the line.

“And that wasn’t difficult to do at all,” you pointed out. You kicked the door shut behind you and stripped off your jacket. Then you picked up a couple bags at a time and transferred them to the kitchen. “Are you really going to back down from a ghostly adventure? You of all people, the biggest nerd towards cryptids ever?”

You heard a sigh of defeat through the phone’s speaker and broke out into a grin.

“Fine,” Mei grumbled, “I need to get better prepared this time though.”

“You have until tonight,” you reminded her, “D.Va picks us up before sundown.”

“I better get on it then.”

“Take care, Mei.”

“You too, (Y/N).”

Mei hung up and you set your phone aside, then continued your task of hauling groceries to the kitchen. When you finished you took a checklist from your bag and looked it over. All the supplies listed was for ideal ghost observing and there was quite a bit of it.

“Better get going myself if I want to be ready in time,” you commented to yourself.

“Boys, gals, everything in between or otherwise,” Hana hollered as she reached solid ground of her mystery mech, “Welcome to the second annual ghost hunt!”

“We’re not hunting,” you claimed as you hopped out behind her, duffle bag in tow. “We’re observing and if you keep yelling there will be nothing to observe.”

“Hopefully I don’t get clung to this time,” Mei commented, joining the two of you on the cemetery's outskirts.

The three of you were dressed in cozy dark wear for the night and each had their own bag of equipment on their person. The goal was to spread out and find some supernatural cemetery dwellers to watch and document until the sun came back and they went back into hiding. It was an event that had taken place last year as well and, despite Mei’s unwelcome ghostly visitor with an interest in binge-watching reality TV and bugging Snowball, things had gone very well.

Or that’s what you prefered the other two supernatural junkies believe. The year before, you had had your own run-in with a batch of not too friendly ghosts when you accidentally disrupted one of their favorite grounds. It could have been a lot worse than it was, you knew, because before the ghosts could cause any damage, a strange masked warrior had appeared and protected you. After the event of his slashing down angry spirits with a shining black and red katana, he had sat near you and proceeded to watch over you for the rest of the night. You had tried to make some sort of conversation, introduce yourself or even thank him for his protections, only to get silence or the occasion brooding glance.

While the others’ motives were to wander around and have a good spooky time, yours was to hunt down this warrior--someone who clearly wasn’t a ghost but definitely not human either--and get at least a word out of him.

“So, everyone know their grounds?” Hana questioned, bringing you out of your memories. She looked to you and Mei expectantly and when you both gave her a nod, she grinned and threw open the cemetery gates. “Ghost hunting we go!”

“They’re going to get pissed if you keep saying it that way,” Mei warned.

“‘Ghost observing doesn’t sound as cool,” Hana pouted.

“Oh, Mister Warrior Man,” you hollered softly and you shuffled along the graveyard’s misty ground, “Where are you? I wanted to thank you and maybe even talk to you. I know we got off on the wrong step last time but I haven’t angered any ghosts this time, I promise.”

This year’s spirit activity didn’t seem as rowdy as last’s. While there was the occasional ghost roaming around or hanging out at a specific gravestone spot with their other ghostly friends, a lot of the graves seemed to stay undisturbed. The spirits that were present didn’t seem to mind your presence.

They’re kinda like stoners, you thought as you glanced at a group of the transparent beings mingling by a giant tombstone.

“(Y/N).”

Your turned towards the low, raspy voice that had called your name. The masked man--a samurai or ninja spirit perhaps, as unlikely as it seemed--was perched on a low hanging tree branch almost directly above you, watching you although the mask’s eyes seemed sightless. He wore the same uniform as you saw him in last, black and red and armored, with a long katana strapped to his back, and his head was cocked slightly to the left; despite the intimidating mask he wore, the overall stance he took reminded you vaguely of a cautious but curious puppy.

You couldn’t help but break into a grin at the sound of his voice; your mission to make him talk had been easily completed.

“You remembered my name,” you stated cheerfully. You took a few steps back from the tree you stood next to in order to see the supernatural being properly and smiled up at him. “I never got yours.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you coming back here,” the warrior replied, clearly ignoring your prompting for an introduction. “Considering what had happened during your last visit, I would assume you’d be less keen to visit again.”

“Annual tradition,” you said; it wasn’t technically a lie, considering the plan was to eventually make visiting haunted grounds and observing the creatures there a tradition of sorts. You briefly observed the tree briefly, casually looking for a way to climb up and join the nameless being on his perch. Then you looked back to his masked face and added, “I wanted to thank you for protecting me last year.”

“You already apologized,” he replied simply.

“Oh, so you did hear me,” you quipped, “You sure didn’t act like it last time.”

“You’re pretty cocky for someone in the presence of a demon.”

“So you’re a demon?” you prompted. You shuffled closer to the tree and pressed a hand against its bark; it felt wet from the air’s moisture and somewhat slimy from bits of algae clinging to it. “You seem quite nice to be a demon.”

“Oni,” the demon specified, his gaze following you as you tried to be discreet about your mission. “Ghosts cause too much trouble for their own good. I try to keep things in order.”

“Vigilante demon,” you suggested.

“Oni,” the oni repeated.

“Right, my bad. Perhaps you could spend some time with me, both to protect me from rowdy spirits--” You gestured towards the indifferent group of ghosts still chattering in quiet whispers by the large tombstone. “--and to educate me on your kind. I don’t know much about onis.” As you spoke, you began searching for a foothold among the tree’s base while grabbing a nearby branch with one hand.

“You’re going to fall,” your opaque spirit companion warned.

“I’m not going to fall,” you grunted as you began to haul yourself up the tree. Unfortunately, despite your determination, the oni was apparently more aware than you. As you stepped up with your other foot, it caught a particularly slippery patch of bark, ultimately throwing off your balance and causing you to slip and stumble back.

The event wouldn’t have been much except as soon as your feet hit solid ground, said ground was uneven and you somehow managed to keep falling. Luckily, instead of completely faceplanting, you were caught in the arms of your oni acquaintance--and official protector, apparently--who appeared at the base of the tree.

“Told you that you were going to fall,” he stated somewhat haughtily.

You looked up at him. You were about to his shoulder in height from where you partially stood in his arms and from there you could see a line of dark gray skin along his jaw where the mask ended and uniform began.

“Well,” you started after clearing your throat and averting your eyes, “Thanks for kind of saving me again…” You glanced up at him again and met his masked eyes, silently encouraging the man to give you his name. Once he sighed in defeat, you grinned.

“Genji,” the spirit replied after a moment of silence.

“Genji....?” you encouraged.

The newly introduced Genji replied, “That is not important to you.” Then, after making sure you were steady on your feet again, he released you from his comfortable embrace and moved silently away from you.

“Maybe next year,” you pointed out cheerfully. “Step one was talking. Step two is showing me that face of yours.”

Genji scoffed slightly. “Find a place of less risk to sit and observe your wandering souls.”

“Will you stay with me?” you asked, then cleared your throat; that had sounded a lot more pleading than you had planned. You hadn’t planned any pleading.

Genji seemed to have found it amusing, though, because he chuckled in response before glancing around at the ghosts sluggishly roaming around nearby.

“I should,” the oni replied after a few moments of mulling over the idea, “You seem you get yourself in trouble a lot.”

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gabriel-gabdiel · 4 years

Text

【Draft】 Fantasy of Evolution Chapter 2: The Dream Journal of a Wimpy Kid

Second chapter draft of my original work. Having no line breaks suck.

Florante walked outside the gates of Fatima School, his head in the clouds. Dark, nimbus clouds with scattered rain showers and thunderstorms followed him.

He must've blacked out earlier. What had just happened?

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. Did he get caught in a typhoon and only woke up just now to realize it, when everyone else had already evacuated?

His gut felt like it was on fire. His head, or perhaps his brain, throbbed like a second palpitating heart that beat in conjunction with his actual heart.

He hadn't the foggiest idea.

He looked at his hands. They were stained with blood.

Shit. What happened?! Was it his blood that...?

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and immaculate blue wings emerged from the rain and mist. He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As she stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael," which made him remember the comic books he drew about the four archangels.

Who was she? Why was her face familiar? She was so gorgeous.

She reminded him of Laura Reyes.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else, Flor."

Wait. She knew him?

Also, Laura. She looked like Laura! The same Laura that he had just... had just...!

Damn it.

"Prepare to die," she said.

It all came back to him in an instant.

***

Fantasy of Evolution

An Urban Fantasy Story by Abdiel

When dreams became nightmares.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 2: The Dream Journal of a Wimpy Kid

***

The summer before his first day at Fatima High School, Florante Galang actually read through the book, "How to Win Friends and Influence People" by Dale Carnegie after making a pariah of himself back in his old school.

His high school days were going to be much different from his lonely grade school days, when no one his age would talk to him and only people a year or two younger than him tolerated his presence.

The night before, he tried remembering the advice given to him by the book that included tip such as "Don't criticize, condemn or complain," "Give honest and sincere appreciation," and "Arouse in the other person an eager want."

He tried some of the tips on his own family, like his mother, but he must've missed a chapter or two. It didn't work. Or rather, his attempts at "Get the other person saying 'yes, yes' immediately," and "Ask questions instead of direct orders," led to yet another misunderstanding that led to him getting punished. Again.

A flying footwear to the head, to be exact. She also said something about him talking back to his parents and being disrespectful.

Or maybe he should consider the self-help book's advice less as a surefire way to manipulate his mother to say yes to her increasing his allowance and more like helpful tips to make himself more appealing to people.

If used correctly, of course.

He did his memorization and "studying" of the self-help book in his bedroom located on the east portion of their abode, with the facade and front yard of their bungalow facing north and his parents' bedroom at the southwest portion.

He used to share his room with his two older sisters but they soon moved to their own rooms as they got enough money to expand their home.

It was a familiar room that belonged to him exclusively around Grade 5 to 7. He couldn't remember. The linoleum floor, the cream walls, the gray ceiling with discolored tiled patterns on it where the beams supporting them were supposed to be, and the red curtains were all part of his childhood.

The Galangs' humble abode originally had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and barely a garden plus a plot of undeveloped land with pebbles and other smooth stones over it.

This below sea level part of their property was then slowly filled up with land so that the whole house would rise above the street, leading the construction of a second part of the home with two more bedrooms and an extra bathroom as well as a garage for the family car.

With the money his mother earned from their short-lived stint with selling goods through a "sari-sari" store and she got from her parents (his grandparents) on top of the ones she saved from his father's engineer work, they were able to invest in half a house and turn it into a full house, so to speak.

The most notable changes on the bedroom was how it once had two beds but now it only had one bed. The mirror still had the "Santo Niño" statue there, which he never looked at directly because it gave him the creeps. However, he would never admit it to his prayerful family.

Regardless, he attempted memorizing and taking to heart many of the lessons the book could offer him, but like any other 14-year-old boy his short attention span ended up his downfall.

He skipped, scanned, and skimmed through many of the pages of anecdotes and stories in order to find something he could use. He only really wanted the book to help him with his social anxiety and to turn a new leaf.

All of that was for naught, of course. His nightmarish bullying in grade school only got worse in high school.

One morning in Fatima High, chaos ensued. All hell broke loose.

His head in the clouds, Florante Galang "sleepwalked" into the school, his every step practically gliding through the road, swift as the gale wind, his fingertips emanating sparks and crackles of electrical might.

It was like something out of a movie.

He maneuvered through the heavy traffic jam of the road like a motorcycle delivery man in a hurry, moving through every nook and cranny with the grace of a swan and the aggressiveness of a duck. Unnoticed by the cars, vans, jeepneys, and trucks around him.

For whatever reason, he ended up with superpowers right off of a superhero comic.

It was just a dream, after all.

In this dream, anything is possible, including gaining powers like those of angels, demons, and gods, thus allowing him to wreak havoc on his most hated high school.

Instead of stopping crime or saving people, he did the exact opposite upon his discovery of his abilities. He instead committed crime and damned everyone in his path.

He idly wondered why in comics and manga, the hero with superpowers almost always ended up becoming vigilantes or supernatural policemen. It was more realistic for them to do what he was doing now, as though he'd just won the lottery and he was about to splurge on the nearest sports car or mansion.

His list of bullies remained fresh in his mind. His nightmare scenario had become their nightmare scenario. The resident timid freak, "quiet kid", and communal punching bag could now punch back.

One thing came to his mind as he approached Fatima High.

'I have been abused all my life to the point where I don't trust humans.'

Unbeknownst to the people inside the school, he'd been testing his powers elsewhere, with him appearing like some sort of cyclone or tornado as he blasted through rivers and old buildings with his newfound abilities.

He couldn't wait to test them out on actual humans. Fragile, squishy humans.

Because of how unbelievable everything was, he presumed it was all a dream. A blurry fantasy borne out of his frustration from being rejected by his classmates and seemingly the entire school campus.

He stopped mid-stride. Before him was a familiar face.

It was the face of Jennifer "Jenny" Tolentino. She was a petite, small-breasted, intelligent, talkative, and capable girl who was one of the first students to befriend Florante.

The only girl who was kind to him.

"'Sup, Flor. You're here early. Whatcha up to?" the bespectacled girl asked with an inquisitive head tilt. "You look like you're in a hurry."

Florante smiled and chuckled. Although he still hated that girly nickname his classmates gave him, he nevertheless told her, "You're an okay gal, Jenny. Don't go to school today. For your own good."

"W-What do you mean by tha...? HEY!" she asked, but in the blink of an eye he was gone.

His power fantasy was about to begin.

Beyond the entrance gates of Fatima School, past the concrete quadrangle and basketball courts of the grade school campus and right into the high school one stood the girl of his dreams who turned his life into a nightmare.

Her hair danced from the gale wind he himself produced, like a proud brunette flag at full mast. Her slim arms showed some muscle definition but not in a bodybuilder type of way.

The beautiful girl who rejected him over a misunderstanding. The gorgeous young woman who ruined his social life in Fatima High.

Her perfectly symmetrical face had a gentle look to it. Or it did until she saw him.

There she was. Laura Reyes.

His first crush in high school. The one who ultimately rejected him.

She was a fit girl with sturdy legs and a wide, unabashed smile as she talked to several of their classmates. Her hourglass figure created the perfect feminine silhouette as she turned towards him.

He intended to spare her from his power fantasy rampage since he really did like her a lot. Before their friendship crumbled to dust with his accidental social suicide, they got along fine.

They weren't close friends but they could talk to each other.

Just as he was about to move past her though, she flinched at him and gave her a look of contempt.

"Stay away from me, you creep."

Florante snapped then and there, his body surging with electrical might that coursed through his crush's veins, electrocuting her to death.

He didn't go so far as to fry her to toast because it'd be a shame to see such a cute girl turn to ash or dust, but his angry outburst of power did kill her.

He hesitated after seeing the girl with fair skin and an angelic body wilt like a flower and fall like velvet unto the grassy ground of the soccer field, unmoving.

Beautiful in death as she was in life. She fell with the same grace as Evelyn Francis McHale did. The depressed woman who jumped from the Empire State Building on May 1, 1947, landing on a car roof.

Both appeared like they were resting or napping instead of dead, stuck in an idle daydream.

The boy beside her, a friend of hers from another section whose name eluded Florante, screamed and attacked him on instinct, even though he himself had trouble recognizing what had just happened.

Galang reacted thusly, shooting his attacker with twice the amount of electricity than he shot Laura, intending to fry him to ash.

The kid crumpled into a ball after Florante moved forward and punched him on the side, breaking his ribs. Perhaps also his spine. He soon lay motionless on the grass beside Laura.

Before he could finish him off, he heard gasps, screams, and murmurs from everyone who witnessed his crime.

What was he doing? Should he be doing this? Wasn't this wrong of him to do this? Should he stop? Turn himself in?

He gulped, exhaled, and heard a whistle from his breath. His asthma was acting up again. How ironic for an asthmatic like him to suddenly have wind powers.

He reassured himself that it was just a dream. Perhaps a lucid dream, but still just a dream. An illusion or perhaps delusion. A fantasy of him evolving and maturing.

His power fantasy.

His felt his body feel grow warmer and warmer, reaching a fever pitch as a cyclone or tornado formed around him. The clouds darkened above, the winds blowing seemingly from around him reshaping the sky, turning morning to seeming midnight.

A boy suddenly gaining superpowers from out of the blue to take revenge on his bullies? Surely this was the dream of an idle mind, regardless of whether he made it up during nighttime slumber or while daydreaming in his boring math class.

With that in mind, he indulged, laughing as he experimented upon the nearest of the students with his crackling lighting bolts and energy projectiles.

When he took control of the energy flowing though him, he could make his electrical powers shock the nervous systems of the surrounding students to the point of making them jump back like frightened cats or spooked frogs.

It was amusing in a darkly humorous sort of way.

He kept on moving forward, recalling his list of bullies in his mind.

Starting with the kids Laura was hanging out with. The popular kids.

Like Danny Malicdem. Florante chanced upon him walking down the stairs to where the first floor classrooms were.

Galang remembered Malicdem as his classmate who first teased him about his obvious crush with Laura right in front of her in the lunchroom, which led to her to talk to him less, thinking their every encounter had a hidden agenda on his part.

He was also the guy who suggested Florante draw Laura then lied to her about him drawing her in the nude. He was drawing her body first before putting on her clothes, dammit!

Florante wasn't as careful with using his powers on Danny as he was with Laura. He shot him full force with his energy bolt full of presumably millions of volts of electricity, turning him into a shadow on the pavement while the rest of the projectile exploded right through one of the nearby pillars like a bomb.

Like one of the victims of the Atomic Bomb, in fact.

Galang kept walking towards the inside of the building while various students ran away from him, not understanding how he was doing what he was doing.

In the hallway, as he walked with murderous intent, he then saw Mr. Neil Nepomuceno. Their social studies teacher who humiliated him in front of the class, shouting, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

The teacher cried out pretty much the same thing before hollering out his catchphrase of, "Caramba!" and turning into a grotesque splatter of guts, gore, and giblets on the wall care of a careless yet supernaturally strong backhand.

Damn. He didn't know his own strength.

Galang couldn't even look at the mess that used to be Mr. Nepomuceno.

The school was in a panic. They had kids under the table. Screaming teachers. Security guards with guns shooting at Florante, but he blew them (literally) away without a second thought.

It was frighteningly easy to kill people his dream. He had to hold back a little bit. Savor the moment.

'Susmaryosep, I sure am screwed up.'

He went up the stairs, sparing several of his classmates he recognized but had no quarrel over. Forgiving them for laughing at the jokes of his bullies and targeting his bullies instead.

Was he not a Merciful God? An Angel of Mercy and Divine Retribution?

He then caught up with Kyle Hernandez inside the computer room, who sat on a chair across a long table. The same guy who had been tag-teaming with Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto to jeer and humiliate him at every turn.

This culminated to him playing a practical joke on Florante during the flag ceremony. The sections were lined up by height in front of the Philippine flag every Monday.

One Monday, Hernandez and many of Florante's classmates lined up from only one line, leaving the line where Galang was much shorter and only about 5-6 people long.

"Hey, Flor. What's going on outside? Is there a storm? Are classes canceled?" Kyle asked Florante, who didn't respond as he approached him with malice.

Bristling in remembrance of that humiliating prank, Florante turned a lightning bolt into a laser sword and cut Kyle in half by the chest down, with one half of him shorter than the other like the lines he made that day.

He moved further down the second floor hallway right into the middle stairs. He heard more screams and the stampede of leather shoes. He silenced them by firing more bolts of energy across the open yard right on the balcony of the second floor hallway.

He then fired off missiles of light from all ten of his fingertips into the classrooms to his left, resulting in debris, pieces of plaster and concrete, and flaming wooden shards to shower all over him.

As the smoke cleared, he made a beeline to the final flight of stairs to get to the third floor library.

He practically flew through the steps, remembering how one of his bullies actually fell back and hit him with his buttocks to the face while the rest of his posse yucked it up.

Those bastards. Make a fool of him, would they? He'd show them. He'd show them all!

He burst through the library's double doors so hard they flew right off of their hinges.

He targeted more of his freshmen classmates, specifically the ones who teased and bullied him while he mostly shocked and flung like rag dolls anyone else that got in his way.

Many of the students were wise enough to stay back, hide, or run away from him.

Alas, the more his power grew the more he couldn't control it. There was bound to be some collateral damage here and there. He honestly didn't know his own strength. Not at this point.

There they were. The people who regularly appeared on his "snitch list" to teachers so that they'd stop bothering him but they found ways to mess with him regardless.

Steven Catimbang. Sheila Bernal. Isaiah Cuevas. Matthew Lim. Regina Mariano.

Florante spotted them before they went and hid in the computer section of the library or tried to blend in with the rest of the fleeing crowd of students.

Steven was the one who pulled the butt-to-the-face prank on him.

He found Steven at the computer table as he was about to hide under it. Galang shot Catimbang in time with a bolt to the posterior, destroying the lower half of his body and leaving the upper half crawling in the floor, crying blood and begging for his life (even though it was too late for him).

This was seriously fucked up. Goddamn.

As for Sheila, he found her under another table of the library. She was the girl from another section who, as his section of boys packed up from their swimming class for P.E. (gender separated), jeered at him and his lack of a bulge on his swimming trunks.

He was jeered relentlessly by his classmates for months after that remark regarding his manhood.

He asked Bernal if she remembered the swimming pool incident, and she just stared blankly at him. "W-Who are you...? Pl-Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything...!"

She didn't even remember him.

Seeing how big of mouth she had, he decided to suck the air from out of her, vacuuming it right out of her mouth until she suffocated. He instantly regretted it after seeing the horrified face she made and the purple tinge of her whole body.

He moved on, his head throbbing and his finger twitching with static and sparks.

As for Isaiah Pascual, he tried scampering towards the window, but Galang caught him by the collar. "I don't know how you're doing this, bro, but we're friends, right? I always talked to you!"

Florante replied, "You abandoned me when I needed you the most. I tried to fit in with you and your group, but you were always so distant."

Pascual kicked Galang by the groin and attempted to run away, jeering, "Yeah, right! Like I'd ever be friends with...!" only to be cut off with his head exploding from one of Florante's light bullets.

"...Yeah. Why'd I ever delude myself into thinking you were my friend?" Florante felt something warm drip on his face. It was Pascual's blood.

He resisted the urge to hurl, looking away at the mess he made of his traitor of a friend.

Matthew Lim even cried out, "Leave me alone! I never did anything to you, Flor!" before Florante reminded him, "You made fun of my accent when speaking English. You told people about how when I talked to them, I couldn't stare them in the eye."

"Th-That's it? Dude, we barely even talk or interact! It was Jacinto! Gerry's the one who's always messing with you, man...!"

He turned Lim into a mangled mess by shooting the ceiling and letting debris fall on him. He turned away before the smoke from the wreckage cleared as soon as he the blood pool from underneath the rubble.

Then there was Regina Mariano. She once compared him to a boy with fetal alcohol syndrome found on their pamphlet about how drugs and alcohol could affect people's lives.

He hated the teasing she caused then. But he could barely look her in the eyes now, and it wasn't because of his social anxiety.

No. Right now, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, saying over and over, "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."

He then asked, "Do you believe in God?"

This made her cry harder, not knowing what to say except, "I'm so sorry!" over and over.

He decided to give her a quicker, painless death than the rest, ramping up his gathered chi energy or whatever and releasing a beam of light that turned her to ash. The entire building shuddered from the impact of his forceful will.

...At least it was all a dream. Right?

A fantasy he could use to vent in a harmless way, with him not actually hurting anyone.

Not recognizing the rest of the faces hiding under the tables and the rubble, he walked out of the library (or what was left of it) in a daze.

He stared back at his cracked reflection on the glass divider of the computer section of the library. All he could see was a shadowy silhouette of a man with shining blue eyes, like a cornered animal at dusk.

Was that everyone? No, wait. He still had a few more people to scratch off of his list of bullies.

He walked across the soccer field straight to the gym where they had their P.E. classes.

From the roar of the winds, he could idly hear what he surmised as Mrs. Mancenido, crying out for him to stop. Recognizing who he was.

'Sorry, ma'am,' he apologized to her in his mind. It was too late for him.

Good thing this was all a dream though.

He jumped and crashed right into the third floor basketball court that doubled as a volleyball court.

It was mostly empty. The students probably caught wind of what he was doing, even though it was hard to believe or imagine him having the otherworldly powers necessary for this massacre to take place.

As the winds parted and the smoke cleared, he was greeted by a metal pipe to the back of his skull from out of nowhere.

He turned to see John Uson put up his dukes at him. "You son of a bitch. Did you kill her, Flor?"

"...Who?" he dared ask even though he knew who he was talking about.

"Laura, you asshole! Why'd you kill her?! How the hell did you turn into... this?"

Florante caught the pipe and used it to conduct millions of volts of electricity at John before answering the convulsing student's question with, "Because she was a bitch to me."

Ah. John Uson. He remembered him. They were being ferried around by the same school service.

Instead of spending gas money driving the kids to school, their parents opted to save money by paying a jeepney driver to fetch them and other kids around their village from house to house in order to drive them straight to Fatima.

They weren't neighbors but they lived in the same suburb.

He remembered Uson pranking him, putting cockroaches in his bag like an asshole. He was also one of the guys who encouraged him to draw Laura in the nude when he was just making a sketch.

The nerve of him, acting the hero now when he was nothing but a villain to him all this time.

"This is pranking me with those cockroaches."

Uson spat blood all over Florante's face despite his body writhing in agony. "Really? You're going kill me just for that, you psycho? Like you killed Laura? God damn, you're a petty son of a...!"

Galang then slammed John to the ground with a sickening crunch. Squashed like a bug.

How appropriate.

He looked at his wristwatch, amazed that it still functioned after all his effort and use of thunderbolts and electrical shocks.

This really was a dream, then, or else his watch would've ended up busted long ago.

Regardless, he'd been at it with his rampage for almost 40 to 45 minutes. The whole school was in bedlam thanks to the pacific storm that was him.

Someone soft and sweet-smelling yet hard-bodied grabbed Florante from behind in a Full-Nelson hold, arms interlocked from under his armpits and hands clasped behind his neck.

"I always knew you were a little psycho," said someone from behind him. Someone... female. Her words were full of venom but her melodic voice was music to his ears.

Shamed as he was to admit it, this was the closest to female contact he ever had in his life. Probably to no one's surprise in Fatima, given his bad reputation.

Wait, he recognized that voice. It was Laura's other best friend aside from Jenny. Kelly Mendoza. A promising freshman volleyball player rising in the ranks of their team. One of Laura's best friends.

He then felt something sharp pierce through his uniform. For the first time, he felt pain. Searing, gnawing pain.

He doubled over in time to realize who had stabbed him with a pocket knife.

It was Mark Silva. Gerry Jacinto's second-in-command. Or best friend. Whichever.

The other tough guy of First Year St. Francis of Assisi charged at Florante while he was distracted by Kelly grabbing hold of him so tightly, her breasts pressing close to his back.

Regardless, Florante winced and wheezed from what Silva had wrought, gnashing his teeth in agony and indignation.

Another villain wanted to play the hero. Just like a bully who'd mess with you until you hit him back, so now he was the victim and you were the one who was in the wrong.

This guy. The audacity of this asshole. He remembered him.

Every time they had an oral exam or had to go in front of the board, he'd be there with Gerry to jeer and mock Florante about his crush with Laura until she herself stopped associating with him.

His body shivered and folded in on itself in hatred, fear, and anger as Mendoza let go of him, his blood pooling on the floor.

"Why are you snarling? You're actually angry? You li'l bitch!" screamed Kelly at Florante's ear as she kicked him where Mark stabbed him.

"How dare you. You killed Laura! Danny! Mr. Nepomuceno! John! Who knows how many others in the library and classrooms! You're a monster! You have no right to be this angry, asshole! Don't play the victim now!"

Mark stabbed him again, this time sticking his knife at Florante's back.

"As far as I'm concerned, he deserves to be bullied," said Silva. "Not only is he a snitch. He's also a psycho. We were bullying him in self-defense. We were protecting Laura from weirdo creeps like him."

Galang also remembered that one time, when he was alone in the mall, Silva chanced upon him with his own girlfriend, saying, "Aw, still no GF, Flor?" He overheard them make fun of him behind his back as an awkward virgin who was fated to be forever alone.

Come to think of it, the girl he was with probably was the same one holding him back with a wrestling move.

"You should've killed yourself instead, since no one would care if you died!" said Silva.

That was the last straw.

This fucking bastard. This bitch. This wasn't the first time Silva told him to kill himself. Even before Florante went on a murder spree, he already told him the same words.

It was amazing what monsters people ended up becoming when treating those they believe were monsters themselves.

First, he blew the volleyball varsity player away into the roof and the sky, with her shrieking like a banshee all the while. She ended up pretty high up before she came crashing back down.

Florante averted his eyes from the harsh and inevitable crash from the screaming Kelly. He'd seen enough gore for one day.

Instead, he focused his attention on Silva. His bully who stood a good few inches above him and several inches thicker in musculature than him seemed smaller somehow.

Galang didn't know what sort of face he was making, but it elicited a gape-mouthed, wide-eyed look of he presumed was awe on the part of one of his worst bullies in school.

It felt so good seeing the tables turned on him for once.

It felt anti-climatic shooting him with five bolts of energy from one hand when usually one or two was enough to blast entire classrooms into smithereens. It was still overkill nevertheless.

"FLORANTE!"

Florante heard his name echo across the wrecked basketball court with the torn roof from a familiar booming voice. A voice he'd heard countless times, mocking him. Haunting him like a resentful ghost. The voice of his biggest, most savage of bullies and critics.

Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto.

Each and every one of his fingertips grew hot with building power and energy. Instead of five shots, he wanted to shoot his whole payload of pure light unto the bastard who made his time in Fatima a Living Hell.

Gerry wasn't seething with anger like Mark was. For someone who just saw the murder of his best friend and best friend's girlfriend, he had a pretty smug smirk on his face.

Florante breathed out a sigh of relief. This definitely was a dream, or else the real Gerry would've reacted more severely to what he had wrought.

He faced off with the huge and lanky bully who'd normally push him around with ease. Finally, he could push back. Finally, he could fight back and then some.

Florante fired off all ten bullets of light energy and plasma straight at Gerry, expecting it to turn him into ash or a shadow on the pavement, if not straight off

There was no kill like overkill, after all.

However, to Galang's surprise, Jacinto shrugged off the miniature comets like specks of water or rain, the bolts of power exploding behind him and giving his bullish rush an extra boost care of the resulting simultaneous shockwaves from ten blockbuster-tier explosions.

The tall basketball player charged and tackled the nerdy asthmatic, who could only stand there, jaw metaphorically unhinged in shock, before a meaty punch on the same jaw literally unhinged it from its socket.

"SHUSHMARYOSHEP!" Florante called out, wincing as he snapped his jaw back into place with hand. It looked so easy to do in the movies, but when you did it yourself, they never tell you about the toothache-like pain of attempting such a movie afterwards.

Meanwhile, the sneering Gerry mimicked and repeated his "catchphrase" to his face, mocking him. "'Susmaryosep'? What are you, an old lady attending mass in Quiapo Church?" He laughed his heart out.

Ooof. Even in his dreams, his nightmare of a bully still had the upper hand?!

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Galang willed lighting strikes to hit Jacinto over and over while at the same thing charging compressed pinpoint spheres of energy above each and every finger.

Hit two birds with one stone.

The problem was that his metaphor didn't work and he missed both birds by a mile when Jacinto did sledgehammer punches all over him, unable to retaliate or shoot any of his bullets that leveled most of the high school building earlier on.

"You really are a virgin with rage, aren't you? Mr. Sensitive. Mr. 'The whole world is against me. Oh woe is me.'"

Florante ended up curled into a ball, remembering his mother hitting him with the belt whenever he misbehaved. Still, for some reason he was still more afraid of his mom than this tall, beefy male turning him into a punching bag.

"You're blaming us for you ending up like an asshole? Let me guess, it's us not you. Everybody else is an asshole. You're the saint here! You psychotic murderer!"

He gritted his teeth as though afraid his jaw would get dislocated or altogether broken from Jacinto's hammer fists. Vaguely, he remembered hearing how his bully also trained in boxing as a hobby.

Throughout the haze of pain and what seemed like endless fists raining down upon him, he realized something.

Somehow, someway, Gerry gained the same special superpowers as he did, allowing him to keep up with him. Or even surpass him.

Jacinto beat and ground him to a pulp, breaking his right hand, cracking several of his ribs, punching his face until one of his eyes swelled shut, bending his leg at an awkward angle, and triggering his asthma to the point that the mere act of breathing felt like torture.

Once again, the popular kid at the center of everything was beating up the little guy that no one liked. As usual.

"Make the effort to change or face the consequences of your own bad behavior, moron! If everyone in society is laughing and condemning you, is it really society's fault? Or is there a chance you're just being a jerk?"

Gerry slammed Florante's face and body into the devastated basketball court, making the entire third floor of the building shudder from the impact. "Apologize now, and maybe I'll consider sparing your life."

'Apologize...?' he thought while on the brink of unconsciousness, the darkness seeping through the sides of his blurring vision.

Even in his dreams, Jacinto got the better of him. The charming bully you never saw in TV shows and movies who made you think you deserved being bullied by him.

He couldn't humiliate him with a joke that made the whole class laugh or embarrass him in front of Laura the way they did to him. Not in real life and not in his fantasy.

This was what he learned all throughout his stay in Fatima High.

People would torture you. People would outcast you. And when you were to retaliate, they'd declare you the bad guy.

He remembered punching the head of one of his bullies for messing with him for so long, only for him to get in trouble and end up in the principal's office because his bully dared claim to be the victim instead.

It was a good thing a teacher caught his bullies bullying him one time, allowing him to write down the names of those who teased him so that they'd cut it out.

This only ended up giving him the reputation of being a snitch.

He could never win. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. It wasn't fair.

Well then, screw being fair. He had enough.

In reality, he couldn't take his revenge on him in a fair, reciprocal manner. Instead, Florante could only vent his frustrations at him or the "him" that existed in his mind this way.

His coping mechanism was having violent fantasies. Either that, or punching the wall again and getting scolded by his mother for breaking either the wall or his fist.

As Jacinto prepared to knock him out or worse, Florante saw his opening.

With his remaining healthy left hand flowing with pinpoint spheres of energy at each fingertip, Galang thrust his clawed hand and every single finger into Jacinto's broad chest, drawing blood.

"...Apologize? Yeah, sure. I'm sorry I ever met you. Go to Hell."

He dug deeper and deeper even as Jacinto kept punching his already broken face and body. He wouldn't let go.

"LET GO, FLOR! LET GO! I ain't joking! FUCK!" the punches became more rapid. Stronger. Harder. Faster. More panicked. There was actual fear in his eyes for once.

It felt so satisfying to see him like this.

Galang could feel Jacinto's heart pound at the same time as his own excited pulse. He gripped the heart tightly then pulled.

From inside Gerry, Galang shot his five energy bullets simultaneously, which fried his insides and made the entire top half of his body explode into electric fire, guts, muscles, tendons, blood, and giblets, the hint of ozone noticeable in the air along with the smell of burnt human flesh.

As what was left of Jacinto's lifeless corpse fell to the ground with a wet thud, Florante heaved a relieved sigh, the rain from the large gaping hole in the ceiling (practically a skylight) washing the blood, sweat, and tears from his beat-up body and face away.

It was just a dream. A fantasy. A way for him to vent from all the stress of his real-life bullying.

Everything he had done so far were victimless crimes against, well, imaginary straw-men (and straw-women).

Right?

***

As Florante strode through the pure devastation of what was once Fatima that he left behind in his wake, he felt unsatisfied somehow. Empty. Hollow.

Was that it? He got his revenge against the people who wronged him. What now?

He looked at the consequences of his actions and cringed. The feeling was familiar. Like the aftermath of a storm. Or a temper tantrum when he was about 6 or 7 years old.

It felt cathartic to release all that pent-up anger and frustration he couldn't verbalize or express at his classmates normally, but now he felt a huge amount of guilt weigh him down.

Was any of this called for? What was he thinking?

Instead of relief, he felt like he did whenever he had a temper tantrum when he was a toddler, only to end up hurting those around him. He went too far. He overdid it.

This wasn't Even-Stevens. Well, some of them were, like how it felt satisfying to grind Silva into the ground like that. But for the most part, this wasn't fair. He made things worse instead of better.

This wasn't him. He was a good guy. Dealt a bad hand by fate. Born a social outcast with social anxiety and awkwardness around people.

He didn't really want to hurt anyone, but his temper always got the better of him, leading him to do things he wouldn't otherwise do.

Florante walked outside the entrance gates of Our Lady of Fatima School of Mandaluyong, his head in a daze. He could hear the wheeze and whistle of his asthma from under his breath after every exhale.

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. It felt like his brain was slamming itself right into his skull, demanding release.

He might've been in shock. For a minute or two, he didn't know where he was or what had happened.

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and immaculate blue wings emerged from the rain and mist. He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As she stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael," which made him remember the comic books he drew about the four archangels.

Who was she? Why was her face familiar? She was so gorgeous.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

She reminded him of Laura Reyes.

Wait. Laura? As in the girl he met on the first day of school that he had a crush on?

The same Laura that he had just... murdered?

Like a bolt out of the blue, he remembered everything he'd done an hour ago.

Laura had awakened to supernatural powers like he had and turned or transformed into the Archangel Raphael to avenge the deaths of all the people he just killed, including her.

She was there to take him away. Probably to kill him. Give him karmic justice for all that had transpired.

He felt the corners of his mouth quirk. This was all probably for the best. Let his crush finish him off and pay for his crimes. Let her become his Angel of Death.

Wait, so why was she Raphael instead of Azrael?

Faster than he could even fathom or wonder why she was named after the Angel of Healing instead of the Angel of Death, Raphael flew towards him with watery tendrils.

Everything became a blur from that point on when he and Archangel Raphael finally faced off.

His life then flashed before his eyes.

And then he finally woke up.

Thank God.

***

What a weird, horrible dream.

Yet another dream in a series of dreams. Perhaps nightmares, even.

Not night terrors, though. You didn't remember night terrors after waking up.

He rubbed the rheum from his eyes, took a pen and paper (notebook), and wrote down what had happened in his latest dream on his dream journal.

That one was a doozy.

What was wrong with him, dreaming up such scenarios? He told himself that he'd never do such a thing in real life. Not only because he didn't want to but because he couldn't.

No one developed superpowers like this except in fiction. This was obviously a dream. A dream a psycho would come up with but a dream nonetheless.

His crush who rejected him just killed him after he killed her first.

His dream was indeed just a manifestation of his longing to belong.

Apparently, it was all a fever dream of Florante's. He ended up not going to school that day because of how high of a fever he had, which was also compounded by his asthma.

The feverish asthmatic called in absent for three days until he recovered.

Ugh. At least he'd have a break from his bullying at Fatima High.

Three days after his fever dream, he went back to school. His prison.

For an introvert like him, home was freedom and the outside was maximum penitentiary.

It was in Fatima High School in Mandaluyong where he now found himself exiled. He was left in a prison city. Heaven for others and hell for him.

As usual, it rained hard. It was the rainy season during June in the tropical Philippines, after all.

On the plus side, because it was raining he didn't have to deal with the weekly morning flag ceremony every Monday, with everyone gathered around the concrete stadium under the hot sun.

He had his morning classes instead.

He didn't view the rain as an omen of things to come. Just something unavoidable and inconvenient given the season. He'd already said his goodbyes to the sun back in summer.

The only people he could hang out with were the Dead Kids, and even then he could only do so during lunchtime and through the Art Club. Most of the time, he was left to his own devices with the classmates he loathed.

He detested Fatima High School. He loved Pasig. For the most part, anyway.

He was not a big fan of the river of mud and vegetation known as the Pasig River. When it flooded, it had waters with the consistency of chocolate milk. The chocolate milk river.

'Don't drink from it, though,' he mused.

He didn't want to open up the can of worms of humiliation that happened to him day after day, in dreary weather at that.

He wished he could forget every day. Erase everything and end up with a clean slate every time.

If only. If only.

Most days were uneventful and boring anyway, if a bit awkward. He mostly had no one to talk to. People laughed behind his back. He felt extra conscious of himself, afraid of embarrassing himself or doing something cringe-worthy.

He'd actually improved from his grade school days because on top of being socially awkward, he was more than a bit of a crybaby to boot when he was younger.

Again, he was a spoiled brat who was a bit of a weirdo.

During nursery and kindergarten, he was particularly terrible. Almost like a toddler. He even embarrassed himself up on stage when he was assigned to memorize and recite a poem about picking up 50 pesos.

He must've been about 7 or 8 years old when it happened. Embarrassingly, he had the emotional maturity of a 2-3 year old at the time.

He didn't only cry back then. He bawled. He had a tantrum.

His tantrums at class got so bad that his mother had to be called in.

He was quick to anger, though. The smallest things could set him off. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

Naturally, his behavior wasn't conducive to getting friends. His only best friend at the time soon abandoned him for being such a crybaby weirdo.

In fairness to Florante, he somewhat improved and emotionally matured as he grew older. Instead of bawling, he'd only cry to himself. Soon, he'd only get misty eyed when his emotions got the better of him.

However, the fact that he was so sensitive made him a prime target for teasing and bullying.

What was worse was that when he was even younger he had no self-awareness, so by the time he got older, he could only scratch his head in puzzlement at why no one would be friends with him, why the girls in his school found him to be gross, or why he was bullied so often.

Hindsight was 20/20. A cringe-inducing 20/20.

He could only cringe in remembrance. He swore once he debuted in high school, he'd never again act like a huge... er... wimp.

Afterwards, from crying a lot to crying a little, he soon graduated to not crying at all but still feeling the blues whenever the popular kids and/or the bullies called him out on his... eccentricities.

This year's batch of Fatima High School freshmen had a total of 200 plus girls and boys occupying about 5 classrooms of about 40 or so students each.

It had its own grade school too, so many of the kids here had grown up together, give or take several students who were "accelerants" or those who moved from Grade 6 to high school without going through Grade 7 because of their good grades.

Regardless, he remained the new guy in town. In a new school. A curiosity. A freak. No one there was anyone he grew up with. He had to make friends quick or else he'd end up a pariah like in his last school.

However, for whatever reason though, his classmates were more distant to him than before. Usually, they took the time to mess with him.

Did something happen again? Like the time all the boys in his class noticed his undershirt was threadbare to the point of being see-through, so they teased him and called him a male stripper?

He briefly considered the chance of them having the same nightmare as him massacring students left and right before waving the thought off.

'As if that'd ever happen.'

On one hand, this was just par for the course with all the bullying he went through in high school. On the other hand, it was all somehow different. They were actually leaving him alone, which was kind of a refreshing change.

He was still the social pariah, but at least they weren't calling him names or making him the butt of the joke as usual.

That was on the plus side. On the "minus" side of things, he ate alone at lunch. None of the Dead Kids were available and he didn't have Art Club that day.

Where did they go? Did something happen? He hoped he wasn't kicked out of the group or anything, like what happened to Laura and Gerry after the nude drawing incident.

Maybe if he was better looking, he'd have more confidence? Like a sporty, tall kind of guy instead of a normal guy who was just there? However, no matter how good he looked, being a crybaby beyond the age of 4 years old was never a good look anyway.

If only he were manlier then perhaps girls would look his way without eyes of disdain, pity, or non-romantic attraction. Maybe. He didn't want to think about it. It made him cringe in embarrassment.

Instead, he was a tan-skinned, brown-eyed, and stringy-haired kid with an almost bowl-cut hair parted in the middle. A total geek.

That Thursday, school sucked as usual. You'd think his impromptu three-day sabbatical would improve things, but they didn't.

On second thought, maybe it did.

Many of his classmates had thankfully gotten sick and tired of messing with him, with all those tough guy jocks and bullies focusing their attention on his other classmates and their... imperfections.

He felt their pain as they were made fun of because of things like being too quiet, having eyes that were unusually big, or alleging one of them had... mental issues.

No, the First Year St. Francis of Assisi bullies weren't exactly politically correct with their insults.

With that said, perhaps rather than a premonition, he should've been more worried about what had already happened. Like his fever dream he somehow couldn't forget.

Well, he kind of couldn't forget. As the day wore on, the details of the dream became hazy like in any other dream, but the summary of it remained fresh in his mind.

In order to vent, he gained superpowers in his dreams and killed his most of classmates, many of which were his staunchest of bullies.

A disturbing fantasy but a fantasy nonetheless. A victimless crime.

If only something unusual like that were to happen. Not necessarily him doing a mass murder of the scope of The Peoples Temple in Jonestown. Sure, that was a different kind of massacre he read from one of the library books during recess, but a massacre nonetheless.

Something more like an exciting new adventure. New horizons for him. Now that he'd released all his pent-up rage in his dreams, perhaps he could delve into something more positive.

Like doing some oil painting (too expensive, though). Or finishing his unfinished comic book, maybe by basing it on his dream journal (if only he had the time).

'Note to self: Never tell anyone from my class that I keep a dream journal,' Florante thought. He was bullied enough already. No need to add that cherry on top of his shit sundae of a life.

Or maybe something more fantastic, like him piloting a giant robot. Or him ending up with a harem of girls. Or him saving the world from the threat of annihilation by monsters.

Or something.

The dismissal bell rung.

As his classmates started milling towards the exit, he willed himself to ignore the stares he felt at his back. It was a familiar feeling of someone being watched for the tiniest clumsy mistake, weird behavior, or angry outburst.

He heard idle chatter from the different cliques and groups formed within their class across the months they'd been together in one classroom, talking about where they wanted to eat or wished to go.

The malls of Mandaluyong were walking distance from their school, after all.

Unlike in college or in high schools in the U.S., the Fatima private school had all the subjects taught in one classroom instead of students moving from one classroom to another.

They were more like schools in Japan, where one class full of students stayed in one classroom for the whole year. They didn't switch out and mingled with other sections in the same year except during club meetings, where students from different years and sections could join.

Nothing significant happened today. Nothing really changed. It was business as usual, even with his bullies letting him off the hook for today.

He heard the door slam on the classroom, making him realize he was all alone. His head turned. A savage movement. Like a deer realizing it had been trapped. Or headed on a collision course with a truck, the bright headlights mesmerizing it.

As he was about to go to his school service at the school parking lot, the "something" he wished would happen finally happened.

He should've been careful what he wished for, to be honest.

As an aside, it was like déjà vu all over again.

A huge boulder that looked like a piece of the Fatima Grade School building fell right on the jeepney that served as his school service, crushing it in its weight.

"Wha...?"

He turned around. The school he just exited was in ruins, students were running away screaming, and something supernatural was the cause of all this mayhem.

To be more specific, right above the school floated a monster with two gigantic eyeballs sitting atop a body made of a mountain of minced meat and long tangled tendrils that undulated and wrapped themselves around the buildings and people like a dense forest of guts and intestine.

Damn. To think, spaghetti was his favorite food too.

It was like he was losing his mind just looking at that incomprehensible thing, much less try to describe it.

His mind went a mile a minute, going from the horrible realization that his fellow school service students in Pasig had been crushed to death to Fatima High getting demolished by a giant monster.

Wait, did he fall asleep again? Was he indulging in another one of his secret "edgy" fantasies he'd never dare (nor could) do in real life?

That must've been what happened. None of this was real.

His fever dream still fresh in his mind, he moved forward instead of away from the tentacle monster even as students and teachers (as well as faculty members and staff) of all ages ran away from it.

The giant monster crawled like kudzu grass from one building to the next, crushing them under its weight. It didn't so much move around as grew so that its fleshy red membrane body with eyes could transfer itself from one position to the next, like a vine or flowering plant but sped up.

It flooded the streets of Shaw Boulevard and St. Francis Street with its endless, root-like tendrils and tentacles of varying sizes, resulting in a heavy traffic jam. It looked like it was headed towards the nearest mall. Why though?

He stopped after seeing the monster swallow up several students in its sea of viscera and intestinal entanglements. Some of them kids from the Fatima grade school who hung out after dismissal for too long.

Many of them were his fellow students from high school. Most unfamiliar or vaguely familiar faces. One in particular caught his eye.

A bespectacled, short-haired girl swinging and swimming towards the eye balls. Brave of her to do so, but her face looked familiar...

It was Jenny! Jennifer Tolentino. The girl he spared in his dream before he "massacred" his bullies.

The monster saw her just in time to wrap one of its tendrils around her neck, arms, and limbs.

The one girl in their class who was nice to him was about to die.

Before he knew it, Florante found himself running towards the monster instead of away from it.

Like in his dream, he shot out bolts of lightning and reverberating shockwaves of thunder at the living spaghetti creature, freeing up many of the students in its grasp.

He shot one of the creature's eyes and cut through its tendrils in time to get even Jenny loose, catching her right in his arms.

"...Flor!" she exclaimed as he landed on his feet while holding her in a bridal carry. "Y-You saved me!"

He felt his cheeks grow warm as he gently put her back to the ground on her own two feet. He then faced away from her in embarrassment, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you!" he heard her say from behind him, which made him mutter, "Y-You're welcome," under his breath.

This was it. He didn't really want to kill all his classmates like in his other dream where he vented his frustration over his social awkwardness and their bullying of him.

He wanted to be accepted. Respected. Validated. Loved. Or at least tolerated and left alone instead of having every single quirk or action he did scrutinized and mocked.

He wanted his existence to be acknowledged at school. He wanted to be treated fairly like other students. He didn't want to hurt anyone, just stop them from hurting him.

Maybe he could get one or two close friends as well. That wouldn't hurt.

He charged at the monster wreaking havoc all over the street like mountains of spilled Italian food, intending to fry it into charcoal.

"Gabriel, watch out...!" Jenny screamed.

"Gabriel...?" he repeated, only to have tentacles shoot out from behind him, stabbing his back.

The monster did a sneak attack on him, he realized too late. It spread its noodle limbs into the nearest drain then shot it up where he couldn't see.

He then saw the world spin all around him, from sky to concrete to car to dirt to van to pillar to post and back again to the sky.

He got dragged and flung around until he felt the tendrils snap like lizard tails, hurling him to the roof of a Toyota Tamaraw FX utility vehicle.

Tears streamed down his eyes, his whole body throbbing except his legs, which horrified him. He suffocated in pain, unable to even groan as tears streamed down his eyes.

Had the spaghetti monster turned him to roadkill? What sort of nightmare was this? His powers from his previous dream failed him, and now he felt death creep in the edges of his blurry vision.

Hah. Served him right.

That was what he got thinking he could take on that nightmarish creature. Shooting helpless students with no superpowers was way different from dealing with a giant incomprehensible mess of a monster that could fight back.

He then gasped as a feeling of euphoric relief enveloped him. Then back to heart-rending pain as he finally felt his legs or what was left of them.

Or maybe they were fine after all, as he soon felt okay enough to move them around, from his thighs and knees to his ankles and toes. He dared peer at himself, only to see bloody, torn pants draped over perfectly healthy legs, a large laceration over his hamstring closing up like magic.

He then looked up to see Jenny Tolentino kneel over him in seeming prayer, a cool neon mist of light transferring from her body to his.

Wait. Was she... healing him? Was that what was happening? Man, this is one crazy dream.

The girl with the glasses said, "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this."

"Jenny...?" Florante trailed off.

Jenny took a deep breath and said, "Listen up, Flor. You're an Ophanim."

"P-Pardon?" stuttered a flabbergasted Florante. "I'm a... what?"

"An angel. You're an angel without wings, Flor."

***

To Be Continued...

Fun fact: I actually made a Geocities site for this story once while considering turning it into a webcomic. Or at least I named the Geocities site after this work, which featured a Gabriel De Angeles protagonist instead of a Florante Galang at the time.

Farewell, Abdiel

#angels #demons #fantasy of evolution #ophanim #florante galang #laura reyes

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