#its the last remnant of a life i had where i had goals and i could tell where i was going and what i needed to do

[ribcagewolf]

how to explain how much the theatre backstage pics hurt me

[dalekofchaos]

William Afton is not a loving father and is not sympathetic in anyway

Might be a hot take. But I honestly feel like William Afton always being awful works.

William Afton being an unfeeling psychopath who kills because he gets some sick pleasure out of it and because he discovered remnant is better than William being a loving and caring father who turned mad because he lost CC and Elizabeth.

Some people are just evil. William Afton is just pure evil. Freddy Krueger nor Pennywise needed motivations on why they killed kids. Not knowing why Afton does what he does makes things better.

And its probably the most engaging thing about Afton. Also his always coming back thing is the only instance that I accept a character coming back from the dead. Like, I've never seen this trope work EVER except FNaF.

William Afton just being a garbage person just WORKS. He is so evil that his eternal hell is facing torture at the hands of his creations and the one vengeful child who wants him to suffer.

You know the meme

“Cool story, still murder”

For William it’s

“I’m just awful, it’s murder time children”

Also, William using his kids as an excuse to justify the murders does work, but only because he likes using his children and only wanting to bring his kids back in animatronic form can only work so they can do his bidding and collect more remnant so he can always come back. William being awful works.

Henry might've been neglectful of Charlie and Sammy, but William canonically abuses Elizabeth. He did nothing to help CC against Michael's cruel bullying and no, being the probable voice for psychic friend Fredbear is NOT a sign of good parenting. He used Michael to help him in his experiments and used him to clean up the mess HE MADE. William Afton is not a good father.

And if Midnight Motorist is about the Aftons, how is that not an abusive home? "leave him be, he had a long day" "I TOLD YOU not to lock the door" and then either it being CC or Michael, they broke the window to literally get away from the unhappy home.

And let's not forget he experiments on children in his fear experiments to recreate the events that lead to the death of his son.

William doesn't love his family. He sees them as objects he owns, and wants to force them to be perfect. And when they fail them, he replaces them.

There's a reason why Unbroken to me is the definitive Afton song.

He's so goddamn happy that he committed murder because of the remnant it gives him and doesn't give a shit about anyone else. It's chilling to watch. And the last line is so goddamn evil that it's amazing: "If I can't have my perfect little family, well, now I'll have plenty of time, to make a better one."

People have to realize that William never meant anything good whenever he wanted to "put something back together". It's referencing combining souls into one thing. When he did this in the novels, he did it because he believed it would somehow help him achieve eternal life. When he scooped a collection of remnant that came from who knows where into the Funtimes, it was likely for the same reason. He didn't want to help the Crying Child. He wanted the Crying Child to willingly give himself to him.

So I think Unbroken really shows how he is. Break them and put them back together. Let their combined cries build immortality.

This is why I use Unbroken as the definitive song and basis for William's motivation and goals. An unfeeling psychopath who sees killing kids as a fair trade for immortality and if he can't have a perfect family, then he'll just build a better one.

William in all his iterations is never shown interacting with his children in a positive way. The closest we get to him is telling his daughter Elizabeth not to go near Circus Baby. And even though Sister Location is when voice acting began to take hold of the franchise, we never hear how William speaks to his daughter. In these moments, the only instance of him speaking about his children in the games is up for debate. But if you believe the orange man in Midnight Motorist is Afton, he speaks about the runaway child with disdain and frustration. "he will be sorry when he gets back" whether it's Mike or CC he made them sorry either by locking CC in the parts and services in FNAF 4 or made Mike sorry via Nightmare Animatronics. All throughout the FNAF 4 cutscenes, he neglects his children entirely. Even when he is AT THE PIZZERIA with them, he doesn't acknowledge them during his own child's birthday party whose death is meant to be the catalyst for his descent into madness that the fandom widely believes and as that child cries out in fear, he is nowhere to be found.

Moving on from the games. Nothing about the books paints William to be a warm person. He's depicted in the novels as not only neglectful to Elizabeth, but physically abusive to her as well, even after she's killed by the animatronic she idolized, William does not soften at the loss of her, we do not see him grieve and he treats Circus Baby just as poorly as in the games, only thing missing is a scene of controlled shocks. Circus Baby is just a vessel for remnant and a devoted follower who is helping him with his experiments.

Game Michael is tasked with potentially cleaning up after William, but definitely with putting Circus Baby back together just as his father asked and his reward is getting scooped, being injected with remnant and having his body filled with animatronic parts and when Ennard abandons his body. Mike is left confused, alone and slowly rotting, but never dying. Immortal and restless.

In the movie William treats Vanessa like a tool to be ordered and it's implied Vanessa helped William cover up the the murders or killed as she was tasked with killing Mike and she lives in fear of him. When Vanessa finally stands up to him, he doesn't hesitate to dispose of her.

Whether it's the games, books or movies. William treats his living children as tools at best and obstacles at worst. I believe there is more than enough evidence to say that William Afton is not motivated by a design or desire to reunite with his lost loved ones or recreate some beautiful family. I don't think he wants to play pretend the way Henry seems to do in the novels with Charlie. Afton never really appreciated a single thing he ever had, not when he had it and certainly when he lost it. In Afton's eyes he only sees what others have and views things and other people through the lens of what they can do for him. He needs to be in control of his environment and everything should be at his disposal.

What motivates William Afton? He became enthralled with Henry's creations, jealous even. Perhaps they made him feel inferior as they were better than anything Afton had ever been able to create, so he studied Henry. The resentment in the obsession growing inside him as they became partners and their business was a success, it wasn't enough. He wanted the animatronics to be his own. He deserved them, he built the business and he shouldn't have to share the success with Henry, but he knew he needed Henry and that was infuriating to him and seeing Henry having the perfect family William always wanted was what caused him to kill Charlie that night. He wanted to take something from Henry and William needed to feel in control and for Henry to be vulnerable just to prove it could be taken away from him if William really wanted to and he did. What William wasn't expecting was that the security Puppet assigned to Charlie's bracelet would do exactly as it was programmed to do, it found Charlie and as she died, her soul fused to it. Upon discovering this, it would set William on a new path. He needed to understand why this would happen and how. Not because he was desperate to see his son or daughter again. But because he needed to be able to harness this ability to control it. His son lying in a coma would be brought back by his hands and he'd have the power to do something Henry cnever could. However he came to the conclusion he decided he'd need to kill again and he did. Stuffing bodies into the animatronics to see if they too would become possessed. Besides, who was going to go looking for the missing children in the suits? From here he would learn about remnant and conducted a particular gruesome experiment. What if a person died inside a spring lock suit? The result was something more powerful, but it was less predictable and obident than the others had been, but he did learn a valuable lesson about spring locks. He created the Funtimes to keep collecting and experimenting with remnant and he used electric shocks to keep them obedient and when he was no longer able, he enlisted Michael to continue his work.

We don't have all the information, but from what we do have, these motivations track with of Afton. Far more than the idea of a grief stricken father. If something happened to William to make him an insecure jealous man whose morality was shaped only by his own selfish desire. It happened before the events of FNAF. I don't think that's unsatisfying, I think it's a reminder of what we become when we reject humanity when our insecurities turn to jealousy, when we refuse to accept that some things are out of our control and allow fear to become hatred. While we can point to Henry and Edwin's rage against their respective machines, we also see the other side of them, the love of their children. You never see this human or soft side of William and personally I believe that's because it isn't there. William Afton's choices were not the choices of a man acting out of love or grief and that is why he's not a sympathetic villain and that is why it works so well and how it gets under our skin. When his actions are explained by those emotions because he's never been shown expressing them. If Afton is trying to rebuild his children, he is doing so to create loyal and obedient versions of them to do his bidding to make sure his work can continue and that he can always come back.

"YOU WILL DO AS I SAY. YOU WILL BRING ME WHAT I WANT AND IF YOU FAIL ME, THEN YOU WILL, BOTH OF YOU WILL BURN"

I believe this is what the original Security Breach story was meant to be. Vanessa was meant to be Elizabeth reborn and Gregory CC reborn as robots and tasked with slowly replacing William's body with animatronic parts injected with remnant and it lines up with what we know from the books. But Sony fucked the game and the original plan fell through and they course corrected.

Last few paragraphs from this video

But bottom line is, I don't believe William is this loving father with originally noble goals as the fandom likes to paint him because Scott writes William anything but than what the fandom portrays William to be and I think it's good that he's not a sympathetic villain. Sometimes some people are always awful and they don't have to have something bad happen to them. The masses have forgotten the simple pleasures of experiencing a nasty villain who delights in their crime and is the pettiest specimen one could ever design. William Afton to me is Scott pouring every negative/evil trait he could think up into the shape of a character and I just think it's good way to write William Afton.

There’s a reason the Afton Amalgamation is one giant Bunny made out of trash.

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

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If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Darkness had never been so peaceful. 

Thorin stared up at the ceiling, which was little more than blackness upon blackness, embedded with gemstones that glinted in the flickering candlelight. He’d never noticed just how many stones there were, even after the literal weeks he’d spent in this very bed not quite two years earlier. Then again, the last time he’d occupied this bed, his circumstances were far more dire, as he hovered between life and death, utterly unsure of which he preferred. 

Since then, his scars ached from time to time, the ones on his belly a bit sensitive to the touch. But at that moment, he felt nothing but utter peace and perhaps the small tingling remnants of the absolute bliss that had coursed through his body earlier. 

Of their own volition, his fingers skimmed lightly along the gossamer, fiery silken threads of Nina’s wild curls. Her hair was softer than any other he’d ever touched, fluid and seemingly alive as it spilled through his fingers, the light catching the streaks of gold and fire running through it. Her breath whispered across his chest, and he smiled as her fingertips slid gently along his stomach. 

Nina lifted her head to regard him with sleepy eyes. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“I’ve no desire to sleep. I’d rather this night not end just yet.”

She shifted, resting her chin against his chest. “Narnerra has told me she’s cleared me to leave. And while she didn’t exactly say so, I believe that was a polite way of telling me to lose myself come morning.”

He let his fingers move down, along the curve of her ear, to her cheek. “Where will you go?”

It might have been but his imagination, but he thought disappointment flashed through her unusual green eyes, but all she said, “I have a flat in Dale. And Sigrid is probably going out of her mind with worry for me.”

“Sigrid?”

“My roommate.” Her teeth flashed in a winsome smile. “Bard’s daughter.”

“You live with the bowman’s daughter?”

She nodded. “We’ve known each other since we were children. I bumped into her when I first returned to Dale and she needed a roommate as much as I needed a place to room.”

“Will she object to my paying call on you? I’ve the feeling she is no more fond of dwarves than you were when you and I first met.”

“Paying call on me?”

He nodded, letting his fingers graze along her jaw, unable to resist the feel of her soft skin. “I believe you call it courting in the world of Men.”

Her eyes widened. “You wish to court me? Do you even know what that means?”

He chuckled. “I know very well what it means. And I think I would like to do so. Unless you’d rather leave here and never be bothered by me again.”

Her laugh came soft and bubbly as she shook her head. “No, I’d rather not do that, if it’s all the same to you.”

With that, she eased over him and his breath hitched at the feel of her against him, the feel of her full breasts firm against his chest, the feel of her cleft nestling him so nicely. Her body fit perfectly against his, soft and supple as he slid his arms about her and let his fingertips dance down her spine toward the rounded curve of her backside. 

Her eyes softened as they held his, and she carefully shifted to balance as she traced a finger along the line of his beard. “Do dwarves approach courting differently?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never courted anyone.”

“Well, surely you know the basics.”

“I’m not so certain our basics are your basics.”

“Thorin.”

“What? I’m not.”

“Thorin.”

She started to shift off him, and he caught her before she could, smiling as he said, “Oh, no, mesmel. You are staying right there.”

“Am I, then?”

He nodded, tightening his hold on her. “Oh, yes. You are.”

Her gaze softened and he bit back a low sigh as she pressed her hips into his and replied, “If you insist.”

Her lips came upon his then and he wrapped his arms about her. She felt so perfect against him, his blood warmed as it swept through him, his heart picking up its pace as she broke the kiss to graze her lips along his chin, down his neck. Leaving fiery tingles in her wake, she kissed her way down over his chest, down his stomach, and his head spun from the heat that scorched him from the inside out. 

“Mesmel,” he managed to breathe as thinking became far more difficult. How could a simple kiss, a trail of simple kisses, creates such fire in him, create such need? A dull ache took root deep inside him, one that was maddening and arousing at the same time. Each pass of her lips, each flick of her tongue against his overheated skin sharpened that ache, made the fire burn brighter and hotter with each passing moment. His eyes closed of their own, sweet pleasure threatening to drown him as she moved into even more sensitive territory. 

Nina crept lower, her kisses hotter, more teasing and far more seductive now and as she reached his hip, he couldn't hold back his moan. He burned for this woman, this wanton temptress who made him feel things he never knew could be felt, and little by little, his blood flowed south, hot and thick and burning as he responded to her sensual touch. 

Her lips came soft and warm along his left inner thigh, moved down toward his knee, then back up and his hips snapped up of their own as she slowly took him in her mouth. The silken pull was nearly his undoing, the inferno raging through him bringing him so perilously close to completion in a single heartbeat. 

Without thinking, he reached for her, sank his hands in to her glorious hair, twisting his fingers into the thick curls as he moaned, “Nina…” 

She lashed him with her tongue, slow strokes that moved along his length and swirled about his girth. She drew him deep, the pressure nearly driving him mad with the need for release. He held back, fought it off to allow the fiery pleasure to consume him. He couldn’t breathe. If someone asked, he’d not be able to recall his own bloody name. 

None of it mattered. She teased him to the brink of madness and the harder he pulled on her hair, the tighter her lips came about him and the rougher her tongue came upon him, and the pleasure that burned through him had the intensity of a thousand suns. 

Then, she pulled away slowly, offering up a sensual smile at his moan of protest. That protest was forgotten as she kissed her way back up to his lips, shifted ever so slightly and—

“Oooh…” He couldn't hold back his moan as she sheathed him in a silken glide and tightened about him. She sat back, hands braced on his chest, and rocked ever so slowly, moving forward and back. 

He moaned again, his hands coming to rest on her thighs, his fingers tightening as she rode him slowly. Forcing his eyes open, he drank in the sight of her, her full breasts swaying with her movement, her hips undulating so very slowly to treat him to sensations that were both fiery and sweet. 

She smiled, her eyes glittering in the candlelight as she whispered, “Thorin…”

He returned that smile, sliding one hand between her perfect thighs, into the russet curls between them, and found that pearl he knew would give her the same pleasure she gave him.

She sucked in a sharp breath as he just barely grazed it, and tightened about him even further as she drew him deep. With each stroke, she quivered about him, her hips moving faster now, her eyes closing as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and bobbed her head. 

He felt her climax build, felt his own rolling up from somewhere deep inside him. He urged her to move faster, to ride him harder, and as she did, he increased his pressure on that bead until she let out a soft cry and a sudden burst of wetness accompanied the equally sudden tightness of her clamping all around him. 

He had to move, had to thrust, and did so without thinking, his hips arcing to meet her as his release burned through him. She shuddered with him, her fingernails bit into his chest and they cried out as one as her release triggered his and he erupted in a fiery crescendo of desire and need.

She tightened about him further, quivering and pulsing with him as she threw her head back in surrender and dug her nails harder into his chest. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged, and then she sank against him, fighting for breath, her head coming to rest in the curve of his neck.

His head spun from the force of his release and his own breath fled as well even as he wrapped his arms about her and managed to whisper, “Mesmel… oh… love… you are amazing… know you this?”

A soft laugh skittered across his bare skin, and he shivered at the sensation of her lips grazing the cure of his neck. “I love you,” she whispered back. 

He smiled into the semi-darkness, savoring the silkiness of her hair beneath his fingertips. “I love you, too. Maralmizi.”

“Maralmizi.” She lifted her head, her eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy. “Did I say that right?”

“Almost. Maralmizu is how you would say it to me.”

“Maralmizu?”

“Exactly.” He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, wincing slightly as he slipped from her warmth. 

Nina shifted, stretching out beside him, and draped her arm about his waist, tucked her head into the curve where his shoulder met his chest. He tightened his arm about her, pressing a kiss into the top of her head. “And just so you know, mesmel,” he added with a smile, “you may do that to me any time you wish.”

Her laughter rippled through him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And when I’ve recuperated a bit more,” he murmured as a delicious drowsiness crept over him, “I will do the same to you.”

“I definitely like the sound of that.”

“I thought you might.”

****

Nina awoke to the soft snoring coming from behind her and she peered over her shoulder at Thorin, curved up against her, mouth softly slack in sleep. The infirmary bed was narrow and not really meant for two people, but she found it quite cozy just the same. 

She eased onto her back, then onto her opposite side and as the bed shifted, Thorin slowly opened his eyes, then lifted his head slightly to peer over her. “What time is it?”

“I don't know. There is no clock in here.” She reached down to catch a long, silver-streaked black curl and drew it away from his face. “Will you be in trouble, should someone find you here? Narnerra will be coming through soon.”

“Mesmel,” he winked, “I am the king. No one will scold me for anything I do. But, since I’d rather your reputation not be tattered, I should probably take my leave.”

Her spirits sank, as she was so very cozy there with him, but at the same time, he was probably right. “I’ll be leaving later this morning, remember.”

“I know.” He leaned to kiss her, then slid from the bed and she had to fight back a sigh at the sight of him as he rose and what remained of the candlelight danced over the swells of muscle along his back and legs, over the firm curve of his backside. 

He moved to step into his trousers, then bent and fished his henley from the floor, and stepped into his boots. “In a flat off Stone Street. I’ll find you later.”

“Later?”

He turned, his eyes visibly darkening as she sat up and the sheet slid from her. “Later. I have some business I need tend to first, business that will not wait, I’m afraid. But,” he paused by the door, “I will be round about half seven to take you to supper.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

And with that, he was gone, slipping around the door and into the infirmary. She held her breath, waiting to hear Narnerra demand to know what he was doing there at so early an hour. At least, she thought it was early, although she had no way of knowing for certain. 

Either way, she slid from the bed, mindful of both of her healing wounds. They stung despite her careful movements, although the more she moved about, the more quickly the stinging stopped. By the time she’d dressed completely, she only barely felt anything.

Narnerra was at her desk, working on something, and looked up when Nina approached. “Ah, you’re moving about better, Miss Carren.”

“I’m getting there, I suppose.”

“Well, I think you are healed enough to be on your way.”

Narnerra’s voice was light and pleasant, but there was no mistaking the finality of her words. “I do appreciate all that you’ve done for me.”

“Of course. You were wounded in service to Erebor’s king. I would not turn you away for that. But now, it’s time for you to go. Safe travels.”

She smiled and turned back to her desk, indicating their conversation was over and while she had no clue how to find her way back to the front gates, Nina shrugged and left the infirmary. She’d figure it out. After all, it couldn’t be that difficult if Narnerra wasn’t concerned about her being seen out.

Outside the infirmary, Nina went to her left, and when the corridor ended in a T, she went right this time, Left. Right. Up a stone staircase and down another corridor. Left. Right. 

And found herself hopelessly lost. Erebor was immense, and she came to another landing, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her.

Gold. Silver. Gemstones. As far as she could see. Her hands came to rest on the polished stone railing overlooking the sea of treasure. There was enough wealth in that chamber to keep all of Middle Earth housed and fed and clothed for centuries. Enough wealth in that chamber for Thorin to give every warm body in Esgaroth a fortune of their own and he would still have more than enough left over. 

Her mouth went dry and her heart picked up its pace. It would be so easy to go down those stairs, to wade into that sea of riches, and fill her pockets to the point where she would never have to worry about money again. No one would ever notice.

No one would ever know.

And perhaps if she did not love Thorin as much as she did, she would do just that. 

But…

“May I help you?”

Nina gritted her teeth at the sickly sweet sound of Elisin’s voice and slowly turned to find her coming down the very same staircase Nina herself had descended. “Actually, I’m a bit turned around. I’m looking for the front gates.”

“Oh, leaving are you?”

“I am. I’m sufficiently healed and ready to go home.”

“How wonderful for you. Come,” Elision gestured toward the staircase, “I’ll show you. I know this city almost as well as Thorin.”

“Yes, I suppose you do.”

“We’ve been talking about being married,” Elisin said as they made their way up. “I don't know if he’s told you that or not.”

“No,” Nina shook her head, “he’s not. But then, we’ve not had much time to talk.”

“Really? Not even when he came to you last eve?”

Nina looked over at her. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? I saw him come to the infirmary last eve. You were the only one there, so why would he have been there as well, if not for you?”

“You will have to ask him that yourself. He was probably looking for your healer.”

“I did ask him.” Elisin stopped short, snagging Nina’s forearm to halt her. “And what do you suppose he told me?”

The sudden stop meant Nina pulled her stitches and the hot sting soured her mood more than Elisin’s presence eve could. Biting back the oath bubbling to her lips, she whipped about and growled, “How would I know what he told you?”

“You know why he was there. You know exactly why he was there and if you think I don’t know, you are even more stupid than you look.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nina jerked her arm free and stepped back, drawing her sword as she did. “Touch me again, and lose that body part. I am not playing this game with you. If you wish to know why Thorin was in the infirmary, I suggest you actually ask him instead of thinking me fool enough to say anything.”

Elisin stared at the blade, and then at her, and slowly shook her head. “You are mad.”

“No,” Nina told her, “I am not mad. I am sore and I am tired and I am going home.”

“I know why he was there, kunbûna and if you think, for one second, that I will let you take him from me? You are sorely mistaken.”

Although she had no idea what kunbûna meant, Nina knew it was an insult of some sort. Still, she wasn’t about to let Elisin get a rise out of her and so she re-sheathed her sword. “And you think I’m mad. Good day.”

She spun about and strode off without a look back, and this time, thankfully, managed to find her way to the main gate without getting lost. She didn't know how Elisin would react when Thorin told her the truth, but she had the feeling it wouldn’t be at all pleasant. Not one bit. 

[vendettaspathfanfic]

Chapter Seven

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

Toxic was overcome with an exhilaration unlike anything she had ever experienced before. For the past few days, she and the rest of the Destructix had been meticulously organizing and strategizing for the upcoming bank robbery. Her brother had assured her that the heist would not only yield substantial rewards for the gang, but also bring them closer to their ultimate goal of claiming the castle as their own.

Furthermore, she had already tasted the thrill of danger when she found herself being pursued by the police, and had even taken the life of Boomer Walrus. Like Scourge, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline rush that came with living beyond the boundaries of the law, and it was a temptation she simply couldn't resist.

And now, the sun had long dipped below the polluted horizon and the bank had closed its doors to the public. Everyone except for Scourge and Fiona gathered in the dimly lit front lobby of their musty hideout, waiting as the latter was making some last-minute modifications to a newly acquired, illicitly-gained SUV that would be serving as their getaway vehicle.

"When do we go?" Toxic asked impatiently, the frustration transparent in her tone as she slouched her shoulders forward in an exaggerated, childlike display of boredom.

"As your brother mentioned," Predator responded brusquely, "we'll leave once Fiona finishes with the car."

"And where's Scourge?" Lightning interjected, displaying his impatience, albeit in a more composed manner compared to their youngest companion.

"He's checking on Miles," Predator replied, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he observed Lightning's restlessness. "The wait will be worth it."

Reluctantly, Lightning released a soft sigh and nodded, conceding with a muttered acknowledgment of "you're right," his gaze drifting downward and away from Predator.

"That's hardly a revelation," Predator remarked confidently, his arms folded across his chest as he stared ahead.

"Shut up," Lightning retorted with a growl, attempting to maintain a facade of annoyance even as his mouth twitched in a battle against a burgeoning grin.

"We'll be ready soon, Toxic little girl!" Flying exclaimed, bounding off the remnants of the front desk in the lobby where he had been perched. He landed with a solid thud in a crouched position before Toxic, meeting her at eye level. "And then we'll have a grand ole time-rhyme-mime!"

A proud smile spread across Toxic's face as she declared, "I'm gonna shoot someone again," placing her clenched fists on her hips.

"Well, they've got bots instead of guards, so you'll just be shooting them if necessary," Lightning chimed in, leaning casually against the wall as he recounted a detail from his earlier reconnaissance mission at the bank to assess the security system.

"Unless the cops show up-cup-pup!" Flying interjected, wagging his finger playfully while his grin widened at the prospect of taking the lives of law enforcement.

Toxic nibbled on her healing lower lip, revealing a gap-toothed grin. "I wanna shoot them too," she mused before approaching Simon, who carried their arsenal of weapons in an ammo belt slung across his torso. She looked up at him and gently tugged on his pant leg, prompting him to shift his gaze toward her.

"What is it?" Simon asked.

"Can I have my gun?" she asked, extending her arm towards his towering figure, her hand outstretched in anticipation.

"Not yet. I'll give it to you when it’s time," Simon replied, his gaze returning to the front as he patiently awaited the gang's leaders.

"Can I just practice more though?" Toxic persisted, maintaining her stance as she tried to negotiate for access to her designated pistol.

"Nope. We have to be conservative with ammo at the moment," Simon insisted, crossing his arms firmly as he kept his gaze fixed ahead.

"That's balls," Toxic grumbled, dropping her arm and crossing it tightly with the other.

"Okay," Simon acknowledged with a nonchalant hum, his shoulders giving a subtle twitch in a barely noticeable shrug.

Scourge soon made his entrance into the dimly lit lobby, his silhouette accentuated by the warm glow emanating from the lantern he carried. With a smirk and, he lowly chuckled “whining bitch,” as he placed the lantern on a weathered end table, joining the ensemble of lights that provided just enough illumination for the gang to make out each other's faces in the dark, dank setting.

"How's our guest, green boss?" queried Flying with a curious tilt of his head.

"He's been trapped in that room going on three days now, and trust me, we're far from rolling out the red carpet for him. He's faring just as you'd picture," Scourge growled with annoyance while he fidgeted with the jacket that seemed to hang loosely on his lithe form.

"I see-hee-hee!" Flying snickered with sinister glee, his hands coming together in anticipation as he imagined the undoubtedly run-down condition of their captive, Miles.

"Fiona's wrapping up her work. I'll go see how she's doing," declared Scourge, striding towards the shadowy alley nestled next to the orphanage. It was a secluded spot where they currently kept their vehicles out of sight. As he arrived, he noticed Fiona, intent on her task under the SUV's hood, her face hidden from view by its bulk.

"How's it going, Fi?" he called out, a grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of her, somehow still striking even with streaks of filth marking her from the day's labor.

"Just tying up the last few loose ends," she answered without looking up, her hands deftly making the final tweaks to the engine. With a satisfied nod, she packed away her tools and lowered the hood with a solid thud. "We should give it a test drive. Care to do the honors?"

"Yeah, I'm up for it," Scourge replied nonchalantly, his shoulders lifting in an easy shrug.

"Perfect. Just a quick ride down to the end of the street and back should do. I can tell you're all itching to go soon," she said, a touch of empathy in her voice as she prepared to gauge the readiness of their escape vehicle.

"Don't you know it," Scourge chuckled, the sound low and soft, as he accepted the keys she offered him and slid into the driver's seat. With a turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and he took off for the brief trial run. The vehicle performed flawlessly, and with a satisfied nod, he returned to park it right in front of the building, stepping out to greet Fiona who walked up to him with a victorious air.

"Smooth as butter," she proclaimed, her arms lifted triumphantly.

"That’s my girl," Scourge praised, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into a close embrace, their bodies pressed together in a moment of affection.

"Well," Fiona began, her fingers delicately holding Scourge's chin, elevating his gaze to hers, "it looks like we're ready to roll."

With a broad smile, Scourge reveled not only in the thrill of the impending heist but also in the woman before him – Fiona, the undeniable queenpin of their outfit and, more significantly, his own heart. Drawn in by the moment, their lips met in a soft collision that momentarily swept away thoughts of their upcoming illicit endeavor.

The Destructix, however, did not forget about anything. The expectant gang emerged from the building,

Their intimate interlude was shattered by a piercing, high-pitched "HEY!" that sliced through the air, accompanied by the sharp clap of hands.

"I will break you, you little shi-" Scourge snarled, his moment with Fiona abruptly interrupted, glaring at his sister in disdain.

"Are we ready to get moving?" Toxic interrupted, her impatience evident in her crossed arms and the rhythmic tapping of her foot.

"Mhm," Fiona replied, rolling her eyes at Toxic's insolence. She then turned her attention to the task at hand, announcing, "Everybody, gear up," as she popped open the trunk and began to distribute the nondescript black hoodies and balaclavas to the group.

"How long is the drive again?" Lightning asked, pulling the hoodie over his head.

"We should make it in about thirty minutes," Fiona answered, as she too donned the garment. "Simon, do you have all the equipment ready?"

“Yes ma’am.” Simion replied with an obedient nod, carefully placing a large, loaded duffle bag into the trunk.

Fiona responded with an enthusiastic agreement, enthusiastically thrusting both of her thumbs skyward as she declared, “Cool. Everyone in.”

Upon her cue, her and the rest of the Destructix clambered into the spacious interior of the SUV, a sense of tense excitement hanging in the air. Fiona ignited the engine and embarked on their route towards the bank.

“Alright, one more time let’s hear the plan.” Scourge commanded with authority, his blue eyes scanning the motley crew of accomplices from the vehicle's passenger seat.

With precision, Lightning began to recite his role in the upcoming heist, “I disarm an external security camera by the vent which I’ll crawl through and search for the security room. Once there, I’ll take the flash drive Fiona got and plug it into the main computer. The virus within it will shut the system down completely.”

“Right, then what?” Scourge prodded, his voice laced with anticipation for the next steps.

“I’ll break open the door then guard the car.” Simon chimed in succinctly, underscoring his commitment to the task at hand.

“Can Simon come with us?” Toxic interjected, her eyes wide and hopeful as she cast a beseeching look in Simon’s direction.

“Shut up,” Scourge spat out sharply, his patience wearing thin with his sister’s shenanigans.

“But I-“ Toxic began to protest, her lips parting in objection, only to be met with crossed arms and a resolved stance.

“The answer’s no,” Simon articulated firmly, as the little blue hedgehog sitting beside him grumbled under her breath, her arms folding defiantly while her expression soured by the sting of rejection.

“Go on,” Fiona encouraged, her tone now edged with impatience.

“I run in and find the vault,” Scourge succinctly stated his part of the plan, his confidence unwavering.

“Right,” Fiona acknowledged, her hands deftly maneuvering the steering wheel as she executed a sharp turn.

“We go where Scourge tells us the vault is and start loading the bags.” Predator elaborated, nodding toward the trunk where a stack of empty duffel bags awaited their bounty.

“Then after we’re rich-stitch-bitch, we haul the fuck out before the piggly-wigglies come after us!” Flying exclaimed with his typical raucous enthusiasm, his fist punching the air triumphantly.

“Damn right boys,” Fiona concurred, her lips curling into a predatory smirk of anticipation. The vehicle accelerated, leaving behind the city limits sign that marked their departure from Moebotropilis, as they steered closer to their plunder.

“My mouth hurts…” Toxic complained with a pained expression, her fingers unconsciously gravitating towards the scab forming on her healing lip.

“Then why are you picking at it?” Predator grumbled with a touch of exasperation, shooting a disapproving glance at Toxic.

“Stop picking at it, Toxic. It won't heal if you do,” Fiona scolded firmly, her gaze piercing through the rearview mirror to meet Toxic's eyes.

“I’m not picking at it…” Toxic protested weakly, her fingers betraying her as they continued their ministrations.

“I see you doing it. Knock it off,” Fiona admonished, her voice carrying a note of frustration as she shifted her focus momentarily to berate a sluggish driver ahead, “move it, dumbass!”

“Put your mask on, Toxic,” Simon interjected, hoping this would redirect Toxic's attention away from her lip.

“Okay,” Toxic responded eagerly, a spark of excitement evident in her eyes as she grasped the small balaclava and attempted to pull it over her head. However, her initial enthusiasm was met with a minor setback as she struggled to align the mask correctly, inadvertently covering her eyes instead of the intended eye holes.

“Hang on,” Simon sighed heavily, reaching over to adjust the mask to its proper position on Toxic's head.

“Does it look cool?” Toxic inquired with anticipation, her wide eyes shining with a mix of innocence and eagerness as her tail wagged in anticipation.

“Sure,” Simon replied casually, offering a nonchalant shrug in response to her query.

“Good,” Toxic chimed in happily, a giggle bubbling forth as she embraced the thrill of her first heist.

As the journey progressed with an intermittent backdrop of silence occasionally punctuated by Toxic annoying Simon with various random questions, Lightning seized the opportunity to engage in a moment of meditation. The impending task ahead demanded unwavering focus and precision, necessitating a mental and physical clarity unencumbered by distractions. With a deliberate motion, he gently closed his eyes, honed in on the rhythm of his breath, and methodically purged his mind of extraneous thoughts.

Unbeknownst to Lightning, Predator's gaze had shifted towards him, silently studying his tranquil countenance with a mix of admiration and respect. The aura of serenity enveloping Lightning belied the intense focus he maintained, his unmoving form resembling that of a poised statue, save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled with measured calmness.

In this moment of profound tranquility and disciplined resolve, Predator found a poignant reminder of Lightning's indispensable role within the ranks of the Destructix. The brief period during which Lightning had temporarily departed to rejoin the Raiju Clan had underscored not only the loss of a formidable ally in combat but also the absence of a cherished friend whose presence was deeply ingrained in the fabric of their collective identity.

"Thank god he came back…" Predator mused inwardly, the sentiment reverberating within him so profoundly that he resisted the urge to vocalize it.

To Predator, the Destructix remained incomplete in Lightning's absence, a sentiment that echoed the void within his own being that yearned to be filled by the camaraderie and companionship they had shared. Lightning was more than a comrade; he was Predator's first true friend, a bond that transcended the confines of their criminal endeavors and resonated on a personal level.

Abruptly jolted back to reality, Predator's reverie was shattered by Flying's boisterous intervention, as he seized Lightning's shoulder and vigorously shook him while emitting an incomprehensible stream of excited chatter, disrupting the moment with a frenetic energy that clashed with the prevailing stillness.

"Fuck, Flying!" Lightning hissed through gritted teeth, his body taut with barely restrained fury as he glared at him.

Flying, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the tension, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. He let out a playful giggle, the sound almost musical in its lightness. "We’re here, kitty kitty!" he taunted, his voice lilting as he turned his attention towards Predator with a sly grin. With an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, he mockingly inquired, "Could you tell we were here, tweety bird? You seemed a lil distracted!"

The color rose rapidly to Predator's cheeks, a deep blush betraying his embarrassment. He was caught with his eyes stuck on Lightning. It was an unusual lapse for him, one that seemed all the more peculiar because he hadn't intended to stare; his mind had simply wandered down a labyrinth of thought.

"Yes I could…” Predator murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to recover his composure. He hastily cleared his throat, finding himself momentarily unable to meet the eyes of his companions. An old nervous habit was resurfacing, one he had diligently worked to quell, and he silently chastised himself for allowing it to creep back in.

Scourge cut through the banter with a voice that brooked no argument. “Everyone put the masks on,” he directed, his tone firm and authoritative. There was no hesitation as the team promptly complied, each member pulling on their balaclavas to conceal their identities in the dark fabric.

Fiona, maneuvered the vehicle into a narrow alleyway several structures away from the bank. The engine hummed to a subdued halt. Turning in her seat, she fixed Lightning with a look that was both stern and encouraging. “You’re on, my man,” she said, giving him an affirming nod.

Responding with a terse nod of his own, Lightning's fingers found the button that activated the car's overhead window, pressing it to open up his pathway. He unclasped his seatbelt with a click and fluidly climbed through the opening. Standing atop the vehicle, he surveyed his surroundings before making his move. With the finesse of a true ninja, he leaped onto a nearby fire escape, his movements swift and silent as he ascended the metal stairs to gain access to the rooftops.

Once he reached the appropriate vantage point, he paced back, calculating distance, then burst into a sprint that carried him toward the edge of the rooftop. With a powerful leap, he bridged the gap to the neighboring building, repeating this athletic feat from one structure to the next in a breathtaking display of parkour until he arrived at the bank's roof.

There, Lightning prowled across the rooftop like a shadow until he reached his target that he had noted when he surveyed the bank earlier: the security camera with a clear view of the vent he needed to infiltrate. With a deftness that spoke of years of practice, he reached out and with a swift twist of his wrist, he dislodged the camera from its perch, letting it clatter to his feet where he proceeded to crush it beneath his boot, extinguishing its ability.

With the camera disabled, Lightning yet again transformed into an embodiment of stealth and precision. He inched over the ledge, his body angled in an almost impossible inversion as he maintained his balance with the expertise of a master climber. Upon unzipping a pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a small screwdriver, its metal glinting faintly in the dim light as he set about removing the bolts securing the vent. One by one, the screws fell away, the metal grate clattering to the ground below. Lightning's movements were a choreographed dance of finesse and strength, as he contorted his body to slip into the vent's maw.

Inside, he weaved through the ducts with a patience born of necessity, seeking the nerve center of their target. After a meticulous journey, he discovered a room bristling with technology — computers, monitors, and servers — the perfect jackpot.

But caution was paramount; security cameras lurked like vigilant sentinels. Tuning into the environment, Lightning detected the faint hum of machinery from a camera nearby, likely positioned to monitor the vent. With a swift and calculated motion, he positioned his feet against the grate and unleashed a powerful kick. The grate sailed away as Lightning burst from the vent, his feet colliding with the camera in a precise strike, its recording light flickering out as he landed deftly on the ground.

Drawing from his extensive experience in past criminal exploits, Lightning navigated the familiar terrain of the room with confident precision. Approaching the mainframe computer, he deftly inserted the flash drive containing the virus, a potent tool acquired by Fiona from a black market, into the USB port. As the malicious code took root within the system, the room's atmosphere crackled with digital tension.

Observing the monitors flicker and glitch in response to the virus's intrusion, Lightning's ears flattened at the jarring cacophony of alarms distorted by the cyber assault. Without missing a beat, he reached for his phone and dialed Scourge.

“Howzit lookin’?” Scourge's voice cut through the chaos, his tone a blend of anticipation and authority, as he answered the call after a single ring.

“It’s working. Any second now...” Lightning's response was measured and focused, his gaze fixed on the unfolding chaos as the virus's effects intensified, causing the servers and monitors to succumb to the digital onslaught. With a self-assured smirk, he announced, “You’re up, boss.”

“See you in a minute,” Scourge's voice resonated with unwavering confidence as he terminated the call, stepping out of the car to retrieve an empty duffel bag from the trunk, preparing for the next phase of their operation.

Exiting the vehicle in tandem, Simon approached Scourge.

"In case the vault hasn't been unlocked, you’ll need some sticky bombs," Simon remarked, retrieving a small duffel bag containing the explosive devices and passing it to him with careful deliberation.

“Right on, man,” Scourge acknowledged with a faint grin, shouldering the bag of volatile tools in readiness for their utilization.

“You know how to use ‘em?”

“Yeah, gotta run,” Scourge responded with a playful salute, his focus shifting to the imminent task at hand. With his signature speed, he hastened towards the bank's entrance, the weight of their mission propelling him forward like a bullet. With a swift motion, he forced open the door, splintering the lock in the process, and plunged into the dimly lit interior, embarking on a determined search for the location of the vault, where their ultimate prize awaited.

Thanks to the combination of his remarkable speed and the lack of security measures in the bank, combing the grounds of the bank wasn’t nearly as difficult or time consuming as it would be under normal circumstances for the average person. In less than a minute, he stumbled upon a stairwell hiding behind an unmarked door in the heart of the bank. Leaping over the rail, he fell to the bottom and landed firmly on his feet, he found a long hallway that led to his destination.

Upon reaching the formidable entrance of the bank's vault, he found himself wrestling with the knob. His efforts proved fruitless as the door stood steadfast, mocking his attempt with its immobility. Unperturbed, he meticulously positioned a pair of sticky bombs on the surface of the massive steel barrier and hastily retreated to the stairwell's summit. From the duffel bag, he fished out the detonator, and despite the seriousness of the heist, a mischievous grin broke across his face, impossible to suppress.

He couldn't help but muse over the irony; the bank had undoubtedly poured an immense amount of time and fortune into their elaborate security measures, yet here they were, his band of rebels, dismantling the intricate system with such ease in hardly any time at all. It was almost pitiful, he thought. Actually, it was downright ludicrous. His laughter spilled forth, a wild symphony of triumph and mockery, echoing throughout, an audible testament that the world was, indeed, at his whim.

"Godspeed, Moebius!" Scourge's voice thundered amidst his cachinnation, the words charged with exhilaration as he pressed the detonator's button, instinctively covering his ears in anticipation of the blast. The resulting roar of the explosion reverberated up and down the stairwell, and he waited patiently as the tumultuous sounds gradually diminished into silence.

Once the echoes faded, Scourge confidently extracted his phone, the screen glowing to life as he connected with Lightning. The phone barely had time to ring before the lynx’s voice came through, crisp and alert. Scourge's instructions were brief and to the point, guiding his accomplice towards the now-breeched vault. With the call ended, he surged back outside to where the rest of the Destructix were already in motion, their figures spilling out of the SUV. They rummaged through the trunk, efficiently drawing out several empty duffel bags, their interiors hungry for the spoils of their venture.

Amidst the organized chaos, Simon distributed guns amongst the crew then took a moment to address Toxic. He crouched down, reducing the distance between them, and offered her the compact firearm that had been selected with her in mind. His voice was gentle yet firm, "Remember what to do with this?" he inquired, handing the weapon to her.

Toxic's response was tentative, her voice betraying the effort she was making to recall his earlier instructions, "Don’t uhm… point it at anyone I’m not gonna shoot and only shoot who they tell me to shoot?" She locked eyes with him, seeking affirmation.

"That’s right. And don’t go anywhere they don’t tell you to go," Simon replied, his nod conveying his approval. He watched as a spark of eager anticipation danced in Toxic's eyes, her small frame barely containing the thrill of their illicit escapade.

"I won’t," she promised earnestly, her excitement manifesting in a series of small, jubilant jumps.

"Good," Simon responded, the shadow of a smile threatening to break through his stoic demeanor. He then lifted his gaze, addressing the collective as he imparted his final piece of guidance, "I’ll call you guys if I hear sirens."

"Right on, Simon," Fiona chimed in, her thumb raised in solidarity.

Without further ado, Scourge issued the command to advance, "This way!" His stride was deliberate, a perfect balance of speed and caution as he led his crew back into the bank's interior, descending towards the vault where Lightning awaited their arrival, ready to lay claim to their prize.

The Destructix charged into the vault with an exhilaration akin to children rushing towards an ice cream truck on a hot summer day.

“Dig in, guys!” Scourge's voice reverberated through the enclosed space, brimming with ebullience, as he flung a duffel bag towards Lightning before eagerly stuffing his own with stacks of pristine hundred Moebium bills.

Fiona joined in the revelry, her whoops of joy punctuating the air as she deftly packed her duffel bag with a precision that bordered on artistry, ensuring every available inch was crammed with the coveted currency.

“Make sure you get these ones, kid,” Predator's voice cut through the commotion, guiding Toxic towards the higher denomination Moebium bills that she dutifully stashed away in her backpack.

In a synchronized rhythm, they continued their plunder, the vault echoing with the rustle of cash and the palpable thrill of anticipation. With each bill added to their bags, their imaginations sparked with visions of the luxuries and enhancements that awaited them. From fine dining to Scourge modifying his newly stolen sports car, and even the prospect of additional cybernetic upgrades for the whole gang beyond Lightning's imminent enhancements for the upcoming siege, the possibilities seemed endless in the glow of their success.

However, amidst the euphoria of their heist, Predator's keen gaze caught a subtle shift in Lightning's demeanor. The seasoned ninja’s ears pivoted, attuned to a sound only he could detect, his expression etched with a steely focus that signaled potential danger lurking in the shadows.

“What is it?” Predator inquired, recognizing the telltale intensity in Lightning's countenance, pausing in his cash-stuffing endeavor, the bills frozen in his grasp.

“That hum…” Lightning's voice was low, his ears swiveling as he zeroed in on a distinct electrical vibration growing in intensity behind him. Without hesitation, he turned his head towards the source, his eyes locking onto a menacing turret descending ominously from the vault's ceiling.

“Hit the deck!” Lightning’s urgent command pierced the chaos, a stark warning that sent everyone scrambling to the floor. In a swift motion, Flying vaulted over, landing protectively atop a bewildered Toxic, shielding her from the lethal hail of bullets that erupted across the room, the deadly projectiles grazing perilously close but missing their marks by mere inches.

Scourge's gaze locked onto the menacing turret, its malevolent intent clear in its automated movements. As the turret momentarily shifted its focus away from him, seizing the opportune moment, he sprang into action, leaping to his feet with a fluid grace honed through countless escapades. With a primal war cry, he executed his signature homing attack, hurtling towards the turret with unbridled fury, his strike shattering the mechanical menace into a cascade of twisted metal. Standing amidst the wreckage, he clenched his fist in frustration, bellowing, “The system’s coming back on! I thought we toasted it!?”

“It was supposed to take down the backup files! Fucker at the black market screwed us over!” Fiona's voice rang out, a potent cocktail of disbelief and fury coursing through her veins, her mind racing to process the unexpected betrayal.

“We have to go! Now!” Predator's voice cut through the tension, his tone decisive as he swiftly rose to his feet, sealing his bulging bag with practiced efficiency. The urgency of the situation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder that their daring heist had veered perilously off course, leaving them with no choice but to retreat before the full might of the bank's defenses descended upon them.

As they fled from the compromised vault, their footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor, the weight of the stolen cash dragging at their arms, a sudden swarm of sleek white armed drones swooped towards them, their menacing presence casting a shadow over the fleeing band of outlaws.

“Feed ‘em lead, guys!” Scourge's command sliced through the tension, igniting a flurry of gunfire as his comrades unleashed a torrent of bullets upon the armored mechanical adversaries.

“Ain’t this fun-run-gun, little girl!?” Flying's exuberant voice boomed above the cacophony, his shots finding their mark with precision, shattering a drone's camera and halting its aggressive advance. Seizing the opportunity, he lifted the lower half of his mask, stretched out his signature elastic tongue, and ensnared the disabled drone before flinging it unceremoniously to the ground, inflicting heavy damage upon its mechanical form.

“Ew, you licked it!” Toxic's voice rang out in a mixture of disgust and amusement, her own shot landing the final blow on the incapacitated machine.

“And it tasted goooood!” Flying's laughter reverberated through the corridor, a wild blend of adrenaline-fueled exhilaration and irreverent humor in the face of danger.

“Keep your mask down, man!” Fiona’s urgent demand pierced through the deafening symphony of gunfire.

Scourge, ever the showboat, decided that the use of a gun was a waste of time as he flung the bulging duffel bag he carried skyward. With a grace that belied the chaos surrounding him, he blurred into motion, moving in the blink of an eye. In a breathtaking display of agility and finesse, he leapt into action, executing a powerful kick that sent one of the drones hurtling towards its two remaining companions. They collided in a spectacular chain reaction, crashing into each other with a resounding clatter before careening into the unforgiving walls like a cascade of metallic dominos.

Proud of the chaos he had unleashed, Scourge continued his lightning-fast maneuvers, a blur of motion as he seamlessly returned to his starting point, snatching the falling duffel bag from the air with unerring precision before it could touch the ground.

With a smug smirk stretching unseen beneath his mask, he maintained a brisk but steady pace, allowing the others to easily follow him. His voice rang out, laced with a taunting edge as he beckoned his crew with a playful shout, "haul ass, slowpokes! Eyes up!"

Fiona's heartbeat quickened in tandem with the rhythm of their ascent up the stairwell when she felt the unmistakable vibration of her cell phone against her thigh. It was as if she had a sixth sense; she knew it was Simon on the other end before she even drew the device from her pocket. With a swift swipe, she accepted the call, and Simon's voice came through, confirming her premonitions.

The police were en route and getting closer by the second.

"No shit," Fiona bellowed back into the receiver, her voice almost lost amidst the cacophony of the bank's alarm system. Her eyes darted around, vigilant for any additional hazards. "The virus didn't fully take the system down like we thought! Guy who sold me the drive fucked us over and now we’re dealing with turrets and drones!”

There was a moment's pause before Simon's voice returned, now laced with frustration. His grip tightened on his phone, his strength inadvertently causing the screen to crack slightly, "Damn…" he muttered, the sound of his frustration palpable, "I’m out front ready to drive when you get out."

"See you in a mi—" Fiona's response was cut short as a sudden, explosive noise caused her to miss a step. Another ceiling turret had been obliterated by Scourge, its remnants clattering down the stairs.

Toxic, caught off guard by the chaos, let out a startled yelp. Her footing lost, she teetered dangerously backward until Fiona's reflexes kicked in. With a firm grip, Fiona caught her by the shirt, halting her fall.

"Watch your damn step!" Fiona admonished with an air of irritation. She then sighed, resigning herself to a solution, "Or, ugh, climb on back, we can’t have you slow us down!" Bending down, she allowed Toxic to clamber onto her back, securing a tight hold.

Simon's voice crackled with urgency through the phone, "What happened? Are you guys ok?"

"Relatively speakin’, yeah!" Fiona shouted back, her tone a cocktail of adrenaline and urgency, "Look, can't talk—there's a lot of shit going on!" With that, she ended the call abruptly, the severity of their predicament justifying the sudden interruption.

The remaining distance through the bank was a blur of gunfire and mechanical wreckage as they dispatched swarm after swarm of drones and turrets. Finally, the Destructix burst through the front doors, spilling out into the moonlight. They sprinted towards their getaway vehicle, tossing the duffel bags laden with cash into the trunk before tumbling into the SUV.

"Everyone in?" Simon's voice carried a mix of composure and haste, the wail of sirens now ominously close.

"FUCKING DRIVE, SIMON!" Scourge's voice erupted, his fist pounding against the dash with a force that echoed his impatience.

Simon needed no further urging. His foot slammed down on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward, tires screeching as they tore away from the scene of their crime.

Exhilaration pulsed through Toxic as she threw her fists into the air, her voice ringing with triumph, "we did it!"

Fiona, ever the realist, tempered the celebration with a cautious glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and a string of curses spilled out as she spotted the relentless pursuit of law enforcement, "almost," she snapped back, noting the sea of flashing lights gaining on them.

"Piggly wigglies have come out to play!" Flying declared with a manic gleam in his eyes, thirsting for the violent confrontation.

Without missing a beat, Fiona barked at Scourge, "Get that scanner on—now!" Scourge, understanding the urgency and following Fiona’s instructions, immediately flipped the switch and dialed up the volume. The scanner crackled to life, and the gang leaned in as they focused on the dispatcher's voice detailing their vehicle's description and last known heading.

The unmistakable blare of the police's ultimatum boomed through their own intercom, "NCPD! Pull over or we will open fire!"

Scourge couldn't suppress a sardonic chuckle, muttering under his breath, "Is that any way to talk to the king and his men?" He then turned to the rest of the gang, his grin sharp and wild, "Get your iron ready, guys!"

Flying didn't need to be told twice. With agile movements, he vaulted over the seats, landing with a thud in the trunk. He rummaged quickly, resurfacing with a cache of assault rifles. He passed the weapons to Lightning, Predator, Fiona, and Scourge with an efficiency born of experience.

With determination, Scourge positioned himself at the window, the cool metal of the rifle in his grasp. He braced, took aim, and as the car swerved to avoid incoming fire, he squeezed the trigger. The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal filled the air as Fiona and the others followed, unleashing a hailstorm of gunfire towards the police vehicles that were in hot pursuit.

“I wanna shoot too!” Toxic’s voice rang out with a mix of eagerness and frustration as she watched the ongoing chaos from the sidelines.

“You’re gonna love this, kiddo!” Flying couldn’t contain his exhilaration, his voice booming over the cacophony of gunfire and sirens, shaking with wild laughter. In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted the lower half of his mask to reveal a wide, mischievous grin. With precision, his extendable tongue shot out, securely latching onto Toxic and pulling her to his side. Ensuring her safety, he held her steady as she leaned out of the speeding car window, her own weapon in hand. Together, they fired relentlessly at the pursuing police cars. By a stroke of luck, or perhaps skill, one of Toxic’s bullets found its mark, shattering a windshield and striking the driver. The ensuing chaos was immediate - the police cars swerved, collided, and ultimately crashed into a spectacular pile-up.

“Attagirl!” Flying’s praise was enthusiastic, though somewhat muffled as his tongue still maintained a protective grip on Toxic, ensuring she remained safe within the confines of their escape vehicle.

“Shh!” The urgency in Fiona’s hiss cut through the adrenaline-fueled air. Her focus was entirely on the scanner on the radio, the static-filled voice emanating from it capturing her full attention. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Predator’s voice was tinged with curiosity as he ducked inside the vehicle, his head tilting in an attempt to discern the message being transmitted.

“We’re completely blocked in,” Lightning’s tone was matter-of-fact, echoing Predator’s movements by also leaning into the interior of the car.

“We can’t carry all this stuff on foot... What’s the plan, bosses?” Simon’s queried, maneuvering the wheel, eyes scanning the road with steely focus.

The tension spiked as the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air reached their ears, followed by the invasive glare of a spotlight suddenly trained on them.

“Hmm…” Predator’s hum was pensive, the gears turning in his mind as a sly smirk began to play at the corners of his mouth, “a helicopter crashing into a police blockade could be very… distracting.”

“Sounds like there’s a blockade straight ahead in about a quarter mile,” Simon interjected, offering critical intel while his gaze never wavered from the road ahead.

Flying’s energy seemed to surge at the revelation, and with a swift, graceful movement, he released his grip on Toxic. He gently placed her in the safety of the seat next to him as he adjusted his mask back into place, concealing his features once again.

“Sounds like a party-arty-farty! Could I pretty please come?” His voice was laced with a playful wheedle as he clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes in exaggerated anticipation.

"Fine," Predator conceded, a flicker of determination in his eyes as he prepared for the daring maneuver ahead. Without hesitation, he propelled himself out of the window, soaring around the car in a swift loop. The frog's outstretched hands snatched his ankles in a seamless motion, propelling him like a speeding bullet towards the helicopter.

"Alright!" Predator's voice boomed over the roar of the wind, his instructions clear and decisive. "I'll take the right side, you'll take the left. Glide in on my word!"

With precision honed from countless escapades, Predator zeroed in on the left side of the helicopter. As the moment aligned perfectly, he bellowed, "NOW!" The signal unleashed a synchronized assault as Flying swooped into the helicopter, swiftly incapacitating one pilot, while Predator swiftly dealt with the other.

The limp bodies of the pilots were unceremoniously tossed from the aircraft as Predator assumed command, his gaze fixed on the impending blockade and the oncoming SUV. "Jump out now!" his command cut through the chaos, urgency tinged in his voice. As the helicopter dove towards the obstruction, Flying wasted no time, gliding out to safety just in time. Predator followed suit, propelling himself upward like a bullet, his gaze locked on the impending collision below. From his aerial vantage point, he watched as the helicopter collided with the police cars, the explosion engulfing them in a ball of fire and chaos.

Below, the police were thrown into disarray, their attention captivated by the explosion which created a gap in their formation as vehicles were tossed aside. Seizing the moment, everyone in the SUV ducked down, and Simon floored the accelerator, steering the vehicle through the flames. They slipped into the shadows, vanishing from the distracted gaze of law enforcement.

Predator and Flying, now airborne, kept a vigilant watch over the van's trajectory as it wove its way through the ensuing pandemonium below. Like specters in the night, they shot through the air, their bodies silhouetted against the backdrop of flames and smoke, as they made their descent towards the now distant vehicle.

The two remained vigilant from their aerial perspective, their keen eyes tracking the van's trajectory as it weaved through the chaos. With the grace of seasoned acrobats, they soared through the smoke-filled sky, their bodies silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, preparing to rejoin their team. With a synchronized thud, they landed on the roof of the car and maneuvered themselves, finding ingress through an open window to rejoin their comrades within the confines of the vehicle.

With their hearts pounding in anxious anticipation, the team held their breath as the scanner's confirmation echoed in the tense air, revealing that the suspects had slipped away, vanishing into the chaos that surrounded them. Despite the seemingly daunting odds stacked against them, the Destructix had emerged victorious yet again.

(Hey yall sorry this took so damn long life became crazy for a min but thank u so much for waiting! Also there was gonna be more to this chapter but it would have been absurdly long but on the upside chapter 8 is already in the works! Next chapter has a lil….surprise 🫶🤍🩵)

[raxistaicho]

Fantasy Invader gets a disciple!

Recently @diaphin93​ went into it with @xenofan19​ in this post. I had a few points to add, though I refrained from just reblogging it because the post is already hella long.

Lonato was a minior lord who had mabey a couple hundred people who he multiplied into getting killed for his “revange” hardly a popular uprising but yay lie if you want.

He still quite clearly had the ardent support of his people on his march. I believe “multiplied” is meant to be “manipulated”, but there’s no evidence of this in the game.

Further down, Xeno says:

We actually see that he used and his people in his goal and gained surport from the westen church whitch was working with the Agarthans and Edelgard. Hell its impilled that Edelgard set this whole thing up just to have a look at Serios tomb showing how little she values the lifes of the common people.

The Western Church were working with the Agarthans? Where’s the evidence of that?

And yes, Edelgard did all that to get into the tomb of Seiros - to prove it’s empty. Edelgard knows Seiros is actually alive because she’s Rhea (she says that Thales that the bones not being there are “news”, suggesting that she allowed him to believe the plan was just to grab more Nabatean bones). The Sword of the Creator being there was what surprised her.

That said, we don’t know whether involving Lonato specifically was Edelgard’s intent. The WC Bishop takes credit for involving him in Ashe and Catherine’s paralogue,

In any case, the last point has been addressed many many times; Edelgard is killing a few now to spare another millennia of suffering in the future. The bandage has to be ripped off.

Edelgard ending shows that Hubert hunts down and get rid of uprisings and rebellions showing off Edelgard oppressive nature.

Wow, Elincia’s a fuckin’ tyrant then, isn’t she? Part 2 of Radiant Dawn is all about her getting rid of an uprising and a rebellion that unfortunately had support from the common people.

But seriously, suppressing rebellions before they can start is tyrannical? C’mon, snap out of it. Also,

Damn boy, VW Byleth’s such an oppressor.

Now I’m sure the defense here is going to be that Edelgard was suppressing civilian revolts against her while Byleth is stopping uprisings from Imperial nobility or the remnants of the military, but there’s no evidence for either. The Hubert ending that Edelgard’s detractors like to get upset about states,

In reality, their nights were filled with fierce combat against rebels, assassins, and those who slither in the dark.

Which is pretty vague, and really just seems to be a catch-all for various people who would want to break the post-war peace.

One member of the church thinks Dedue might be responsible not because of his race but because he is from a nation that was believed to have killed King Lambert. This in no way shows the church is xenophobic, just that one guy doesn’t trust Dudue because of past events. 

It’s not just one guy, and it’s not even just Duscur.

From chapter 4:

Also from chapter 4:

From Chapter 6:

Claude makes claims about the church that are never actually proven in game and he even says in VW that the teachings of the church are not xenophobic. Claude and Dimitri surport in Hopes makes no sense and is even disproved by the games own lore as well 90% of Claude claims come out of nowhere and have zero evidence. 

Yeah but here’s the thing, in VW it’s Lorenz, who knows Fodlan and the church better than Claude, who says it. Now yes, Claude disagrees with him, but the circumstances in VW are night and day from GW. In VW, Claude is rather brazenly looking to use the church’s influence and the Knights of Seiros, through Byleth, for his benefit. It’s natural then that he would be interested in brushing aside the worst of the church’s excesses: not only does he want them on his side, he has the perfect person to take over and fix the church’s problems.

Dimitri and Claude surport is poorly written in a secret chapter that ignores the canon all of the routes so sorry if I don’t take it with any facts definitely when Claude says nonsense that he never mentions before or after the event. 

Honestly this just reads to me like you don’t like what Hopes had to say about the church so you’re refusing to listen to it...

Edelgard  is willing working with that force and has shown a clear preference for the nobility system you claim she is trying to take down so much that Hopes shows she gives them special treatment and works ageist the common people.

Oh christ, don’t listen to Fantasy Invader. I mean it. Other sources of anti-Edelgard takes will say correct things on occasion, but he specifically doesn’t ever seem to have a clue what he’s talking about.

I’ve gone over his source on the point you’re making, he completely misinterpreted the line and forgot which character even said the offending sentence in question.

More here.

Like Edelgard own ending shows that she doesn’t make the changes you speak off 

What?

As the new Adrestian emperor, Edelgard dedicated her life to reshaping the delicate political structure of Fódlan. With tireless work and great sacrifice, she reformed the class system to ensure a free and independent society for all. In her later years, she entrusted her life's work to a worthy successor before finally vanishing from the public eye. 

It’s rather broadly spoken, yes, but it says she did the reforms.

Duscur was a flause flags operation carried out by Edelgard own allies and only the westen lords with most of the Kingdom not being involved.

It doesn’t matter that only a few of the Kingdom Lords were involved; they still conspired in regicide. The important point here is that since they did with it Lambert, they’d do it again with Dimitri if necessary.

Edelgard also never tried to help the people of Duscur and has zero plans or goals to help them simple because they are not form Fodlan so don’t matter to her.

Like Edelgard comes off worse in that situation then either the Kingdom or Church as unlike them she never even tries to help the people of Duscur.

How would she help the people of Duscur? She’s an Adrestian princess/emperor. It was the Faerghans who committed a genocide. To help the people of Duscur she’d have to take over the country first. You know, that thing you get mad at her about.

Or what, do you think she’d have any success by going, “actually, I know the people of Duscur didn’t kill King Lambert, and I know this because the actual perpetrator told me! N-no, I can’t actually support this claim...”

People didn’t listen to Dimitri when he said the people of Duscur were innocent, and he was there at the time. Who on earth is going to listen to the princess of another country who was on the other side of the continent at the time?

Lastly, on the point about her having no plans to help them, just because nothing is said of the people of Duscur in CF or SB doesn’t mean Edelgard has no plans for them. They, too, are part of the oppressed peoples she hopes to uplift. Only AM and AG focus on Duscur, because it’s intrinsically tied to Dimitri’s character plot. Much like how the Faerghan and Leicesterian routes don’t really have much to say about Brigid.

And lastly, yes, the Tragedy of Duscur was the assassination attempt planned by the Agarthans and instigated with the support of the Western lords. But the tragedy of Duscur was when the people of Faerghus went full Faerghan Revenge mode and launched a genocide of the people of Duscur. The Agarthans didn’t mind-control the people of Faerghus to do that, they did it on their own.

And yet neither Dimitri’s fans nor AM or AG seem interested in addressing the point. Dimitri only ever seeks to punish the nobles who were behind the Tragedy, but there’s never any word of any actual repentance from the Faerghan troops who did the tragedy. It’s bizarre how it seems like the two events cannot be decoupled in the minds of the writers or Edelgard’s detractors, as though the Faerghans going full Revenge Brain Mode and genociding an entire people because they think they killed their king was just the inevitable outcome of Lambert being assassinated. It was like mud slides just naturally following a fierce rainstorm due to the physics involved, rather than the result of Faerghus’s culture of honoring and avenging the dead over the living.

But then again AM, AG, and most of all Edelgard’s detractors, are not interested in criticizing the flaws of Faerghus’s culture.

Lol you do know it could be argued that Edelgard starts a war of faith in Hopes as she wants her new state church to become the main one whitch would grant her more religious power in Fodlan whitch is actually brought up in AG. 

Oh yeah, you’re definitely listening too much to Fantasy Invader...

Hey, did you know Fantasy Invader thinks this banner:

Is symbolic for this banner:

Despite them clearly looking completely different?

Anyways, yeah, the only thing we hear about the Southern Church in AG is that Gilbert and Gautier just vaguely don’t like the sounds of what they’re preaching, and seriously fuck both those men. If they think it’s bad, it can only be good. Their stopped clock had its minute hand ripped off.

She is even more obsessed over Byleth then Rhea but never actually opens up to them and right up to the end of the game lies to control Byleth. You can try and lie and claim how Dimitri and Rhea would be worse but the game shows how Edelgard is far more toxic partner. 

Yeah, get back to me when Edelgard steals an unconscious Byleth away into her room for an indeterminate period of time to give them a lap pillow treatment and then comes just shy of sexually assaulting them...

Edelgard doesn’t tell Byleth what to think or what to believe. In fact she frequently just asks questions of Byleth throughout White Clouds to try to get them to consider the world and their place in it more clearly.

Dimitri spent 5 years defending his people from being slaughtered by Edelgard as she was wiping out entire villages simple because they refuse to bow to her 

Gonna need evidence of that, chief.

[sir-adamus]

I think that's what's been sort of bothering me about the future of Neo since yesterday. Before last episode I was still sort of on the maybe we can talk her down train (because we really hadn't seen a whole lot of her this volume), but then yesterday happened and I was like "nope. Definitely not talking this one out." And I'm not even sure if she's coming back to Remnant after this. I know none of our heroes would be okay with it after this (Which is completely valid because she literally bullied and tortured a 17 year old until she broke). So the complete ??? of Neo's future has kind of rattled me. Cuz it would really feel weird if she doesn't play a conscious part in the final two episodes, regardless of the outcome, you know? I'm not sure I'm articulating this correctly.

no worries anon, i have difficulties articulating almost everything i say so i get it

yeah with Neo it's interesting because like; they have invested a lot of time and writing into giving us her perspective, her backstory, making her a three-dimensional character that has sympathetic qualities and we can understand why she feels the way she does even when she's clearly in the wrong - we started volume 8 in her perspective as she realises she's in way over her head with Cinder, rankles at being treated like an errand girl and not an equal party in spite of their deal (which culminates in her threatening Cinder to force her to make good on her end of it because she'd been pussyfooting around on it - and Cinder responded in her usual, extremely petty way), and then we got Roman Holiday and saw the full extent of how she ended up where she did and the issues she faced with being refused autonomy. like, they clearly want us to be invested in her character and the struggles she faces even when she's being fucked up and horrible; there's layers to it, it's fiction, we can be invested in the dimensionality of a character and want to see that character in a better place while still acknowledging that they're making horrendous choices

and right after the self-destructive spiral that it's been clear she's been on since she reappeared in volume 6 reaches its culmination, forced to reckon with the fact that she's got nothing else now, which is an interesting turn for a character - "and then what?" is a trope for a reason - but before Neo can make a choice on what she's gonna be now, or strip back everything and realise what she wanted in the first place (before she settled in what was ultimately a very unhealthy dynamic with Torchwick - again, understandable why she did, because he was the only person in her life that treated her with any decency or respect for her autonomy - but she had nothing outside of that, which then led to this spiral she's in and her current actions because, like many of the characters she has a lot of parallels with, it was something to do other than grieve and process the losses), she has her autonomy ripped away from her, to be used as a puppet by the malevolent entity that is using her as a mouthpiece, forcing her to speak with a voice that isn't her own

it's "and i must scream" taken up to eleven if she's still conscious in there, and what the Cat did is horrific and violating and no one deserves it regardless, but it's worse with the context of Neo's history how she's once again being used for someone else's agenda

i could see them doing a fighting from the inside thing with her because of all that context with her, rediscovering that her original goal was to be free and fighting against the monster trying to use her (for example by summoning the Jabberwalker with her Semblance, because the Cat has her body but they don't have her mind and that's what her Semblance draws from), and that could go a lot of ways with it being enough to buy time for the heroes to defeat the Cat with her going down with them or the heroes manage to exorcise the Cat but save Neo (maybe they have to save Neo to defeat the Cat, Jaune's semblance has been used to bolster people fighting against mind control before and with the way Neo's Semblance interacts with the Ever After she could unleash some hell on the Cat as a result) - and there's a discussion there if she'd be returned to normal or if she'd be changed by the experience, furthering the analogue she's been having with Ruby's progression through this volume (the idea of Neo's body still being altered even with the Cat's influence gone, and possibly some semblance of its powers remaining could be interesting to explore)

in the event she does survive, she's still left with "and then what", and the opportunity is there for her to make better or at least different choices, because revenge wasn't satisfying and it left her empty; maybe it'll be a walking the earth thing now that she has to decompress and deal with the shit she's been repressing (and the Ever After's basically built for that), with a now begrudging respect for the heroes for saving her ass (because like, if they can defeat the Cat without killing her they probably would, they're not executioners and continuing a cycle of revenge doesn't help anybody, especially if she's in no position and has no desire to fight back anymore), maybe showing up later down the line as a sometimes ally once she finds a new reason for being. or hell maybe in the "we haven't forgiven you for what you've done and we probably won't but we'll have your back as long as you have ours" situation that Emerald is in now

like, Neo's a messy and complicated character - intentionally - and this has all been left with a messy and complicated resolution because of the Cat hijacking her before her character could really be resolved - and i guess i'm maybe being optimistic here but this show is optimistic, even though we're in the darkest hour right now the optimism is coming

but i like the idea that we're not operating on something that's rigidly black and white, all-or-nothing kinda thing. that in fighting an impossible war on the scale we're getting to, you'll find allies in those who have done unforgivable things and the point is not to forgive them (and honestly the fact that people are still conflating redemption with forgiveness when they are entirely separate things is another thing that bothers me, and i'm on record saying in the most positive version of events i don't think Neo would even be redeemed, so much as it just being a heel-face turn and leaving it at that) but to accept that they're making better choices now in the moment and that's something you can work with

anyway this got long and rambly and probably not terribly coherent, but yeah

[somekindofsentience]

the nature of unrequited love, or personal headcanons on sunny and aubrey

SPOILER WARNING: MAJOR OMORI SPOILERS

CONTENT WARNING: GRIEF, LOSS, GAME-TYPICAL CONTENT

READING-THIS WARNING: I REALLY DON'T WANT A FIGHT, THIS IS MOSTLY ME BACKING UP MY PERSONAL HEADCANONS THANKS :) also i would like to clarify that i DO NOT support shipping the older members of the squad with younger ones. that's gross. it is literally not that hard to do better. (also i believe sunburn requires a lot less therapy than sunflower, and i can totally see it post-game, so i really don't wanna fight with sunburn fans. )

Alright. The goal of this post will be to attempt to prove that Sunny's childhood crush on Aubrey is one-sided, and due to the nature of Aubrey and Mari's relationship, that there is a possibility Aubrey had a slight crush on Mari as a kid. Alternatively, I'd at least like to highlight how much of Aubrey's life revolves around Mari still, even somewhat in secret.

Again, to clarify, I don't condone Mari x Aubrey (are there not three other kids for y'all to ship Aubrey with??) , but rather we should consider the fact that many kids get small crushes on older teens or adults they look up to. I'm sure Aubrey was confident it would never happen anyway - HeroMari is basically canon, and Aubrey is far from emotionally ignorant - but I still think there's a potential that she may have had some unrequited feelings for Mari.

I'll bring in all my evidence and speculation and you can think on it :)

SUNNY'S RELATIONSHIP WITH AUBREY - COMPARING HEADSPACE AND THE REAL WORLD

(If this segment seems similar to another analysis post on here, please let me know because I'd actually like to cite it here as inspiring me, but I can't find it and it annoys me that I can't. Look at me and my great citations, good work sentience.)

Within Headspace, Aubrey's crush on Omori is prevalent and obvious. She tries to get his attention, wants to go on adventures with him alone, and defends him from the Slime Girls. Conversely, Omori rarely reciprocates, likely because at this point, his emotions are so repressed that he can't express more than the simple emotion mechanics required to fight. Aubrey, Kel and Hero all express emotion in their conversations, but Omori remains numb, the effects of repression seeping into the character himself.

We have to remember that Headspace is an extension of Sunny's mind, and while it is heavily influenced by the real world, it's still unreliable. I personally don't like it when people use Headspace evidence to support Real World theories, or vice versa - we need to be clear that these are separate, and Headspace is heavily biased.

There are two pretty key pieces of evidence in Headspace that point toward Sunny's crush on Aubrey being one-sided, and those are the Aubrey School Event and the Rainy Day memory.

The Aubrey School Event is found in Lost Forest 2 (also known as Looping Forest) in Black Space 2, but it is also found when interacting with a TV in the Otherworld using the universal remote. It is a short sequence, oddly colourful in the dark realm of Black Space, where several Aubreys fight to the toast for Omori's love. Omori is asked to choose between the last two Aubreys standing, and the event abruptly ends and Omori returns to Black Space.

The ending is particularly interesting...

We know Sunny daydreams a lot from the Lost Library excerpts...

I personally think that this fantasy and its parallels to the way Aubrey acts in Headspace suggest that the Aubrey School event is one Sunny regularly fantasised about, now present in Black Space 2 as a small remnant of the world he left behind. I also think this points to Sunny's crush being one-sided - if Aubrey's Headspace reflection is similar to Sunny's fantasy of her, then it suggests that this isn't the real Aubrey, and the real-world Aubrey may not have reciprocated feelings or Sunny may have been too shy to own up to them.

We see a big difference between their relationship in the real world and Headspace with the Rainy Day memory. Unlike Aubrey's constant expression of love for Omori, in the Rainy Day memory, the roles are reversed - Sunny is instead the one who wants to see the picture of Aubrey, and Basil even teases him about it, to which Sunny doesn't try to deny it.

Not many of the real world photos feature Aubrey and Sunny alone or conversing together, and Aubrey was asleep when her head fell onto Sunny's shoulder during the Lost Library excerpts. Aubrey is usually arguing with Kel, or hanging out with Mari, or with the group as a whole; and Sunny tends to be with Basil, or typically with the group. Obviously these photos are missing a significant amount of background as to what life was like before Mari's death (which a surprising amount of people tend to forget - those photos are by no means a reflection of the reality!!), but they provide some insight into character and relationship dynamics.

In my opinion, Headspace and the Real World just don't add up for Aubrey pre-incident. Which is why we're going to discuss...

AUBREY'S RELATIONSHIP WITH MARI - PAST AND PRESENT

Past

I believe the actions of present-day Aubrey hold some more weight, so this segment is mostly speculation.

We know that Aubrey and Mari were very close before her death. Due to the dysfunctional nature of Aubrey's household, it's likely she saw the friendship group as her family.

In a lot of the Faraway photos, we see Aubrey and Mari together, whether that be Mari reading to her, the two licking popsicles, Aubrey falling asleep on her shoulder, or the two's promise to dye their hair together, it's clear they're very close.

While we don't have a lot of information other than the album about life before the recital day, Aubrey in Headspace is also very fond of Mari, rushing excitedly to see her. Despite it being heavily influenced by Sunny, there is no real reason for him to obscure other relationship dynamics as it means nothing to Omori's goal.

Which is why I'd like to propose that Aubrey had a little childhood crush on Mari, which she was probably aware would not be reciprocated. She's 12, so she somewhat understands what love is, although considering time context, Aubrey may not have understood lesbianism and might have just assumed she was really fond of Mari, or something.

Mari would never reciprocate, as most of the rest of the group seems relatively aware that Mari and Hero are an item, so Aubrey probably pushed it all down, and was devastated when Mari died. Her friend, but someone who truly cared about her, which Aubrey didn't get a lot of as a child.

She watched the friendship group fall apart, and felt so angry, how could they betray Mari like that? Hou could they betray Aubrey like that?

Present

This post explores how much of Aubrey's current identity revolves around Mari - Aubrey continues to dye her hair regularly (as is evident by the visual absence of any roots), Aubrey spends all her time at the church and the graveyard, and she clings onto the photos of Mari that were defaced.

I find the fact that Aubrey spends her time in the church incredibly interesting. For one, considering what Sunny and Kel have to do just to know where she's gone, it seems as though Aubrey keeps her visits to the church a secret from her friends, aside from the closest. We also know that Aubrey is relentlessly judged by those at the church,...

Aubrey is a complete outcast at this place, and there is no way she's unaware of this. Despite this, Aubrey's nature is to stay true to herself, and clearly Mari means so much to her that she's willing to undergo judgement and ostracization just to feel close to Mari again.

But we can also consider the way Aubrey acts after Mari's death holistically, instead of parts of a greater whole. If she truly just looked up to and wanted to be like Mari, wouldn't she tend toward mimicking Mari's behaviour after her death? Why does Aubrey instead feel vehement anger toward others for "betraying" Mari, and spend all her time near Mari's resting place?

It is possible that Aubrey felt she couldn't be Mari, and she gave up and instead sought for her protection; or that she tried to reconcile the group, but the sheer betrayal and ignorance of Kel, Sunny, Basil and Hero broke her, and she flipped. I'm not going to deny the possibility of these.

But I think there's also a possibility that Aubrey doesn't want to be like Mari, but instead mourns her death as the loss of someone she had a crush on. As a result of this, Aubrey's life centers around Mari, and she is incredibly focused on trying to understand why Mari did it, which is why she spends her time near Mari's resting place. She does these things so she can feel close to Mari again, not so she can follow in Mari's footsteps.

Aubrey misses Mari more than she wants to be Mari. Which is a perfectly normal response to loss.

My main concern with this headcanon is it makes it significantly harder for Aubrey to forgive Sunny and Basil. If she is still much closer to Mari than those two, then I can't see her forgiving them anytime soon. and i am a massive baby and really want her to forgive them

Thanks for reading! idk what else to say. reminder that aubrey x mari is disgusting and so is shipping hero or mari with anyone else in the gang, especially during the events of the game, as hero is LITERALLY TWENTY and everyone else is LITERALLY A MINOR. omfg.

[hearts401]

Vanny perhaps :3 or glitchtrap

ill do both bc they r sooo special to me

Vanny (but it bleeds a bit into vanessa but. whatever):

a: She really likes making things. While she can't really bring herself to reclaim suit making, she does crochet and things in her free time post-sb. as vanny, xe'd fidget with things and make little trinkets when not busy killing people

b: She slips on blood a lot. xe'll kill someone and go to pick it up and slip and fall on xer ass. glitch thinks its the funniest thing

c: She is soooo bitter to ggy at the start because glitch so clearly favors him and makes her do all the dirty work. post-sb xe's soooo glad gregory didnt have to do as much as xe did (bc ofc he killed ppl but also i think vanny killed more people. i think rab was mostly for the coding and things, and only killed for the cover-up, while vannys JOB was to kill people. and a little bit of tech meddling as well)

d: She is autistic and a butch lesbian (and some flavor of transgender, i think she's still figuring it out post-sb)

glitchhh my silly man (glitchwill specifically just for u bc hes perfect)

a: He likes being in control and when he's not he is SOOOO STRESSED OUT. Like he is shaking in his little boots anytime vanny or dr rab tries to disobey him but he doesnt let that show. last time he wasn't in control he went to super hell so. yk.

b: He is autistic as FUCK. He will talk on and on and on to vanny about robots and fursuits and remnant and child murder while she is like "dude i just killed a fucking middle schooler."

c: He's hit the point where he's starting to regret things i think. i mean i think ucn already did that to him but it's considerably worse now because he really doesn't have a direct end goal? he's just fucking around with trial and error and he doesn't know where he's going from here. And also he's started kind of missing his kids and his wife and henry and he's realizing there's really not much he can do BUT control people. like atp his life is centered around control because its the only thing he's sure of. he wants a new body, yeah, but he doesn't know what the plan is after that. So he just keeps doing what he's doing, helping the mimic, killing people, ect.

d: transgender. idc. i think glitchtrap is just williams trans extra gay fursona. that bunny is queer as fuck. mf had to die to realize he was trans smh. vanny probably was the one who helped him find out. like he'd be talking about himself and shes like "ur transgender" and hes just. what. what the fuck does that mean.

[kxllingangels]

Babydoll- H.S.

4

The rain had slowed by the time we made it out of Annie's, leaving behind large puddles and remnants of raindrops. The sky was still gray, and the wind left Maren and I both shivering against the cold, but I could hardly focus on the wet streets or the freezing air. My mind was buzzing with endless possibilities.

What was his goal?

Why was he doing this?

Was he trying to tell me something, or was he just bored?

The last question made my stomach turn. I didn't want to be an art piece he hung on a wall to observe whenever he needed a sense of purpose. I just wanted answers.

At least, that's what I told myself. I really wanted him to tell me he regretted leaving, that he went out to search for himself and couldn't get me off his mind. I wanted him to be sorry.

Maren and I picked our way through town, half walking, half running the six blocks to the next destination. Up ahead the Blue Meadows Park sign came into view, its face worn and the blue lettering peeling. The bluebird drawing on the sign was faded by now, but to me it felt like a signal that I was on the right path. The park was pretty in the summer, the warm weather making the grounds so full of life, the lake and butterfly bushes making a great background for picnicking families.

Now the park lay lifeless and gray in front of us, too cold for ice-pops and sundresses.

"This is where we find the next clue?" Mare wrinkled her nose. It must've not been the ideal setting for the romance novel she was imagining.

I ignored her disdain, "Come on." I urged, tugging her into the entrance.

The entire place was cloaked with mud from the rain and slush from a snowstorm we'd had a few weeks ago. Maren whined with every step we took, but I wasn't listening to her complaints, I was searching and scanning for any sign of a clue I could find. I knew it had to be here somewhere, but where?

"What are we even looking for?" Maren asked, a few strands of auburn hair sticking to her lip gloss. I didn't respond as my eyes scanned out over the lake.

"There!" I said decidedly, and took off.

**

It was too hot for overalls.

The Chandler Newsroom had said it was the biggest heatwave that we'd seen since 1967, and now I was regretting wearing the damn things. "It's too hot for a picnic!" I groaned to Harry as he seemed to float down the paved walkway of the park in front of me. I trudged along behind him, in a considerably less ethereal way. If Harry was uncomfortable in the stifling heat, you'd never know it.

"It's never, ever, too hot for a picnic, Babydoll." He reassured me easily with a carefree smile, swinging the picnic basket and turning back around.

Harry fucking Styles must have been the eighth wonder of the world.

Always happy. Always sure of himself. Always above anything life could throw at him. Even sweat, apparently.

I opened my mouth to complain again, but it was as if he read my mind. Without turning around he announced. "Just a little farther, top of that hill."

So we walked, him skipping and me whining all the way to the top. And when we finally made it to the destination, Harry spread out the blanket, setting down the picnic basket and glancing up at me for the first time since we'd started up the hill.

"You're so…sweaty." He remarked, tilting his head.

I glared at him. "It's too hot for a picnic." I said again, watching as he sat on the blue and white checkered blanket.

"Maybe you shouldn't have worn overalls." He quipped, digging into his pocket and producing a small knife that he used to sharpen his charcoal pencils. He said he liked the way it sharpened the pencils better. "Come here." He said gently. "Let me fix it."

I walked over to him and he instructed me to stand in front of him with legs slightly apart. We'd only been dating for a month now and him sitting eye level with my crotch felt entirely too vulnerable and embarrassing. If he noticed my awkwardness, he didn't say anything. He just moved my hands to his shoulders and gripped my hips. The hair on the nape of my neck stood, goosebumps rising to the surface as I felt his hands firm and strong against me. I watched them slide down the inseam of the denim, my breath suddenly shallow in my chest as his fingers moved. His eyes were locked on the fabric, head tilted down slightly as he decided where to cut them off.

"You think here?" Harry asked, green eyes peering up at me through thick eyelashes. I cleared my throat awkwardly and nodded. "Yeah, that's fine."

Our eyes remained locked for seconds that felt more like hours before he smiled and grabbed the knife from beside him. "Stay still for me, babydoll," He murmured, pinching the fabric and beginning to cut away at the leg of it.

Every move of the blade and every flutter of his fingers sent my heart hammering away. His determined eyes and slightly clenched jaw made him look so serious, like he were diffusing a bomb instead of cutting up a pair of pants.

"There, all done." He announced finally, seeming proud of his work. I glanced down at the grass, shredded pieces of denim littering the ground and my scrawny legs peeking out at me.

"Thanks." I murmured, before realizing he was still holding my hip with one hand. "What?"

He grinned at me, as if he knew a secret I didn't know. "You really have no idea how beautiful you are."

He'd said it so casually, like it was fact and not opinion. My cheeks went crimson and I pulled away from him, sitting down beside him. I ran my hands over my knees, my eyes on the peeling green nail polish on my fingers. "So, why are we here?" I asked.

Harry snorted, digging out two sandwiches from the basket beside him. "Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much-"

"Harry!"

He let out a laugh so loud it sounded like he was challenging God.

"You'll see, it'll only be a few more minutes."

A few more minutes for what? I wondered.

As if on cue, a whirlwind of color began flooding into the park.

"What the f-"

"Butterfly migration." Harry cut me off, his green eyed gaze dreamy as we watched magnificent swirls of blue and orange, purple and green. "They come from all over the world to this park on this day. Every single year for the past ten years. No one is sure why. Hell, not that many people even know about it."

The butterflies flitted around and danced in front of us, swirling closer and closer up the hill. I couldn't peel my eyes away, it was all so breathtaking.

"This is the third year I've seen them come. I thought it was because of the butterfly bushes at first." Harry continued. "But, that's not possible. Because why only today? Why not for all of summer?"

I could hardly find the words to answer him before he was pulling me up, his voice full of excitement. "Get ready!" He exclaimed.

"For what?" I asked back, but he just laughed in response.

Within seconds, we were in the midst of the swarm. A tornado of colors surrounded us, and Harry was joining our hands and twirling us around in the middle of the cyclone as the butterflies danced. First, I was scared of the butterflies getting stuck in my hair or flying up my newly found shorts but then he was laughing, and I was laughing. We twirled around like that for some time, the wind whipping our hair across our foreheads and a blur of color surrounding us. I was still squealing and giggling by the time the butterflies flew back up into the sky, gone again just as quickly as they'd come. We slumped down onto the blanket, dizzy and spent from all the excitement.

We laid there, shoulder to shoulder, our legs tangled into each other as we watched a few straggler butterflies fly after the swarm. Lazily, Harry reached a finger up as if trying to summon one and to both of our surprise, it worked.

A small blue and white butterfly latched itself onto his finger, its wings fluttering softly.

"Wow," I said breathlessly, a shocked smile playing on my lips. "You're like magic."

Harry chuckled, flipping his palm over and letting the butterfly fly off.

"Hardly magic, baby. I just want life to be as beautiful as this moment feels."

That moment with him felt infinite.

**

Mare groaned as we made it to the top of the hill, our shoes caked with mud. The park was just as barren up here as it had been below. "Okay, we're here. Now what? There's nothing up here!"

"Shh!" I hushed her, looking around for any sign of color or any hidden clue but she was right. The air was still and heavy. There was nothing. No canvas or sculpture. No charcoal pencil sketches.

That confident feeling in my stomach I'd had when we came to the park dulled.

I'd been so sure that it was here. So sure this was all a hidden meaning game he was playing, and I was wrong.

All that was here was a lot of mud puddles and old candy wrappers from whatever party the local kids threw last.

"Ror?" Maren asked quietly, sensing my mood shift. "What are we looking for?"

I bit my cheek hard. "Nothing." I said softly after a moment. "We were wrong. There's no scavenger hunt, there's nothing here."

Maren's eyebrows knitted together and she let out a heavy sigh, her arm wrapping around my shoulders and head resting against mine. I barely caught the floral notes of her perfume. "I'm sorry, Rory. I know you really wanted answers." She said gently, her eyes looking down to the grass.

"Hey, wait, what's this?" She asked.

I glanced down to see what she'd been talking about, and my eyes widened. Little strips of denim surrounded our feet in an intricate pattern.

Originally, I'd just thought it was more trash on the ground left by careless teens, but these weren't even wet. They seemed like they'd been placed there purposely.

"A trail!" Maren shouted suddenly and took off, following the scraps of fabric into the treeline a few feet away.

I followed quickly behind her, sliding and slipping in the muck and the leaves until we came to a clearing. "Yes!" Maren squealed as we saw it. In the midst of the empty field was an easel, and on it a large painting.

The image was of a couple holding hands on a bench, a watercolor looming in front of them.

"Hey, I know that painting!" Maren said excitedly as she grabbed the canvas off its stand. "It's at the Brunner gallery in the art district." She pulled a face and yanked her hand away, whining, "Ew, wet paint."

Both of us froze, instantly. Her hand smeared with the black and blue acrylic.

Wet paint meaning, this was a fresh painting. Harry had to be here, somewhere. But where? Hiding in the trees? Watching from afar?

Maren opened her mouth, but it was my voice that came out.

"Harry!"

There was no response to my shout, only the window whistling through barren woods. "I know you're here!" I shouted into the abyss, my voice echoing back to me. "Answer me!"

There was only silence in return.

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@jessitpwk

[the-world-annealing]

Message broadcast on August 7th 1961, 12:49 UTC, 15h28m post-Upheaval. Translated from Russian.

[message start]

[Static, followed by 26 seconds of silence. A male voice begins to speak softly, pausing at irregular moments. No other sounds are detected. Signal quality steadily degrades.]

My name is Gherman Titov, pilot in the Soviet air force, cosmonaut, second man to orbit Earth, and first to give up hope of returning there.

I should explain what happened, or rather what I think happened. I was told to do that, I was told it'd get passed on to... wherever you are now. By who, you ask? I wish I could tell you that. The one theory I have is beyond absurd, and I will not bother sharing it.

[sound of throat clearing]

Twenty-nine hours ago, I launched from the Baikonur Cosmodrome on the Vostok 2, on a mission scheduled to last for twenty-four hours, or seventeen orbits of Earth. Ascent proceeded as planned, and I entered orbit after less than ten minutes. After the first part of my flight, unremarkable except for a bout of nausea, I slept for slightly less than nine hours.

When I awoke, Earth had seemingly disappeared, and I was unable to make contact with mission control or any other radio station. Since then, I have observed the Moon, the Sun, and several constellations, all of which appear as they did before. My preliminary observations suggest that I have entered a solar orbit.

I have... [unintelligible, trails off]

[muffled sounds]

I have also experienced auditory hallucinations, a male voice not my own, starting from when I woke up. This voice identifies itself as an immeasurably powerful being. It claims dominion over both Earth and the space surrounding Earth, and claims responsibility for the planet's disappearance. It has repeatedly asserted that Earth and the people upon it are unharmed.

The voice claims that I, in particular, have been chosen to share its message with all the people of Earth.

He... [muffled sounds]

It tells me to share the following statements unchanged:

I am [burst of static] while your sun was still vapor, and I will exist long after the heat fades from its remnant. The pebbles that would become your planet have passed through my hands. I granted you ownership of what is by right mine, and you reached for more. I could destroy you, but I am merciful, and inflict mere separation.

Do not [burst of static] what you have lost.

I have asked my messenger [burst of static] must travel here, to this place between places, void of form, where no survival can be found. My messenger responded at last that you venture here so you prepare for journeys to further reaches. My messenger responded that you look at the stars and see worlds like your own, with people like your own, and that you wish to meet them. My messenger responded that you have not met them, yet love them like you love your own.

These goals are [burst of static] red and cloudy worlds near yours are empty and lifeless. The stars shine only for you and I.

In your galaxy, three other times did life arise.

The first world is one of rocky flats and stormy seas. Its sole visible lifeforms were microbes that clustered into organic films on shoreline rocks. Its star lived before your planet was born. This star was white and bright, and shone for eight hundred million years, then died, taking all its life with it.

The second world, which was most proximate to yours, is covered in ice, beneath which lies a cold, dark ocean warmed by tidal forces. Its star is small and red, and will endure for five hundred billion years.

The third world hosts a lineage of thin, blind [burst of static] in length, which mindlessly crawl through the mud, feeding upon lesser lifeforms and one another. Their excretions slowly poison the mud they dwell in, and leave less and less [burst of static] million years they will all be gone.

These are the things you would travel to the stars for. These are the things an infinity of searching would have given you, the only things your [burst of static] not offer. These are not things worth granting you.

And yet, I am merciful. Even as I separate you, I grant you a realm where your search is not pointless. I grant you proximity, and recognition, and [burst of static] you worlds like your own, with people like your own. I will intervene no further. Preserve or destroy this message as you wish.

[burst of static]

...that's all it told me, that's all it kept telling [burst of static] quiet now, oh [expletive deleted] it's quiet now. I'm sorry, I [muffled sounds].

[17 seconds of silence, interspersed with static]

If I have gone mad, and these words reach an unchanged Earth, if you are listening to the [burst of static] madman beyond help, I ask you to forgive [burst of static] learn from it, I ask you that the next [burst of static] sent here does not suffer the [burst of static], I ask

[96 seconds of silence, interspersed with static]

Let it be known I saw neither angels nor-

[burst of static]

[message end]

[your-dar-ling]

Why Penny is RWBY's Jesus

Don't look at me like that. You all knew it was coming. Yes the idea sounds ridiculous, but RWBY was made in America, primarily written by two cishet white guys. The show is at least culturally Christian. And! This post also doubles as a defense of Penny Polendina's writing, which means positive RWBY content on your dash! So are you gonna scoff at me or let me tell you why?

Well, it all starts with this image that I saw on IG one day. You don't have to read it all, I'm going to hone in on each important part.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Jesus was born crucified. Whenever he became aware of who he was, he also became aware of what he had to do.

This pretty blatantly applies to Penny. She was born to protect Remnant and more specifically -- though this is only commonly accepted fanon -- to become a maiden, whose purpose is only fulfilled when they die. She understands this goal as her destiny. Let's unpack that.

RWBY's understanding of destiny is extremely culturally Christian. Everything on Remnant happens for a reason. This is baked into RWBY's text as a "story about stories." The writing of this show comes to embody this theme increasingly as it approaches its end, as the writers grow and change from their own real life experiences, and naturally improve upon their skills as the narrative progresses. And Penny as a character begins to see to see what role she plays in all of that too, so these themes become diegetic (I could make a billion posts about diegesis in RWBY). Pay attention to that quickening, to that hyperrealization of these themes. We're coming back to it.

RWBY's definition of "destiny" inherently implies The End™. Your "Final Goal." The last thing you do before you die. And everybody gotta die. Salem refuses to accept the death of her dear Ozma, and thus becomes immortal, stuck without a destiny. Without end. So as Salem is the obvious anti-Christ (I mean her name... c'mon), Penny becomes Jesus in her willingness to die.

And this is very important, and not rarely completely missed by those disparaging her story as shock value or fridging or what have you. Penny is WILLING to die. Her choice to die has ALWAYS been the thrust behind her character arc. Penny starts the show completely unconvinced that she is worthy of life at all, but her story in Volume 8 does end in that place; and she literally dies 4 separate times to prove it.

"The Father loves me, because I give up my life, so that I may receive it back again. No one takes my life from me, I give it up willingly!"

The show takes great care to show the difference between Penny's growing acceptance what her humanity means.

Penny spends Volumes 1-3 completely innocent. She is excited to be alive, and wants to forge her own path in the world, but no one values her as a person. She's genuinely shocked when Ruby affirms her personhood. And while her desire for self-determination is something that never fades, right now she is entirely unaware of the harsh realities of the world. Her life is taken from her simply because of the circumstances of who she is and where she was. Completely out of her control. She wanted to live, but did not get the chance.

Penny dies again in Volume 8 Chapter 5 (from henceforth writing these as #.#, so 8.5). She doesn't even make it a full two volumes this time. She doesn't actually "die" here, but it at this moment that her choice, her autonomy, what makes her human, is stolen away. She also falls a from a phbfgillion feet in the air in a flaming, apocalyptic meteor, so. I mean. Anyways this period of her character is marked by the desire to be someone else. She says herself in 8.2: "I was the Protector of Mantle, and now I am much more than that, and I wish I was not." Ruby says "You're still you, Penny," the poor thing, Bestie's depressed. She doesn't wanna be herself. She wishes to live, but as someone with less responsibility and purpose. But not so she can throw all her responsibilities away. Pfft, she's not Raven. It's just that the gravity of her position in the world is now at odds with her desire to protect others. But in any case, those that love her choose to support her decisions and allow her to make those choices, even if it means she dies...and she does, so.

Nnnot everybody is as supportive, and girl actually is suicidal now. This is the ultimate commodification of her person. Her worst fears have come true. She is being literally driven away from her own choices and also towards death, which is not helping with the ideation of it all. Death has officially become a desirable outcome to living, in her mind. She barely makes it half a volume before 8.11, wherein she asks Ruby, who assured her that she could never be anything but herself, to kill her ass and inherit her burden. But! Once again, with the support of those that love her (is it too late to start calling Team RRAYNBOWE her disciples? Add Maria, Winter, and Pietro and there's 12!), she is able to choose (!!) to be reborn as an official Real Girl ™, rid of her depression and completely ready to do what she always wanted to, which was just to protect folks.

The most tragic part of Penny's final death is that she can't do it herself. It isn't random, it isn't the result of who she is, or someone using her, or even necessity. It's a direct result of her own choice to turn around and fight, despite her loved ones' pleas, despite knowing she is meant to die, and this death would be final...and still. She can't do it herself. The real test of faith here is whether or not her family still believes in Penny's RIGHT to choose, even when they disagree with them. It's a very extremely philosophical example of that, but well, remember what I said about hyperrealization and the "quickening" of the story's pace? This is it. Not even 2 full chapters after the last death. And well, Jaune passes, at least. The point is, Penny is not suicidal here. Penny got to choose how she lived her life, including ending it by the hand of a friend. We are all human, which means we all have goals and hopes and dreams we want to achieve in life, which means, we all, on some level, have to want to die a little as well. It's the inevitable risk of life. At any moment, that could be it. Penny was only able to truly live once she accepted it, which is ironic because it seems like some of the audience can't even accept this fact, and Penny is LITERALLY FAKE.

But I'll empathize for a moment. I could see how someone could think, "Penny didn't get to choose anything! She got stabbed through the heart and was left with not enough time to be healed, Jaune was her only option outside of leaving things to fate entirely! That's not choice, that's just awful." And honestly? I'm inclined to agree. But here's the thing: even if Penny didn't get to choose how she lived her life, she gets to choose what it all means.

So call it what you wish: An act of grace. A martyr's sacrifice, but whatever you call it, don't call it an accident. Things did not just "happen" to Jesus. By following God's will, he changed our history. It was God's plan from the beginning.

Penny knew what her destiny was and she fulfilled it. She got Jaune to kill her because he was her only option, yes. But she also got Jaune to kill her because she wanted to die by a friend's hand instead of an enemy's, in the ultimate show of trust and vulnerability. She gives Winter the powers so that she could beat Cinder, yes. But she also gives Winter the power because "You were my friend." Mind you, she doesn't even know that Winter is alive. She just takes that risk because she WANTS Winter to have the chance to escape the cycle of duty and sacrifice that she herself couldn't more than anything. Do you understand how powerful this is???

So after after all this you might be wondering, "Who is God?" Oh if only you cod see the grin on my face. It's Penny. It's all Penny. She rejects Trinitarianism lol. After all, there are 4 versions of Penny, not 3: and 4 is the biblical number of creation (although: you take three 4's and you get the angel numbers, just like Penny is an "angel" watching over Penny, and the 12 "disciples" that watched over Penny herself, but that's a bit more tinfoil hat behavior than I'm used to)! So just as Jesus died for our sins, the world of Remnant is created in Penny's image. They call it "The Final Word" for a reason.

Amen.

[thekinglemingle]

Saying No to Yui

I've been sitting on an idea for an AU for a while now. I know how it starts and how it ends and some bits in the middle, but not much. I don't have much time for writing these days, but now I'm on tumblr and tumblr is full of sharp bursts of micro-fiction and AU's told in short achronological chunks. So what the hell. Let's give this a go. I won't add new snippets regularly, but hope to do so occasionally. This is part 1 of Saying No to Yui

Amongst the may subjects discussed in the Dead Sea Scrolls, is that of alternate timelines. The Old Men of SEELE had read such information, but it quickly became apparent that they were in a branch of the multiverse where interdimensional travel would remain out of reach for them. There was no Golgotha Object waiting for them in Antarctica and no Evangelion-i. No route to access the Book of Life, and to add their names to its pages. As knowledge of different timelines would not help them achieve their goal of Instrumentality, the information was forgotten and ignored, though some members of the Committee retained a quiet speculation that the complementation of mankind that awaited them would allow them to join with their own counterparts from the roads not taken.

The popular conception of branching timelines, is that they are formed every time a decision is made. This, the Dead Sea Scrolls explain, is not the case. Lilim, for the most part act in predictable ways, in accordance with the wealth of experience they have built up in their lifetime. To paraphrase the philosopher Lu Tse, while the laws of physics state that there should be a timeline in which Gendo Ikari woke up on the morning of the Contact Experiment and shot his wife dead, no such universe exists. While he was physically capable of doing so, his own soul would prevent him from doing so. This is but one example of the ways in which the Fruit of Knowledge can exert its influence on reality in ways far subtler and yet stronger than the brute force of the Fruit of Life.

And yet, in the immediate aftermath of the Contact Experiment Gendo Ikari was faced by a true decision. Where two warring facets of his personality vied for attention and where it was truly possible for him to go either way.

These then are the moments upon which the timeline turns.

Gendo stands at the train platform and looks down at the crying child, begging not to be sent away.

Gendo knows what he must do. The Scenario, or at least Gendo’s modifications to it, are still in their infancy, but he already knows that this is a path he must walk alone and the boy would be better off without a father as useless as him in his life. He opens his mouth to rebuke the child, to do what must be done, and the crying child opens his eyes.

Yui’s eyes.

Gendo has only just lost his wife. Only just started down the long road that leads of Instrumentality. His heart is not yet as hardened as it will be by the time the Angels come to Tokyo 3. And this is not just any child. Not even the fact that he is Gendo’s child will sway him to recent his decision.

But this is Yui’s child.

With Yui’s body dissolved into LCL, this child is the last physical remnant of her biological existence. And here, perhaps, is the only person in all the world who might miss Yui as much as he does. In a moment of weakness, he says something he shouldn’t, to comfort Yui’s child. In one timeline these words will be forgotten within a month, lost in a tide of grief and written off as an empty promise. In another, things go very differently.

 “I must. I am going to get your mother back.”

For a moment the child stops crying in shock and stares up at him. As he stares into the determined eyes of Yui’s son’s he is reminded again of how much he looks like his mother. The child speaks.

“Let me help you, father.”

Gendo pauses, the unstoppable force meets the immovable object and the timeline forks. On the one hand he needs to be without distractions if he is to work on his quest to retrieve his wife. On the other, when he stares into her eyes full of determination, he could never say no to Yui Ikari.

Where once there was a single timeline, there is now two. In two universes, two Gendo Ikaris walk back to their limo. Both are quietly confident that they made the only decision it was possible for him to make. They are both wrong. And in one universe Gendo tells the teary child sitting on the passenger seat,

“If you get in the way. You will have to leave.”

[nicklloydnow]

“Let me specify briefly what appears to be the nature of the change in the community in which we find ourselves and the correspondingly changed posture of the novelist.

To state the matter as plainly as possible, I would echo a writer like Guardini who says simply that the modern world has ended, the world, that is, of the past two or three hundred years, which we think of as having been informed by the optimism of the scientific revolution, rational humanism, and that Western cultural entity which until this century it has been more or less accurate to describe as Christendom. I am not telling you anything you don't already know when I say that the optimism of this age began to crumble with the onset of the catastrophies of the twentieth century. If one had to set a date of the beginning of the end of the modern world, 1914 would be as good as any, because it was then that Western man, the beneficiary of precisely this scientific revolution and Christian ethic, began with great skill and energy to destroy himself.

Christendom began to crumble, perhaps most noticeably under the onslaught of a Christian, Soren Kierkegaard, in the last century. Again I am not telling you anything new when I suggest that the Christian notion of man as a wayfarer in search of his salvation no longer informs Western culture. In its place, what most of us seem to be seeking are such familiar goals as maturity, creativity, autonomy, rewarding interpersonal relations, and so forth.

To speak of the decay of Christendom is to say nothing of the ultimate truth of Christianity, but only to call attention to a cultural phenomenon and the symbols with which it was conveyed. What concerns us here is that, from the perspective of the novelist, literary attempts to revive traditional expressions of Christendom are seldom undertaken anymore. Even when they were, it was often with the sense of a nostalgic revival of a way of life, or else undertaken with the skill of a great novelist in portraying a belief which he did not necessarily subscribe to. I am thinking in particular of the Southern Agrarians and of Faulkner's Dilsey. But most contemporary novelists have moved on into a world of rootless and isolated consciousnesses for whom not even the memory and the nostalgia exist. As Lewis Simpson put it: "The covenant with memory and history has been abrogated in favor of the existential self."

But before speaking of the kind of novel which becomes possible in such an age, the "post-modern" or "post-Christian" as it is often called, I should like briefly to characterize the age itself, or one or two traits of it, from the point of view of the novelist. For the latter is, like his predecessors, seeking some remnant of a common ground where he can gain sufficient footing so that he can see and tell and where he hopes there will be others, other writers, other readers, who share, if not a consensus, a common belief of myth, at least a sense of predicament shared in common.

Toward this end, it seems fair to describe the times not merely in conventional terms as a world which has been transformed by technology both for good and evil, the evil being, of course, the very real ugliness of much of the transformation and the very real depersonalization of many people living in such a world.

What is not so self-evident yet of far greater import to the novelist is the more subtle yet more radical transformation of the very consciousness of Western man in an entirely unexpected way by the scientific and technological worldview. I am not talking about the mechanization and homogenization and dehumanization one hears about so often—though I would not quarrel with these descriptions. We are all familiar with an entire literature about the ennui of life in suburbia and the split-level nightmare. Yet this literature itself is generally even more boring than the life it portrays. Aside from the worth or lack of it in such novels, I cannot escape the suspicion of a degree of bad faith both in the novelist and in his characters, that, in short, for all their complaints, neither of them would dream of changing places with the nineteenth-century housewife or the low-paid nineteenth-century novelist.

No, the real pathology lies elsewhere, not in the station wagon or the all-electric kitchen, which are, after all, very good things to have-but rather in the quality of the consciousness of the novelist and his characters. I can only characterize this consciousness by such terms as impoverishment and deprivation and by the paradoxical language of the so-called existentialists, terms like loss of community, loss of meaning, inauthenticity, and so on—paradoxical because such deprivations occur in the face of strenuous efforts toward better consumership, more communication, a multiplication of communities, finding "more meaningful relationships," "creativity," and so on.

The deprivation I speak of is both more radical and more difficult to define. But I'll try.

Every age, we know, is informed by a particular belief or myth or worldview shared in common by the denizens of the age. Thirteenth-century Europe was certainly informed by Catholic Christianity, seventeenth-century New England by Puritan Christianity, present-day Thailand by Mahayana Buddhism. But we miss the point if we say that the Western world and the life of Western man has simply been transformed by scientific technology. This is true enough, but what has also happened is that the consciousness of Western man, the layman in particular, has been transformed by a curious misapprehension of the scientific method. One is tempted to use the theological term "idolatry." This misapprehension, which is not the fault of science, but rather the inevitable consequence of the victory of the scientific worldview accompanied as it is by all the dazzling credentials of scientific progress. It, the misapprehension, takes the form, I believe, of a radical and paradoxical loss of sovereignty by the layman and of a radical impoverishment of human relations-paradoxical, I say, because it occurs in the very face of his technological mastery of the world and his richness as a consumer of the world's goods.

Like Nikolai Stepanovitch in "A Dreary Story," the moment of our victory in science seems to be attended by a strange sense of loss and impoverishment. In certain areas, such a surrender of sovereignty is not disabling. When something goes wrong in our technological environment, if something needs fixing, whether it is one's car or one's intestinal tract, we have reason to believe that "they" can fix it, "they" being the appropriate specialist. Our expectations are not unreasonable. Very few of us have the time or inclination to master carburetor repair or the physiology of the GI tract. But what happens when one feels in the deepest sense possible that something has gone wrong with one's very self? When one experiences the common complaint of the age, the loss of meaning, purposelessness, loss of identity, of values, and so on? Here again, I am the last person to suggest that psychiatrists do not have an important role; indeed, an increasingly important role. The problem I am speaking of is only too well known to psychiatrists. What I do suggest is that a radical loss of sovereignty has occurred when a person comes to believe that his very self is also the appropriate domain of "them"; that is, the appropriate experts of the self. A typical case of such a surrender of sovereignty is the patient who is delighted when he can present his psychiatrist or analyst with a symptom or dream which fits the prevailing theory—or when he performs well in an encounter group. The patient is, in effect, saying, "I may be sick but how happy I am when I can present my doctor with a sickness or a symptom or a dream which is recognized as a classical example of such-and-such a neurosis: I am an authentic neurotic!"

But what has all this to do with the state of the novel? Strangely enough, it is this very misapprehension of the scientific method, its elevation to an all-encompassing world view, which breaks new ground for the novelist and indeed opens the possibility of a new and critical role for the novelist of the future.

Let me oversimplify this misapprehension and state it as briefly as possible. What I am about to say is no secret to the scientist, is in fact a commonplace, but it is not generally known by laymen. The secret is simply this: the scientist, in practicing the scientific method, cannot utter a single word about an individual thing or creature insofar as it is an individual but only insofar as it resembles other individuals. This limitation holds true whether the individual is a molecule of NaCl or an amoeba or a human being. There is nothing new or startling about this and nothing a scientist would disagree with. We all remember taking science courses where one was confronted with a sample of sodium chloride or a specimen of a dogfish to dissect. Such studies reveal the properties shared by all sodium chloride and by all dogfish. We have no particular interest in this particular pinch of salt or this particular dogfish.

But perhaps we are a bit startled when we are told that this same limitation applies to psychiatry. In the words of Harry Stack Sullivan, perhaps the greatest American psychiatrist: To the degree that I am a psychiatrist, to this same degree I am not interested in you as an individual but only in you and your symptoms insofar as they resemble other individuals and other symptoms.

Again, what has this to do with the novel? Perhaps I can state the connection best by describing my own discovery. As a person educated in science, as an admirer of the elegance and truth of the scientific method, and at the same time as a medical student undergoing psychoanalysis with the intention of going into psychiatry, it dawned on me that no science or scientist, not even Freud, could address a single word to me as an individual but only as an example of such-and-such a Southern type or neurotic type or whatever. All very well and good, you say, but so what? But you see, there is a Catch-22 here. The catch is that each of us is, always and inescapably, an individual. Unlike a dogfish, we are stuck with ourselves and have somehow to live out the rest of the day being more or less ourselves. And to the degree that we allow ourselves to perceive ourselves as a type of, example of, instance of, such-and-such a class of Homo sapiens—even the most creative Homo sapiens imaginable—to this same degree do we come short of being ourselves.

As to the novel, I can only speak in terms of the discovery which led me to take up novel-writing, a vocation for which I was otherwise singularly unqualified. For, of course, a novelist should be well educated in the humanities, in literature, and if he is a Southern novelist, I am told that he is supposed to be saturated by the Southern tradition of folklore, yarns, storytelling, family histories, and such. If you want to be another Faulkner, you have to spend a good deal of time hunkered down on courthouse lawns listening to old-timers talk about the way things were. I qualify under none of these canons, having been born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, in a new house on a new golf course. The only stories I ever heard were jokes in the locker room.

What did at last dawn on me as a medical student and intern, a practitioner, I thought, of the scientific method, was that there was a huge gap in the scientific view of the world. This sector of the world about which science could not utter a single word was nothing less than this: what it is like to be an individual living in the United States in the twentieth century.

This discovery had all the force of a revelation, at least for me, brought up, as perhaps most of us are, in the tradition of John Dewey and William James, the proposition of American pragmatism that science deals with truth and art deals with diversion, play, entertainment; anyhow, some form of emotional gratification.

But what are we to make of a man who is committed in the most radical sense to the proposition that truth is attainable by science and that emotional gratification is attainable by interacting with one's environment and at the highest level by the enjoyment of art? It seems that everything is settled for him. But something is wrong. He has settled everything except what it is to live as an individual. He still has to get through an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. Such a man is something like the young man Kierkegaard described who was given the task of keeping busy all day and finished the task at noon. What does this man do with the rest of the day? the rest of his life?

But my question and my discovery was this: if there is such a gap in the scientific view of the world, e.g., what it is to be an individual living in the United States in 1985, and if the scientist cannot address himself to this reality, who can? My discovery, of course, was that the novelist can, and most particularly the novelist. Oddly enough, it was the reading of two nineteenth-century writers, Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky, who convinced me that only the writer, the existentialist philosopher, or the novelist can explore this gap with all the passion and seriousness and expectation of discovery of, say, an Einstein who had discovered that Newtonian physics no longer works.” - Walker Percy, ‘Diagnosing the Modern Malaise’ (1985)

[sortilegum]

the not so mini-canon and condensed lore story time that I need to work into my google doc 

As part of Qaqu’s conditions for attaining their regenerative power, Qaqu made a pact with the demon entity Menmire to relinquish the power that Qaqu’s father had previously stolen and divided into each of their children. Menmire did this with no deception, no trickery and all conditions were clearly laid out, the blood of their blood would quench their flesh, a life on Innana’s day every hundred years, as such was their nature. Q, however, was deeply paranoid, and the knowledge that they were not infallible weighed heavily within their already deep rooted fear of death. So Qaqu for many years withdrew from society, in part out of fear, in part to study, it was some decades later an answer to their predicament as a half-brother named Setepen-it (Seth).

Seth was accursed, a being not quite comprehensible to the world in which it had been born, an immortal faceless phantom left between the realms of time, life and death. It had been punished by some cruel sense, just or unjustified for attempting to meddle with time. Such a power as that did not come naturally to mortal hands, and Seth regardless scorned one name that linked them to their desires. Menmire.

Qaqu found Seth agreeable, if not a little zealous in their revenge, still each one represented a means to their goal. Qaqu needed time, and Seth needed Menmire punished. So out of that the arcanic union formed, and from their skills they fashioned a trap, a mirror by design, a portal to the edge of reality, to ensnare a soul within its own reflection for all of time. The Mirror of Kur. It was a fitting prison for the meddling entity, and the souls the demon had touched. For Seth in their design the man saw their existence as abhorrent and, too, knew the blood the demon carved above all call. And soon a bone for the flesh, a bowl for a tribute and became an ill placed dagger through their back, the blow had not killed them, but it became the catalyst of Q’s defiance. The truth was Seth had alway been disgusted by their kin, disgusted by themself, they were unnatural, their power’s unfathomable, something evil that did not belong. The act unnerved Qaqu, and yet for all Seth’s pent up rage Qaqu could only find amusement, for the mirror in all its perfection it had been flawed and lacked command. Qaqu’s blood, Menmire’s blood, had given it a master, and as per design as long as a part of the mirror existed a part of Qaqu would always remain captured in the reflection, but so too would Seth’s. This of course enraged Seth causing them to retaliate violently, leading to Qaqu eventually throwing their brother into the black mirror’s gaze. It wouldn’t be some centuries later that Seth, with help of their sister Suhketi, would be freed, at which point the mirror had been duplicated by Qaqu (at the sacrifice of some of their power), as the original had been shattered and melted, a scarce few surviving pieces scavenged and squandered by mortals, and lesser sorcerers who tried to tamper with its purpose only to find themselves maddened and enthralled by the consciousnesses it collected. Seth would dedicate a portion of his immortality in attempting to destroy the remnants of the mirror.

It was one of these shards fashioned into a dagger that found its way during the 13th century into the hands of Zedd, a natural born alchemist and necromancer, who would later become one of Q’s “eternal courtiers” and family historian until they lost favour. This shard would last of the original mirror to survive into the 20th century where it would be used by Arthur, a descendant of Zedd, and Seth to ambush Q in Chicago. The ambush was successful, so Q did die that day, but not entirely. The duplicate mirror still existed, guarded by their beloved doppelganger within the depths underneath one of Qaqu’s former residences, and so did their descendants, if only in mere single digits Q’s legacy could still live. The mirror would call for them, when it knew it would bring them to it and in 1952 it made its choice. Edda (Ebony).

Edda was the last born of her generation, the last of the Germanic line, an orphan perhaps, but a strong willed individual with a kinder, creative disposition yet she was not immune to the mirror’s draw, and at the age of 23 she felt its first call, a dream at first, then later a letter that would soon carry her off to northern France where she would ultimately come to face the many captured reflections of Qaqu that infected her dreams and painstakingly lose her mind to Q’s influence over twenty long years until once more the ancient sorcerer lived.

Such a transfer did not come without a price. Q was mortal again, and all but powerless as they struggled to adjust to the body. Much of their memories too had become fragmented, like reflections of themselves, of their personality and goals. It was an imperfect copy. It fulfilled the purpose of a vessel to allow them to live, but it was madness to Q. A sorcerer who had thrived in the pride of knowing they were one of the most powerful beings in existence (even if they were one with conditions). It was a bitter insult. And dangerous, as Menmire could easily come to feel tricked by the sorcerer for cheating death. So in discontent Q used the last of the mirror’s power to call the thralls of their most loyal to confide and theorise. It would be decided that while Q’s power would grow in time the would need a regeneration to fully embrace their form and this was not their original body they would need their bones to reclaim that power.

For a short time after Q would vanish with the thralls to search for their original body in America . A death staged as Edda of course to be the subject of the disappearance, while Q’s resurrection would be kept secret from the immortal arcane. Meanwhile they would instruct the doppelganger to stay in London to collect and attempt to “purify” the blood of current witches as they theorised that they might be able to summon Menmire into flesh so they might be killed. 

It would be 1977 during the unfortunate surface of a murderous spirit set lose due to actions of ritualistic witch murders and a series of bold displays by the doppelganger whose loyalty began to waiver under Q’s control, that their presence would become known (although not fully until 1980) prompting the sorceress Suhketi, an unwilling participant (Mortimer), a death touched punk (Samuel), a wounded Seth and a weary resurrected Zedd to fix the supernatural corruption that followed Q’s foot step. 

Despite most of their efforts to halt, Q's pursuits would end up finding their original bones and partially regenerating through the blood of their child son Lou in 1983. It wouldn’t be until 1987 when Q, after Menmire’s brief return that would see all three siblings reunite, would finally be confronted. Rather than punish them again with death. Seth found humour in the situation. After all these years, how pathetic and warped the ancient witch had been. Seth believed they needed to die, true, and Q could try to barter their way out of the situation. After all these years there was nothing. Lou had been the last mortal living of their bloodline and they had sacrificed them for a few pints of blood. The benign evil that was Qaqu, they who would never give up their pursuit for eternal life and would only live for maybe for another century and a half. And that would be their condition. Whatever blood they had left was there’s to use, they could live how they chose, but if they ever tried to produce another heir, Seth would make sure both lives would be cut short.

[lin-nin]

Headcanons for maybe they cause the reader's death? Like in an accident / generally not on purpose. Maybe they're in the middle of a battle and when they try to strike their opponent, their s/o is shoved in front and is the one that they hit instead? I just want angst :DD. Maybe for Techno, Schlatt, Dream, and Bad? Thanks!

heaOOOH ANON, YOU KNOW ME SO WELL. I LOVE WRITING ANGST ITS CHEFS KISS MWAH. I WILL GLADLY WRITE YOU SOME ANGST LOVIE. THESE ALSO CAME OUT MORE LIKE MINI ONE-SHOTS Warnings: Death, Gore, Coerced Suicide (BadBoyHalo)

Techno accidentally killing his S/O

Techno was always so easily caught up in battle. The way the voices chanted and demanded blood, he was quick to give in in the heat of the moment. Doomsday was no different, truly. Hell, he was eager for doomsday, and you had been too. You wanted to cause the chaos. It was only when you were off of the obsidian grid, moving to take down whoever you could with your axe. You and Techno didn’t always keep an eye on each other in the field. You just checked in on one another after, tending to the other as needed. He mainly checked in on you, as you often suffered the worst injuries in battle. You hadn’t heard his rocket launcher fire, ears full of the ringing and chaos and explosions of battle. No, you didn’t realize it until you had moved towards his target, the firework hitting you square in the back.

Techno swore everything was in slow motion then. The way your body flung into Tommy, slipping onto his sword that he had raised in the process to counter you. It impaled you, and he couldn’t see the look on your face. The voices in his head screamed and he was moving without thought, your name spilling from his lips, barely audible over the roar of battle. Tommy looked stunned, letting himself get shoved away once the older man came over, cradling you. You were covered in blood, seeping through your wound and shirt. He didn’t realize he was crying until you shushed him, reaching up to cradle his face.

“Don’t worry,” you had reassured, wiping at his tears and only managing to smear blood over the fur there. “This isn’t my last life. We have plenty of time together, just wait a few days. I’ll be back.” You would cough, making blood spurt from your lips as it bubbled into your throat. Techno could only helplessly watch as the remnants of you life drained from your eyes. This would put you on your final life.

The rest of doomsday was spent relentlessly slaughtering everyone who even looked at him wrong. He was inconsolable. When he returned to his cabin, and you finally came back- with new scars from both the firework and Tommy’s sword, he quickly deteriorated again. He struggled to voice how he felt- that it was his fault that you had been tossed into the blade and killed. He did, however, become fiercely protective of you. He would constantly give you armor and repair it, making sure you were fed and your weapons were the best. For whenever he would allow you back into battle and chaos.

Schlatt accidentally killing his S/O

Schlatt never had many on his side. You, though? You were always there for him. Originally a body guard he had hired, only to find a best friend and lover in you. A confidante. You may not have approved of each of his decisions, but you still protected him. He wasn’t necessarily a fighter, preferring to play the role of puppet master. You acknowledged that when it came to battle, you were a puppet.

It inevitably had already cost you two of your lives. You had no idea if it was intentional or not.

It was when Pogtopia came to attack that you were worried. Schlatt hadn’t been looking good. He had been drinking so much, seeming distant. Withdrawn. Even though you loved him, you struggled to get through to him. You stood at his side as you watched the chaos, gripping the hilt of your sword. Prepared to deflect at any given moment.

Tommy had found the pair of you first, and you easily preoccupied yourself with countering him. Only to feel yourself get whipped around, Schlatt’s hand familiar on your arm. Just for an arrow to lodge itself into your windpipe. You choked and gasped, feeling the blood invade your throat. Had you been warned, you could have put up your shield. Which had clattered to the ground with your sword. You had expected him to be pulling you from danger. Not putting you into it.

“No, no, no, stop it. Don’t you fucking die on me. Don’t you dare!” His voice rung in your ears. It was denial. So full of denial. As if the arrow in your windpipe had sobered him entirely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Stop! Fucking stop, you can’t leave. You aren’t allowed!” You gazed up to him with a weak smile, resting one hand on top of his.

“I won’t.... leave without you.... Don’t.... leave me waiting,” Your words were choked, interrupted by bubbling gasps. You would pause to cough up blood, gagging and choking on it with each breath and word. He dropped your body when you stopped breathing, standing up with his jaw set and an ache in his chest he didn’t want to identify. He didn’t keep you waiting, surrendering in the battle before succumbing to his failing health. The afterlife, though cold, was a little warmer and more humorous with him there.

Dream accidentally killing his S/O

Dream loved you with a passion so fierce it felt like the flames from the fire of it would often engulf you. The protection he gave to you, the way he often spoke to you or held you. It wasn’t bad, it was just always much fiercer than you ever anticipated. This translated to everything, too. He fiercely encouraged you to fight with him, but not to the point of getting yourself killed.

You weren’t always too good at following those words.

You had lost your first life fighting against L’Manberg. Not a direct cause from Dream, though. Just carelessness on your behalf. After that, he hovered near you during fights. Making sure you didn’t die. You didn’t mind. It at least showed how much he loved you, right?

Of course, he said all he cared about was the discs. When questioned about you, despite his hesitance, he had insisted you meant nothing to him with the same ferocity as before. It had hurt, cutting deeper than any blade before. You left, with Sapnap and George. You didn’t know where that had left the two of you, but you knew you couldn’t be near him and his delusions.

It’s how you ended up against him on Doomsday, staring him down atop the grid. The wind whipped at you and he pointed his crossbow at you. You didn’t blink, even as it loosed and shot the bolt into your leg. You had lost your balance, tumbling off of the grid with encouragement from the wind. You had narrowly missed the edge of the growing crater, thankful for the protection of your armor.

Only for the explosives raining down to knock the land from beneath you. You were sent tumbling down into the crater, landing on your neck. You had no recollection of it, no understanding of the horror he felt at watching you fall from such a height. He didn’t need to be told it was fatal. He hated himself for it. For what he had caused. Because, despite his words, he did still love you.

It wasn’t until you visited him in the prison, a nervous twitch in your hands as result from the fall, staring him down, it came crashing down on him. He had ruined you. “I wish he killed you. I wish I could kill you.” Your voice was cold, and you raised your hand to demonstrate the constant tremor caused by the neurological damage. You couldn’t kill him if you tried. You could barely hold a sword.

“I would deserve it.”

Bad accidentally killing his S/O

(Warning for suicide coercion)

You absolutely adored Bad. And He, you. That much was obvious. Life with him was fairly good, too. Mostly peaceful, and pleasant. The occasional bits of chaos, but so long as it didn’t directly affect you, you didn’t care. It usually didn’t, and you were content with that. Content to help others and stay neutral as needed. Until the appearance of the egg, of course.

You hated it. It made you uncomfortable, in a way that had your head ringing and chest feeling tight. You would avoid it as much as possible. You only came to dislike it more as it affected Bad. The way he didn’t make himself seem so small anymore, towering to his full height. The way he would kill a person over the egg, if it told him to. It was all so much.

Yet at the end of the day, he always came back to you and seemed almost like your Bad. Almost.

“Cupcake, give it a chance,” Bad had insisted one day, pulling you towards where the egg was. Even if you wanted to fight him on it, you couldn’t. Not physically.

“Bad, I told you. I don’t like it, it makes me feel... wrong.” This hadn’t been the first time the two of you spoke of this. Yet he insisted. The two of you had bickered until he tugged you into the building, unceremoniously pushing you towards the drop. Despite your protests, you fell in. Everything immediately felt wrong as you came close to it, the whispers of it not new. You had heard them before.

Yet it was vile as always, causing you to claw at the room in attempt to leave. Until it was all too much. There was one way out of this that you could see, even if it would cost you dearly. You sought out the vines of the egg, using them to rid yourself of your current life, much to the egg’s encouragement.

When you were free, you were different, the patterning of the vine clearly visible on your neck. You had packed up all of your important things, leaving Bad a note and going as far away from the influence of the egg as possible. Bad was clearly distraught upon finding the note. He looked for you for a long while, but always came back to the egg. At least, if the egg helped him bring peace to the entire place, he could get you back. Right? That was the newest goal. Bring peace and bring you back to him.

[btsmosphere]

Breathe Again | KTH

~summary: everything in your world has changed. everything, that is, except the boy who still believes there are spirits in the forest. ~pairing: taehyung x reader ~word count: 16.6k ~my neighbour totoro au, artist!taehyung, fashion designer!reader, childhood friends to lovers, comfort, fluff, slight angst, slow burn, totoro just wants them to be together ~rating: pg13 ~warnings: mentions of burnout, mentions of a toxic work environment, a skipped meal, a tiny bit of blood, being outside in bad weather, heights?

~a/n: hi everyone, long time no see! welcome to my first fic since my hiatus!! this is for the ghibli collab which is being run by @birbdae​💞 this one is for anyone who likes ghibli films, wants some comforting boyfriend vibes from tae or just vaguely chaotic totoro content💜this one turned kinda long, but I hope I’ve captured the ghibli vibes well! I would love to hear if you read this and what you think! come chat with me💖

Taking you over familiar roads, the bus bumped gently against uneven ground. But you didn’t so much as blink, cheek resting against the glass which rattled slightly in its pane.

You knew this place.

Something about returning down these roads stirred memories within you, though they tugged more at your body than your mind. The haze of smiles and childish laughter these streets made you recall felt alien to you.

But you knew that if you were to set your feet down in the earth here, they would be able to take you home even with your eyes closed. Your hands have memorised the shapes of the leaves in the forest and the wind would push your hair back like an old friend.

You knew this place, and it knew you.

That’s what you were afraid of.

It was as if a tape was being rewound: taking you whizzing back through the exact route you had ridden out of your hometown when you left so many years ago.

Who would remember you? More importantly, who would remember your goals, the way you had rushed away to the city at the first chance to pursue your goals as a fashion designer.

You hoped they wouldn’t ask. After all, you didn’t know the answers yourself.

Of course, there was the possibility that the town you were coming back to would have changed. There were always new buildings going up in the city, roads closed and the crowds still crawling around like ants. Always moving, never slowing.

But the moment you turned away from thanking the bus driver and settled your feet on the soil, you knew there was no question of this place being unrecognisable. Grass still tufted through at the edges of the road; there was the stream that had always run here, still bubbling merrily and bouncing the odd fleck of light through the grasses it nestled between.

Rumbling into life again behind you, the bus trundled on its way.

First stopping to take a deep breath, you turned after it, feet falling in the shallow furrows made by the tyre marks. As predicted, you gave barely a thought for the direction, your legs easily remembering their way down the short road to reach the market square.

As you moved past the first houses, you parted ways with the stream. It wasn’t long after that the road opened into the square and you finally saw another living being.

Though it wasn’t a big town by any stretch, there were always people around during the day. Luckily it wasn’t market day today, which you were thankful for because the whole town would have been out, and you may well have been caught up for hours by all the people wanting to talk to you.

As it was, three ladies cried out at you from a front doorstep where they were chatting. Hurriedly shooting them a smile, you waved, hoping that would deter them. In the end, you were only waylaid by a couple of questions – how long would you be staying? how’s the big city? – that you could brush off with noncommittal answers.

In that time, you had attracted the gazes of an older couple strolling hand in hand nearby. Gripping the strap of your backpack tighter, you bobbed your head in greeting and scurried past.

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you picked up the pace. Shooting a quick message to let your aunt know you had arrived kept you occupied with an excuse to avoid a few more staring faces. Perhaps they would think you rude, antisocial, to be walking with your head down and staring at your device instead, but it was comforting in a way. A remnant of your city life, where everyone was wrapped up in technology.

Having braved the main square, you lowered your phone again. Forcing a steady exhale from your mouth, you pressed further through the mercifully empty streets leading away.

The squeak of a bicycle wheel was all the warning you received for the next person you would pass on your journey. Preparing a smile in a hurry, you found yourself staring across at a man you recognised coming around the corner.

Kim Taehyung hadn’t changed much, face lighting up in his trademark rectangular grin as he saw you. He had grown into his handsome features in the time you had been away, and you found your smile wasn’t entirely fake as he slowed on the other side of the street.

Simple white t shirt hanging from his frame, he was wheeling a bike beside him, dusty bags slung over the top. He fit right in with this place.

He was just opening his mouth when you gulped back your faltering smile, ducking your head again and continuing on your way.

With your feet carrying you slightly faster now, you garbled greetings and smalltalk to the other villagers you crossed paths with. The path sloped downhill as you approached the edge of the town, where houses fell away to make space for the rice fields and farmland. From your road, you could look across the flat terraces that stretched, glittering, to the horizon.

Approaching your own place at last, you had to admit you were glad to see Mei lean out of her window to greet you. The old woman had lived there as long as you could remember, and always had a kind word to say.

But though you returned her wave with genuine care, you didn’t stay to talk, instead pressing the keys into the disused lock of your front door. Reluctant from its neglect, it resisted, grating around slowly until finally caving, releasing the door with a groan.

The last time you had seen the inside of this house was many years ago now. Your aunt had raised you here, but had now moved in with her new partner; rather than selling, she had kept the place for you, ‘in case you ever want to come back or visit’.

Sliding the door aside with only a few snags, you stood in the doorway, unmoving.

For a brief moment, a familiar yet long-forgotten feeling had fallen over you. With a blink, the notion that a flurry of movement had greeted you from the shadows slipped away easily.

Dust bunnies, Mei always used to say.

Tugging vigorously at dust sheets that covered the windows, you let light stream into the room, at last allowing you to pull the door closed. Despite all that still required attention, you slumped against it.

Sniffing, you swiped a hand across your cheek. Surely it was just the dust irritating you.

While something inside you felt… different, relieved, to be back here, a larger part of you resisted that. This was only a temporary waystation. There was no use getting settled here again. This was no longer where you belonged…

If only you had found that in the city. That was supposed to be where you would thrive, forge your life amongst the unforgiving glare of neon billboards and buzzing traffic.

You resented the feeling of ease that crept over you now you were back. Resented the people that were content here, fitting fluidly with the meandering of village life. Like Kim Taehyung: he had grown up here with you, but unlike you he had remained right at home, never erring.

You had tried so hard, forever persistent that the world would bend to your will. That you were destined for greater things than this unremarkable town.

Yet now you even found yourself envious of those who stayed here.

They seemed happy.

A low buzz shot through your thoughts, drawing your attention to your illuminated phone screen.

With a dispassioned sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet. You ought to shift some dust from this place in time for your aunt to come for dinner.

Luckily, the house was empty, the few furnishings shoved away in cupboards. After fishing a broom from somewhere, you swept, and had just pulled the last cushion from the cupboard when you heard the familiar call of your name.

Hurrying forwards and plastering a smile on your face, you tugged the door open to help her; her arms were bursting with food. Still, you were surprised by the urge you got to hug her. After depositing all the ingredients in the small kitchen, you gladly returned her tight embrace.

“My darling,” she squeezed you tight, “it’s been so long.”

“I missed you, auntie,” you admitted.

Perhaps you had sounded a little too forlorn because she quickly drew you back to study your face.

“How have you been? Feeding yourself well enough?”

You let out a sound halfway between a giggle and a shriek as she grabbed at your cheek, a gesture that seemed far too familiar.

Brushing her off, you didn’t have time to dwell on the sensation her affections had stirred in you, as more voices drifted from the front room.

Of course, she had invited some friends.

By the time you had greeted each woman, dodged questions and laughed at your aunt and her girlfriend bickering from the kitchen, a steaming bowl was pressed into your hands and everyone gathered to eat. This was a scene you were so familiar with, a sight so common in your childhood, but now…

You shifted, eyes trained on your bowl as Mei told a story of your five-year-old self.

Why was everyone still the same? So nice to you, so comfortable with each other just like always? Your life, your career was seemingly spiralling off course and that guilt still sat heavy on your bones.

How could you retreat back here, accept all this? You should still be working. Not giving up. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that either.

The same feeling lingered even through the clinking of dishes as your guests chipped in to help clear away, and remained in the following silence and dark as you flattened out your futon, curling up in isolation.

You wouldn’t allow this to feel right.

Even as sleep finally ensnared you in its claws just to spit you out the next morning, you continued to tell yourself what you should want. You should be missing your job, you should be missing the city. And though your heart wasn’t in it, you wouldn’t allow yourself to think otherwise.

The sun was high in the sky the next day when you found yourself staring at the blank page of your sketchbook.

I still want to design. Right?

Okay, so, let’s make a design. Design something. Just one thing. Just one idea, so I know I can still do it. I want to know that this is still the right thing.

I can do it.

Your eyes ran down your watercolour palette, each colour stained with others and hollowed in the middle with use. The small pot of water you had prepared sat too, remaining clear as your pen hovered over the paper.

Some time later, it clattered onto the tabletop.

That blank page stared at you for the rest of the day. Your contest continued even as you slurped at the instant noodles you had made. Every time your thoughts strayed outside, they would be tethered right back again.

There was no point running from your struggle. You would go out as soon as you had managed something productive. For now, the packets of food you had brought in your bag from the city would tide you over.

But as certain as you were that you would achieve something, the next day stretched out in exactly the same way.

It was on the third day that a knock at your door broke through your otherwise deserted world inside this room.

Without a second thought to the depressing dinner you were halfway through, you stood up. Only for a moment you hesitated, before conceding that this wasn’t the city, and it was more usual to have visitors here.

Padding across the floor, you pushed the door aside.

“Y/N! Hi!”

You blinked in the beaming face of Kim Taehyung that greeted you.

“Taehyung!” you returned in genuine surprise, “um, come in…”

Stepping back as you remembered your manners, you cast a look around the room. Unfortunately you hadn’t yet disposed of the slowly growing pile of torn ramen packets on the table, but it was too late.

“Thank you, you don’t have to-“

Nonetheless, Taehyung stepped inside to let you close the door on the cloudy day outside. If he noticed the sad state of your abode, he made no comment.

“I-I just thought I’d come by and visit you,” he smiled hopefully, “I haven’t seen you out since you came back…”

Gulping in the face of his innocent curiosity, you glanced at the floor.

“I’m sorry, I just haven’t… had the chance.”

Your excuse was weak and you knew it. Either way, Taehyung was quick to brush aside your worry.

“It’s nothing to apologise for! I thought I had just missed you and- well, I wanted to come to see you anyway. It’s been a while.”

A soft chuckle passed your lips, which curled into a sad smile. With a nod, you looked up at him.

“Yeah. It has.”

Though his face was smiling as always, it had softened as he studied you.

“Do you want to go on a walk?” he offered, “it must have been hard, being away from the countryside.”

The thought of your abandoned ramen cooling on the table behind you dissipated in an instant.

The outside was a refreshing thought, and it was as if Taehyung had opened the door to the possibility. Once there was a time you would have headed out for no reason, just for fun. That was something you had left behind, but with the welcoming boy to encourage you, you were nodding eagerly before you could form a reply.

Although the village was no longer bathed in sun, cool air rushing to meet you instead, the breeze seemed to carry some weight away from your shoulders. The route Taehyung began to tread beside you was well ingrained in your feet, but your mind was still waking up to the familiar sights.

“I always loved the view from here,” you smiled, muttering almost to yourself.

Taehyung heard you, though. There was no noise for your voice to lose itself in, except the wind that took your words on a winding path through the air.

Slowing his steps, you eased beside him as well. You had barely left your road, but being so near to the edge of the village, the swathes of rippling fields were never far from view; now they stretched out like a carpet below the higher ground your village occupied.

“What’s it like, living in the city?” Taehyung recaptured your attention.

Startled, your eyes turned to him as he remained gazing across the lush greenery, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his loose trousers. His shirt, too, billowed slightly in the playful breeze as you strolled together.

It was those words which brought you crashing back to your senses. The city had been far from your mind, chased away the moment you were reminded of nature’s sprawling cloak across the land. It had been so easy to forget…

“Busy,” was all you offered in way of reply at first. A slight sigh was whipped away by the wind before you found the words to continue. “There’s always people doing things, just like here. Only… bigger. More. They don’t have time to stop and speak to you. It’s so much brighter too…

“I like the neon signs,” you admitted, “but with them, you can barely see the stars.”

While you spoke, Taehyung’s eyes drifted back to you, listening intently. After you stopped, he left silence to settle for a moment.

“It sounds different,” he replied.

You simply hummed an affirmative, but a large smile was sliding back onto his face.

“But I bet they love you!” he grinned, face lifting in such eager happiness that it made your heart ache. Wanting so badly to return his joy, you knew you could never fake happiness that genuine.

“Not really…” you scuffed your toes against the ground, suddenly particularly interested in the way the dirt cracked around your shoes.

As such, you missed the deepening furrow of Tae’s brows, but he stayed quiet, sensing your inhale as you prepared to elaborate.

“Maybe it’s because I had always dreamed of moving there, but nothing was as easy as I imagined,” you spoke quietly, “I was so stupid thinking everything would be simple once I got a place as an intern. The company took me on, but I haven’t got any further.”

A short glance back to Tae showed his brows set in a serious line, mulling your words seriously.

“I’m sure if you keep working hard, they’ll see you,” he smiled, “you always wanted to be a designer. I know you can be.”

For a moment, his words stunned all breath in your throat. Swallowing harshly, you tore your eyes from his, roughly shaking your head.

“It’s just not going right,” you lamented, “all I’ve done since I moved there is work, I take the overtime and travel for shows at weekends, shadow where I can… I feel like I can’t do anymore. And still, nothing. Not even a commission, let alone a promotion. I haven’t headed a project team once. It’s like…” panting softly from the speed your frustrated words spilled out, you paused for a moment, shoulders slumping. “It’s like everyone else knows something I don’t.”

“That’s why you came back?”

His low tone was still light and looking back to him brought you face to face with wide, earnest eyes. Of course, he had guessed accurately. You hadn’t quite intended to spill in so much detail what was troubling you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to resent it.

Confirming his assumption with a nod, you watched Taehyung cock his head to the side before returning his gaze back across the forest.

By now you were drawing closer to where the trees huddled together at the borders of the farmland. The track was a little less well-trodden here, your feet falling between scattered grasses that pushed upwards.

“I don’t think it’s you that’s the problem,” he twisted his body around to face you, still walking towards the forest.

All you could do was blink, slightly startled at his assertion. Thankfully, he continued, pulling his hands from his pockets and spreading them to indicate the surrounding trees which you were entering.

“You’re doing everything you can, and that should be more than enough. There’s no secret to learn… well, maybe…”

“Hey!” you elbowed him as he trailed off, “do you know a secret?”

Mirroring your grin, Taehyung sighed, shaking his head at the ground. You kept your eyes trained on him, as if he might really hold some clue that would solve everything for you. Then he raised his head, fluffy strands of hair falling across his smile-brightened eyes.

“Maybe patience,” he shrugged, “I’m sure you’d get somewhere eventually… but also- maybe you should try to value your time more. There isn’t just one path you can take, and you can always change.”

“I-I guess that’s true,” you stammered.

It was something that had crossed your mind, but you had always shoved the idea away the moment you considered it. You knew what you wanted to do, and you shouldn’t give up on it. Hearing another say it, out loud, was… strangely affirming. But your eyes still fled Taehyung’s gaze, skittering about the trees stretching their hands to the sky.

“Either way,” a gentle nudge at your side brought your begrudging gaze back to your friend, “it’s good to have you back for a bit. I’ve missed you. I’m sure your aunt has, too,” he quickly added.

Grateful for his offer of turning away from the previous conversation, you relaxed a little.

“I’ve missed it here too,” you admitted, “thanks for coming over, it’s good to be out.”

For some reason, as you continued ambling through the forest, you felt no guilt creeping in about time you should be spending working. Instead, you barely felt the minutes passing as you laughed with Taehyung about various scenes from your childhoods. If anything, the small amount of guilt tugging at you was guilt for losing touch.

Eventually, you found yourself reclining in the grass at his side.

“Do you remember when you told me there were spirits in this forest?” you laughed softly.

“Hey!” he grinned back, “they are real!”

Though you giggled along with him, you sensed some defiance in the glittering of his eyes, which made you tail off. Your mouth quirked up at the corner.

“You really still believe in them?”

You didn’t miss the way his eyes strayed from your own, glancing to the grass and across the leafy landscape. But still, he responded.

“I saw them,” he murmured, bringing a fond smile to your face.

“Maybe people out in the countryside really are crazy,” you joked, flopping back to lie on the floor.

“Maybe,” came the chuckled reply.

Taehyung’s shoulder brushed against your own as he joined you on the floor.

Warmth blooming in your chest, you continued to stare across the treetops as they were brushed with the glow of the encroaching sunlight. Something within you longed to capture this moment, grab the warm-tinted clouds streaming across the sky and bring them to earth to rest beside you.

And later, you would realise that was why you had turned to design.

You picked up your paintbrush and brought colour to the white sheet at last.

Too caught up in your seeming breakthrough, with a design almost finished on your page, you were easily busy enough to ignore the way Taehyung’s face crept into your mind. Trying to summon images of the breathtaking evening you had spent, the boy was inextricable from the memory.

The relief and liberation that had flooded you the moment you allowed yourself some respite had come from having him beside you.

Though you were a fashion designer, not a portrait artist, the flipside of the page was steadily filling with sketches of Taehyung. You hadn’t been able to capture him the exact way you wanted, his striking features escaping you, but you couldn’t hold back from trying at least.

But though you had made some progress on your creative block, you still clung to the shelter of your empty house. The hush of the village provided you with a peace of mind you hadn’t even noticed was missing while you were away.

Before you could dig yourself any more holes wondering about the fate of your career, however, exactly the person you had been hoping to see came back around.

Taehyung beamed widely from his perch on your doorstep. That wonderful smile never failed to produce a brighter grin on your own face too.

However, this time he didn’t step into your house when you made room for him. Disappointment sunk to your stomach, realising you had expected him to stay.

But his next words killed off any sadness before it could even take root within you.

“Put your shoes on,” he flashed a playful grin, “you’re coming to mine for dinner.”

“I am?” you snorted, though you were already reaching for your boots.

“Yep,” he smirked.

Folding his arms, he leaned against your doorframe while you hurriedly got ready.

“Unless you have plans?” he chuckled, “another extravagant microwave meal for one?”

Gaping, your head shot up to meet his twinkling gaze.

“You may be right,” you scoffed, finally closing the door behind you as you joined him on the street, “but that doesn’t make it nice. What would your grandma think of your manners?”

“And what would your aunt think of the way you’re eating?” he retorted.

Lips rising into a begrudging smile, you sort of fell against him in a playful nudge. The next moment, though, your eyes grew wider as he slung an arm around you, giving it a squeeze as his fingers nipped at your cheek.

“I’m joking,” he cooed, “I just want you to eat well.”

At least the sentiment was there. About an hour later you found yourself sat giggling in front of a bowl of charred remains that once were food.

“I tried,” Tae was pouting, poking around in his own bowl.

“You didn’t have to try something so fancy,” you hid more laughter behind your hand, “there’s more room for error.”

“But grandma told me exactly how to make it,” he frowned down at his dish as if it had wronged him, “I don’t know what I even did to mess it up!”

Unable to help it, a fond smile broke onto your face.

“Thank you, Taehyung.”

Your words seemed to startle him, as he immediately started spluttering about how you could thank him after he destroyed your dinner. It only served to pull more laughter from you.

“I appreciate it,” you assured him, “now how about we make something simple?”

His kitchen was stocked with fresh vegetables from the farmlands, making it easy for you to pick some and get to work. Closer to the rice fields than your house, Taehyung’s place bordered with the forest, every window giving generous views on the surrounding greenery.

“Done!”

Turning away from the trees outside the window, which you had somewhat lost yourself in, you found Taehyung stood proudly behind you. In his hands sat a bowl stacked with the vegetables he had chopped.

A look back at your own board showed you had made much less progress.

“Let me finish those,” he placed his bowl down and came to stand next to you. “I think you would be better off doing the cooking.”

Laughing, you agreed and let him take the knife from your fingers. Next, you began to fry your ingredients with the rice that hadn’t been a victim of Taehyung’s previous attempts.

Once he was done, Taehyung approached you, sliding the remaining vegetables into the pan. But even as they fell, sizzling, into the dish, he didn’t move away from you.

“Smells good,” he complimented.

Muttering a brief thank you, you kept your eyes on the food as you stirred it. You could almost pretend the heat in your cheeks was from the warmth of the stove and not the way he leaned closer as he smelled your cooking, such that his chest pressed up against your back, face hovering above your shoulder.

But before your resolve could wear thin enough for you to look around at him while he was in such painfully close proximity, a rumble interrupted your thoughts.

Taehyung instantly pulled away, apologies spilling from his lips. You, on the other hand, burst into laughter.

“Was that your stomach?” you cried.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand across his middle.

Chuckling, you shut off the stove.

“Luckily, dinner is ready,” you grinned.

Taehyung eagerly dashed to grab plates, letting you pile them up with food.

Together, you brought your steaming meals to the front room where Tae pushed open the front door, inviting you to sit on the step.

“I guess it is kind of late,” you said after your first bite, “no wonder you were hungry.”

Proving your point, the boy beside you was already wolfing down his meal. Smiling to yourself, you dove back into your own food as you stared across the darkening valley, stars now painted in the mirror-smooth surfaces of the rice fields.

Sweet as always, Taehyung thrust a basket of the vegetables into your arms before you left – though, of course, he was walking back with you. Still, you were embarrassed to note the hint of resentment at his wonderful actions, as it meant you had one less excuse to see him again. In truth, you didn’t want to leave at all.

But you still thanked him profusely, and you meant it. His kindness warmed your heart, and guilt twisted inside you at the thought of taking his actions to mean anything further.

He probably felt sorry for you, lost as you were. Meanwhile he had found a place in the world, and he was happy here. Almost certainly he only wanted to do some good for an old friend.

But for tonight, you couldn’t help but indulge in the flutters Taehyung set off in your heart, a few more sketches joining the others before you fell into bed.

Since you arrived, you hadn’t been very productive. You knew this, but bringing yourself to care was becoming difficult. No, you were too busy enjoying finally getting some peace and time away from the job that had been tiring you out.

But even in your time off, it seemed too much to ask of them to let you rest.

“-so I need your assessment of the project before we can move forwards…”

Your boss’ voice crackled over the line as you held your phone passively at your ear. Gulping as she rambled on about the practicality of your colleague’s design – when she was the one who had given the project to him when you really wanted it – you stared blankly at your notebook. Only one page remained filled. The simple design you had been thrilled with a couple of days ago now crumbled in your estimation.

Tell her you can’t do it. This is your time off. At least ask to be paid for it-

“Of course. I can do that,” you replied automatically.

Instant alarm bells started ringing in your head. You had to stick up for yourself before too much was loaded onto you-

“Wonderful, I’m sending them over now. Thanks a lot,” your boss spoke, line cutting off before you could so much as open your mouth.

Huffing, you flopped back onto your bed, where you had been sleeping peacefully before your ringing phone rudely awoke you. But you didn’t rest there for more than a few seconds before you were rolling yourself off and staggering over to dig out the laptop you hadn’t touched since leaving the city.

Opening up your emails, you saw the most recent one from your boss, but unfortunately your inbox was also rammed with several others you hadn’t bothered to check. You supposed you could never have expected to be completely away from work.

Resolving to check them later, you clicked on the first of the files from your boss. Already, you groaned, seeing that the plans were more extensive than you had believed over the phone.

You couldn’t deny that you accepted this too easily.

But then again, you never wanted to be seen slacking. Maybe if you did this, it would finally be noticed and you would be in line for the next promotion…

That was what you told yourself the last time too. And the time before that, and before that.

At this point, even the thought of actually being promoted didn’t fill you with the excitement it should. It was all you had worked for, and yet all you could think of was how much more work it would mean.

Attempting to shove away your heavy pile of thoughts, you focussed back on the task at hand.

Wrangling your brain into action, however, proved difficult. You realised too late that it should have been lunchtime, hurriedly trying to make yourself something while it was already halfway through the evening, sky darkening beyond your window. But even though it was getting later and you had been working all day, you had got next to nothing done.

Even the pattering of rain on your roof which began early on did little to ease the stress creeping back into its familiar residence in your brain.

Your head was spinning as you sliced up a pepper, not able to focus on the simple movement of your hands. You knew you should be looking at your work, but even as your mind hovered around the matter, you were unable to think straight as everything proved a dead end.

A sharp pinch shook you from your haze.

Hands stilling, you looked down to find a sliver of red already growing of your fingertip. Cursing, you threw down your cooking, turning to the sink.

The blood was swept away with the stream of water from your tap, showing only a miniscule cut, but your finger shook anyway. Staring down at the small line, even though it was clean now, your breath hitched in the back of your throat.

The rain, relentless on your roof, was the only sound muffling the sobs which left you as you hunched over the basin.

Letting your hand drop, you clutched onto the edge of the surface. You felt like a child; your computer was filled with demands, your head occupied with work, but you just didn’t want to.

Why couldn’t they just leave you be?

Some instinct within you had set your feet moving before your mind could catch up. Abandoning your laptop where its screen still passively illuminated a square of your desk, you were slipping shoes on, practically throwing your door aside with your sudden desperation to reach the outdoors.

The rain which immediately hit your skin hardly occurred to you. All you could manage was to breathe deeply in the saturated air.

You had succeeded in rediscovering some of the inspiration that led you to your current path; it had always been the beauty of your hometown, the countryside with its vast fields and open skies, the peace and the fury of the elements.

And maybe you had forgotten it, but now you knew it again you wanted to seize it with both hands. The pull of work only made you resent it more.

You had to escape.

And so your feet were taking you down your road, slipping on the track which had already begun turning to mud under the onslaught from the heavens.

You had barely left the glow of the last house on your street before water was running in streams down your cheeks, mingling with the salty tears that had been falling before. Hiccupping, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Though you sniffed, you didn’t bother to wipe at your face.

But already the ruthless pelting of raindrops began to batter away the frustration that had been stirred in you. Still breathing heavily, you pressed unflinchingly on, your mind only able to focus on stepping forward through the storm.

Despite your lack of destination, your pace was rapid and soon you were stumbling between trees as you reached the forest. Here, the hammer of rain was lighter, plucking at leaves harmlessly and filling the air with the hollow chorus.

The oppressive feeling from sitting caged by your computer was fading. But now you weren’t sure whether your shaking was from your outburst or from the cold. Only, you couldn’t exactly bring yourself to care.

It wasn’t until now that your pace slowed in the least. Finally you were away from the pressing weight that had begun to crush you, even if it still remained waiting for you at home.

Weaving between trunks, your speed waned at last, allowing your fingers to trace along the wisened and cracked bark of each one. Even when you needed to blink repeatedly to gain clear sight from unshed tears and raindrops collecting on your lashes – even when your frame shook from head to toe, hair plastered against your skin – you finally felt free.

Having nature roar around you cast the demands of work, something that once loomed over you, far out of your sight.

Feet still tripping forwards, all it took was a toe catching on a root before your knees were meeting the earth.

Down here, the raindrops jostled the smaller plants that coated the forest floor. Looking up, you tried to wipe your hands, though it was fruitless against your sodden trousers.

But you paused in your motion as you caught sight of something.

Ahead of you, some tree roots twisted upwards, sculpted into a small arch. Although beyond that, you could see little, you rose slowly and stepped closer to it.

A few leftover tears leaked from your eyes, but they were indetectable as they slipped among the rainwater. Taking no notice, your eyes remained ahead as you reached the strange opening.

Ducking, you padded inside, not hurrying at all. It inspired a stiller pace for some reason.

The first thing you were aware of was the lack of rain falling on your back. Instead, the air was perfectly calm, only the distant pattering of water on leaves a reminder of the storm you had previously been in.

A few more steps and you found yourself in the centre of what appeared to be a large tree. Bark walls encircled the generous space, though it was obscured by the abundant greenery coating them decadently.

Tiredness was rapidly seeping into your bones now, and all you could think of the moss was how soft it looked, so tempting to your drooping eyes.

Exhaustion masked any shock you would otherwise have felt, then, when your eyes fell on a larger shape lying near the far wall. But this was not part of the tree, nor its foliage. Drawing nearer, you found it appeared to be furry. Enormous ears lay flat on the leafy ground where its head lay. Its round belly rose taller than you did from the ground, even though it was horizontal.

Staring through your bleary eyes, you merely chuckled at the unusual sight.

The creature inflated with each deep breath. It was sleeping.

You were sure you must be too, given what a funny dream you were having right now. But you were still so tired.

Without further thought, you let yourself tumble to the ground so you could rest, propped up against the forest creature. Indeed it was as soft as you had imagined looking at it.

Everything was peaceful as sleep embraced you at last.

Taehyung jerked awake, the whole house seemingly clamouring in his ears.

Eyes wide, he threw off his covers, though he wasn’t sure what he expected to do. The wind was hurtling through the air outside, hitting his house like a freight train. Windows shaking in their panes, bullets of rain still spattered against the glass.

Pulling his blanket with him, Taehyung retreated towards the main room. Although he stayed back from the windows, he still looked out, watching the vague shapes of dark trees as they attempted to uproot themselves in the blustering air.

He couldn’t deny being a little unnerved by the sudden ferocity of the weather. With a calming breath, however, he reminded himself of the true form of the wind. The image of the grinning cat brought a smile stretching across his own lips as well. It had been years since he had seen it, or the spirit Totoro and their friends.

But even if he was a child then, he clutched onto those memories, trying to keep them vivid as possible.

He was about to settle down on the sofa to wait out the noise when a different shape made itself known in the window.

Doing a double take hard enough to give him whiplash, Taehyung managed to keep himself from staggering backwards in shock. Blinking determinedly, he kept his eyes fixed on the familiar form as it drew closer into the light from his porch.

Although he knew they were real, he still found himself struggling to comprehend it.

This wasn’t another dream, another memory or image on his canvas. Pushed against all the walls in his study, and his bedroom too when they overflowed the space, images of the forest spirit were strewn about his living quarters. He could never forget it but…

Why would it come back?

A moment elapsed, Totoro’s huge frame blocking out much of the view behind them as they stared blankly down at Taehyung the way they always did. The pandemonium of the wind died away.

And then Tae’s senses kicked back in, and he was sprinting to the door, hurrying into the night because there was something else.

Totoro was carrying something-

No.

Someone.

Breathless, he stood on the step, taking in the figure cradled in Totoro’s arms. It was you.

He remained still, so Totoro moved forwards, towering above him. But Taehyung could never be intimidated, knowing this gentle giant well enough. Instead, his eyes remained on you as Totoro lowered you towards him.

You were clearly asleep, eyes shut and chest rising and falling evenly. But it was how on earth you came to be so, in Totoro’s arms, and now in front Tae’s house, that had his brow furrowing deeply.

Though water no longer sat on your skin, the dampness of your hair and clothes remained. You must be freezing.

However, as Tae hurried forward a couple more steps to reach out for you, a warmth engulfed him. Recognising the forest spirit’s familiar magic, a hint of a smile returned to his face.

Though Totoro now relinquished their grip, the magic remained cocooning you, making Taehyung able to hold you in his arms as you had been rendered weightless.

Straightening to their full colossal height, Totoro backed away. Still feeling that comforting magic wrap around the two of you, Taehyung smiled as he bowed, as deeply as he could with you in his arms. Totoro gave a little bob of their own before turning away.

For a short moment, Taehyung watched the spirit amble away. But you were the priority. Unsure how long the magic would last, he backed into the door to push it open and get you both inside. Looking around in mild panic, he settled on the first place he thought of and moved through to the bedroom.

Setting you down on the futon, he pushed your wet hair away from your forehead with his palm.

Next, he hovered for a moment.

Eventually he stood back, swallowing nervously as he watched you. It was still the middle of the night, and raindrops were splattering the window again, though less harsh than before.

Of course, his concern was still unsatisfied. If Totoro had found you, that could only mean you had been in the forest. But… why? At this time of night, you should be safely tucked away inside.

Well, at least you were now.

Sighing, he turned away to retrieve the blanket he had dragged to the living room. Collecting a few more cushions for good measure, he placed them down on the closer edge of the futon. It was big enough for him to sleep here too, while still leaving some distance between you.

After depositing his bedding, Tae made one more trip to the cupboard, bringing out a duvet. Though thick, it was very light. He liked to think of it as his ‘cloud duvet’.

Seating himself, he leaned across to you to cover you with his favourite duvet, but stopped short.

The hair lying on his pillows was already drying. So too were your pyjamas.

Sighing, he shook his head lightly and continued to throw the covers across your sleeping form.

He would get his answers in the morning. Settling down himself, Taehyung turned onto his side so his back faced you. For now you were okay, Totoro had made sure of that.

But aside from what had happened to you, one thing plagued his mind the most even as he closed his eyes.

Why had Totoro brought you to him?

Beams of light hung lazily in the air, only warded off by the thin fabric of Taehyung’s curtains. Blinking in the hazy morning, the usual hushed whisper of the forest greeted him, no trace of the furore of last night.

Except for the weight on the bed beside him.

Rubbing one hand across his face, he looked down at you. You remained nestled against the pillows, hair fanning out as the light cast it into rich colour. When his arm fell, it was perilously close to you, but he didn’t move it away.

Taehyung knew there was breakfast to be made and explanations to be had once he left the comfort of the bed.

Still, he lay unmoving, content to simply let his gaze roam your resting features. Warm light glowing against your skin showed it invitingly soft. His dark eyes traced your eyelashes where they rested, the gentle slope of your lips…

His breath hitched, a slight gasp lost in the fabric of his pillow.

At the first inclination of your lashes shifting, bringing you closer to wakefulness, he retreated, sliding out from his blanket and away to the kitchen. A puff of air left his lips as he willed his feet to fall noiselessly, leaving you to slumber.

He could easily blame the moment on his hazy awakening from sleep. He could pretend he only stayed next to you for want of staying warm in bed for a while longer.

Except he knew it would never be the truth.

You were truly breathtaking to him, painted perfectly in the dreamy morning light. All he could do was steer his thoughts away and turn them to preparing some breakfast.

And that was what roused you: the vague scent of steaming rice in the air and the odd clang of kitchenware from the other room. Rolling over as your eyelids cracked apart, you registered the indulgently soft duvet you were under, the scent of rain on the pillow.

It was already light, so you eased yourself to sit, stretching out your back with a quiet groan.

Vaguely, you remembered the sound of raindrops in the air, earth biting at your knees and a giant tree. It had certainly been a strange dream, you thought as you opened your eyes.

And paused, blinking.

This wasn’t your room. Hell, it wasn’t even your house.

From among the fluffy mountains of bedding, you slowly took in the place. Somehow, you weren’t exactly panicked by the position you found yourself, oddly comforted by the domestic sounds of cooking. You could guess where you were, and became more certain when your eyes fell on a row of assorted paintings propped against the wall.

When Taehyung poked his head into the bedroom, he found you awake and sat up. You had moved to the side of the bed, and were sitting cross legged as a hand delicately skimmed the surface of the nearest painting.

For a moment, he didn’t announce himself. Breathing deeply, his eyes rested fondly on the back of your head, ignoring the painting. He could see the artwork anytime, and he knew it well.

A vibrant green landscape of the forest, he had put Totoro and the other spirits dotted about the trees. Some were barely there, signifying how they protected the woods even though almost no one believed in them at all.

You must have sensed him, however, for you were snatching your hand back from the image and whirling around to face him.

“You alright there?” he smirked gently at your surprise.

“Yeah…” you murmured.

Noticing you chewing your lip, looking between him and the painting, Taehyung’s small smile faded a little. The confused tone you spoke with placed a light frown in its place.

“Yeah?” his low voice echoed.

Pushing himself away from the doorframe, he drew closer, hands dug into his pockets.

“That… that thing, in your drawing,” you frowned, staring right at it. “I dreamt about it.”

“Ah,” understanding dawned on Taehyung and he sat down beside you. Neither of you complained at the closeness as his leg pressed flush to your own. “That’s the forest spirit I told you about. Well, all of them are. But that’s Totoro.”

His tone had been anything but ridiculing, but still you looked around to find his expression genuine, eyes slightly creased at the corners in a vague smile.

“I-I don’t understand,” you breathed.

“You didn’t dream about them,” he leaned closer for emphasis, shifting to face you better, “it was real. Do you remember coming here?”

For a moment, you frowned, eyes escaping his as they seemed to look far away while you tried to recall. You came up empty.

“No…”

“That’s because Totoro brought you to me,” Taehyung went on, patient as before, “last night, they brought you in from the storm.”

He paused for a moment, wetting his lips as he gauged your reaction before carrying on:

“Do you remember why you were out? Did you fall asleep in the forest?”

Again, that look took over your face. Your gaze fell to your hands as they played with the hem of the duvet, untangling the mass of memories from the night before.

“I think… I must have done…” you frowned, then suddenly started. “Oh crap! I remember why I left! My boss is gonna kill me-“

Panicked, Taehyung placed his hands on your knees as you carried on rambling, starting to push the blankets away in your sudden rush.

“Hey, hey, Y/N slow down, what’s going on?”

“I-I got a call from work,” you hastily explained, “they need me to approve a set of designs and I said it was fine even though-“

“I thought you took the time off work?”

“I did, I did but I said yes anyway but then I just felt so… so- argh! I was so stressed all over again and I just wanted to get out…” the clarity you lacked the night before made you cringe as you pictured yourself walking down the muddy track in just pyjamas, heading into the trees in the middle of the night. You chuckled drily, “maybe not my wisest idea.”

“No,” Taehyung had to agree, inclining his head, “but you’re here right now. Work doesn’t need you this instant.”

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you weren’t quite sure if he spoke the truth. Either way, you decided you didn’t much care when the boy broke into a shy grin and offered a hopeful ‘stay for breakfast?’.

He had managed to cook without mishap this time, resulting in a self-satisfied grin which you could easily tell translated into an I-told-you-so.

Happily full after his meal, Taehyung told you that he was going to do some painting, but that you were welcome to stay. From someone else, you might not be sure if they meant it or were just saying it out of politeness, but Taehyung had already offered you a set of clothes and a hot drink.

You certainly didn’t want to go yet, and you dared to hope he wanted you to stay as well.

So you accepted his offer and settled on the sofa with a steaming mug of tea and a book you had plucked at random from the shelves. Meanwhile, Taehyung turned on an old fashioned radio, which crackled softly into life in the corner before filling the atmosphere with calm music.

You knew for a fact Tae had a study in his house, but he brought his materials out into the main room anyway. Neither of you needed to say much as he set to work and you sipped your tea, going about your tasks in the mutual comfort of shared space.

He was facing the window as he worked, allowing you a view of his progress.

In the end, you became far too distracted to make it far through the book at all, too busy watching colour fill up the blank spaces. The work had already been started, with just a wash of colour occupying the canvas.

Now, you got to watch as from the blur of colours and shapes came the form of a forest. But this one was not bathed in the glory of day, the colours dark and muted instead.

Smooth brushstrokes left in their wake a body of water, glittering stars scattered within it. The limited palette of the night-time scene was fascinating to you. At last, Tae’s brush was picking out the form of the spirit again, peering from behind the trees. Your mouth curved up into a smile.

As Taehyung stood back, brush clamped in his mouth as he assessed his work so far, you scrambled to flip over a chunk of pages in your book. Burying your face in it, your cheeks burned as you realised you had been staring this whole time.

“What do you think?”

Making an effort to look as surprised as possible, you turned back to find Tae beaming at you.

“I think it’s wonderful,” you assured him, “the colours, the water… everything.”

His eyes lit up, smile only growing wider.

“Thank you! You really think so?”

At your indulgent nod, he turned back with renewed enthusiasm to complete the side of the forest which had yet to emerge from the melange of colour.

“Shall I get us lunch?” you offered not long after, noticing that you had now been there for a few hours.

Though Tae was engrossed in his painting, nose almost pressed to the canvas as he detailed some leaves in the moonlight, he graced you with an appreciative smile and a nod.

Slipping away to the kitchen, you soon reacquainted yourself with where everything lived and got to work. It wasn’t long before your limited cooking skills had done their job. A brief call to Taehyung had him emerging in the doorway with a smile on his face, taking the bowl gratefully.

Once again you settled happily on the front step, taking in the tranquil forest. It had calmed to a mere breeze since the night before, the leaves rustling, bright green in the midday sun.

“I can see why you like it here,” you commented between mouthfuls, “it must be a great place to work.”

Taehyung hummed around his mouth of food, but soon swallowed and replied, head tilted as his eyes scanned the forest.

“It inspires me.”

“So does Totoro,” you smiled. However, it couldn’t be denied that you were digging for more information after your strange encounter.

An understanding smile curved Tae’s lips and he set his chopsticks down briefly.

“You’re right,” he nodded, “for me, they’re tied together with the forest. I haven’t seen them since I was younger, but this place keeps them alive in my imagination, I suppose.”

“Wow,” you breathed, “no wonder your work is so good, hmm? You really love this place.”

As you dug back into your food, Taehyung turned his smiling eyes to you. Though you didn’t meet his gaze, he held his breath. Chewing his lip, he wondered why he couldn’t shake that feeling that had overcome him that morning.

Eventually, he forced himself back to his food, shuffling an inch or so away from you for good measure.

“I think it’s important to have a good place,” he stated, still staring at his dish when you looked around, “a place that works for you, when you need to be creative. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Yeah,” you nodded vaguely.

But though you never disagreed, you weren’t sure you did understand. And it struck you that perhaps you should. Previously, you had only cared about what your job title could be. Never had you focussed on where you were, convinced you could continue to force out designs the way you always had…

But right now, you thought you might share Tae’s view, the motion of the leaves and the gentle sun caressing them stirring up your long lost desire to create.

And the presence of a warm figure beside you, full of support, had you wishing perhaps a little too much that you could stay.

You couldn’t delude yourself for much longer, unfortunately. Inside, Taehyung was happy to leave your dishes on the side and his brushes out as he offered to walk you home.

However, when he proposed taking you ‘the scenic way’, you dared entertain the thought that perhaps he might like having you around, too.

Though you hadn’t been here for some time and thus your sense of direction was shaky at best, you could tell that Taehyung was leading you around to the other side of town, albeit through the forest. Neither of you were in any hurry to get there, instead enjoying the dappled shade of the woodland path, reams of laughter drifting through the tree trunks as you joked together.

A subtle ache had begun in your cheeks from the constant smiling. But as Tae broke from the path, insisting on building an ‘installation art piece’, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Instead, you eagerly joined Taehyung as he ran giggling through the trees, scouring the floor for twigs and stones. If anyone else had seen you, it would certainly appear childish. Especially when Taehyung encouraged you to give him a leg up so he could reach a particularly beautiful fallen leaf that was lodged in the crook of a tree branch.

It was when he leapt down again with a subtle huff that you both burst into laughter again. Through the slits your eyes became as you creased with mirth, you caught a glimpse of a broad, boxy smile that robbed you of breath in an instant.

In front of you, Taehyung was chuckling, that beautiful smile still stretching at his lips. And once again, the urge to capture this moment swelled in you. You couldn’t take your eyes from him, simply trying to commit the image to memory with the unattainable hope that it would never fade away.

As he wiped one last tear, you hurriedly turned away, cursing the intense speed your heart had reached.

“What’s your plan, Van Gogh?” you joked, hoping he couldn’t see your sudden nerves.

“Not sure,” he replied happily. Fingers catching your wrist, he tugged you further on. Striding away towards the path ahead of you, he would never see the heat blooming in your face at the contact.

Flustered, you hurried after him, only to run into his back as he stopped without warning.

“Tae? Is-?”

Poking your head from your spot behind his shoulder, you too rapidly quieted.

Though it was not long since you last saw Totoro, the memory was a haze of rain and tears. Now, though, you gulped at the sight. The spirit was waddling along the pathway, each step somehow regal with its commanding size.

With wide eyes you turned to Taehyung. His side profile showed an awed smile, a shallow breath escaping him.

When the creature turned around, you stiffened. But beside you, Taehyung simply stepped forwards, leaving you staring between him and Totoro. Bowing briefly, Tae moved even closer while you hurried to observe the same manners.

Unaffected, Totoro simply turned, continuing their ambling journey through the woods.

Frown taking over your face and unsure what to do, you looked to Tae at your side. However, his expression had split into a joyful grin that obscured his eyes within creases, and before you could even open your mouth, he was dashing to follow the spirit.

Taken by surprise, you could do nothing but follow, tripping through the undergrowth until you spilled back out onto the path.

Laughter was bubbling from your lips before you could control it. Taehyung’s giggled soon mingled with yours in the air.

On reaching the spirit’s side, you slowed somewhat. Totoro accepted your presence with barely a look your way as they kept plodding onwards. What were small steps for the creature, however, took you at a surprising pace that had a sweat breaking from your forehead after a while.

“Tada!”

A flourish of Taehyung’s arms accompanied the first breaking of the companionable silence you had journeyed in.

Following where he gestured, your eyes lit up at the sight of glittering water.

“This was where we were going?”

“Yes! Do you remember it?”

A bounce had already entered Tae’s step, and he spun to talk to you while skipping backwards.

“Of course I do!” you nodded.

Just outside this village, the stream grew broader, creating a wide, flat brook. Countless afternoons of your childhood had been spent here, hopping over the stepping stones that lay above the water’s surface, or splashing in the shallow depths at the edges.

Despite the fuzzy heat of the evening, you found a little extra energy to race after Taehyung to the bank.

Within moments, he was kicking his shoes off and hopping into the glistening water. It only just came up to his ankles, close to the side where blades of grass drooped over, their tips disturbing the surface.

Sitting down for a breather, you also slipped off your shoes and dipped your feet in. Soothingly cool, the water brought relief against the heat you had worked up on the walk.

However, you never got much chance to rest as Taehyung stuck a hand directly under your nose. Scoffing, you took it anyway. In some small retribution, you aimed a kick in his direction once he had dragged you up, sending droplets of water showering over his legs.

Of course, you were instantly shrieking as he sent a playful, but much more powerful, wave of water back your way.

Though you were still aware of the large form of Totoro standing nearby, you were inexplicably more comfortable with their presence now. In fact, they faded to the back of your mind as you let yourself become preoccupied with the impromptu water fight that had your breathless laughs carrying over the rippling stream.

Eventually, you collapsed back onto the grassy bank, head thrown back as you breathed, heavy and exhilarated. For a moment, you simply let a gentle breeze soothe your skin.

When you looked back up, Taehyung snapped his eyes away from you so fast you were hardly sure you had caught them in the first place. Just as he turned away, a shadow fell over you.

Tipping your head back, you saw Totoro looking back down at you.

Before you could speak, let alone turn to face them, a bundle of sticks had fallen at your side, a couple rolling right up to your fingers where they rested. Picking the rough objects up, you looked back to the spirit quizzically. They were the sticks Taehyung had collected earlier, eventually carried here with him and left on the ground.

Then Totoro moved away, downstream a little.

Approaching you, Taehyung bent down to retrieve a few for himself.

“I think they want to play,” he smiled.

Totoro was watching you, almost expectantly. A smile quirked over your lips.

“I know this game!”

Side by side, you and Taehyung padded upstream a few paces, selecting a stick each.

“Three! Two! One!” he counted loudly, although you swore he dropped his stick a little before the last was called.

“Hey!” you shoved him playfully, but he was already taking off jogging towards Totoro.

You had lost sight of the slim shapes moving through the water, so you walked after him, groaning as Totoro held up the gnarled stick Taehyung had chosen.

“That’s not fair!” you tried to sound indignant, even going so far as to fold your arms, but laughter betrayed you.

Several rematches later, the sun was beginning to dip in earnest, and you had to admit it was time to get home. You were still closer to Tae’s house than yours, given the roundabout route you had taken.

As the light painted the sky darker, a few wisps of grey swirling below amber, the laughter died down at the prospect of going back home. Either way, there wasn’t much you could use as an excuse to stay here longer, so you slipped your shoes back on and began making your way over the stepping stones.

Taehyung went first, more steady on his feet while you slipped, taking a moment to get your footing on each one.

Totoro, on the other hand, simply watched you go.

Once, you turned back to give them a shy wave, but they didn’t move. Despite the muteness of the spirit, you thought it looked a little affronted at your leaving.

I’ll come back you promised silently with a smile.

Staring at the wonderful creature, you understood the fond firmness of belief Tae had described feeling about the forest spirits.

But with your eyes averted, your next step was not calculated. Suddenly there was no rock beneath your foot, leg slipping straight down the side as you whipped your attention to the front too late.

“Woah!”

A gasp left you as Taehyung’s exclamation faded from the air, his hands steadfast around your waist. Gulping at the sudden contact, you dared to look up. Dark eyes bore right back into your own and they weren’t breaking away.

“You okay?”

When the words left his lips, you felt them as breath drifting across your own more than you heard them.

You tried to nod, afraid that your noses would touch, close as you were. Somehow, though, you couldn’t look away. The hypnotising softness within his irises had you unsteady all over again as you placed your foot carefully back on stone.

Still, his hands stayed in place. And you didn’t want them to move away.

Tentatively, you breathed in, unable to help your gaze dipping to Taehyung’s temptingly plump lips.

He can’t have missed it. But you realised too late, returning your gaze to the safer, yet still perilous, territory of his eyes. Only to find him slightly further away, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his eyebrows raised slightly.

Snapping your mouth closed, you stiffened as horror set in. Was he uncomfortable? Had you revealed yourself?

But still he didn’t back away-

A yelp punctuated the air, startled from your own lungs with the impact of your body against Tae’s chest. In a split second, you were landing against something firm with a large splash in the relative quiet of the evening.

Gasping as cold water covered your back, you jerked only to find a strong arm circling you in its grip. Below you, a low rumble of laughter vibrated through your body.

Eyes widening, you realised you were lying pressed flush against Taehyung.

As the grip around you loosened, taking some warmth with it, you looked into Tae’s eyes which were once again creasing with mirth. He struggled to sit it the shallow stream, eventually ending up with you straddled on his lap as his arm remained looped casually around you. Despite the water, icier now in the deepening evening, heat was flaming in your cheeks.

Eager to twist around, you laid eyes on what had caused your unfortunate impact. Totoro stood in the water, unmoving as ever although they were quite clearly the only culprit in sight.

“What-?” you spluttered.

Still laughing, Taehyung helped ease you off him, keeping your hand clasped in his own as you both clambered to your feet. Water dripped from your hair, your legs and shoes sending miniature downfalls over the stepping stones as you returned to them.

“Have we angered the spirit?” you stage whispered to Taehyung, who laughed loudly.

“Sorry Totoro, we have to go home,” Tae sent a bow towards the creature. They blinked back.

Giggling slightly, you took a tentative step onto the next boulder. No sooner had you moved than the wind suddenly picked up around you, the waves in the brook growing more prominent as chill air ensnared your damp skin.

Taehyung cursed under his breath.

“It’s freezing,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

Subconsciously, you huddled closer to him as he looked around – first at the path ahead and over the stream, then back towards the forest. Both of you seemed to gravitate to the latter, where leaves rioted in the air above the treetops.

As you stood in the wind, Taehyung’s arm had lifted to absently hold your waist. You felt him tug lightly.

“Maybe we should go back to mine. It’s still too far to your place, we might both freeze.”

“Are you sure?” you breathed, though you wanted to agree there and then, run back to his warm bed and not move for several hours. The way your voice came shakily with the shivers that began only confirmed Tae’s plan, and he was already setting off towards the riverbank.

“Very sure. Let’s get inside.”

Not needing to be told twice, you followed hastily, only connected to Tae by your fingertips that clutched each other as he led the way.

A particularly violent gust had your shoulders hunching. You were nearly at the side of the stream, and so you kept your focus for a moment longer on the rocks in front of you, before at last your feet met the grassy floor.

But on looking up, the sight that greeted you on the bank had your mouth hanging open.

What looked like a bus was standing in front of you. Or what would have looked like a bus, if not for the fact that it was smiling.

But after the day you had had, you made no protest as Tae told you it was okay to get in, merely accepting your fate with an incredulous sigh.

Tae’s hand on the small of your back as you stepped inside didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you let it slide. It was nice to be out of the cold, so you busied yourself with getting cosy on the seats that ran down the sides of the interior.

A jolt announced your departure. Looking around, you found Totoro hadn’t joined you, but watched you leave from the bank instead.

Turning back to the scene in front of you, you were surprised to note that no wind touched your frozen skin any more, despite the fact the windows on this bus seemed to be… well, non-existent. Beside you, Tae was leaning out slightly with a giddy grin lighting up his face, hand splayed in the air.

With a smile creeping onto your own face, you resigned yourself to the unexpected journey. Folding your arms against the side, you too stared out across the sky.

The treetops were far beneath you now, your whole village visible though it looked toy-sized from here. Wisps of clouds flew close overhead while your vantage point showed the glaring sun peeking above the horizon, illuminating your face with the last of the day’s warmth.

A glance to Taehyung showed his face bathed in the glow as well, painting his skin with molten gold that danced in his eyes and streaked through his hair like brushstrokes.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Mindless to the risk of him catching you, you allowed your gaze to trail along his features, cast into striking light and shade. You longed to reach out, touch his hair. It looked indulgently soft, waving in a light breeze as you travelled.

All too soon, shadows were once again flitting over his cheeks as you were brought closer to the ground.

Awed smile remaining on his parted lips, he turned his face to you. Though you swallowed, you didn’t bother to look away, simply returning a smile. If possible, his seemed to soften even more at this.

Landing was softer than leaving the ground, barely a bump letting you know you were back on the earth. Since you sat down, lethargy had crept up on you, revealing how spent you were after the day outside.

Taehyung stood while you were still blinking groggily from your position laying on your arms.

“Come on,” a low chuckled accompanied the sliding of arms around you.

You complied, finding your feet and stepping out of the bus with a yawn. Without a moment to spare, the vehicle? creature? had leapt from the ground, soon whizzing out of sight.

Until you climbed the steps to Taehyung’s house, the cool air waking you sufficiently to slip off your shoes, you hadn’t noticed that your clothes had dried.

“They never stop with the surprises,” Taehyung’s low voice chuckled, making you look up.

You had been standing just inside the doorway, ogling your sleeves as if you might blink and find them soaking wet again in an instant. Meanwhile, Tae stood in the living room, one hand dug into a pocket as his other fingers slipped open the top button of his shirt with practised ease.

Gulping at the sight, you fixed your eyes back on his.

He simply smiled. Under one arm he gathered a blanket that had been strewn on the couch, but it was his free hand he held out to you, fingers outstretched, inviting.

Grateful, you stepped closer, inhaling the comforting scent of his home. You hadn’t noticed it before, but though your clothes were dry they still gave off the odour of river water, making the aroma of paints mingled with herbs and spices more prominent by contrast as you closed the space between you.

Hand closing around the offered blanket, you broke eye contact for the first time.

“This feels like a dream,” you murmured, head shaking lightly.

A beat of silence as Tae released his grip on the soft fabric, transferring it to your fingers.

“It does,” he whispered.

Had you looked up, you would have found his eyes still trained intently on you. So close, he bit his tongue, not trusting his voice further given the way his throat closed up, lending his deep voice more gravel than usual.

Stifling a yawn, you looked around, already pulling the blanket over your shoulders. Despite the quick journey and drying off, the chill of the outside lingered a little.

“Where do you want me?” you yawned.

Tae cleared his throat before he spoke, stepping away though he left his fingers tangled loosely with your own.

“The bedroom is fine, i-if you want to, that is,” he hastened to add, “we’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

While normally your manners would have you protest at least a little, you had to admit how sleepy you were becoming. It was impossible to deny that Tae had just proposed exactly what you wanted, and so you let him lead you to the bedroom, where you sunk onto the futon as he gathered some clothes from his wardrobe.

Folded beside you, you handled them with reverent fingers, slipping out of your clothes once Tae had excused himself for the bathroom.

You reversed your tasks once more before you found yourself bundled in comforting blankets, the weight next to you a steadying influence in the darkness. Though you longed to reach out for him, trace your fingertips over his skin, hold him close-

you really were just too tired.

And maybe it was testament to the security of his presence that you were unable to act on your desires, sleep claiming you strongly instead, taking you quicker than you had managed in months.

Waking up, however, was a different story.

While the exhaustion of yesterday had muffled any thoughts beyond wanting to sleep, today your mind was overflowing even as you first blinked at the pale light.

Beside you, Taehyung still lay sleeping. You were simultaneously aware of his peaceful beauty, and the panic with which you found yourself revelling in it. It seemed you had become a little too attached to him. Maybe this had all been a mistake…

Also in the back of your mind, though rapidly elbowing its way to the forefront, was the fact you hadn’t been home for an entire day. Your phone was still there; who knew how many work calls you might have missed?

Though you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to regret turning away from it, you couldn’t shake the itching responsibility to get back and see what mess awaited.

But at the same time, that terrified you beyond belief.

Most of all, however, your mind was swimming with colours. Shapes, snippets of designs floated in your brain. You weren’t sure when the last time that had happened was. You used to dream up your designs, when you were still beginning your career, desperate to create.

And though there were many scary things waiting for you, this revelation, this newfound desire to design again, lent your limbs new strength as you rolled from the bed.

Reclaiming your clothes from last night was first up; Tae had draped them over kitchen chairs to air out, but the smell lingered a little. It didn’t bother you too much, so you dressed quickly.

It was then that the soft creaking of floorboards caught your attention. You turned just in time to see Tae emerge from the bedroom, eyes barely cracked open while his lips were puffed out in an adorable pout, clearly only half-awake.

Stopping with an arm on the doorframe, hair flopping haphazardly around his face, he squinted across at you.

“Where are you going?” his low voice still rumbled in his throat, dry with disuse this morning.

Silently moving, you quickly padded across the floor towards him. None of the curtains were open yet, the watery morning light permeating the air tentatively.

In this dim space, you had the courage to lift your palms to press against his cheeks. On meeting his big eyes that stared across at you, you swallowed.

“There’s something I have to do,” you breathed, gaze skimming down his face as he watched you. Despite his bewildered state this early in the day, he was beginning to become more alert at your words.

Slowly, his fingers lifted to wrap gently around your wrist.

“Okay,” his voice remained husky, “but… you’ll come back?”

You tore your eyes from where they had focussed, without your consent, on his lips, to return his intent stare.

“Of course I will,” you whispered, mouth turning up at the corners.

For a moment, your breathing hitched. Such close distance between you two was becoming frequent, but you were far from used to it. Your cheeks still heated up, breath shallow as you savoured the softness of his skin under your hand.

Your eyes slid closed. In the relative darkness that encapsulated you, it was easy to think wishfully, imagine leaning closer in this timeless space where no one would see…

But then the moment passed, your hand slipping inconsequentially from his lingering grip.

Bringing your hand back to your side, you squeezed a smile his way and took a step backwards.

Then another.

He remained standing there as your pace sped up, and soon you were out of the door. As it closed behind you, you swore you could have seen a large pair of eyes blinking from between the trees.

Knowing what you did now, you couldn’t write it off, but neither did you pay any more attention, feeling a strange weightlessness as you trod the path to your house.

Going the short way this time, it didn’t take you long as you walked the tracks beside the glistening rice fields and farmland. Workers were already out, having risen with the sun which had fully emerged from the trees by now. As you passed, you exchanged nods and waves, smiling and giving good greetings to all you looked up at you.

Quiet fell again once you reached your road.

A nervous chill ran through you, but there was a thrill to it.

Approaching your house, you found two figures standing outside. With a frown, you drew closer.

“Auntie?” you called, making the women turn to you, “Mei?”

Mei’s warm face formed a friendly smile while your aunt beside her gawked. Recovering from her shook, she hurried to you, grasping your hands as your received her with confusion.

“Mei told me you were at Kim Taehyung’s? Is that true?”

With a glance to the old lady, you confirmed.

“That’s a relief,” your aunt laughed, “I came around yesterday to find you gone! You even left your phone!”

She was holding it out to you. Smiling weakly, you suddenly felt the weight of her watching you. Thankfully, Mei began to walk back towards her house, lessening your audience.

Sure enough, when you powered your phone on, it was instantly lighting up, ping after ping flooding your screen with notifications, calls and messages.

A frown made your aunt’s concern clear, but even you surprised yourself with your confidence as you simply grinned back.

“I have it under control,” you assured her, and walked up your steps to the door.

Inside, you took a breath, but could put it off no more. Beyond the fear of what you were about to do, lay the images of your home, the expansive fields and forests that had always been your source of inspiration. And now, a giant, friendly forest spirit-

And a hand, resting in yours.

The dial tone filled your ears, and you took a seat. Your notebook was still atop your desk, thrown aside to make way for your laptop, sat open with its screen dead. Nor had you disposed of your instant food wrappers-

“Y/N,” a stern voice crackled through the line. Your boss. “Where are those plans I asked you for?”

Though she couldn’t see you, you brought a smile to your face, summoned to lend you confidence.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised, already hearing the reprimand on her lips, “but something came up. And I… I have something to tell you.”

A sigh.

“Go on.”

“Well… I’ve been thinking. I appreciate all the opportunities I’ve had with this company, but I don’t think it’s taking me where I would like to go-“

“Y/N!” you weren’t sure you had ever heard so much emotion in your boss’ voice. Her voice rang with pure shock, “Do you mean to say-?”

“This is me, handing in my notice,” you spoke clearly, “thank you.”

Silence stretched out for longer than you could comfortably take. But, should you need to, you were ready to repeat yourself. Somewhere on the other line, you heard a muffled voice trying to get your boss’ attention, but it was soon gone again. You knew well the dismissive wave that person will have received.

“Very well,” she spoke at last.

And with that acceptance, you felt like you were floating.

There was a spring in your step even as you cleaned up the mess you had left behind, the whole time itching to get your hands on your pens and brushes.

You had quit. You had quit!

For so long, the notion would never have crossed your mind, the prospect of giving up too terrifying to consider. But you weren’t giving up, not at all. Maybe you were giving up on what you thought you wanted. Or what you had wanted, once upon a time, but now no longer fit you.

Instead of guilt or fear, you were filled with excitement. You knew what you wanted.

And you were halfway there.

This, however, was the easy part. No matter how hard it may be to rebuild your career, starting afresh, none of those obstacles scared you quite as much as the next thought to enter your mind.

Taehyung.

But you had promised him you would come back.

And perhaps one upheaval was enough for one day, you thought as you gathered your sketchbook, your paints. You could afford to hide from your feelings for a little longer, right?

You certainly couldn’t deny them, but you were afraid to admit them. Who knew what could happen then? You dared not hope for them being returned, and concluded to let yourself enjoy time with Tae for now.

After all, you were so excited to create, an almost alien passion that you were thrilled to welcome back.

And you could think of no one better to share this joy with. Taehyung was an artist too; he would understand.

Not far from Tae’s house, back past the open farmland, a familiar shape dominated the path in front of you. The sight of Totoro brought a smile to your face, reminding you of all the magic you had discovered in this place since you returned.

What you hadn’t quite expected was for them to be waiting for you. Unsure what to do, you settled for a quick bow and a quiet ‘hello’ as you continued.

Walking past the spirit, it just watched you for an extended moment before following along behind.

Taehyung was at the kitchen window when you arrived, and saw you coming. A boxy smile lit up his face before it disappeared from the window, emerging only seconds later in the doorway, a pair of paintbrushes clutched in his hand and dripping onto the porch. The day had bloomed into gorgeous full sun, and he held his hand up to shield his eyes from it as he watched you arrive.

A glance behind you confirmed Totoro was still following.

“They were standing around outside all morning,” Tae began talking, coming down the steps to meet you, “thought they wanted me to come into the forest, but when I tried, they walked even further down that way. What do you think’s got into them?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “but they seem happy enough now.”

Sure enough, Totoro had retreated a little further towards the treeline, still watching you both. For a moment, you and Tae both twisted around, looking back at the creature.

“Anyway…” you laughed.

Joining in, Tae led the way back inside, wiping his brushes against his trousers.

“Did you do what you needed to?” he asked, back facing you. The art supplies in your arms hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he was pulling out a chair to place next to his own setup.

“Yeah,” you hummed, setting your things down, “I, er- I quit my job.”

Brows lifting, Tae straightened up to face you. But his mouth soon slid into a bright smirk.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. You couldn’t keep your own beaming smile away from your face.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer.

“So you’re going to be around here for a while, then?”

“Yeah,” you smiled warmly, “I think I am.”

Over the next few hours, the image you had hoped for came to life. Sitting side by side, you and Tae both went about your works in pleasureable silence. Him, hidden behind an easel and periodically popping his head around it to survey they scenery, and you, meagre sketchbook propped on a cluttered desk.

It was perfect.

And finally, your creative energy was allowed to burst forth. For the first time since you were a student, you drew. And drew. And drew.

Pages seemed to fill themselves up, and if some thoughts were still unpolished, at least they were here, proof that you had never lost your spark, the spark which the fruitless toil of your old workplace had stamped out. Maybe you had just lost your way, temporarily.

And for that short afternoon, you were able to push all other thoughts from your mind. Especially those pertaining to a certain fluffy-haired artist with a boxy smile.

But even having half your worries settled was a relief.

That night, you returned home. Though you slept easier than the last time you were in this bed, you were ashamed of how much you longed for Tae’s presence next to you. Even when you had slept silently, barely touching save for the odd brush of an arm or leg when you rolled over, it was a grounding relief to have him there.

Luckily, you hadn’t even had to ask him yesterday if you could drop by again; he had leapt on the chance to invite you himself.

So you didn’t dwell on the way you reached out when you woke up, expecting to find a warm presence under the blankets with you. Instead, you happily climbed out of bed, ready to repeat your routine from yesterday.

This time, you at least brought some snacks along from your kitchen.

Today brought a large dose of d                         ja-vu along with it. Totoro was once again waiting for you, expectant. It took you off guard, but slipped your mind once you were back at Tae’s side, happily working for the remainder of the morning.

But Totoro didn’t give up. Those large eyes blinked through the window when the two of you went to prepare food.

“Do you want attention?” you chuckled, knowing you wouldn’t receive an answer.

“What do you say?” Tae’s low voice grew closer, “fancy a break outside?”

You were prevented from replying when his breath fell across your neck, causing you to stiffen. But he simply leaned over, hooking his chin lazily on your shoulder as he dropped another spoon into the sink where you were washing up.

“Y/N?” he frowned when met with your silence, small pout forming as he drew back to look at you.

You shook yourself.

“What? Oh, yes,” you tripped over your tongue, “that sounds great. Looks like Totoro would appreciate that too.”

With a laugh, Tae wiped his hands on a cloth.

“I’ll go get changed.”

Not long later, you were surrounded by trees, bathed now in deep shade that shielded you from the midday sun. Totoro had seemingly been satisfied by your attention, as they had followed you on your walk without protest.

Not that you were sure how they would protest if they wanted to, but your point stands.

It was strange how accustomed you were to the spirit by now, no longer staring over your shoulder at the creature. Instead, you were preoccupied by Tae as he ran, giggling, towards a tree with the perfect low-hanging branches for climbing.

By the time you had reached him, he was dangling, sloth-style, so that he was level with your head. His grin was just as goofy upside-down, and you swatted at his soft hair as it hung off his reddening face.

“Budge up,” you grinned, trying to hoist yourself up as well.

You had succeeded in getting onto the first branch when Totoro appeared by the base of the tree. Smiling down at them, you waited for Tae to clamber up to the next bough.

The moment you looked back to him, however, you felt a strange tug, shrieking when you found no branch below your feet. Looking about wildly, your feet flailed, scrabbling for any kind of purchase.

From where he hung onto a branch, Taehyung looked down sharply in a panic, but instead found you level with him.

Wide eyes stared at one another until the same feeling clutched at Tae, stomach dropping as he was miraculously lifted from his perch.

A look behind you showed Totoro still right there, also floating. One arm was holding you, Tae’s hand clutching the other. As you blinked in mute shock at the spirit, they opened their mouth, stretching into a wide grin. Laughter floated past your lips at the sight.

Somehow, you dodged the branches crossing your path as you ascended, though they grew sparser as you carried on upwards. Unlike your journey in the bus, you could feel a breeze coursing past you now.

Gaping in disbelief, you found Tae again, reaching out to him. Your expression was mirrored on his, and he eagerly entwined your free hands, smile softening as you were brought closer in the air.

And as you floated high above the ground, you somehow felt little difference than the way you always did when Tae was beside you, hand resting in your own.

You laughed again, a sound of pure joy, forgetting the spirit carrying you as you simply watched his eyes. Among the cool breeze, you felt a slight tickle of warmth from his breath.

As you watched, his smile slowly melted from his lips, captivated instead by your stare, though he looked no less peaceful.

But just as distant hills could be revealed beyond the thinning leaves, you felt a warm hold loosening around you. You hadn’t even noticed it, but now it was retracting, you could feel the spirit’s magic clearly and panicked. In an instant, you had grabbed the nearest branch, which was surprisingly sturdy.

In your rush, your hand had slipped from Tae’s, but a shudder of the branch told you he had also caught hold of it.

The calming magic slipped away completely.

Now clutching the tree for dear life, you looked down, but Totoro was nowhere to be seen. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sucked in a deep breath. Then, with a surge of energy, you swung further onto the branch, ignoring the way it lurched, to give you a steadier sitting place.

“You alright?” you panted.

Only a grunt answered you as Tae copied your action.

As he righted himself, you caught an uneasy wobble in his expression, instinctively holding out a hand.

“Come here.”

Gladly taking it, Taehyung’s shoulders lowered, easing a bit once you were connected. Waiting for him, you shimmied a short distance to rest where the branch met the trunk. On reaching you, Tae pressed closer, shoulder up against your own.

Smiling fondly, you twisted so you could reach your arms around him loosely.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, though you had no idea what had just happened.

“Not a fan of heights,” he murmured, but his deep voice did not seem panicked.

“At least it’s pretty,” you pointed out, nudging him the smallest amount to avoid toppling.

You were right. Between picture frames formed by intertwining branches, the land stretched out in the brilliant light. The same land that had always inspired you. How could you bring yourself to be irritated at Totoro for bringing you here?

“You seem remarkably calm,” a chuckle rumbled through Tae’s chest.

“I’m not sure anything else can surprise me now.”

He smiled, turning towards you. In this position, though, you were intimately close, his nose barely an inch from your own once he had twisted to look into your eyes. Inhaling sharply, you gripped the tree trunk harder.

“Why do you think they brought us here?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, not trusting your voice, “but they wouldn’t hurt us.”

“I know that,” Taehyung nodded, gaze dropping enough for you to deflate again.

Still holding onto each other like it was the most natural thing, you eyed the landscape for a little while longer, allowing quiet to elapse.

But this proximity wasn’t doing you any favours. Though you were sure Tae was oblivious, your heart was beating erratically, unable to forget his presence. All the thoughts that had occupied you lately were flooding in, except this time there was no escape.

Literally.

You were stuck in this tree next to the man who drove you crazy any time he looked your way. The man you were dying to spend time with the moment you woke up each day. The man who accepted you, supported you, reminded you where your true passion lay.

No, you couldn’t take this.

“Hey,” a low voice brushed your earlobe, just moments before a gentle finger found your chin, bringing it up.

You had barely noticed your gaze falling from the view in front of you while you lost yourself in useless circles of thought. Now, you couldn’t look away as shining dark eyes captivated your own.

“What are you thinking about?” Taehyung asked, lips curving upwards.

Licking your lips, you tore your eyes away. This was too much for your poor heart.

“Y/N?” he ducked to catch your eyes, brow creasing.

You were too weak for this boy. As soon as you saw the slight displeasure on his face, you longed to chase it away.

You sighed.

“You…”

Nearly as quiet as the breeze, you half hoped your admission would be carried away. But as you bit your tongue, daring to look up, you knew Tae had heard. His smile grew, though he tilted his head questioningly.

“What about me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you grinned, looking away again. This was too risky. Maybe he would buy the joke and drop it before you made a fool of yourself-

“I was thinking about you too.”

You blinked.

“You were?”

He hummed, not a trace of insincerity in his large eyes as he nodded.

“Well…” you picked subconsciously at your sleeve, “what were you thinking about?”

“Nosy,” he griped, taking a light swipe at your nose with his forefinger.

Succeeding in bringing a smile to your face as you jerked your head away with a laugh, he sighed, shuffling closer indetectably.

“I was wondering… maybe Totoro did this because of you-“ just as you gaped indignantly, he hurried on “-because of us. They put us up here… together.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you nodded, brow furrowing.

“But even if- if that’s not the case…”

Taehyung trailed off, bringing your attention back to him. He wet his lips, sucking his lower one between worrying teeth before meeting your eyes again.

“We’re alone and, well… I was wondering what it would be like to kiss you.”

That knocked all the air out of your lungs. You sucked a shaky breath, then out.

“What it would be like?” you echoed.

He nodded, gulping.

And then something snapped. Unable to stand it anymore, you slid your hand to his jaw, the next moment surging forwards, lips colliding desperately.

His arms tugged you closer instantly, pulling you against him, fingers grasping at your waist hungrily as he titled his head to meet you. And heaven, it felt amazing. His lips were as soft as they looked, leaving you lapping at them with desire as his caressed yours just as dreamily, simultaneously intense with longing pressure and gentle with reverence.

Caving to him completely, you let yourself mould to his embrace. The flowing wind around you, the rustling of the leaves were utterly driven from your mind by the maddening nudge of his tongue, prompting you to deepen the kiss.

But though your fingers still clutched his jaw desperately, you were forced to break the kiss, falling away giddy and breathless.

Tae lifted a hand to your hair as well, stroking it soothingly as he pulled you close again, foreheads touching.

“Well…” you were the first to recover your voice, “I think it would feel something like that.”

A smile burst onto his face, dominating your vision, no doubt a copy of your own ecstatic grin.

Almost immediately, a strong wind ripped through the treetops. Wiping the smile from your face, you gripped tighter to both the tree and to Taehyung.

He looked around.

Following his gaze, sure enough, you were met with two large eyes staring innocently back at you.

A beat consisted of you blinking at one another in silence, before a gasping laugh burst from your mouth. Clapping a hand over it, you met Tae’s eyes, also finding him dissolve into laughter that creased his eyes.

“Looks like you were right,” you chuckled as the warm magic began to lift you once again.

“You were just waiting for us to confess!” Tae cried.

But the wide smile on his face as he pulled you closer mid-flight showed he was far from outraged.

That night saw you tumbling at last into the same bed as Tae again. You didn’t want to leave, and you never had to.

Over time, you moved in, your own things settling among the paintings, brushes and pots that filled Tae’s house. Your house.

Every day you would see the trees, feel the wind through your hair and the sun glowing between the forest branches – the very place where you had finally given into the love binding you.

And you drew. You drew and drew, and designed until you were making a name in your own right. People would ask you about the distinctive round creatures that commonly featured in your designs. Of course, you would always laugh, a familiar sound that you shared with your boyfriend, keeping the unofficial secret between yourselves.

The two of you knew, not only the forest spirits, but the dust bunnies and flurries of wind that snaked through the roof timbers on the coldest nights. And then, you could always be assured of a warm presence beside you, to hold you through the night.

But above all, you got to see that glorious smile every day, never fading from your life.

You could breathe again.

Thank you for reading! If you want more, there is a follow up drabble here. Come chat with me if you enjoyed it!

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