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findingjoynweirdstuff · 4 years

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Dream SMP Recap (January 24/2021) - The Eggpire Makes Its Move

Today is the day of the Egg!

Fundy returns and theorizes a possible connection between the Crimson and Dreamons, the Eggpire exposes Tommy to the Crimson for the first time, and Sam runs into a bit of trouble at the end.

Meanwhile, Puffy is caught in the middle of everything, wondering what she’s to do about all of this.

Also, Tales From the SMP continued with a new episode set in the far future!

As usual, a short summary of the week’s total events is at the end of this post.

---

- HBomb hosts Badboyhalo and Captain Puffy’s episode of L’Cast!

- Fundy comes online after a short break! He is intensely confused by everything, especially the Blood Vines.

- Fundy speaks with Puffy, who starts filling him in on what’s going on with the Egg.

- Fundy goes around graffitiing the Eggpire propaganda like Ranboo did.

- Puffy leads Fundy to Church Prime to get hazmat suits to visit the Egg.

- They go down to the spider spawner. Fundy starts hearing Ranboo screaming. Tubbo has learned how to weaponize Catmaid HBomb against him.

- Puffy shows Fundy the Egg. A new Egg has appeared on top of the first one...

- Fundy realizes that he recognizes the room. Back in the second Dreamon Hunter stream, where they recruited Sapnap, he’d told Badboyhalo to dig out the room for a Dreamon Hunter base.

Tubbo didn’t think Bad should be involved, though, so they ended up leaving him out of it to continue digging the room anyway.

Fundy suspects the Egg...May be connected to a Dreamon taking advantage of Bad.

- Puffy shows him the Eggpire meeting place. Fundy thinks that Bad has gone bad.

- Ranboo comes by and Fundy and Puffy try to get his attention, but he doesn’t seem to notice them. He just keeps walking, picking up grass blocks and placing them elsewhere. Both of them are surprised.

- Puffy makes eye contact with him and suddenly she can’t move. Ranboo then disappears.

- Fundy starts creating a conspiracy cork board in the museum trying to figure out how everything that’s been going on could connect, from Ranboo to Badboyhalo to Dream in the prison to Glatt, Phil...everything.

- Puffy fills Fundy in on what he missed in the Finale. Fundy is shocked to learn of Schlatt’s book and Dream losing two lives.

Puffy tells Fundy that Dream’s now stuck in the prison.

- Fundy gives his hypothesis on how everything connects.

Dream cheating on Fundy is connected to Schlatt is connected to George not logging on which is connected to the nukes which are connected to Charlie which is connected to red which is connected to the Egg and BBH.

Red is the key.

And red + blue = green, which is why Dream is involved!

And Techno?

THIS IS THE POTATO WAR SEQUEL.

IT’S BEEN THE POTATO WAR THIS ENTIRE TIME.

- Fundy makes a BBH diss track.

- Tommy comes online. For some reason, where are a bunch of random grass blocks clogging up his room.

- Tommy goes to Sam Nook, who informs him about the red Egg and its danger to his construction plans.

- Fundy confronts Tommy as well and tells him about the red that’s been spreading around.

- Tommy finds Antfrost at the mansion. His eyes have gone pink.

- They speak. Antfrost tells Tommy about the Eggpire and asks if he would like to join.

- Bad comes over without his disguise on. Tommy notices it and he quickly puts on the disguise.

- Tommy asks Bad about the Egg, who also says it’s very great.

- Antfrost repeatedly speaks in Standard Galactic, sending cryptic messages about the Egg and Tommy’s fate being sealed.

- The Eggpire members attempt to bring Tommy under the influence of the Crimson by exposing him to the Egg’s effects in the Egg chamber. Though the Crimson upsets Tubbo greatly, Tommy is left unaffected by it, meaning he is like Punz and Sam and possibly resistant to its effects.

He doesn’t hate it nor love it, but is simply neutral.

- Sam Nook comes to the rescue and Tommy and Tubbo escape the Eggpire before long.

- Sam Nook orders Tommy to destroy the Reverse Coaster before he can continue with the construction of the hotel.

- Ranboo and Techno go exploring together. Ranboo uses his newfound powers to get a spawner and some cake.

---

It’s time for Tales From the SMP: “The Lost City of Mizu!”

Four average fishermen, hundreds of years in the future, who have heard the events of present-day SMP as folklore, stumble across some evidence that leads them to believe these old stories may be real...

---

The Cast:

Karl’s character’s name is Isaac.

Dream’s character’s name is Ranbob.

Bad is Benjamin.

Ranboo is Charles.

Quackity is Cletus.

---

- There’s a book left at their front door, telling them of stories that have been passed down from generation to generation.

There’s a lost underwater city that could hold information about the history of this world.

Signed,

- They hop into boats to travel to the coordinates.

- They reach the Lost City. There’s a welcome book there that speaks of the “Great Disc Wars” of the past.

- They find a strange man in the underwater city who comes to greet them.

- Ranbob tells them about how he’s been so lonely down here alone.

- He leads them to the Community Room. There’s a hallway that leads to a locked door, and Ranbob doesn’t know where the key is.

- Ranbob shows them the Cafeteria. He’s been stuck down there so long, his memory isn’t very good.

- There’s a room with a mural full of George portraits. Ranbob tells them the tale of George: greatest king to ever rule during the Disc Wars. The longest-reigning king over the SMP, as proven by the pictures found all over the ancient area.

Eret was the tyrant who tried to take over with an iron fist, killing George.

- There’s another chamber dedicated to a man named Ranboo. Ranbob is a descendant of Ranboo on his mother’s side, and his ancestors were the Book-keepers. The people with the best memories who wrote down the history books to know what happened. Ranboo was the greatest of scholars, a writer who documented everything. His memory was supreme.

- Isaac finds a key to Sapnap’s room, the room of the great warrior.

- Sapnap was a brute with a love of pets who started the great Pet War over his defense of them. There’s a historic axe reminiscent of the ones used to cut down Ponk’s Great Tree. He apparently had many wives.

- They find an abandoned farm. Someone poisoned the soil long ago.

- The people of Mizu held a Council meeting on their decreasing food supply.

- Bob leads them to the power room.

- Next, they enter the room of Fundy. The residents of Mizu were unsure if Fundy was a pet or a person. Perhaps Tommy’s pet?

- They find a key to the Quackity room.

- Ranbob says his memory has been damaged after years of loneliness and torment. For some reason he’s carrying TNT.

- Quackity was incredibly stupid, but very nice. A nudist bard who pranked other members of the server, who idolized Skeppy. He kept to his optimism despite all the chaos that surrounded him, perhaps because he was too dumb to understand the tragedy of what was happening.

- Next is Skeppy’s room. Skeppy had some type of poisoning that made him bright blue, so rich his skin was diamond-coated. He may have been married to Badboyhalo. He may have turned yellow.

- Badboyhalo’s room looks a little similar to the Crimson...Bad was a powerful magician and prolific swearer.

- The next room is a bit of a mystery. There’s an ancient cartoon on the TV. This character’s room needs access to the water. One moment he seems important, the next he’s nowhere to be found.

- Next is the Tubbo room, full of beehives and honey, and an ancient picture of a revolution on the wall. Tubbo was one of the great Manburg Warriors, a leader whose greatest follower was Tommy. Directly upstairs from Tubbo’s room is Tommy’s, who was married to his wife, the Queen.

Tommy liked to collect damaged plates with holes in the middle.

- Ranbob leads them to the Tree Dome Room. In it is a great tree, some swings, and a little wooden bench with a jukebox beside it. Ranbob goes missing.

- Ranbob returns and burns the tree after Cletus climbs it. Cletus burns to death. People don’t live after coming here...Ranbob blows himself up.

- There may be a way to survive, but no one ever returns from the City of Mizu.

- There’s a room full of lava and parkour. Benjamin is chosen to traverse it. Isaac gives “Benji” a kiss first. He doesn’t make it out alive. Isaac attempts it next. He makes it and obtains the final room key.

- Dream’s room.

- Ranbob appears in the doorway.

Ranbob: “Everybody here had an idol that they worshipped...and mine was Dream.”

Isaac: “Was Dream a good man?”

Ranbob: “...Yes...Yes, he was a very good man...depending on what you think ‘good’ is. Nobody...Nobody leaves here.”

- Ranbob kills them both, ending it.

...

- Karl is in his library, writing the tale...of the Lost City of Mizu. He puts the book and its poster in their place.

- He then writes the first entry of his diary.

Every time he travels, he forgets a little more. Maybe one day he’ll forget who he is entirely. He wonders if he should stop, but decides he must keep going, attempt to right some wrongs and steer the world in the correct path.

Don’t forget who you are.

---

- Bad comes online, thinking about the events of earlier. He’s surprised that Tommy, while NOT immune to the Egg, is neutral to it.

- Bad plans to carve a tunnel all the way to the Egg so that the Egg’s influence can flow unobstructed, hopefully speeding up the growth of the Vines.

- They planned to feed Tommy to the Egg, but it didn’t seem to be working.

- Bad and Antfrost confront Sam. Sam is fed up with the two of them getting muddled in the Egg business and wants them to put a stop to it. Sam Nook was acting on Sam’s orders.

As an affiliate to both Tommy and Tubbo through their building projectts, Sam has a personal reason to be upset with the Egg. Sam doesn’t want Tommy’s mental state deteriorating because he’s set to get a share of the profits of the hotel.

- Puffy is horrified that Bad would take children down to the Egg without hazmat suits.

- Antfrost’s eyes have gone full red.

- Bad tries to convince Sam that his priorities are backwards.

Bad: “Sometimes, in order to become a hero, you have to start off as a villain.”

- Bad insists that they need the Egg as a uniting force. Something that everyone can agree upon that it’s a bad thing, so that they can all come together to fight it as one.

- Sam is furious at the suggestion that Tommy needs to go. He’s aware of the things that Dream did to Tommy in exile because Dream’s been telling him.

- Finally, Bad gives in and agrees that the Egg has been influencing him too much. He asks Sam to put all his stuff in a chest. Sam refuses, but agrees to give his pickaxes to Antfrost.

- He leads Sam to stand in the middle of the Meeting Room. He gives Sam a hug and presses a button that opens a door directly beneath him, shooting Sam down into the Egg Room, right on top of it. They lock him in there until he learns to love it and attempt to kill Puffy.

Sam fell right into the obsidian objects that had appeared on top of the Egg, now trapped in it. Bad poked holes in there so that he could be infected through it.

- Puffy is horrified, saying that Bad is starting to sound like Dream. She runs to the Holy Land.

Puffy: “Everyone I care about’s getting locked up somewhere!”

- The two of them lead Puffy to the Egg.

- Puffy tries and fails to convince them that she’s come under the Egg’s control. They don’t fall for it and give her a ten second headstart to start running. Puffy escapes.

- Puffy makes it to the safe room. She needs to speak with Fundy and get things back under control. She digs a tunnel and starts making a new cork board to try and remember all the lines she and Fundy made to connect everything.

- Puffy is horrified at the idea of the Dreamons being involved. Is Dream connected to this too?

- Puffy writes an entry in the Captain’s Log. She’s done being a knight. It means nothing.

Puffy: “It’s time for anarchy. It’s time for the people, not for the factions.”

- She goes to the Crater to think of all the memories that had been wiped away. How did it come to this?

Puffy: “I’d rather have had Dream than this. At least Dream knew his limits sometimes.”

- She plans on trying to set Sam free tomorrow and perhaps seek out Technoblade eventually.

---

Upcoming Events:

- Everyone and their mom wants to visit Dream at some point

- Nuclear weapons test (January 26th)

---

END OF WEEK RECAP:

1/18: Founding of the Syndicate, Hannah joins the server, Eggpire propaganda

1/19: HBomb leaves home, Tommy’s last night, Punz’s discovery

1/20: SEASON TWO FINALE

1/21: Snowchester declares independence, Tommy’s visit with Dream

1/22: Slimecicle joins the server

1/23: The Fever Dream Episode, start of the capitalism plot

1/24: The Eggpire attacks, Tales From the SMP: “The Lost City of Mizu”

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #dream smp end of week recaps #long posts

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spacesuitsforemergency · 4 years

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Bug Bros

Word Count: 2.4k

Requested by @lina-lovebug: Jaime Reyes x Parker! Fem! Reader? They both have a cruch on eachother and Tye and Ed and Barr tease him a lot about it, and always wonder why he doesn't just ask her out. Jaime just doesn't want to start a long distance since she lives in New York, but when she becomes part of the Young leaguers, now he has no excuse. They go out on a first date, which ends abrupt cuz his friends ended up following him. She kisses him anyway and he walks her back to Mt. Justice.

“Dude, staring at her isn’t gonna do anything.” Eduardo snickered at Jaime.

“There’s this thing called talking, you should try that with her.” Tye shook his head as he tossed the guys a soda, sitting down in the Mount Justice lounge with them.

“Shut up, guys!” Jaime groaned, face burning red.

You and your teammates, Peter Parker and Sam Alexander, were here in Rhode Island on official S.H.I.E.L.D business. This wasn’t your first visit here, so nobody was surprised when none of you had really paid attention to the debriefing back at S.H.I.E.L.D (as per usual), so the trip was taking longer than expected (as per usual). Your twin brother, Peter, was currently trying to work out some sort of deal with Black Canary, you and Sam were not listening. You were both bored, and eventually snuck off to the lounge, where some of the Outsiders were chilling.

“Guys mind if we crash here?” Sam asked them, sitting down next to Bart without an answer.

“Sure.” Tye mumbled sarcastically at him.

“So what do you guys do to avoid meetings around here?” You asked as you leaned against the back of the couch behind Jaime, eyes on the tv, which was currently playing Remember the Titans. Jaime’s eyes widened and he stiffened with how close you were to him, and his friends noticed.

“Usually just run the other direction.” Bart said through a mouthful of chips.

“What’s your meeting about, anyways?” Eduardo asked.

You and Sam both shrugged.

“How many times do we have to visit you guys for you to know we never know what’s going on?” You grinned.

“Yeah, we just follow Web Heads lead.” Sam stole a handful of chips from Bart. “It’s funny how you think we take our job seriously.”

Everyone looked at the both of you, concerned.

“We’re kidding, we take it seriously.” You reassure them. “Just nothing to do with...business meetings.”

“Nova! H/N! Get back here!” Spider Man ordered you. Sam rolled his eyes and took one last handful of chips before putting his helmet on and flying over.

“See ya later, Bug Bro.” You ruffled Jaime’s hair before shooting a web and swinging back over. Jaime’s face was now bright red, and he was clutching his soda can so tight his knuckles turned white. Eduardo and Tye started snickering at him, Jaime throwing his empty soda can at them in retaliation It didn’t affect either of them the way Jaime wanted it to, and they kept laughing at him.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Bart asked.

“Because.” Jaime crossed his arms and pouted.

“It’s a simple resolution, dude.” Tye picked up the soda can and tossed it back at him teasingly.

“Just ask her out, amigo!” Eduardo shouted a little too loud. Thankfully, you were too busy getting scolded by Black Canary and Batman to hear. “She obviously likes you, and even a deaf and blind man would know you like her!”

“I can’t ask her out, guys!” Jaime snapped at them, now actually angry. Now they stopped laughing and looked at him, concerned.

“Dude, whats up?” Tye asked his best friend.

“Looks, she lives all the way in New York. I live in El Paso.” Jaime sighed. “There’s no way it would work.”

“But you’re mostly here.” Bart tried to reassure him. “Rhode Island isn’t too far from New York.”

“Asami lives in Japan, we still make it work.” Tye added.

“Asami doesn’t live in Japan. She moved here last week. Don’t think I don’t remember.” Jaime mumbled.

“But before that we had a long distance thing.”

“For like a month while she sorted stuff out with her parents.” Jaime scoffed. “Y/N lives in New York. She’s not moving anytime soon.”

“So...you like her, but you’re not willing to even give long distance a try?” Eduardo raised an eyebrow.

“Well that makes me sound like el huevón, dude!” Jaime snapped. “Look, it just won’t work, okay? Would you guys just drop it?”

The boys all glanced at each other, shocked at Jaime’s outburst. He was always so chill, would hardly even yell at villains, so they almost didn’t recognize him when he was angry. Even Tye didn’t, and he’s known the guy since middle school.

“What’s the ups, dudes? Change the channel, games on.” Virgil waltzed in, snatching the remote from the coffee table.

Virgil didn’t notice the tense atmosphere until his team scored, and he went to high five Jaime, and didn’t get a response.

“Uhh...don’t leave me hangin, bro!” Virgil said, then finally looked at the other boys’ faces. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Jaime grumbled, getting up and walking out to the balcony.

“What’s his deal?” Virgil asked. “I didn’t think it was physically possible for him to be angry...”

“I’ll go talk to him.” Tye rushed after Jaime.

He walked out to the balcony, Jaime sitting on the rail and mumbling to himself, something he often did when he was nervous. Tye would often catch him doing this before math tests or trying a complicated skateboard trick.

“Talk to me, man.” Tye leaned against the railing, resting his chin on his hand.

“I really like her.” Jaime said, just above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you can either tell her and try, or never tell her and miss your chance forever.” Tye said nonchalantly, staring out at the city.

“Wow. That makes me feel better.” Jaime chuckled.

“Hey, you can always count on me to be real with you.” Tye nudged him lightly.

“That I can.” Jaime playfully shoved him.

“So? What are you gonna do?” Tye raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure yet.”

•

“Bug Bro!” You shouted, before jumping onto Jaime’s back. He yelped, quickly straightening up and holding onto the backs of your legs to keep you up.

“Warn me next time?” He asked, grinning up at you and you leaned over his shoulder to see his face.

“Sorry.” You laughed, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I have news, bro.”

“What is it, bro?” He asked as he continued making his way towards the kitchen for some lunch.

“Fury gave the green light, I’m joining the Outsiders!” You beamed excitedly.

“What? Really?” Jaime asked, eyes widening in shock.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be a counselor too.” You smiled.

“Why aren’t you staying in New York?” He asked as you hopped off his back and walked next to him.

“I need a change of scenery.” You shrugged. “Some space from my brother. I love him and all, but he never lets me do a lot on missions. Thinks I’ll get hurt or whatever.”

“Is it permanent?” He asked curiously.

“Nothings permanent, Jaime.” You giggled. “But maybe. I do want to help people more directly. I love my team but I just don’t have that kind of opportunity with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Yeah...S.H.I.E.L.Ds kinda scary.” Jaime rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I’m glad to have you on the team, Y/N.”

“Now I’ll be with my Bug Bro all the time!” You grinned, elbowing him playfully.

“Yeah! Totally.” He grinned nervously.

•

“Dude, what do I even say?” Jaime hyperventilated as he paced back and forth in front of Bart and Tye.

Tye and Bart didn’t really get along, they tolerated each other, but thy weren’t best buds. But when Jaime needed help, they would stop the bickering and work together.

“You got the hard part over with.” Tye shrugged. “She said yes to the date.”

“I know. I thought that was the hard part, turns out it’s not.” Jaime said as he checked himself in the mirror for the thousandth time. “Now I gotta actually make sure she likes me?”

“Well...Yeah?” Bart blinked at his homie. “Dude, just be yourself.”

“But a little less nervous.” Tye added.

“And maybe stop sweating.” Bart nodded.

“Quit worrying about your hair, it hasn’t moved since 2008.”

“Try to flirt a little more.”

“But not too much, you don’t want to come off as an idiot.”

“But you said be myself! None of those things is myself!” Jaime shouted at his friends.

“Be yourself...but calm.” Bart instructed.

“How am I supposed to be calm? I-“

“Dude! You’re late!” Tye yelled when he saw the time, 7 minutes past when Jaime was supposed to leave to pick you up.

“Shit!” Jaime snatched his keys from the dish on the side table. “See you guys later! But what if I mess this up-“

“Go!” Tye and Bart both yelled. Jaime stuck his tongue out at ten before rushing out to his car.

Bart and Tye sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, blankly staring at the tv.

“Wanna follow him?” Bart grinned.

“Oh yeah.” Tye nodded. “Let me call for reinforcements.”

•

“...and then Danny punched a hole trough the wall and hit Sam on accident.” You giggled as you finished a story about your teammates.

“Isn’t Danny supposed to be the chill one?” Jaime chuckled.

“Apparently.” You shrugged. “To be fair, he had a reason to be mad.”

“I suppose. So-“ Jaime opened his mouth to ask another question, but froze when he saw something: a few tables back and on the row across from them, he saw Tye, Bart, Eduardo and Virgil wearing sunglasses, fake mustaches and their hoods. He instantly glared at them, motioning discreetly for them to leave.

“What are you-?” You turned to look where he was.

“Wait Wait Wait!” Jaime shouted, a little too loudly, gaining the attention of several other customers. He smiled nervously and cleared his throat. “Um...you mentioned earlier a time when Sam crash landed into the White House?”

“Oh yeah!” You laughed, and began the story.

Jaime wanted to pay attention, he really did, but he couldn’t take his focus off his idiot friends. First of all he couldn’t believe Tye agreed to the ‘disguises’. Second of all, he couldn’t believe they were spying on him! Had they no regard for privacy and personal space?? Okay, so, maybe he did believe it.

‘Jaime Reyes, I advise you to focus on the Y/N Parker. She may grow angry if she discovers you are not listening. Shall I activate and obliterate the Tye Longshadow, Bart Allen, Eduardo Dorado Jr and Virgil Hawkins so you may focus properly on the Y/N Parker’s story?’ The Scarab asked.

“No! No obliteration!” Jaime mumbled.

“Is the Scarab talking to you?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, sorry. He’s been yapping in my ear, it’s hard to concentrate.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Oh. Well, we can leave if you want.” You smiled and waved over the waitress for the check.

“Please, let me.” Jaime set down his credit card before you could even open your wallet.

“Come on, you drove us here.” You sigh as the waitress took his credit card.

“It’s no trouble, really.” He shook his head. “It’s my fault this is ending so abruptly, it’s the least I can do.”

Once the waitress came back with his card he led to back out to his car, glaring at his friends as you passed the table. They all snickered, quickly paying their bill and piling into Virgil’s car.

“Where’d they go?” Bart asked as he leaned forward, between Virgil and Tye.

“Uh...there!” Eduardo pointed ahead. “¡Dale!”

Virgil stepped on it, following close behind Jaime’s black car. Tye looked at his phone when a text alert went off, seeing a text from Jaime: Quit following me! You’re all dead!

Tye just snickered, before responding with: wow, texting and driving? Not cool, man.

They followed Jaime’s car all the way back to Mount Justice, Eduardo and Bart bickering as they tried to see between the front seats, shoving each other. Virgil parked far behind them, just close enough to be able to see.

You were clueless to the car full of idiots as Jaime walked you up to the entrance. Jaime was well aware, and worried that you would notice them.

‘Jaime Reyes, get her inside quick. Once the door shuts we shall obli-‘

“Scarab, Stop!” Jaime scolded.

“He’s still chatty?” You giggled at Jaime as you reached the doors.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You can’t help that the alien parasite attached to you is talkative.” You smile up at him, making him laugh. “Uh...I had a really good time. Even if it was cut short.”

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled back at you, equally as nervous and awkward.

You both stood there for a few moments, not sure what to do next.

“What are they doing?” Eduardo asked as he shoved Batt aside to see better.

“They’re just standing there.” Virgil shook his head. “Is this dude really not smooth at all?”

“Trust me, hasn’t been smooth ever since we were kids.” Tye shook his head. “Doesn’t have a smooth bone in his body.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure your bones are smooth-Ow! What?” Bart rubbed his arm where Eduardo punched him.

“Come on, Jaime, do something.” Virgil groaned, starting to get second hand embarrassment for the guy.

Jaime knew he wanted to kiss you, but was it what you wanted? Would you yell at him? Not return it? Never lack to him ever again? Luckily, his anxious thoughts were interrupted when you suddenly craned your neck up to be able to press your lips to his. It was a quick peck on the lips, just to test the waters. He pulled you in for another kiss, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to lift yourself up a little higher.

“Finally!” Tye shouted, probably loud enough for the both of you to hear if you weren’t so busy.

“Oh, gross! I said kiss, not suck face!” Virgil pretended to gag.

“Dang, they’re really going at it.” Bart mumbled.

“You guys ruin the mood.” Eduardo shook his head. “Is this what it’s like to date you?”

“First of all, watching someone suck face is way different than sucking face.” Tye said.

“Quit saying ‘suck face’.” Eduardo cringed.

“Second of all, I am a delight to date.”

“Ha!” Virgil snorted, then slapped his hand over his mouth when Tye sent him a death glare. “I mean...yeah dude, who wouldn’t date you? You’re just so...lovely.”

“Uh...guys...Jaime’s coming for us.” Bart warmed.

“Crap! Start the car! Start the car!” Eduardo shrieked as Jaime activates his Blue Beetle suit, flying at them with the thirst for revenge in his eyes.

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blursed-ninjago-ideas · 4 years

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To the two people that care about this~

(Fate/Ninjago)

Now that everyone that doesn’t care is gone, let’s get tot rambling!

You know what? I decided the best way to do this is to just post the fic I started.

He knew something didn’t go right the moment he saw red.

Smoke cleared and instead of the legendary green ninja, Len saw a boy he didn’t recognize wielding a golden sword.

“Who has summoned me?” the boy asked.

Or maybe he should be called a man? He seemed to be on the edge between the two. Either way he was older than Len. It didn’t matter who he was, what mattered was that he wasn’t who Len was trying to summon.

“You’re not the green ninja.” Len said flatly.

He made no effort to disguise his disappointment and distaste.

The servant in red narrowed his eyes harshly. He had a light scar over his face and all the marks of a seasoned warrior. Len knew he hadn’t gotten a total dud, but still was trying to figure out where in the world he went wrong.

“Of course I’m not.” What was clearly a Saber servant scoffed, sheathing his glowing weapon on his back and crossing his arms.

“I was trying to summon the green ninja.” Len said with confrontation in his voice.

Saber looked Len up and down then snorted in something akin to disgust.

“You’re not worthy of summoning Lloyd.” He said, with a bite to his words.

“How dare you! Do you know who I am?” Len demanded.

“Do you know who I am?” Saber retorted effortlessly.

Len grunted in frustration. Just his luck he’d gotten such an indigent servant. He toyed with the idea of using a command seal right then and there.

“I am Len Garmadon, I am a descendant of the green ninja. I share his blood. I can think of nothing ‘worthier’ then that.” Len said snidely.

“You didn’t answer me.” Saber said, showing no other reaction.

Hands finding their way into his hair, Len let out another frustrated groan. He bet Haruki wasn’t having these problems.

“No. I don’t know who you are. Would you care to enlighten me?” Len tried, being as civil as he could, but still sounding condescending.

Saber gave another dismissive sound.

“So, you don’t recognize me, but you think you’re worthy of summoning Lloyd? No wonder you failed.” Saber said.

Len growled.

“I’ll be back when you call my name, until then, you’re not worth my time.” Saber said before disappearing into his noncorporeal form.

“HEY! You can’t do that! SABER!” Len yelled.

Saber didn’t respond to the name of his class, so Len assumed he was meant to call Saber’s true name. But how could he do that when Saber never told him? It was clearly a test; one Len didn’t have the patience for. At this rate Haruki was going to win the Grail while he was stuck arguing with his stupid servant!

He could use a command seal, but he only had three and he got the feeling that his servant would refuse to appear without him using them until he fulfilled the silly request. So, he had to figure out what servant he’d summoned in place of his ancestor.

Len took a calming breath and listed what identifying traits he knew in descending order of helpfulness.

1. Saber used a golden sword.

There could only be so many golden swords in history and legends. That would surely narrow it down.

2. Saber wore red.

With how much of it he wore, it was clearly a distinctive color that he may be symbolically tied to.

3. Saber had a scar on his face.

It wasn’t the most prominent of scars, but it was identifiable.

4. Saber appeared to be a male.

While it wasn’t unheard of for servants to be different genders from what their legends said, it was worth starting with male legends.

Len was ready to bang his head on the wall at the task in front of him before he remembered a very telling quirk Saber had displayed.

He called the green ninja by his first name.

Saber seemed personally offended at Len’s demand for “Lloyd”, so clearly Saber, whoever he was, must’ve been a hero that knew the green ninja personally in his life.

That was a much more specific starting place.

_____

“Kai.”

“You called?”

The spikey haired ninja appeared before the sound was even done echoing around the library.

“You’re the master of fire. The green ninja’s protector. That’s the sword of fire you’re wielding, right?” Len asked as he calmly closed his book and got up to put it away.

Kai gave him a nod. The kid was much less snotty now and Kai felt less like hanging him on a street sign. Perhaps that was just a Garmadon trait though? Being an insufferable brat and then warming up on people.

Len didn’t look unlike Lloyd. He had Lloyd’s blindingly blond hair, and that Garmadon jawline that made girls go nuts, but Len’s cheek bones weren’t as full and projecting as Lloyd’s were. His eyes were that breathtaking emerald, but not the overly round shape Lloyds had been. Lloyd’s face had always had a round and young look to it. Len’s face was longer and more angled.

The biggest difference was the smile though. Len had a bit of a proud tint to his. Lloyd’s had always had a devious edge to his. It could be uncomfortable to see on his overtly innocent face, but he’d always had a sharp smile that hinted at some underhanded cunning. It was a trait Lloyd rarely, if ever, used, but having been raised the way he was he could never shake that sardonic touch in even his most innocent smile.

“I guess we’re stuck with each other.” Len sighed, placing his book heavy back on the shelf.

It seemed more amused and resigned than his previous sighs though, so Kai let it go.

___________________________________

Jaden was bouncing on the balls of his feet gleefully holding his package. It had taken a lot of money and work to get it, but he had it now.

It was an important piece of the original Samurai X suit. With it, Jaden could summon the mysterious warrior to be his servant in the Grail War. Not to mention meet his hero.

Jaden ripped open the package and found his prize. A red gem set in some twisted gold metal. It was unrecognizable now, but Jaden was assured it had been an important piece of the first suit. Perhaps it was a decorative emblem? Or maybe it belonged on the hilt of a weapon? It could’ve belonged on the helmet. Jaden could spend all day theorizing, but he was rather eager to summon the samurai.

Jaden had no workshop, so he was preforming the ritual out in the woods behind his house. It was not the most secure location, but Jaden wasn’t too concerned. Nobody would dare start attacking before all the servants were summoned.

The red stone was placed into the circle and Jaden began the summoning ritual.

Hands shaking, breath paused, Jaden waited for the smoke to clear. He was about to come face to face with the real Samurai X. The excitement was enough to make him faint, but also enough to make him refuse to, not waiting to miss the reveal. He was about to explode when he saw a figure form in the haze.

Then it all came crashing down into confusion and disappointment.

“Who has summoned me?” came a high pitched and delicate voice.

A girl, a pretty girl, but a girl stood in front of Jaden with expectant eyes. She wore the red gem Jaden had been assured belonged to the first Samurai X mech suit around her wrist in an elaborate bracelet.

Jaden deflated. He’d been conned.

“Are you ok?” the girl asked gently.

“Yeah, I just wanted to summon someone else.” Jaden said, trying not to offend the servant he did get.

“Oh. Well I’m sorry you were unsuccessful in that, but I assure you I’m a more than capable servant. I will win the Grail for you.” She said

Jaden smiled a bit. At least he’d gotten someone nice.

“I’m Jaden, if you don’t mind me asking….?”

“OH! Nya. I’m a Rider class.”

“Well at least I got that right.” Jaden was always the type to hold on to positives.

Nya…Rider laughed lightly.

“So, what can you do?” Jaden asked.

“I’m the master of water. I was one of the legendary Ninja.” Rider said proudly.

“Oh? That’s great!” Jaden was a great deal less disappointed and worried after hearing that he’d summoned one of the ninja.

“I’m glad.” Rider said with a smile.

_____

Taylor was tired and wanted to leave. Her dad talked to Caster, making plans for the upcoming war while she sat there like a third wheel. She had to stay though, because Caster was technically her servant. Not that it really mattered, her dad called the shots, she just had the command seals.

“And the target on my back” she thought bitterly.

She was the one the other masters would be trying to kill, not him.

Still, her father always got what he wanted, and he wanted the Grail. Taylor had no choice but to do his bidding, as she always would.

She still fantasied about using her command seals to make her servant off himself and drop out of the running right there. Her dad would be so mad. He’d probably lock her in the dungeon.

Maybe it would be worth it anyways….

_____

Gerald looked at his command seals proudly. He’d managed to summon one of the most feared Assassins there was. The last of the Anacondrai, Pythor. With such a deadly servant he was sure to win the Grail.

It had been hard to do the summoning without getting caught, but the attic in Darkley’s was secluded enough during classes. The kids that skipped chose more interesting places to be, and the kids that got caught were taken back to the classrooms in the lower floors.

“HEY!”

About to call Assassin to kill whoever had snuck up on him in panic, Gerald stopped his mouth in time when he realized it was just Bradly, his dormmate.

“What do you want?” Gerald asked, adjusting his glasses to hide the tremor in his hands.

He had really thought one of the other servants was about to kill him for a second there.

“What’s up with your hand?” Bradly asked.

“None of your business” Gerald snapped.

He was going to need to find a better excuse if he wanted to keep being in the Holy Grail War a secret, but it was just Bradly for now. Gerald could just intimidate him into keeping his trap shut.

Meanwhile, in noncorporeal form, Assassin cursed his luck. He was doomed to constantly get stuck with clueless boarding school brats, wasn’t he?

__________

“I want my father back.” Zack said.

Cole was startled. For many reasons. No small amount of his unease came from Zack’s appearance. He looked too much like Zane.

Zack was less centered than the ice ninja ever was though and was tearfully declaring his wish to be bringing the dead back.

“That’s your wish?”

“It is all I desire, Lancer.”

Cole cringed again. He didn’t particularly like being a lancer. He used a scythe not a lance. But the Grail deemed it close enough and brought him back as a Lancer class to fight in the Holy Grail War.

“I’ll do my best.” Cole finally said.

He had a feeling this kid wasn’t going to get the happy ending he wanted.

____

“UP AND AT ‘EM!”

Len shot up, his blankets finding their way to the floor and his heart planning it’s escape from his chest, coming face to face with Saber’s far too gleeful face.

“What is wrong with you!?” Len yelled.

Saber just laughed lightly, putting is hands up in a pacifying motion.

“Don’t be too mad, I made you breakfast.”

“What? Why?” Len asked, running to the kitchen to see what awaited him.

Saber never did answer him. Not that Len noticed. He got to the kitchen and was now had a new question.

“Are those chocolate chip pancakes?”

“I had a feeling you had a sweet tooth.” Saber shrugged.

Len bit his lip and swallowed. Saber was right, and as much as that should’ve freaked Len out, he was too busy forcing himself not to cry.

“This isn’t worth being upset about, let alone crying. Stop it Len!”

Mentally scolding himself for a moment, Len managed to keep his tears unshed before sitting down and putting food on his plate. Honestly, he didn’t know why he nearly cried. So he hadn’t had chocolate chip pancakes since his tenth birthday, what part of that was worth crying about?

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Len hoped Saber didn’t notice his emotional reaction. It wasn’t like there was a real reason for it and he definitely didn’t want to have to explain something so senseless so early in the morning.

Luckily Saber took his answer and didn’t test it. He sat down and started to load his own plate with food and eating.

Len relaxed. As rude as his wake-up had been, it was nice to have a warm breakfast for once. There were song birds outside and sunshine pouring through the window, setting a pleasant morning setting. It was the type of morning Len hadn’t had for a long time.

“Where are your parents?”

And his happy moment was gone.

“My mom works.” Len said sharply.

“Your dad?”

“Dead.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Len both stabbed and chewed his next bite of food with a more strength than needed. To make his anger about the topic known? To blow off some stress from it being brought up? Who could say?

“Do you wake up alone a lot?”

Len’s teeth ground together.

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

Saber had the decency to look away and it was quiet for a moment while the two finished eating. Len broke it and sighed after he rinsed off his plate.

“Just so you know, there’s another Master at school. We have an agreement. The Grail War stays outside the school grounds. So, don’t freak out, ok?” Len explained.

He was not looking forward to Haruki’s taunts when she found out he failed to summon the green ninja. Maybe he could play it off like he’d wanted to summon Kai? No. She’d never buy that. He was just going to have to suffer through her laughter.

“How much do they know about you?” Saber asked.

“We’ve been rivals since we were little. She comes from a different mage family and we’ve both been groomed for the Holy Grail War for as long as I can remember. We’ve been in the same class every year since we started school too, so she knows a lot.” Len listed, tying his shoes.

“She knows you’re a descendent of the green ninja?” Saber had a calculating look, looking at the wall like it had a battle plan painted on it.

“Yeah, why?”

Saber’s eyes snapped their intense focus to Len.

“Do not tell her who you’ve summoned.”

“Wasn’t planning in it. I’m never gonna hear the end of it when she finds out I failed my summoning.”

“I’m serious Len. I will stay with you in noncorporeal form, but I won’t show myself unless I absolutely have to. She’s probably going to assume you summoned Lloyd and we’re going to let her think that, alright? Her thinking she knows who your servant is, is going to be a huge advantage.”

Len blinked.

Once.

Twice.

That was smart.

Len hadn’t realized that by failing, he’d gained the element of surprise.

“Haruki’s probably been strategizing assuming I succeeded. She’s getting ready for the wrong opponent!”

“And we’re going to let her keep doing that. See if you can get her to slip up and tell you any hints about who she’s summoned, alright?”

Len nodded, wide eyed.

“And by the way,” Saber said, putting his hand on Len’s head “You didn’t fail.”

“But…. I did though.”

Saber just smiled and shook his head. He gave Len’s head an affectionate rubbing then disappeared.

Len Stood there for a few seconds trying to figure out how the heck Saber thought that before realizing he needed to get heading to school.

By the time he slid into his assigned seat though, he settled on Saber just being an ego maniac.

So that introduces the set up pretty well.

Archer is getting killed by Pythor before much happens. Not important. Caster is Clouse.

At some point Not-Gene, or Gerald is going to get his command seals and servant stolen by Not-Chen, or Taylor’s father.

Not-Jay, or Jaden figures out that he did summon Samurai X when Nya uses her Nobel Phantasm.

Len will have to use a command seal to get Kai to attack her.

Not-Harumi, or Haruki summoned Morro as a Berserker.

Not-Lloyd, or Len didn’t fail his summoning. Lloyd himself made the decision to send Kai in his place, Kai figured out why he was there when he got a read on Len’s issues. Hence him taking on a care giving role.

That’s about all I have planned/figured out

-Ivy

#Mod Ivy #ninjago #lego ninjago #blursed ninjago ideas #blursed ninjago aus #fate/ninjago

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justabstractthings · 4 years

Text

Sleeping Scruffy (Fairy Tale!AU)

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x Female! Reader

Warnings: Full on crack mode!

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: This was actually for the @bnhabookclub Provisional License Exam event, but I didn’t get to finish in time! Honestly, this is a full on crack mode that just came to mind when the prompts included Fairy Tale!AU. Here’s the masterlist for the event that you guys should go read because they are amazing! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!!!

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a king and a queen. The king and the queen were having a party to celebrate their baby boy.

“Am I the baby?”

“Do you want to tell the story? That’s what I thought. Now where was I?”

“The baby boy.”

“Oh yes, they were celebrating their baby boy.”

The king and queen loved their child very much, so they invited the fairies to come and give gifts to the little prince. The first fairy-

“What’s the fairy’s name?”

“Um… what do you want it to be?”

“Auntie Kaya!”

“I think that’s perfect!”

The first fairy, Kayamuri, sashayed up to the prince and looked at his sleeping face. She can already see him growing up to be a handsome prince. So she thought, ‘A little more magic isn’t gonna hurt’. With a whip of her long back hair, she pointed down towards the sleeping baby, “I give you the gift of rugged good looks. Not many people may see it, but you’ll be able to pull off even the scruffiest of looks. You’ll definitely be a lady killer.” With a wink and a sprinkle of her fairy dust, she completed her gift.

The next fairy-

“Nezu!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep!”

The second fairy, Nezupal, stepped over to the royal crib. He placed his soft white paw on the baby. The baby merely looked at the fairy and went back to sleep. Nezupal stroked his chin and said, “I shall give him the gift of knowledge. A well-rounded education is the best form of revenge.” With that, he completed his gift and sadistically smiled with a tea cup in his little paw.

Then suddenly darkness covered the entire room. A dark figure slammed the doors open with a loud bang! “YOOOOOOOOOO, what’s up, my party people?” He bellowed into the large room.

“It sounds like Uncle Yama! Is he the bad guy?”

“Sweetie, you gotta let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

The evil fairy, Yamazashi, appeared into the room with a sneer on his face. All of the guests cowered in fear of his powerful quirk. He smirked up at the throne where the king and queen looked fearfully at him. But his eyes were focused on the crib with three other fairies guarding it protectively.

“The biggest party in the whole kingdom and you didn’t send me an RSVP? That’s wack, yo!”

“You are not welcome here,” said the king.

“Says who, King-miester? I get invited to ALL the hot parties in this kingdom!” He pushed the other fairies away and leaned over the crib. The child was awake, but did not shed a tear. The baby only looked at the evil fairy with disinterest. “This the kid? Well, he looks about ready to sleep.” An evil smile erupted under his thin mustache. “So, why don’t we make that permanent?”

“Please, no!” the queen cried.

“Because all of you fools didn’t invite me to the party of the century, I’m putting a curse on your prince. Before the end of his 18th birthday, I will let out the loudest yell that will spread throughout the whole kingdom and when he hears it, he will die!”

“Oh no!”

“Sweetheart, if you keep interrupting, we won’t be able to finish.”

“Sorry! Keep going!”

Yamazashi’s evil laughter echoed through the halls of the castle and with a loud bang, he disappeared! The king and queen were scared of what would happen to their baby boy. They didn’t know what to do. That is, until the last fairy coughed into his fist to grab the worried parents’ attention.

The third and final fairy, Allyagi-

“Hehe, that’s funny. I can’t see Uncle Might as a fairy.”

“I know, it’s kinda funny right?”

Allyagi never got to present his gift to the prince. With a sullen look, he floated towards the grieving parents who were protectively clutching their baby. “Unfortunately, my power is too weak against the evil fairy’s spell. This is the best that I can do. Even if Yamazashi’s voice is heard throughout the whole kingdom, the prince will not die. He will only be in a deep slumber until true love’s kiss breaks the spell.”

“Don’t give me that look. You wanted a fairy tale.”

“But kisses are icky.”

To keep the prince safe, the three fairies, Kayamuri, Nezupal, and Allyagi, devised a plan. They would disguise themselves as humans and raise the prince in an abandoned cabin in the woods. There, he would be safe and away from Yamazashi’s evil curse. It would be far enough that not even his mightiest yell could reach the prince’s ears. When the King and Queen agreed, they watched with sad eyes as their beloved prince disappeared into the night.

Many years passed and the fairies kept their word. They raised the prince deep within the woods and kept him hidden from Yamazashi.

“Wait! You never told me who the prince was. What’s his name?”

“Umm… his name… his name is…”

Briar Shouta. The fairies named the prince Briar Shouta. Unfortunately for Briar Shouta, the fairies were afraid that if he fell asleep, he would never wake up. So, he grew up with permanent bags under his eyes and a disheveled look from being so sleep deprived. Because of this, he did not look like a prince at all, so nobody recognized him.

Anyway, it was his 18th birthday, and it was a joyous occasion because Yamazashi’s curse had not been fulfilled. The fairies had a big surprise planned for his 18th birthday.

“We’ll make him a cake!” Nezupal declared. “And maybe some tea to go with it.”

“I’ll make him the most dashing suit,” Kayamuri exclaimed. “Hopefully, it will distract the king and queen from his tired and unkempt appearance.”

“But we don’t know how to bake or sew,” Allyagi reasoned. “Especially not without magic. We don’t want Yamazashi to find out we’ve hidden him here.”

“Then we won’t use our magic!” Kayamuri was already picking out which material to use for the prince’s attire.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Nezupal assured Allyagi.

While the three fairies were making their gifts, Briar Shouta was out in the woods, looking for a place to sleep. Even if it’s just for 5 minutes, he thought. Not caring where he was, he pulled out his yellow blanket and fell asleep. All he wanted was 5 minutes of sleep.

Then a stranger appeared in the woods. She was a very beautiful girl who wanted to explore the woods and read her book. The girl was minding her own business when she stumbled over something and fell on her face. It didn’t help that she had her nose buried in her book while she was walking.

When she picked herself up, she noticed a man unconscious and wrapped in a bright yellow blanket. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” She asked.

Briar Shouta glared at his interruption and noticed the girl trying to pull his blanket away from him. He flashed his red eyes which caused the girl to gasp and let go of his blanket. Briar Shouta glared at the girl and said, “Noisy.” He pulled his blanket closer to him and turned away from her.

“Hey, I was just trying to make sure you were okay,” the girl said. “Why are you sleeping in the middle of the woods anyway? You made me trip and I lost the page I was reading.” When the prince said nothing, the girl sighed and plopped herself down beside him.

“Why are you still here?” Briar Shouta asked when the girl scooted herself closer to him.

“I’m just here to make sure nobody else trips on you,” the girl said. “You can go back to sleep.”

Briar Shouta sighed and went back to sleep. The girl smiled down at the strange man and tried to find her page once again. Just a few minutes of peace for the two strangers. But what they didn’t know was that it was the start of a dream come true.

A-Anyway, it was time for the party.

“Wait, what? That doesn’t make sense. They just fell asleep. You didn’t tell me what happened next!”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

So, it was time for the party. The fairies told Briar Shouta that he was actually the prince, and that since it was his 18th birthday, he was going back to his parents and getting married. Of course, the prince outright refused because it was totally illogical, but the fairies convinced him to go to the party anyway.

“Don’t you look handsome?” Kayamuri, the fairy, exclaimed when Prince Shouta came out dressed in his dark black suit. She was happy that he decided on tying his disheveled hair back. “You actually look human for once.”

“Yes, much different than the baggy clothes you like wearing everyday,” Nezupal agreed as he sipped his black tea.

“Very much like a prince, except for one last thing.” Allyagi twirled his fingers and a gold crown appeared out of thin air. He placed the crown on the prince’s head.

Prince Shouta nodded and watched as Kayamuri, Nezupal, and Allyagi left his room. The prince never wanted the royal life. All he wanted to do was live in the secluded woods and sleep all day. And maybe meet the girl again. But mostly sleep.

Unfortunately, nobody told the prince to be careful of what he wished for.

Suddenly, a loud cry echoed throughout the whole kingdom. Prince Shouta ran out of his room to the dinning hall. The yelling only got louder and louder as everyone silently waited for what they feared the most. The fairies surrounded the royal family, ready to fight and defend their kingdom.

But it was too late.

He was here.

“YOOOOOOOOO, TIME TO BRING THE KINGDOM DOOOOOOOOOWN!!!!” The evil fairy appeared in a cloud of yellow smoke. Yamazashi slicked his long blonde hair back as everyone watched his every move. “Another party that I wasn’t invited to.”

Before anyone could attack or run, Yamazashi took a deep breath and let out the loudest yell anyone has ever heard. It spread throughout the whole kingdom. Everyone covered their ears but it wasn’t working. One by one, people dropped to the ground.

The fairies watched as their worst fear had come true. Briar Shouta laid on the ground in front of their feet. Fast asleep.

“Just like another little prince.”

You smiled as your son’s little snores echoed through the dark and quiet room. You softly ran your hand through his tangled black hair. He let out a quiet whine as he clutched his All Might plushie closer to his chest. You leaned down and placed a soft kiss against his forehead as you pulled his Fat Gum blanket over his little body.

As you slowly made your way through his messy bedroom, you carefully tiptoed around the many toys scattered around the floor. You successfully reached the door without so much as a stir from the little prince. After turning on the Hawks nightlight and making sure that your son was safe and snoring away, you slipped through the door and into the bright hallway.

You were met with your guests’ expectant stares. “What are you guys doing here?” you whispered with your hands planted on your hips.

“Why am I the evil fairy?” Yamada quietly whined as you herded your guests back to the living room where you found your husband stretched out on the couch.

“I have no complaints at all,” Kayama shrugged. “I make a lovely fairy that can make all the men in the kingdom swoon for her. No man or creature can resist my pleasure.” Kayama laughed haughtily as she gracefully sat on the lounge chair.

“It was just a fairy tale, Hizashi,” you reasoned as you nudged your husband off half of the couch. He groaned in annoyance but pushed himself up and decided to rest his weight on you instead. “Plus you would be such a great evil fairy.”

“Yeah! But Nemuri’s quirk can make people fall asleep in an instant. She’s practically an evil fairy,” Yamada continued to whine as he pointed accusingly at Kayama.

She merely rolled her eyes as she smirked down at Yamada’s distressed form. “Kid wanted me to be a good fairy, so that means I’m a good fairy. Deal with it, Hizashi. You’re THE evil fairy.”

“Sleeping Beauty?” Aizawa asked as he nuzzled further into you.

“Your son asked for a fairy tale and it was the first one I could think of!” Aizawa shrugged as he watched his friends continue to bicker about your son’s choice of characters.

Yamada snickered behind his hand as he slyly smirked at your sleepy husband. “At least I wasn’t the damsel in distress. Briar Shouta. Or should I say Sleeping Scruffy.” Aizawa scoffed and glared down at his loud friend as the room burst into quiet laughter, mindful of the little prince sleeping in the same house. Quips and jokes continued to be thrown in all directions until it was decidedly getting too late, especially for a school night.

After exchanging around of farewells, you softly closed the front door. However, before you could even make your way back to your bedroom, you were met with your husband’s solid chest as he trapped you between him and the door. You were about to question him until you saw his unamused stare boring into you. You visibly gulped. This was not good.

Aizawa leaned down as you tried to look at anywhere but his intimidating eyes. With a soft touch, he grabbed your chin and forced your eyes on him. Nowhere left to escape. At times like these, you could never understand what Aizawa was thinking. Even after being married for years, Aizawa was a complicated man which made it difficult to read his intentions. You could only watch with baited breath as Aizawa raised his brow. “Briar Shouta?”

You grinned sheepishly as your husband leaned back and stared at you expectantly. “What? I couldn’t think of anybody else for the part.”

Aizawa closed his eyes and let out a small chuckle. He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the couch. You had to physically keep yourself from yelping when you were unceremoniously pushed onto the couch with Aizawa making himself comfortable on top of you.

You let out a huff as Aizawa nuzzled himself further into you like a cat. You ran a hand through his scalp until you heard him mumble something on your chest. “What was that?”

Aizawa pulled his head up and rested his chin on your chest. “Where did you leave off?”

You tilted your head to the side. “From the fairy tale?” Aizawa nodded and buried his head back into your chest which prompted a light blush to rise on your cheeks. You sighed and continued to run your hand through Aizawa’s tangled black locks.

All across the kingdom, everyone was fast asleep. The fairies looked worriedly at each other, unsure of what to do next. They flitted nervously until Allyagi remembered his gift to the prince when he was a baby.

“True love’s kiss!” he exclaimed.

“But where are we gonna find someone to kiss him?” Kayamuri asked. “If you haven’t noticed, we’ve been secluded in that forest for years.”

Nezupal cleared his throat and caught their attention. He smirked knowingly at them as he magically summoned a hot cup of tea.

“If you know something, just say it, Nezupal,” Kayamuri said as she glared down at his calm demeanor.

“While he was out in the woods, he met a girl, a princess actually. And he fell madly and deeply in love with her at first sight.”

“Hey! Stop laughing! I’m telling the story. Not you.”

“Sorry, dear.”

“Now, where was I?”

The fairies flew as fast as they could back to the woods. Luckily, they found the girl on her horse riding towards the sleeping kingdom. “What happened?” she asked.

“You’re Briar Shouta’s love! Come, he needs your help!” The fairies led her towards the castle. She jumped off her horse and sped into the castle. All she could think of was the boy she met in the woods. She climbed up many flights of stairs until the fairies stopped in front of a door.

She slowly pushed the door open and her eyes fell on Briar Shouta’s sleeping form. She smiled softly as she recalled the times she spent with the prince. She made her way to his bed and ran a hand softly against his face. She admired his relaxed expression and his handsome features. His stubbled face. His scar right under his right eye. His furrowed brow. But what she loved the most about him was his eyes. So full of emotion and love. She wanted to see them again.

“Then what happened?” Aizawa’s rough voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Then she kissed him.”

You pulled Aizawa’s face up and pressed your lips against his rough ones. Your heart hammered against your chest as you felt your husband’s weight press against you like an anchor to keep you from floating away. Aizawa caged you in between his arms as you welcomed his warm presence. With arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, you let yourself relax and fall deeper into his embrace.

When you separated, your heart continued to flutter under Aizawa’s heated gaze. You could never look away from his dark intimidating eyes. You smiled up at your husband and pulled him closer as you sighed against his lips.

“And they lived happily ever after.”

#bnhabookclub #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta x reader #female reader #fairy tale #fairy tale au #crack fic #fluff #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #bnha crack fic #aizawa crack fic #my writings #just abstract things

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forbidding-souda · 4 years

Note

It may be a way too early for Halloween request but may I do a Halloween request? About SHSL Voice Actor, who is an absolute fan of that holiday, spending it to scare people and do trick or treating in Academy and its dorms (in no-despair au)? Probably they'll do it together with Sonia and Ibuki, and victims of their fun will be Hiro, Taka, Aoi, Kaz, Hiyoko and Mahiru. I cant help dreaming about October already, sorry, haha.

SHSL Voice Actor pranking students for Halloween with Sonia Nevermind and Ibuki Mioda

Never too early for Halloween :D

I absolutely hate pranks but lord knows I’m gonna try my best to write this. Also cut down the victim list by some bc then it would be too long.

-Mod Souda

“Okay, listen here!” You slam your hands on the table, Ibuki yelling out a woah of surprise.

There’s something you find stimulating. Something to cure your mischievous thoughts. And that is pranking people. Doing it around Halloween is definitely the most satisfying! And it is your time to shine. You brought along your friend Ibuki, needing her skills to get the job done!

You think about all the pranks you’ve done in the past. Which ones have worked? Which ones haven’t?

“I have a collection of all my favorite pranks, and we are going to work together to get them done!”

She pauses, staring at you dumbfounded. This is why you invited her to your dorm?

“That sounds awesome!” She suddenly exclaims. Why is she so excited? And then you realize, you are excited to.

Maybe you should have gotten calmer as you have gotten older. All of your childhood friends have. But you’re an Ultimate, right? You’re not like other people.

“What are we going to do?” She continues. “Are we going to spray them with cheese? How about I push them into a ball pit when they aren’t looking!”

“I don’t know where we are going to get a ball pit, but that’s a good idea.”

But you already have some of your plans in mind. There’s something that never seems to go wrong. But who to be your victim?

“My first mission is a zip-tie and a febreeze bottle! I always keep some on me just for this moment.”

She nods furiously.

And you went to get the stuff, stuffing them into a basket along with some other things for your ideas.

It’s game on!

The question runs through your head again. Who? Well, there’s an easy solution. But he seems almost too easy...

Still, you’re one of his close friends, and you know exactly where he would be right in this moment.

Just in his dorm. Nothing crazy. He’s off duty right now.

You hold Ibuki’s hand, slipping into the hallway of the school, looking back and forth. Everyone should be getting into their costumes right now. And you will later. But something is more important.

She giggles to herself, hiding against a wall near the door, preparing the bomb.

“Taka!” You call out, knocking on his door obnoxiously.

He can’t get too mad at you. Maybe a bit flustered, but what’s the harm?

There’s a second of wait before he opens the door. He could recognize your voice anywhere. You eye Ibuki, seeing the mechanism ready, and a genuine smile appears on your face.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before he could, you pull the zip-tie and throw the thing into his room.

“What is the meaning of this!” He calls out. And while he’s distracted, for your final move, you close the door on him.

Trapped in a room with a violent lavender smell. How romantic.

The sound of her laughing makes you laugh too, reminding you how satisfied it makes you feel. The sound of his screams just adds to the experience.

“What is that?” A feminine voice interrupts your laughing fit. Oh no.

“Sonia!!” Ibuki starts before you can defend your honor. “We are pranking people and you should totally come join us! Use your sexy charm to give us new victims!”

“Sexy charm?” She whispers, confused by the words. Suddenly her attitude lifts. “Well, if it’ll assist you in any way then I will!”

Well that’s good. A relief almost. That makes Souda an easy victim then. But what to pull on him?

Maybe the ball pit wasn’t such a bad idea.

And as the two of you starting walking around, looking for wherever he may be, Ibuki started listing off ideas.

“How about we put an airhorn under his chair? Or - or how about we lick off the flavor on each pringle and then offer him the can!”

Sonia laughs behind her fingers. “That’s a bit harsh.”

But you can hardly listen to them. What’s something new... something creative.

Oh! You got something! Well... maybe that’s not a Kazuichi one, but you’ll save it for later. Unless you can do it now...

“Wait, I have something!” You interrupt their banter. With all eyes on you, you even find yourself doing a small dance in place. “We can cut out a little trapezoid out of black paper and put it on the men’s bathroom!”

Ibuki waves her hands in excitement before stopping. “What’s a trapezoid?”

The art room is high up on your list of rooms that scare you. It’s always crowded there. Not with people, but with objects. Paints line the floors and fabric pieces just lay with no purpose. Who even cleans this place?

Certainly nobody!

Even with three people looking, it was hard to find something as simple as black paper. You were even starting to consider just painting it black.

But alas, Sonia holds up the paper and a piece of scissors.

“Should we do it for all of them?” Sonia asks while she gets to work.

“I wouldn’t say so,” you speak before Ibuki, “that just makes us have to climb up all those stairs.”

“Ah! Good point, Y/N.” Ibuki puts her fingers to her head, thinking about god knows what.

The princess was definitely the best pick for who to cut it. It looked perfect! Who knew she was good with scissors?

And when she’s done, she goes to grab tape.

Ibuki speaks, “I say we just do it to the bathroom near the dorms! We will get more victims that way.”

And then there was another trip that involved stairs. You can never escape them. Never ever.

That’s when some students already started traveling around in their costumes. You’re going to run out of time if you’re not quick enough.

This time, Sonia is the one to do the deed. And she’s quick about it to, almost surprisingly so. The sly smile on her face is the best part about all of it.

“Someone is coming!” Ibuki calls out. Your heart beat loud in your chest. What if she gets caught? What if it’s Taka seeking his revenge?

Except, no, it’s just Mahiru walking with alone. To the bathroom? Oh no... wait - oh yes.

Will it fool her? Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully!

The girls cower behind you, behind a corner, watching with interest while she approaches the bathroom.

Her head turns towards the woman’s restroom, and then the disguised male one, before she grimaces and rips the fake skirt off. “How tasteless.” You can hear her say.

A groan leaves your mouth.

“Whaatt! Our plan was so brilliant!” Ibuki whispers aggressively into your ear.

Damn! She was too smart! Your plan had failed!!

Grrr... and time is almost complete.

Again, Ibuki speaks. “Okay, okay okay! Now, can we push Kazuichi into a ball pit?”

The disappointment that coated your body lifts quickly. “Yes! Let’s see if they got the apple bobbing thing, we can push him into that!”

#platonic imagine #halloween request #danganronpa halloween #danganronpa #danganronpa imagines

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raguna-blade · 4 years

Text

So carrying on the shared symbol thing with persona games, here’s a fun one that probably needs more time in the oven but hey, can come back later with later revelations

So, here’s one that technically shows up in the first game but doesn’t really become a thing until (I am assuming, i still need to actually play the first few and finish most of them but whatever) Persona 3

Evokers! Also known as guns. Specifically hand guns, but I think that’s the least important detail when one of the big symbols of your game is shooting yourself in the head to summon mythic figures.

So Evokers. In game, and as per the wiki, they are supposed to function by more or less...making you face mortality and the fact that you’re going to die for real.

By simulating shooting yourself in the face. It’s a good thing that the Kirijo group already got their mad science comeuppance because man, that’s kinda...

But hey, the logic and rules at play here do seem to be consistent across the games. To Summon a persona requires, apparently, a huge amount of stress and or trauma to activate properly, and the Evokers are a fast way to do that that isn’t, comparatively anyway, super duper traumatic. It’s free artificial trauma for everyone that is comparatively less permanent.

Which...Well I don’t believe that for a second considering SEES is one big trauma center. I don’t think there is a single person in that group who is trauma free really. Nobody is free of it, even the dog.

I mean maybe the protag, but they come off as super depressed to me.

But for the moment let’s accept that as true. If i’m wrong i’m wrong, but I think i’m right and i want to get to the juicy stuff.

So given evokers function by applying trauma directly to the soul to summon yon persona, I think it’s obvious then what guns are SUPPOSED to represent right?

Trauma. But not just any kind of trauma no. Remember, Evokers are supposed to basically be going Hey Trauma But For A REASON. To Summon a Persona. A persona which is used to protect yourself from something (Shadows technically, but A persona is a mask used to face life’s struggles as the games are so fond of reminding us.)

So, Guns are Trauma Turned Towards Protecting Yourself from...something. My understanding of psych stuff is you know, layman, but basically it’s an active self defense mechanism. Or at least turning that pain on outside hurty things.

So if this holds true as a consistent and shared symbol going forward, we should expect that everyone who uses a gun is both

A: Traumatized in some manner.

2: Actively Defending themselves possibly by literally using that trauma against things.

Which i’m sure is totally a healthy thing to be doing. Has to be. Can’t not be right?

I can see no possible way in which using your trauma like a club against the world can possibly backfire on you.

SO!

Who uses guns in the series going forward.

In Persona 4, We have two for sure, maybe a third. That is Naoto, Adachi, and Maybe Dojima (I assume he HAS a gun, but I don’t think he’s ever shown using it. I’m going to assume for the moment this is true as fits the analysis, cause it fits well enough, but if he actually pulls it out ehh)

Persona 5 has uh...literally all of the phantom thieves. Technically not morganna, but if you think a slingshot isn’t basically a fire arm, well sure technically but also you can absolutely kill someone with a slingshot don’t get it twisted. But yeah, all of the phantom thieves and ESPECIALLY Akechi, since he uses a real one. Well, sans Futaba, but we’ll get there.

And do these individuals demonstrate being both traumatized AND using that as some kind of defense mechanism...?

yeh.

So start with P4. Now compare the other persona users in 3-5, the group in 4 is actually really well adjusted. Like yeah, you have some elements of stress and being an outcast and elements of weird harrowing stuff happening to them sure. I mean if nothing else they’re in the middle of a murder mystery with a serial killer in town, that’s stressful for anyone, let alone the weird supernatural shit on top of it, and then there’s the more mundane stressors.

But...Uh...Largely, they’re handling it pretty well actually. Protag was pretty alright moving to town and seems to get along with people well. Yosuke had the dislike of being in town but he had friends, he wasn’t really hated or anything. Chie is pretty alright, Yukiko is stressed but not exactly freaking out, Kanji has some shame going on however you want to frame that i’m told it reads different for japanese audiences though it’s not mutually exclusive, Teddie DID in fact have an existential crisis but that’s not really the same thing i think, Rise is hella stressed, and then there’s naoto who uh.

Kid’s got some problems. They’re also the only one who uses a gun So Hey First stop.

So depending on how you want to read it, Naoto is either dealing with some trans issues or just aggressive and unending misogyny given their profession. Personally while i can see the naoto is trans reading, the game doesn’t explicitly come out with that as the issue, while it DOES with the misogyny so I’m going with that. If you do think it’s more that than what i’m going with, you can easily sub it in I think since from what i’ve heard on the subject suggests it very much CAN be traumatizing dealing with that in society....And also because it’d still feed back into the misogyny thing so it comes back to that anyway.

Regardless. This is a thorny enough issue really, so i’ll strive to not fuck up but please forgive me if I do cause it’s not intentional.

What do we see with Naoto? They’re a genuinely skilled, talented and experienced detective, and at a really young age. Their skills are undeniable really, and they’ve got acclaim and real accomplishments under their belt.

They are also, apparently, belittled constantly because they’re read as female and that is apparently far far more important than their skill. Because of that they’re belittled, talked down to and dismissed purely because of that.

And Naoto is fucking tired of it. So much so that they do everything in their power to present as male and believe they should straight up just...cut out whatever lady aspects are there and just go full dude.

Which here you get two really radically(?) different readings depending on if you fall on the Naoto is Trans and so fucking tired of the misogyny vs Naoto Is fucking Tired of the misogyny and so damn desperate.

In case A, Naoto genuinely believes they’re a dude, and genuinely believes duding it up will solve their problem....But they’re rejecting that part of themselves actively, and refusing to acknowledge it at all. That’s a problem for him, if only because actively rejecting a part of yourself is by no means a healthy thing, especially when it keeps getting brought up constantly in your line of work (I can only imagine how much this would suck to be dismissed because people think you’re a girl when you’re a guy but also you’re denying that you’re a guy and recognize that even if you were outwardly a guy they would STILL dismiss you as a girl even though you’re not. Just typing that out is...yech.)

In Case B, you have a still tired of the dismissal, but also they think they radically need to change their body and gender just to get anywhere in the world which is egregiously fucked up because you know. She’s good at her job! Why should she HAVE to be a dude to get anything done? It’s fucked up.

But they’re a gunman! So...i mean i guess it’s obvious what the trauma at play here is, it’s gender related regardless of how you slice it and how is it used...? Naoto disguises (or “disguises”) themselves as a guy, actively using the thing that they’re being traumatized by to fight back against the world in some way.

I mean as thorny as the issue is in the reading it, the outcome is at least simple enough under the shared symbols thing.

Ok, but what about Adachi...? Welllllllllllllllllll

Adachi is definitely traumatized I think but it's not in the kind of way that's sharp and specific. I'm cribbing a bit off of [https://youtu.be/8qG8Mqe_1v8] with their description of how Adachi reacts to the Scoobies calling him out.

To summarize and or paraphrase, it's not that there's a specific thing that broke Adachi down. It's that he's trapped in a job he hates, or at least without the possibility of improvement. He's shoved in a backwater town when he's a city boy. He feels ignored, he doesn't like the people around him very much, he's got basically no money, he has no significant other, he has to just keep going and existing day in and day out and it's...

God it's so fucking soul killing.

It's not like his childhood was better apparently, in that it basically was a prelude to adult hood but also unlike then, he didn't have the supposed promise of do well in school and get cool shit that was summarily broken.

So what's a guy who's made to feel worthless, made to feel like a nobody, made to feel utterly disenfranchised, and has actual evidence to support some of this (keep in mind the reason he got reassigned did involve him screwing up somehow, though I don't think it's explained what or how) going to react when given the ability to act out with no consequences, or seemingly?

Well, I imagine that you would see them do some fucked up shit really. We've seen people in real life do things just as bad if not worse, and the exact way he wields his trauma is well...sadly understandable to anyone.

Though another interesting shared thing, which I neglected earlier and MAY share into the Gun Imagery is a sense of isolation. Which...Actually. Actually may track. Evokers are used by well...ritualistically killing yourself, which is for all the harm it throws out to everyone connected to you, is also a very solitary act. And in both cases here, the characters are in a very real way killing their true selves in order to deal with the world (In adachis case by presenting a fake version of himself and in Naoto's case by actively rejecting a part of themselves however you want to spin that one)

This does raise a question of the SEES gang having elements of isolation which off hand I want to say yes that's the case across the board, and only by coming together do they win but I also legitimately cannot recall how it plays out beyond the minimal We're The Only Ones Capable of Dealing With This thing which isn't quite the same thing. The ritualized killing yourself still stands so that's still in play really, and i'll keep an eye on it going forward.

I should probably ALSO keep an eye on the uh...Suicide aspects. Even looking back at Naoto and Adachi they have elements of it, although more figurative than literal. Both very much have a life is over thing related to their careers and where they end up when first introduced, so it's not an unreasonable call though the strict actual read of suicide suicide is...Hmmm...

Well I suppose Adachi's chunk of the world is accessed through the noose room if I recall, so that might not be quite as empty a connection, while Naoto's secret lab thing may not be quite as on the nose it does focus on a destruction of self in some way given the way a lot of those secret labs go about doing things in those shows.

That is, there's generally one of two outcomes. Either the Evil Org creates a mindless/corrupted pawn to use whatever their powers/abilities are for the organization (see every monster of the week) OR they create a hero/renegade warrior that uses those very same powers they were imbued with against them....Which suddenly makes me wonder if the the ambiguity of if Naoto's transness vs woman in male spaces thing is intentional in regards to how to read that section. If so that's actually clever as hell because then either way you want to read it the literal what's going on with their shadow (body modification either to become their true self and the rejection of that or to be able to actually be respected for their work and the implied destruction of self that's going on there) it reads as this is bad so...Kudos.

Anyway, off topic, maybe another day.

All this said, this leads to Dojima who SHOULD have a gun and probably does, but...never uses it that I can recall, not once. Doesn't even show up with a gun if memory serves.

It's not that he's not traumatized. He most definitely does have some shit kicking around what with the dead wife, disconnect from his daughter and all that, but he never really...weaponizes it does he? He never turns it on others, never uses it to isolate, none of that. Which is interesting because as a Cop I think we can safely say he SHOULD have a gun of some flavor right? That does seem to be the vibe, and yet he doesn't freak out. The reason why is heartfully straightforward though.

Nanako. He can't exactly revel in his hurt and lash out at folks with it. Like yes, he's not winning parent of the year at the start of the game by a long shot, but frankly emotionally distant and neglectful after your wife died but still trying (failing but trying, critically, the trying) is not the worst spot to be in, no way. And he takes to reorienting things quite well once he get's the additional stability in his life Yu and (at least in part) Adachi.

Which, really, is what also ended up saving the SEES members. Not Yu, but the fact that they managed to form genuine connections with each other that let them get past the hurt and not be taken up and swallowed by it. It's why Adachi ended up going the way he did because he really DIDN'T forge those connections, and because of the whole everything he couldn't really get out of that loop and fix himself up.

I mean Izanami's game basically threw two whole ass people into the deep end of their problems but this ain't about her right now.

So ok, that's the group from 4 and right now this is feeling pretty consistent.

So let's get to the group that has literally every party member carrying with The Phantom Thieves.

So...again, to bring it back, Guns symbolically here are weaponized trauma right? They're using that to strike back against what's threatening you, often by using it against them.

Now, there are variances with the phantom thieves for sure, and the most relevant and DIRECT one is that all of them, every last one, is an outcast of some flavor from the social norms, and this has screwed with them something fierce. Now it's not as apparent or visible in all cases, but I'll get into specifics as we go down the list, but I want to say this at the top because it fundamentally comes down to Because Of this outcast status, this particular form of trauma, they became the Phantom Thieves, and in doing so struck back against the society that hurt them, with the intent to inspire those like them.

Well not Akechi, but his specific issues at least nominally align I guess.

Anyway. I won't go into as much detail here, but I feel it's worth pointing out that their Phantom Thieves Personas are probably the cleanest way to point out how they go about weaponizing their various more personalized traumas to protect themselves and fight back.

Joker: Accused of a crime he didn't commit, sent to a city away from his family and friends, said to be a violent felon...Like it's not exactly brought up in the game in part because he's a silent protag but Joker absolutely had his life ruined. Like full stop, his world fell apart over night, not because he did something wrong but because he tried to do the right thing. And then Kamoshida happened which basically took boyo from being merely fucked over to losing what little he had left (where what he had left was a friend of a friend of his folks taking him in and shoving him in a drafty attic)

And then from said trauma he created the well...Joker Persona. Someone who emphatically is a criminal, the kind of guy who is actually pretty ominous when you consider the knife,gun and dark outfit combo making him look like some kind of assassin. That he helps people is probably a small miracle really.

But by the same token, it's blatantly clear the persona that he pretends at school is not his true self either. He has to hide himself, make himself look small and innocent and as unthreatening as humanly possible. He's not, by any means but...

Morgana: Imagine you wake up one day and you remember maybe your name, a few random bits of information, and nothing else except that you were (probably) a human and now decidedly are not. That's...Rough man. It's just rough to deal with and it's awful, and then you just keep getting hit with that fact over and over and over again. Mona's pretty straightforward, but it tracks that they would make themselves out to be the cool collected sort that they do (even though they botch it nigh constantly). If you can't remember anything about yourself, make yourself out to be the coolest smartest most talented type right?

Ryuji: He literally had an authority figure not only mock his family situation, he straight up broke his leg, killed his dream of running track, ostracized him from his friends and peers, put more pressure on his mom. He was reduced to a thug and his response to that was, apparently, let me be a (diet) delinquent then. It's not like he did anything bad really but he certainly stopped giving any kind of a shit to the world. His attitude got turned up for sure. This got more emphasized with the Actual Skull persona as a phantom thief, where he's far more intimidating, outright hostile and violent (A bat and a shotgun? yee)

Ann: I mean there's the obvious sexual assault, her friend attempting suicide, etc, but i've seen it pointed out that a good chunk of Ann's problems are also based in the fact that she's white in japan, so basically she straight up has to deal with racism too. It's why she's considered the sexy one for example (girls like her are easy you understand) so it's...well. How the game handles (or doesn't) that aside, the persona she ends up developing first off a very blithe sort of vibe to how the world views her (seen in her confidant arc) before ultimately gravitating to having more active control over her image and consciously choosing how the world will view her instead of them making the choice themselves.

Yusuke: Abusive parents (which is damn near a theme with the phantom thieves. Families being broken or Abusive which is hm) who actively stole his work, and he knew about it. It very clearly messes with his art and his relationship to this thing that he loves, and even after knowing how his adoptive dad was abusing him and other students and making a mockery of art...To which he actively throws himself into Art EVEN HARDER than before, as a dedicated fuck you on the subject. Actually straightforward, which is perhaps weird for Yusuke, but hey they can't all require deeper reading.

Makoto: Makoto's deal is a bit more complicated but boils down to She's tired of having all these expectations pushed onto her and dictating the exact kind of person she should be. Always the good girl, always kind and elegant, soft spoken, I mean she knows aikido and is supposed to be good with it. Which is why she turns that around is basically Lord Humongous, albeit less jacked dude in bondage gear and more Badass Violence Biker. Just let it all out and take no shit from anyone ever. Again straightforward enough.

Futaba: Now...Here's a weird one to say because it's...She doesn't have a gun. I mean we could probably make a fair enough statement, if an absolutely buckwild one, that she does not at this point have a trauma. Or at least, not one that is weaponized. Because well...Her issues were very self focused. She thought her mom killed herself because of her, and that almost made her (futaba) kill herself. That's not a great place to be, but it's not like she ever takes her dead mom issues out on the world. She doesn't even really take her extreme social issues out on the world. If anything she pretty much...Has them and kind of deals with them quietly.

I suppose you could say that her weapon of choice is the computer. It's no gun, obviously, but unlike everyone else up til this point she also doesn't really...hide herself. There's no fake persona (in the not summoned beings of myth and story) that she presents to the world. She's decisively genuine about everything, and pretty much the only difference between her and her Oracle persona is neat goggles yeah? Which makes her an interesting pair with Maruki who we'll get to later as another gun not haver.

Haru: Kind of a complicated one, though also kinda straightforward. She's ostracized from her father and finds the abuse that he's laying down on the people who work for them abhorent, which is bad enough, that kind of realization that your life is built on the suffering of others. There's also the uh...It's not strictly this because arranged marriages are very much business affairs more than romance, but the way it's portrayed definitely reads as her dad selling her which is you know. Not...ideal, though her specific reservations there seemed less the arranged marriage (it's business she get's it) but more the dude was an creep and also again the abuse. The family motto being betray anyone to get ahead (paraphrased to hell and back) also suggests some not so great things really, though her bond with her dad did seem to be genuinely strong, which is why her reaction is tada heroine of justice.

Which, I just realized this and I gotta point it out, actually lines up MARVELOUSLY with Morgana and Zorro. Wealthy Individual who see's the crimes and evil deeds of the world and decides to mask up and fight the crime they cannot contest with their unmasked face, warring against the system that enriched them at presumable cost to themselves because it's the right thing to do? Beautiful. Probably should look into that more. But yeah.

Sumire: I mean...I mean she basically straight up says I think I was second best to my sister in everyway and then I got her killed and her reaction to that was Let Me Be My Sister and well...yeah that's exactly how she dealt with her trauma, albeit with a little bit of magic help. And Perhaps most notably, this is almost the most explicit demonstration of Evoker Gun Antics because She Creates a Persona (“Kasumi”) To Protect Herself (alldattrauma.exe) by using that trauma (dead sister) against the world (Literally everyone else) it's...Actually a really clean example I think?

Akechi: Last but not least of the gun havers, Akechi who uh...Outcast because of family reasons (single mom, Dad's a creep) in a way that just...We don't actually ever get the details I don't think, but the way he reacts to it I think makes it clear that his whole life was basically a string of kick this kid while he's down, keep him outside the system, and of course the persona he ends up creating, both of them, end up being one the charming charismatic prince who seeks justice and a bloodthirsty lunatic, neither of which accurately reflect his true self I don't think. Aspects of it sure, but not completely. If pressed, I would say that the Akechi we see in the Third Semester is probably the closest even though he's probably a dream Akechi, being someone who does have a distinct judgement for what is right and wrong but also, critically, can and will shoot you in the face cackling as his plans come together. Rather like Joker actually, which is appropriate given their mirrored trickster roles, and the general shape of their outcomes (both get their smuggery on when things go to plan)

Anyway, the way he reacts to being forced to live an outcast is as mentioned, let me get back into that system, let me be part of it and all that.

And last but not least

Maruki: Now...He doesn't have a gun. It doesn't quite match up with the symbol thing which I think at this point is established enough that it's probably some kind of thing, but what I find interesting is that...he fits MOST of the criteria right? Definitely has a trauma that shaped how he reacted to the world and yet, it's not weaponized right? It doesn't well...evoke a different persona from him. It's not weaponized to protect him and that seems odd right? He ends up with a Palace right?

Sure. But I want to go back to what i'm proposing the Evokers Represent.

Trauma, A Destruction of the Self (Suicide literal or figurative), Isolation, and weaponizing your trauma to protect against the world...And he only actually tracks to the Trauma part of that. He IS hurt for sure, no question. He is fighting back against the world in his own way for sure, what with Azathoth and his mind whammy, and I would say that the nature of it is directing how he's doing things (no more pain for anyone yeah sure)

But where it falls apart, and actually DOES line up with the guns as metaphor for those things mentioned, is that he doesn't really Isolate. He doesn't present a fake self to protect himself. He doesn't destroy an aspect of himself to protect himself. No, he's extremely upfront that “No this is bullshit, it should change, fuck this noise, I'll do what I can with what I can and oh hey godlike power now I can help everyone”

Which cool, except that apparently in the Stay in Maruki's world ending he kinda fades into the background, which suggests the self destruction but no, not even then really. Like I know I made a bit of meta about him obscuring himself and kinda fading away as a person, but I don't think it's strictly meant to be get rid of yourself so much focus on the message and not the messenger. You can throw your mask away. No more pretending. You don't have to hurt anymore. As the song goes.

And it's worth pointing out that, in comparison to literally everyone else on this list, Maruki is unambiguously a healthier person mentally by a long shot. Shady antics with Sumire aside, He genuinely wants to help people, he want's them to be better the right way ideally but if he had the means to do it of course he'd just hot delete those deeply traumatic and life shattering pains that they couldn't overcome. Then he does get that ability. And Then he does do that.

Anyway, the ramblings on long enough, and I kinda feel i'm drifting, but yeah. Think this is another symbol that tracks (I probably wanna check out Persona Q and Q2, but what I know on those does have it break down a bit but they're also not mainline games so I'm not sure how to square that so....)

#Persona 3 #Persona 4 #Persona 5 #Spoilers #Evokers #Shared Symbols

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anasticklefics · 4 years

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Tickle Cheating

Fandom: Star Trek

Characters: Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy

Summary: Jim tickles Bones. It’s what he DOES. So how does one react when you see someone else tickle your usual victim? Like a mess if you’re Jim Kirk apparently!

A/N: I blame @fickle-tiction (are you HAPPY?). Also I don’t know how hospitals work don’t yell at me. Might rewrite this idea with lee!Jim because he has my heart.

Also does this whole fic and my author’s note have a general chaotic air about it or am I going crazy haha?

Words: 3 124

The first time Jim noticed it was when he dropped by the hospital to deliver Bones’ lunch that he’d left at the kitchen counter of their shared dorm room. Entering a space that was oddly both chaotic and completely still at the same time, the general air so suffocating that it was no wonder Bones was exhausted each time he returned from a shift. Jim grinned at the receptionist, unsure of where the med students where and if he was even allowed past a certain point and if so, “would you or someone give this to Leonard McCoy?”

But the woman, hair framing her heart shaped, incredibly kind face, met his grin with a smile and told him he could go right in.

“If someone stops you or you can’t find him, simply ask if someone can leave the box in the kitchen.”

Her words sounded scripted in a way that told him this probably happened more often than not, and he thanked her and left. Up three stories with the elevator to the floor she’d directed him toward, footsteps echoing around the empty corridors, until he eventually found a more chaotic environment in the form of the emergency room.

How many times had he been here just that semester?

“Kirk!” someone Jim recognized from the Academy called out, glancing up from a clipboard. “What have you done now?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s been months since… whatever. Do you know where Bones is? McCoy. Whatever you call him.”

“I tend to call him Leo.”

“That’s weird. Do you know where he is? He left his lunch.”

The guy, unnamed for now and the rest of eternity, pointed his thumb in the direction of yet another corridor. “Third door to the right.”

“Should I just go in?”

“They don’t have any patients in there right now.”

So Jim went, wondering if he was breaking any rules but feeling extremely ready to get out of there.

He saw it then. The small room - do they perform surgeries in there? - with a bed and a table and four windows and five people, all on top of each other with Bones in the middle. All talking, simultaneously grave and cracking jokes. Familiar, whether they wanted to or not. A job where you couldn’t be timid of bodily contact; eating and sleeping almost in each other’s laps. Jim looked at Bones, saw how easily he moved with elbows in his guts and people breathing down his neck.

He also saw his face light up when he caught sight of Jim.

“I brought your lunch,” he said meekly, holding it up, and if Bones was the type to profess his undying love for his friends, Jim was sure he would be going down on one knee right now.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” he said later, having entered their dorm as Jim had been nearly falling asleep over his homework. “You bringing me food literally saved my day and I will grant you one wish as a reward.”

And Jim, exhausted, lonely and closer to the verge of tears than he would’ve liked, demanded cuddles.

In their years of living together Jim had never asked for cuddles. He always wanted to, but whatever physical affection he had a tendency to hand out to his friends like a way too common gift, he always stopped before they could get mad, and therefore always stopped before he felt satisfied.

“I just want a good fucking cuddle,” he was saying now, his tone too desperate for it to sound like a joke. Bones, bless him, didn’t comment on it.

“Let me take a shower and change,” he only said. “Trust me, you don’t want whatever my clothes have.”

Jim nodded, suddenly feeling too vulnerable, too exposed, so he ducked his head back down, eyes on his books. Listening to every sound Bones was making, thinking he was being both too quick and too slow, and when he finally returned Jim was fully aware of it, but pretending to be too engrossed in his work to notice.

“You wanna cuddle now or later?” Bones asked, so casual about it that Jim knew he’d never manage to get a single thing done for the rest of the night.

“Now,” he said, standing abruptly enough to nearly knock his chair down.

Bones grabbed it, his face a mix of amusement and concern. “Right then. The couch? Movie night?”

“Sure.”

“Want to pick the movie?”

“You go ahead.”

“Okay.”

Jim tried to shake the sudden awkwardness out of his limbs as he followed his friend into the living room area of their tiny dorm, realizing this was probably a bad idea. They hadn’t even touched yet and he was acting like a total fool.

“We don’t have to do this,” he blurted out, causing Bones to stop in his tracks. “I don’t know why I asked for it. I’m over it. I was just tired. We really don’t have to.”

“Jim.” Reaching out to grab Jim’s arms, Bones gave his flesh a squeeze. “Breathe. It’s fine that you asked for it and we don’t have to do it if you’ve changed your mind, but if I really didn’t want to myself I would’ve said so.”

Jim deflated. “Promise?”

“Jesus, you must be exhausted. Yes, promise.”

“It’s just that-” Jim wasn’t sure why he was trying to explain when Bones hadn’t asked for an explanation in the first place. “-I saw you at the hospital and you seemed so okay with being physically close to people and I feel like I might die if nobody holds me for, like, half an hour-”

“Jim.”

“-and I know it’s part of your job so I don’t want to overstep-”

“Please shut up for a sec.”

Jim did, but only because Bones had said please.

“I don’t necessarily enjoy having my personal space so violated,” he continued. “But of course I don’t mind you doing it. You’re my-”

“I know,” Jim said when Bones trailed off. They had no words to describe what they were. “So I shouldn’t be jealous?”

“Absolutely not, but mostly because you act like an idiot when you want something you think you can’t have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You act like a petulant child.”

“Oho, is that so?”

Bones ruffled his hair. “Go back to being timid. It was cuter.”

So maybe Jim didn’t pay attention to anything that happened in the movie and fell asleep in Bones’ arms ten minutes later, Bones’ fingers squeezing at various places on his body to get him to “relax for fuck’s sake”. Maybe he couldn’t picture himself falling asleep in an empty bed again for weeks. Maybe Bones was really fucking good at cuddling.

Waking up sweaty with Bones’ knee pressed to the small of his back later was a whole other thing. “Hhng. Get off.”

“You’re nearly on top of me.”

“Feels like I was hit by a truck.”

“You snore like a goddamn-”

Jim somehow managed to roll over and press his face into Bones’ neck. “Shh. Too loud.”

A spasm went through Bones’ body, convincing Jim he was trying to throw him off the couch and making him resort to clinging onto his torso for dear life. “N-no.”

“What was that?”

Bones was, miraculously, laughing.

Jim tried to crane his neck to get a glimpse of his face, but he only succeeded in pressing the top of his head beneath Bones’ chin. “Okay, what is happening right now?”

Bones said something incoherent, his words slurred with sleep and higher in pitch with laughter. His hands were clawing at Jim’s back, unable to get a good grip of his shirt and therefore only managing to lightly tickle him, which was kinda nice actually.

Wait.

“Oh, this is tickling you,” Jim said, laughing into Bones’ skin as if this was a group activity. “Hey, I didn’t even know you were ticklish.”

“I’m not,” came the strangled denial.

“Hmm, I think you are. Otherwise this wouldn’t bother you.” He spidered his fingers up Bones’ side, noticing the squirming getting a notch more desperate the closer he came to his friend’s ribs. He paused just beneath them. “I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t react to this I’ll believe you’re not ticklish. Okay?”

“Jim, you fucking-”

Jim jabbed him in the ribs and nearly lost his hearing from the shriek that left Bones’ mouth.

“Ah, so you’re ridiculously ticklish, then?”

Bones cursed and managed to slip his arm out from beneath him, placing it against Jim’s chest, but not pushing him off.

“And you don’t mind this? I see.”

“I’m gonna kill you, James Tiberius-”

“Don’t you middle name me, Leo.”

Years passed. They graduated. Jim somehow became a captain and got a ship. Bones for some reason decided to work on said ship, bestowing Jim with his constantly shifting moods for the next five years. Not that he complained. Was literally doing the exact opposite. And, all the while their lives changed and kept changing, Jim kept tickling him nearly daily.

“Don’t fucking tickle me in front of others,” had been Bones’ one demand disguised as a request.

So Jim didn’t, but kept it behind closed doors as they always had. The image of Bones being physically close to others always prompting him to demand cuddles, now that he wasn’t ashamed of this dire need anymore. And, more often than not, he would slip his hands beneath Bones’ shirt and make him laugh uncontrollably for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure how it had become a part of their routine, but he felt that if he didn’t get these intimate yet playful moments as often as he could he would shrivel up and die.

“You’re a drama queen,” Bones had said more than once when Jim had complained about them not having gotten any alone time.

“You literally beg me to stop when I’m barely even touching you,” Jim countered each time. “Don’t call me a drama queen when you’re just as bad.”

Bones would only wave a hand at him, having gotten out of the habit of blushing over his sensitivity years ago.

Something else that had become more common than they probably realized was how often Jim brought him food into medbay. Sometimes it was breakfast, snacks, his forgotten lunch or dinner. Other times it was just a drink, just as an excuse to stop by. Sometimes he came empty handed.

That day Bones truly had forgotten to eat, his empty seat painfully loud in the cafeteria. Jim knew his habits more than anyone and knew he wouldn’t eat unless food was visibly presented before him, and so he filled a tupperware with everything he knew Bones liked and skipped through the corridors, suddenly feeling like he was back at the Academy again.

Bones wasn’t alone, but he rarely was. The crowded hospital rooms had been replaced with him and Chapel dancing around each other, sometimes with more than one crew member present; arms and legs and chests and heads laid out for Bones’ magical fingers to heal, or so they hoped. Jim had lied there more times than he could count, so he was highly familiar with the nooks of this part of the ship.

Bones was standing on a stool, which made Jim stop in his tracks before he announced his presence, greeting dying on his lips and being replaced with a grin. Whatever Bones was trying to reach, it seemed to be just out of reach and he was grumbling as he kept stretching.

“Do you need a hand there?” Chapel asked, her tone playful while Bones let out an unprofessional curse.

“Can I borrow some heels?” he muttered, and she laughed, all familiarity due to working together in such close proximity for years. It wasn’t elbows in guts or naps in laps, but Jim recognized it from his crew on the Bridge. It was impossible to not grow close.

“It might help if I make you jump,” she continued.

“How the hell will you do that?”

Jim was almost proud of the fact that he didn’t let out any sound as he watched her reach out and poke at Bones’ ribs, just at the spot that could make him scream with laughter. It was a coincidence, it had to be a coincidence, how the hell could she know.

Bones didn’t squeal, but he didn’t pretend as if nothing was happening as he had learnt to do back in school, partly because back then people never meant to tickle you if they tried to get past you quickly and had to grab your waist. Chapel did indeed mean to make him squirm.

Jim watched his arms shoot down, swatting at her with a laugh so relaxed this really truly couldn’t have been the first time she tickled him. It really truly couldn’t.

Other people tickled Bones. Bones let other people tickle him.

He started backing away, lunch box forgotten when he literally bumped into Uhura who was coming from the opposite direction. The tupperware flew out of his hands as he let out a gasp in surprise, the food littering the floor only a second later. Things were a bit chaotic after that, but maybe because everything was overpowered by his frantically beating heart, that really had no business freaking out but there they were.

“I’m so sorry!” he heard Uhura say over his own incoherent babbling, the two of them crouching down to clean up the mess while Chapel and Bones kept repeating that “it’s fine, we have a broom, please get off the floor” that Uhura eventually listened to while Jim had to be pulled upright by Bones who was laughing, only to start frowning when he realized just how truly stressed out Jim was by the whole situation.

It wasn’t even about the food, but.

“I’ll go get you some more before they close the cafeteria,” he said, heart in his throat, threatening to spill out among the food on the ground, and who knew what that treacherous heart would reveal. “Really, it’s fine,” he said, leaving them be and rushing to the first restroom he could find, finally allowing himself to calm the fuck down and breathe.

What a stupid thing to get upset by, but.

He heard someone enter the room, causing him to press his body against the stall like a coward, but Bones’ voice rang clear anyway. “Jim?”

He didn’t reply.

“Come on, I know you’re in here.”

“I’m peeing.”

“Right, well, I’ll wait until you’ve finished.”

“Okay, I’m not peeing.”

“I know.” A beat, and, “Come out. Please.”

It was always the please that got him.

“Before you ask,” Jim said, exiting the stall. “I was gonna go get your food just after this stop.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about the food. I mean I do, and it was really nice that you brought me some, but it’s a slow day and I’ll be fine.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to see what was up with you.”

“With me?”

“You seem… I don’t know. Freaked out? Like something is wrong?”

“I see.”

“Jim.”

He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, looked anywhere but on Bones. “I don’t know. The whole situation sort of shook me and now I feel weird.”

“You spilling the food?”

“No. Jesus, no. Just-” He waved his hand in Bones’ general direction. “You being tickled by someone else. It was weird being an onlooker.”

“You’re acting like a disaster because of that?”

“Look, you know I’ve acted worse about tamer things.”

“You’re so stupid.”

Jim snorted, finally meeting his friend’s eye. “I’d love to have this conversation-”

“Stop lying.”

“-but I have to head back. Got a ship to run and all.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m bringing this up tonight.”

Jim patted his shoulder as he passed. “I’m counting on it.”

It didn’t mean that he was looking forward to it, however.

“Ugh, just get it over with,” he groaned when Bones entered his quarters, looking rather alert, pointing to a calm rest of the day.

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Bones deadpanned. “We’re gonna talk about my sensitive spots, after all.”

“I love your sensitive spots.”

“Focus.”

“I just thought it was something only I did to you, that’s all.”

“You got jealous?”

“Maybe a little?”

Bones relented. “You’re being-”

“Ridiculous, I know.”

“And kind of endearing, but I’ll only say that once.”

“You say many things once. Doesn’t mean I’ll forget them.”

“Oho, you’re kind of asking for it yourself, you know.”

Jim threw up his hands. “Tickle me, then. This whole day’s weird and backwards anyway.”

“You know I would never take your job.”

“Chapel did.”

“Oh, come on. As if you’ve never tickled anyone else before.”

Jim huffed, crossing his arms. “I never said my reaction was logical.”

“You gonna tickle me or not?”

“Are you asking me to?”

Bones did flush then, so rare nowadays. So wonderful. “Shut up. Just shut up.”

Jim barked out a laugh, already approaching him. “Stay still.”

“You know damn well I won’t.”

“I do, but it’s fun watching you struggle.”

“You sadist- wahait!”

Jim cornered him and pushed him down onto the couch, fingers already working over his hips, a spot he was certain no one else knew of. A spot that could make Bones scream so loud Jim had to stop out of fear of accidentally killing him.

Usually he was gentle, starting slow to make him giggle, but Bones had technically tickle cheated on him and that just wouldn’t do. Pinning him beneath his thighs, Jim dug into the sensitive spots, Bones’ clothes doing nothing to help him whatsoever.

Oh, how he laughed. Not a quick little inconvenienced laugh as he squirmed away, but a proper, desperate belly laugh. This was theirs and only theirs. Jim the only one Bones trusted to know this intimately. He was grabbing at Jim’s wrists now, but despite his strength he wasn’t pushing Jim away. Merely steadying himself.

Whatever they were and whatever they had, it always had and always would include this.

“I should tie you up and torture you,” Jim teased, even though he’d never immobilized him during this and only tickled him for a couple of minutes at a time, but Bones had once become a stuttering mess when Jim had threatened this and he did love a flustered Bones, after all.

He was laughing too hard to stutter, but the way he was shaking his head told Jim all he needed to know. His words had left a mark and whatever he did now, wherever he touched, would be more ticklish than usual.

He got to work.

#tickling #ticklish!bones #ticklish!mccoy #mckirk fic #mckirk #star trek fic #star trek #mine #tickle cheating #ana's fics #tickle fic

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livingintheworldofstories · 4 years

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forgiveness (can you imagine)

Genre: angst with a happy ending Word Count: 8273 Summary: After Beelzebub slams the door to Hell in his face, Crowley walks to Aziraphale's bookshop, but he can tell that something is off. He falls to his knees in pain - and then he realizes. She is making him Rise. It's painful. It's what he would never admit that he wanted. (Maybe now he can be loved.) ao3: forgiveness (can you imagine) If there is one thing Crowley is absolutely certain of, it is this: Once a demon, always a demon. However, what Crowley is absolutely certain of and what Crowley dreams of are quite different things. On lazy afternoons, he dreams he is a serpent and has always been a serpent. On good days, he dreams he is a demon and has always been a demon. But on the bad days, Crowley dreams he is forgiven. And loveable. And loved.

(Once an angel…)

Same side, he dreams voraciously. White-winged and golden-eyed, he dreams wolfishly. Untainted, unsullied, unmarked. Every blessed four-letter-word. Good, nice, kind, he dreams ravenously.

(You were an angel once.) And hungrily, hungrily, he dreams, a soft warm hand grasping skinny fingers. Yellow eyes and dark heart forgotten. What was once wretched. What was once wicked. Forgiven. Skin that has forgotten the shape of scales. I recognize you. I see you. We are the same. (Flames so hot they dance blue, licking up and licking down and licking everywhere as of yet untouched by pain.)

A Shakespeare play unwritten. Stars uncrossed. The sweetest love confessions, like poems, honey of the soul. He dreams so desperately. Two angels, side by side.

(Feathers burning so quickly, so easily, like they were meant for it. Stubborn flesh burns harder.) On worse days, at his weakest, Crowley dreams he is whole. He has never broken his wings. He has never disappointed anyone. He has never made a mistake so bad it can’t be forgiven. Pathetically, he dreams, I deserve to be loved.

(That was a long time ago.)

Crowley wakes up, and knows the nature of a demon, and knows to hold his tongue.

It’s just after the Nahpocalypse that he gets it a little mixed up and washes his dreams over into his carefully separated reality.

Demons, typically, do not hope. Hope is just a few technicalities removed from faith after all. It had been viciously burned out of them when they screamed during the Fall and no one came. Crowley, of course, has always been a rather terrible demon.

(This is where the sunset will take inspiration from. How beautiful, it thinks, watching white wings burn hot red, ardent orange, spiteful yellow. I will make those colors mine.) So for a few awful days after the world doesn’t end, Crowley is consumed with shameful, treacherous hope. His whole corporation is brimming with it. It’s brimming with idiotically composed hypotheticals. What if Heaven was holding him back? What if he lets himself have things now? Or some more pathetic ones. What if he will hold my hand?

(You do not land from a fall like this.)

But, of course, among all the things that changed, there are things that didn’t.

(You crash.)

Crowley is still a demon. It is intrinsic to his being that he can not be loved, certainly not by an angel. Unloved is woven into his pitch black feathers. Unforgiveable is braided into his fire hair. Maybe that’s what’s holding Aziraphale back.

(The crash is what leaves the life of what once was an angel hanging by a string. Any being with burning wings thinks it knows pain. But then their bones shatter. Then the fierce power of the impact knocks the breath out of their lunges. They would think, that knocked the soul out of my body, if they could still form coherent thoughts.)

Because Aziraphale knows. The very core of his being is rotten and wormed. There is no unseeing that. And hope dies a slow death in Crowley’s heart, as days pass, and everything is different and stays the same.

(You can only live through this if you convince yourself you do not have a soul.)

Maybe that is why he chooses to wander into hell, under thinly veiled excuses. No one bothers him on his way in. He makes it all the way to his office before he is stopped, two demons grabbing his arms and the Lord of Flies fixes him with an angry glare and crossed arms.

(In toxicity and heat, only the most stubborn beings survive. Maggots crawling up your calves, flies kissing your eyes, leeches clinging to your skin, a parasite disguises its greed as love and you reach for it without hesitation, without inhibitions. You let yourself be fooled with the hopeless desperation of a starving man.) “What are you doing here, Crowley?” Beelzebub asks, head tilted.

“I was just – ehh, y’know, clearing out my office -”

Beelzebub waves a hand, a cue for the demons to drag him through the narrow corridors of Hell. They ignore Crowley’s struggling and his shuffling feet and keep a tight grip. Outside the doors of Hell, they sent him on an undignified tumble with a shove. Crowley takes a moment to find his feet, but then he whirls around. Beelzebub and their demon bouncers are standing in the doorway.

“You can’t just – I mean, no hospitality, you people. I’m a demon too! I have rights! Worker’s rights, ever heard of it?”

“You’re no demon,” Beelzebub buzzes and slams the door in his face. Crowley blinks at it for a few moments, feeling oddly dejected.

(An apple that isn’t picked falls.)

Downtrodden, Crowley starts to walk somewhere, anywhere. He follows the familiar way to the bookshop almost automatically. He doesn’t know what he wanted in Hell, not really. He hasn’t belonged there for a long time. Perhaps he was looking for some familiarity. Perhaps he wanted to remind himself of what he deserves.

He breathes in the open space and lets himself think of Aziraphale. It’s not too late for lunch. Forget about what he can never have. Most dreams are best locked away. He just needs to put a lid on it somehow, the same way he has done for millennia.

Oh, he knows. There are some questions you do not ask. There are some strings you don’t pull. Not if you want to keep – not if you want to stay - He breathes in deeply, the smog-filled dirty London air, the free sky air, cold breeze air.

(But you do rise eventually. Sulfur dripping from what remains of your wings, every bit of you that can still feel aching, and strangely certain She doesn’t love you anymore, you rise.) This is how to carry on: You saunter forward. You keep your eyes ahead. On his way, he notices a total of four (four!) people who smile at him. It’s like the opposite of people staring because you have something on your shirt. It’s like everyone being very impressed with you because you don’t have something on your shirt. Crowley is thoroughly unsettled by it.

He does not expect the sudden piercing pain in his chest. It makes him crumble to his knees. The humans start sending him irritated glances now, so he scrambles to his feet and ducks into the nearest alley. Next to three black trash bags, Crowley lets himself be consumed by the ache.

Crowley has had his fair share of pain and millennia to feel it, but he has never felt anything like this before. It’s pain reinvented, like someone changed up the formula, just to make torture a little more interesting.

Fuck. Where the bloody Heaven is it coming from? Crowley’s knees buckle again and he props himself up by his hands, the rough asphalt digging into his palms. Fuck, is he dying? It feels like dying. He has never touched holy water, but he imagines this is what it must be like, like burning without burning.

It’s the mirror-image of agony. It’s pain in a different flavor. It’s death by – love. That’s what it is. Love. Bloody angelic fucking love. And there is something distinctly holy about it. It’s been an eternity since he’s felt like this, like this without the pain, like this but like it belonged in his body. But he remembers – fuck, he remembers and back then it was good, so good. (It’s a method of torture to put someone in a room for days and never turn off the light.)

He looks around frantically, searching for who did this to him, if it was Beelzebub and her demons, if it was an angel because only an angel could cause divine agony like this. But there is no one – he is alone in the alley with the trashcans – there is nobody but him, just like back then.

It’s everywhere, even in his toes, even in his fingertips. If he could feel pain in his hair or his nails, he would.

Maybe it’s Her. What if it’s Her? What if She is punishing him now, for saving the world or for asking too many questions or for not being good enough of a demon? Maybe She’s decided that if he doesn’t fit in the two categories she has carved out for them, he doesn’t deserve to exist at all. Maybe She’d decided he’d asked for too much. (He had. He’d asked for the world and for love and for nights spent stargazing and holding hands with an angel.) And She wouldn’t even let him say good-bye to Aziraphale. How is that for mercy? (He had never known Her to be merciful.)

He tries to grab his phone through the pain, but his hands are shaking and it slips through his fingers. Tremors roll through his body and he leans forward.

“It’s not fair,” he mutters, grinding his hands against the ground. He feels like he did in the burning bookshop, only this time he doesn’t have to lose his world. His world will stay, it’s only him who will be gone. That’s better. That’s almost something resembling okay. Aziraphale will be fine.

He’d thought he was dying back then, he’d really thought he would, back then he had still thought she would be merciful. Maybe this is Her finishing the job.

If he’s dying, why does it have to hurt so much? Couldn’t She have done it in his sleep, if She’s oh so powerful? (But he doesn’t deserve it, does he? He doesn’t deserve a peaceful exit. That’s what She’s always thought, that he should BURN BURN BURN) He screams

broken s o u n d s tumbling out of his mouth

Drowning

It’s like DROWNING

He has died like humans do a few times he has never drowned but almost so he knows -

It is drowning and surviving. Gulping up water, have it fill your lungs, and it does, it’s everywhere, holy and everywhere, he is choking on it and gasping for air that won’t come and never being granted the mercy of death.

This is the holy water that will refuse to kill you. He is n o t dying, dying is easy, he has done it over and over, he is living and that’s worse WORSE Where is HER MERCY? Humans die, and they say it’s like walking toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Why do they get to have it so easy? Why does light burn burn burn like water does. . And his wings. They hurt so much, he has to drag them onto this plane of existence.

. !

? Blue, everything. is. blue. ?

? They move

drag

on their own accord

on SOMEONES accord

upwards

UPwards

u p w a r d s - but they drag down go up but drag down heavy as lead as a lead balloon as the beginning of the world But you fly anyway, impossibly, against each downwards drag of your wings. (It’s like falling upwards.) (It’s still losing. It’s always losing.) He flies with wings in agony. Drowning. Only there is no water to drown in. It wells up inside of him, invisible and not really water.

Tears, though. Those burn. Like holy holy water. Surviving. Even though you’ve run out of air long ago and all you breathe is water, wet and cold. And it is Good.

He could feel how very bloody Good it was. (And Goodness hurts and scathes and sometimes kills. And Goodness does not repent. Goodness leaves a trail of bodies after itself and does not glance back a single time.) Why does She want him so high? So She can drop him? So he can Fall again? And again and again? Why is he surprised?

She brings him closer and closer – to Heaven – to what he once was - She will drop him - She will drop him out of the clouds - And worst of all -

He will never see Aziraphale again.

(Can She drag him up again by broken wings?)

He always thought he would die by love, all the love that has always consumed him and eaten him and devoured him and sustained him and nourished him and healed him – but Aziraphale is not even here, but Love is and doesn’t leave.

He doesn’t need Love with a capital L, he never has. He had love instead.

(And he was good at it, if there was one thing at all he was good at, it was this. He loved. Like a human. Like an angel. Like a demon with nothing else to live for. He’d loved, and it had been so, so good, and She would never take it away from him.)

And it had been so much. Too much. He had expected to drown in love, yes, but not like this. (He had expected a touch lingering too long.) (He had expected a gaze too intense.) (He had expected words too harsh.) (Those were the things he had prepared to die for.) (And oh, the love he had lived for.)

Higher, higher, he keeps shooting higher, he cannot stop his wings. (He will fly too close to the sun.) More than he would like to admit, I am scared. If this is dying, when do we get to the good part? If this is not dying, what is it? Is this my punishment for hoping? For asking? Should have known better than to hope. Am a demon after all.

demon aren’t i why does it feel wrong to think demon (unforgiveable it’s what i AM) I am a demon, I am unfor- I am un- I am a- I am an Giveable for u n Able lov u n Nomed N O M E D I am. Scattered letters on my tongue. I am an. I will die touching the clouds. (I am flying too close to the sun.) (But you don’t know how much I have always ached with it.) (You think your Love can kill me, go on, try it. I fucking dare you.) (Torture me with kindness. Whip me with niceties. Hollow me out with your Love, I fucking dare you.) You do not get to shape me. You do not get to make me. I am not your bruise to press on.

(I did ask when I was Burning.)

(I begged.) (Resurrect my soul. Glue my wings back on. Heal those sulfur burns. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.) You are slicing through the air and it is slicing through you. You are the weapon and the wound.

(You have flown too close to the sun.)

You are Her Enemy. You are Her detested door-to-door salesman. You are a dried leaf under Her boot and She likes to hear it crack.

…

You are Her child. … You are My child.

you are my child i love you i’m sorry -

The Goodness and the Love and the Holiness flood his veins and his essence and everything, until there is no room for him anymore.

It will keep pressing, he knows. Until he is burned away. And it’s okay. Aziraphale is safe. And it was all worth it. He has loved. He is ready to go.

But then it eases – but She will not let him – he can breathe again – his wings are his again – he is floating -

He gains control of his wings and lands on the ground of the alley softly. And he can tell. Something is Gone. And something is There.

There are two things he is certain of: He is Forgiven. He is Loved. Which makes him not certain of anything anymore.

He is shaking, even though the pain is gone. Once a demon. (Once a demon…) ? Once a.

? ?

He will not be loved. He will not be forgiven. He is. He’s.

It’s everywhere. He has felt it before, but that was a long, long time ago.

Love is not something to have. It’s a passer-by. It’s a precious visitor. It is not in its nature to last. (Not for someone like Crowley.) Love will not be owned. (And if there is one place it does not belong it’s behind yellow slitted eyes.) He knows what it feels like to have Love bleeding from your fingertips. Love oozing from star-maker’s hands. Love dripping red from curled angel hair. Love is not to keep. What just happened? What happened? Something is Missing. Something is There.

He is a demon, he has wings. He has… White. Why are they white? Fucking shit. Fucking hell. Holy fucking shit. Fucking Heaven. They’re white. They can’t be white. It’s impossible. (They burned in fire and in acid. They broke and healed. They are as black as a void where goodness used to lie.) He tears off his sunglasses and turns them around, quickly skimming his reflection in the glass. The eyes are still there. But the wings are looming behind him, as if he were – some sort of – holy – ngk

And if there’s one thing Crowley is absolutely certain of, it is this -

(It’s WHAT I AM -) once. crowley was once an angel. Fuck. As a matter of fact, no. No. No no no no no.

Crowley does not run to Aziraphale’s bookshop. It is an emergency, but not one that warrants superfluous exercise. He does, however, walk at a very brisk pace.

He does not think anything but a never-ending string of swear words and curses. He throws open the door to the bookshop and there he is. Safe. Whole. Tartan bow tie and everything.

He almost walks back out when he is hit with a wave of love stronger than anything he felt out on the street, love that he knows is not his own.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley rasps. He can’t say the other thing at the moment. “Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts walking toward him, hands anxiously fidgeting in front of him. “What’s going on? What happened? Is it angels? Are angels after you? I could swear I’m sensing one close by, I’ve been a little… nervous about it.” “Nah – no, it’s not – it’s not angels, I don’t think, it’s -”

“But I’m usually never wrong about these things.” Aziraphale frowns.

“Well – well you’re not wrong, technically, it’s just.” Crowley can’t say it and tries to scramble for a place to start. “I went to hell.” “Hell? Why? Did they take you? Did they hurt you? Are you hurt?”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face is heartbreaking. But Crowley is fine. Isn’t he? Nothing broken. This time, there are no scars. Skin is unblemished now. “No, I’m not hurt, well, not anymore, but… I don’t know why I went into hell, it was stupid. But then she – she slammed the door in my face and said you’re no demon, which ha! Fair enough. Just Beelzebub being petty, you’d think. You don’t just un-become a demon. It’s not like – not like I could be some sort of an aardvark all out of a sudden. That’s not how it works.” Aziraphale has come very close now and reaches out his hands to clasp Crowley’s, which is probably meant to be reassuring but makes the panic flare up inside of him. Maybe it’s not even panic, but some other embarrassing emotion close to it.

“My dear, what are you saying?”

Crowley clenches his jaw. He can’t say it. Aziraphale will think he’s mad. He is mad. This is mad.

Aziraphale is fine. Now that he’s seen it, he should leave. Maybe he can just… sleep it off. Maybe it will all turn out to be a very strange dream. He will wake up in his flat, as demon as ever, and there will be nothing to be confused about, nothing to dread and nothing to hope for.

But he can still feel it. As real as anything. Buzzing under his skin and above his skin. In the bookshop, he can tell it’s everywhere. Is that Aziraphale’s love? It’s… shining. It’s so beautiful. No, it can’t be. There’s too much of it.

His lips are clamped together, but his wings are not. He unfolds them right here in the bookshop. They are so bright. Brighter than they should have any right to be.

Aziraphale lets go of his hands and stumbles back. He makes a small ‘oh’ sound.

What will he think? That it’s ridiculous. It is ridiculous.

(That it shouldn’t have happened. Crowley doesn’t have what it takes to be one, that’s obvious to anyone.) (That he has wanted this to happen. That he has wanted to upend Crowley’s entire being and remake it ever since they met on the wall. That this is good.) Aziraphale presses his hands in front of his mouth and just stares.

That’s when it occurs to Crowley – things are different now. He hasn’t changed, but things have. Unforgiveable unraveled and turned into forgiven. Unloveable unraveled and turned into loveable. How much more would it take for loveable to turn into loved? Maybe Aziraphale will let himself -

(Is the apple still so tempting when it is not forbidden anymore?)

“Is this -” Crowley asks, “Could we -”

He thinks, Aziraphale will just know. Because of course he is asking. He is asking.

But Aziraphale is shaking his head. Still staring.

Oh, the eyes. He forgot about the eyes. Quickly, he puts on another pair of sunglasses. His eyes are still demon. He is a demon, but watered down. Still too demon. Even when he’s not.

“I – I know the eyes are still – but it doesn’t matter, I’m -” and it doesn’t feel right, but if this is what it takes to convince Aziraphale – “I’m an angel, right?” We’re on the same side, right? We’re the same. Right? Just don’t look past the sunglasses, and it will be fine. Just forget that my wings were black only yesterday. Aziraphale’s expression changes, but Crowley can’t tell. “You being -” Aziraphale hesitates too, “- an angel doesn’t change how I feel about you, dear.” “Oh.”

Crowley had let himself hope again and he’d barely even noticed it. But he shouldn’t have. Maybe in time, Aziraphale would get used to it. Maybe in time, he would fall in love. But not so soon. Crowley has waited six thousand years, he can wait a little longer.

Unless.

Unless it doesn’t matter. Unless what’s on the surface doesn’t count, only what Aziraphale knows to be true and what he knows to be true is that Crowley is a demon and meant to be a demon and demons can never be redeemed. Maybe She has changed Her mind about that, but that doesn’t mean Aziraphale has.

Aziraphale knows.

(Maybe it was never being a demon what made him unloveable.)

But he can wait. He will. He’ll be patient.

Oh, the love. It’s starting to become unbearable.

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t know – it just suddenly started. I was walking here and then suddenly I was Rising.” “How? How do you Rise?” Aziraphale seems astonished by it. And Crowley thinks of burning love. Of water that is not water. Of divine agony. “Just… sauntered vaguely upwards,” he says and shrugs. It’s strange how different and familiar it feels. How foreign and home. How far and how close. “There’s just so much love here,” he says, just to say anything else, “where does it all come from?” Aziraphale looks surprised and then bashful.

“Maybe it would help if I stepped outside for a moment?” “Why, what’s the problem?” Crowley asks, confused. “Oh, wait, you don’t mean – all that love is coming from you?” Ah. That explains. It was a stupid question earlier, although it’s not like that’s ever stopped him. He should have been able to tell. So much love, so much, and none of it is directed at Crowley. (There is the proof Crowley never wanted that Aziraphale was not just lying to Crowley or even to himself.)

“It is,” Aziraphale says softly, resigned, almost like he just admitted to something. “I am an angel after all.” But Crowley has always known that Aziraphale loves. But he had not known how sweet it would feel, even if it’s just a dream that it’s for him.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asks and comes closer again. “I know it must be a startling change.” “Ha! You can say that again. Count me startled alright.” Crowley runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a slow breath. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just… don’t understand why She would do this. Why would She just – shake everything up again? I thought – She made the rules clear all these years ago and now I feel like maybe I was playing an entirely different game all along.” Like he thought they were playing chess, but it was really Monopoly all along.

“Maybe… maybe She wanted to reward you.”

Aziraphale had not been there. He had not felt it. To him, being an angel comes without a price attached. “No,” Crowley insists immediately. “No way. It must be some sort of punishment. I just can’t see how yet.” “Is it so hard to believe that the Universe would simply be kind to you?”

“Yes,” Crowley says tersely.

She isn’t kind, She plays games. The Universe has never granted him favors. Anything Crowley tried to do right has always gone wrong.

“I can’t,” he realizes suddenly, “sorry, angel. I can’t.” He rushes out of the bookshop and doesn’t listen to Aziraphale’s stammering and doesn’t turn back around. It’s not just the conversation he can’t do, it’s all of this. He’s not an angel. He’s not a bloody angel. He doesn’t want to be an angel. Angels are stuffy and hypocritical. Angels have hurt him and have hurt Aziraphale. He doesn’t want to be an angel. (He has never wanted to be a demon either, of course, but that’s semantics.) The Bently is still at the entrance of hell, so he takes a Taxi back to his flat.

“I’m not an angel,” he says to the air. He circles his throne and flops down on it. A moment later, he gets up again and starts pacing the room.

“Do you think this counts?!” he says, growing more agitated. “Do you think the pain just – goes away? It doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t mean you never let me suffer. You did. You did.” He slams his hands down on the table, then braces himself on them.

“You might have Forgiven me. Maybe. Maybe you did. But that doesn’t mean that I will forgive you.”

He just can’t figure it out. So he yells. Yells loudly, as if something like volume could ever make Her hear him. “Why did you do this?” he yells, “what do you want from me? Do you want me to forgive you because I won’t. Do you want me to be your perfect little angel because you can forget that.” She has never heard him. For millenia he has begged her, he has asked her, he has yelled at her and She has never responded. “FUCK you,” he yells. “You hear me? Yes, I just cursed your fucking name. Are you going to make me Fall again, now? Then go ahead and do it.”

Is that Her game? Are those the stakes? He’d never known back then. That that was something that could happen. But now he does. Now he knows Her and what She is and what She will do.

“Is that what you want? For me to make the next mistake so you can push me out again?” That must be it, right? Why else would she do this? It’s oh so in-fucking-effable.

“I won’t be your blasted clean slate!” His plants are shivering, even though it’s not them he’s yelling at. “I won’t be your blank canvas, just for you to hurt again.” (I will not have everything just to lose it all.) (I will not climb high just so I can fall deeper.) “I am a demon,” he says with a certainty he doesn’t have, “I don’t care how white my wings are, I am a demon.” Demon means many things and most of them Crowley has always hated with his whole being. But demon also means ‘abandoned’. Demon means ‘pushed over the edge of Heaven’. “I am a demon. You didn’t not hurt me just because I don’t have the scars to prove that you did.”

She cannot erase him. She can’t write him out of existence, it’s too late for that. He might die, yes, but he was here and he was a demon and she can’t take that from him. “Twice,” he snarls, “twice you’ve ripped away who I am. Redefined my being how it pleases you. I am not your plaything. I am not your game piece.”

He pushes himself away from the table again, suddenly drained from anger. “I am not Crawly,” he says. And refuses to be.

***

The angels come for Aziraphale the next day. He is not expecting them. They scoop him up outside his bookshop and drag him up.

Gabriel is with them, but not to get his hands dirty. He is here to taunt. To mock.

“You’re not an angel, Aziraphale,” he says, “you should have Fallen. We’re just helping to – speed things along, as it were.” So that’s what they were after – a Fall. Aziraphale had often wondered what it would be like to Fall. He had wondered if the freedom would be worth the pain.

In the privacy of his mind, he has drawn up a list of things he would say if he were Fallen. And a list of things he would do.

There were times he had wanted it. (Our side.)

They keep dragging him up, knows he is too weak to break free and he will not miss Heaven.

They break his wings with a well-placed blow half-way to the clouds and he will not miss the angels.

When they reach the lowest cloud, he slips free.

It’s not the angels who make him Fall. Angels don’t have that kind of power.

What makes him Fall is a thought that starts with How could She do this to him? The thought follows Why do you let him be an angel now and not six thousand years ago? It stumbles briefly over Why do they get to be angels? The thought reaches Are you saying he didn’t deserve it before? Because he did. He deserved everything. It dives right into You don’t know what’s right or wrong, do you? And hits You’re just playing a game with full force.

It’s not quite I don’t believe you did the right thing that does it. It’s the thought he ends with: I don’t believe in you. He falls. He looks up at the sky and the clouds and the somber faces of beings that were supposed to be good. And he thinks, I don’t believe. And then he Falls.

He doesn’t try to move his broken wings. He lets it happen.

(He had thought Falling would take longer.) (But it’s over quickly.) (It’s hitting the ground that hurts.)

(The force of his fall denting the asphalt.) He lies in the rubble. And he knows that something is Gone. And something else is There.

Several of his bones are broken, but it’s nothing he can’t mend. His corporation survives the fall. Love doesn’t.

He lies and lets himself feel the loss of it. I don’t want your Love, he thinks and misses it terribly.

He stares at the far-away sky for a long time. It is untouchable now. For a long while, he lets himself feel the pain - and finds it’s not a fresh wound. It’s very old and has been bleeding for a long time. Maybe it can finally start healing now.

Then he thinks, I should get on with it. If Crowley can do it, so can I. Then he rises up in his spot of rubble. And then he does. ***

(He does not call Crowley. He locks the bookshop and closes his blinds.)

(He cries for as long as his corporation will produce tears.)

(He tears half of his books apart with his fingers and all the brute force he can summon, then he miracles them back together. Once. Twice.) (He screams at Her, but he doesn’t use words. She will understand.) (He lets his phone go to voice mail and miracles it apart when it keeps ringing.) (He does not answer the knocks on his door.) “Aziraphale!” (Not the banging either.) “Angel!” (His bones have healed but the pain fills him from head to toe.)

“Please let me in.” (He posts Crowley a letter. I’m fine. Go away. He lets it float outside the bookshop.)

(It goes quiet.) (He can still sense an angel around.) *** A week later, Aziraphale dusts the bookshop.

It’s ineffable.

Aziraphale is Fine. He lifts the blinds. To Hell with ineffable.

He gets on with it.

*** Crowley is leaning against the door of the bookshop when it opens. He gets to his feet swiftly and turns around, but he balks when he sees Aziraphale’s face.

“No,” Crowley says and backs away. Scared. “She can’t – She can’t, She wouldn’t dare. Not you.”

Because I would tear Heaven apart for you, and She knows it – I would tear her whole Creation apart until She was the only being left and then I would put Her to trial.

“No. It’s fine.”

Aziraphale looks indeed fine for someone who has spent a week holed up in a bookshop. He looks too fine. Unnaturally fine. He ushers him into the bookshop and closes the door behind them.

“It’s not,” Crowley says quietly.

“Well, it is what it is. No use in dwelling on it.”

But Crowley will dwell on it. For a long time.

“What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

He is frantic with concern, the shock of finding the locked-up bookshop still deep in his bones. He hadn’t expected this. He would have expected angels to come and get their revenge. Not Her. “I believe this is something I had to do alone,” Aziraphale says.

These are the repercussions. This is the price. Why would She make Aziraphale, Aziraphale of all angels, the best angel there is, why would She make him Fall?

“Did it hurt?”

Too much time with a demon. Where is the limit?

You can have my soul, you can have my heart, you can have my wings, I let you take it all, but not him – you can’t have him. “It didn’t hurt a lot for a Fall.”

He has dreamed of this. He is a complete and utter bastard and he has dreamed of this. What if Aziraphale were a demon? What if I were an angel? He had never imagined those two would collide. “But it hurt.” Aziraphale doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

This is the cruelty he knows from Her. She will keep them forever apart. They can never touch. They will never be the same. Maybe that’s her punishment. (It is ever more cruel if you had hope. And Crowley has always been a terrible demon.) “I’m sorry,” Crowley says.

In a general bad-things-should-never-happen-to-you way but also in a very specific this-is-my-fault way.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale says kindly. “We were always rather terrible at our jobs, weren’t we? You a bad demon. Me a bad angel.”

(I would give my grace to you, if I could.) (I don’t deserve it, I never did.) “I was a terrible angel too.”

“And I imagine I’ll make a terrible demon. I suppose it doesn’t really matter then, what we are.”

Why him why him why him why HIM?

“It does. It does!” Crowley is growing angry. “I can’t believe how calm you’re being. Why aren’t you freaking out? I’m freaking out.” “My dear, I’ve had six thousand years to learn that, angel or demon, it’s not important. They’re really just labels.”

“Just. Labels.” Crowley repeats dumbstruck.

He steps past Aziraphale to the sofa, grabs one of the pillows and presses it to his face. And then he screams.

Aziraphale doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t understand, this is all on Crowley. Crowley never should have talked to an angel on the edge of Eden. He never should have gotten so close.

“What about Love?” he tries, choked up.

“It was a bit overwhelming sometimes. All that Love.” If Crowley could sense love, then so could Aziraphale back then. Then he’d sensed Crowley’s love – then he’d always known – and of course he’d known something so blindingly obvious – and it had all been too much for him, Crowley’s love, so much that he was glad to be rid of it. Not having to sense it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley says again and he is. More than anything.

Crowley should go.

This is why Aziraphale had barricaded the bookshop.

It’s over. They both know it’s Crowley’s fault. He ruined this. He’d wanted to much. He’d wished a doomsday upon them.

“’s my fault,” he speaks it out into the open quietly. The sorry wraps around his throat like a snake and starts to strangle him. “It must have been my fault. I made you Fall. I tainted you.” (This is what happens when you touch an angel.) (When a demon touches an angel, they bleed into each other. It is as unholy as it is holy.) Aziraphale, who must be the kindest demon there is, if Crowley can ever accept he is a demon, does not condemn or accuse him. He will be gentle about his rejection. Aziraphale is an expert in wrapping brush-offs in nice words. He kicks people out of his bookshop with sensible shoes.

Can’t you see, angel? I did this I did this I did this to you I am worse than a demon

I am your monster, I am your nightmare, I am your Personal Hell I am your punishment, I am your crime, I am your worst mistake He is a thief and a scoundrel. He took it. He took Aziraphale’s grace. Aziraphale should hate him. Should kick him to the curb.

(He had seen something precious and wanted to own it.) And Aziraphale has always known, has rejected him at every turn because he always knew what was really there, but nothing has ever been as bad as this. There is no coming back from this. He will walk out the door of the bookshop and never return. Won’t be allowed to. (The most unforgiveable thing he has ever done is to be forgiven.) But Aziraphale looks at him, with his kindness. He steps toward him.

(You should not have let me touch your wings, lest I turn them black.)

You might not be Heaven’s angel, but you will always be mine. (I turned them black.) Aziraphale puts a hand to Crowley’s cheek, as if to soothe him.

(I never even kissed you, but I burned away your Grace.) Aziraphale tugs his sunglasses off gently. (Not burn, but take. Take and take and take.) “Dearest, don’t insult me,” Aziraphale says then, “this was nobody’s choice but my own.” “Choice?!” Crowley croaks.

“I was never much fond of being an angel, as you well know.” How can Aziraphale accept this so easily? Doesn’t he know - Why does he always understand but never understand -

But there is nothing to change it. This is the new world now. We are an angel and a demon has become true once more.

***

“It’s strange,” Crowley says, “I thought all your angel-love would disappear, but it’s all still here.” Aziraphale lets out a strangled sound. “Yeah, s-strange.” *** For a day there, they were both angels. But now Crowley has missed his chance.

*** “She has been quite cruel, from time to time,” Aziraphale says. *** “Even the kids.” *** A man rushes past Crowley when he enters the bookshop.

“Who spit in his coffee?” he asks Aziraphale, who is sorting books.

“Oh, I have a feeling he suffered a minor delusion and thought the book he picked up had maggots crawling all over it, but who knows.” “Okay, and who spit in your coffee?”

“Satan,” Aziraphale says innocently.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaims, equal measures scandalized and bemused.

“Didn’t you see that book he was carrying in his bag? Full of dog-ears. I will not tolerate a book-abuser in my shop.”

“I see.” Crowley hides his smirk.

*** A girl runs along the sidewalk and trips over her own feet. Crowley, sitting in the Bentley, sees her fall. Her knee is scraped and starts bleeding. She’s crying. Crowley’s heart flies into his throat.

He wants to heal her. It’s a forbidden emotion. It’s Something Not To Think About. He is not allowed to want things whole. Except now he is.

It’s a subtle miracle. Crowley gets out of the car and gives a short wave of hand. The skin mends itself and the scrape is gone.

He has done this kind of thing before, of course. When there were no other demons around. This time he doesn’t feel guilty. “Did you just heal -” Aziraphale starts when he walks into the bookshop.

“Shut up.” ***

“Oh, but you can’t leave without trying the crème brûlée,” Aziraphale tells the couple on its way out the French restaurant. “It’s simply – well, divine.”

The couple has a change of heart. “I’m starting to think it’s the opposite,” Crowley remarks and raises an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Aziraphale says cheerfully and takes a bite of asparagus. *** Crowley leaves for the homeless shelter every now and then. Aziraphale knows better than to ask.

***

Crowley doesn’t know what to do with Love. It feels like it belongs to somebody else. But he also knows that missing it is worse, so much worse. He knows Aziraphale doesn’t tell him everything.

And he can’t bear the thought, not even of Aziraphale being a demon but of Aziraphale suffering like a demon.

He won’t feel Unforgiveable, not now that they know that demons can be Forgiven. But cut away from Love, from Her Love, not being able to sense it anymore… Crowley knows that it’s hard. It’s lonely.

Sometimes, it’s like freezing out in the cold. Sometimes, it’s like starving of something. He wants to give it back to Aziraphale, even if only a sliver. Only a modicum of what he really deserves.

And Crowley… well, he has Love but he does not have love. Not the kind he wants.

“I want you to know… it’s not gone,” he tells Aziraphale on a quiet evening, sitting next to him on the sofa.

“What, my dear?” “I… I know you always knew… and of course, I know you don’t return – I just want you to know. Because it’s the not knowing… that’s really painful.”

Crowley is explaining himself badly, but it’s been in his mind for so long, it’s hard to let it out.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Aziraphale diverts his full attention to him now. “Well, it’s… It didn’t really become clear to me that you knew, must know, until I could sense love myself.” Quickly, Crowley adds: “But I still do.” “Do what?” Aziraphale looks very confused, which means he’s not being deliberately obtuse. And he’ll have to say it. It hurts to say it, but nothing is as bad as Aziraphale not knowing.

“I love you,” Crowley says softly. “And you know that. You must have been able to sense it for millenia. So I hope you realize… you’re not unloved. Could never be. Not as long as I’m alive.”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open.

“You don’t have to respond!” Crowley rushes to say. “All this time, you haven’t said anything, so – so that’s an answer in itself. I mean, I sense love, of course I know you don’t. Can’t.”

This will not break them. If nothing has yet, this does not have the power to. But it still hurts. Oh, it hurts. And he has always, always wanted too much. “My darling, I think you’re not yet an expert at the sensing of love.”

Crowley rolls his eyes.

“It doesn’t exactly require a lot of skill.” Aziraphale sends him a calculating look.

“Who do you think my love belongs to, then?”

It sounds like a trick question. “Wha – the world?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “A nice thought, but I really don’t love the world all that much.” “Then what?” “It’s a misconception, you know. That angels can tell where the love comes from. We – they can only tell that it’s there.”

So he didn’t know. He didn’t know that Crowley loved him – well, he should have been able to tell anyway.

But then Crowley’s throat goes try. His mind should not go there, but it does. The well of hope inside of Crowley is endless. No matter how much of it you snuff out, there is always more to come.

“So hypothetically,” Crowley says.

“Yes, hypothetically…” “All this love could be directed… at one person.”

Crowley scoots a little closer to Aziraphale. “Even a demon?” Crowley adds. “Yes, a demon,” Aziraphale breathes. Yes, feast yourself on my tainted love. Do you think you are immune to poison because it was home in my veins? Are you willing to take your chances?

It’s bad. Crowley shouldn’t do this. But he can’t stop his hand from reaching out. He stops at at the last moment, just before touching Aziraphale’s and quickly draws it back. He almost forgot. There’s a crater between them still.

“But you won’t let yourself,” he says and is certain that it’s true. They are an angel and a demon, it doesn’t matter who is which. Aziraphale thinks they don’t fit. “We’re an angel and a demon. ‘S probably some sort of law of nature against it.”

Hope dies a slow death in his chest. “You’re probably right,” Aziraphale says, which speeds up the process a little. “But -”

“But?” “As of late, it turns out, I’m a bit of a rebel.” Crowley’s head shoots up. “What?” “And I don’t care much for rules.”

I have always been venomous, you should have known to stay away. You shouldn’t have let me tempt you. (Soft-seeming lips, did you let yourself be caught off-guard by the teeth behind?) “Aziraphale,” Crowley whispers and it’s do you want this will you let me can you forgive me? Aziraphale takes his hand. Please don’t let me bite you. “You really shouldn’t,” Crowley says.

“Why not?”

Aziraphale looks at him so earnestly, so seriously, like Crowley matters. “Falling for it wasn’t enough of a clue?” “You didn’t make me Fall, dear. That was all me.”

“But I’m not g-” his voice is wet “good for you.” “You are.” Aziraphale’s voice is rising. “You didn’t need to be an angel for me to know that.”

He wants to lean in, lean so close he can breathe Aziraphale’s breath, he wants to press his lips to Aziraphale’s but he’s frightened that Aziraphale would let him.

Venom on my lips and poison in my blood, I taste so sour, darling, don’t drink from me. And I know you are a glutton for it, you are a glutton for the finer things. But don’t drink your punishment from me, it won’t taste well. But then Aziraphale leans forward and kisses him and Crowley can’t stop him and he doesn’t want to and Aziraphale’s love tastes so, so sweet. And Crowley doesn’t like eating pastries or candy but he loves this.

She will never have this. She could never create this. She could never remake the world in a way that he won’t fall for Aziraphale.

It’s a slow kiss and it’s a little difficult to fit all that love between their lips, but they manage it.

She could never take this. She can drown the world and She can burn the world and She can banish the angels and She can grow a garden in Hell, but this love will always be there. She can’t touch it.

Crowley is not rotting, not anymore – he is blooming, like the blossoms on an apple tree. Not even he can destroy this.

He is touching the sun. He is living in it.

“Well then,” Aziraphale says and beams at him. “Can I tempt you to dinner?” Crowley groans. “Oh, you’re insufferable.”

Aziraphale looks very smug.

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to smite me. With, what was it? Your angelic righteousness.”

They stand up from the sofa at the same time and start walking toward the door.

“You’re a real bastard, Aziraphale,” Crowley tells him. Aziraphale preens at the compliment. Things are shaken up. They are a little different and a little the same. But Aziraphale and Crowley carry on as always. And Crowley still glues coins to the sidewalk every now and then. Aziraphale still blesses babies once and again. One of them might be an angel and the other might be a demon.

Semantics, really.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #crowley #crowley x arizaphale #aziraphale

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

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For You: 4 O’Clock

Chapter 1: Comeback

Taglist: @jineunwootrash

“Dude! Lei!” Lucas cheered into my ear as he (again) combed his fingers through my recently chopped black hair. Independent from those who cried that I ruined my visuals, he boasted, “I love this!”

Lucas was too excited. About my haircut, about my still-secret impending debut in SuperM’s comeback, about getting to work together after years of being best friends. Even as I struggled to escape his reach, trying to smooth my hair before a stylist could scold me for wasting their hours of hard work, trying to force my smile into the hard line that would fail to convince Lucas to behave, I laughed. I was too excited too.

My laughter died with the ever-present realization that somebody is always watching. That curse of being an idol meant that we couldn’t feel this way— carelessly happy— or, rather, that we shouldn’t.

Before I could remind Lucas (he always needed to be reminded), Mom’s voice broke through the on set bustle. “Break’s over, kids! Hands to yourself Lucas— this is why we have dating rumors! You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted!” She spoke without glancing up from her clipboard, without faltering in her fast-paced course to who knows where to do who knows what, the fabric of her bright red pantsuit swishing in time each step.

Lucas finally stepped away, instinctively abandoning his assault on me to stare after Mom. As I dropped my phone into my backpack, satisfied that there was nothing worth a response in my inbox or on social media, he whistled. “Dude, Mom is hot.”

Were I not used to that— Lucas referring to my mother as if she were also his, calling her hot— I might have cringed. Indifferent, I forced my eyes to roll because that was the kind of reaction Lucas liked. “Do you ever think that’s why you can’t get a girlfriend? The fact that you lust after my mother— our manager?”

Lucas shook his head. “Nah. I can’t get a girlfriend because everyone things I’m dating you.” He poked my forehead accusingly as if his smothering affection weren’t the cause of those false rumors, and I swatted his hand away. “Plus, didn’t ya hear? We can’t even touch a person of the opposite sex or else we’ll end up like the idol who never debuted.” His breath huffed out of his forever-swollen lips.

The story about the idol who never debuted because of an unplanned pregnancy was some kind of fable, myth, or urban legend that pervaded every aspect of life as an S.M. idol. Maybe nobody ever really believed it. Maybe everyone thought it was some cleverly crafted tale to get us to focus on training. Maybe we thought we wouldn’t hear it after debut, but it was whispered in response to every dating scandal and mentioned by Mom still on the (frequent) occurrence that Lucas ignored my boundaries.

All I know is that Lucas and I hated that story, and we expressed our hatred differently. Lucas was determined to rebel against it not by getting a real girlfriend but by committing to being my best friend in every sense of the word, regardless of what the press said, regardless of how fans often misinterpreted, regardless of Mom’s plentiful scoldings. And I— well, Lucas said that I was the perfect idol because I was as obedient as I was talented, but the truth was that becoming the scandalized idol in the next cautionary tale was my biggest fear. That’s why I strictly observed a self-imposed total dating ban: fear of controversy. And maybe deeper down, a fear of intimacy, but more on that later.

I shied away from Lucas’s reference to the scandalized idol, rationalizing to his widening eyes, “I’m due on B set. I have to re-do my introduction because I kept getting distracted by Taemin’s laugh yesterday.” I wondered what could have been so funny to Taemin, but I never would have asked back then.

Lucas’s mouth fell open, I’m sure, to tease me about being incapable of functioning around Taemin, but his turn to speak was stolen by a boisterous trio of men I would recognize anywhere.

The faces of Donghae, Eunhyuk, and Shindong were among the most familiar of my childhood. I could remember vaguely when they debuted. I was six years old, sitting backstage where Mom could find me as soon as the first Super Junior Stage was completed. Being an unofficial trainee at the time, I was studying Mandarin.

Anyway, what matters is that I couldn’t escape once Super Junior fixed their gaze on me. If I did, they would tell Mom, and I would be in trouble not only for disrespecting my elders from work but also my elders in a familial sense.

“Where’s our manager?” Shindong barked at nobody in particular. Nobody responded because Super Junior’s demands for Mom had become too commonplace to garner any attention.

“Isn’t this a bit bold?” I smiled gratefully while accepting a strawberry milkshake offered by Donghae, who greeted me with a small closed-mouth grin. “You guys have stormed onto the SuperM set every day this week.” Which meant I had a strawberry milkshake every day that week. Oops. Another failed diet.

Donghae said, “We’ll cross improper lines for you mom every day of every week,” and Eunkhyuk added loudly, as if aspiring to arouse Baekhyun’s attention, “Yeah! She was our manager first! She loves Super Junior best!”

Baekhyun appeared out of nowhere. As always, his voice— a bright shout— preceded him. “Not a chance! She’s our manager now! I’ll never let you take her!”

And just as quickly as he had appeared by my side, Baekhyun dashed off in pursuit of Mom with Eunhyuk and Shindong following closely behind.

I shook my head. Goofball Baekhyun, running the wrong way.

“What is it?” Donghae tilted his head to meet my gaze. “She’s not that way?”

Donghae was so earnest, so intent on looking right into somebody’s soul, that these moments when I held his attention were blush-inducing. I squirmed, and Lucas snorted. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know where Mom is. It’s been kinda hectic, and I haven’t seen her in a few hours—”

It was hard enough to lie to Donghae without Lucas butting in.

“What are you talking about?” Lucas had been quiet for too long, so he shouted through a mouthful of barbecue chips fished out of my backpack. Thief. “She just told us— ow!” He shrieked as I grabbed his hand and crushed it with all the force I could muster.

“Sorry, Donghae.” I bowed to my senior. “We really have to go! I hope you find my mother!” Guilty, my eyes flinched away from his frowning face.

Once we were out of Donghae’s earshot, and once I dropped Lucas’s hand, he stretched his digits and whined, “That hurt, Lei! Why did you do that? And why did you lie to Donghae about Mom?”

“Because,” I hissed, narrowly dodging an intern running with two tall cups of coffee, “they’re fighting.”

“They’re fighting?” Lucas gasped.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Or, at least, I thought they were fighting. I didn’t know why Mom was avoiding Donghae, but I had overheard vague snippets of her conversations with Heechul when they were supposed to be watching some drama in the living room after dinner. I heard her sigh of relief when she learned that she would be responsible for organizing SuperM’s comeback and tour rather than assisting with the next Super Show. I didn’t need to know the specifics that Mom would never tell me. No matter how much I liked Donghae, if there was a fight, I was on Mom’s side.

“Here.” I passed my milkshake to Lucas after taking one long sip. “You can have this. I can’t take it onto set.”

“Ooooh!” Lucas’s eyes rounded in gratitude. He skipped off before turning back to shout, “Wait, Lei, what’s my schedule again?”

He needed to listen during briefings instead of playing around with my hair.

Having settled into the chair, sitting perfectly still so the audio technician could clip a microphone to the collar of my sheer black sweater, I responded (not loudly enough to disturb the tech), “You’re supposed to take pictures with Mark.”

“Okay! Thanks!” He grinned.

That time, my smile wasn’t forced for the camera; it was a reaction to Lucas.

Taemin and Kai were unapproachable, each for completely different reasons.

Lucas joked that I was the born and bred idol, and most people seemed to agree, but I always thought that if the perfect idol existed, his name was Lee Taemin. Like me, he debuted at 14. Unlike me, he proved himself worthy of fame and admiration with pure talent.

Hate comments didn’t need to remind me of the role Mom played in my success. I was grateful and, under my carefully crafted proud exterior, I was insecure. I was not talentless, and I worked hard almost in a vain attempt to distance myself from the poorly disguised mutters that I was only an idol because of Mom; Taemin was beyond talented, and he worked hard because he knew no other way to stride toward his goals.

“You need to stop being so weird,” Lucas told me after one of my first practices with the group. “You can’t just stare at Taemin when you pout about how everyone stares at you.”

Lucas was right. I hated being lumped in with the millions who failed to acknowledge Taemin’s humanity. But the truth— that I was some kind of hypocrite— was easy for Lucas to see; it was easy for him to say.

Lucas was the only person who didn’t seem to realize that Taemin was the center of every room. He was the only one who didn’t cling to Taemin’s every word. He was the only one who didn’t see Taemin’s other-worldly glow.

I think that’s why Lucas was my best friend: he didn’t see me or Taemin or anybody as idols. He saw us as people, liked us as people, and that was rare. From that first day at practice, I was torn between the desire to be like Lucas and the desire to be like Taemin.

Anyway, Kai didn’t like me. He didn’t hate me (at first) or anything, and he didn’t particularly dislike me, but he was the only member (aside from Taemin, who I admired too much to approach for fear of saying something stupid) who didn’t know me pre-SuperM.

Even once I was approved to debut with them, Kai hadn’t held eye contact with me for more than three seconds at a time. I wasn’t sensitive about it, and I wasn’t in the market for a new best friend— Lucas was more than enough— but Kai’s aversion to me was inconvenient, annoying, and frustrating considering that we were cast into a subunit together.

We recorded our songs (which were the most sensual of my career because they were meant to evolve my image from bubble gum pop Idol to something more “adult”) separately. Despite the quickly approaching tour dates, we hadn’t once practiced our choreography together. Kai was my senior, so I couldn’t approach him with my concerns about our lack of preparation. That’s why he was unapproachable; I had to wait patiently for him to address our tension.

I hoped that he would have taken the first step toward me before we had to shoot promotions, but Kai still couldn’t meet my eyes— despite the photographer’s repeated demands that were carefully phrased as requests— as our bodies were pressed flush together before a swarm of cameras.

Although I would rather forget, I think I can pinpoint the moment Kai decided to hate me. He flinched away from my touch again as I draped my arms over his shoulders and laced my fingers together behind his neck, per the photographer’s instructions.

“Come on, Kai!” I rolled my eyes, whining in unison with the rest of the members, who had gathered around the set nearly an hour ago after finishing their schedules. My face was hot not because of the close proximity to somebody as handsome as Kai, not because of the glare that hooded his dark eyes, but because my patience had run out. “Everybody is waiting for us! Can’t you just act professionally so we can get this done some time this year?”

His eyes widened as if I had slapped him across the face. Note: if you ever want to insult Kai— and I can’t imagine why you would— challenge his idea of professionalism.

Kai’s jaw tightened as he forced his eyes away from me to glance tiredly at Mom. “Manager, do we have to do this? I would really like to avoid a dating scandal.”

My next few words were kind of hypocritical since nobody feared dating scandals more than I did. “A dating scandal? These are pictures for our subunit— for our job. Stop making it weird.”

“It is weird!” Kai argued without looking away from Mom as she pinched at the bridge of her nose. He took two big steps backward, and my hands fell from around his neck to my sides. “And I don’t understand—”

“Just do it like this, Kai!” Baekhyun bounced onto the set, leading Lucas by the hand. After winking at the camera, encouraged by Lucas’s laughter (and Mark’s panicked, “Yo, man, what are they doing?”), Baekhyun threw his arms around Lucas’s shoulders and tossed his head back.

When everyone except me, Mom, and Kai laughed, Baekhyun leaped into Lucas. They toppled onto the hard ground, the only indication that they hadn’t broken their neck or any other bones being their ear-splitting laughter.

“Fine!” Mom was calm despite her sharp increase in volume that made me flinch. “If you don’t want to be in a subunit with Lei, Kai, then you won’t be.”

While Kai sighed in relief, I wheezed, dejected. My heart sank down to my ankles. It was bad enough to lose the opportunity to be in a subunit with one of the best dancers at S.M., it was worse to lose it at work where I couldn’t express disappointment, and it was worst to lose it in front of Taemin, who stood stiff and red at slack-jawed Taeyong’s side.

Embarrassed and eager to escape the stares, I bowed to Kai and set to scoop Lucas off the floor, where he still laid giggling with Baekhyun, because he would make me laugh hard enough to drive away this sinking sensation.

“Where are you going?” Mom’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Stay where you are, Lei. Kai—”

She didn’t have to finish the order. I understood mainly from Kai’s wince that he was ejected from our subunit— not me.

“Wait,” Ten said slowly, in time with my realization, “Lei’s subunit is still a thing?” His eyes sparkled. He smiled because the choreography he created for me and Kai would still find an audience.

Lei’s subunit. My subunit. The title was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

Who would replace Kai? I wondered, watching him sulk to Taemin’s side. As Taemin’s eyes flashed to meet mine for the briefest second before he muttered something to Kai— probably words of comfort, probably words to condemn my role in Kai’s semi-public disgrace— I could only think Please not Taemin. Don’t let it be Taemin. Anyone but Taemin.

And I looked at Mom pleadingly, as if she would be able to read those thoughts through my eyes. She blinked back at me.

“Oh my God!” Mark shot both hands up in the air and waved them excitedly. “I’ll be in Lei’s subunit! Let me do it, Momager! Please!”

Oh God. Please not Mark. Don’t let it be Mark. Anyone but Mark.

“Why should you get to do it?” Ten glared up at the standing Mark from his metallic folding chair. “I choreographed their dances, so I should be cast.”

“But I’m, like, the king of subunits!” Mark rose to his tiptoes and waved his arms again in an effort to secure my attention. “If you pick me, Lei, I’ll get you into NCT Dream!”

That was a bit of a running joke— my longtime aspiration to perform with Dream. Hearing it in that moment of high stress made me laugh out loud. One of those side-splitting laughs. Real. Mark smiled at having untangled the knot in my stomach with little effort. In moments like those, I thought it wasn’t so bad that he had a crush on me.

“First of all,” Taeyong interjected, ever the mediator in NCT conflicts, “Mark, you can’t get anyone into Dream—”

“Who do you think talked the agency into making Dream a fixed unit?” Mark’s face turned scarlet as he yelled, and Taeyong didn’t bat a single eyelash.

“— Second of all, Lei doesn’t get to pick who takes Kai’s place.” We all shifted at Taeyong’s casual acknowledgment of Kai’s ejection. “Ms. Kim does. So both of you—” Taeyong eyed Ten and Mark sternly, and I wondered how they didn’t fall apart under his gaze— “be quiet and let her make her decision.”

Mom nodded at Taeyong gratefully. “It’s not much of a decision to make; I’ll just employ the second choice—”

“It’s me, right?” Baekhyun finally jumped off of Lucas, stood upright, and brushed off his all-black suit while flicking his bleached bangs out of his eyes.

Baekhyun’s goofy smile faltered when Mom shook her head. “Lucas, get up. Your dream is coming true: I’m giving you permission to touch Lei.”

“Oh yeah!” Lucas flew to my side.

Before I could wrap my mind around the fact that I would be in a subunit with him— my best friend, my rumored boyfriend— Lucas grabbed me around my waist, which was exposed under a fitted white crop top— and pulled me flush against him into the pose Kai had struggled with for hours. “Leicas forever, suckers!”

As Mom ushered Baekhyun to stand with the others off set, and everybody groaned at Lucas’s ever-enthusiastic embrace of our rumors, I laughed.

The camera flashed at last. Finally relieved enough to breathe, I returned Lucas’s embrace and joked, “Is that going to be our subunit’s name? That silly ship name?”

Lucas laughed as he lowered to press his forehead to mine. That was how things should have been all along: me and Lucas free to smile at each other and express our friendship— as silly and affectionate and beautiful as it was— to the whole world without fearing backlash.

“Look at this.”

I slid my phone to Lucas across the glossy light wood floor as we sat, stretching in preparation for dance practice. I watched his eyebrows knit together as he scooped the phone into his hands; I watched his jaw fall open as he scrolled past the headline and through the fans’ comments.

“Hey.” Taeyong kicked at Lucas’s foot before joining us on the floor. Always the leader (even without the title in SuperM), he reminded, “Phones aren’t allowed in practice.”

Lowering effortlessly into a stretch that resembled the splits, Ten defended, “Momager isn’t here yet, so—”

“Look at this!” Lucas shoved my phone into Taeyong’s face. Then, as if Taeyong couldn’t read for himself, Lucas said, “Pop News is writing about the idol who never debuted!”

As Taeyong gripped the phone with his slender hands (and a curious Ten and slack-jawed, messy-haired Mark gathered around him to gawk at the screen), Taemin plopped onto the floor next to me. His knee brushed against mine, and I stiffened while he smiled despite the room’s tension, skin shimmering without the aid of makeup.

“We don’t have to worry if it’s Pop News,” Taemin said. “They aren’t exactly a credible source— remember how they covered that ‘Any Other Name’ scandal?”

Nobody could forget the chaos surrounding the Korean adaptation of a best-selling novel written by a young American woman. The love triangle between the author, a scandalized actor (Jungkook) and the author’s best friend/famous fashion designer (Jimin) was the biggest scandal in recent history. Everybody knew that gossip as if it were the plot of a classic blockbuster film or an almost distant, almost tangible high school memory, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by Taemin’s reference.

“You keep up with celebrity gossip?” I asked Taemin quietly, my eyes narrowing to see how this information fit with my conception of him.

Taemin’s face flushed pink. He mistook my interest for criticism as he often did in those days, and I didn’t know how to correct him.

While trying (and failing) to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, Kai started, “Maybe Pop News isn’t credible—”

“They’re definitely not credible.” Ten crawled to the side of the room to tuck my phone into my bubble-gum pink backpack. Turning back to the group, he grinned, “Pop News is, like, if Mark was a news outlet: cringey, baseless—”

“Hey! I’m not baseless!”

“Anyway.” Kai puffed his cheeks full of air. “Pop News may be a scam, but they have a lot of followers. Sometimes if a lie is heard by enough people, it becomes like the truth.”

It would have been nice to be able to disagree, to believe that truth is truth, and lies are lies, and rumors are just rumors. I wanted to disagree. But I couldn’t.

Kai continued, “And obviously Pop News isn’t wrong about everything. Jungkook and that author were dating! They’re even engaged now!”

So Kai kept up with celebrity gossip too. Was that the kind of thing he and Taemin talked about over meals?

While my pulse quickened at the talk about dating scandals and I tried to ease my anxiety by resuming stretches, Baekhyun stirred from his nap in the corner of the room.

“Well!” Baekhyun yawned. “If you ask me, Momager is the idol who never debuted.”

“What?” The rest of us shrieked in unison, and Baekhyun laughed like a maniac at our identical wide-eyed open-mouthed expressions.

“Just think about it! When Taemin, the king of dance—” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taemin stiffen at Baekhyun’s playful compliment despite the bashful smile pulling his lips taut— “kept screwing up that choreo, Momager demonstrated. And she was no amateur.”

Considering Baekhyun’s evidence, I gnawed on my cheek. Mom was a gifted dancer; her precision, like Baekhyun said, rivaled Taemin’s. No, her precision enabled her to find fault in Taemin— perfect Taemin.

Baekhyun wouldn’t mention this, but Mom was also a natural singer. She proved that on the first day in the studio when she coached Baekhyun through a challenging run. After he crossed his arms and whined, “What you want is impossible!” she stunned him silent by belting the notes in one attempt.

But Mom couldn’t be the idol who never debuted, I frowned, because that meant I was the reason—

“Look, Mom is totally hot enough to be an idol,” Lucas smirked before his eyebrows lowered skeptically. “But don’t you think Lei would know if her mom was a former trainee?”

At that remark, everybody turned to face me.

No, I wouldn’t know if Mom was a former trainee.

I knew very little about Mom’s past because I hadn’t asked many questions. I knew that I was born in Atlanta, Georgia, her hometown. I knew that I could not remember the last time we spoke to my father. I knew that life didn’t really begin until Mom started her career by managing Super Junior.

I didn’t remember anything before Donghae started bringing me milkshakes, and Heechul started making me laugh with funny faces, and Ryeowook (or Wookie, as I had always called him) started fitting our tea parties into his busy schedule, and Eunhyuk started unofficially training me to be an idol through dance lessons. I didn’t remember anything before Super Junior became my family.

As I crumbled under my members’ stares, as I drowned in the guilt of having neglected Mom’s pain if she was the idol who never debuted (in the guilt of knowing I had never asked about her because the spotlight had always been on me), Baekhyun repeated, “Momager is the idol who never debuted!” “What?”

We all turned to see Mom’s ghostly pale face in the doorway so quickly that we whimpered and rubbed at the backs of our necks. Whiplash. Great.

“Don’t say stupid things, Baekhyun,” Heechul scolded as he nudged Mom’s motionless body into the dance studio. “Of course Kimberly isn’t a failed trainee! That story about the idol who never debuted is just something we tell you kids—” he jabbed an accusatory finger at me and Lucas— “to keep you from dating!”

Lucas boasted, “I knew it!” And everyone laughed as he triumphantly pumped his fists into the air.

My laughter was forced, though.

A glance down at my watch confirmed that Mom was half an hour late; Mom was never late. Heechul never escorted her to her schedules. Heechul never called her by her full name; to him, she had always been Kimi. Heechul never pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head.

Something was wrong, and I couldn’t ask what because we were at practice. And I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask in the privacy of our home. And I wouldn’t have been strong enough to stomach the answer.

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

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Title: Between the Sky’s Grasp

Author: @magioftheseas

For: @kokikomachi

Rating/Warnings: T (darker themes such as abuse and violence are mentioned in a story within the story but in the main plot, there’s just the underlying toxicity of idol culture, permeating the atmosphere with a off-putting stink)

Prompt: Idol Izuru goes on a date with a Fan Komaeda (with an additional reference to the Sweets Paradise DR X Illustrator Cafe Collab Designs because I have no self-control)

Author’s notes: You probably wanted something fluffier and I’m deeply sorry if that was the case. I spend more of my time thinking about Perfect Blue than I should but while the story isn’t nearly that dark, I did still aim for the more darker elements since I’m pretty invested in them. I also feel bad because I feel like I could’ve worked in all three prompts and ultimately left one out, but hopefully this is still good! Dark fairytales are a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine and yeah, I could talk all day about idol culture, so hopefully this fic has appeal on those grounds if nothing else. I hope it has a more general appeal, too, aha. I kinda dig how the characterization turned out. I feel like this fic could easily be expanded, but for now, it’s a modest 5K. Please enjoy. <3

The song playing is one of his own. Someone hums along as they shift through CDs. With a restrained squeal, that person finds what they are looking for—and Kamukura recognizes the cover immediately. It’s his latest single.

“They have it after all!” is exclaimed. “How lucky!”

“So, you are a fan?” Kamukura asks softly and coolly. The other jumps, cheeks pinking as they twirl on their heel to face him. With that pallor and snow-white hair, the red of their blush stood out significantly. “I could not help but overhear.”

“I-I, um—yes!” They seem to be having trouble meeting his gaze. If Kamukura Izuru wasn’t already confident in his disguise masking his features, any remaining concerns would have been waived from just how uncomfortable and anxious the other was when being addressed. “I’m sorry, was I being too loud? When I get excited—I hear I can go a bit overboard, aha.”

“It is alright,” he said simply. “I spoke up due to being curious about you.”

“Are you a fan of Kamukura Izuru, too?” There’s a flicker within that gaze, though the fan’s eyes remain modestly diverted. “I collected everything of his—even the stage musicals. Even now hearing his voice puts my heart at ease.”

He’s infatuated. How boring. Kamukura clicked his tongue, remembering his manager’s words. I should still press further.

“There are other rising stars growing considerably in popularity.” Because they are more human. Because they put forth more emotion. Emotion which makes up for the lack of talent. “Kamukura Izuru being overthrown may be inevitable.”

“I-I definitely don’t believe that! Kamukura-kun’s incredibly talented and his voice is indescribably striking!” the other protested. “There’s no one else like that!”

Talented. All I really have is talent. This fan has provided me with nothing else. How boring.

“True. I suppose he is one of a kind. Just like anyone else.”

“You’re quite rude, you know,” the other pointed out irritably. “And I thought my social skills were poor. What bad luck. But I suppose I should’ve expected it.” With a pause, he gives the CD a fond smile before pushing past Kamukura. “Excuse me.”

“What is your name?”

“My name?” They paused, lips pursing. “Komaeda Nagito. What of it? I’d rather not continue to associate with you.”

Kamukura’s lips twisted at the irony.

How interesting. How will you react, then?

“That is a shame. I would prefer to continue our interactions, then, even if you already detest me.”

“Haaah? Why? Are you a masochist?” Komaeda’s head tilted. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata Hajime.” The lie slips off his tongue with ease. “Allow me to treat you to dinner. As an apology for my…poor social skills, I suppose.”

Komaeda blinks at him, eyes wide for a moment. The invitation left him baffled and mulling over it, and Kamukura could tell he was too taken aback to immediately say no.

“I insist,” he pressed. “I really would like to apologize.”

Even if I truly do not care.

Komaeda finally shrugged.

“If this ends with you stabbing me in an alleyway, I would still turn out alright. So why not? Oh, but, if this is an elaborate ploy to mug me, I’ll give you money here and now if you want. Um.” He waved the CD. “After I buy this. May I at least keep this?”

Huh.

“I have no plans to steal from you. Or to stab you.”

“If you say so…if you lied, that’ll reflect worse on you than on me.”

This fanatic—is actually peculiar as a person.

Interest flared in Kamukura’s gut, his heart picking up at the realization. It was an odd, almost overblown reaction—but it was one that drove him forward in a way he’d never experienced before.

Is this love at first sight? Or mere excitement?

His manager would be so shocked to hear of this, and that did bring a smile to Kamukura Izuru’s face.

“I’m not lying. Purchase your find and we shall leave together.”

Komaeda nodded.

“Okay, Hinata-kun.”

I can’t help but hope this feeling will fester.

–

“Tell me about yourself, Komaeda Nagito.”

“So demanding off the bat. How comforting,” Komaeda remarked with wry sarcasm as he sipped at his soda. “Um. I guess I’m a college drop out. I’m looking to get back into class but there have been—difficulties. I don’t have a job but I get by on inheritance. I have no outstanding features or abilities. Except I guess I’m good at cleaning. Maybe I should get a custodial job, then?” He begins to more muse to himself. “I have no need for money, though. I’m utterly aimless.”

“Interesting,” Kamukura replied. “You contribute nothing to society.”

“Yep!” Komaeda chirped. “I’m a total waste of space! I do try to help out other people who are much more worthwhile and capable but I tend to mess that up a lot, too. I really have nothing going for me except ridiculous luck, probably. The fact that I’m alive in spite of my many shortcomings and flaws must count for something. Haha.” A pause. “Although maybe a custodial job would be good for me after all…but I worry about making a bigger mess than I can clean up…”

Someone this useless should definitely evoke a number of emotions. Exasperation. Frustration. Disgust. Contempt. Pity. Such emotions could be applied to a song. I doubt this is what the manager had intended, however.

“You’re just listening to me ramble,” Komaeda observed, head tilted. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Hinata-kun?”

“No, I do not.”

“Oh. Okay.” He sips more of his water, quiet and contemplative. Likely still confused by this turn of events. Kamukura considered, for a moment, about informing him of the truth—but to shift that look of pondering curiosity into fervent fanaticism had little appeal. Especially when Komaeda met his stare, and those wide gray-greens narrowed. “So, what about Hinata-kun?”

“You want to know about myself?” Quirking an eyebrow, Kamukura pressed his elbow against the table as he leaned into his hand. A gesture made only because of the seeming appropriateness of it. “I am much like yourself. Directionless. Aimless. There is little to discuss.”

“Oh. I see.” Komaeda frowned. “Is this a social experiment?”

“Yes, it is. Quite perspective, aren’t you.”

“Ah, my luck would put me in this kind of situation, wouldn’t it,” Komaeda murmured. “Now is this good luck or bad luck? I wonder what to expect.”

Expect?

Kamukura did straighten at that.

“Komaeda Nagito. What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Komaeda cheerfully brushed him off. “It doesn’t concern you, Hinata-kun, if you really are just some nobody experimenting.”

Kamukura frowned. He couldn’t help but feel—frustrated at such a response, but he said nothing more as no response felt appropriate.

Their food was set out by the friendly waitress, who predictably smiled when Komaeda cheerfully thanked her. With a nod and the typical boring platitudes, she was off. Kamukura paid her no further mind. Instead he focused on Komaeda, humming as he bit into a slice of toast.

“It is unusual that you ordered breakfast food for lunch,” Kamukura remarked. “Perhaps that is a mere preference.”

“It’s not that strange,” Komaeda said through a mouthful of toast. “Quite a few people are like that.”

“I suppose.” He began to cut his meal into perfect pieces, each the same size. When he brought one to his mouth, it was with elegance. Not a drop out of place.

“The way you eat is much more unusual,” Komaeda pointed out. “But, I guess it’s endearing.” He softly chuckles into his hand. “Is this your first time on a date?”

“Could you tell?” Kamukura asked dryly. Komaeda laughs again.

“I-I’ve never been on a date before either and yet somehow I could still tell, haha!” Komaeda Nagito ends up coughing a few times, having to down more of his drink so that he could breathe. His cheeks are flushed from the exertion, and he clears his throat while avoiding the other’s gaze. Despite that, his lips are still curved upwards and it’s—certainly a sight.

“How would you say this is going?” Kamukura asked, less dry than before. “Would you care for a revisit?”

“What kind of wording is that?” Komaeda snorted, covering his mouth. Another muffled string of giggles. “I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t mean to laugh so much, it’s just…it’s just…!”

People laugh for all kinds of reasons. Mirth. Humor. Embarrassment. Disbelief. Misery. Although I have never laughed at all. Another aspect that others find unnerving. Inhuman.

“Another date,” he found himself saying. “After this one.”

“M-Mmm…” Finishing the rest of his drink, Komaeda’s eyes were wide and inquisitive. “Okay. If you’re going to demand with such a scary face.”

Kamukura nods, eyes intent and intense and yet Komaeda smiles without a care.

Oh.

Komaeda’s smile is bright.

–

“Yooo, Kamukuraaaa! Heeeey!”

Kamukura pointedly ignores the calls in lieu of staring out a window, out at the clouds.

“Hey, heeeeeey!!”

Rather obnoxiously, he can see the caller reflected in the window glass. A wide smile—but not like Komaeda Nagito’s. Not like his at all. Komaeda wasn’t so outstanding with his appearance and force of personality. Kamukura stares at his own reflection, at his own features that have been called striking many a times.

“Enoshima-san!” someone else calls, firm yet friendly. “Kamukura-san seems busy. How about I show you around elsewhere?”

“Urgh, laaaaame! But would you really do that, Maizono-san? Aww, such a doll!”

That Enoshima is finally led away, and Kamukura lets his eyes flutter. He can’t see Maizono’s expression in the window, but he has observed her enough times.

“You do seem pretty deep in thought, Izuru-kun,” is remarked by another presence. The more mild-mannered man who likely kept his head down when entering rooms, although he too, had a particular smile. One that was likely as weathered into his face as the early wrinkles despite an arguable youth. “Have you been thinking about what I suggested?”

“Go out more, have more experiences, you may find the world more beautiful,” Kamukura droned, ever unimpressed. “Truth be told, those suggestions were too vague to be helpful.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” the other apologizes, smile apologetic. Again, Kamukura thinks of Komaeda. “But, for what it’s worth—you do seem to be in a better mood than usual. Has something happened after all?”

“You could say that,” Kamukura spoke more to the window, eyes more entranced by the overcast clouds floating above, blanketing the blue sky. “Kirigiri-san, your only desire is for efficiency. The details do not matter.”

Kirigiri’s face surely twisted a bit, but that smile would still remain.

“I do worry about you as a person, Izuru-kun, not just as your manager,” he goes on to say. Kind and gentle, like any well-meaning adult. “So, when you suffer a slump, it concerns me deeper than you may think.”

He assumes I think so shallowly of him. Even though he is, indeed, a shallow person.

“Perhaps,” Kamukura says. “The next song should be based on the sky.”

“Ah.” There’s a soft laugh from his manager. “That’s a surprisingly quaint subject for you, Izuru-kun. Head in the clouds, huh?”

He’s a shallow, shallow man.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

The perfect manager for an even more shallow individual such as myself.

–

He does not always write his own songs, because he finds he has too much and too little to say at the same time. And yet, when he finds a topic to focus on, it’s with perfect precision. Like a surgeon with a scalpel, he cuts through the ideas and meanings to delves into the core. Kirigiri had once compared his lyrics to a scholarly paper with one of those not-quite laughs. Despite the dryness of such a comparison, he had still been entranced by the song when recorded.

And yet, Kamukura Izuru could not say he felt much. Once he poured out everything, he was nothing more than a husk to be detached and left to rot. And yet, he was expected to continue. To write another song. And another.

Eventually, he is given the option to have a different songwriter—but he is told the results are less effective. Less interesting. More boring. And the brightness of the spotlights—both literal and metaphorical—are headache-inducing.

Truth be told, he’s not sure what the point of it all is. He simply remains because he has no direction.

No direction except for Komaeda Nagito, waiting by a sculpture of birds, with a couple pigeons even flocking by his feet. No aim towards anything except Komaeda meeting his stare and waving him over with a grin.

“Hinata-kun! It’s a special exhibit today!” he exclaims. “It’s the Underworld! One of the pieces is a re-imagining of Orpheus and Eurydice! There’s also paintings of spirits related to Taiwanese folklore…”

“Death is our certain, its hour uncertain,” Kamukura replied, cryptic and lyrical and Komaeda’s eyes sparkled.

“I recognize the reference! Hinata-kun’s actually quite well-read! How impressive!” Komaeda gives a round of applause. “You might have well seduced me then and there! Aha, kidding, kidding!”

With a twirl on his heel, Komaeda beamed up at him.

“Come on, Hinata-kun! Let’s hurry up and go inside!”

Kamukura is well-used to simply falling in line. To being manipulated and pulled along without complaint. He follows Komaeda ever compliantly here as well—and yet.

There is something else. Something that pulls him in rather than along. Even though Komaeda is lost within the museum booklet, still rambling about the various displays and exhibits. There is a minimal amount of space between them; it is all that could be considered necessary. And yet, Kamukura contemplates being closer. Pressing his shoulder to Komaeda’s. Allowing for the tickle of those wild white curls against his cheek.

It’s different. It’s odd.

“The map says this way, Hinata-kun!”

Kamukura follows. Ever compliant.

–

“Y’know, one of my favorite songs from Kamukura Izuru is about death,” was said at one point. Komaeda is looking upon a depiction of the Underworld, ever taken in. “It’s a natural human curiosity—and yet, it made me feel like no other. In that moment, Kamukura Izuru could’ve had his hands around my neck with how taken I was.”

“I see.”

“Such an impassive response!” Komaeda did pout but it was good-naturedly. “Hinata-kun, you strike me as hard to please. Except you’re here with me so I wonder how true that is.”

Komaeda skipped ahead to look at more art pieces. Kamukura followed after him. It’s largely quiet, despite the humble crowd gathered and scattered about. There are some couples, but mostly it’s groups college students, taking notes and talking amongst each other about their assignments. Komaeda does glance at them as he passes by but he’s careful not to linger. He doesn’t even make a remark.

There’s laughter from the group, and Komaeda nearly trips. Kamukura catches him swiftly, and takes note of how Komaeda’s face is flushed.

“I’m sorry,” is said as his date almost slumps into his arm. “Um. I feel like—I’m suffocating, Hinata-kun. Can we go outside for a bit?”

“Mm.”

–

There was a song I heard once—about a pair of children trapped in a museum. I listened to it, listened to the supposed heart in the song, and I still felt impassive. However—

Komaeda had clung to him as they made their way outside. Komaeda was slight and frail, as if simply dropping him to the ground could shatter him. Even through his coat sleeves, he felt the chill of Komaeda’s grip sink into his skin.

He remembers his song about death. The one Komaeda had mentioned. It is then and there, he realized how shallow and vapid it was.

“Sorry, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda murmurs to him in a soft voice, one that could so easily be crumbled by the wind. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Kamukura presses him close, embraces more of that chill and softness. Komaeda stiffens but he relaxes despite his clinging grip remaining ever tight.

How shallow and vapid have I always been?

–

The words come to mind, but never with emotions behind them. There is an art, of course, to pace and cadence. To beats and melodies.

“You really are talented, Izuru-kun.”

He thinks of wrapping his fingers around Komaeda Nagito’s neck. The image is quick to morph, with his hands moving upwards to instead cup Komaeda Nagito’s jaw. Brushing his thumbs over Komaeda Nagito’s cheeks and lips. Komaeda Nagito’s smile without a care.

“While you’re brilliant, you’re just—missing something.”

Komaeda Nagito sighing, pressing into his touch. Relaxing. Smiling.

“Why don’t you go out and just—experience the world a bit? You’ll find what you’re missing sure enough.”

It had been a ridiculous suggestion, because he knew what his manager wanted was undefined and vague. It was ridiculous, because to ask an idol to open up more to the world was dangerous. Treacherous. One might as well welcome contempt.

Kamukura Izuru knows that idols are expected to exist within a constrained paradox. Open to everyone, available to no one. Sincere while obscuring most of their true selves. Expected to act human while seated atop an inhuman pedestal. The perfect person in turns of looks, charm, and personality—a façade that was never to be shattered lest the pieces cripple the person.

It was—boring. Uninteresting. Egregious and yet expected.

Even Kamukura Izuru, who never really saw himself as a person, recognized the folly and impossibility. Really, approaching someone in spite of the dangers was an inevitability. Fixating on them for a change of pace was expected. Logistically speaking, it could have been anyone. It didn’t have to be Komaeda Nagito.

“Whenever you’re all deep in thought like that, I can’t help but worry, Hinata-kun.”

“About what?”

“About whether or not you’ve decided to kill me!” Komaeda exclaims with such wide-eyed seriousness, Kamukura notes birds scattering from the sound.

“If you truly held such concerns, you should worry more about your instincts of self-preservation,” Kamukura pointed out, settling on the bench, listening to the leaves rustle below and above. “You’re quite the peculiar person, Komaeda Nagito, not rejecting someone you distrust.”

“I haven’t seen a reason to reject you quite yet,” was Komaeda’s simple response. “And it’d be boring to avoid every bit of potential danger. Besides, I’m curious about you, too.”

Curious, he says. Thus, anyone else could be in my position. In this situation. Sitting with Komaeda Nagito in the park, staring at nothing in particular.

Kamukura tugs idly at his hat, conscious now of his wig and color contacts. The disguise he wore that reflected in Komaeda’s innocent stare.

“Do you wish to know more about me?”

In that moment, the rest of the world felt disconnected. Komaeda hummed thoughtfully, and he shrugged.

“Maybe? I wouldn’t know if I’m that curious about you.”

“Have you ever been that curious about anyone?” Kamukura finds himself asking. “Your beloved idol, perhaps?”

“No way! That’s way too presumptuous! Besides.” Komaeda laughs. “We’re not on the same level at all.”

“I suppose.”

“You only suppose! So naïve, Hinata-kun!” Another laugh. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t understand at all?”

“I cannot read your mind, Komaeda Nagito.”

“No.” Komaeda pauses briefly, rubbing his lower lip with a perplexed furrow of his brows. “Ah. Maybe it’s—you don’t understand why I love Kamukura Izuru as an idol?”

“It’s because of his talent,” was the obvious answer.

“Maizono Sayaka-san is also a very talented idol and I don’t love her nearly as much,” Komaeda corrected, shaking his head. “It’s more because of his presence. Even when in the same vicinity, Kamukura Izuru feels so distant.”

Distance is both a strength and a weakness for an idol.

“Come to think of it, Hinata-kun gives off that feeling too,” Komaeda went on. “Even when right beside you, you feel unreachable.” He leans against him. “It’s not as comforting as it is with Kamukura Izuru. If anything, I get incredibly anxious.”

Komaeda presses against him, rubbing his face into his shoulder.

“Mm… Kamukura-kun.”

His fingers trail down his arm, tugging gently at his sleeve.

“Even like this, I’m rather anxious. Shouldn’t you reassure me?”

Kamukura patted his head. Komaeda clung to him.

“Better than that.”

Kamukura kissed his forehead. Komaeda flinched, flushing quite darkly.

“W-Worse than that! Too much! Too much!” He rubs where Kamukura’s lips had been. “U-Urgh! I-I might faint, Hinata-kun…!”

Kamukura snorted softly.

“Ah!” Komaeda covers his eyes next. “Way too much! Now you’re smiling, Hinata-kun! It’s creepy!”

Smiling?

Kamukura stilled, impulsively wanting to feel it with his hands. He doesn’t. At least, not when Komaeda is still close to him like this. It would be—inappropriate.

“A-Ah, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda lets out a squeal when Kamukura presses him even closer, presses him into his shoulder so that it is physically impossible for Komaeda to see the expression on his face. That expression which no one else has ever seen.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda whined. “P-People are going to stare.”

“We can go somewhere more private, then,” is the obvious remark.

“E-Eh?!”

“Somewhere like your home, Komaeda Nagito,” Kamukura says then. “Shall we go?”

“What a thing to ask… Hinata-kun, you’re so dangerous.” Komaeda laughs. “And I’ve always lived so recklessly.”

He has no idea how this goes both ways, Kamukura thinks and it’s the first time it truly occurs to him. If anyone were to know—if even Komaeda Nagito were to know… I could be destroyed so easily.

The idea was beyond exhilarating.

–

Komaeda lived modestly but also sparsely. While it was a comfortably-sized home, it also was minimally furnished save for shelves of books and CDs. There were a couple of trinkets, but little else décor. Kamukura slipped off his shoes, and he breathed in the smell of bleach.

“I just cleaned earlier,” Komaeda explains about seeing his nose wrinkle. “I enjoy cleaning. I might even be good at it, ehe.”

“If you cleaned any further, I wonder what would remain of this place,” Kamukura replied, shuffling after him. “Goodness, your kitchen looks completely unused.”

“I don’t use it,” Komaeda said, just a little flustered. “I don’t know how to cook. My fridge isn’t really stocked either. I typically eat out. It’s not the healthiest way to live but—it is what it is.”

“Convenience is a virtue in these bustling times.”

He runs his fingers along the various spines of books. He pauses when he notes that there’s a journal on the table. He politely ignores it as he sits.

“Sorry, I don’t have a television,” Komaeda apologizes almost meekly. “I also still need to buy a new tea kettle. Actually, all I really do when I’m hope is read, write, and sleep.” He gives an almost careless shrug. “Maybe stare out the window for hours if that’s the mood.”

I’m the same way. I know how empty such a pattern is.

“I like writing stories and song lyrics!” Komaeda exclaimed next, lighting up as he indicated the journal finally. “This is full of ideas. They’re all awful, but not having anyone to share them with is boring so feel free to read through.”

With a huff, Kamukura flipped through. Indeed, there were meager attempts at poetry, even a few mindless scribbled sketches with the skill of a toddler. One in particular, caught his eye.

“The Rotten Wolf?”

“Ah, that one’s embarrassing,” Komaeda laughed, cupping his cheek. “But what do you think of it?”

Kamukura squinted, trying to decipher the truly abysmal writing before skimming through.

There was once a boy lost and starving in the forest. As he sulked, he was found by what seemed to be a friendly wolf. The wolf led him to his owner’s house, which was made of candy among other confectionery treats. Happy, the boy gorged himself to his heart’s content. When the witch returned however, shrouded in shadow and insulted by the insolence, that witch imprisoned the boy and snapped at the wolf.

The boy was terrified as the wolf was ridiculed. Eventually, however, the witch had the wolf bring the boy meals meant to fatten him up. Realizing that he was going to be eaten afterwards, the boy refused to eat anything. The wolf tried to cajole him, but it was to no avail.

The boy would then begin to cry, to the wolf’s dismay. Any attempts at comfort were ignored, even the wolf apologized frantically for putting him in this situation. After days past, the wolf was further scorned, punished, and even starved for the boy’s disobedience. The boy saw how cruel the witch was, how the witch sneered at what a pitiful monster the wolf was.

The witch finally grew fed up with waiting and decided to throw the boy into the oven then and there. However, while preparing the oven, the wolf snapped and shoved the witch inside, shutting it and trapping the witch to their death. The boy, dazed and dizzy from his self-induced starvation, could only watch as the wolf retrieved the keys to his cage and trotted over.

Mustering up the last bit of strength he had, the boy not only freed himself but sank to his knees in gratitude before the wolf.

“The witch was wrong,” the boy said, running his fingers over and over through the wolf’s coarse fur. “You are not a monster, wolf.”

For a while, the wolf enjoyed the affection he had never known before. His tag began to wag furiously, thumping like a racing heart against the ground.

“No,” the wolf said, for he too, was delirious and giddy and salivating. “I am a monster. But I will keep your kindness within me always. I’m sorry.”

And with that admission, the wolf gobbled the boy up, laughing and sobbing all the while.

Kamukura blinked once at the ending, he blinked again at the crude scribbles of what was to be assumed was a wolf tearing a boy limb from limb.

“It’s a miserable story, Komaeda Nagito.”

“I thought so, too!” Komaeda exclaimed, as if affronted. “It’s so depressing! Not hopeful at all! And, yet.” He frowned. “When I thought about the wolf taking the boy home, it didn’t sit well with me.”

“Perhaps this is a reflection, then, of a deeply held belief,” Kamukura said. “One so unpleasant that even you do not like to acknowledge it, and yet, it still resurfaces. Time. And time again.”

That of an abused monster who takes further destruction over compassion and forgiveness. I wonder—if Komaeda Nagito learned the truth about me, what would he think? Immediate love? Reverence? Or would he be wary and afraid the way that boy should have been?

“Aha, you sound so contemplative, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda hummed then, a smile tugging at his lips. “Did something strike you?”

Komaeda’s gaze briefly flickers between him and the open notebook. That smile waned. His lips pursed.

“What I would give to know the thoughts swimming behind that dense gaze of yours.”

You would surely drown if you knew.

“Y’know, Kamukura Izuru’s voice is also so densely packed with meaning, regardless of the words being said,” Komaeda went on. “It was overwhelming. Suffocating. And yet, I found myself enraptured. Hinata-kun is—different from that, of course. You’re tangible for one thing.”

An idol should not be tangible.

And yet, all the same, he took Komaeda Nagito’s frail, pale hand and held it within his own.

“So much of you is vague and indecipherable,” Komaeda went on, ducking his head with pinking cheeks. “However, you are still tangible, Hinata-kun.”

He squeezed Komaeda’s hand. It’s cold.

“I…think this is enough.” Finally, finally, he releases and pulls back, putting the appropriate distance between them. “I apologize. I may have pushed boundaries if not outright crossed them.”

“Eh?” Komaeda’s expression remains innocent if inquisitive. “Why does that matter to you now, Hinata-kun?”

What kind of question is that? Shouldn’t the answer be obvious? Then again, Komaeda Nagito really has no self-preservation at all, does he. He allowed it to escalate to this extent, and was clearly prepared to matters to go even further. Even deeper.

“I apologize,” he found himself saying in lieu of anything else. Explanations. Confessions. He felt deeply in the wrong. How bizarre. The sudden wave of guilt was—painful. “I truly apologize.”

Komaeda frowns.

“Goodness. I really don’t understand you at all. But I guess I forgive you.”

“I used you,” he burst out with. “Are you that detached?”

“I let you use me because I didn’t care, yes,” Komaeda admits it so easily. Kamukura sees himself and it’s startling. “I thought it would be interesting, after all.”

Despite that, despite everything, Kamukura takes Komaeda’s hand and squeezes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m sorry. I didn’t care either at first—and that was wrong of me.”

How treacherous this is, not just for an idol but for a person.

“You’re upset, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda’s frown deepens. “I really—don’t understand.”

“One day I hope you do,” Kamukura whispered, running his thumb over Komaeda’s bony knuckles. “For now, it’s best we part. Thank you for indulging a stranger—but please, for your own sake, be more careful.”

“Aha! What are you, a parent?” Komaeda laughed without a hint of mirth. “I’m not a fan of that, even if I’m definitely going to feel a little lonelier after you leave. Please don’t forget about me when you go, Hinata-kun?”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, but if you’re going to use me to tell embarrassing stories, I’d rather you didn’t,” Komaeda went on, waving his free hand. “I’d rather just remain in your thoughts if that’s okay.”

“Very well. I—do not think I can share you with the rest of the world either way.” Kamukura inhaled. “Because, I would like to keep you safe, I’ve realized. Which is why—it is best that we part.”

“Mmm, still don’t understand but I’ll accept it all the same, I guess.” Komaeda smiled brightly. “Hinata-kun, it was nice meeting you. Oh! Should I give you a farewell present for putting up with me this long?”

Kamukura is quiet for a moment before he reaches out and ruffles Komaeda’s hair. Komaeda giggles at the gesture.

“Just your regards are enough, Nagito. Thank you. I apologize. Please—take care.”

With that, he stands. Komaeda skips after him, following him to the door.

“If I ever see you again, can you tell me more about yourself?” Komaeda asks as he retrieves his shoes. “Like, maybe your actual name, perhaps?”

Ah. What a selfish desire on both our parts.

“Kidding!” Komaeda chirped. “I’m not nearly as indulgent as you are!”

Kamukura hummed, not responding as he slips on his shoes and opens the door.

“Take care, Kamukura-kun.”

He immediately froze, but by the time he spun on his heel, Komaeda had already shut the door between them. And there was nothing more to it.

Nothing but to duck his head in further apology before finally going on his way.

–

“Ah, good morning, Kamukura-kun.”

“Good morning.” He nods politely, playing with the petals of the various flowers set in a vase. “Early as usual, Maizono Sayaka-san.”

“Haha, yes, and that’s not the only thing we have in common either,” Maizono chirps, holding up her own bouquet of lilies. “How have you been? How are things going with Kirigiri-san?”

Always so quaint. Always with ease.

“I arrived early to give myself time to think about what to tell him, actually,” he said. “I would not be surprised if a certain someone caught wind of the ridiculous assignment that he gave me.”

“Enoshima-san might have mentioned something like that,” Maizono admitted rather sheepishly. “If you’re insecure about it, you shouldn’t worry, Kamukura-kun. Kirigiri-san’s not really expecting anything grand, I don’t think. Of course.” Brushing past him. “You’re not the type to admit to insecurity, even as part of the performance.”

“No, I am not. But. I did realize the folly of Kirigiri-san’s demands.” A pause, in both his words and Maizono’s steps. “He asked for something impossible. And something I ended up unwilling to share, anyway.”

“Ooh, how scandalous,” Maizono joked ever good-naturedly, such a practiced actress that the edge was near perfectly obfuscated by her sweet laugh and smile. “But it’s good to have some privacy from the public eye. Just be careful.” She does hesitate for a moment before smiling again. “You know how Enoshima-san is about gossip. And even Kirigiri-san can be stern. Not like his daughter, though.”

It’s similar. The way Nagito smiles compared to this.

“It’s selfish, but I hope I see that person again,” he whispered.

“I hope so too,” Maizono said honestly. “I can already tell you’re much brighter, Kamukura-kun. Just try not to be blinding! I can’t lose to you, after all!”

With a cheerful wave and skip, Maizono fled that scene. Idly, Kamukura wondered about her, but inevitably, his mind went back to Komaeda Nagito. It’s painstakingly simple for that image to warp in various ways. From twisted and troubling—to soft and sublime.

There was a note attached to the letter he got. The handwriting is neat and fancy, nothing like Komaeda Nagito’s shaky penmanship.

Too dizzying. Too distracting. Too blinding.

And despite that, a smile pulls at his lips despite the fact that he is still utter devoid of joy.

There is no scientific explanation for him and what he evokes the way there is for the sky and its sensations. And even though that is absolutely illogical, Komaeda Nagito is both as consuming and as distant as that same sky. How difficult for an idol. How difficult for me.

All the same time, he thinks he would have remained in blissful yet wretched emptiness if not for him and that counts for something.

I do want—to see his face in a crowd one day, but I’m not that selfish.

“Ah, Kamukura-kun!” Kirigiri lights up easily upon seeing him. “Ready for today already?”

“Yes,” Kamukura says, turning away even as everything about it lingered. “Of course.”

I’m happy to have just been heard by you. I do pray I can meet you properly one day. Perhaps at the end of all of this where the sky ends and the world begins.

#kamukoma #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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diyunho · 5 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Raven”

Y/N is a very unusual metahuman that can use her powerful abilities just once before being turned into a Raven forever; that’s why it’s really strange she decided to sacrifice herself in order to save The Joker’s life. But there’s a reason for everything and maybe the unbreakable curse is nothing more than a blessing in disguise.

“It doesn’t look good,” you hover over The Joker, analyzing the gunshot wound that keeps on bleeding through his green shirt.

“It’s not bad,” he growls, pressing his abdomen.

“Where are you, prick?” someone yells and the echo carries over the words around the abandoned building.

“Do you believe you can escape?” another voice resonates in the vast premises.

“Tick-Tock, Clown!” another man howls in the quietness, certain The King of Gotham has no escape.

“Fuck…,” J tries to get up but he slides back down against the wall.

“I think it’s pretty bad,” you state the obvious. “You’re injured, out of bullets and they are near: your crew won’t find you in time.”

“Shit…,” he groans in pain, the throbbing ache intensifying with each passing moment.

“I’m gonna help you,” Y/N shares her scheme and although the news should make him happy, it doesn’t.

“W-what do you mean?!” The Joker stutters even if he knows the implications of such statement. You’re quiet and he continues: “Why would you do something like that?...”

You smile at his bafflement, the affirmation completely surprising him:

“Because you’re the only one that never asked.”

“You shouldn’t use it on me!” J’s truthful reply is interrupted by the henchmen entering the desolated space where the fallen Prince of Crime has found refuge. “Who am I supposed to talk to if you’re gone?” the genuine question makes you realize there’s actually a soul in this world who’ll miss you.

“We didn’t really talk too much,” you softly chuckle and turn to confront the men halted in their tracks seeing you’re positioned in front of The Joker.

“The freak is here,” a goon whispers loud enough to be heard by the ones arriving behind him.

“Hey Y/N!” their leader detaches from the crowd. “What are you doing here?!”

The lack of an answer combined with the feral expression on your face prompts the mobster to wave his pistol as a sign for truce.

“Let’s not do anything hasty, shall we?... …. Hm?... I’m aware you had so many offers over the years; consider mine again: if you wield your powers to finish the green haired asshole, I will triple the amount of money from the highest bidder!”

You scoff at the absurd idea, describing how stupid you considered the monetary proposals suggested by numerous individuals in the past:

“And what am I supposed to do with the riches once I cease to exist?!”

A bullet shrieks by your ear, ending up in the wall behind where J collapsed a couple of minutes ago.

“Sorry I missed, boss!” the man apologizes and this is enough to set you off; you turn your head to gaze at The Joker, delivering a last warning.

“Close your eyes or you’ll go blind!”

“Don’t let her clap her hands!” the kingpin shouts but it’s too late: a deafening bang fills up the air and the strong light emanating from your body burns J’s closed eyelids. He covers his face with bloody fingers while the screams and smell of torched flesh makes him nauseated; it’s so disgusting he gags yet the insane King can’t help a smirk at the sweet victory, even if comes with such a heavy price.

Gurgling noises and muffled cries persist for another 15 seconds before they abruptly halt.

“Meet me in dreams,” is Y/N’s final sentence and immediately after the sound of flapping wings queue The Joker to finally open his eyes.

The view is cringe worthy: puddles of steamy, boiling tar scattered all around bearing witness to the consequences of your rage: nobody’s alive anymore except J and the Raven picking at the clothes you wore earlier.

His cell phone goes off and he has difficulty searching the purple jacket for the item he has no need for.

“Sir! We’re coming! Almost on the 32nd street!” Frost reports in a frenzy and The Joker sneers, wheezing from the effort of trying to stay awake.

“Nice timing,” and he hangs up, muttering to himself: ’”Goddamned jerks…”

The bird suddenly flies in his lap, curiously checking him out.

“I think I’m gonna pass out…” the damaged Clown slowly blinks before losing conscience which is alright since he had to speak to you anyway.

Every time you meet in dreams, you are always waiting for him on this deserted, calm beach staring at the waves in the distance. Today is not different.

He takes a sit by the woman that saved his life, silently analyzing her features: The Joker knows he won’t see them again except in this place.

When you said you didn’t speak much, it was true; if he tries to remember the first instance you showed up in his life, the moment blurs out and disappears in the background of his troubled mind. You would just randomly pop up while he was alone, keeping each other company for hours and often barely uttering a sentence. The eerie Y/N preferred J’s presence simply due to his lack of interest in her unusual power and he tolerated her because she never sought any kind of reward from their awkward connection. In the matter of fact, J never even tried to touch you; it was relaxing to be with an individual that plainly didn’t want anything from you whilst the rest of the world begged for attention: how many requested you aid them and manipulate your ability in order to annihilate their enemies? How many promised compensations beyond measure in exchange of your mighty gift? Way too many.

Yet The Joker didn’t care about it; the most he would do was to share his favorite drink after a new brand of grape juice hit the market.

And now the person he shared with was gone forever.

“Your team is almost at the warehouse,” you address him, bending your knees until your chin touches them. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried,” J indifferently replies. “Told you it’s not serious.”

You snicker at his stubbornness, pointing out the evident reality:

“That’s why you fainted and started to dream about me?”

Your escort huffs, struggling to confess stuff hard to articulate in these circumstances.

“Thank you for…umm…for…”

“You don’t have to thank me; it was my choice and I fulfilled my destiny. It’s over and I’m free. I’ll still visit, ok?”

“Mister Joker! Sir, can you hear me?” Frost’s voice interrupts J’s dream: the gang is searching the deserted property for their leader and the only thing he notices is The Raven flying in circles above his head.

***********

Three weeks later, 9:37pm

The Joker extends his arm and you land on it, gently digging your claws in his skin for equilibrium.

“Where were you all day?!” he scolds and you caw, evoking complaints from the man that can’t sleep without his bird. “I wish you were a nightingale, this way you can chirp some cute songs.”

You fly on his shoulder to peck at the diamond earring, annoyed at his remark.

“Ouch! Ouch!” he shrugs, but doesn’t chase you away. “I recognize crows appreciate shiny things, but it hurts.”

Poking escalates and J vaguely apologizes on his own terms:

“I meant Raven! Raven!!” he repeats and struts inside The Penthouse where your pillow awaits. “Are you hungry?” the Prince of Crime offers a bunch of crumbs and expensive seeds he ordered for the spunky pest. You hop on the nightstand and play with the food, not particularly captivated by the lavish feast.

The Joker rolls in bed, gesturing for the pillow next to him.

“My girlfriend’s out of town, you can crush on her side of bed,” the affirmation makes you float to her cushion, instantly plucking the fabric with your beak, then jump up and down, cawing some more.

The Clown laughs, entertained at the temper tantrum.

“I know you don’t like her and the feeling is mutual,” he caresses the soft, black feathers as you continue to shred Lara’s pillow. “Stoooop! These are fresh sheets!” he pleads and distracts you by showing his patched up abdomen from under the t-shirt. “Look, my lesion is healing; wanna see?” a corner of the bandage is peeled for the guest to properly inspect the stitches.

Y/N bounces on The Joker’s chest, cautiously examining his wound.

“Cool, huh?” he grins and reaches his hand for the book resting under his pillow, surprisingly enough containing your favorite poem. “The Raven. By Edgar Allan Poe,” J emphasizes and you spread your wings with delight, quickly rushing to his neck and cuddle against the playing cards tattoo.

The King of Gotham holds the book with one hand and pets you with the other, his husky tone recites the verses you love so much.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…” the beautiful, dark rhyme soothes a tired Y/N scarcely recalling what it means to be human.

Yet being near HIM reminds her on how much she longs for what was lost when she willingly sacrificed herself to save the one that didn’t ask to be saved.

*************

Following morning, 8:21 am

The Joker is swimming outside on the terrace and you’re having a blast in the inflatable pool he set by his lounge chair for the enchanted, feathered companion. This is a thousand times extra enjoyable when his new girlfriend is not home!

She’s a complete nutcase, totally obsessed with The Clown and certainly doesn’t understand why he’s paying so much attention to a filthy, gross creature.

Who the hell gets a crow as pet?! Apparently her boyfriend, although he didn’t tell her who you truly are. Why bother? It’s a secret you and J share; nobody has to find out, although plenty of concerned parties would spend a fortune for an update: Y/N hasn’t been spotted recently and it’s troublesome.

“Raven Queen!” J emerges from the pool since he has to take it easy; the doctor said no more than 15 minutes of physical activity every day. “I have a little present,” he yanks at the towel on the lounge chair, unraveling a box full of gold rings, Rolexes and chains under it.

Oh my God, so shiny and sparkly in the morning sun!!!

You fly from your pool straight into the container, happily tapping at the treasures. The Joker dries his body and chitchats with his bird, excited you enjoy the shimmering gems.

“You can steal them and hide them,” he winks and you sure are taking advantage of it as soon as possible. “Do you have a nest?” J inquires and teases afterwards: “Did you find yourself a Raven King?”

That’s pretty rude, you think and swiftly attack him, careful not to scratch his face in the process.

“Cut it out!” The Joker demands and gives up the fight really fast. ”OK, OK, I surrender!” he chuckles as you rise up, gliding in the wind gushing above The Penthouse. The plan is simple: charge at the toxic green locks and pull on the strands, assuring at least two or three hairs will be removed as revenge. J takes a defensive stance, preparing to catch and keep you captive in the fluffy towel until you calm down.

BANG! the gunshot halts the fun and The Clown Prince of crime watches in horror as The Raven falls to the ground in front of his girlfriend.

“Babe, are you alright?” Lara squeals, kicking the bird at her feet. “I told you having a wild animal as pet it’s an awful idea! I saw the crazy bird attacked you, it might have rabies!!” she kicks you again and the small body convulsing on the hard concrete makes him lose his marbles. “Thank heavens I returned sooner than expected,” the woman explains, nervous to detect the angry Joker stomping towards her.

“What the fuck are you doing??!!” he screams and violently pushes her, slapping the gun out of her hand. Lara stumbles on her own steps, not comprehending why her partner is livid rather than showing gratitude.

“What do you mean?” she gulps and J bends over to pick you up when you let out a cry, the sinister noise resembling a human’s wailing. “The bird was attacking you, I was afraid!”

“It wasn’t attacking me, we were messing around!”

“Messing around?!” the woman mumbles, confused.

“Get a hold of Frost and tell him I need a veterinarian! NOW!!!” The Joker barks as he enters The Penthouse.

“Jesus…,” Lara sniffles and texts, irritated at his behavior. “Why is he so mad about?! The dumb beast is nothing but an outbreak of infection and bacteria!” she maliciously grumbles, sending the message to Jonny.

Something whooshes by her and before she has a chance to see what it is, a bunch of ravens and crows unexpectedly storm at the petrified Lara: they are answering your call, mercilessly tearing and scraping at the enemy.

“J!!! J!!!!” she runs without noticing where she’s going, panicked at the multitude of birds relentlessly chasing her; it’s a miracle she stumbles upon the tiny shed which stores pool supplies and manages to squeeze inside.

The birds keep on bombarding her temporary hideout as she begs for assistance:

“J !!! J !!!! Please help me!!! J!!!!”

Yet The Joker can’t hear: he raced upstairs to the master bedroom and placed you on the comforter, trying to assess how severe the injuries are; one of the wings is bleeding and there are probably broken bones also.

“Don’t die…” J whispers because it sure seems Y/N is fading away: the bird can barely breathe and for the first time in ages he feels sad. “If you leave, we won’t be able to meet in dreams…”

The King of Gotham crawls in bed, unsure if he should caress you or not; what if he dislocates something else by accident? Instead he kisses the top of your head, the velvety feathers tickling his lips.

The sudden glow radiating from The Raven makes him close his eyes tight: it’s so strong it burns just like when you used your powers to rescue him. It doesn’t last longer than 10 seconds and sensing the light dimmed, J decides to open his eyes. A few black quills still drift in the air and he glares at the tearful Y/N, shocked to see her:

“Everything hurts,” you start sobbing and the bloody arm, plus the bruised torso urge him to cover your naked body with the corner of the quilt. “H-how am I h-here?!” you stammer and grab his thumb while The Joker is in a trance, speechless at the witnessed phenomenon because it’s impossible to come up with a logical reasoning.

Such a shame neither of you realize that even affection coming from a rotten heart can be pure enough to shatter an unbreakable curse.