#on account of the fact that i lost my job on account of almost dying and am not sure if i can do the same kind of work still

[softgrungeprophet]

lying in bed thinking about the evils of capitalism

[magicalqueennightmare]

Sins & Amends Chapter 36

(Gif by @ banditthewriter)

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.

Chapter Summary/Warnings: In the aftermath of a bomb and a mad man setting his sights on Karen you scramble to keep up[mention of bombing, carnage]

You'd seen so much in your line of work. Babies being born, people dying. Hell you'd seen the body of the woman who had very well saved your life by getting her parents to take you in when you were both kids lying in a coffin next to her kids who were your world. 

You never imagined the carnage that a bomb wreaked. Curtis had told you stories. He'd lost his leg in a bomb. The reality of rushing from victim to victim, saving who you could and being forced to walk away from those you knew you were too far gone. Bombs had went off at the ATF field office, the 10th precinct of NYPD and the courthouse. You and Alice had been working for hours on end responding to call after call.

When you made it back to the station house you were basically forcing your feet to move. You felt shaken and wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in the asshole responsible yourself. You felt your phone vibrate and realized you hadn't bothered checking it. You pulled it out your pocket and grimaced when you saw all the missed calls and texts. Alice saw you and nodded "Yeah I gotta go call Kenzie" 

You pulled your jacket further around you and stepped back outside. The last missed call was from Matt so you hit his number first. "Y/N! Thank god" you half smiled at hearing his voice.

"I'm good Matt. It's horrible out there but my job is running in after the fact" you heard Foggy's voice in the background "is that Y/N? Is she ok?" A full smile slipped onto your face when you heard Foggy "Tell Foggy I'm fine. I'm sorry for worrying you two. It's just been one call after another, ya know?"

"I know. It's just a relief to hear your voice. I know you've probably got other calls to return like Karen who's called us asking if we've heard from you. Y/N just because we aren't sleeping together anymore doesn't mean I don't care about you" before you could respond you heard Foggy holler "Jesus I don't need that mental image! And I still love her more than you do!" You laughed and said "I love you both ok? I gotta go" "Bye Y/N" 

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

After returning Karen, Curtis' and Mrs Johnson's calls you hit the number you'd saved under the name of one of your friends from college and waited until Frank answered "Y/N are you ok?" "Yea. I'm good. Been working my ass off but I'm ok"  you could hear the relief in his voice and mentally kicked yourself, of course his mind would go to the darkest place first. He let out a breath then said "Good to hear. Keep in contact ya hear?" "Yes sir" you said with a smile then he hung up so you knew he was satisfied you were still alive and in one piece.

You scrolled back to the last missed call and almost didn't click it when you realized who's number it was but hit it anyways. It rang twice before he answered "I'm almost surprised you called me back"

You rolled your eyes and headed back into the bays "What do you want Billy? Shouldn't you be checking on Dinah in this aftermath?" "Oh she's home. Her partner was nearly killed and is in a coma, the rest of her team wasn't so lucky so she's taken some time off" his words were so simple but it still twisted that knife a little further and you started to wonder if Matt would be up for a night just to get your mind off images of Billy and Dinah but that would fuck up your friendship with Matt.

"I know. I responded to the nine one one call. Still doesn't answer why the hell you're calling me. You made it clear a long time ago I'm no concern to you. I'm not with our mutual friend at the moment. I'm working to clean up behind the psychopath bombing our city" you pressed the palm of your hand against your eyes trying to rub away some of the tension there that had been building all day and now was trying to accumulate from this unwanted call.

"Maybe because when the news of the bombs hit the first thought I had was first responders would be right in the cross hairs of this asshole. I don't care how bad you hate me I still had to make sure you're alive to do so" the phone went dead in your hand and you weren't surprised that he'd hung up. You refused to play into whatever angle he was getting at by calling you. It had to be an angle you refused to think even a small part of him may still care about you.

You didn't have a lot of time to debate with yourself because another call rang out.

You were off and just hanging around your apartment. You were dead on your feet and was headed back in the following day for back to back shifts.

You had your radio playing for background noise and nearly jumped over the back of your couch to turn up the volume when you heard Ricky Langtry announce that his guests were Senator Ori who you personally couldn't stand and Karen. She'd gotten a letter from the bomber and her responding editorial you knew had probably damn near given Frank a coronary because it'd worried the hell out of you. 

Ricky went through introductions before saying "Karen your response of a rather pissy editorial calling the guy a terrorist leaves little doubt but do you have any sympathy for this guy?" You scoffed before Karen quickly answered "No. None at all"

You sat through listening to Ori try to use the bombings as a reason to take any guns away from citizens and rolled your eyes. A laugh fell from your lips when he said "Miss Page, wouldn't you say in this day and age there's no need for an ordinary citizen to carry a gun?" God was this guy barking up the wrong tree. Karen's sigh was audible even through the radio. "Have you ever been scared, Senator? Genuinely afraid for your life? In a situation where a gun and the willingness to use it might mean the difference between life and death?" 

You could feel yourself bristle up and could just imagine the look on Karen's face when Ori said "Guns are a toxin on this society. In the wrong hands they wreak terrible results. It's only a little over a year since this city was terrorized by the punisher" like what Frank did was anywhere near the senseless carnage you'd seen in the aftermath of the bombs. "That's hardly the same thing! Frank Castle killed murderers and drugs dealers" You smiled at her defending Frank so adamantly.

Ori scoffed "But where's the line Karen? Frank Castle decided he knew better than the law and was tried for killing thirty seven people" You wanted to call Ori up and say that was thirty seven that was known about but knew better than to do that. Karen's only response was "Frank Castle isn't a terrorist" and you could practically see her jaw tensing with her words.

Ricky cut in to say "Frank Castle was a hero to many that saw he was doing what the cops failed to do" yeah you knew you listened to his show for some reason. The radio cut out for a few seconds then when it came back Ricky said "Ok New York. We have a caller on the line who says he's the bomber" a beat passed and then he said "Can I get a name?"

An eerily familiar voice responded "My name isn't important. Only my actions" where did you know that voice?

Ricky took a breath "Ok you're talking to New York" the bomber asked "Why'd you say those things about me Karen?" You closed your eyes praying for once she may decide to back down but her response was "Because I despise everything you've done" Christ she needed to ease up. The bomber went on a rant saying "This country is being cannibalized by people like Ori. Shipping our jobs overseas, selling us out then taking our guns so we can't do anything about it"

Karen laughed humorlessly "You're such a coward. Those people you killed? They weren't making policy. They were secretaries and janitors and beat cops. Ordinary people. How does that help your cause? Maybe the government did something awful to you. I don't know your story but awful things happen to people every day and they don't murder people because of it!" The bombers response was "You're just a pawn, like the rest of them and Senator Ori. What a joke. You don't represent anyone but yourself. The war is just beginning and you're all on the wrong side. Sic Semper Tyrannis" that's when it clicked. 

Ricky called the show and you knew since the FBI was handling this case they would no doubt get Karen back to the bulletin and have it surrounded so you hit the number for Frank. The moment he answered you said "His name is Lewis Wilson. He drives a cab and he's twenty six" "I'll get David to find his ass" you could feel your hands shaking with the images of the bombings victims and the mere thought of that happening to Karen "Don't let him hurt her Frank" "We're not losing her sweetheart. Watch your back ok?" "Ok. Call me" 

The line went dead in your hand so you grabbed your jacket then slipped shoes on. You slid your purse over your shoulder and double checked the contents. Your plan was to head to the bulletin.

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

The moment you walked into the door an agent stopped you.  "ID ma'am?" "She practically works here. I'll vouch for her" Ellison told the agent so he let you pass. You grinned at Ellison "Second thought, I'm gonna need an ID" he rolled his eyes "She's in her office. She's shook up but safe"

You walked into Karen's office and she glanced up when she saw you "Y/N" you cut your eyes at the agent in the room with her so she asked if you and her could have some privacy. 

Once he walked out she shut the door "He's pissed..i think he's going after the guy" you didn't want to lie to her so you simply nodded. Bad news for you was Karen already had picked up most of your facial expressions and their meaning "Do you know who it is?" You shrugged "Maybe? But Karen I agree with him. This guy needs to be put down" "Christ Y/N!" She sat down heavily on her desk and ran a hand across her face.

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

You were sitting on her desk looking over her shoulder at her notes when Ellison walked in. He looked a bit pissed so you got to your feet. He looked from Karen to you.  "Tell me. Did you two know?" "Know what?" You asked and he clicked on the television in the corner of the room.

A news report was playing then cut into footage of Frank sliding across the hood of a patrol car. The headline read "THE PUNISHER ALIVE" your hand flew to your mouth in shock and so did Karen's. 

"Shit" you gasped staring at the screen. 

@intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

[kokonattsu-tokui]

Reaper x Passive!Nightmare

Hi! Here is my very first fanfic' OS published on Tumblr! I wrote this for a Discord event where you had to place the sentence 'Maybe in another life' in your story.

This is a Reaper x Passive!Nightmare. At first, it should have been a Reaper x Reader... but I had way too much imagination!

This OS is on my Wattpad account (French) too. It will become a long fanfiction. In fact, this text below is just the first chapter. But it can be read with no problem!

Considering that one is immortal and the other is six-

No. There is NO romance.

Reaper!Sans from Reapertale belongs to @/renrink.

Passive!Nightmare from Dreamtale belongs to @/jokublog.

Trigger Warning: Death, weapon, heavy blood, harassment and suicide mentions, injuries, cuss word, mental health(?). It contains some headcanons of mine. May be a bit long!

Enjoy your reading!

Maybe in another life

Sans, better known as the sorrowful nickname ‘Reaper’, detested his job. And that, for several reasons.

Firstly, he was a God of Death. Nevertheless, as it did not seem enough to assign him this horrible work as soon as he was created, he must necessarily be different from his brother. Papyrus was also a God of Death… But the painless death: he was only appearing to pure beings or those accepting their destiny from the outset. Those who were dying peacefully, having peace of mind and light-hearted. Sans, him, had to reap the souls of people who had committed atrocious crimes, whether they repented, whether they regretted... or not. In any case, they were all refusing their death. And were really impolite, mischievous or contemptuous.

Do not get him wrong, he loved his brother. Incidentally, he was wishing him never to know the agonizing aspect of their domain. At least... to never experience it.

Secondly, death knows no rest. He always had to go to such places, at such moments, to such people. He had to listen to the last prayers, the last words, the tears, the harrowing cries of the dying person or their entourage. The evidence being that, even the most corrupt of living beings could have a family, people who care about them.

Thus, Reaper was accomplishing his thankless task. And as the days, months and years passed, he lived simple, complicated situations, some giving him a rough ride, preposterous or frustrating… He was preferring some to others, without actually beginning to truly like his morbid duty.

He was preferring to precisely reap this fragile link between the soul and the body, without an ounce of bitterness. He was rarely granting five more minutes of life to those he was calling 'patients'. After all, his own were clearly not meriting it. This situation was bearable, he was managing it well and it was making his work easier, since the soul was transferred to the afterlife without a problem. Ironically, it was also the one happening the least.

Of course, there were always the other moments more... problematic. More recurrent.

If he had not been able to be present in time to reap the thread of life himself, then it would break by itself. And the complications were beginning because he had to persuade the soul to follow him or manage to catch it. Peace once dead, what a joke!

A whole plan of negotiation was then being put in place, composed of sweet words and anger contained on one side; and fury, fear and despair on the other. Reaper had to make use of all his self-control to convince the soul to finally give up. Several times, he almost lost his temper because a second lost trying to catch a single person, was letting the other dying people of the Multiverse reap themselves and repeat the same actions.

He had to literally chase, run after those spirits sometimes fleeing or hiding from him. However, never for very long: Reaper could feel their presence. He was Death itself, after all.

And there were other situations that were rarer but a lot more arduous… Like those people who, even after the reaping, were not realizing that they were henceforth intangible forever. They were more prone to become Doppelgänger, Poltergeist or any other dangerous supernatural entity in the grip of strong and negative emotions. Especially when they were finally becoming aware of their condition. And Reaper refused that, he did not want to deal with that kind of thing anymore.

He did not even want to think about the souls of Determination or any other strange type that were making him travel for nothing: they were refusing death and even him, could do nothing about it as long as their veritable time had not come. He could ignore them, yet, what was infuriating was that he just did not know how to tell the difference between these ‘false’ deaths and the ‘real’ ones. Those damned souls were dying well and truly but were refusing to accept that fact... and were coming back to life.

Alas, if his instinct as a reaper was indicating to him a Universe where he was required, hence, he had to go there. You never know. Those were the special cases he was encountering every so often.

All of this was wearying him continually. And even if, as a divine creature he did not feel physical pain or tiredness, his morale, which was already not being set fair, was always suffering a blow. Few were finally accepting their destiny after a word, following him obediently without shying away, accepting his scythe on their being or the touch of his hand. Geno had even attacked him several times.

These are the kinds of complaints that were going through Reaper’s head, as he was pursuing a spirit for the umpteenth time. His dark thoughts were whirling, assailing him and angering him as he was letting his body handle the maniac. He sighed with relief when he finally grabbed the child by the hand, sealing them forever in the afterlife. This alternative version of Chara will have given him a hard time… Certainly, he thought, the Frisk and Chara were definitely the worst to reap.

He furrowed his eyebrow arches and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the migraine showing up. He teleported himself to his next patient's house, who was supposed to come to him in two minutes. Enjoying his brief respite, the skeleton went into the kitchen and discreetly filled his cup of black coffee still lukewarm. Swallowing the liquid in no time at all, he felt much better. Fortunately, the coffee was helping him to hold on. Even though he knew he was drinking it to excess, the bitter taste was giving him a sensation of a semblance of life. But what he appreciated was the warmth of the beverage that was bringing him a vague impression of melancholy. A feeling of nostalgic plenitude was then spreading throughout his entire being during a few precious seconds.

Reaper washed his container and put it away under his tunic, making his work tool appear. A door opened on the go, the bullet flew, and his client collapsed on the ground. His scythe fell without hesitation as his wings unfolded, ready to take him to his next destination…

»——•——«

Reaper rarely met his brother.

Each of them could feel the presence of the other and know exactly where he was in the Multiverse. This was due to a magical bond whose reason for its existence remained unclear to them. Perhaps because of their status of God? Or a brother characteristic that Gaster had wanted to give them? They were not too concerned about it; it was convenient for them. The loneliness and horror of their work would have already driven them crazy.

Anyhow, their reunion would only be meaning one thing: several people with different states of mind were at death's door, or had already passed away. Many reasons could be the cause: a war, an accident, a disastrous weather event, misfortune… Generally, the two skeletons would only glance at each other in dismay or encouragement. Everything depended on the situation, which could be horrible, unbearable to observe.

Sometimes, the Gods of Death were both finding themselves in front of a confusing case. As surprising as it may seem, they realized that there were people whose death could not take part in their destiny. Like this strange gray child. Ink and Geno were also among those immortals. They were not gods. But it was close enough. They were the only living beings that Reaper could touch without turning them into dust.

It also happened that, from time to time, Core would join him or Papyrus to keep them company. Even though this walking mystery never stayed very long. The last breath, the sweetest it can be, has nothing amusing to observe even for an omnipotent being. Especially close up.

It was ironic. Death finding itself in a dead end. Where it even was no longer the point of no return. Becoming just a formality, sometimes inconceivable, sometimes forgotten or even foiled.

So, when Reaper perceived that he had to go to Dreamtale, the same place where he was currently feeling his brother’s presence, he sighed deeply. What was it going to be this time? The annoyance was already beginning to engulf him. He was already not liking what he was doing, why make his task even more complicated?

Chin up! Perhaps they will simply be in the same Alternative Universe but at completely opposite locations. In addition, he remembered that this world was rather pleasant and sweet and not much else. Well... it was hardly a bed of roses either. He had not been able to visit much to really get an idea, only the few dwellings where he had reaped a few lives. But he still remembered Dream perfectly.

The child who was almost always arriving in time with his golden apples to prevent the death of a person; this one yelling at him, with impetuosity and wickedness. It was clear that the poor boy was being exploited by these ingrates given his Guardian status. His brother Nightmare was not being outdone. Also a victim of harassment without Dream knowing anything about it, it was going as far as death threats.

Reaper gritted his teeth while scything his last soul in the world he was in, his thoughts bringing themselves up again. Now that he was thinking about it… what if it was for them that he had to go to Dreamtale? Those little ones have been surrounded by scoundrels since their creation. The probability was much too high, their short life had been a hell…

Even as a seemingly ubiquitous entity, Reaper could not see or anticipate how his patients were leaving the world of the living. He knew they were doing it, he was coming to them and that was it. However, this time, there was no doubt for him. Everything was coinciding and he was not stupid.

One was taking his own life, accepting the arrival of Papyrus. The other’s life was hanging by a thread, certainly praying for Reaper never to appear.

Shaking his head to avoid imagining this before time, the reaper teleported with a snap of his fingers, ready to put up with the miserable and unjust ending of two innocent children.

»——•——«

Reaper had always been used to predict the worst. Whether he was right or wrong, it did not matter. The outcome always remained the same.

However, when he appeared near this tree with bicolored fruits, his orbits darkened. He was feeling a heavy ambiance around him. It had everything like a ruthless war. The azure sky had made way for an oppressive blood-red one, the glowing red clouds casting a shadow over the earth. The air seemed to have cooled… a cold biting the heart, piercing it like thousands of thorns. What had occurred to the happiness? Vanished. There was nothing left but an atmosphere giving nausea, causing pain and fury to lose the head.

From the Tree of Feelings, there remained only a dried out trunk and branches, the apples entirely pitch black dangling in misfortune. Negativity was reigning supreme from this point forward, having seized this wooden throne coldly receiving it; this new queen overthrowing the balance and the peace with positivity. Murderous intentions, paranoia, depression became its mercenaries. Silence, manipulation, wickedness became its henchmen. And at the foot of it, the unintentional initiator of this coup d'état. A six-year-old skeleton, horrified, holding an ebony stained apple in his hand.

Sans felt his soul pound in his ribcage. He tensed, his hand clenching his robe at the place of the very culmination of his being. Ah… He was feeling unwell. He was feeling swooning... His vision grew darker, he could almost see a veil blindfolding him, his pupils fading. His thoughts let themselves be overwhelmed by an infernal black like a dreadful cumulonimbus. The tornado in his mind was on the increase, crushing every ounce of his reason, knocking over any capacity for judgment. His sadness transformed into grief, his anger turned into rage, his contempt changed into disgust. His body began to tremble violently, his head struck by a throbbing pain. The storm residing inside of him was growing, trying to become a hurricane.

The God of Death was ready to explode. Too much, it was way too much! Biting his tongue until the pain invaded his mouth, he grasped his head with both hands, his fingers sinking into his skull as he was bending over. His erratic breathing erratic, his soul beating faster and faster… Everything was nothing but fog and darkness. He had to free himself, he had to let this hell out! He would feel so good, so better!

One of Reaper’s frightening powers was the creation of black holes. He used them only to catch the souls fleeing from him. But it could happen that in the middle of rage, the blackness consumed him. Then, the inexorable attraction of the celestial body was destroying everything in its path. And that was exactly what was happening. A dark aura began to surround him. And all these voices echoing louder and louder in his mind kept whispering in a hypocritical way the same sentence to him: What is the use in trying to fight...?

The angel of death was falling into the throes of despair and nothing and nobody could prevent it from doing so.

“Sans! Sans! Can you hear me, Sans? Focus on my voice!”

The hooded skeleton felt two warm hands grab his cheeks, forcing him to raise his head. His empty eye sockets met his brother’s worried pupils. Sans could hear the cries of people dying around him, distinguishing blurred movements behind Papyrus who was forcing him to divert his attention only on him. The chaos was still vituperating inside of him, trying to tear him away from that life-saving touch.

In all of this shambles, Reaper had almost forgotten the person who mattered the most to him, the only one who could stop him.

“There, that’s good. Look at me, Sans. Breathe slowly. It will be okay, it happens to everyone to feel overwhelmed.” Papyrus continued in a calm voice. “You feel it too. There is still a glimmer of hope somewhere. All is not lost, don’t worry. Focus on that tiny positivity. I’m here.”

Sans suddenly grabbed hold of this one's wrists, squeezing them tightly as trying to find an anchor point somewhere in the physical world. He was not even aware that he had stopped breathing, submerged by the waves of negativity. He shut his eyes, complying with what the other god was asking of him. Slowly, his grip loosened, his own pupils reappeared. As if a light radiating from Papyrus was piercing through his clouds of qualms, dispelling his intrusive thoughts.

The divine being completely regained consciousness, hit by reality like a slap in the face. It was at that moment that he realized the heavy silence that had fallen on Dreamtale. Everything seemed devastated, abandoned, in mourning. The ferrous smell of the blood was merging with putrid lingering odors capable of turning any stomach. The soil was being permeated by a liquid as black as the abyss and emitting foul effluviums. The scarlet blood was still dripping from the bodies sliced in half with an impressive macabre sharpness. A statue resembling Dream was laying on the ground, next to a rotten trunk.

Shivers were sent down his spine as he was seeing this sudden change from this pacifist Alternative Universe to the post-apocalyptic world. No more living beings, only corpses littering the ground and zombies wandering aimlessly. The unique manifestation of life that he could feel was situated deep inside of this Dream of stone. The souls were screaming each one more so than the other, running away, crying, trying to hold their loved ones in their arms without success. This vision tugged at his heartstrings. Then, the annoyance and resignation took hold of him. Reaper hated his work.

“What happened?” he murmured, still disturbed by what he had just experienced.

Papyrus told him everything. How Nightmare had contaminated all the apples with negativity, explaining to him why Reaper had been affected so sorely by this transformation that eliminated any positive emotion from this world. How Dream had been jostled and trampled mercilessly. How Nightmare was prepared to let himself die by taking a severe beating by the inhabitants. How the God of Death had been ready to extend a hand to him in order to reassure him once he had done so.

Yet, the skeleton dressed in purple had clinged to life. And this change definitely forbade Papyrus to reap his life to his greatest displeasure. He felt helpless, he could only collect one soul from this place: a terminally ill lady that Dream was supposed to save with the last golden apple.

The brother had bit into a black apple, before eating all the others. This, while enduring incomparable suffering as the corruption was trickling from his body. As his bones were breaking, as they could not contain all the evil that was rushing in. He repeated word for word the last wish of a broken being.

He narrated everything to him, without omitting anything, with a distressed face. Papyrus was the personification of Death. But he was still Papyrus. He could not bear the suffering of others. Soon, the child disappeared, drowned in this blackish mass with a fetid smell and deadly tentacles. The screaming, the killing, the desolation.... In the matter of a few minutes only, a whole world had been condemned. In the matter of a few seconds, a pure soul had been soiled with sins.

Sans remained silent during this time, his face wearing an indescribable expression. Papyrus had released his face, standing by his side but no longer daring to look at the scenery that was giving him retching. And once his story was over, he waited for some reaction from the smallest of the skeletons.

Snorting sarcastically, this one gave a faint abstruse smile. In the distance, he could make out the souls of the unfortunate wretches, slowly becoming aware of their state or being contaminated by negativity, changing into ghostly entities and malicious spirits. If he took care of it now, he could stop things from getting more difficult. Ah, life… What a joke in bad taste! He, who had expected to discover two corpses near the Tree of Feelings, was now finding himself hunting spectral monsters. He finally opened his mouth, looking into his brother’s eyes.

“He… It just goes to show… A rotten apple spoils the barrel.” he said nonchalantly.

Papyrus stayed frozen at his sentence, giving him a disapproving look, his mind trying to assimilate what he had just heard. By the time he reacted, Sans had already pulled out his scythe, ready to go to work, snickering slightly at the face of his brother. It was doing him good to joke or make small talk with him. He was feeling his worries were going away just for a brief instant.

“Sans!” exclaimed the tall and outraged skeleton, crossing his arms like a mother scolding her child. “Seriously?!”

Of course, that comment was inappropriate in that situation. But the god knew Reaper well. When he was behaving like that, it was to conceal his angst. A way of announcing that his brother could not care less... when it was absolutely the opposite. Never was Sans speaking to him about what was going on inside his head. Never has he confided in him. They had all eternity ahead of them but Papyrus knew nothing would ever change.

The latter sighed before showing a worried expression again, deciding to change the subject to not get the reaper's back up. He cast a glance at the scowling and hissing apparitions across Dreamtale, wandering around like lost souls, spewing out a slimy and repugnant liquid. And suddenly, he felt the vital need -a way of speaking- to go to another Universe. Here he was again, in connection with a soul. It was bad timing but death never took a vacation.

“Duty calls. Will it be all right, alone?” wanted to assure Papyrus, a little guilty of having to leave Sans dealing with the consequences of the acts of one unfortunate soul.

Oh, he knew he would have no problem defeating them. But death waits for nothing and no one and every lost second counts. This disorder had probably already delayed his brother’s collection of souls.

“Don’t worry, bro. It's not the end of the world. They’re shabby, I’ll crush them to a pulp easily!” Reaper replied with a wink.

The concerned one only displayed a deadpan expression before raising his eyes to heaven, containing his annoyance at these jokes which he did not really appreciate. The off-beat humor, the misfortune of others, the self-deprecation, the polemical subjects…not for him! He waved one last time at his counterpart, wishing him good luck; then he opened a portal and crossed it, taking him away.

Sans, from now, was all alone in this reddish and seedy immensity. Shrugging his shoulders, he stared at a paranormal creature whose potency had increased tenfold by exposing itself to the evil enveloping the world. This concentration of goo was so powerful… it could ravage an entire Multiverse. With a single snap of his finger, he made a Gaster Blaster appear and fired without an ounce of remorse at what was once an ordinary living being. The deflagration and the light beam drew the attention of the other monsters, uttering shrieks before setting on the man with the scythe, feeling the danger emanating from it.

“I’m dying to drink a cup of coffee.” Death gnashed his teeth, his right eye shining with burning magic.

His cold eyes looked at his enemies defiantly. Taking a run-up, wings spreading like a shadow above them, he was ready to call the tune, his tunic twirling at his every move. His sharp blade rose, marking the tempo of a long music score. His Gaster Blaster will constitute the orchestra, his black holes will resonate the last note.

Once again, the angel of death will play that silent melody which was the eternal rest.

»——•——«

A sigh was heard when his weapon cut through the viscosity of the last evil spirit. His scythe vanished and his wings folded back as he was stretching out, his head tilting back to observe the carmine sky. Reaper was slightly tired and out of breath. His ribcage was moving up and down at the rhythm of his irregular respiration, his mouth catching gulps of air useless to his body. If he could feel the heat, he would have all the symptoms of past physical effort. A sardonic laugh escaped him at this observation.

He was a God of Death, an immortal and invincible being. Time had no impact on him, he was even flouting its law. He did not, in reality, need to eat, drink, or sleep. His touch was deadly, his weapons pitiless and the end, ineluctable. Now, at the slightest use of his magic, he was weakening and had to rest? What a quirk of fate!

His reaper instinct called him to order. Again. He had to continue his endless journey. Chasing souls, reaping, visiting the underworld from time to time. He had to forget this Alternative Universe like so many others. He clenched his jaw. He had enough. But the strings of fate were keeping him obediently under its control, like a puppet. He had to obey or it would be chaos. And everything would be his fault. Again.

He shook his head. The dismal village was standing in front of him, the harrowing silence of the place was driving him mad. No breath of wind, no bird’s song. He felt that there were only two survivors left. One turned into stone, the other was several kilometers from the village. Which was surprising. Maybe that person was immune to this corruption. Feeling uneasy, Sans prepared to say farewell to Dreamtale and teleport elsewhere.

That was when he heard it.

Sobbing, hiccups, a reedy, muffled little voice whining. Was it Dream? Had he freed himself from the spell? No. His new soul was in a lethargic state. But then, who? A ghost he would have forgotten in all likelihood? If he did, why could he not detect it?

Turning to face the hill where once stood the majestic tree, Sans put his hood back in place, starting to walk slowly towards the origin of the noises. Once he reached the top, he could not help but be surprised. Lying on the ground near the decaying roots, the statue of Dream, facing down, was covered with dust and was a sorry sight. The few remaining puddles of negativity had melted and dried around him. Notwithstanding, that was not what Reaper was looking at.

Nightmare.

On his knees, being in floods of tears on his petrified brother. He was embracing him, the pearls of water drenching the rock. His white cheeks were now puffy, letting his tears flow endlessly, that were going to soak his nice purple clothes. The circlet on his head, formerly of a brilliant gold, was from now quite morose, almost ocher. His little hands were grabbing onto the only one who had always mattered to him. He was trying to nuzzle against the cold and uncomfortable back of the Guardian of Positivity, trying to find the reassurance that he had lost through his own fault…

“Sorry! Dream, I apologize! I’m sorry! Forgive me!” he was sobbing, apologizing again and over again, his breathing jerky.

It was obvious that the little skeleton was tormented by guilt. He had never wanted this. And this heart-rending vision left a bitter taste to the God of Death. He will never experience this cruel pain in the loss of a loved one. On the other hand, just the thought of losing Papyrus was making his heart beat violently. He comprehended this attachment and all the hardship and happiness that it could bring.

“Wake up! Please, don’t leave me!” Nightmare was running out of breath, begging. “I’ll play with you! I’ll read you stories, I’ll keep teaching you to read! I’ll do anything for you, so wake up!”

The boy was being subjected to the worst torture, even after he had passed away. The psychological and physical suffering he had to endure since his birth was by far one of the worst that Reaper had ever seen during his reaping. Good grief, what the hell did fate want to do with him? Could it not leave these poor children alone?!

Without thinking, on an impulsive thought of wanting to console the child, Sans took a step forward. He stopped immediately, lowering his head, staring at his foot as if it was not belonging to him. But what exactly was he thinking? His assignment was to send the dead to the afterlife, not to help them heal from their torments! At the slightest touch, this tormented soul would perish and be finally freed. Yes, that was what he had to discreetly do.

He looked up. His eyes caught Nightmare’s open wide eyes, rooted to the spot, completely frightened. His body was trembling all over, his hands never ceasing to clasp his brother in a protective way.

“Damn it…” the god muttered.

“W-Who are you?!” cried desperately the child in purple clothes, clinging a little more to Dream.

Reaper rarely hesitated about how to proceed. The times he did, it did not end well. But at that very moment, he was lost. Moreover, although the child looked tangible, his translucent body suggested that he was now a spirit. So logically, he had to reach the kingdom of the dead. But if that was the case, where was his body? He had like... disappeared.

If only he had not had a nervous breakdown during the previous events, he or Papyrus could have seen what was going on behind them! There he was now, in front of a saddened ghost whose soul and body were nowhere to be found and his presence imperceptible! He was finding himself with a new special case on his hands! Reaper was irritated by his own behavior.

He was lost in his thoughts, his tense expression and his empty gaze alarming a little more Nightmare. All of a sudden, he felt his soul establish a connection with the latter. The Guardian of Negativity had its essence held somewhere in the Multiverse. What Sans was seeing was only an unstable and wounded illusion, ejected from its own body. The shadow of a specter. His instinct was from this point forward, yelling at him that he had one more patient. So, he had to accomplish his mortuary duty.

He clenched his fists. In one jump, one hit, it could be done. No complications, no time lost. Sans was not fond of empathy. It was a troublesome and hurtful feeling. If he had lacked it, he could have fiddled with his scythe without ever feeling anything for the deceased.

Despite that, the angel of death did not want the true end of the little one to be achieved in such a brutal manner. He had already had enough roughness in his short life. Overdoing it until the end would be just intolerable. He had to brush him or better, convince him to take his hand.

The personification of Death advanced toward his patient.

“Don’t come any closer!” shouted the apparition, leaping up to place himself in front of Dream.

With his arms outstretched to protect his loved one, Nightmare was staring fiercely at Reaper. It was obvious that he was tetanized by fear. His body was trembling and yet, he was drawing deep in his courage to maintain his gaze, sniffing from time to time. The tears had still not dried. Did he even know who he was dealing with? No, of course not. He was only six years old. And even the books he had read were just tales for babies. But he was smart. He must have understood, deep down inside.

“Relax. I won’t touch your brother.” Reaper reassured him with a placid smile.

To avoid provoking him, the hooded one stopped at a good distance from the skeleton child; who did not drop his guard for all that. Argh… How come Papyrus could find patience and witty remarks so easily? He had absolutely nothing in mind to appease the boy with the moon circlet. His black orbits were probably not inspiring trust to him. Perhaps, he had also seen his 'massive cleaning' just a few seconds ago. In any case, he could only acknowledge his bravery. What a pity that he would only show it when Dream’s safety was compromised, and not his.

“You are somewhere between life and death, a kind of in-between.” Reaper began in a voice that wanted to appear gentle. “Your brother will be fine; he’s having a nap. He’ll wake up. But you, if you stay… you’ll suffer. This world will consume you. Come with me. Where I'm taking you, peace is finally waiting for you.” He finished by holding out his hand in a benevolent gesture.

“I don’t want to. I want to stay!” protested Nightmare shaking his head.

“I’m afraid that's not possible, kiddo.” Sans replied in a bittersweet tone, restraining himself from being sarcastic.

There was no exception to the rule. After all, it was the much talked about common trait among all his patients. They were all refusing to accept their death. This was all the more so as natural for a person who only survived six years. The little boy had not even begun to live, that he already had to leave us, to part with his twin. It was breaking his heart but he could not afford to let a spirit wander, especially in a condemned Universe. He took a step forward, his wings shuddering with an unpleasant shiver.

“I can’t go! P-Please, leave us alone! I won't do it again, I promise!” cried out Nightmare, tears in his eyes. “I must take care of my brother! I must stay with him!”

His crying was showering his face once more and he had a runny nose. He could not hold back his emotions, he, who had to hide so much before. Dream was all he had left. Even the villagers did not succeed in taking him away from him. The God of Death clicked his tongue, his gaze averting the being in front of him. He was torn between affliction and the obligation to end this. The weight of these new remorse would add to the others and haunt him forever.

“Please! I want to stay with Dream!”

With a somber and contrite face, the god escaped from the eyes of Nightmare. It only took him half a second to reappear next to the little boy. His crow wings had majestically spread, the iridescent feathers hiding the sinister cinnabar ether. Their shadow singularly had a soothing aura, like a warm blanket enveloping the two brothers. The look of Sans softened, his smile becoming melancholic.

In a single second, he is within easy reach. Death never waits.

The skeleton child began to turn his head, his pupils expressing stupefaction and despair. But he did not have time to react.

Death never gives any chance.

“Sorry, kiddo. Maybe in another life…” whispered the adult, his hand tenderly placing itself on the top of the child’s head.

Death is forever inevitable.

And always and forever, Reaper will loathe his work.

[sakura-fraust]

I've been struggling with severe brain rot and suicidal thoughts again lately, this time around being made worse by the fact that I've been out of work since mid June and will be until early August due to my back injury, meaning I have absolutely no income at the moment and my account is already empty after paying rent for this month...

I have dr apps every other day for the next few weeks, but I have no money and I'm almost out of gas which means I won't even be able to drive to my apps...

And so naturally my brain says "Its fine, don't go, your job probably won't keep you for much longer after an incident like this anyway and you're only worth anything if you're able to work, which you can't, so just lie down, close your eyes, and let yourself rot and decay. A slow, miserable death is all you're good for now, you have no more use, you're easily replaceable, everyone will move on. Its okay, just perish and worry about your miserable life no longer."

Of course my brain is quick to agree with itself, nothing said appears to be incorrect. There's no proof to dispute it but plenty of proof to aid its conclusion. It sounds quite nice, to just close my eyes, fall asleep, and never wake up again.

However, there's another part of my brain... a very chaotic and irrational (and honestly kinda toxic in its own way) part that screams out against this... the part that's crippled by FOMO

"Yeah sure, you might be worthless and miserable and have absolutely no future that doesn't involve becoming crippled from work injuries, but if you're DEAD then you'll never know where the story in FFXIV is going! You won't be able to play D&D with the people who tolerate you ever again! You won't be able to play the games your ex is working on or enjoy your roommate's art anymore! AND WHAT ABOUT EVELYNN? HUH? Sure you'll never get the fucking funds to make her a new enclosure, but you're still stupidly excited to craft it if some miracle does happen. You have PLANS for it and you know people would think it's cool as shit, if it ever got funded. Big if. But still. You'll miss out of ALL of this and MORE if you're dead. So maybe don't do that."

I know that FOMO is bad (and esp that a LOT of companies, esp game companies, will exploit FOMO to make people buy stuff, it works on me and this is a big reason why I avoid games like Lost Ark, ESO, Destiny 2, and gacha games) but its almost comedic how the lesser of two evils is shouting the loudest for my survival, for the wrong reason.

I guess when you're suicidal, you take what you can get, even if it is coming from a part of your fucked up brain that has screwed you over countless times in the past. :/

So I guess tl;dr- Dying sounds nice, but the Fear of Missing Out is worse than the misery of living. So I guess I'll continue to be a burden upon everyone...

[softomi]

now accepting boyfriend applications.

based on my fic idea: you’ve just become newly single, in a drunken fit, you posted a status indicating you’re accepting applications for your next boyfriend. Oddly, three boys take you up on that; sending in their most professional resumes for the position. It seems there’s some fierce competitors. 

next up: literature

It hurt, why wouldn’t it hurt. Your boyfriend of almost two years dumped you over text message with no warning and his reason? He just wasn’t feeling it anymore, what the fuck. Well, twenty phone calls, a hundred text messages sent to him, and a pretty nasty voicemail. The moment you realized just how crazy you were being was when you began pounding on his door at almost ten at night. His neighbors poking their head out to stare, and it really smacked you in the face how stupid you were being.

So you threw caution into the wind. it’s a Wednesday night, your first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon and you’re literature teacher was more of a lecturer so she probably won’t notice if you’re hung over. If anything, you could always ask the guy next to you for the notes.

Thus, you decide to throw back shots to your heart’s desire, sitting in the middle of your tiny studio apartment, on your bed to scream and cry at the romance movie. Love is dead. You groan loudly when your neighbor knocks against the wall, trying to tell you to promptly shut the fuck up.

Halfway through the movie, your mind is already swaying. Your throat stings just momentarily and you sip your cheap wine in hope it’ll dull the shots you had taken previously. When the male protagonist kisses the beautiful female of his dreams, you promptly chug the rest of the wine in your glass. Upset at their love, you wrap your lips around the tip of the wine bottle, drinking straight from it.

“I can find someone better.” You’ve reached a different point in your post break up sadness, you were mixed with anger, sadness, and an overall feeling of I’ll find someone with a better dick.

It’s never a good decision to post on social media while drunk, but it’s a great decision right now. You were going to post a ‘newly single’ status. Just to be nice and not spam everyone, you think you’ll just post it to your private account for your five friends to see. You’ve clearly neglected that step when you press post and it uploads to your public twitter account.

The urge to hurl takes priority over the sudden notifications on your phone. Your hair disheveled as you’re trying to hold onto the toilet, hold onto your hair, and throw up at the same time. The romance film comes to an end once you’ve fully emptied your stomach. You shove all the things off your bed, food falling onto the floor, empty bottle of wine rolled under your bed, remote lost somewhere. You fall asleep despite your cell phone going off.

The alarm jolts you, it causes you to scream, your palm slapping the snooze button and you aggressively pull the wire so that it comes out of the socket. Your head is throbbing and your cell phone is ringing at the same time. Annoyed, your hand stretches along the bed trying to find your cell. When you come emptyhanded, you sit up. Your hand steading the pulsing of your brain and you spot your phone ringing and vibrating on the ground.

“What?” You spit out, not bothering to look at the contact as you try to block out the sun.

“What do you mean what?” The voice snaps at you, “You post about boyfriend applications all of a sudden, did you guys break up?”

Of course he would be the one calling you, the person who loves gossip more than you do, “Tooru, can you like shut up for a second.” Your brain is dying and he’s over here trying to get the latest dish on your love life, “He dumped me okay.”

“That asshole.” He gasps, “Do you want me to come over?”

You look at the time on your cell briefly, “No. I have class all day. If you’re free later?”

“Of course!”

The phone call ends and rather than getting ready for the class you have in an hour, you’re checking your notifications. You have about twenty missed calls from Oikawa, another thirty text messages from him, he even left a voicemail; god he must have been desperate. Facebook is bland, you spent most of your time on Instagram deleting the photos of your now ex, and rarely do you ever get Twitter notifications. Oddly, you have fifteen notifications; all coming from your public account.

haha, boyfriend applications are official open. only taking serious apps lol

“No.” You sit up.

It wasn’t your post that freaked you out, it wasn’t that somehow it ended up on your public account, no you could delete it and pretend as if no one saw it but people saw it.

Is she serious?

If she is, I’m down.

What does serious applications mean?

Three comments, five likes, and four retweets.

And three unread messages.

Your finger rushes to delete the tweet before it can be retweeted even more by random classmates. All was good now. Your finger presses onto the message icon, you’re confronted with the icons of three of your classmates.

The most recent is from Miya Atsumu, a terrible flirt in your biology class. He chose the seat next to you in lab when his friends ditched him and hoarded their own table. He spun around in his chair, shooting you a cheeky grin when you briefly looked at him.

His first sentence was, “Hey you’re cute.”

And yours was, “I have a boyfriend.”.

You skip over his message upon spotting his use of sweetheart in the preview.

The next icon is of the guy in your intro to business class, Kuroo Tetsuro. The first time you saw him was outside of the classroom, you two ended up accidentally reaching the doors at the same time. He lets you go in first and the both of you chose the seats farthest from the board, and closest to the door. Despite his bed hair that made him look like he was going to sleep the entire class, he was a rather studious guy; chill but smart, he was a business major after all.

“Did you understand anything he was saying?” You murmur to him as you grab your bag.

“Of course!” He states, “I don’t look at twitter on my laptop when he’s lecturing.” Ah, he caught you.

Your eyes briefly scan the preview, he’s saying something about a resume and you think he’s talking about the homework assignment. You’re about to click on his first when the last catches your eye.

It’s from Akaashi Keiji. On the first day of class, you were late due to waiting in line for coffee. You awkwardly opened the door to the classroom, everyone turning to stare, and you lower your head, choosing a random seat that now you’re stuck with for the rest of the semester because that’s just how college works. The professor goes over the syllabus and suddenly announces that the person sitting to your right will be your revision partner for the semester.

“Hey.” You stop him and for a brief minute you feel your heart skip a beat because he was absolutely pretty, “Sorry, I’m Y/n. Since we’re going to be partners, do you want to exchange info?”.

“Uh. Sure. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“I’m going to be late for my business class. Do you have twitter?” You were never a fan of giving your phone number out. Before he can answer, you’re scribbling your username onto a piece of paper, placing it on his desk before running out to catch your next class.

His message is brief: Did you get my email?

You click his message first; it must have been urgent if he messaged and emailed you. There’s nothing else to his message, his previous one dates almost a week before his current one, telling you that he finished reading the book you recommended and that he enjoyed it.

The screen is pulled up with your finger, alternating apps to your personal email. The subject of his email simply reads Application.

Curiously, you click the attachment he’s sent with no body text. Your jaw dropped, hand placed over your open mouth and a small scream emitting.

“Is he fucking serious?”

His name is displayed at the top, along with his birthday, star sign, zodiac sign, age, even the pronouns he uses. There’s a short sentence under it. I am submitting an application for the position of Boyfriend. You’re internally screaming, blinking fast hoping that this was a joke but his ‘application’ reads like a resume. It lists his education from middle school to his current, his previous jobs, his skills, and his own personal goals for the future.

Your blushing profusely, you want to pull your hair, scream, even throw your phone but you shove down the feelings that want to have you die of embarrassment. You don’t have the energy to sadly explain to him that you were drunk and weren’t serious; ugh and you’re going to have to continue seeing him for the rest of the semester.

You revert back to twitter; your heart suddenly drops when you think about Kuroo’s message. Quickly, you pull up the messages, clicking his and suddenly you want dig yourself a grave because he’s sent a link to a pdf and it’s simply titled Resume. He probably used a resume template and never changed the title.

And sure enough, it’s a fucking professional resume declaring the certain skills he has to be your boyfriend. In fact, like the professional business major he is, he includes a letter of intent; indicating his reasons of interest for the position. It details the little quirks he finds cute about you. You want to break your phone in half with how red in the face you feel.

As you exit his message, you’re slowly praying that Atsumu’s message is just a random flirty comment that he occasionally likes to throw you once in a while or perhaps you’re hoping that he fell in a ditch and you won’t have to work with him for the rest of the semester since he almost blew up the lab station last time.

Nope, it’s a link to a google document. Oddly, you click it. Your heart has sunk to the pit of the earth because when you open the document, you see his fucking name in the upper right corner indicating he’s still on the stupid document.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re running away from the document, aggressively leaving the page but it doesn’t help that when you end up back at your twitter messages, you can see the three dots, telling you he’s typing.

Morning sweetheart hope you enjoy the app

He sends it with a flirty wink and you stare at it for five full minutes. Curiosity gets the best of you and you click back onto his link, he’s no longer on the same document and you sigh safely. For someone who’s barely passing biology, his document was rather professionally detailed. Damn, he’s on the school’s volleyball team? Weirdly the page cuts off halfway, you continue to scroll until the next title page boldly states: Bedroom skills.

It didn’t help that you were scrolling a little too fast and caught sight of an image showing off his toned upper body. There goes his professionalism.

Your phone suddenly blares low battery, your screen turns black and now your anxiety is through the roof. You jump on your bed, trying to plug in your phone and you’ve just now realized that it is thirty minutes until your first class starts and it is literature. You’re scrambling to find your laptop, you trip on the bag of chips from last night, awkwardly trying to stand as you reach for your school bag.

“Shit!” You scream. You suddenly remember letting your stupid ex-boyfriend borrow your laptop.

You fall to the floor, fingers pulling your hair as you suddenly think about the deep shit your in. First, your boyfriend dumped you, now you randomly have three guys who sent you applications to be your next boyfriend and you’re still going to have to see them for the rest of the semester if you reject them. Lastly, you’re going to have to go to your ex’s place to get your laptop after having made a scene yesterday, and your phone is dead so you can’t cry to Oikawa about the deep shit you’re in.

[ilcaeryx]

Cascade [Gojo Satoru/Reader]

Summary: Satoru picks you up after a wild night in Tokyo’s party districts. While he’s dying to be more than your close friend, he won’t act until he’s certain you want him, too.

Tags: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Cute, Fluff, Humor, Slight angst, Nightlife, Pining, Pre-relationship

Word Count: Almost 2k

Author’s Note: Feels good to complete something. I listened to The Rose’s cover of ILYSB while writing this.

---

Gojo Satoru’s 1AM drive to one of Tokyo’s nightlife district was strictly for serious business. While he would fit into the crowd of youthful people enjoying the neon stinging their eyes and body contact with at least four strangers at all times, he had zero intentions on partying. Indeed, his sole mission was to retrieve a package – that package being you.

Lulled into rumination by the car engines constant humming, Satoru pondered about your occupation of his mind. Even though his days were busy, he would associate the concept of you with quite literally anything. Bickering with the higher ups? He could envision himself cranking up the drama as he told you the story, smiling smugly inwards at you cooking him comfort food to soothe ‘his stressful day’. Whenever something hilarious or crazy happened, he would automatically think ‘I’ll tell Y/N this later’. One would expect it would annoy him but it was not the case; Satoru was entertained by his daily fantasies, very much enthralled by the walking-on-clouds-feeling his body would produce during his mental escapades. If one Y/N thought equalled one endorphin molecule, he was experiencing a cascade.

His first thought after awakening every morning was your face between his palms, his fingers frigid against your temples. If things between you two ever developed, one day your face would be his first experience that day, every day for the rest of his life. Right now, Satoru would pin your relationship as close friends. As much as he would overinterpret your behaviour towards him, he was quite certain you were not interested in discovering whatever else could unfold between the two of you. Not yet, his positive inner self protested. Maybe never, his negative inner self retorted.

Despite his conflicting emotions, he gathered himself up into a presentable version of himself while he walked to the nightclub your friend had mentioned. Your safety was his number one priority right now, regardless if you were into him romantically or not.

~~~

“Text me when you’re home!” you yelled over the pulsating music, bidding your friend farewell by blowing her a kiss. In a dramatic motion, she caught the invisible kiss in her palm and clutched it against her chest.

“I will! Stay safe, bitch!” she screeched back before submerging into the human current outside the club, her cursed energy swashing to and fro like a solar flare.

Even though his evening had been a cozy movie-night in his bedroom, Satoru’s limbs felt heavy from looking at you. With your shoulders drooping and hands massaging your left thigh, you were finally punished from dancing non-stop all evening. Indeed, your hair clung to your forehead, neck and upper arms, intermingling with the shining perspiration on your skin. Nevertheless, you seemed to relish in whatever banger was playing inside as you were gently swaying side to side.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said, pre-emptively shushing him with your index finger in the air. “But I’ll take a shower once I’m home.”

“I was actually thinking that I should’ve brought a towel, considering that your sweat’ll soak the car seat,” he said and tucked some slick strands away from your face. Your mortified look cracked him up. “It’s fine, I’ll lend you my jacket.”

“Your expensive-ass jacket? Thanks, I’d rather freeze to death.”

He rolled back his shoulders as he slid his jacked halfway down his back, hands still in his pockets. A little disappointment tinged his tongue. “Are you sure? I warmed it up just for you.”

“Yeah, stop stripping and let’s get the hell out of here.” You smacked his back with an open hand, pushing him onwards. “God, I can’t wait until we get home. I’m so tired. Are we going to your place?”

Let’s not read into anything, Satoru thought. ‘Anything’ meant both your off-hand comment about his place and the fact that your hand remained steady on his back even after you two joined the crowd. Physical closeness wasn’t anything new between you but the context provided another layer of complexity to read into. Suddenly, being the completely sober adult in charge seemed like too heavy a responsibility for him...

Without meaning to, his back tensed up. “No, you weirdo. You can sleep off the alcohol in your own bed.”

You either weren’t bothered by his tenseness or you didn’t notice, as you shifted your hand around his waist. You carefully leaned against his arm. “Sounds boring. Don’t you want to talk all night?”

Like always, your presence burned his arm, enough that he was unable to feel the strangers he bumped into on his other side. This was a sign, right? Or were you flirting as a friend? In the past, he had people confess their ‘love’ for him and apparently they thought his teasing and touching meant he fancied them. Being extremely lovable wasn’t easy, especially not when any platonic affection could be re-constructed as romantic by the other part. You, too, were extremely lovable and affectionate… Had he been in your shoes, this proximity wouldn’t have had any romantic subtext. But unlike him, you had a good personality… This could be the night you two finally spoke about whatever was between you two.

Or the night where you lose a friend because of your stupidity, his negativity brought up.

It had a point. Yeah, you were a good person and a terrific friend – he’d be an idiot if he lost you. Compared to his co-workers and allies, you were awfully soft; he liked how you doted on him, even when he was a pain in the ass. If you rejected him now, your dynamic wouldn’t be the same and his life would be much harder for it.

“We can talk later today,” he said, his arm automatically shooting out to stop an accidental elbow-right-into-your-chest-accident. He settled his arm around your shoulder after giving the guy the evil guy through his glasses. Watch your limbs, man.!

“That was close,” you said, sighing. “Thank you, Satoru! I’m sorry about having to call you out this late, by the way. Did I wake up you?”

He both cursed and rejoiced on the inside now that you changed subject. “Couldn’t be helped that your friend had an emergency. Next time, try to wake me up later for an early breakfast instead.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us.”

His lips faltered slightly, smile not feeling as genuine. He adjusted the collar on his jacket to hide it. “To the nightclub?”

Your index finger jabbed into his side accusingly. “Anywhere! Last time we hung out was… uh…”

This was the first time in a few weeks you two had spoken in person by yourselves. As you both mostly met together with your friends, you tended to invite him whenever the gang planned something. He admitted to himself that he often declined because he only wanted your company, but you never offered to join him instead. Whenever he invited you out, you’d be perfectly alright with hanging out just the two of you, though.

“Two weeks ago?” He squinted into the lights of an incoming car. “It’s because of work but-“

“I’m not a hikikomori, you bastard – I’ve got a job too, but I’ll make time for you, you know?”

You’d make time for anyone, Satoru thought, somewhat discouraged.

The crowd thinned out as you entered the parking lot, though the place was jam-packed with cars. Both of you remained quiet as you passed by couples on the way to Satoru’s car. When you detached yourself from his side, he rustled your hair. You stood on your tippy-toes to return the favour, messing up his hair worse than he did yours. He liked seeing you struggle to reach his head, so he didn’t mind.

“I missed you, scarecrow,” you said, pinching his cheek. He elongated his smile to feel one knuckle touch his lips. “What is the gremlin and scarecrow duo without the scarecrow?”

~~~

Slumped against the window, you were peaceful the entire ride home. Every so often, Satoru would catch a glimpse of your sleepy face and his heart would clam up. He made the right decision in picking you up, even though he aged weeks in those twenty minutes you two had spoken. Your interactions followed a pattern: he’d look forward to meeting you, creating fantasies and expectations of what could be; when you were with him, he would attempt not to ruin your current friendship to the point where he’d feel sick; and whenever you two parted, he’d overindulge in his memories. In two days, he’d be prepared to undergo this rollercoaster once again.

He drove into your street and called your name.

You immediately woke up and looked outside. “What time is it?”

“Almost 2AM…” he exhaled deeply, hands falling into his lap. He still had to drive home, so he’d be in bed in 30 minutes.

“Everything hurts,” you said, bending forward to readjust your high heels. “My legs are killing me… I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. I’m not sure I can walk now.”

He understood what the lilting tone at the end of your sentence meant and with great effort he stepped out of the car. Your giddiness as he opened the car-door on your side was intoxicating, as was the feeling of seeing you stretch your arms towards his neck. He cradled one arm below your thighs and one behind your back.

“Watch your head,” you chided softly into his ear, covering the top of his head as he carried you out of the car.

“Gimme keys.” Satoru leaned slightly backwards to account for your weight as you handed him the key to your apartment. With your bare arms against his neck, he would be surprised if you didn’t notice how his pulse rose.

Your apartment door opened and he stepped into darkness, shutting it behind his back.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, heading for your bedroom with his shoes on. Your teeny apartment had a teeny bedroom with a single sized bed.

“Say, Satoru,” you said, your cheek pressed below his ear, “are you sure you don’t want to stay and talk?”

“Just go to sleep, Y/N.” Satoru leaned over your bed to carefully lay you down. Your grip on his neck loosened and he thought you’d comply until you kissed his neck, his soul almost as soft as your lips.

“What about now?” you asked and released your arms, falling onto your bed. Your hair spilled around you, a gloria around your tired face. “I’ll let you sleep in my bed, if you want to.”

Honestly, he wanted this. Everything he’d thought of earlier this night could become true if he gave in, which was insane enough to send his head swimming. He’d endure this cramped bed for you, even with his feet being colder than hell and his back aching from sleeping on his side. Gojo Satoru was more than ready.

However, he did not want this to backfire. What if you were simply too horny, lonely, exhausted or intoxicated to consider the consequences right now?

You rolled towards the wall, leaning on your side. Your eyelids fluttered weakly, your exhaustion almost overtaking your body and yet you found enough strength to pat the empty space beside you. “See, there’s space. I’ll always leave space for you.”

Ah, fuck it.

Satoru’s personality was bad; his attitude was self-indulgent; his morality was concrete grey; and his discipline when it came to you near non-existent. If you awoke tomorrow and found that you had fallen asleep with the love of your life – then great, you were both on the same page. If he had completely misunderstood your intentions, he would absolutely bullshit his way out of trouble, like he always did. Whatever, everything’d be alright someday.

---

If you enjoyed this, give me a like/follow/reblog/comment/scream into the void. I hope everyone had a good New Year and let’s hope that 2021 is kind.

Started this 22/11/2020, finished 10/01/2021.

[theshedding]

Lil Nas X: Country Music, Christianity & Reclaiming HELL

I don’t typically bother myself to follow what Lil Nas X is doing from day to day, or even month to month but I do know that his “Old Town Road” hit became one of the biggest selling/streamed records in Country Music Business history (by a Black Country & Queer artist). “Black” is key because for 75+ years Country music has unsuspiciously evolved into a solidly White-identified genre (despite mixed and Indian & Black roots). Regrettably, Country music is also widely known for anti-black, misogynoir, reliably homophobic (Trans isn’t really a conversation yet), Christian and Hard Right sentiments on the political spectrum. Some other day I will venture into more; there is a whole analysis dying to be done on this exclusive practice in the music industry with its implications on ‘access’ to equity and opportunity for both Black/POC’s and Whites artists/songwriters alike. More commentary on this rigid homogeneous field is needed and how it prohibits certain talent(s) for the sake of perpetuating homogeneity (e.g. “social determinants” of diversity & viable artistic careers). I’ll refrain from discussing that fully here, though suffice it to say that for those reasons X’s “Old Town Road” was monumental and vindicating. 

As for Lil Nas X, I’m not particularly a big fan of his music; but I see him, what he’s doing, his impact on music + culture and I celebrate him using these moments to affirm his Black, Queer self, and lifting up others. Believe it or not, even in the 2020′s, being “out” in the music business is still a costly choice. As an artist it remains much easier to just “play straight”. And despite appearances, the business (particularly Country) has been dragged kicking and screaming into developing, promoting and advancing openly-affirming LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈 artists in the board room or on-stage. Though things are ‘better’ we have not yet arrived at a place of equity or opportunity for queer artists; for the road of music biz history is littered with stunted careers, bodies and limitations on artists who had no option but to follow conventional ways, fail or never be heard of in the first place. With few exceptions, record labels, radio and press/media have successfully used fear, intimidation, innuendo and coercion to dilute, downplay or erase any hint of queer identity from its performers. This was true even for obvious talents like Little Richard.

(Note: I’m particularly speaking of artists in this regard, not so much the hairstylists, make-up artists, PA’s, etc.)

_____

Which is why...in regard to Lil Nas X, whether you like, hate or love his music, the young brother is a trailblazer. His very existence protests (at least) decades of inequity, oppression and erasure. X aptly critiques a Neo-Christian Fascist Heteropatriarchy; not just in American society but throughout the Music Business and with Black people. That is no small deal. His unapologetic outness holds a mirror up to Christianity at-large, as an institution, theology and practice. The problem is they just don’t like what they see in that mirror.

In actuality, “Call Me By Your Name”, Lil Nas X’s new video, is a twist on classic mythology and religious memes that are less reprehensible or vulgar than the Biblical narratives most of us grew up on vís-a-vís indoctrinating smiles of Sunday school teachers and family prior to the “age of reason”. Think about the narratives blithely describing Satan’s friendly wager with God regarding Job (42:1-6); the horrific “prophecies” in St. John’s Book of Revelation (i.e. skies will rain fire, angels will spit swords, mankind will be forced to retreat into caves for shelter, and we will be harassed by at least three terrifying dragons and beasts. Angels will sound seven trumpets of warning, and later on, seven plagues will be dumped on the world), or Jesus’s own clarifying words of violent intent in Matthew (re: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” 10:34). Whether literal or metaphor, these age old stories pale in comparison to a three minute allegorical rap video. Conservatives: say what you will, I’m pretty confident X doesn’t take himself as seriously as “The true and living God” from the book of Job.

A little known fact as it is, people have debunked the story and evolution of Satan and already offered compelling research showing [he] is more of a literary device than an actual entity or “spirit” (Spoiler: In the Bible, Satan does not take shape as an actual “bad” person until the New Testament). In fact, modern Christianity’s impression of the “Devil” is shaped by conflating Hellenized mythology with a literary tradition rooted in Dante’s Inferno and accompanying spooks and superstitions going back thousands of years. Whether Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Scientologist, Atheist or Agnostic, we’ve spent a lifetime with these predominant icons and clichés. (Resource: Prof. Bart D. Erhman, “Heaven & Hell”).

So Here’s THE PROBLEM: The current level of fear and outrage is: 

(1) Unjust, imposing and irrational. 

(2) Disproportionate when taken into account a lifetime of harmful Christian propaganda, anti-gay preaching and political advocacy.

(3) Historically inaccurate concerning the existence of “Hell” and who should be scared of going there. 

Think I’m overreacting? 

Examples: 

Institutionalized Homophobia (rhetoric + policy)

Anti-Gay Ministers In Life And Death: Bishop Eddie Long And Rev. Bernice King

Black, gay and Christian, Marylanders struggle with Conflicts

Harlem pastor: 'Obama has released the homo demons on the black man'

Joel Olsteen: Homosexuality is “Not God’s Best”

Bishop Brandon Porter: Gays “Perverted & Lost...The Church of God in Christ Convocation appears like a ‘coming out party’ for members of the gay community.”

Kim Burrell: “That perverted homosexual spirit is a spirit of delusion & confusion and has deceived many men & women, and it has caused a strain on the body of Christ”

Falwell Suggests Gays to Blame for 9-11 Attacks

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

Pope Francis: Gay People Not Welcome in Clergy

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

The Pope and Gay People: Nothing’s Changed

The Catholic church silently lobbied against a suicide prevention hotline in the US because it included LGBT resources

Mormon church prohibits Children of LGBT parents to be baptized

Catholic Charity Ends Adoptions Rather Than Place Kid With Same-Sex Couple

I Was a Religious Zealot That Hurt People-Coming Out as Gay: A Former Conversion Therapy Leader Is Apologizing to the LGBTQ Community

The above short list chronicles a consistent, literal, demonization of LGBTQ people, contempt for their gender presentation, objectification of their bodies/sexuality and a coordinated pollution of media and culture over the last 50+ years by clergy since integration and Civil Rights legislation. Basically terrorism. Popes, Bishops, Pastors, Evangelists, Politicians, Television hosts, US Presidents, Camp Leaders, Teachers, Singers & Entertainers, Coaches, Athletes and Christians of all types all around the world have confused and confounded these issues, suppressed dissent, and confidently lied about LGBT people-including fellow Queer Christians with impunity for generations (i.e. “thou shall not bear false witness against they neighbor” Ex. 23:1-3). Christian majority viewpoints about “laws” and “nature” have run the table in discussions about LGBTQ people in society-so much that we collectively must first consider their religious views in all discussions and the specter of Christian approval -at best or Christian condescension -at worst. That is Christian (and straight) privilege. People are tired of this undue deference to religious opinions. 

That is what is so deliciously bothersome about Lil Nas X being loud, proud and “in your face” about his sexuality. If for just a moment, he not only disrupts the American hetero-patriarchy but specifically the Black hetero-patriarchy, the so-called “Black Church Industrial Complex”, Neo-Christian Fascism and a mostly uneducated (and/or miseducated) public concerning Ancient Near East and European history, superstitions-and (by extension) White Supremacy. To round up: people are losing their minds because the victim decided to speak out against his victimizer. 

Additionally, on some level I believe people are mad at him being just twenty years old, out and FREE as a self-assured, affirming & affirmed QUEER Black male entertainer with money and fame in the PRIME of his life. We’ve never, or rarely, seen that before in a Black man in the music business and popular culture. But that’s just too bad for them. With my own eyes I’ve watched straight people, friends, Christians, enjoy their sexuality from their elementary youth to adolescence, up and through college and later marriages, often times independently of their spouses (repeatedly). Meanwhile Queer/Gay/SGL/LGBTQ people are expected to put their lives on hold while the ‘blessed’ straight people run around exploring premarital/post-marital/extra-marital sex, love and affection, unbound & un-convicted by their “sin” or God...only to proudly rebrand themselves later in life as a good, moral “wholesome Christian” via the ‘sacred’ institution of marriage with no questions asked. 

Inequality defined.

For Lil Nas X, everything about the society we've created for him in the last 100+ years (re: links above) has explicitly been designed for his life not to be his own. According to these and other Christians (see above), his identity is essentially supposed to be an endless rat fuck of internal confusion, suicide-ideation, depression, long-suffering, faux masculinity, heterosexism, groveling towards heaven, respectability politics, failed prayer and supplication to a heteronormative earthly and celestial hierarchy unbothered in affording LGBT people like him a healthy, sane human development. It’s almost as if the Conservative establishment (Black included) needs Lil Nas X to be like others before him: “private”, mysteriously single, suicidal, suspiciously straight or worse, dead of HIV/AIDS ...anything but driving down the street enjoying his youth as a Black Queer artist and man. So they mad about that?

Well those days are over.  

-Rogiérs is a writer, international recording artist, performer and indie label manager with 25+ years in the music industry. He also directs Black Nonbelievers of DC, a non-profit org affiliated with the AHA supporting Black skeptics, Atheists, Agnostics & Humanists. He holds a B.A. in Music Business & Mgmt and a M.A. in Global Entertainment & Music Business from Berklee College of Music and Berklee Valencia, Spain. www.FibbyMusic.net Twitter/IG: @Rogiers1

[minniepetals]

Rose & Thorns: 03

— summary: a lone rose, a little broken, until Jungkook came along and the two of you saved each other. and in doing so, Jungkook showed you a world where he shared with his six other mates.

— pairing: dragon!jungkook x reader x dragon!jimin / future!bts x reader

— genre: angst / poly!au / fantasy!au / dragon!au

— word count: 6.0k

— warnings: orphan reader, insecurities, other members are still jerks but better here, insomnia, reader not eating, mentions of Jimin’s bad eating habits, emotional/physical health risks, hurt and comfort

╰ part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10

The thorns grew and grew drastically over just one night.

A night filled with terror, of coldness, of the hard floor below you, and bars of rusted silver that kept you a prisoner of the dragons.

In the dungeon where no one could hear you, you cried your heart out without fear of being heard. No one would care anyway and you were sure that all along, they wanted to find some sort of excuse to keep you as a prisoner rather than a guest to their clan.

They got what they wanted in the end and there you were, sleepless nights passing by with little hopes of Jungkook visiting. But you knew that with the days going by and he had yet to come by, he was either still severely injured or he was already sort of healed and the princes denied him access to the dungeon.

Rather than a wall being built around you, they were the thorns that encircled at every angle from your sides, surrounding you everywhere and that, that was an even harder obstacle to escape.

Dealing with others was a little easier but to be kept alone with your thoughts in the dark and deep dungeon was the biggest mistake because you could easily be torn apart all from just you alone.

Everything around you, you became to fear. 

Silence, it was all silent. Even more silent than the silent glares and thoughts from the other dragons when you had once nested in one of Seokjin's medicine nests. And with that silence, your thoughts became the thing you feared the most.

"What's the point in giving you food when you're not going to eat?" The head of the guard, prince Jimin, scoffed as he came back for another round to collect the plate of untouched food in his hand. "This can fill our dragons yet we have to waste it on you. The least you can do is eat." And then, he walked away, footsteps draining from your ear with each step he took.

You couldn't eat. Not in that state.

What was the point of being a prisoner anyways? You'd rather rot away than to live on behind bars. It was something you never imagined would happen but things were changing and each day only got worse and worse. If only you lasted one more night without being a complete incompetent, then you would have left the dragon clan on your own will.

But fate really liked playing around with you, didn't it? After all, you were one of the few who didn't deserve a happy ending.

"Y/N?"

You gasped at the familiar sound of heaven, an angel coming to your rescue and the tears fell more and more.

From all that crying you had done the past week, you didn't think you'd have more to spear but there they were, spilling out from your eyes the second you caught sight of Jungkook who stood on the other side of the bars, wearing a white sleeveless v neck shirt and black jeans. The bandages on his left shoulder peeked out and you cried a little more because it was your fault again. Your fault he had gotten hurt.

"Are you alright?" You asked him and Jimin who stood a few feet away, hidden from your focus, blinked in confusion at your first words.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had tears welled up in his eyes at the sound of your weak voice. The sight of you made him want to punch the thick walls out of frustration because if he hadn't said anything about that Jinyoung dude, you would have never gotten sent into the dungeons. Yet despite the position you were in, behind bars and haven eaten nothing, your pale complexion and the bags under your eyes from sleepless nights, the first words you asked of him was whether he was alright or not.

"Why are you asking me that?" His voice cracked as he reached out with hands that trembled to hold your face through the bars. You were selfless, the most selfless person he had ever met. Despite hurting on your own, you only cared about him. "You should be worrying about yourself, Y/N," he scolded you, drops of tears falling away as he brushed away your own tears instead. "You should be asking your own self whether you're alright or not and blaming me for putting you here in the first place."

But you shook your head, sniffling. "It isn't your fault. Jinyoung went after you because of me."

Jungkook's face crumbled in pain. "Will you stop blaming yourself for once?" He asked, hiccuping as he went, crying for you. "Will you start caring for your own happiness and health instead of everyone else's? Stop being selfless for once and care about your own self."

"I'm fine."

"You're dying and I can't do anything to help!" His loud voice bellowed against the walls as he punched at the bars, causing you to flinch back. Jungkook's cries followed him throughout the airy corridors of the dungeons, all of it Jimin was hearing.

What was so special about you that they had lost their maknae to? Why had the maknae cared so much to the point where he wouldn't speak to any of them anymore because they kept you locked up behind bars? Jungkook should've known that you were the threat and that they were only trying to protect him. But he was blinded for some reason and wouldn't listen to a word his hyungs were trying to get into him.

And it was all your fault. You changed Jungkook.

"You aren't fine, Y/N, nothing about this is fine," the man went on as he clutched the bars tightly, angry at the fact that he couldn't just rip them apart to reach you. The bars were far too strong for him. It had been built that way for the longest time so that any prisoner that was held in could never escape. If he could rip apart the bars, however, he'd want to hold you in his arms, keep you away from all harm and let you cry against him. But he couldn't do anything and could only watch as you stood there barely able to even stand due to the loss of energy and strength and that was what was killing him the most.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," he whispered, head leaned against the bars. "I was supposed to give you a home, not lead you to live behind bars. We weren't supposed to switch places."

Jungkook could still remember the first day you approached the silver bars he had been locked up into, a peppy voice that called for him, deeming yourself as the keeper of the dragon. No one had been brave enough to guard a dragon, only you. But perhaps it wasn't just the bravery that held you accountable, perhaps you had taken that job in order to escape the eyes of the villagers, in hopes of finding someone else who would accept you because he was also different.

Jungkook listened, each and every day, to your endless stories. Some of them were of you growing up as that brave child who fell at no one because even though she was a child with no parents, she wasn't going to let that define who she was. Sometimes the stories consisted of adventures outside of your village, your imaginations leading you so far as if you had indeed conquered all of the lands you could reach.

He could still remember those shiny eyes that glowed of a thousand starlights, the beaming smile, the giggles that were music to his ears.

But as he looked at you now, your light dimmed, giving into the darkness, frail and weak, eyes filled with glossy waterfalls waiting for the dam to break down so that it could flood away freely. He reached through the bars again, holding your face with gentle touches as if he was too afraid you'd break under his hold, as if you were made up of some delicate glass. And he cried some more for being the one to cause your smile to vanish.

"I'm so sorry," Jungkook whispered and Jimin could hear how broken his voice was, how Jungkook wished he could do something about it but not having enough power to do so, and his heart ached at just the sound his mate was making.

"One day we'll be happy again," he continued on, "one day we'll find that beautiful smile of yours again and you'll never have to cry again except for the tears of joy."

We.

Jimin's hands balled into a fist, knowing exactly how much his little maknae had fallen and he leaned away from the wall, stepping back and away, leaving. He couldn't hear it any longer. He couldn't bear to hear any more of Jungkook's silent love for you.

"Promise?" You asked of the dragon in front of you.

Jungkook nodded and a few more tears fell. "I promise."

.

.

"Eat."

You looked up at the presence of Jimin who knelt down in front of the bars where you sat on the other side, arms hugging your knees due to the coldness of the dungeon.

"Please," he said and your eyes widened, surprised. A part of Jimin wanted to just leave after placing the plate in front of you, he wanted to scoff at his useless plead and not see you for even a second more but the longer he stared, the harder it was to not care about how weak you had looked. There were no tears in your eyes but it looked as if you could topple over and break at any moment. He could see the signs of insomnia, the frail part of your arms where your dress was torn, and the eyes that looked dead. Dead but alive. And for a moment he almost felt bad for what he and the others had done to you.

But then he was reminded again of the reasons as to why you were locked up in the first place and he looked away, sighing with a bit of annoyance.

"Jungkook refuses to eat unless I report back to him that you've eaten and I can't lie to him. He'll know and I can never bear to lie to any of my mates."

Jungkook?

Your eyes fell at the plate of food provided for you. You had no desire to eat despite your empty stomach. You've learned to ignore your growling stomach the past few days but hearing the fact that Jungkook was going to refuse to eat for your sake, your stomach churned.

"You have to eat," Jimin said, "for his sake," and with a bit of hesitation, "and for yours."

When he came back a few hours later, the plate wasn't empty but he could see some clear signs of you haven eaten and left without a word after collecting the plate.

"You better not be lying to me," Jungkook glared at the man in front of him, a serious and firm tone set in his voice.

Jimin sighed and showed him your plate of food to which Jungkook was quick to smile at, only for it to slowly disappear as he stared at the amount that was still left on the plate.

"She didn't eat all of it," he uttered lowly with a bit of disappointment.

Jimin sighed, putting the plate away on an empty table as he began walking off. "You can't expect her to eat everything all at once after going on a fasting for days, Jungkook, that's not how things work."

"But shouldn't she be hungry? Why-"

"If she stuffs herself fully, she'll harm her health even more. She isn't going to be eating much for the time being, her stomach has shrunk."

"Shrunk...?" His voice whispered.

Watching his mate walking away without another word, Jungkook's eyes fell back down to the floor after being reminded that of course Jimin would know. He's starved himself before due to insecurities and the anxieties that ate him up.

A soft sigh left him as he was reminded that once again, he was no help to the ones he cared about.

"Who's Jinyoung?"

"Jinyoung?" You looked away with a bitter taste on your tongue as you said the name. "He was...an admirer."

"Admirer?" Jungkook's face scrunched up with disgust and a bit of anger at that distasteful word.

"He's the captain of the soldiers and, well..sort of found me attractive so he decided to try and win my heart."

"I'm assuming that didn't work out too well on his part?" Jungkook scoffed, wanting to laugh because no one would be worthy enough to win your heart. No one deserved you.

"He couldn't take the hint," you told him, eyes falling distant all of a sudden. "He kind of lusted over me and some days he'd try to follow me into the dungeon when I'd go to meet you but I always refused every advance he'd make. Every time we saw each other, he'd tell me that I should be happy someone wanted me because...you know...no one in the village really liked me."

Upon hearing your words, Jungkook held onto the bars with a tight grip as his jaws clenched tightly. "He has no right to say such a thing," the dragon growled. "I swear, if I see him again, I'll rip him up into pieces for saying such-"

"Jungkook." You touched his hands and that was enough for him to calm down, to remember that he was in front of you, a vulnerable human who needed all the hugs and love in the world.

"Sorry," he coughed a little awkwardly, sitting back down properly. He wondered why that little touch was just enough to have him blushing, why your voice and touch alone was enough to calm his mighty self down.

You giggled a little at the cute dragon in front of you and Jungkook's head shot up, eyes widened before he turned into a grinning sun.

"Keep doing that."

You blinked. "Huh?"

"Keep smiling, Y/N, keep laughing, keep being happy even if it lasts for one second."

"Jungkook..."

His eyes teared up again, throat clogging as he looked into your eyes. "I miss it," he told you, "I miss your smile so damn much. I miss the stories you'd tell me, the little laughs you'd give yourself because of something funny you'd say. I miss you being happy."

You could only stare at him for a second longer before your eyes fell to the floor because the both of you knew that if you were going to be truly happy, you'd have to leave the dungeons first.

.

.

"Jungkook," Namjoon's hands balled into fists as he watched the youngest of the seven getting up from the dinner table, "let me ask you something." The maknae paused in his tracks, taking his time as he took a deep breath before turning around to face his leader, asking him silently to go on. "What does that human mean to you? You seem to care more about her these days."

"It's only natural," Jungkook bluntly stated.

"What the hell do you mean it's only natural?" Yoongi growled. "Have you forgotten who we are?"

"We're your mates," Taehyung stressed.

"And she-"

"Isn't your mate."

"I didn't say she was," he glared at Hoseok before staring back down at the floor. "She's my friend, someone I care a lot about. Have you not been hearing anything I've been telling you?" The maknae asked, frustration clear in his tone as he looked up, challenging the others. "She saved my life and you're putting her in the dungeon, the same place I used to reside in yet you ask me why in the world I care so much. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be back here safe in one piece. She risked her own life for my sake, left a world that hated her to find a better place only to be hated on again for no apparent reason. Instead of blaming her for everything, maybe you should look past your stupid jealousy selves and see the truth in this."

And with that, Jungkook stomped away without letting any of them utter another word.

While the rest of them sighed in frustration, Jimin, on the other hand, sat there silently staring into a blank space. He didn't know what to do, but perhaps not everything had been your fault after all.

"Are you okay? You look a little frustrated." You looked at Jungkook with worry filling your face, a little pout resting upon your lips. "Did something happen with your mates?" You worried.

He sat there with his knees bent and a little spread apart, forearms resting against it and hands meeting to hold at the center. "I don't think we'll ever be truly happy again if they don't set you free."

Your heart fell for him, aching at how broken he looked. "I'm sorry."

"No," Jungkook shook his head, sighing, "don't apologize."

"But—"

"I'll fix it one way or another," he said cutting you off. "They're my mates, I won't lose them forever. I'm just angry at them for doing this to you."

"You shouldn't blame them, they don't know-"

"Which is why they should listen to me but they aren't!" He ran a hand against his hair and let out a grunt of frustration. "Sure I'm the maknae and they're older and wiser but there are some things that I know more than them, like being locked up in a dungeon against my will. It's lonely and scary and you've always helped by just being there which is why I try to get permission to come down here but because they resent you for no reason, I can't come here as often as I want to."

You looked at him with eyes of sympathy. Jungkook loved his mates and they loved him, they were made for one another, which was why no matter what feelings you had for Jungkook, you had to keep them away because he had his own soulmates. You couldn't ruin that relationship for them. So you decided that if you were ever set free, you'd leave the mountains and travel on your own for their sake. It'd save their relationship at least, you leaving. After all, the only reason why it had begun to fall apart was because of you.

"Don't get angry at them for too long, Jungkook."

Jimin, who was walking towards your cell after leaving the dinner table, paused in his steps at the sound of your voice and waited. Waited to hear what you were going to say.

"Try to understand them, listen to each other. They have their own reasons for things and if you only see that you're right in this, then it'll only frustrate them even more and you'll end up never resolving this problem. You're both alike in that sense, you're both wrong because of it. Don't think that everything you have to say is right because I'm sure they're hurt as well over the fact that you're refusing to listen to them. Face this challenge with a calm and mature talk and maybe then they'll listen to what you have to say."

"What if they don't listen to me?"

"They'll listen," you were sure of it. "You're mates, Jungkook, and they love you. But you have to listen to them first."

After hearing your words, the head guard took a step back as a small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps that as soulmates, they should listen to one another before letting anger and jealousy get the best of them.

"Why don't you sleep?"

You looked up at the sound of Jimin's voice and blinked in confusion. Why was he awake in the middle of the night? (you assumed it was the middle of the night since the dungeon was nowhere near a sky that could tell you the time)

"You lay there awake every night," he said notably. "Are you insomniac?"

You sat up from the cold, hard floor with a bit of trouble due to your loss of strength. There wasn't much light in the dungeon, you could only see a little bit of Jimin's face after having adjusted to the dark room. It was lighter at daylight where some of the sun's light passed into the dungeon but the night made it completely dark.

"It's not that I can't sleep," you told the dragon, "it's just...it's scary."

"The nightmares?"

"That and..." You looked at the floor, a little embarrassed for yourself. "I can't sleep without some bit of light," you confessed, "the darkness scares me. It was easier sleeping in one of prince Seokjin's medicine nests because the moon shone some light but here, there are no windows. It's completely dark."

"Oh," Jimin whispered.

The room was silent for a long moment until you heard some footsteps walking away and you looked away disappointedly. Sure Jimin probably hated you but to have someone there to talk to you late at night had helped from thinking about the scary things at night.

You missed the light. So, so much.

Yet it was stripped away from you just like the light in your heart. If only you could have a physical light, if only. Because at least that would keep you a bit of company. The darkness was scary.

Your breathing became a little staggering at the scary thoughts invading your mind and you could feel your tears beginning to fall.

It was scary. So scary.

The thoughts, the darkness, every noise you could hear even if it had only been just the wind.

But then you heard the footsteps again, this time with a flickering light and your head was quick to look towards the source.

You crawled yourself over towards the bars, holding onto it to search for the light. It was just a little but something you wanted so badly.

It grew more and more until you caught sight of Jimin. Jimin who came walking towards you with a candle in his hand.

You watched him curiously, eyes following his every move even until the moment he stood in front of you.

"Will this help?" He asked, crouching down to your eye level with the candle in hand. The sight of your tears made his heart ache. Just a little. "It was the only candle I could find here," he said, looking away from you because he knew that those tears alone would weaken him. Jimin hated tears. "It'll burn away before dawn arrives but hopefully by then you'll be asleep."

"Thank you," you whispered into the silent night, voice a little broken as you sniffled and wiped away your tears. "Thank you so much."

He didn't know why but seeing you like that, hearing your voice, he wanted to take out his keys to unlock the door and pull you into his arms. To keep you from crying, to hold you so that you'd feel safe and secure despite your living environment.

"You shouldn't thank me," Jimin said shamefully, "I was one of the people who brought you here in the first place."

He sat the candle down and stood up, ready to leave you be.

"Even so," he stopped at your voice, "I needed a little bit of light and you gave it to me. So thank you, prince Jimin."

Totally different from what you had ever thought about, Jimin became the person that replaced Jungkook's safe presence.

He brought you a warm blanket and pillow, apologizing for the dungeons not having any beddings mostly because the only prisoners they've had had only been dragons, and he was there to make sure you had eaten. Even if that meant a little. Because a little went a long way and Jimin didn't force you to eat any more than you'd take.

Maybe he understood how it felt. Maybe he knew what it felt like to try and heal through the process of eating again. Whatever his reasons to try and make you feel comfortable in the dungeon, whether it was on his own will or because Jungkook had begged him to, you were nevertheless thankful for every kind gesture you never knew you'd ever receive. Thankful that it was he who had the role of the head guard.

The night became a little less scary with him there. He brought back a new candle each night, spoke to you and you'd make little conversation here and there until you fell asleep. Some part of you felt as if Jimin was there to make sure you'd indeed sleep rather than staying awake all night with thoughts that'd haunt you. His small conversations would keep you away from thinking about anything scary or bad, kept you distracted when night fell upon the clan. Some nights you'd worry because some nights were worse than others. You kept your tears away though, for his sake, and because of the fact that you didn't like crying in front of someone you weren't really used to.

He had a castle to return to, soulmates to sleep with, but kept awake doing his duties. You were probably the only prisoner at the moment and the reason why he stayed away late into the night, only leaving when you finally fell asleep. Some nights you'd pretend to sleep just for his sake, so that he'd be able to head home to his mates a little quicker.

And for every night he stayed up for you, you silently thanked Jimin who became that light source you never knew he'd be.

"Wow," Jungkook looked at you in awe as he sat down in front of the bars, a smile resting upon his face at the sight of you. "You've gained some light since I've gone."

"Have I?" You asked, touching your face gently out of curiosity. There were no mirrors in the dungeon so you had no idea how you looked but took his word for it. Jungkook never lied after all.

"Sorry, by the way," he apologized, head hung in shame as he pouted because he was ashamed he couldn't be there for you as often as he wanted. "You were there for me all the time when I was locked up but I haven't visited for a while."

"That's because I was the keeper of the dragon," you reminded him a little teasingly, "it was my job, Jungkook."

At the lightness in your tone, Jungkook beamed. "Thank goodness," he sighed in relief and his eyes glistened with a few tears but he was quick to blink them away. "Thank goodness I can hear this voice again."

You smiled a little and his lips widened.

"It was Jimin, wasn't it?" You looked at him with a bit of confusion and Jungkook looked away, chuckling a little to himself. "Jimin can't hate someone forever, that's just how he is. He never resents for a long time because his kind heart refuses him to. You can tell with that," he gestured at the blanket and pillow just behind you, "to keep you warm through the night and this," he held up the shortened candle that had melted from the fire the night before, "to keep you from being scared of the darkness."

"Ah.."

"When Namjoon sent you to the dungeons, a part of me was a little relieved because you'd have Jimin watching over you, I knew that he'd eventually come to care at one point or another. Sorry it took so long."

You shook your head, a tight smile on your face. "I'm better than I was, you shouldn't apologize for something you had no control over."

"Either way," Jungkook looked back at you, "I haven't even done anything and Jimin's already starting to care about you. Maybe that's your magic." You cocked your head to the side. "You're easy to like, Y/N, once they start looking past your history and see you for just you. You're easy to like."

To fall in love with, he wanted to say but refused himself to.

It wasn't right.

If only he was able to face the truth, if only he could understand the things he was feeling without feeling any guilt towards himself and the others.

But as Jungkook stood in front of his hyungs a few hours later, minus Jimin who held the responsibility of watching over the prisoners, he was conflicted on what to say.

"What we're worried about is the fact that...you've changed."

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes to try and keep himself calm and situated. He promised you that he'd listen to them, to try and save his relationship before things could get any worse.

"I've changed?" He asked Namjoon, wondering what part of him that they saw had changed.

"Ever since you've come back from the humans, Jungkook," the healer replied, "you've been more distant and worried every day about the human girl."

"I have a right to."

"Perhaps you do," Yoongi nodded though a little hesitant, "perhaps you feel responsible because she saved you."

"Or perhaps you're worried for a completely different reason."

He looked up at Hoseok, brows furrowed. "Why do you think that?"

"We're mates, Jungkook," Taehyung reminded him. "Seven mates. And because there's more than just two in a relationship, we can see and understand when the others are in love with one another. We've gotten used to it and so have you."

Jungkook couldn't deny that. He's seen the way one of them looked at his other hyungs, the soft smiles that would lift upon their faces at the sight of another returning home, the sigh of relief and worry for when one of them got hurt. It was always there, from the first moments they found love within each other. He knew that feeling, seen it since years ago.

"The reason why we're upset is the fact that we see that with you towards the human girl."

He gulped at Namjoon's declaration and a rush of guilt rushed through his body all over again. He was hurting them and as much as he tried to not think about you in such ways, Jungkook couldn't even if he wanted to.

"What's so special about her, Jungkook?" The eldest asked, his eyes filled with pain. "Why a human girl?"

"I know you all don't have good pasts with humans," the youngest acknowledged as his lips pressed into a thin line, nodding slightly. "I know that humans are vile creatures who see us as animals who has no worth but to be a slave. And maybe I would've still thought the same back in that dungeon after getting caught by them but..." his voice trailed off and the memories of your beautiful voice and smile walked into his mind. "When I said that Y/N saved me, I also mean that figuratively."

His voice began to soften but they could hear every word and perhaps that alone had begun to hurt each of their hearts, watching their littlest mate fall for another.

"The dungeon isn't fun, it's dark and scary and so, so lonely. I used to cry silently to myself because I regretted ever leaving without telling anyone, because I missed home, because I missed you guys. But Y/N walked in like a little firefly who gave me a little bit of light, a little bit of hope in freedom again. She'd go on and on about all sorts of stories, sometimes laughing to herself at her own jokes and dumbness. Sometimes I'd think to myself that if it wasn't for her voice and presence, I would have gone crazy staying there in that dungeon all alone without any contact with the outside world. She was the only one brave enough to stay beside a dragon all day long until her duties were over, returning every single time without missing a day."

"When I finally spoke and showed her my appearance, her eyes would be the prettiest stars I had ever witnessed, and her smile would glow of the brightest sun. She'd steal some clothes from her own villagers to keep me warm, stole their medicines in order to treat my wounds, and went against the rules to steal the keys and take me out of the dungeon despite knowing the price to pay was her own life. She took that risk because of me and that's why I brought her here." He looked up at them all, eyes filled with grief and tainted with tears that brimmed at his waterline.

"I brought her here because she never had a home back at that village. Everyone treated her like crap yet when she met me, she treated me as an equal even though she had never received love of any sort. I brought her here because I thought that you'd try and accept her for who she was, human and all, and give her a home she never had from the moment she was born."

You never gave up searching for love, any kind of love. Whether it was family or the love from a another. Despite the unfair treatment you'd get, the rude stares and nasty comments, you kept your head up and stayed being a kind pure soul who always gave back love despite never receiving it. It was something Jungkook always admired about you, the fact that being hurt several times allowed you to never stray away from giving kindness towards others.

You continued smiling for him to keep him from feeling lonely in that dungeon, to keep him smiling even when you wanted to vent all your problems to him and cry until you could cry no more. And then he began to realize that perhaps the smiles you had given him back in your villager's dungeon, they were filled with a broken story, the silent call for freedom and love in return. Silent tears he couldn't see because you hid everything so well.

For at least a day, Jungkook wanted to know how it would feel to see you genuinely smile and laugh and be a happy little girl who loved no matter how much the world hated her for the first time.

A part of the guys still felt rather jealous to hear Jungkook's soft words for you. He began caring a little more for you, sought for your attention, and was always so excited to visit you after his daily hunting patrols. You were a human, something they weren't too fond of due to the bad relations they had in the past. But maybe not everything had been your fault.

You did save their little prince, brought him back to them. They should have at least thanked you but it was their jealousy that drove them away from the gentle dragons they once were. Maybe you weren't at fault for everything but it was your people who captured Jungkook in the first place and had hurt him again.

Yet watching Jungkook in front of them, blinking away his tears so that he didn't have to cry, a part of them felt horrible for the way they treated you.

"Your highnesses!"

Their heads swerved over at the sudden doors to the throne room opening abruptly and a knight ran in rushingly. He knelt in front of Jungkook, a little breathless from running.

"Prince Jimin asked for you to come to the dungeons and wishes for Prince Seokjin's presence as well."

Jungkook's brows furrowed in confusion as he looked back at the eldest, their eyes meeting with the same unspoken question. But if Jimin called for a knight to send both him and Jungkook, then that meant that you were possibly at risk.

His eyes widened and a gasp left his lips. Without any more hesitation, Jungkook ran out the doors before anyone could stop him.

Running to you.

[marshmallow-phd]

Scarlet Moon

Genre: Scarlet Heart Ryeo!AU, Time Travel!AU, Alternate History, Royalty!AU

Pairing: OC x EXO OT9

Summary:  This isn’t Gwen’s time. She was from the modern era, with technology and electricity. But during a solar eclipse, she’s transported back into a previous life in a time and place she does not know. Now, as the foreign daughter of a merchant living in a prince’s household, she must tread carefully, watch her back, and guard her heart. But with the princes locked in a battle over the throne, the chances of her making it out alive might disappear.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

                                            ********

The paper sliced across the skin before any action could be taken to avoid it. A high pitched hiss followed by a short whine. The flap of skin that had been separated was being dyed red. 

Gwen stuck her index finger in her mouth to sooth the stinging. It helped a little bit. Still sucking on the appendage, Gwen stumbled over to the supply closet and opened the thin metal doors with the other hand. She kept this feat up as she opened the first aid kit and pushed around the different types of bandages, trying to decide which one to use. The cut was right on the tip, right where you never want it to be. It was hard to get a band aid on that kind of cut. Eventually, she found a smaller version of a standard design and ripped the paper covering opening. She wrapped the band aid around her index finger before heading for her desk. It was back to the files that had injured her in the first place. 

The pile was tall; by her standards, at least. Gwen had been dealing with it for the past hour. The dates on the files needed sorting, separating the ones could be sent to long-term storage. She almost gave out another whine, but she didn’t want the others to hear and start the relentless teasing. Her coworkers were quick and very witty. 

It was a friendly floor. Everyone joked and played around without the fear of feelings being hurt. If Gwen didn’t have to do the actual work that came with the office space, she wouldn’t mind staying here forever. But dealing with these files and demanding customers and meeting quotas was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Not that Gwen knew exactly what it was that she did want to do. She’d tried a lot of things over the last few years in her slow going college years. Marketing, history, education - hell, she even took several makeup courses and skincare lessons that focused on natural resources. None of it stuck, none of it held her interest, though the information could be recalled if needed. 

“You alright there, Gwen?”

Drudging up from the bowels of her thoughts, Gwen looked up at Kimberly, who had stopped at her desk on the way back from the printer. 

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded with a sigh. “Just… ready for the week to be over.”

“Ain’t that the consensus,” Kimberly laughed. 

“How are the dogs?” Gwen was seizing the opportunity to distract herself from work. Kimberly owned two dogs with opposite personalities. One was the well-mannered older brother, the other was the skittish, hyper younger brother. She loved to talk about them and there was never a shortage of entertaining stories. 

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Kurt is back to back to demanding his breakfast at five a.m. Oh, but Kent now does this thing where he walks backwards. Whenever he starts doing that, we’ll beep at him. You know, like the garbage trucks? Then he gets all shy and hides his head.”

Gwen couldn’t stop giggling at the thought. “Oh, the poor thing!”

“You’ll have to see it next time you come over.”

“I can’t wait.”

As Kimberly walked away, Gwen sighed. She didn’t get out too much and the humor that most of her socializing outside of work was with one of her coworkers wasn’t lost on her. Just another dart to throw at the board that was Gwen Sinclair. 

It wasn’t like her life was a complete disaster. Really, it could have been worse. She could imagine a thousand different scenarios that she could be living right now that were worse off then her current situation. Truthfully, if glanced at from the outside, Gwen’s life was simply... mediocre. She was blessed with tolerable roommates, an okay job that provided a nice paycheck for a twenty-three-year-old who had yet to finish college. But… the loneliness was killing her and overall, she was craving for something more. 

She was exhausted from obligation and responsibility. She wished to go back to the days where she read about adventure and intrigue and imagined some day living that out herself. After having those words in her hands, she felt empty in her reality. Somehow, each day felt even more draining. 

With the end of another workday, Gwen packed up the files that still needed to be sorted, locked up her cabinets and tugged on her coat as she waved goodbye to Kimberly and the others. A few other coworkers were chatting excitedly about the solar eclipse happening in a few minutes. Gwen, however, was annoyed. Annoyed at the fact that all anyone - online or in person - could talk about was the solar eclipse, as if it was the only one that had ever been seen in this generation. When one person mentioned the eclipse, it was fine. When it was every post and every comment and every conversation, it felt a little ridiculous. Gwen couldn’t care less about the event. Getting home was her current priority. But escaping wasn’t that easy. 

For the millionth time, Gwen rolled her eyes as she scrolled through the newsfeed, waiting for her car to warm up in the parking garage. The weather was cold and dreary, slowing down her progress on getting home. Puffs of steam escaped her lips in the below freezing temperature. Other employees hurried past the back of her car to get to their own tiny sanctuaries. An alert for a new email popped up at the top of the phone screen. From the quick scan of the notification, she saw that it was from her eastern history professor. He wanted to go over the latest paper from class. Oh, no. That was never a good sign. 

Gwen huffed, threw her car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking space. First the papercut, now this. 

Since all her classes were online, Gwen had the minor luxury to not be forced to talk to her professor face to face, which surely would have been humiliating. But it couldn’t be avoided completely. She’d email him back once she arrived home. Or maybe she’d put it off until tomorrow. Dealing with this was the last thing she wanted to do. Stress was already causing her skin to revert back to puberty, she didn’t need this as well. 

Her phone rang and she struggled to answer it while carefully winding down the levels of the garage. It was Jaynie, the favorite of the roommates.

“Hey, Janie, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if you were coming straight home today.”

Gwen smirked, knowing exactly where this was going. 

Over the past several months, a bit of an obsession had developed with Korean dramas. The shows the two of them consumed were different from the same old, boring American television and there were years worth of stories to choose from. Currently, they were in the middle of another romantic comedy. While Gwen loved the storyline and was in a constant state of swoon, as soon as the credits started rolling, she was reminded how pathetically uninteresting her life was. But those sixty plus minutes of pure escapism made it all worth the crash that came afterwards. 

Gwen tried to wait patiently in the line to leave the parking garage, but her frustration was getting the better of her. It was stop and go, stop and go, stop and go.

“I’m planning on it. That is, if people decide any day now to not drive idiotically.”

“Ugh, I had the same problem on my way home.” 

Curious. Both of them worked in the downtown area. “How did you get home so fast?” Gwen asked.

“I got off a little early today.”

“Lucky.” Her accounting job often led to flexible hours. Gwen was jealous of that level of freedom. 

The road was slick from the freezing rain. Weather like this brought out all the stupid drivers as if this wasn’t a yearly occurrence. She was careful to look both ways before exiting the garage and inching into the street. What she didn’t account for was the other emptying lot across the street. A large black SUV pulled out right at the same time, but went too fast, hitting the water that was slowly turning to ice on the asphalt. 

With no time to react, the SUV slammed into the side of Gwen’s compact car. Glass from the driver’s side window shattered and sprayed her face. Her phone flew out of her hand. The crunch of metal hit her ears before she could fully process what had happened. With the force of the collision, her forehead slammed against the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. The sound of screams echoed around her, but the words were unintelligible. Slumped over in her seat, a shadow creeped over the scene. Through the slits of her barely open eyes, Gwen watched as the sun disappeared behind the moon. Then all went black. 

                                           ********

The water was what brought her back. It filled her lungs and surrounded her on all sides. She flailed her limbs, desperate for traction that couldn’t be found. Her clothing weighed her down, the hems being pulled as if hands had gripped tight on them. She needed a miracle. And a miracle she got. Two hands held onto one of her wrists and pulled her to the surface. 

She gasped for air as her rescuer struggled to bring her to shore. The cloth that covered her felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, making it nearly impossible to move. Water made its way up her throat, spilling over her lips. Her lungs were finally clear. They took in as much oxygen as they were allowed, burning with each brath. 

“Lady Gwen! Lady Gwen!”

A young girl blocked out the bright sun. She shook Gwen’s shoulders desperately. 

Gwen’s brain processed that the girl was not speaking English, but… she could understand her. The girl’s damp, dark hair was pulled into halves on either side of her face held in place by wide red straps. She looked at Gwen with deep concern, like a lifelong friend. But Gwen was sure she had never seen this girl before in her life. 

“My Lady, can you hear me?” she asked frantically.

“Who are you?” Gwen finally choked out. 

That made the girl pause in her panic. “What?”

Slowly regaining her strength, Gwen pushed herself up to her knees. As her eyesight cleared, she took in her surroundings. Gone were the tall metal and glass buildings, traffic lights, and speeding cars of her modern home. Now all that surrounded her were trees and a sandy beach of a large, calm lake. In the distance, wooden houses with curved rooftops, painted in bright reds and greens dotted the horizon. The heaviness that weighed her down was a dress made of too many layers and of no western fashion that she’d ever experienced before. 

Whispers bounced around the rocky shore. All the faces that were looking on with concern around were unfamiliar. Gwen grabbed the hair cascading down her back, but it was still the red she knew, darker from the dampness of being pulled out of the water but still her hair. 

“Where am I?” she asked in a quiet, gasping voice.

“My Lady, don’t you remember?” The girl panicked. “You’re in Songak. Goryeo.”

“Goryeo?” Gwen screeched. All the minor details she could summon up of the country came rushing to the forefront of her mind. It was information overload and her brain couldn’t handle it. Her lungs tried desperately to keep up, breathing in as much air as they could, but her throat was closing up from the panic. The landscape blurred and she fell to the ground.

                                          ********

She was in a bed this time when she regained consciousness. The room was cold and dimly lit with soft, orange candlelight. A man, Caucasian unlike the others, sat beside the bed on a stool, worry etched into every facet of his face.

“Gwen, sweet, are you all right?”

English. He was speaking English. But that was a footnote of comfort to the bigger problem. She still didn’t know what had happened to her or how she got here or who these people were that seemed to know her. The man, who was about in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair, smiled down at her, though his eyes were confused. “Gwen, does it hurt anywhere? Can you tell me if you hit your head?”

Gwen took a moment, to calm down and to evaluate what she was feeling physically. Her head didn’t hurt, nor did any other part of her body. Wordlessly, she shook her head. The man seemed relieved. 

“Are you all right?” He asked again, a different meaning under the question this time. “Chae Ryung said you couldn’t remember her or that we were in Goryeo? Do you at least remember your papa?”

Gwen weighed the choices in her mind. There wasn’t a mirror around, but she started to wonder if she had taken the place of someone else. Someone who knew these strangers. She could say that she didn’t know any of them - the truth - but would they think her mad if she spilled too much? Perhaps she could say she remembered a few things. Like him, if he is this poor girl’s father. Why am I here? In this time? 

Choosing to comprise with herself, she gave the smallest of nods. “Papa.” Sitting up, she pulled him into a hug and there was something comforting about his embrace. This body remembered him, at least. 

“What happened?” she asked after she let go. 

“Chae Ryung said that you’d wandered off again and she found you, you’d been the water a long time.” The man, Papa, sucked in a breath, his eyes beginning to water. His genuine concern over her wellbeing made Gwen choke up as well. “The doctor said you stopped breathing. That could explain your lost memories.”

Good. The excuse was already in her hands. That should make it easy enough to play along while being forgiven for any missteps. But they shouldn’t be in Goryeo. That didn’t make any sense, historically. If anything, they might have been in Joseon – late Joseon. Was this some sort of alternate timeline? Or maybe she hit her head really hard in the car crash and this is really all a dream from the stress of her paper and too much K-drama. 

Yes. Too much K-drama.

That had to be the explanation. This was all a strange dream. Which meant, she could play along and not be afraid. She could ask questions and live out the day until she woke back up in her own time, most likely in a hospital with a bandage on her head and her mother fretting over her. 

She glanced around the room, taking in the architecture that she had only ever seen in pictures. In person, it was even more stunning and intricate. This wasn’t an ordinary citizen’s home. Interesting. What else could her brain come up with? “Why are we in Goryeo?”

“Your father’s a merchant, remember?” He spoke slowly. Each word was deliberate, giving Gwen time to process. Good filler for her mind. “I made a large fortune here and planned on taking you back home, but… your mother is buried here. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

A wave of emotion hit out of nowhere. Though her mother was alive and well, it didn’t stop a tear from escaping. “Mama.”

Papa wiped it away with a coarse finger. Gwen gasped back, surprised by the realness of the touch. Her dreams were never this intricate. The blanket strone across her lap scrunched in her fingers. It was cold and soft… and very real. 

She wasn't dreaming, was she?

Confused by her reaction, Papa paused for a moment before continuing his explanation. “The eighth prince is graciously letting us stay with him while we wait on the construction of our home to be complete.”

The eighth prince?

Panic grew tenfold. If this wasn’t a dream, then she was in very big trouble. If history told her one thing, it was that proximity to royalty was the most dangerous place to be. Gwen might possibly have been able to skate by if they were simply staying in some unknown village far from the capital, but they were in a prince’s home. Which meant they were in… Songak, the capital city, just like that girl – Chae Ryung – had said. Right under the King’s nose. Breathing became difficult again. Each one was shallow, barely letting in any oxygen. Gwen could feel her chest tighten and her vision blurred. 

“Gwen!” Papa jumped up and tried to keep her straight to give her lungs as much room as possible. He switched to Korean as he called out over his shoulder, “Someone, get the doctor! Now!” Shuffling sounds echoed off the floor on the other side of the sliding door and then faded away.

A minute later, breathing no better, two men and a woman rushed inside along with Chae Ryung. The older man stepped in front of Papa and took his place. He pushed Gwen’s shoulders gently until she was lying down. Two cold fingers against her wrist checked her pulse. The other, much younger man stepped up to Papa.

“What happened?”

Papa frowned. “It seems she’s lost some of her memories. I was explaining why we were here when suddenly she had trouble breathing.” He stopped, struggling with his own breath. “I’m sorry we’ve become a burden to you, Your Highness.” 

Gwen’s breathing was regaining strength and she was able to concentrate on the conversation. So that was the eighth prince. He was younger than she would have guessed, handsome even, if she had to focus on something other than her lack of breath. 

“Do not think such a thing,” the Eighth Prince replied. “Your presence has greatly improved the household. Lady Gwen will get better with time.”

Papa bowed, obviously grateful at the response. He turned to the woman. “Lady Hae, may I enquire after your own health?”

“Today is a better day,” she smiled, though her pale, drained complexion said otherwise. “Please, don’t worry about me. Keep your thoughts for your daughter.”

The doctor released Gwen’s wrist, satisfied with the improvement of her pulse and breathing. He stood up.

“It was a mild panic attack,” the doctor said calmly to Papa. “If it happens again, she should lie down and focus on her breathing. The incident at the lake seems to have taken a toll on her body. She simply needs rest. In time, her memories and her body will recover.”

Gwen didn’t agree with that statement fully. This body might get better in time, but there was no way memories that didn’t exist would ever return. One by one, the occupants left the room until it was only Gwen and Papa remaining behind. Silence hung in the air. After a moment, Papa sat down on the stool and took Gwen’s hand. 

“I was worried I had lost you,” he whispered. 

Gwen’s eyes fell down to the blanket covering her legs. Things were becoming clearer to her now. This was not a dream and she was no longer Gwen Sinclair from the twenty-first century. Something must have happened. She didn’t know what exactly had occurred or what would happen now, but she was here. And little did this man – known only to her as “Papa” – know that he had indeed lost his daughter. The face may be the same, but the Gwen inside was different. She would try her best to be good to him, at least until she found a way to get back to her own family. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

                                          ********

The next morning, the doctor, along with the Eighth Prince, came back to check on Gwen. The doctor commented that her pulse was stronger and that she seemed well on the road to full health. However, he still insisted on keeping her on bedrest.

Bored with these same walls and too curious about her temporary home, Gwen sat up. If she was going to be here for a while, she might as well get to know it. “I’m fine. Please, don’t make me stay in here all day. The sun and air is good for you, isn’t it?”

The sudden rebelliousness against the doctor’s suggestion did not seem to sit well with any of them. Gwen gave Papa a pleading look. A father couldn’t resist those eyes. He sighed, turning to the doctor. “Perhaps, a little exercise in walking around the grounds would be all right?”

The doctor looked reluctant, but he agreed. “But she shouldn’t overexert herself.”

“Chae Ryung will stay with her,” the Eighth prince ordered. “If you’ll please excuse me, I must meet with my brothers.” He bowed and left, followed by the doctor.

Having heard her name from the hallway, Chae Ryung shuffled quickly inside and over to Gwen, holding out her arms for the latter to balance on as she slid off of the bed. “Are you sure you want to go outside?”

Gwen nodded. “Yes. Perhaps seeing more of this place will help jog my memory.”

Chae Ryung tilted her head. “How can your memory jog?”

Gwen snorted, both at Chae Ryung’s confusion and at herself for the slip of the modern phrase. “Sorry, I just meant, maybe my memories will come back.”

“Oh.” The look on her face was enough to make Gwen laugh again. 

Gwen scolded herself internally. She had to be more careful with her words. Every step was one on thin ice. She couldn’t change who she was, not completely, but she would have to pull back. Chae Ryung, however, felt safe, like a shelter from the rain. With her, Gwen could find answers that might be dangerous to seek elsewhere. Straightening her shoulders, Gwen smiled broadly and took her newest friend’s hand. Chase Ryung grinned brightly at her and guided her out of the room.

[iceeckos12]

what if... for the prompts... “you’re cold, come here” for gerrymartin... as a treat... (thank you please drink some water)

sorry i know it’s been a few days ;_; however i have been UNABLE to get pre s1 gerrymartin out of my head since you sent this ask

putting this beneath a read more since it got kind of long alskdjfskf;

Martin stood at the bus stop, wearing his beat-up old headphones, staring into the middle distance, still coming to terms with the fact that he’d had to drop out of school a few weeks ago. He felt as though he’d be digesting that one for a while, like missing a step on his way down the stairs and tripping over his own feet, over and over again.

He’d asked for more shifts at Tesco’s, but it didn’t matter whether or not they were approved. The bills kept coming in, the sums adding up higher and higher, to numbers that may as well have been astronomical for all he had in his bank account.

This wasn’t sustainable. But what could he do? He was only seventeen, he had no degree, no -

“Need a cigarette?”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin at the sudden interruption, too surprised to do anything other than look mutely over. If he hadn’t already been stunned into silence, the sight that greeted him would’ve done the job.

The teen was tall, a little disheveled; there was a mean looking scrape across one side of his face, like his head had been shoved into pavement. His hair was dyed pitch black, dirty blond roots peeking out around the roots. Eyes the color of the cold, grey ocean stared back at Martin, stealing his breath right out of his chest.

The silence stretched on, but the teen didn’t speak, or take back the proffered cigarette. He just waited, expectant, endlessly patient, the same way a lighthouse waits, lonely but resolute.

“I - “ The words choked and stuttered on their way out. “I...I don’t smoke.”

“Hm.” The teen shrugged and took the cigarette back, setting it loosely between his teeth. Martin watched the movement, mesmerized by the shine of his black lipstick. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “You looked like you needed one.”

Martin let out a high, embarrassed laugh. “That obvious?”

He hummed in agreement, the sound coming out through a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly Martin wished he’d accepted the cigarette, if only to see if he could capture the same feeling this teen seemed to exude in waves. The poet in him wanted to smooth that midnight black hair behind one ear and ask what’d happened to make him look so tiredly sad.

“That’s your bus,” the teen said, jerking his chin toward the incoming bus. “Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Martin turned, then realized that yes, that was his bus. He paused, realizing that he’d never told the teen - but when he turned around, the stranger was gone, almost as though he’d never been there in the first place.

-0-

For years after, Martin wondered if he’d imagined the whole incident. A mysterious, handsome stranger offering him a cigarette at a bus stop before disappearing into the ether? That sort of thing didn’t happen outside of the movies.

Until he saw the man at the Magnus Institute.

The first time he saw him, he had to do a double take, sure he’d imagined it. But no, there was a familiar person with poorly dyed black hair sitting on the front steps of the Institute, blowing cigarette smoke into the sky. He was in all black, from his combat boots to the shiny obsidian of his lips.

Martin wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the man’s lips. Too long obviously, because when he looked up, he met cool, ocean grey.

The man quirked a dirty-blond eyebrow, a small, almost experimental smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Martin, mortified at having been caught looking, ducked his head and almost ran the rest of the way up the steps.

They ran into each other on and off after that. Martin sometimes saw him wandering around the Archives, coming in and out of Gertrude’s office regardless of the time. He always seemed to be able to tell when Martin was watching him; after a few seconds, he would perk up and turn around, smiling that small, experimental smile.

Martin started to accept that he had a massive crush on this gorgeous, unattainable stranger. He decided to get the fuck over himself and wave instead of running away like a coward, which made that experimental smile turn into a true, genuinely pleased one.

And it was....safe. Good. Martin admired from afar, enamored of the man’s tattoos, his grey eyes, the quiet tragedy he carried with him like a shroud.

Ironically, the first real conversation they ever had was at the bus stop in front of the Magnus Institute.

It was late, later than Martin usually went home. It was cold too, unusually so for the time of year, enough so that Martin was wearing his warmer jacket. He was lost in thought, staring far into the middle distance, composing a poem about Indian summers and unusual chills and the way weather balanced finely between them -

There was a click from somewhere behind him, a muttered curse. Another click, and then a low, relieved sigh. Martin frowned and turned around, because no, it couldn’t be -

But it was.

The man looked up as soon as he felt Martin’s eyes on him, his cigarette hanging loosely out of the side of his lips. He’d gotten a new set of piercings since the last time Martin’d seen him, two shiny studs in his bottom lip that made Martin’s mouth go dry.

“Hey,” the man said. He sounded exactly the way Martin remembered.

“Hi!” Martin squeaked, clutching his bag closer to him nervously. Oh god, oh god, the inspiration for half his poetry from the past few months was standing right in front of him. “Um - hi. Hello.”

The man’s grin widened, like he found Martin’s frantic stuttering endearing. “Hey.”

Fuck. He was doing this all wrong.

“I’m Martin,” Martin blurted. Almost went to shake the man’s hand but decided against it last second.

“Gerard,” Gerard said, the glowing tip of his cigarette dancing in the dark. “But you can call me Gerry.”

“Oh,” Martin said faintly, his heart fluttering too-fast in his chest. Then, just because he could, said, “Gerry.” Rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting how it felt against the back of his teeth. Decided he liked it. “Nice to meet you, Gerry.”

Gerry’s grin widened, his teeth very white under the curve of his painted black smile. There was a gap between his front teeth, and Martin felt almost dizzy with the knowledge of it. “And you.”

Then unexpectedly, he shivered so hard that his teeth clenched around his cigarette. It was only then that Martin realized that the man was only wearing a thin black jacket over his graphic t-shirt, and that he must be absolutely freezing.

Martin was acting before he could think it all the way through, rummaging through his bag and removing his scarf from its depths. It was a heavy, woolen thing that he’d knitted for his mother’s birthday but - she hadn’t wanted it, muttered something about it being too itchy.

“You’re cold,” Martin said absently, brandishing the scarf in front of him like a weapon. “Come here.”

Gerry stared at the scarf, his grey eyes stretched wide, then looked to Martin, then back to the scarf. Surprise didn’t sit quite right on his face, like it was an emotion he wasn’t used to wearing. “Um. I’m...that’s okay. You don’t have to...”

“Nonsense,” Martin said, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that was gibbering mindlessly at his boldness. “You’re hardly dressed for the weather, and it’s not like I’m using it.”

Gerry opened his mouth - paused, a strange light entering his eyes. He looked at the scarf, and his surprise faded into a blank, neutral frown. Then, “That was cruel of her.”

Martin frowned. “What?”

“Okay,” Gerry said, and took the scarf from Martin. He stared at it for a moment, studying the simple pattern, before wrapping it around his neck. He looked warmer at least, and that made something in Martin’s stomach settle, relaxed the part of him that wanted nothing more than to nurture. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Martin responded, still feeling a bit off-kilter by the strange comment, like Gerry had known what his mother had said to him and disapproved. “Anytime.”

They stood in silence for a couple more seconds, the atmosphere strangely charged with anticipation. There was something Martin was supposed to say here, something important, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

And then the bus came.

Martin stared at it for a second, disappointment a sour taste in his mouth. His window of opportunity was steadily closing, he could feel it, but he was lost, grasping at the tail end of something strange and unknowable.

“That’s your bus,” Gerry told him gently, and when Martin looked over, he was holding the scarf close to his neck.

“Will I see you again?” Martin asked in a sudden burst of confidence.

Gerry froze almost imperceptibly for a moment, but Martin had been learning to read body language ever since his father had left home. He looked away, that clear grey gaze focusing on the sidewalk in front of him, studying the cracks in the concrete. “If you like.”

“I’d like to,” Martin responded firmly, then deflated as his confidence faded and his uncertainty returned. “If you would.”

That small, experimental smile twitched the edges of Gerry’s lips again. Martin was suddenly struck by the fact that it didn’t sit quite right, as though it wasn’t an expression he was used to making. The thought was as endearing as the rest of him. His voice was unexpectedly low, unexpectedly shy, as he said, “I would.”

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 21

First

Previous

Next

Rena stared at the plates in her hands -- or, more specifically, the akuma she’d squashed between them like a pair of cymbals. She wondered, vaguely, whether or not the akuma would disappear with the plates or whether it would drop to the ground in a pile of goo.

She looked around for Carapace to ask, only to find he was soothing a kid who had lost track of their parents in the attack. He was sitting on a rooftop, kid in his arms, and pointing out random things to keep them distracted.

At one point, she managed to catch his eyes, but he gave her a ‘not now’ look and pointed past her to show the kid a dog.

She huffed a little bit, but dropped it (and the plates) because it wasn’t like she could be mad at him for helping a kid in need.

Besides, her veins were still buzzing with adrenaline and happiness. She’d helped fight an akuma with all the other holders! They’d even used her plan! If she died right then she would have died happy.

And as she noticed the giant red and black blur of Ladybug’s sword falling to earth, she thought maybe that would happen.

Luckily (or unluckily?), the sword disappeared into thin air before she could die a perfectly timed death.

A few moments later, Chloe touched down beside her, a slightly frazzled Chat Noir in her arms. She looked annoyed about how he wouldn’t get down immediately, but she also wasn’t dropping him.

Rena smiled awkwardly. “Sorry about the plan, Chat.”

Chat looked at her, luminous green eyes unblinking… and then he pulled a smile to his face. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Mused Chloe. “Great. Get down.”

Chat swallowed thickly. “Uh… my legs aren’t really reformed yet, so I can't.”

The two women exchanged skeptical looks momentarily before Ladybug and the person who had been akumatized settled on top of a nearby car.

They seemed to have been in the middle of a wedding, if the gorgeous white gown was anything to go off of. Someone must have had cold feet, then, whether it was her or the groom. The bride sniffled, her face in Ladybug’s shoulder.

Ladybug was speaking, and Rena had to not-so-subtly shift closer to hear:

“-- to postpone the wedding for a while. Since you got akumatized, your family should be able to guess you aren’t in the right mental state. Leave town for a while, get some therapy, and consider if this is what you really want. Sound good?”

The bride whimpered and hugged Ladybug closer. “But it cost so much --.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ladybug said, running her fingers through her hair. She looked up. “QUEENIE. COME OVER HERE?”

The bee miraculous holder wandered closer, Chat positioned on her shoulders like a child on their dad’s at an amusement park. “Yeah, ‘bug?”

“Want to reimburse a wedding?”

Chloe scoffed and probably would have crossed her arms over her chest if they weren’t busy holding Chat’s legs. There was a silent glaring contest between the two bugs before Chloe reluctantly detransformed. She pulled out her phone. One click (her dad was on speed dial, apparently) and started walking away with a cry of “Daddy! I need help --!”

Ladybug schooled her face back into a caring smile. “See? It’ll be fine. I know a few places outside of Hawkmoth’s domain that are willing to provide free therapy to Parisians in need.”

Rena decided to brush past the fact that there was free therapy somewhere (partially because she was a Parisian and, at this point, therapy was pretty much a foreign concept to her… but mainly because a different part of the sentence had stuck out to her).

She bit her tongue, though. It wasn’t something to bring up in front of the civilians. Instead, she rested her hands on her hips and waited for everyone to finish their hero duties and for the civilians to disperse.

The other heroes wandered over eventually and they all started on their way home.

“Does anyone think that that akuma was a little too easy?” Asked Chloe.

This got a bunch of nasty looks from everyone, especially one cat miraculous holder.

“No, Chloe, it wasn’t easy. You just took all the best jobs,” said Chat.

“Think faster next time,” said Chloe with a shrug.

Rena found herself wondering why Chloe, the one of them with magically enhanced emotional intelligence, was the one to always have everyone mad at her, but she brushed the thought aside. She needed to focus on what SHE was mad about.

“You know how large Hawkmoth’s domain is and you didn’t say anything?”

Ladybug clicked her tongue irritably. “Rena, calm down, please. I really don’t have time for another akuma tonight.”

(Rena decidedly did not calm down, but that wasn’t surprising. Has anyone ever really calmed down when someone tells them to?)

“You didn’t think that maybe you should have shared that with the group? Or all of Paris, for that matter?”

“No. Because I’m not completely sure about where the line is, it’s more circumstantial than anything… and if everyone knew they’d leave and Hawkmoth would just move to another city. We need to keep him here, where we know where everything is.”

“You could have at least told us about it.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t tell us anything about him. The center of it is by the Tower. We already knew he was probably rich.”

Chat stepped between the two of them like he was expecting them to start a fistfight or something and he brought his brightest smile to his face. “Guys, really, it’s fine. Let’s just all try and be more open about things we find out from now on, okay?”

The two briefly met eyes before turning on Chat Noir for having the audacity to try and calm them down.

… at least he’d gotten them to stop fighting each other?

~

The five of them had stopped cold when they came upon their house and found one of the windows broken.

They exchanged anxious looks and transformed back into their suits.

It wasn’t that crime wasn’t a thing anymore, it just wasn’t very common. Who knows what would set someone off enough to create an akuma, the little bit of money you could get from robberies weren’t worth possibly dying a painful death (even if it was only temporary).

And, really, what were the chances that the miraculous holders of all people would get robbed?

Still, the person who had done it was likely still there. They would have had to get inside after the miraculous cure had been cast for the window to remain broken…

“Whoever it was, they’re gone. I can’t feel them anywhere inside there,” Chloe said, twirling the string of her spinning top around her finger. 

Interesting. Either they’d gone in with a distinct purpose or they’d noticed them coming and somehow gotten away without them noticing...

(Or Chloe was wrong, but they doubted it. She was usually right about this kind of thing.)

Rena pulled the light around them to mask their presence as they neared their home. Just in case.

Chat reached out and opened the door...

The place had been ransacked. Potted plants had been tossed and now the floor was coated in shards of clay and a fine layer of dirt, the cushions on the couch had been torn open and feathers spilled onto the floor, a game controller had been thrown at the wall hard enough to stick itself in the plaster, an armchair had been pushed on its side.

But that wasn’t what made Rena gasp.

Because the Hawkmoth Conspiracy Board had been the target.

Papers had been torn off of it in such a rush that pieces were still stuck to it, their calculations and work had been ripped to shreds, their pictures defaced. In a paint such a dark purple it was almost black, words were scrawled across the board:

STOP TRYING TO FIND ME. YOU WILL NOT LIKE WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU DON’T.

The miraculous holders stared for a moment...

Chloe scoffed, unimpressed. “So we all agree that this is lame, right?”

“SUPER lame.”

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write @trippingovermyfeet

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #29 - The One Where Everyone Gets Super Shiny

Our issue opens up with Swerve laying down the Story So Far in the Exposition Dimension.

Fantastic, you funky little man.

If Swerve looks like he’s been tossed through the car wash a few dozen times, it’s because this is where our new colorist comes in! Everyone, please say hello to Joana Lafuente- known for her love of gradients and attention to light sources, this actually isn’t the first time we’ve run into her. Lafuente worked on colors for several issues of The Transformers (2009), Last Stand of the Wreckers #3, and a few issues of MTMTE Season 1. However, she was matching the styles of her co-colorists on a majority of these, so we haven’t seen her style properly until now.

Getting into the story proper, Cyclonus is busying himself with staring out the window at a PNG of space, as he is wont to do, when he hears the tell-tale sound of tires squealing down the hall towards his room. Oh, goodness, whoever could that be?

Nearly forgot about him, didn’t you? Yeah, it’s a little difficult to follow up on things like a character’s recovery from a horrific disease when you’ve got comic event contract obligations to deal with.

After getting tackled by Tailgate, who reminds us all about the time he stuck his dirty little fingers into a dude’s brain meat, Cyclonus takes the little nerd on a walk through the ship.

You’re not going to convince me to reread “Dark Cybertron”. I don’t care how much of a marshmallow you are, it’s not happening.

They’re passed by Megatron and a bunch of crew members carrying that coffin we saw at the end of last issue down the corridor, Tailgate has a moment, and we get a taste of Cyclonus’ distaste for the Autobots as a whole. Tailgate is mildly offended by this, as he gropes his chest in distain, showing off his shiny new Autobot badge- a gift for not dying a terrible, gruesome death.

Good job, Tailgate. Proud of you.

They’re also passed by an absolutely blitzed Jackpot and Mainframe, the former singing Tailgate’s Tyrest-stopping praises as the latter carts him over to the Medibay to deal with the almost alcohol poisoning he’s got going on. Cyclonus remarks that Tailgate was missed, though Tailgate can’t help but wonder if that’s really true.

Y’all like slowburn romance, right? Because these two dumbasses have been roommates for two years, and we’ve just gotten to the point where physical contact can happen without one of them needing to be dying.

Anyway, it’s been a good day for Tailgate so far. Let’s hope it stays that way for the little dude.

...And that’s a series wrap on Tailgate! Let’s give him a hand, folks!

Hopping back in time to Megatron’s trial, things get underway, as Optimus Prime takes a nap in the judge’s bench as Gripper- whose name you don’t need to remember, as he’s not actually important- tells everyone about how brutal the Decepticon Justice Division is, even to Autobots. Which isn’t really supposed to be their deal, given their, y’know, name, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.

Up in the stands, in an… opera box, I guess? Rodimus is watching the proceedings, when Atomizer walks in. Which I guess you can just do in a Cybertronian court case. Sure.

Atomizer, in case you forgot, is the dude who has a bow and arrow, and used to be an interior designer.

Say, didn’t Whirl has a bow and arrow in the last issue when he attacked Megatron? Mighty curious, that.

Rodimus and Atomizer briefly reflect on the DJD, recalling the horror that was Vos- not that Vos, the other one. Rodimus would really just rather this all be over with so the Lost Light can get back to finding the Knights of Cybertron, and it’s at this point that Atomizer breaks out a thing he really ought not have- the count for the vote on whether or not Rodimus should stay on as captain. Rodimus doesn’t want to look at it, because it was supposed to be anonymous for a reason, and tells Atomizer to destroy the list entirely.

Hm, that’s not a terribly determined face there, Rodimus.

Back in the present, specifically in Swerve’s, Groove is threatening to break Streetwise’s arm, as we get the downlow on just what exactly our Legislator buddy’s deal is. Turn’s out, Swerve got one of the things reprogrammed, so that he follows not the Autobot Code, but something else entirely.

Hey, Swerve?

I don’t expect you to know this, because I don’t think you were present when they revealed this information to the readers, but… your new bouncer is made of people. He’s a dude made of other dudes, namely the Circle of Light. There’s a chance that you reprogrammed a sentient being, my good bitch.

Anyway, Swerve’s in a fucking mood because his shoulder hurts, someone’s stealing his shit, and Megatron has joined the narrative. Over at a nearby table, Skids, Nautica, and Riptide take a gander at the tabloids. Trailcutter, who is positively smashed, to the point where he’s just leaking booze out of his face like it’s his job, isn’t terribly interested in that, however.

What an astute observation, Riptide. And people say you’re stupid!

Trailcutter wants to drink some more, because it’s very likely he’s got a problem, but the mention of “Megatron’s super fuel” makes him feel like it’s time to stop hounding Swerve and start performing crimes.

Back during the trial, we get to Starscream’s testimony. He’s wearing his crown. He’s acting like a self-righteous asshole, as he defends Megatron.

Well, “defend” in the technical, legal sense, I suppose.

But really it’s more about him insulting Megatron’s intelligence, strength, and courage, in front of a LOT of people, while also trying to make himself look better in the war crime department. Megatron doesn’t appreciate this very much, if his murder-face is anything to go by.

Megatron lets Ultra Magnus (his defender, if you’ll recall) know that he wants a private word, and court goes into a brief recess.

Back in the present, Nightbeat’s busy looking at a pin-up of Rung’s alt-mode, when someone knocks on his door. That someone is Chromedome, who’s trying to solve the mystery of The Missing Declaration of Love. Not that he says that specifically out loud.

You two were married, why- okay. No point in yelling at this digital copy of a comic book.

Anyway.

So, the whole screaming thing only happened the one time, and everything was back to normal on subsequent plays of Rewind’s message. Nightbeat seems to be leaning towards the depressive isolating getting to Chromedome, which Chromedome responds to by telling him to get the fuck out. Alas, someone’s blocking the door!

YO WHAT THE FUCK-

Back with Trailcutter’s subplot, our drunken friend is in the middle of breaking into the Medibay. Our trio of cool-colored pals watch him from back at the bar, by way of a laptop that looks like it was built the same year I was born.

As Trailcutter attempts to commit a crime, Megatron, Ultra Magnus, and Ratchet pass by, trying to figure out how to handle the whole coffin situation. Trailcutter’s about to punch the locks off a door, and Nautica decides that this is where she’s going to draw the line today, leaving the gaggle of fools to their shenanigans. Then Tailgate glomps Skids, throwing the computer to the ground and breaking it, as Trailcutter finds the door to the Medibay magically open.

If you don’t know what glomping is, there’s a 60% chance that you’re not old enough to vote in the US.

Trailcutter sneaks into the Medibay, we get a reminder that Ambulon is super dead, and Trailcutter commits theft from a food bank. What a guy.

This is the point where security shows up, armed with a great deal of guns, one of which is Megatron himself. Trailcutter, instead of feeling super powerful, actually feels positively awful after consuming Megatron’s rations of “super fuel”. Because he, as an Autobot, doesn’t want to be within 50 yards of Megatron, Trailcutter breaks out the forcefields the moment the guy approaches him. And oh, what a doozy this one is.

Trailcutter’s gotten himself a fancy new trick- this forcefield he’s broken out lasts for a solid half-hour, and he can’t turn it off. I’m sure that won’t bite him in the ass at any point in the near future, no-siree!

Back in the past, Rattrap is commending Starscream on playing the field and getting the public slightly more on his side, but Starscream’s too busy patting himself on the back to really pay attention. He knew damn well that Megatron wouldn’t like what he had to say on the stand, and now things are finally looking up for ol’ Screamer.

Over with Optimus Prime, Slamdance is showing off how the general public is really into this whole “folks being held accountable for their actions” thing.

In the present, Chromedome and Nightbeat seem to have remembered they have alt-modes and are driving down the hall back to Nightbeat’s room- wonder what the speed limit for the Lost Light is?- and discuss just what the hell happened. The current theory is that the Rewind they saw was a Data Ghost- a collection of information so dense, it had a not-quite-physical presence that wasn’t 100% removed when he died.

Which is a little fucked up, but let’s see where this goes.

Nightbeat undoes the 40,000 locks on his door while Chromedome bleeds guilt all over the shag carpet over the fact that he hasn’t been looking for Dominus Ambus like he said he would.

C’mon James, gimme that Chromedominus endgame.

Nightbeat finally opens the door to find a small problem.

Hm. That’s… not normal.

Over in the Medibay, Trailcutter’s bubble has burst, allowing Megatron to slap him in the back of the head. This head-slapping induces his FIM chip permanently, making it so that he can never get drunk again.

Weird party trick, Megatron. Kinda shitty, really.

Megatron then gives Trailcutter the job of director of security, because he needs direction in his life. Trailcutter just sort of takes what he’s given, because I suppose you can’t really argue with a guy who can literally slap you sober, and also threatens to destroy you if you fuck up even once. Nice, Megs. Nice.

MEGATRON THAT’S BEEN SITTING LIKE THAT FOR OVER HALF AN HOUR YOU FUCKING WET NOODLE

So, since there’s mystery juice all over the floor and no one’s died, Megatron assumes that the coffin ought to be fine to crack open.

Please note that Megatron is not a medical professional, and his views are now peer reviewed by medical professionals. Megatron is in no way endorsed by the WHO.

Anyway, Rodimus is in there.

Pretty fucked up.

Back in the past, recess is over, and Ultra Magnus comes bearing bad news- Megatron wants to change his plea to “innocent.” This gets about the reaction one would expect from just about anyone.

Well, except Rodimus, who’s too busy reading that list that he wanted destroyed. He’s very sad about it.

I know, what a bummer!

[hewhofragments]

So, the good news is, I got a new job, and I’ll be starting on Valentine’s Day (how romantic)! The bad news is, my job, which was already falling apart, started falling apart even more after I put in my notice.

As with other pandemic-timeline workplaces, people have been retiring/switching jobs/just straight-up quitting all over the place. We lost the head of IT, the head of my department, almost ten of my classification, just to name a few. And management has done nothing with regards to succession planning or even just making sure they set someone else up to do basic work. All the senior employees are just kind of quietly taking stuff over or just letting it slide by and watching the place burn.

For some reason, management wants me to train accountants to do non-accountant work before I leave. That’s fine, I don’t mind, but the work is far below their pay grade (so I’m guessing they’ll quit next). If that’s not odd enough, management wants me to teach months-long, project-based work in a week. It’s hands on work too, so there’s not really a way to teach the job from a desk!

I wish the oddities ended there, but of course they don’t. I’ve only been with my employer for two years, but management is convinced that I’m the only person that can do the work despite the fact that my supervisor trained me and has worked there for over a decade. Management has said word for word, “Thankfully HeWhoFragments can train the accountants. Otherwise, nobody could do this job!” And they’ve said as much with my supervisor present. 

Frankly, the accountants won’t know what the fuck they’re doing when the week’s over, but I’m not going to stress much about it because I’m GONE. But I feel bad for those that are staying behind.

Management has suddenly declared war on lower-level leadership! The relationship was strained before, but now it’s at the point where management won’t even walk by the offices of some people and openly complain about them in the office. 

Honestly, I’ve never LOVED my office, but now it feels inhospitable. I think me leaving sped up the dying process, but I don’t know what they expected when I took the job offer in to management and they offered me nothing to keep me. Apparently, all of us have to work in the office and there’s no way they could offer telework, but then at the same time they let some dude WFH from another state? It just doesn’t make any sense.

[ask-hunterxhunter]

Headcanons for Hisoka, Illumi, and Chrollo losing their female s/o to childbirth? Like the moment labor starts their s/o is in unbearable pain and she bleeds too much and passes away. How would they cope with losing one of the few people they actually love & having to be responsible for a baby on their own now? Thank u so much :3

Hisoka

This is one of the few occasions when Hisoka is lost for a while. Even as he holds your hand and feels life leaving your body, he just doesn’t react immediately. It’s not he never considered you dying before, it’s just that it doesn’t feel real when it happens. You can’t be gone. You just can’t… It’s like this event has no place in reality. It’s also one of the few occasions when Hisoka becomes a little more… Sentimental. Oh, not while the doctors are in the room (in fact, his lack of bigger reaction will either be considered shock or him being a cold bastard in their eyes), but once they leave him alone with your body… Hisoka doesn’t cry, he doesn’t scream, but he brushes your face gently as he says goodbye…

 All in all, he seems to be taking it rather well, right?

 Wrong. Dear Lord, wrong.

 When he arrives home, Hisoka just sits for a moment… And screams. He isn’t someone who takes refuge in denial, he doesn’t go on how this isn’t happening… But it doesn’t make acceptance easier. As used to death as Hisoka is, he has always been a lone wolf who never cared for anyone else but you. Accepting the death of a loved one is never easy for anyone, but we can’t say Hisoka is exactly well-prepared or adjusted for such things.

 His initial reaction is downright scary. He screams, his bloodlust overflows (it’s the only way he knows how to deal with things), but there isn’t anyone to blame, anyone to go after (it’s sad, but those things do happen), just this awful pain. The façade he keeps just drops and everything just overflows and fills the room. It’s suffocating and terrifying.

 What stops him? The baby crying. Hisoka is not exactly an emotional guy, he isn’t used to dealing with those deeper emotions, but remember that he wouldn’t enter a real relationship (let alone have a child with you) if his feelings weren’t this serious. So, yes, it might be strange to imagine Hisoka caring for a baby, but this is his child. Yours and his. As soon as he hears the cries, he stops and remembers he is a father now. And yes, he does love the baby.

 He isn’t feeling any better, but he holds the baby and tries to calm down.

 Hisoka won’t admit it to anyone ever, however, he is almost scared now. He had admitted to you he had no idea of how to be a father (and was pretty sure he wasn’t the best material for the role), and now he has to be a single father. Does that seem like a good idea? He already admitted to Illumi he has issues. Just because he’s happy with his lifestyle and doesn’t give a crap and has no intention to change, doesn’t mean he is so much of a bastard that he doesn’t care about his own child!

 Simply put, he has no idea what to do.

 Wherever your soul is, you can at least rest knowing Hisoka will do his best. Will he change his lifestyle? No more than he absolutely has to (so, very little). Will he mess up? Yes. Like everyone does. Will he love this child and do the best he can? Yes. Will he care for them? Yes. He might not be the best father ever, but he won’t be an awful one, either.

 Yet, Hisoka will never recover from losing you.

 And just because he calms down after your death because he scared his child, it doesn’t mean he will remain calm. In fact, he may (try to) deal with it the only way he knows how: By turning to violence. He’ll be staying at Heaven’s Arena for a while and people will at once fear that they’ll have to fight him because Hisoka won’t just “not attend” the match. It’s doesn’t matter who it is or how strong they are: Hisoka will be there. And this won’t be even a fight as much as murder: He will be going after blood.

 It won’t help as much as he hopes. By the end of the day, even if he uses fighting as an escape valve for what happened, he is still hurting and you’re still dead.

 Illumi

To put it in one word? Badly.

 Being pregnant with Illumi’s child (well, anyone from the Zoldyck, really) means you’ll have the best care money can afford (and God knows this means top care), but the fact remains that those things still can happen. Not that this means much for Illumi. Remember he doesn’t care for anyone beyond his family, so the fact that he wanted to start a family of his own with you already speaks volumes for how much he valued you. At first, he is in shock. You can’t have just left you, it’s impossible, you’re his wife, you weren’t supposed to die, this was to be the happiest day of both of your lives… But he won’t be able to refuse the fact that you died for more than a couple of seconds.

 If he even suspects there was a mistake, that the doctors weren’t careful enough, anything, he’ll take it out on them (if by a lawsuit or by taking matters in his own hands, it depends), because people often want someone to blame, somewhere to focus their pain on and Illumi is one of them. Once the initial shock of the loss pass, he will want to know exactly what happened and why you died.

 Not that this will bring any comfort. Even if a doctor can be blamed for what happened and Illumi deals with them, this won’t bring you back. There’s no satisfaction. There’s nothing.

 As unemotional as Illumi can be, this is one of those rare cases when it looks like all the emotions he keeps away (or doesn’t seem to have at all) just explode. Think about when he felt Alluka’s power… That is tame compared to how it will be then. The only change is the nature of this explosion. I repeat: The loss of someone you love, no matter how it happens, is always painful and can always be traumatic. It doesn’t help that Illumi is, well, how he is. This event won’t help Illumi’s mental state and it might, in fact, push him further into his darkness (after all, it isn’t as if he sees anything wrong with himself to make him want to change for starters).

 It's hard to tell how Illumi will deal with the loss. We know it won’t be in a normal way, let alone one we could consider healthy, but there is the presence of his family to be taken into account as they will offer support and help as much as they can which might help to reign him back a little. While he might seem to be okay with being killed by someone he “cares about” such as Killua in order to “be kept in their hearts” or controlling them with needles “for their own safety”, but losing them to death? Something that can’t ever be fixed? Not the same.

 As much as his family might try to help (despite being how they are, they are still somewhat more balanced than he is), there is a limit to how much they will be able to do so. Illumi may dedicate himself to the job more than never, go after Killua (in an “I already lost my wife, I won’t lose my brother” frame of mind), or anything else that may give him the sensation of recovering control in his life and that demands attention. Again, hard to predict exactly how he will deal with it, but it won’t be by keeping good memories, remembering he will see her again in heaven or anything remotely healthy.

 Regarding the baby, he won’t abandon them (as if!) and will dedicate himself to raise them well, but the problem is that without you around to “balance” his behaviour and beliefs, his methods might be worse than what his parents did to him. Illumi won’t remember your words or will just “twist” them to fit his views. Not out of disrespect for your memory, but because he truly believes in his family’s methods. Yes, he will love the baby, very much so, but again… This is Illumi we’re talking about.

 On a note, about Alluka, despite his desire to do something about your death, he won’t be dumb/desperate enough to consider using Nanika’s power to bring you back, at least until he is 100% sure this won’t backfire on him (and chances are, it will anyway. I mean, when did this sort of thing ever work for anyone who tried? Read “Pet Sematary”, “Monkey’s Paw” and whatever else deals with the subject. He is twisted, not stupid).

 Chrollo

Surprisingly, despite being a criminal, Chrollo can make sure you are well-cared for during pregnancy and when the time comes to give birth, you’ll have great doctors. Sadly, again, this doesn’t mean death by childbirth cannot happen (it depends on several things, even if you have top healthcare).

 As someone who lives so close to death and who has little to no care for human life, Chrollo doesn’t have a moment of denial. Being in the room while you give birth, he feels life leaving you and a part of him seems to go with you… He tells the doctors to do something, to help you, but it’s too late. And he knows it. He has killed enough people to know when they are gone with no chance of getting back. He stays with you for a while, not talking, not crying, just holding your hand as if you were asleep.

 Because the Spider has so many enemies, he will make sure it was indeed an accident and not someone trying to take revenge by killing you or anything of the sort (and if it turns out this is what happened, well, everyone involved is as good as dead). And also because of his lifestyle, you might think he will be somewhat better prepared for this event and know how to deal with it…

 Well… No, not really. Losing you is worse than losing another member of the Spider, as it is more personal. Chrollo doesn’t make a show of how much this hurts him while there are others around (in fact, even with the Spiders he might keep his emotions under control), but when he is alone, he doesn’t care to keep a façade of calmness. Differently from Hisoka or Illumi, this won’t be an explosion of rage or a long scream, but it won’t be less of a huge blow: Chrollo feels lost and for a moment, he can’t even focus on the Troupe or what to do. He just feels your absence and a future he can no longer have while he holds the baby close.

 Although he is used to “carry on” when a member of the Spider dies (and searching for whoever killed them to get revenge), this is different: Not only because he has no one to blame for, but again, it’s far more personal. You were his partner, the person he wanted to start a family with… He never allowed anyone to get this close, keeping his focus on the Troupe and its objectives and now he has to deal with losing you forever. He knows he needs to carry on. He knows there is nothing he can do now except caring for the baby and continuing with his plans. In a sense, his rational side continues to work because Chrollo basically programmed himself to be like this with the years of being who he is.

 Only that this doesn’t help when emotions, that are far harder to be controlled, get involved. There is no other way of putting this: Your death leaves Chrollo devasted. And this depression may last a long time. He may get to the point of continuing his plans, keeping the Troupe’s goals and all, but underneath it all, there will be this hollowness that just won’t go away. If Senritsu was to hear his heartbeat, she would point out how worse it became.

 The members of the Troupe that are closest to him, such as Machi, will know that Chrollo needs help in this moment, not as a villain or as their boss, but as a human being who lost a loved one (considering how many people they took away from their loved ones without a care, you’re free to call them hypocrites). It must be said that this help will be balanced: Enough to remind Chrollo he is not as alone as he behaves and not pushing to the point of being suffocating.

 Because of that and also due to Chrollo’s ability to not lose focus despite emotional turmoil, as depressed as he gets, he won’t forget that he has a child to think about now: The uncertainty that one feels when having to be a single father is present, he isn’t sure of how he’ll balance being the Troupe’s leader with protecting and raising a child. He isn’t just going to forsake the Spiders, but he won’t just drop the kid in an orphanage and take off (unless there is so much danger closing on him that he literally has no choice, but the chances are preeetty slim). Some members of the Troupe may help Chrollo in this department (such as Machi or Pakunoda, if she is still alive when this happens) as he finds ways to reach this balance between his goals and his personal life.

[soupwaffle]

p5r rant!! *spoilers*

okay. so. i’ve played p5 and p5r many times over the past few years, and my thoughts and feelings towards the game have mostly stayed the same, if not became more critical of its flaws. however, there is one thing that has changed the most, and that is my opinion on goro akechi.

the first time i played regular p5, i was doing a playthrough with an old friend of mine, and i wasn’t super into it. i used to really hate turn-based combat styles (except pokemon because, well, it’s pokemon. come on) so i was kind of just along for the ride. i really, REALLY hated goro during that playthrough, especially upon reaching the shido arc. i saw him as the surface level character archetype that he was, the antagonist of the game and akira’s foil. i could not comprehend why he did what he did, and why he committed all of the murders. He hated his father, hated doing what he was doing, so why did he do it? i despised his actions, and in turn despised him. which, honestly, is valid- you don’t always need a deep and thoughtful reason to hate a character- sometimes you just don’t like them. however, i feel like goro is a character that deserves an analysis and reflects more humanity than is displayed at the surface.

goro despised his father and his actions, truly and genuinely. however, there is always, ALWAYS, going to still be that lingering hope and love in him. the concept of parental relationships is often times built upon the idea that your parents are your world as a youth- you have to make them proud, you have to love them no matter what, because they are your caregivers and can do no wrong. the plot of persona 5 is, quite literally, going against this exact narrative, every villain arc in the story centering around a parental/adult figure in one of the phantom thieves lives and how their desires and cruel inward view of the world harms the children they raise. every phantom thief comes to terms with the abuse and trauma they hold from their guardians- ann and ryuji dealing with kamoshida’s child abuse and pedophilia, yusuke dealing with the false love and encouragement that turned out to be just using and fraud out of greed, futaba and the death of her mother, believing herself to be at fault in the situation, makoto and her sister’s desire to be the best and succeed on all accounts, ignoring the plight of her sister and the issues she was facing, haru and her negligent father, who saw her as an object used for personal gain, and finally, goro and his father, the man who forced him to go into the metaverse on his own for years and kill anyone that he considered to be in his way, in terms of his political and business careers (which p5 does a great job of showing the dangers and negative impacts of intertwining business and politics, i think- but that’s for another time).

and every single phantom thief, upon realizing that there is an issue with the situation they are in, become determined to fight against the evil of those people they trusted throughout their youth- the awakening of their personas- and avenge their lost childhoods, all while attempting to fix the cruelty in those that they loved.

except for goro.

goro was a phantom thief, yes, but he is the only one who actively did not (or, more accurately, could not) go against his father and follow the path of akira and his friends and find that acceptance of himself and his past. he could not move on from the abuse of his father, and could not accept that there was any other way to gain the man’s love than to cater to his every whim- even if it meant destroying his own life and the first true friendships and loves that he had ever had, and eventually dying because of it. this is a fantastic representation of how the abuse towards children from their mentors/guardians can change the course of their lives and how they perceive the world forever. goro wanted so, so deeply to be loved by his father and for him to be proud of him that he was driven to insanity trying to achieve it, when it was impossible all along. akira knew this about him, knew that deep down, goro was never evil, and was never an antagonist to him. goro had simply become a slave to the very evil akira had been fighting against, and was unable to help him overcome the trauma-induced insanity at the point in which they had met. goro was too far gone, and, although he canonically showed before his death that he held that desire somewhere inside to be free of his father, and to live like akira- a hero to many, and a kind soul. that’s why he despised him so much, his first and only friend, and refused to refer to him as anything other than a rival- he envied the life he led, and the ability and strength he held to fight against everything shido stood for. goro would’ve given anything to be like that, and to fight against his father, as the rest of the phantom thieves did. but he couldn’t- couldn’t bring himself to, and almost certainly lived in fear of what would come once he didn’t have his abuser’s hand around his neck. despite the trauma and terrible experience that is abuse, it is really common for a victim to fear a life outside of the abuse, and a life of comfort- something that seems impossible, ESPECIALLY if the victim has always been living like this.

he would’ve also had to come to terms with the terrible things his father had made him do, and would have had to learn how to live with what he’d done, despite the fact that he did not want to do it in the first place.

after knowing all of this about goro, and understanding his character and how he and akira reflect yet contradict each other and relating on a deeper level to his story and emotions, i have decided he is one of my favorite characters in the series. i don’t condone his actions by any means, and he still held the ability to make decisions and act on his own, so the blame is not entirely off of him. however, i understand why it was done, and hold a lot of sympathy for the broken child that he was, and how deeply he desired to be loved.

[twokinkybeans]

Soulmates Aren’t Real - Soulmate!AU

Summary: Seven years ago, a “study” found that people who get incredibly close to death, meet their soulmate in their minds. People described them as an angel in the darkness, a light at the end of the tunnel. The idea alone made Tony want to hurl. It’s stupid. Bullshit. Soulmates aren't real.

Sure, Tony zapped himself every now and then. Occupational hazard. But as of yet, he hasn’t come close enough to death to object the study with facts. And though he is a curious man by nature, he’s not that curious. His "soulmate" will show up on their own time. And if they don’t? They don’t. Whatever. Tony can tinker all he likes. He’s content in his lab. Even if it’s a little quiet sometimes...

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Or: Every time Tony nearly dies in the MCU canon, he sees and talks with Peter (who ages appropriately - aka during Iron Man 1, Peter is 6 years old, etc etc etc). It’s a little Cinderella like, if you ask me, aha!

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Author’s note: Hi everyone! This started as a small idea that I just wanted to get out of my brain. Took me two Saturdays to write and it's barely edited, aha. I hope you enjoy it, though! <3 -Lien

Words: 3589

Warnings/tags: Fluff, Angst, Soulmate!AU, Mentions of death (a lot), Mentions of attempted near-suicide, read this however you like, I wrote this as Irondad.

Read Soulmates Aren’t Real on AO3!

   Occasionally, Tony wonders how much he resembles Sherlock Holmes. He drinks a lot more than what’s probably healthy and he thinks faster than other people around him. Though, he is of the opinion that everyone deserves a chance, not all deserve kindness. He likes being alone, tinkering, and losing track of the days. He actually enjoys fucking up his sleeping patterns, since it means he’s being productive. He’s in a flow. He’s busy.    Right now, he’s absolutely certain he’s Sherlock Holmes. The only reason being this one single thought that keeps bouncing through his head every time he scoffs and rereads the article in front of him. People are idiots. Tony would love to have a Watson by his side, but unfortunately for him, his soulmate has yet to show their face. Speaking of soulmates, the article is about just that.    Seven years ago, a “study” found that people who get incredibly close to death, meet their soulmate in their minds. People described them as an angel in the darkness, a light at the end of the tunnel. The idea alone made Tony want to hurl. It’s stupid. Bullshit. Soulmates aren't real. Those people who cheated death claim that some rando they meet is the one they saw when they nearly died. That they belong together. People cheated over this, saying that the person they saw when they died looked nothing like their current partner, or maybe like another friend. The study ripped apart tons of marriages and while that’s partially why Tony thinks people are idiots, there is another reason. The reason that is in the article he’s reading.    Death therapy. Jesus Christ, who even came up with that shit? More and more people want to know who their soulmate is. If who they are with now is the right person. If they will ever meet them. If they already lost them. And so, they try to almost die. Drug abuse, waterboarding, even playing with electrical equipment and guns. Idiots. People are idiots. And this whole article is about some kind of soulmate cult where groups of twenty all try to get as close to death as they can just so they can get a glimpse of what their soulmate looks like. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.    The people who organize those things are predators, aiming to get as much money out of people as they possibly can. Let them sign wavers that if they do die, which happens ninety percent of the time, the cult can’t be held accountable. Death rates have risen significantly since the study came out and it’s insane. Soulmates don’t exist and nearly dying for the sake of having a looksie at the true love of your life is psychotic. A money-grab, to scam people who are extremely gullible. And oh, boy, are there many gullible people on this hell of an earth. If only they knew all this crap was fake. So many innocent lives would be spared.    Sure, Tony zapped himself every now and then. Occupational hazard. But as of yet, he hasn’t come close enough to death to object the study with facts. And though he is a curious man by nature, he’s not that curious. His Watson will show up on their own time. And if they don’t? They don’t. Whatever. Tony can tinker all he likes. He’s content in his lab. Even if it’s a little quiet sometimes... ...    Afghanistan. The deal was supposed to be the greatest Tony had ever shook hands on. And then everything went to shit. The missile. The explosion. Darkness. And then a fuck ton of pain, clawing at his chest. He could hear someone screaming but he wasn’t sure who. Was it… Was he screaming? God, it hurt. Ached. Burned. Scratched. He was gasping for air and he wasn’t sure if his body could hold out any longer- if he could hold out any longer.    “Hello, there? Sir?” A small voice asks. Tony gasps and writhes, turning on his stomach before crawling up to be met with a boy. Pale skin, brown hair and brown eyes. Cute. “Are you okay? Mister?” Tony brings his hand to his chest in an attempt to feel where the horrific pain is- was? It’s gone. He’s fine. When did that happen? Is he… Is he dying? Or is he already dead?   “Hey, there, kid,” he sighs, somehow grateful that the hell he was in has passed. He doesn’t exactly want the child to be part of his panic, so he takes a glance at his seemingly infinite surroundings and casually asks his question. “Where are your parents?” The boy looks around, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. He then turns to stare at Tony with his big eyes.   “I dunno.” Tony moves so that he’s at eye level with the boy and studies him.        It’s only then that it dawns on him that… Oh, God. Nope. No, this isn’t real. It’s stupid and fake and there’s no way this little kid could be his soulmate. It’s just his dying brain, giving him something to work with before he vanishes into nothingness. Normally, he wouldn’t get anywhere near children. They were quite the liability and honestly the epitome of contrast to his bombostuous life. His biggest fear has always been one of his bed partners showing up on his doorstep, carrying a baby. His baby. He has no time for that. Or well, had. Since it’s his last moments alive, he might as well indulge the imaginary kid.        “How old are you?” The boy thinks for a second and then looks at his hands. He raises one, fingers stretched out, and then the other; just a thumbs up.   “Six!”   “Six?” Tony smiles. “That’s a big number.”  “Mhm!” The boy nods aggressively. “Need two hands now.” He waves his little fist around and grins. He then looks down at his hands and looks back up. “How many hands do you need?”   “A couple more than you do, kid,” Tony scoffs.   “So, you’re like, really old?” Ugh. Kids.   “Old enough to be your dad.”   “You’re not, though!”   “Thank God, no.”        Tony sits down on his butt and pats the floor next to him.   “Mind doing me a favor, kid?” The boy sits down next to him and pulls in his legs, resting his head on top of them. “Depends, Mister. I’m not actually allowed to talk to strangers.” He thinks for a second and then continues. “And you’re about as strange as it gets.”   “Is that a compliment?” Tony chuckles.   “Depends on who you ask.” The reply has Tony scoff a laugh, louder, and he throws his head back This kid…         “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” The boy doesn’t reply. Instead, he hides his face to laugh himself. “So, the favor...” Tony starts, trying to get back the boy’s attention.  “Hm?”   “Just… Be kind, okay? If you really are out there… Life’s too short to-”        Tony opens his eyes, confused. He takes a second to assess his location. He’s lying on something hard and uncomfortable and there’s this dull, continuous ache in his chest. He groans when he realizes… Guess I’m not dying anytime soon.         ...    He was terrifically wrong about that. The organization that put him and Yinsen in that cave were absolute monsters. Tony knew better than to struggle a dozen men with big guns unarmed, but when they brought him to the trough with water, he fought nonetheless. His head was pushed in. His body convulsed and though his brain was telling him to stay calm and simply hold his breath, he kept fighting the aggression from his captors. It wasn’t long before he saw flashes again. Of the same boy.        “Mister?” The voice was muffled through the water in Tony’s ears. He wanted to yell at the boy, to look away from the trauma and ensure his safety, but whenever the kid became clear enough in his mind’s eye, he was pulled from the water for air, and then pushed back in, to start the process all over again…        Nobody was to know. He wasn’t going to tell anyone about this… Unnamed boy in his lucid dream. Nothing happened. He didn’t even say what his captors did to him, though with the arc reactor now glowing in his chest, people assumed the worst. If they asked him whether or not he saw someone, his answer was always the same.   “No.”        Tony regretted not asking the kid for his name, but then, everything would’ve become too personal anyways. And soulmates aren't real. Even though Tony had seen the boy on multiple occasions at this point. He should just stop almost dying, to be honest. Though, with his new job as Iron Man, he wasn’t sure if he could hold off on that. He ignored the boy’s worried touch on his thigh when he was paralyzed after his ex-business partner/mentor ripped out his new heart. He tried to tune out the encouraging words as he crawled down to his lab to push the old one back in. The boy was only a figment of his imagination. He couldn’t be real. He. Isn’t. Real.   ...      Palladium poisoning. Great stuff. You know what’s even greater? Being haunted by the ghost of an eleven-year-old. Tony never got close enough to death to even be able to say hi to the kid and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful or disappointed. The boy was still smaller than average. Clumsy, even. His glasses were cute, though. Red and gold. Iron Man themed. Adorable. He squeezed his eyes, trying to look through them. Maybe they were the wrong prescription?        The first time Tony saw him was when he was in the bathroom. In true horror-style fashion, the nerdy boy appeared in the mirror. When Tony yelped and turned, the kid was gone. He then appeared for a brief moment on the side of the road when Tony was racing the Formula One. The billionaire nearly crashed his car when he did his double take. From then on, everywhere Tony went, the oblivious boy would be by his side. Not being dead enough to talk to the kid, also meant he wasn’t dead enough for the kid to see him. It was torturous to see the boy play and learn and grow without being able to be a part of it. Funnily enough, Tony still didn’t like children. He just… He liked the boy. And no, it wasn’t because the kid was his soulmate. Soulmates aren't real.     ...    Tony was certain flying the nuke into the wormhole would be a one way trip. He’d see the boy one last time, maybe even be able to say goodbye and satiate his need to know the boy’s name, before he’d kick the bucket. At least he’d die peacefully, knowing he stopped an alien war on earth and therefore protected the boy. Twelve. He should be twelve now. Why Tony even bothered to remember the kid’s age, he didn’t know.        “Mr. Stark?” Tony’s vision blurs, the alien spaceship fading to black as his muscles lose tension and his suit gives up on him. He falls. But he doesn’t.   “Yeah, kid, I’m here. For the last time.” Tony frowns as he pulls in his legs, seated on the floor. He sniffs once and looks up to see the boy sitting across from him. “Hopefully.”   “Wait, you want to die?” The question was awfully direct, which makes Tony scoff.   “I’ve seen you so often now…” The barely dead billionaire glances to the side. “That can’t be healthy.” He purses his lips. “Also, the healing process of coming back from the dead is a pain in my butt. Pardon my French.”   “I like seeing you.” The boy fiddles with his fingers and looks down shyly.        “Do you really see me? Like, for real real?”   “I’m dreaming. It feels real, but I don’t talk about it with anyone.” The boy cocks his head and raises his shoulders casually. “I think we both think we’re each other’s imagination.”   “Well, we are, aren’t we?”  “Definitely.” The kid nods aggressively. He crosses his legs and looks at Tony through his long lashes. “Nobody believed me when I said I think you’re my soulmate because I dream about you. Then again, nobody nearly dies as often as you do.” They both chuckle, but the sound quickly fades. “They just think I idolize you a little too much.” The boy frowns and then straightens his back. “I mean, I do idolize you, I- I think you’re a genius! Your papers on Artificial Intelligence are groundbreaking-”   “Kid- you’re twelve, you shouldn’t even be able to read those.”

   “I…” The boy presses his lips on top of each other. “The books I have to read at school are boring.” He almost seems guilty about saying it. “Those papers are filled with big words, though. You understand all of it?” Tony stares at the boy in awe. “I Google things I don’t know, but context usually explains a lot.”     A short, stunned silence settles between the two of them. Tony can barely believe how smart this boy is. He calls Tony a genius, yet he is a genius himself. People who graduated university, specialized in Artificial Intelligence, ask Tony to clarify his papers. So either the boy is messing with him, trying to seem big, or he’s actually incredibly bright. The thought alone makes Tony reminisce about the first time he met the boy, when he still had to use two hands to show Tony how old he was. That was six years ago. Six. He’s fairly certain the boy is a terrible liar, though. And he’s not lying now.     Tony’s eyes open wide, every muscle in his body clenches at the sound of the Hulk’s roar right next to him. There was so much he still wanted to ask the boy. At least he was still alive. Maybe he’ll find him and if not, Tony hopes he’ll near-die again soon. ...     He didn’t expect his own Malibu house crashing down on him and forcing him into the sea to drown being the way he’d go. He’d never been in a worse situation than this. There was no one there to save him. He’d die, never having met his soulmate. Who knows, maybe they’ll meet again in the afterlife, one day. Tony closes his eyes and lets the quiet wash over him as his suit shuts down.     The silence is broken by a quiet sob. The sound brings Tony back to the half-afterlife present and he opens his eyes. The boy is sitting right in front of him again, crying visibly and audibly. “Hey, hey-” Tony moves forward to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” “I don’t want you to die, Mister Stark.” “What makes you think it’s for real this time?” “You just said it yourself,” he sobs. “There’s no one to save you now.” “You heard that?” The boy nods, face twisted. “Well, since I’m still here, I’m not gone yet,” Tony tries with a smile. The boy looks up, tears streaming down his face and shoulders slightly shaking. His red cheeks puff and he sniffs. “We haven’t even met-” The boy squeezes his eyes shut and pushes in, hugging Tony’s chest tightly. The man raises his arms in surprise, but hearing the kid sob, breaks his heart in ways he never thought possible. He embraces the boy and rests his head on top of his. “I can’t lose you too.”     “Too?” Tony’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to remain composed. “M-my parents-” Oh, no. Tony immediately pushes the boy away from his chest and ducks his head, forcing the boy to look in his eyes. “Kid, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. I’m going to meet you, ‘kay? Give me your name and I’ll find you.” “Promise?” “Promise.” The boy takes a second to collect himself and Tony wipes his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “My name’s P-”     The second it dawned on Tony that he was still alive, but without the knowledge of the boy’s name, he wanted to cry. And so he did. He was in snowy Tennessee. Many, many miles from home. Who knows, maybe P is somewhere around here? This couldn’t be a coincidence anymore. The boy has to be real. And Tony left him alone. Truly and utterly alone. Just as he is right now. He sobbed quietly as Jarvis shut down. It wasn’t long before he stood up, hugging himself, making the resolute decision that wherever he was, whatever was going to happen, he was going to live. For P. ...     Harley filled up the hole P had left for the short while they spent together. Tony learned to care for him, but it wasn’t the same. All he could think about was the other brown-haired boy in the back of his mind. His soulmate. His P. After the whole Mandarin situation was dealt with, there was no way he could go looking for the now thirteen-year-old without seeming like a creep. P. That was all he knew about him. His name started with a P. First name? Last name? Nothing narrowed it down. He had to let it rest. He simply had to. But he couldn’t. For the first time in his life he felt like the people he once called idiots. But he couldn’t afford to die. Not with the boy out there waiting for him. And so, he shut the tab on his tablet, linked to the Death Therapy site. Maybe he wasn’t Sherlock Holmes after all. If only he could find his Watson. ...     Sokovia was hell. He got so close to seeing his boy again. So close. But not close enough. He tried to reach for P, but their encounter was cut short. “Mr. Stark! Mr-” P yelled. “I’m P-! Don’t go, please! Please! My name-” “Kid!” “P-t-” It was torturous. Tony wished he could go back to when he didn’t care. When he didn’t think the boy was actually real. But he couldn’t. P is out there. Somewhere. And by God, Tony would find him. Whatever it takes. ...     Spider-boy. Whoever it was, the web-slinger caught Tony’s attention. A young hero, wanting to help out the little guy. He was young, though. And so, Tony felt the need to be a mentor. To guide the young man into becoming the hero everyone would root for. That and whatever the boy was wearing was absolutely unsafe for the job. Tony wanted to give the kid something he could work with to make it all safer for everyone. Plus, he needs someone Steve would go easy on, should Berlin go South. Pepper did most of the research and the phone call went by quickly. Tony didn’t really feel like talking anyways. “Alright, so he lives on 15th street. I’ve texted you the building and the address.” “Thanks, Pep.” Little did she know Tony was already at the front door. “Oh, and his name is-” “Bye, Pep.” He hung up and knocked.     The door was opened by a lovely woman in her late forties. Of course, she immediately recognized him and let him in, offering him a seat on the couch. “My nephew is probably your biggest fan,” she yelps, clapping her hands with excitement. “You are here for him right? He applied to your scholarship a couple weeks ago.” “Yes!” Tony clears his throat. “That’s exactly what I’m here for.” He raises his eyebrows and continues his lie. “He got the scholarship, so I wanted to let him know personally. As I… eh, I do with all other people who got it.” Not every hero shares their identity with the ones they’re close with. It’d be better for Spider-guy if Tony played it safe. ...     Not much later, the door opened again. Tony looked up with a smile, knowing it’d be the friendly neighborhood hero he was going to recruit. His expression faltered when he saw the boy’s face. His boy’s face. P. That’s P. “Ah, perfect timing!” May exclaims cheerfully. “Look who’s here to see you!” Tony blinks and clutches his chest. He’s having a heart attack, isn’t he? He’s dying. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.     Peter seems just as taken aback, seeing the billionaire of his dreams - quite literally - on the couch with his aunt. After a short while of amazed silence, May breaks it. “What’s up with you two all of a sudden? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost!” They can’t help ignoring her. Tony slowly stands up and shuffles closer to the boy who drops his backpack to the floor. “Mr-” “Say your name-” Tony whispers, inching closer and closer until he invades Peter’s personal space. “Please, tell me your name.” Peter looks up at him, wide-eyed, flustered. His lips part, but he swallows before he speaks. “Peter. My name is Peter Parker.” P. Peter. Parker. Peter Parker. Holy- It fits. Everything fits. Sherlock has found his Watson. Everything feels so insanely right in this moment.     Tony slowly raises one hand, placing it on Peter’s fast beating heart. Peter curls both hands around Tony’s and opens their palms, sandwiching Tony’s hand between his. “Need three hands,” Peter mutters. “Four soon.” He moves his hands to Tony’s chest, feeling the scar of where his arc reactor used to be push through the fabric of his dress shirt. “You’re not dying again, are you?” Peter asks quietly, almost scared. “No, kid,” Tony sighs. Content. Finally. “I think this is real.”