#what's dis??? I finally made one after all dis time??!?!?!!?!

[himezoro]

your roman empire with the one piece men

that small gesture or word he said that entered your mind and never left.

starring : zoro, luffy and law !!

word count : 889

author's note : again, i'm so sorry for posting so rarely, working and planning a wedding has to be the most exhausting thing ever, i promise to go through all of your requests and to be more present, tysm for your support ♡౨ৎ⋆.˚ some of these scenarios have been inspired by moments i often think about in my life, can you guess which hahaha??

zoro was smitten with you, and longed taking a step forward in your camaraderie, and everyone with a pair of eyes could see it. so when nami told him he was on errand duty with you and only you today, the swordsman knew it was his shot to get closer to you.

gosh, you were gorgeous walking around the alleys with the wind blowing your hair and diffusing your hypnotizing scent. and there he was, walking by your side like a guard dog with his hands the pockets of his jacket, listening to your enchanting voice.

the errands were nearly coming to an end, and zoro did not dare to "make a move", which he knew he would regret. the alleys got more crowded and he was afraid to lose you, especially since his orientation is not the best, though his senses would always bring him back to you. he knew that.

as zoro listened to you and internally debated on whether he should say something about his feelings or not, his body acted on his own, finally closing the distance.

as he gently grabbed your left hand with his right one, intertwined his fingers with yours, before putting both of his hand and yours in his right pocket, acting like it was the most natural gesture on earth.

and the butterflies in your stomach never died since.

luffy has always brought joy to your life and fed your desire for adventures and fun. he lit stars to your world and invited you to let go of pressure and have fun, not minding about third parties' opinions. a lot of people would question your couple association because of luffy's exuberance, but all them be damned. the future king of the pirates brought you back to life and no one could make you happier.

a sudden rain came down pouring on the grand line and the wind blew hard. the entire crew started running around to put back inside the furnitures that were left outside. the rain was so much that it started freezing and you started to run to your quarters. yet, as you were about to finally reach your door, a pair of elastic arms grabbed you and brought you back outside under the pouring rain, their owner sporting a huge, bright grin on his face.

"luffy!!! what the hell are you doing? it's raining and we'll catch a cold!!"

"chichichi, i wanted to dance with you, (y/n)!" he beamed, his eyes adoringly pleading yours to allow his antics as he started twirling you around under the pouring rain.

between laughters only him could exulate, you tried to bring him back to his senses.

"but luffy, honey, we can't dance under the rain! it's cold and there's no music playing!"

luffy did not mind your ramblings as he kept on twirling you around, his hand standing on your the small of your back the whole time, his thumb occasionnaly drawing circles. with a determined gaze and his signature smile on his face, he pressed his forehead on yours, the rain drops falling from his nose to your lips from the closeness.

"together, there's nothing that we can't do (y/n). after all, i'm the future king of the pirates!!"

his laughter hugged the atmosphere and made your heart race even more.

your relationship with law was a secret on the submarine, and it was hard for you to hide your adoration for your boyfriend. after all, what wasn't there to love? law was smart, composed, mature and commited. yet, sometimes, it felt so easy for him to "ignore" your status in front of the crew or anyone for that matter, which tended to hurt your heart. did law appreciate you the way you did? was it unrequited?

little did you know, law had a hard time not paying as much attention as he would when with the others. because he had a lot of work, even when the others were not around, it did not mean the two of you could see each other. therefore, the soft gestures he wished to cover you with were quite lacking. and of course, he was the one to have asked to keep the relationship a secret, and because of his prideful persona, he would not admit it was not a good idea.

you and bepo were getting ready to work around the submarines for your chores of the day. you were busy going around the submarine with your chores tool and bepo, and failed to notice your shoe laces came undone.

and of course, this would not go unnoticed by law. the captain could not stop himself from going to you with a frown, which surprised (and scared) both of you and bepo.

is there anything you did wrong? why was he looking so pissed off?

"idiot. you could trip and injure yourself." your boyfriend sternly spoke, kneeling to the floor to tie your shoe-lace, leaving bepo dumbfounded and yourself out of breath, with a racing heartbeat.

"you know i don't want you to get hurt." he said getting up, his hot breath tickling your cheek in the process, his warm hand resting on yours, silently promising to show his adoration for you like you deserve.

and you swore you could still feel the warmth of his hand from that day again.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

A knock on the door was not what Danny was expecting that evening. In the two weeks of observation and one week of actually staying with the man, Danny had figured that Dick, for as friendly as he is, did not have many friends. And if he did, they didn't visit him a lot, if at all. So, a knock on the door exactly thirty minutes before Nightwing was set to go out was a suspicious surprise.

He answered it anyway.

On the other side of the door was a kid about his age, an inch or two taller. He had dark hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, and eyebags dark enough to rival Danny's own. He also smelled faintly of coffee.

"Um," Danny started dumbly. "Hello?"

"I'm looking for Richard Grayson." The kid's accent was stronger than Dick's, putting him as a born and raised Gotham resident. There was also a hint of something that reminded Danny of Sam's parents. This kid comes from money.

"And you are?"

Obviously upset about being stalled, he huffed, "Timothy Drake. Are you going to let me in now?"

How does someone sound so rude and so polite at the same time? Obviously a skill Danny needs to learn. "Why-"

"Who's at the door, Danny?" Dick called from the hallway, making his way closer. He was in his Nightwing costume, minus the mask, but had covered it with a hoodie and sweatpants.

"Tim Drake," Tim introduced himself again, pushing Danny out of the way and entering the apartment to greet Dick with a handshake. "You're Bruce's Wayne's kid, Richard 'Dick' Grayson."

"Yeah, that's-"

"You need to come back and be Robin again."

There was a moment of silence as Danny closed the door softly. Then, "Excuse me?" Dick's smile was strained and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You need to come back and be Batman's Robin again. You don't have to don the suit, but he needs you." There was a hint of desperation in Tim's voice now. "He's been spiraling since Jason died, and he's starting to hit harder. Most of the guys he beats up end up in the emergency room! Some of them have even died from their injuries! Batman needs your help! He needs a Robin."

Dick was quiet for a moment. "No."

"What?"

"I won't- I can't go back to being Robin. I can't go back to being in that house."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. Now, I don't know how you found me or how you found out who I was, but you need to go back to Gotham, Tim."

"But-"

"Now, Tim. You're parent's are probably freaking out about where you are right now."

Tim didn't say anything for a long moment, he feet rooted in place. Just as Dick turned around to go to the fire escape, he spoke, "My parents don't care where I am." Louder, he said, "Bruce is going to start directly killing people if you don't go back there and help him."

"Why should I help him?" Dick demanded. "He didn't even tell me that my little brother had died! I didn't even get to go to his funeral! And then Bruce had the audacity to punch me in the face and blame me for not being there! I'm not going back to Gotham, I'm not putting on the Robin suit again, and I sure as hell am not going to help Batman. he made it clear that he works alone, so let him." With his peace said, Dick took his hoodie and sweatpants off, donned his domino and escrima sticks, and left through the window fifteen minutes early.

Neither Tim nor Danny said anything for a long few minutes, neither bothering to move. Too many thoughts in each of their heads with no way to properly form words.

Finally, after nearly seven minutes, Danny's voice broke through the air. "I'm sorry he yelled at you."

Tim, having forgotten Danny was there, jumped and turned to face him. "What?"

"He hasn't been the same since Jason died, not that I know what he was like before."

"What do you mean?"

Danny moved into the kitchen, pulling down two cups, filling them with water before offering one to Tim and leading him to sit down on the couch.

"I don't know a lot about the situation, I've only been here for three weeks now, but I know that Dick is still hurting. Nightmares, hallucinations, the works. He's been more violent recently, too, but obviously not as much as Batman has been."

"You, uh, you know?"

"Yeah. Kinda hard not to figure it out while living here, and you coming in today didn't help that." Tim blushed and sipped his water. "Though, like you, I showed up on Dick's doorstep already knowing he's Nightwing."

"Oh? And how well did that pan out for you?"

Danny shrugged. "I offered him help and refused to leave until he accepted it."

Tim laughed. "That's what I did to Bruce!"

They shared a smile. Danny lifted his cup as if to toast. "Here's to a couple of goblins with hero complexes." Tim lifted his cup to join Danny's toast and they both took a drink.

Giggling, the two finished their water in relative quiet, the air around them comfortable.

"Say," Tim asked, putting his cup down on the coffee table, "How old are you?"

"Fourteen. You?"

"Same."

"Cool."

"You're parents know where you are?"

"Nope. I would ask if yours do, but you already answered that."

"Yeah, they aren't really around much. I did tell Alfred I'd be gone, though, so he knows I'm not home."

"Yeah, but does he know you're here?"

"No."

"Hm." A beat. "Who's Alfred?"

Another laugh startled out of Tim. "Bruce's butler. Did Dick tell you nothing?"

Danny shrugged again. "I haven't pushed for answers about anything; I'm not a therapist. I'm just here because he's going to end up killing himself at the rate he's been working himself."

"So is Bruce," Tim admitted softly, "But he's going to end up taking Gotham down with him if no one stops him."

"So what are you going to do?"

He thought for a long minute, weighing options in his mind before saying, "I guess I'll have to be the help he needs me to be."

Danny tilted his head sideways like a dog. "What do you mean?"

Tim squared his shoulders, though he was still hesitant. "Batman needs a Robin, and if Dick isn't going to be that for him, then I guess I'll have to be."

Another beat. "But do you want to be a vigilante?"

"Does it matter if I want to be?" Tim asks, "If I don't then no one will." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Gotham is my home. I can't let Bruce destroy it in his grief."

"I understand." Danny nodded, "But what you want does matter. I know I can't stop you, so I'm not going to try, but I'm going to make you promise me something." He made sure to hold Tim's gaze. "You ask for help when you need it." He held out his hand and waited.

"What?"

"You're phone. Give it to me." Reluctantly, he did so. As soon as the flip phone was in his hand, Danny put his number in it before giving it back. 'You don't have to do this alone, okay, Tim? Promise that you'll call me when you need help, okay? Any time of day, I'll answer."

Tim stared at his now closed phone, the weight grounding him for a moment. "Are you going to be a vigilante to help Nightwing?"

"I already am."

"Huh?"

"It's why I'm here, It's why I know I can't stop you and why I'm making sure you know I'll be here to help you."

Nothing else was said between the boys. Nothing else needed to be said.

Part 7

Tag List: @flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581 @blueliac @talia-scar123 @cyber-geist @violet-foxe @currentfandomkick @jaguarthecat @moonchild0924 @tonicmii @bushbees @idekwutoput @justalittleghostkid

[strlvvr]

my best friends brother (is the one for me) - part four

ahhh finally i finished part four. this was so hard for no reason

read part three here!

word count: 1014 words

warnings: slight angst?

⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ୭ৎ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

i looked up from my phone when i heard knocking on my front door. i paused my movie and got up, knowing exactly who was at the door. i walked down my stairs and opened the door, seeing matt already biting his nails.

“why weren’t you answering your phone?” he said, relieved to see me in one piece.

“i didn’t feel like it.” i said, turning around and walking back into my house, knowing he was going to invite himself in no matter what.

“y/n please. what is going on? you’ve been off all day.” he pleaded with me, following me into my kitchen.

“i’ve been off? what about you and how you’ve been acting since nick walked into your room this morning?” i retort, starting to get angry with him. he’s done nothing but ignore me all day, only taking time to say something to me when it’s convenient for him. on his terms. 

“y/n..” matt pleaded.

“no i don’t wanna hear it,” i snapped, “you do this every time something between us ever happens and i’m sick of it.”

“i’m sorry, okay?” he yelled, throwing his hands up and into his hair. 

“for what? for ignoring me all day or acting like you like me?” i yelled back, immediately turning around so he couldn’t see the tears forming in my eyes. 

he stayed quiet, and when i turned to look at him, he was on his way out the door. 

once the door closed behind him, i sighed, unable to stop the tears falling. i shouldn’t have let myself believe that he could ever want me. 

i collected myself and went back to my room, hoping that watching my movie would take my mind off what had just happened. i grabbed my phone, going into matt’s contact. i stared at it, debating on texting or calling him. after a while, i threw my phone across my bed, paying attention to the movie playing. i ended up falling asleep half way through it.

i woke up to my phone ringing. i ignored it, thinking it was matt calling me. it rang again and i picked it up, seeing it was nick calling me. 

“hello?” i answered, still half asleep.

“do you have any idea why matt is all pissy?” nick asked immediately.

“i don’t know, he came over ‘cause i wasn’t getting his calls since my phone died on my way home,” i lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through it, “he seemed pissy when he got here though.”

nick groaned before replying, “we were supposed to film a wednesday video but he hasn’t come out of his room and is ignoring me and chris.”

i felt bad, knowing this was partially my fault. “i don’t know, i’m sorry.” i said, grabbing my remote and turning off my tv.

“no it’s fine, i was just wondering if you knew anything.” nick said before saying goodbye and hanging up.

i stared at my ceiling, wondering what was wrong with him. i couldn’t stop my mind from telling me that maybe he does have some sort of feelings for me. 

i grabbed my phone and started drafting a text to matt.

‘can we talk? i’m sorry’ i stared at the text, debating on sending it or not. my thumb hovered over send before deleting the message. i threw my phone down and decided to go grab some food. 

i open my fridge, finding some grapes i had just bought and put some in a bowl. i walked over to the couch and sat down, thinking about the conversation between me and matt. i regretted what i said, overthinking it way too much. 

what if what i said made him think i had feelings for him? i thought about what nick said about matt. what if he felt the same? 

i saw a car, similar to matt’s, outside my house. it couldn’t be his, especially not with the way we left things. 

i heard a knock on my door. i got up, my heart racing as i go answer the door.

“look i don’t want to leave things how we did, and again you aren’t answering you’re phone. god why can’t you just answer your damn phone,” matt pushes through me, clearly out of breath.

“my phone is in my room..” i trailed off, letting him continue his rant. i followed him into my room, he grabbed my phone and handed it to me.

“i’ve texted you about fifteen times, called you three times. you worry me,” he looked at me softly, “please. just keep your phone with you.”

“i’m sorry.” i mumbled, grabbing my phone and looking down at all the notifications from matt. i couldn’t understand why he seemed to care so much, considering just that morning he was ignoring me.

“it’s okay, just- i don’t know” he shook his head, turning to leave.

“wait, why don’t you stay?” i asked him, wanting to hang out with him.

“yeah?” he chuckled, clearly seeing how much i wanted to be in his company.

i walked to my kitchen, grabbing drinks for us out of the fridge. i heard him behind me and before he could get too close, i turned around reaching one of the waters i grabbed towards him. as much as i wanted a repeat of last night, i couldn’t let it happen. if it was going to end even slightly close to that, i’d rather walk into oncoming traffic. 

we made our way to my living room, getting comfy on my couch. i felt matt try to get closer, i inched away slightly, not wanting to let myself get close to him again. he moved back to his original seat, not wanting to push anything.

“are we gonna watch anything?” matt asked, looking over at me.

“i mean what else do we ever do,” i grabbed the remote, turning the tv in and going into netflix.

i put on some comedy show, one of matt’s favorites. i grabbed my phone and text nick, letting him know matt was at my house.

tag list

@beersangel @whoseyouare @wh0schl0 @st7rnioioss @slutsformatt @h3arts4harry @matthewscherrypie @satvisfavetoodles @secret-sturniolo @mattsturniololoverr @blablablabla2525 @melanch0lybby @always-reading @bbernard-03 @matthewsturniolosgirlfriend101 @sleepysturnss @edgemaster696 @strnilolo @engene28 @mattspolitank @ribread03 @veysxrge @bernardsgf @syn-wr1tes @realuvrrr @sturniolo0ntop @chrisstopherfilmed2 @sturniol0s @pinklittleflower @sturniluvr

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Fuck Up Chapter 1

Summary:  Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of war, injury, pregnancy

Y/N and Bucky had been best friends since they were teenagers. They met on the first day of high school in English, both groaning over the fact that the assigned reading was The Grapes of Wrath, considered an American classic but an incredibly boring read. They were paired up in a project together and became inseparable ever since. Y/N had no family, having been passed from foster home to foster home until finally being placed with the family she was with now who were willing to keep her. She had a hard time trusting people, and Bucky liked a challenge. They quickly became the most important people in each other’s lives. They were teased about dating each other, and as much as they each had moments of having more romantic feelings towards the other, nothing had ever come to full fruition. Bucky’s family took Y/N in and treated her like their own. Even with her new adopted family, she had never felt so loved in her life.

After high school they had planned to go to college together, but the housing market crashed and Bucky’s parents, Winifred and George, had to use his and his sister Becca’s college funds to keep their house, and no companies were giving out scholarships as they all tried to protect their assets. Y/N had been able to use a grant system to get into college. Bucky came from a military family, and although he had had no plans of ever joining, it seemed he had run out of options. He enlisted in the Marines. Y/N was upset, not wanting him to risk his life, but understood. She supported him as he went through boot camp and then the rigorous special operations training, but the military was hard on him. Bucky had always been an emotional person, and Y/N hated watching him have to deal with the PTSD and the group mindset that the military instilled in him, changing him from the happy-go-lucky kid she’d known to an anxious, trauma-ridden mess. She finished college and got a digital marketing degree, working for a major online company while doing some photography as a side hustle.

Twelve years later they were both in their thirties, barely getting to see each other but keeping in touch. Bucky had had a few close calls while on special ops the last few years and his family was pushing him to not re-enlist.

“Please, Buck, no more,” Winifred begged him. “You’ve served your country well. You’ve almost died three times over the last few years. Please stay,” she cried as he looked at the re-enlistment papers.

“I know, Ma, I know,” Bucky sighed, setting them down. “I…I just feel like I got one more tour left in me. I need to do this.”

“Hey everybody!” Y/N called as she entered the house.

Winifred spun around. “Y/N! Come here please!”

Y/N followed her voice to the kitchen. “Hey Winnie…wait,” she looked between them. “What’s wrong?”

“Bucky is thinking of re-enlisting,” Winifred said, sniffling sadly.

The look on Y/N’s face when her head snapped towards him made him flinch. “You…” she stuttered, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed. “You just got back.”

“I know, honey,” Bucky walked up to her and grabbed her arms. “I just need to do this. One more tour.”

“No,” she replied, pulling away from him. “You said you were done. We wrote to each other about it. You promised me,” Y/N’s eyes started to fill with tears.

“Please don’t cry, Y/N,” Bucky begged. “I can’t handle it when you cry.”

“Well that’s TOO DAMN BAD!” Y/N screamed at him. Bucky stepped back, surprised by her reaction. Winifred gasped, also shocked by her outburst. Y/N was not one to normally get emotional or react out loud to things. Y/N shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to breathe normally as her hands clenched at her sides. “You promised me,” she whispered.

Bucky sighed and bit his bottom lip. “Y/N, please understand—”

“No, you need to understand something,” she interrupted him, her eyes opening and glaring at him. “I don’t know where this weird obsession came from with you wanting to run into danger. You joined the military so you could get help with college. But then you re-enlisted, and re-enlisted. And now you have this codependent relationship with an organization, in a government, in a country, that doesn’t care about you!” She walked closer to him until she was toe to toe with him. “You are just another body to them. If and when you die, they’ll easily replace you. We can’t replace you!” She gestured to Winifred and herself. “I need you,” she cried, the tears finally falling down her cheeks. “You are wanted, appreciated, and loved here, at home. Why is that not enough?”

“It is enough,” Bucky said, blinking rapidly to stop any of his own tears falling.

“Obviously not,” Y/N whimpered, her chin wobbling as she tried to keep her emotions at bay. “I can’t…I can’t do this,” she whirled around and left the way she came.

“Y/N, hey wait,” Bucky called after her, following her to the front door. “Come on, honey, please don’t leave, let’s talk about this!” Y/N didn’t answer him, continuing to walk through the front door and out to her car. “Y/N…honey please!” She didn’t even spare him a glance as she got in her car. He tried opening her door, but she had already locked it. She quickly backed up and left his parents’ house, her tires screeching as she peeled down the street. “Fuck,” Bucky grumbled, running his hands through his hair.

He knew she was right, that it was stupid of him to re-enlist and put himself in harm's way. He had made a lifelong friendship in the military, and through some misguided idea of brotherhood had promised his friend he’d come back for another tour and join him for more special ops. But he had also promised his girl he’d be done after this last time. His girl?

**picture found on Pinterest...can we all agree that A.I. is dangerous just for this picture alone? #buckywiththelonghair

[pinkiemachine]

We need the entire El chronicles! (not in a pressurey way)

Lol! Okay, so here’s all I’ve got so far of DAWN OF SUPERMAN, to recap (full versions linked below):

SEASON ONE:

—Krpyton gets destroyed by both their collapsing sun and a massive civil war.

—Jor-El and his family try to escape Zod and his followers and head to the secret Kryptonian colony.

—Zod finds them and when Jor-El ejects his loved ones into space in escape pods, Zod opens fire, killing Zor-El and Alura, and knocking Lara, Cal, Kara, and Krypto of course. Jor-El evades capture.

—Lara and Cal land on Earth and Lara dies from an injury sustained in the blast. Cal is then left in the care of the humans John and Martha Kent.

—Clark has adoptive siblings, Micheal, Sean, Rueben, and Suzie.

—Cal’s desire to find his alien family leads him to become an investigative journalist and he moves to Metropolis in his early/mid twenties where he meets Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen.

Now, the rest of the season I haven’t fleshed out as mush as I have Season 2, but that will be fixed in months to come. For the moment, here’s the basic outline: The premier two-parter follows the events stated above, along with lots of little anecdotes of Clark’s childhood. Then, once he arrives in Metropolis, things become a bit episodic. One episode, we’ll be watching Clark try to adjust to life in the big city and become Superman for the first time, then the next, we’ll be exploring Lois or Jimmy’s characters, fighting interesting villains like Livewire or Banshee, and building up Lois and Clark’s relationship. (Side note, Martha made Clark’s suit for him. When Clark was a kid, he asked her once to make him an outfit that looked just like the ones in his family holophoto, including his family crest on the front. Naturally, Clark had outgrown that old costume, but just before he moved out, Martha surprised him with a fair well gift: a new Kryptonian-style suit.)

HOWEVER… there’s another story growing beneath the surface. Ever since Clark became Superman, he’s had eyes on him. The whole world is watching this man become the most powerful, most undefeated superhero of all time, but that’s not precisely why the government’s interested in him. They’re interested because he’s wearing the same crest as the alien woman they found twenty+ years ago. Waller is immediately on the case, and she sends out a lackey to bring Superman in for questioning. (Haven’t decided who this character is yet.) When Clark realises that the men in black suits are coming after him, he immediately gets spooked and worries for his family. If they got hurt because he was being reckless and showing his powers publicly, he’d never forgive himself. So Superman’s gotta lay low for a while. Eventually, though, Waller figures out his secret identity, but Lois winds up being the one to save Clark for just a little bit longer, threatening to run this story in the papers if they don’t leave Clark—an innocent and upstanding citizen—alone. But as soon as the two of them have a moment, Lois immediately asks what’s going on and Clark reveals that he’s Superman.

By now, Waller is getting antsy, but there’s someone else who wants to join the party. Lex Luthor. He’s been funding the research on the Kryptonian pod, and LexCorp has been reaping the rewards of learning the secrets of their advanced technology for years. He crafts a machine/suit/(need to read the comics) that can go toe-to-toe with Superman and almost beats him. Doesn’t though. Lex will remember that.

By now, Clark is sick of running and hiding. Time to take the fight to them. With help from Lois and Jimmy, he tracks down the secret base where the pod and his mother’s remains are being kept, and the final battle commences. Waller loses, Lex loses his hair, they both swear revenge, and Clark takes back what’s rightfully his. He buries what’s left of his mother on the farm, and stores the pod in the shed temporarily. It’s a triumphant yet slightly melancholy ending for our heroes, especially as Clark and his brother get a chance to really talk some things through while he’s home visiting. Then Lois gets introduced to the family, and for a moment, everything’s right with the world.

Little does Clark know, though, that there’s a probe droid on Earth, watching him, and now it’s flying back out into space to report what it’s found to its boss. Zod.

SEASON TWO

—Zod shows up, tries to manipulate Clark, but they wind up fighting instead, and Clark beats his butt off the planet. He does manage to spook General Lane, though, and now he’s dead set against Krpytonians and what they could do to the planet if they so choose.

—Anyway, now Clark knows that his father is actually alive, and there’s also a secret colony of Kryptonians out there. He decides to look for them.

—The team (plus extra members) journeys into space where they meet all sorts of new aliens, including Green Lantern, and they also cross paths with Kryptonite.

—Then they find Kara and Krypto, who lead them to the colony.

—Along the way, they also manage to track down Jor-El, and he and Clark get to have a well-deserved reunion.

—They go to the colony together, but Zod follows them. There’s a big battle, Zod gets booted to the phantom zone, his ship is destroyed, and the colony is saved.

—PSYCH, just kidding. One of the extra members of Clark’s team is military, and he has secret orders from General Lane to kill any and all new Kryptonian forces he may encounter. So, using some Kryptonite he kept hidden, he makes a bomb and blows the colony sky high.

—Clark, Kara, and Krypto are the only Kryptonians to survive.

(Clark briefly wants to set Earth on fire…)

—Then Clark discovers that, on Jor-El’s ship, his father had made many recordings and created an A.I. Version of himself for company. This is now all Clark has left of him as they fly back to Earth.

—The ship later gets parked up the Arctic, becoming Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.

—Clark’s laid low with grief, but Lois and his family are there for him now more than ever. There’s still hope for the future.

THEN comes JUSTICE LEAGUE: HEROES RISING!

At the moment, I’m still working out which stories of Superman’s will be adapted into the show, but the main idea is that every season, there will be at least one or two BIG over arching plots that center around one of the main characters and an arch foe of theirs, like OG Teen Titans. But less episodic. Or, at least… not episodic like putting a tournament episode right in the middle of the Judas Contract arc, and more so like Avatar the Last Airbender episodic, where we’re having fun, but also learning more about the world and how various aspects of it work. The first major villain(s) will have something to do Zatanna and/or Green Lantern.

Speaking of the other heroes, here’s a quick little tidbit: So, Batman’s actually the one who brings the Justice League together. It falls into one of his contingency plan models. In case of emergency, CALL EVERYONE. During his first two seasons of BATMAN: GOTHAM FILES, he’s already come across The Flash—and Wonder Woman, over the course of the first two seasons of WONDER WOMAN: HEIR TO OLYMPUS, she’s become familiar with Atlantis and their royal family. And if you remember, Clark’s already met Green Lantern (Hal Jordon). Now all that’s left is Zatanna, hence I thought a Zatanna-centric Season 1 might be a good idea. Magic is a threat the rest of the Justice League can’t easily combat on their own. But I also had a thought, like what if I combined the Zatanna villain with the GL villain—SPACE WIZARDS!!! Idk, just thinking about it. Anyway…

I sadly haven’t had a chance to write Season 3, but what I do know (for just general stuff that’s supposed to happen eventually) is that Lois and Clark do get married and have a little boy named Jonathan. Then, some time later, Clark and Kara get called away into space on urgent business, and that’s when someone new appears: Con-El, aka Conner Kent, aka Superboy. He comes crashing down to Earth in an escape pod just like Clark’s, claiming to be a member of Superman’s family. After much convincing of the Justice League, they let him stick around until Clark gets back to truly vet him. In the meantime, he slowly gains the other heroes’ trust, becomes a member of the second generation of Teen Titans (The New Teen Titans) and helps save the world. HOWEVER… turns out he’s been working for Lex Luthor this whole time! Dun dun dun! I’ll save the rest of that story for later, heheheh…

Then, of course, when Jonathan grows up, he becomes the next Superboy and joins the third generation of Teen Titans, (Ultimate Teen Titans), and has some adventures of his own. Haven’t decided what his big arc will be yet.

Would love to do a mini-series following Kara when she was lost in space. T’would be cool.

And that’s currently all I have written, story-wise, for the Kents. Personally, I don’t really see many of the other SuperFam characters to be especially relevant to the story, or interesting, so I’m probably gonna either scrap them or repurpose them, unless there’s just, like, a MASSIVE fan outcry. It’s just that the whole point is that Clark and Kara are THE LAST KRYPTONIANS. The last of their kind, that’s part of their whole story—being alone. You can only get away with new Kryptonians falling out of the sky so many times before it gets old. And Conner was lying about his origins, so I can get away with that.

Here’s some fun stuff I wrote about Krypton and Kryptonians 👇

Here’s the Fall of Krypton and the El family’s escape 👇

Here’s the next part of Clark’s Origin Story 👇

Here’s a deep dive into Lois and Clark’s relationship 👇

And here’s Season 2 in-depth 👇

[zionangel]

As I have many times in my life, I find myself rolling up to a new fandom years late to the party, but no less enthusiastic for it. Unsurprisingly, it happened because of one of those completely bonkers off the wall amazing ships you get sometimes. Who was it this time?

Rick and Michonne, of course!

I never watched The Walking Dead myself when it was on, because I don't like zombies and gore. But my mother watched, so I remember catching bits of a few episodes. (Of course I loved the three little dogs the janitor leader guy at the nursing home had in S1. I saw Sophia running away from the herd and into the woods, and a few weeks later Sophia coming out of the barn. My mother loves Carol, of course. On the night of the season finale that Negan appeared, I looked up spoilers to see who died before the episode was over, and then broke the news to my mom that she wasn't gonna find out until next season. She was so mad.) And of course I'm a huge nerd of the Comic-Con variety, I'm here on Tumblr, and I don't live under a rock (or at least I didn't then) so I knew the basics: zombies, a sherrif or two, that badass chick with the sword (I am always in favor of women with swords), the kid with the hat, and that one scruffy-looking guy that everybody loves who's not in the comics. And I remember thinking they had probably jumped the shark when I heard the kid with the hat died.

But then of course, That Reunion Scene happened, and a gifset made its way to my dash. And I mean we've all seen how compelling that amazing shit is. Next thing you know I'm lurking around the Tumblr Richonne fandom and reading up on the original show. I kept up with the new episodes of TOWL on Tumblr each week (bless Tumblr gifsets and the new styles of media consumption that they make possible). But I didn't start watching the original show on Netflix until after TOWL ended - I was not about to start down that rabbit hole for a doomed ship, but of course I was not disappointed. I dawdled around for weeks not wanting to watch the episode where Carl died (killing him off was as stupid as killing Tony Stark my god) and now I'm dallying around leading up to the bridge episode, and I'm certainly wary of watching almost three seasons of Michonne being sad or absent entirely on a show that is admittedly very depressing in general and maybe not so great for my mental health in large doses, ahem. So today I decided to say screw it and start on TOWL.

(BTW, just in general I highly recommend just ditching shows if they stop making you happy. Honestly. Whether it's years before the show ends, or if you just want to skip what you know is a depressing series finale. You will spare yourself so much grief.)

Anyway I'm not quite at the point where Rick, poor brainwashed traumatized idiot sandwich that he is, tries to send Michonne away from the CRM, and as wonderful as it, it's late and I've spent too much time typing this meandering post anyway.

For however many active followers I may still have, fair warning that I will be queueing up a lot of Richonne stuff the coming days/weeks.

Also, you can expect at least one post about how Rick and Michonne are basically Neo and Trinity. (They're both my favorite type of ship, soulmate battle couples.)

[pinkrose787]

Thinking about the scene in TBT where Branch goes off on his brothers after the fight, and frankly I don't think he was angry enough.

First up, for most of the fight, Branch doesn't say anything. He just stands there watching one of his most traumatic memories occur again. Honestly, I think he just shut down for most of the fight. If you look at his face during the fight, he looks so sad. Not only that, but he has the same expression on his face that he did when BroZone broke up the first time.

When he does speak up during the fight, it's because the fight is going the same place it did the first time. The only difference is that if they leave, then Floyd dies. But also I don't think he wanted to see his brothers leave again.

Then we have John Dory's dismissive remark when Branch is upset at the idea of them leaving again. "You didn't think we'd all live together when this was all over, did you? Singing songs and roasting marshmallows."

The way that he says it, like it's something Branch should have known. And you know what? Branch probably did know. When John Dory first came back, he was angry and suspicious of him. But over the course of the adventure, he seems to have gained hope that his brothers could be a part of his life again.

But with one cruel remark, John Dory stomps all over Branch's hope for them being brothers again. And Bruce and Clay were not any better during this, because they agreed with John Dory. They agreed that after they save Floyd, they would all go back to no contact with each other.

Like if I were in Branch's shoes, I would be screaming at them. Because Branch grew up all alone. He probably spent so many nights as child wishing that just one of his brothers would come back for him. After all, he almost never stops wearing Floyd's vest.

Yet there his brothers stand before him, engaging in the same fight from over 2 decades ago, basically telling him that his dream of having his brothers back means nothing to them.

Do you want to know how we can tell that Branch never really truly gave up on having his brothers come back?

He still carries the original drawing of the bunker that he made when he was a baby with him. It wasn't something that they stopped back at the Bunker to get. He simply had it on him, even though he had no idea that his brothers would be coming back on that particular day. That drawing represented his hope of his brothers coming back.

Which is why at the end of his rant, Branch takes it out and tosses it aside. Because that moment is when he finally gave up on his brothers ever truly coming back into his life.

[minniethemoocherda]

Stay With Me

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for all the support you guys have given me in response to my Morpherine fics! It has been completely insane especially all your incredible comments as well as all the amazing art over on tumblr! If it wasn't for you guys then I probably wouldn't feel as inspired to keep writing these fics so again thank you all so much!!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"NOOOOO!" Morph screamed as they woke up to find themselves sitting in a puddle of their own sweat and gloop.

They screamed again their bedroom door was broken down.

"What's wrong?" Logan demanded, claws drawn and body tensed ready to pounce.

"You giving me a fucking heart attack!" Morph cried, firing a pillow across the room.

Logan slashed through the first, but the second that Morph had launched a moment later hit him square in the face.

Morph was too riled up to feel any satisfaction at that fact.

"What are you even doing here?" Morph asked, feeling their body finally fully solidify back to its normal shape under the fabric of their oversized t-shirt.

"I heard you talkin' in your sleep." Logan grumbled.

"From all the way on the other side of the mansion?" Morph said pointedly, since they both knew that Morph knew that Logan's super-hearing didn't work that well.

That was when Morph realised that Logan was still wearing his uniform despite the fact that it was- Morph checked the alarm clock besides them- three o'clock in the morning.

"Do you want to tell me why you're not in bed?" Morph asked.

"No." Logan replied.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

Logan sat himself in front of the remains of the doorway, watchful eyes glaring into the corridor outside.

"No."

"Do you want to come to bed?" Morph asked, which was something that if it were not three o'clock in the morning, Morph would never have asked.

After a moment's pause Logan again replied "No."

Morph sighed. The adrenaline of waking up from a nightmare and having their room being broken into was wearing off and now they just wanted to go back to sleep.

So they grabbed the duvet, sheets and blanket from their bed and carried them over to where Logan was apparently determined to stay on guard all night.

"What're you doin'?" Logan grumbled as Morph arranged the bedsheets around him.

"We are having a sleepover." Morph stated. "And I'm getting the pillow since you broke my other one."

Morph lay down on the duvet they'd placed on the floor, facing away from Logan into their room. The Wolverine still had his claws out but he didn't otherwise complain as Morph threw one of the sheets over the pair of them.

After a long time, long enough for Morph to think they might have made a mistake, Logan growled out a sigh.

"After we heard about Genosha I... I couldn't...I've been patrolling the halls all night-I just... I can't loose anyone else I care about." Logan growled, grief stumbling his words.

Slowly so as not to startle him, Morph sat back up. Logan was still facing away from them, never one to let other's see his weaknesses, but by now they had become experts at reading The Wolverine's behaviour. And they knew from the forceful shivers raking his body that Logan was literally biting back tears.

In that moment Morph would have done anything to help. But without the ability to change reality, there was little they could do. But that didn't mean that there was nothing.

Morph placed their hand on Logan's shoulder, his muscles taunt to the point Morph was worried they might snap. They squeezed their hand, hoping to share their own grief and to shoulder some of it for him.

Morph had never been on this side of loosing an X-men before. A stab of guilt as sharp as The Wolverine's claws buried its way into their stomach, at the thought that their own death could have caused the same amount of pain.

When they had learnt about Gambit's death, the only comparable pain Morph had felt was when they themselves had died. The concept that they would never again share each other's love for cooking or that they would never loose another heavily rigged card game, was impossible to comprehend. They weren't as close to Gambit as they could have been, however, as the only other openly queer person on the team, there had been a special connection between the two of them.

And Morph might not have shared the same history with Magneto that the other's had. The only reason they'd had to hate to him was that he was a generally shitty person who'd done some pretty shitty things. But when Morph had offered to take the team to Sinister's lair, he had been kind to them, making it clear that they did not have to if it brought back too many bad memories. And because of that, they couldn't help but grieve for him too.

And if Logan could finally open up, then it was only fair that Morph did the same.

"I.. I was dreaming... about that night."

They both knew what night Morph was talking about. The one where Morph was about to watch The Wolverine die and they sacrificed themselves to save him. Except in their dream there were too late. They lost him. Just like they lost Magneto. Like they lost Remy.

Because whilst being under Sinister's control was hell on earth, they would suffer through it all again if it meant that Logan was alive to lie beside them.

"I ain't lettin' nothin' get past me." Logan promised, finally turning to them. The grief was still there, it would probably never fully go away, but the pain that had been etched into the grooves of his skin, had been transformed into a steely determination.

"I know." Morph smiled, even after everything, unable to stop the fluttering if their heart at the sight of Logan's protectiveness directed at them. "And I'm not letting anything get past me either."

Feeling emboldened, from where their hand had been placed on Logan's shoulder, Morph traced his collar bone until their hand cupped the back of his neck.

"But even if you don't plan on sleeping, I have it on the trusted authority of my ex-therapist, that just lying down can help. So please, lay down for me." Morph's smile turned into a smirk. "I'll even let you share the pillow."

Logan blinked before shaking his head and snorting a smirk of his own.

"Alright, you win this one bub." He conceded, finally putting his claws away as he allowed Morph to pull him down to the pillow.

Morph reluctantly let go as they turned away from Logan to face the inside of their room, whilst The Wolverine took after his namesake and proceeded to nestle himself a den out of the bedsheets.

Now Morph hadn't really thought about the physics of sharing a pillow when they'd made the offer, as usual too preoccupied with making a joke to think about the consequences of opening their big mouth.

Because Logan's back was now placed firmly against theirs and the thin layer of his uniform was doing little to hide the solid layer muscle or stop the furnace level heat that his body was projecting. And due to his previous shuffling, the bottom of Morph's t-shirt had ridden up so that the sliver of skin between their briefs and their shirt could feel the full heat of Logan's body. It wasn't as if they hadn't touched the other before, But never that part of their body and even though the exposed skin was barely a few inches, Morph felt near naked at the touch.

They had no idea how they were supposed to go to sleep now. But eventually they must have.

Because next time Morph opened their eyes morning sun was beaming through their bedroom windows. At least that was where they assumed the light was coming from, as all they could see was the sleeping face of The Wolverine.

For a moment, Morph thought that they were still dreaming. Until they felt the breeze of Logan's breathe against the expanse of skin where their nose would have been.

As Morph blinked away sleep, they realised that the groves of anger and pain that Morph thought had been permanently etched onto Logan's face were relaxed, not completely gone but as close to peaceful as he could get.

They also realised that Logan's limbs were wrapped around their body like a koala in a tree as though he was afraid that if he didn't hold on tight enough he would fall. As a result Morph's hands, which had been trapped between the two of them, were braced against Logan's chest. Through the soft fabric of his costume, Morph could feel the individual bristles of his hair and under that the beating of his heart.

Perhaps they had died again, except this time they'd ended up in heaven instead of hell. That was the only logical explanation they could think of for why Logan would be holding them so close.

Well if this was their fate then Morph was happy to accept it, not that they were able to escape The Wolverine's grasp even if they wanted to. So with one last lingering look at the soft strokes of Logan's face, Morph drifted back off to sleep.

[t1red-twilight]

OMG OMG can you do something with angst request #10 "i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore" with peter :)))))) Ive been sad and need some angst to match the mood and who better to ask!!!

bereavement

summary: “i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore.”

content/warnings: gn!reader, andrew!peter, angst, major character death, grief, descriptions of ptsd, disordered eating (if you squint)

notes: omg tysm!!! i GOTCHU girl (gender-neutral). i really really tried with this one, i hope you enjoy it. i hope you feel better, dear anon. this fic made me cry lol

word count: 1k

masterlist

you had had a grueling day at work. you hadn’t slept the night before; your head plagued with dreams and regrets that you would carry as long as you would live. everyone was bothering you in some shape or form, plus, you had forgotten your lunch.

all you wanted was peter. you opted to walk to his home instead of trying to bear the late night traffic.

when you saw him, your shoulders finally released the tension that they had been holding.

“hey, pete.” you sat down next to him. “you would not believe how hard work was today. a rude older lady harassed me about messing up one of her forms, even though she was the one that filled them out.” you slouched and looked at the ground.

the honks of busy city life filled your ears. the smell from the rain lingered. “i forgot my lunch again. i don’t have enough to eat out right now either, so i just didn’t have lunch. but that’s not a big deal.” stomach pains were something that you were becoming quite familiar with. inhaling deeply, you continued. “i canceled more plans. i know you don’t want me to, but i just want to spend any time i have, with you. I can’t bear to be further away from you.” the sound of him scolding you felt like whispers against your damp skin.

you reached up and wiped a lone tear from your cheek. smiling as wide as you could handle, you tried to ignore them.

“i want to move to somewhere quieter, but i could never leave you.” you fiddled with your fingers out of habit.

there was a pause. your ears rang. “you don’t ever have to worry about me leaving, okay? i promise. i’ll stay here as long as you need me too.”

you waited; your eyes trailed downward, head turned away. the street was still slick with the combination of the oil from the city mixed with the rain. your breathing was fitful now, tears soaking the neckline of your top.

“i miss you. your side of the bed doesn’t even smell the same anymore,” you choked out, your hands rubbing the sockets of your eyes. you scanned the graveyard before returning your gaze to where peter rested.

Peter’s headstone was simple; he never would have wanted something grandiose. you and may picked out a simple granite. it was more may’s choice than yours, you had been too hysterical to even cope with the fact that the funeral you were planning was his.

even through hysterics, it never really hit you that he was dead. not until he sunk in an urn into the earth.

he always insisted an urn, better for the environment. neither you or may could handle having him sit on your mantle. you both decided that it felt too dehumanizing.

his headstone read: Peter Benjamin Parker: Lover, Son, Hero.

“it’s not getting any easier. i still love you more than anything, peter. i’m not capable of loving someone else, i think.

“you’ve ruined me romantically.” you laughed at the thought. it was a joke, even though it rang truer and truer as each day passed.

“you are the highlight of my existence. good lord, peter. you mean so much to me. there is nothing that i wouldn’t do to see you again. or, at the very least get your pillow to smell normal again. it reeks of me.”

-

peter died in your arms.

you could not quite recall the turn of events completely, but you could very clearly remember what he had said to you last.

he stumbled into your apartment through the fire escape. it got blurry after he thudded onto the carpet.

there had been some criminal ransacking the city who had a particular vengeance for peter. every time peter went out, he came back worse and worse. the name of the scum that killed him laid dormant somewhere in your mind. you refused to even think about him, as far as you were concerned, he was beneath you.

you had known that peter’s crime fighting could result in something serious, but pete had always insisted that everything was going to end up all right.

“i got him,” he had said. you ran over to help him. everything you remembered was from the third person, like you were watching yourself from above. you couldn’t recollect anything you said in response. “finally you’ll be safe from-”

from this point everything was crystal clear. you could name the shampoo still faintly straggled in his hair. it was your shampoo; now tarnished with the intense irony scent of blood that congested the throngs of your shared bedroom.

“peter, we have got to call an ambulance.” you were getting frantic. you tried as hard as you could to hoist him up, but he resisted. his arms rested atop your shoulders as you tried and tried to lift him up.

“it’s my time, love, it’s-”

“no. just let me get you to the hospital. if you hold on just a little bit longer, we can get you fixed up, okay?”

he inhaled like he was going to say something. his forehead fell to your shoulder.

“honey?” you shook him. “peter?”

“pete? peter?” you hand moved to his scalp. you tried to thread your fingers through his hair to no avail. the matting from his blood halted you fingers as soon as you began.

“c’mon, darling. stay awake, okay?”

“peter?”

your screech was pathetic as he laid limply in your arms. his chest was concave and his left foot had been barely hanging on.

-

you changed your shampoo after that; the smell of it only ever brought you that night. whenever you closed your eyes, you saw visions of peter. you could not decide which was worse: the memories where he was happy, or the play-by-play of his soul shrinking away from yours.

nights were now filled with television reruns, your ceiling, anything that could keep you awake occupied your time. when you were asleep you could be with him again. but, you never wanted to wake up. the hollow throbbing pains of having him ripped away from you again when you woke made you an insomniac.

you doomed yourself to repeat this cycle. it was as if you ever managed to get over peter, you’d lose everything that you had of him. so, you clung to every crumb that remained. even though those crumbs were slipping through your fingers like sand and disappearing with time as days passed.

[hanibalistic]

THE MANOR IN WHICH | ENHYPEN.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, friendship, action, found family au, magic au

synopsis | if one wants to test whether a person still has the power of a god, maybe the best thing to do is just ask, not try to turn them into one.  

word count | 11.8k+

warning | fighting & violence, injuries (breaking of limbs; mention a lot actually) / mentions of blood, death, domestic violence, child abandonment

universe | tciu; enhypen's counterpart of the universe / same world-building discord server

note | i decided to expand the universe because i am lazy, and i hate making moodboards!!! but i love chips <3  

You remember the first time Kim Namjoon injected a shot of fentanyl into your eye.��

More than the abrupt pain, which was not at all unmemorable either, there were gashes of blood your left on the side of his arms. He had to pin you down under the circumstance that the medical team did not provide any method of sedation. Only a syringe, a glass bottle of fentanyl, and another empirical hypothesis on human drugs and their effectiveness in quelling your Enlightenment. 

Enlightenment—Uncle Kim coined the term when he began teaching you how to control your god-given ability. It was the third and the final stage of your descension to Godhood, with the first two being Transformation and Possession, respectively. But, more than a stage in your power, Enlightenment is a sentient concept that battled for the ownership of your body. It is a punishment given to you by the God of All. It is the very thing you need to avoid descending toward. 

Uncle Kim and the rest of his colleagues in the militia group that adopted you after the death of your parents were figuring out how to keep you from descending. It was no big deal. Everyone was taught to hone their powers during their teenage years. Most high schools have implemented training classes once a week to prevent disasters caused by those unfamiliar with their capabilities. Some private schools even went out of their way to renovate their sports courts to better accommodate their students, to insert training classes into the mandated curriculum, and to hire a diverse group of professionals that fit the student body. 

But even then, you understood the distinction between yourself and other children. 

Their power was given by the Gods. Your power was to become a God.

The fentanyl comes in when some part of Enlightenment slips past your control. The first time it happened, it had been sudden but not unrecognizable. One of your eyes had been clouded with darkness, like having your sight be draped over with a black veil. You were only able to see clearly Namjoon stumbling toward you with the syringe in his hand. You understood what must happen, and while you fought Enlightenment, the Enlightenment fought him. It was similar to getting a vaccination, except the needle wiggled and scratched to be in your skin, and you feared for your life. 

But the pain was gone moments after Enlightenment returned dormant, and Namjoon’s arms were never rid of those ugly scars. 

You also remembered the first time your bones twisted at the beginning phase of Godhood. 

Namjoon had died months prior from murder, leaving you with scattered pieces of him to remember him by. But, just between you and the gods, nothing brought out memories of him more than how ill-equipped you were to pull yourself back from Enlightenment’s takeover alone.

One eye black and the other white, you recalled not being able to see anything. In retrospect, it made sense. You were supposed to lose access to yourself. Once Enlightenment was fully reached, the body would belong to it, and you did not deserve to see through its eyes. You later deduced that you had entered the beginning phase of the descension when your body would transform to be more fitting of a god’s image—the twisting of bones, perhaps to make your limbs malleable. 

The bottle of fentanyl on the motel’s bedside table fell and shattered when you crawled to it with your arms and reached up blindly. You wouldn’t have been able to hold it with your fingers anyway, and you had doubted your ability to work through the intricacy of a syringe when you were too busy withering in pain from your broken legs. You were desperate and almost embarrassed by it, but the helplessness taught you one thing that night, a new thing, which was that impending pain was worse than actual pain. 

If someone were to kill you, you would rather it happen immediately than hours later. The knowledge and the wait for death would always outshine the deed. Knowing your arms were about to be twisted into an irregular shape scared you more than feeling as if it was about to happen. In the end, accompanied by the cracks of your ankles and painstaking wails, you dipped a finger into the fentanyl on the floor and pierced it through your eyeball with your nails, slathering the drug across the back of your eye.

You left the motel the next morning and never returned.

Those have remained the most traumatic moments of your life for years. You have grown to be cautious of your body’s changes to prevent another incident of being surrounded by Enlightenment. Those around you have always diligently pointed out when one of your eyes turns black or white. Putting a needle through your eye has become less grand and intimidating with each passing occasion. Nothing much could surpass what happened to you back then. 

All except one thing—

“Hi, I’m so sorry, but we’re closed.”

—customer service in the fast food industry. 

It was mainly an exaggeration, but sometimes you thought you really meant it when you’d rather go through the beginning phase of Godhood Descension than explain to a customer why you would not be making them a sandwich fifteen minutes past the store’s closing hour. 

The boy stalked in anyway, leaving the door to slam close behind him. You knew he heard you because his legs paused briefly when you spoke, as if his conscience wanted to listen. You rubbed your hands under the counter to hide your annoyance. You should have locked the door after flipping the open sign around. This wasn’t the first time people made it apparent that they were illiterate. You figured if someone with a physically enhancing power wanted to punch their way through, they would have done it regardless of the lock. However, that was merely an excuse to be careless. When you finally chase this customer away, you planned to text your manager about getting a metal bolted door.

Biting back a humorous smirk from the idea, you quietly cleared your throat and looked up to observe the boy in mutual silence as he stopped before the cash register. His hands were buried in his jacket pocket, but you didn’t believe he was hiding anything besides his hands. His hair has shades of blond that were irregularly placed enough to feel deliberate. He was tall, a head taller than you at minimum, but skinny like a twig, which made him less threatening. Either way, he was bothersome for barging in when you were closed and ready to head home. 

“Are there any wheat bread left?”

“We’re closed.”

Niki raised a brow. He heard you the first time. If only that was a good enough reason to deter him from having to stand in front of the cash register like an idiot. Unfortunately, he has to fulfill the task given to him, or else it’s no more free housing for his sorry ass! The best he could do was to make everything quick—trailing his eyes down to your chest, he inwardly sighed at seeing the necklace shown to him before entering the restaurant. He hasn’t gotten the full scope of the mission, as in he knows what he has to do but not why he has to do it, but he knows Heeseung gave him two tasks.

First, take the necklace. 

Second, bring out your power. 

Shifting his weight, he shrugged dismissively and tried to continue the conversation. “So what? You can’t answer a simple question?”

“I am not serving right now. I am off the clock,” you said.

“You told me,” he retorted, his eyes widening softly. “But I didn’t ask you to make me anything. I asked if there was any wheat bread left.”

Turning your head away so you could roll your eyes, you returned your attention to him and smiled. “Why would you need to know that?”

“That’s none of your business, is it?” 

In your mind, you have reached over the cash register and grabbed his tiny head with your ginormous hand, shaking the attitude out of him and some respect into him as fires circled you like halos circled an angel. Over the years of working customer service jobs in various settings, you’ve gotten fairly decent at crafting your imaginary torture scenes, where there was little torture and a lot of complaining. But this boy was mind-boggling more than usual because, despite his tall stature, he looked boyish enough to be a student. At least you haven’t met a well-adjusted adult who would color their hair in such a reckless manner. 

What did that mean? This boy was out here disrespecting his elders in broad daylight.

“Please leave, or I’ll be forced to call the authorities,” you said. 

Niki watched your corporate-trained smile, but he grimaced because you even thought about calling the authorities in today’s day and age.

Unique powers have grown so prevalent that there was only a fifty-fifty percent chance that a patrolling officer would meet someone whose power was scored lower than or equal to theirs. Even the usage of old-fashioned weapons, such as a gun, wasn’t foul-proof anymore, given that there were people out there who were basically a walking operating room. The law enforcement was a joke. 

But—a thought passed his mind—you could be doing him a favor by letting the police handle him, not yourself. Even though he has no knowledge of the intricacies of your power, he suspected he wouldn’t want to face off with someone like you. One accidental beam shot down from Heaven, and he would be a standing stick of scorched meat. 

Biting back a shudder, Niki pursed his lips in distaste at the recognition that his closest, most trusted friends had potentially sent him out on a suicide mission. Was all of this really worth free housing? Getting a job could not be too hard! He looked at your determined face, his gaze floating down to your ridiculously green outfit and the oiled screen of the cash register. Plus, you were dealing with him instead of being home with a gaming console in your hands, which you may not even be able to afford despite working late night shifts. He held back a shudder again. 

Free housing was worth everything. 

“Fine, I’ll leave,” he muttered. “I need something from you, though.”

You raised a brow. “It better not be a sandwich, kid.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, after waiting a beat for your guard to lower even more, he swiftly pulled a hand from his warmed pocket and shot it outward, reaching for your necklace. 

You have seen this exact movement before. Besides teaching you how to control your power, Namjoon also taught you how to fight. 

Since you would only be using your power a fraction at a time to avoid being consumed by it, you would be put at a disadvantage to your opponents, who would most likely be able to use all of theirs. He told you that learning how to work around a match was necessary, but you knew the real reason he needed to teach you was so you could later be used in jobs the militia group involves itself with.

You never minded it. He practically raised you all those years, so it was you giving back. He didn’t have a lot, but he made space for you in his shabby, ugly apartment and gave you allowances to spend. At some point, he had attempted to make meals to provide you with a proper diet, but he wasn’t the kind of man who should step foot in the kitchen, so there was always a trashcan full of takeout boxes. You thought he tried to clean up after himself more when you started living with him, but the house was always a black hole of trash and dirty laundry. It was no wonder he never brought any woman home, or maybe he kept your presence in mind. 

He tried to give you the kind of life a normal kid would have outside of all the testing and training, and you never thought he didn’t care about you. Like you always remembered, Uncle Kim’s ugly scars never went away, and he never blamed you for anything. He patted your head after giving you medicine and went to the bathroom to clean himself up alone. 

After he died, you took one of his jackets and the silver cross necklace he always wore. You sold the jacket at a pawn shop in exchange for food money, but you always kept the necklace with you. 

The necklace Niki was aiming for. 

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue when you grabbed his wrist before his slender fingers could touch the necklace. He was told you were trained to fight, which was expected. By a veteran, no less. He just wished you had forgotten all about it after so many years. 

Pulling his other hand out for another attempt, his arm bounced back just as you were about to grab hold of it. You slipped past him, and he took your bafflement as an opportunity to reach for the necklace. He looped his fingers around the cross and yanked it off your neck, causing you to slightly lurch forward. Your chest hit the cash register, but you didn’t allow yourself a second to process the inconvenient pain. 

Hoisting yourself with both hands on the counter, you planned to jump onto the counter and tackle him, but Niki caught onto your movement quickly. Before you could jump, he focused his attention on one of your elbows and, within a second, twisted it with his head. The bone exuded a cracking noise that pierced his uncomfortable ears—he never did get used to the consequence of using his ability. 

You lost your balance and fell off the edge of the register counter, your face slamming against the surface on the way down. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but not a second later, your functional arm shot up to use the counter as leverage to pull yourself from the ground. You emerged, panting with a nosebleed and, if Niki has to describe it, batshit crazy eyes.

But not black or white eyes. 

“Give me the necklace back!” you rasped out as you crawled onto the counter slowly.

He took a few steps backward, trying to debate to what extent he was willing to continue with the mission for his safety, but his train of thought was cut short once your feet hit the ground on the other side. You ran toward him at full speed, one arm held up to grab for the necklace in his hand. He cursed audibly and raised his arm to keep the accessory out of your reach. You pushed him backward in return, deciding to get him to loosen his grip instead of prying the necklace off his hand. Niki stumbled and hit his back against the glass window. You huffed in acknowledgment; you were right. He was as frail as a twig.

Regaining his composure quickly, he blocked a blow you punched toward his face and held onto your fist. His gaze hardened as if asking you to be the one to give it up, but you ignored his face to focus on his hand. Your thoughtful expression made him frown. He didn’t know you weren’t thinking of your next move as much as you were surprised that he had the strength in him to make your arm shake in a strength battle. After a momentary struggle, you decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep at it, so you abruptly pulled back and went in with your leg.

Niki let out a choked groan, feeling a mouthful of saliva kicked out of him as his steps stuttered in response to your feet colliding with his side. His lanky torso was bent to keep his crown lower to the ground in case of sudden dizziness, and so you wouldn’t see his twitching eye because your kick reminded him of a long-repressed memory.

He’s been beaten half to death before. He knew how a middle-aged man’s fist felt and the attacks of a chronic fighter. You must be stronger than an average person; he could figure out that much by eliminating his experiences. The only issue at hand was whether you were under the effects of adrenaline or if you were purely strong enough to kill a man with a single hit. 

He has heard of some people with strength-type powers who committed manslaughter before, and he suspected the select group of people with top percentile powers could kill someone with one punch if they wanted to. You were, undoubtedly, part of that group. You haven’t killed him, though, and he didn’t think he wanted to risk finding out which one you were.

“I’ll ask again,” you huffed out lowly, your broken arm swaying from your body movement. He was still catching his breath, and you decided tonight wasn’t the night you sent an ambiguous teenager flying. “Give me my necklace back.”

Niki licked his lower lip and straightened his back. He met eyes with you. 

Still no black or white eyes. He was beginning to think maybe they were fed the wrong intel.

Holding onto his side, he panted with deep inhales and quick exhales. It was mercy. Choosing to negotiate when he was occupied was a sign of mercy. You were sparing him, and it was annoying. Not even his father showed him this much restraint, and he stole something irreplaceable to you. All he did to this father was grow up kind. 

That was it. That was what you reminded him of. His heart was beating out of his chest, the sound ringing heavily in his ears. He could feel the sweat roll down the side of his face, even though he hadn’t moved around nearly as much as he was used to. It was all psychological. He hasn’t felt like this since he stomped to his father’s workplace with the vengeful intention to kill him years ago. 

Shifting his gaze to the corner of the floor, he corrected himself with a few slow blinks. No, it wasn’t that. He hasn’t been this scared since he found his mother lying lifeless on the living room floor after a one-week school field trip. 

He slowly looked back at you—he knew your mother passed away too, and the man who took care of you after you were orphaned was killed. He felt for you. He really did. Your desperation was understandable. If someone tried to steal his mother’s remnants, he would do everything to retrieve them, too. He hated that he had to fight with you; this was the best scenario to bring out your power, which he was tasked to do.

“It isn’t worth anything,” you said. “It’s just a rusty necklace. It’s not real silver. You won’t get any good money out of it.”

It was stupid to tell him that. Sitting on the counter was a cash register stuffed with money, and if he could see the small necklace hanging around your neck, he must have noticed the register, too. He would have aimed for that instead of your necklace if he really wanted money. But why else would he take a stupid piece of junk? It couldn’t be for sentimental value, could it? Did Namjoon have a long-lost son he didn’t know of?”

“Please. The necklace means everything to me,” you pleaded. “You can take something else. I won’t say a word, I promise.”

Heat traveled to your neck, souring your nerves upon the embarrassment of not receiving a reply after begging. The necklace never wavered from his grip, though, and he never spoke to you. Pursing your lips, you huffed out a quick breath that bordered as a whimper, and then you readied yourself to advance toward him. 

The boy stared at you in silence, his hair tousled and a hand pressed abasing the side of his body. You did a number on him with that kick—it was intentional, but you didn’t want to seriously injure him. He deciphered that. He knew you wouldn’t hurt him when you switched to using your mouth instead of continuing with your feet. It was unfortunate that he has to go so far despite every bits of restraint you’ve shown him. 

Niki swallowed the knot in his throat as you ran towards him. He looked down at your legs and—crack! You dropped to the ground with a silent scream that got muffled when your face hit the floor. 

Tears gathered in your eyes and rolled down as you arched your neck to look at your dysfunctional legs. Your bones fractured, and the pain came from near your knees. You knew that. You could feel it. It must be the boy. He was the one who broke your arm. How embarrassing! You didn’t want to lay so helplessly before him. But your legs! Your bones! It has to be his doing because it was either him, or Enlightenment was at work. 

The feeling was familiar. Flashes of yourself struggling on the motel room floor passed through your eyes, when your legs bent in inhumane ways and the pieces of shattered glass cut the side of your hands. This was Enlightenment. It’s here. You could only sob, your eyes darting around to look for a nightstand and a glass bottle of fentanyl, then you tried to remind yourself you were at a restaurant, and the motel was an experience years passed. 

Enlightenment must have slipped through the cracks of your mind because you got too worked up over Namjoon’s necklace being stolen. This was your fault. You succumbed to the pain of your broken limbs and subconsciously wished, for even a second, that Enlightenment would come forth and heal you. This was your fault. How dare you wish for a healthy body, you insolent brat! You want the glory of being a God and not the pain of it. You were treacherous and devious, and you deserve only the worst part of Godhood.

You sniffed away the snot rolling down your nose. Oh, wait, your legs were broken—you widened your eyes at the realization and shifted them to your legs. Broken, unmoving—oh no, oh no, oh no! What should you do now? You should crawl to your bag in the back of the kitchen or try to grab the phone on the counter. You needed to call someone, anyone. Your arms still work, correct? Moving one of them, you furrowed your brows in question. You remembered you could move both of your arms back in the motel, and you were alone, and you destroyed your eye to keep yourself human. 

You were at the motel, correct? No. You were not. This wasn’t the motel. Stop thinking about that.

You felt a momentary relief, but you were unable to exhale. You couldn’t really breathe, you only now realized that. You couldn’t hear much of anything either. The air has traveled from your nose to your ears, filling them. It must be the pain—your legs were broken. Stop forgetting that. Your legs were broken. They’re broken. They’re broken. They’re broken. 

You hiccuped tearfully at the knowledge that you forgot the very state you were in. You were slowly spiraling into madness. Or descending to Godhood. You have already begun forgetting yourself. Enlightenment slipped past and has already started taking over. It wasn’t the boy who did this. What boy? You were transforming. Everything Namjoon taught you has gone to waste—you miss him. You miss Namjoon. He always wore that necklace. You remembered hearing him pray to the cross before his death, begging God to show you mercy, that he was willing to take two places in Hell in return for a normal life for you. 

This was your fault. You let this happen. The boy didn’t do this to you. 

The boy? The boy!

Niki watched you squirm on the floor as if battling with yourself. He wasn’t sure what he could do past this point, as he had no real intention of taking the necklace from you. Attempting to step away from your fallen body, he felt a sudden grip around his ankles and glared downward. You held onto his feet with one hand and screamed at him to return the necklace. He gasped in surprise and immediately pulled his feet out of your grasp, pushing himself to the restaurant's glass doors.

Your persistence was admirable, but beyond that, it was disgusting. A body with only one functioning limb grabbing onto him was a nightmarish story to tell. 

“Wait! Wait, no, please! I need help!” you wept, hyperventilated, assuming he was planning to leave you all alone to descend into Godhood. “Don’t leave me here–I’m sorry I kicked you! Please, don’t leave me like–“ you lost your voice in a sharp inhale–“don’t leave me to turn like this, please! I’m scared! I’m scared! Please, help me!”

Niki’s hands trembled as he slowly backed away from you. The door opened before his back could hit it.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Heeseung’s tone was somewhat accusatory, but Niki thought he could be imagining things. Turning around, Heeseung gestured for the quiet boy standing by him. “They’re panicking. Put them to sleep. We are going back to the manor.” 

Sunghoon nodded and brushed past Heeseung and Niki to head inside the restaurant. He stepped over your body, the corner of his mouth twitching against his effort to suppress a heavy grimace at the state Niki accidentally left you in. Crouching down next to your face, he made the choice to put a hand under your head and his other over it. He did not respond to your flinch but noticed how you gradually calmed down at his touch. He pursed his lips and gave you a small smile when the corner of your eyes turned to look at him. 

You blinked slowly in awareness of his presence before averting your gaze. His hand was big and gentle, and you felt his touch acknowledge your exhaustion. It took seconds for your eyes to close and your head to slump into his warm palm. Sunghoon habitually swiped a thumb over the dry river on your cheek before he released the hand on top of your head to snap his fingers near your ear. Once he confirmed that you were asleep, he carefully reached under your knees and around your back to hoist you into his arms. 

Heeseung pushed open the door so that Sunghoon could walk past. He didn’t leave any comment, only flashing Niki a pointed look that was in itself a question enough. Niki frowned, huffing air into his cheeks and blowing them out in disgraceful bursts while Heeseung watched Sunghoon open the door to the backseat. He hummed in agreement when, after a monotonous debate shown through the blanking of his stare, he saw that Sunghoon opted to keep you steady in his arms instead of laying you down. 

Heeseung returned to Niki after the car door closed. “Why did you do that to them?”

“You didn’t see how scary they were,” Niki retorted, pulling up the corner of his clothes to reveal a developing bruise on the side of his abdomen. He winced at the darkened skin and pulled his clothes down to cover it. “Ugh–they are strong, too. I expected it, but I really didn’t think they’d have the power without being fully–“ he rolled his eyes skyward to think–“God-like?”

Heeseung stared at the boy before looking down at the spot you were previously lying on. Judging by Sunghoon’s monotonous expression, you never allowed your power through. From start to finish, after having your necklace stolen and your limbs broken, you’ve kept it under control. Either you have insane determination, or you’ve lost your power through the years, leaving bits and pieces behind, which not only wouldn’t make you qualified enough to join The Manor, but it would have also made all of your suffering tonight in vain.

Or, even worse, he messed up and you weren’t even the person he was looking for. 

Heeseung heaved a sigh. Everything was already in vain. You never ended up showing him what he needed to see. “Go back to the car. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

Niki clicked his tongue and grimaced at Heeseung’s unhidden annoyance. He really believed he could have died under your hands, and this was the reaction he received—a judgemental look and a dissatisfied sigh. He’d tell Sunghoon and Heeseung to go to Hell if he could. 

“Hey, you gave me an end goal, and I worked toward it,” he said. “If you hate it so much, do it yourself next time.”

“You overdid it,” Heeseung scolded as he pulled his foldable cane out of his pants pocket. He snapped it straight and hit the side of Niki’s leg with it. “You also didn’t find out what we asked you to find out, so don’t give me an attitude and get back to the car. We’re going home.”

“Screw you,” Niki muttered, running a hand through his hair. 

On his way out of the restaurant, he shoved his hand toward Heeseung’s chest. Heeseung glared at the younger boy, his hands flying up to catch the object being poorly transferred to his palms. When he looked down, he saw a silver cross necklace. 

You woke up in a bedroom that wasn’t yours. 

The sheets stacked on top of you were so heavy they may be designed to force you into slumber, which you’ve just woken up from an amazing one. You could not remember the last time you felt you’d slept for an appropriate amount of time, given you worked two jobs to sustain yourself. When you turned to the side, the pillow beneath your head a feathery weight that deepened according to your movements, you saw the light seeping through the edge of the tall curtains. Sitting next to the bed was a nightstand with a pot of a single fully bloomed daffodil.  

It faced you, and you swore you met eyes with it. 

Hastily sitting up, you slathered your hands down your body to feel for your work uniform and sighed when you realized you were still wearing it. Your arms and legs were moving normally, too. Whoever brought you here last night helped you immensely—the boy who touched your head. You have a somewhat blurry vision of his face, and you thought you didn’t get to see him for too long before you suddenly opened your eyes in this room. But you remembered you thought he was pretty. 

Reaching a hand up to your neck, you touched your naked skin and gently bit down on your lower lip. Your necklace was still gone. That boy with poorly dyed hair must have taken it, or perhaps you could bet on the man who saved you to have retrieved your necklace, too. Furrowing your brows, your back slowly arched in despair, and you buried your face in your hands. The odds of getting the necklace back were slim; you’ve used up all your luck when someone even walked in and saved you from descension. 

You roughened your face by rubbing it, attempting to match your movement with the frustration you felt. There was much you’ve got to do, such as explaining to your manager about what happened and, obviously, concocting a plan to get the necklace back. However, first, you believe you’ve overstayed your welcome, so you should thank the man for his hospitality and take your leave.

The room's floor was carpeted, and out in the hallway, it was waxed. But that wasn’t the point. 

You were greeted with a seemingly never-ending hallway once you opened the door. Widened eyes darted from top to bottom, left to right, and then you peeked out of the doorframe to find that you were stranded in nowhere inside what you assumed to be a mansion. Silence filled the cold air, but the place was well-kept and well-lit enough to not appear eerie. Multiple closed doors were bolted to the wall you came out of, and you wondered if they served purposes other than being a hallway of guest rooms. 

A curse left your lips as you walked onto the cold wooden tiles with your bare feet, your face twitching with baffled annoyance rather than amazement. It didn’t make sense that this was the kind of house you woke up to. How could the man who saved you be wealthy—irregularly wealthy, judging but the size of this building? What was he doing at a sandwich restaurant that pushes out meal deals for poor people quicker than a dog could respond to a doorbell?

“Where do I even go?” you muttered to yourself, your feet tipping left and right as you debated which side of the hallway looked more promising, even though the structure was identical. After a moment’s thought, you stopped to gather yourself.

Your priority was to find the man who saved you, but you’ve been met with an obstacle: his maze of a house. What a first-world problem to have, indeed. You could, technically, run around the place and pray that you bump into him or anyone at some point. The house was so quiet you thought you could be the only person there. However, you ran the risk of going further into the maze instead of finding a way out, which would waste both you and the man’s time, as he would have no idea where you were unless he installed cameras everywhere, which would make this house eerie. 

You shook your head to get rid of your thoughts, which you supposed were the actual time-wasters. Collecting your composure again, you put your feet together and closed your eyes, letting your head dip slightly into a bow. You pressed a palm to your chest to help yourself concentrate. 

“I receive the blessing that I will find what I am currently searching for,” you mumbled. 

You were met with a bud outside the window when you opened your eyes. It was yellow, supposedly a daffodil, except it was the size of a utility pole. The second you saw it, though, the knot developed by the heavenly blessing you gave yourself a second ago untied itself, meaning this flower bud was one of the many answers you were searching for. 

“Okay,” you nodded, admitting that you live in a world where such things are normal, “anyway.”

The daffodil bloomed open when you spun on your heels to walk away. The boy curled up inside extended his limbs to sit comfortably on the petal. When he noticed you in the hallway, he opened his mouth to let out a hoarse yell and leaned forward. The sudden weight dip made the flower tip dramatically closer to the window, and before he could react, he slammed against the glass, making you jump in shock. 

You resisted the urge to respond to the noise, being very in tune with the fact that you did not want to understand why a flower was knocking on the window as if it had hands. The man released his knuckles from the window and gasped in disbelief when he saw half of the grimace on your face as you moved along, ignoring him.

“Wait, don’t leave!” he hollered through the window. “My name is Jake! I’m supposed to come check on you!” 

You swallowed a gulp of saliva and spared him a glance. His glasses were perched right at the tip of his nose, likely having slipped that far when he fell and bumped against the window. His palms were pressed against the glass on either side of his head, and his lower lip jutted into a helpless pout. You noticed he was missing both of his fourth fingers, the knot of skin that sealed over the wound an uneven match. Anyway, he wasn’t the man who helped you yesterday. Although, with the size of this mansion, you wouldn’t be surprised that there was more than one resident. He could help you find who you were looking for. 

Upon receiving your attention, Jake’s shoulders rose giddily. He pressed his forehead against the glass with a grin once you neared, looking down at you from the flower he threatened to slip off. “Hello, good morning.”

When you shook your head to indicate that you couldn’t hear his mutters through the window, he pulled back with a brief gasp and pointed downwards. You followed the direction of his finger, your eyes traveling to the window frame where you saw the lock. Disregarding your dubious interest in why such a tall window was designed to be opened from the bottom, you approached it and fumbled with the lock, clicking it open. 

Jake dropped from the petal gingerly, the tip of his feet landing on the slim stool. The flower behind him shrunk then, leaving your sight. With immaculate balance, he maintained himself on the stool as he pressed his fingers against the bottom rail and slid the window upward to jump inside the manor. He dusted himself of invisible dirt before grinning at you, a hand bashfully waving. 

“Hello, good morning,” he greeted and pointed at the opened window. “That’s what I said just now when I was outside.”

You peered off to the side before reluctantly responding with a nod. “Hey.”

“You can walk now. That’s great,” he said, gesturing to your feet. 

He was still awake when the trio returned to the manor. The state you were in left him with a permanently opened jaw. He was part of the group that vetoed the plan to test for your power before bringing you to the manor, so he didn’t catch wind of the steps and procedures. But, still, he didn’t think immobilizing you to that point had been part of the plan. Heeseung and Jungwon were meticulous and determined to get their answers, but what happened to you was cruel. 

He stayed to watch Niki pop your bones back in place, your head on Sunghoon’s lap so he could better keep you in a deep slumber. He had offered to carry you to the guest room and put you in bed, given that he thought Sunghoon looked exhausted, but the offer was turned down. Jake didn’t think much of it. He assumed Sunghoon grew a brief attachment to you after having to access your mind to put you to sleep. 

You glanced down at them, a bitter taste circling at the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t say you had been more bothered by the pain than the potential reason behind your legs breaking. You couldn’t recall exactly what happened, but you were certain you had begged for help so you wouldn’t become a God, not to be taken to a hospital about your broken limbs.

“It wasn’t a good experience,” you commented. 

“I would assume so,” he agreed before clearing his throat and shrinking into himself. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

“Don’t blame yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“True, but–“ he rubbed the nape of his neck and tipped his head side to side–“it is the fault of people I know.” It took him a second to register the sudden morph of caution among your features through how your lips twitched and your gaze hardened. He immediately extended his arms when you moved away, and then he held them up in surrender. 

“No, no, no! Don’t be scared! We won’t hurt you from here on, I promise!” He put one hand down to his heart, drew a cross, and pointed up at the sky. “I cross my heart and hope to die.”

You felt a cold quiver along your skin—Heaven has received Jake’s oath to you. Still unused to the passives of your power, in which your body perks at human practices related to Heaven and Hell, you rubbed your arms to rid of the goosebumps as you grimaced at Jake. “It’s not a good idea to swear to God in front of me.”

He raised his brows, his genuine grin returning gradually. “I know.”

“What?” 

“I know,” he repeated. “You’re them, aren’t you? The baby who sent a down beam from Heaven and killed every infant in the NICU.”

Your parents never spoke of that accident, and you were too young to understand what the continuous protests outside your apartment meant at that time. Namjoon hid it from you by omission, not intentionally, but because he didn’t feel it was something you need to know. Still, he explained everything when you asked about the whispers traveling between social workers. You have a gift, he had told you, and it killed everyone around you. It was fortunate that it happened when you were just born. People would have been able to recognize you now if it happened later in your childhood. 

“You–“ you trembled out a breath–“you knew?”

“Yeah. Technically speaking, we figured out the Heaven part on our own,” he clarified with a dismissive wave, his eyes rolling to the side. “The public doesn’t know about the Heaven part, obviously, but imagine if they did! The Government would have caught your ass so fast!”

You heaved a sigh and turned away from his big mouth, trying to block out his voice to prioritize your thoughts. 

You cared about the infants you murdered more than ten years ago. You dug into their names and their families. You memorized everything about them and visited their graves periodically. You’ve done whatever you could as an attempt to repent, and you’ve come to terms with what you did as a newly born infant. It was on the news years ago. Everyone has heard of it already. You’ve got no problem with that. The issue was that Jake knew the beam you cast down was from Heaven, unlike what the news broadcast assumed to be just a random light projection power. 

A lot of dirt had to be dug through for anyone to deduce that your power has an association with Heaven and Hell (and Jake got some guts of steel if he already knew and still swore to Heaven in front of you). The boy who stole your necklace yesterday must be someone he knew, then? Given that he wasn’t lying to you. What else? You have clearly been stalked for a while now, or at least researched and checked. Was the whole point of yesterday night to bring you to this place? What of the man who put you to sleep? He couldn’t possibly be part of this devious plan! 

“Woah, don’t stress about it. Everyone here has been through  some horrible things!” he mused.

“It’s not that! Have you guys been–wait, no!” You scratched the back of your head. “How many people–ugh, what?” You’ve got many questions and didn’t know where to begin. 

“We will explain everything at breakfast,” he interrupted your self-imposed struggle with a soft nudge to your elbow. He held onto your arm to pull you along with him before letting go to walk by your side instead. “I’m getting hungry. Come on!”

Your legs automatically followed him, walking down the hallway as he doused you in chit-chat. 

Most of them, you answered with silence and an occasional hum, such as random incidents that happened prior to your arrival with a bunch of strangers’ names inserted between the stories. Some of them, you felt the need to flash him a raised brow and give him an answer, namely when he enthusiastically asked if you were friends with the nation’s cosmic twins, whose power was similar to yours. You were not, but you always thought if anyone in the world understood your relationship with a God, it would be them. 

Initially unwilling to pay him any mind, you found his ability to talk nonstop a relatively comfortable aspect of him. He was soft-spoken and stuttered from time to time. Mixing his words with silly laughter made him the epitome of an unthreatening presence. The man who crossed his heart and hoped to die at the promise that he would bring no harm to you from now on—your body gradually lowered its guard as he walked with you, understanding that if you needed to feel alert, he wasn’t the proper target. 

“Jake,” you suddenly called. “Can I ask you something?” 

He made a questioning noise from the back of his throat, immediately cutting himself off from what he was saying. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“What’s, um,” you slowly turned your head and met eyes with him. His smile made you look away briefly. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Oh!” He grinned, clapping his hands together. “Jay made traditional American breakfast. You know, with pancakes and syrup and everything.” 

You nodded, your hands habitually flying up to your chest to grasp at nothing. 

You’ve never had a traditional American breakfast before. 

Sunghoon fidgeted with his fingers when he saw you enter the dining room with Jake. To occupy himself, he continued setting the table as Jay requested. 

He was never big on talking about feelings, whether they be his or others. Ironically, he always felt the most in every room because of the nature of his power: to absorb emotions.

What originally started as a means to calm someone down slowly unraveled to be an ability to directly take away feelings. As he grew up, he learned that there were various consequences of doing that, and one of them was to induce sleep. Before he put you to a deep sleep last night, he placed his hand on your head to take your emotions away. Once you became a blank sheet of paper, you blacked out.

He has been using his psychic power since he discovered it. Still, unfortunately, his understanding of it wasn’t advanced enough to reach its full potential. Logically, since all the emotions he takes from others go inside him, if he could also swallow his own, he could just become a vacant vessel. But he hasn’t adequately learned how to do that, so he’s been forced to experience every emotion he absorbs from others. Your anxiety and anguish from last night—he would never say it, but he knew exactly how you felt. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Jake mused once he neared the dining table. Turning his head left and right for a quick scan, he smiled despite the empty chairs. “It’s just us old folks, then.”

“Niki is not coming down for obvious reasons, and Sunoo wanted to stay with him,” Jay commented as he went around the table to set a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs down. “Jungwon said he will come to see [Name] when he is ready to apologize.” 

You gave Jake a quick glance at the casual drop of your name. He scrunched his nose to dissolve the tension in the air and patted your shoulder, telling you to grab any seat as long as food was in front of it. You licked your lower lip and rolled your eyes when he immediately left you after his voice dropped, running around the table to what you assumed would be his designated seat. Unfortunately, since you knew nobody else in this mansion, you thought your best choice was to sit next to Jake.

Turning to follow in his footsteps, you were abruptly greeted with a soft wall. Sunghoon put his hands up awkwardly when you stumbled backward to avoid bumping into his chest. He wanted to steady you but could not force his arms to move. He had mustered up the courage to approach you when he saw you were walking in his direction anyway. All he wanted was to do a wellness check, but he didn’t expect you to turn to him at the same time he stepped close. 

When you collected your composure to look up at him, you stilled in response to him wordlessly putting his hands on your head. You remembered his face, namely his quiet eyes. It took you a while to register how intently he was staring at you, and you deliberately looked at something else to avoid making prolonged eye contact. Sunghoon’s palms cooled with gentle traces of air traveling along his veins—you were a little confused but overall calm. There was a silver of judgment, possibly because you noticed Jake’s pancakes were overly soaked with syrup. 

He removed his hands in relief once he ensured you were doing well. He reached inside his hoodie pocket to pull out a pen and a stack of tiny notecards. He scribbled something on it before flipping the card over. “How are your legs?”

“I am walking normally,” you replied with a nod and a pursed smile. Then, reluctantly, you gestured to your mouth. “You–um–you can’t talk?”

“I can. Don’t want to,” he opened his mouth to say before haphazardly writing on a notecard again. He turned it over to you. “Sign language?”

You breathed in a short gasp and shook your head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I write,” he muttered before pointing at himself. “Sunghoon.”

“[Name],” you introduced, then your mouth folded into a sneer not particularly directed at him. “You already knew that.”

“Oh my–come sit down! The food is getting cold!” Jake whined from his seat, finding it his sworn duty to ease any awkward tension in the air. Half his sentence was muffled by the cheeks full of food, but his distasteful glance and stretched-out tone told a more aggressive message than his words. 

Sunghoon spared Jake a glance behind his shoulder before complying. He side-stepped you, planning to go around the table to sit at his original seat, which would be on the other side. But, before he could make it around the corner, a soft yet distinctly clear voice halted his steps with a suggestion. 

“Sunghoon, go sit next to [Name].” 

Heeseung limped in slowly, putting most of his weight against his trusty cane. There were no signs of distress on his face or clothes, but the beaded wetness around the tips of his hair and the fact that he was walking with his cane told everyone in the dining room that his gout flared up again. When he noticed Jay’s raised brow, silently asking about his well-being, he responded with a pursed smile. It was nothing unusual, but if he could stop having them, he’d rather that. 

Jake stacked your plate with all sorts of food after you sat down, occupying himself with other tasks so he could take a breather from swallowing the sweets. You frowned at the unappealing formation he slathered your plate in—the syrup seeping under the scrambled egg, the pancakes soaked into a darker shade, and short strings of hash browns sprinkled atop three sad bacon pieces. If you weren’t so hungry, you would have openly complained about how it looked.

“How are you feeling?” Heeseung asked after he sat down with a suppressed groan. He set the cane against the table and pressed his hands together under it, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, and of course, my name is Heeseung.” 

You nodded; through the process of elimination, you could pinpoint who Jay was. “I’m walking.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Heeseung said, not particularly sounding like he was rejoiced to hear that. “But how are you feeling?”

Sunghoon lowered his utensils beside you and signed, “They’re feeling fine.”

“You made friends quick,” Heeseung mused as his eyes darted across Sunghoon, who answered a question directed toward you, and Jake, who he noticed dropped a mountain of food on your plate without being asked to. 

The way Heeseung spoke was bothersome but not frighteningly so. Talking to him felt like talking to someone who wanted nothing to do with you yet was socially adept enough to maintain a regular conversation and trick you into thinking his disinterest was all in your head. Judging by how he motionlessly observed you, you thought you might be correct to believe it was all your imagination.

You shrugged. His low tone of voice made your agreeableness shrink. “I won’t necessarily call them that.”

“[Name]!” Jake gasped, but when he saw your grimace, a face screaming at him that he couldn’t possibly think he’d made a friend on such short notice, he pouted. “Yeah, okay.” 

His disappointment—mainly the unapologetic way he showed it—returned your sympathy that Heeseung unknowingly stole by putting you under strange pressure. Your eyes softened, and your lips pulled themselves into a friendly smirk. You turned away from Jake before he could notice your demeanor change. Heeseung was still looking at you when your attention was on him again. 

“I’m sure you have many questions,” Heeseung said. “I also have a few about you.” 

You failed to stifle a groan. “I am the baby in the NICU.”

“We already figured that out,” he returned and leaned forward, putting his arms on the table and interacting his fingers to rest his chin on top. “We are more concerned about your power.”

You didn’t want to overthink the situation and debate if this rich and fulfilling breakfast was only a disguise to trap you in an interrogation, but with the way Heeseung hadn’t even begun to pick up his utensils since he sat down at a table full of delicious-looking food, it was becoming more blatant that you were here to be accessed instead of enjoying your meal. Tearing a fork through the hash browns, you plopped some into your mouth and chewed—either way, you were enjoying the food. 

“I can answer your questions about me,” you said after swallowing your food. “But you also have to answer mine.”

“That was the plan,” Heeseung said. He leaned back and gestured toward you with his hand before using the same one to reach over to the teapot set down in front of him. He leisurely poured himself a cup of hot tea. “You can go first.”

You exhaled quietly, the light in your eyes fading to light up the back of your head, where you have constructed an investigation board with barely any evidence and strings tying it together. Your confusion regarding the situation was immense, from the purpose of your being here to the location itself, but when you were allowed to voice your concerns, you found it difficult to make sense of them. You didn’t know where to begin, but you didn’t want to let Heeseung take the rein either.  

“We can start by introducing this place.” 

You turned to Jay upon his suggestion. He sent you a nod. “That would be great.”

“My name is Park Jongseong. You can call me Jay,” he said. “My family owns the estate we are currently in.” 

The house was not a mansion. It was a manor. Not that you could tell them apart; you only knew they have one thing in common: they’re both unaffordable. Jay’s family rarely frequented the estate in the past. Still, now that he had become the last descendant of his generation for a reason he didn’t include in the introduction, he decided to move from the city and officially make the manor his home. Along with himself, he brought Jake, his orphaned childhood best friend.  

The manor currently housed seven residents—Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo (a boy who grew the flower Jake sat in), Jungwon, and Niki, with whom you had a terrible first encounter yesterday night. Courtesy of Jay’s incredible sum of inheritance money, none of them were required to pay a cent to stay here. Jake laughed when he saw your eye twitch at the mention of free housing, and his laughter was not abruptly cut short by your deadpan stare.

“I do want to apologize on behalf of what Niki did yesterday,” Jay said after the brief introduction. “It wasn’t his intention to hurt you like that. I believe he panicked and made a terrible decision in the spur of the moment.” 

You squinted at him, dissatisfied. “Why are you apologizing for him?”

“We are responsible for the younger ones living here,” Heeseung answered. “Niki came to live with us after his mother died a few years ago. We didn’t have to look too far to figure out it was his father’s doing, but he couldn't be prosecuted due to a lack of evidence.”

That didn’t make you less angry at him, but you felt sympathy where it was due. The fact that he was only a child made it easier to change your initially rigid impression of him. You liked to think you would have never done anything of that sort back when you were his age. Still, given the assumption that he knew who you were and what you could potentially do, perhaps he wasn’t entirely wrong to panic for his life when you attacked him for your necklace.

Besides, you did do something like that, albeit it was unintentional. Between you and Niki, you weren’t all that. 

“We couldn’t let him stay with his father, so we brought him here,” Jake said, dropping his fork on the table and animatedly gesturing with his hands. “You should have seen the state he was in after he went to avenge his mom. His father beat him to a pulp in public, like in front of his colleagues and everything! That man has no shame!”

There appeared to be a pattern, which you should have deduced when Jake mentioned that everyone living in this manor has been through horrible things. Jay’s family was no longer here, Jake was orphaned, and Niki’s parents lived unfortunate lives. You looked around the table curiously, brows furrowing at Heeseung and Sunghoon. Sunghoon was quite taken aback by your sudden attention, but after spending a few seconds accessing you, he looked up at his friends from across the table and signed.

Jay stifled a chuckle. “He wanted to tell you his parents are alive and well. They just abandoned him.”

“So, technically, another orphan.” You nodded in acknowledgment. “What about you?”

Heeseung looked down at his plate as if debating his response. You waited, surprised that he didn’t have anything witty to slam at you, anything about a lack of manners and asking about people’s personal trauma after having just met them. When he looked up again, he was smiling faintly. 

“Same situation.”

“Okay, so, what? This is one freaky family of orphans?” you said, sneering almost. “Am I here to be recruited?”

“Not to the parentless children club, no,” Jay said. “But to something else.”

You leaned against the back of the chair and crossed your arms, impatiently exhaling a cue for them to start getting to the main point. Jay peered off the Heeseung, and they nodded. 

“Everyone here takes part in vigilante work,” Heeseung started. “Although Jay’s inheritance money should last all of us for a long time, we thought it was best that we don’t rely too much on it, especially with the unpredictable state of the current economy and the–“ he widened his eyes–“crazy property tax we have to pay just for this house.”

“What the hell are you–vigilante work?” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. “You guys are like one of those pretentious, morally upright people who make citizen’s arrests to, what, make the world a better place?” You lifted your arms to make quotation marks. 

“We have law enforcement for a reason. The justice department literally introduced an independent investigation team.”

“You and I both know the police force isn’t helpful anymore in a world of randomized magic. Those with insignificant powers want to feel special, so they join the academy, and those with powers adequate enough to protect the public did better things,” Heeseung said. “The investigation team neglects issues on a smaller scale. Even if they don’t, they are ill-equipped to handle them. The twins alone are a walking natural hazard.”

As much as you didn’t want to agree with Heeseung, he didn’t tell a single lie. The police force, indeed, hasn’t been as helpful as the collective effort of the citizens living in a specific area. A nosy neighborhood auntie could disarm a robber faster than the police could arrive at the crime scene. And he was right that the investigation team was ill-equipped to handle regular tasks, as the collateral damage it has caused to the city has been reprehensible.

“I mean–“ You licked your lower lip and huffed displeasedly. 

“Why are you upset?” Jake asked, playing with his fingers. “Do you not believe in justice?”

“I do,” you said. “I also believe it’s not our place to serve it.”

“Leave it to the vessel of a God to tell us that,” Heeseung snarked. He maintained eye contact when you snapped your head around to glare at him. He raised his brows, the tip of his tongue lightly poking against his inner cheek. “You are one, aren’t you? It’s your turn to answer a question.”

“Something like that.” You shifted on your seat and sighed. “Maybe not a vessel, not exactly.”

“I’m not too concerned about the nomenclature of it all. I just need to know if you still have that power,” he cleared his throat, “because we would like to have you in our group.” 

Unfortunately for you, that was not an unreasonable request. “How do you guys work?”

“A popular website was created a while ago that allows people to post any suspicious individuals or activities they’ve witnessed. We have been picking interesting cases from there and starting our investigation,” Heeseung replied. “Once we figure out the logistics, we go in, catch the guy, and send them anonymously on their way to the station.” 

“Uh-huh.” You lowered your head and asked in a humorous whisper, “Are you guys secretly trying to surpass the investigation unit?”

Heeseung’s lips stretched into an amused smile for the first time. He looked pointedly at you, his torso leaning forward as if he wanted to share a secret. “No, but it would be funny if we did that.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed. “But here’s what I don’t get–why do you need me?”

You haven’t thoroughly explored the powers of everyone present at the table yet, but you didn’t think it was necessary to recruit more manpower when Niki could be a one-man army as someone who can manipulate bones with his mind. Besides, one of the residents could literally grow a giant flower solid enough to carry a grown man inside. How hard could vigilantism really be with nutcases like them on their side?

It wasn’t as if you were easy to handle, either. You may have the power of Godhood, but it has to be activated for you to reach your full potential, and once you reach your full potential, you will no longer exist to help them. You have spent your entire life trying not to activate it. Not only that, the sentience of Enlightenment should be a threat to everyone around you. Would they be able to deal with who you’d become once you reach that point? Would they want to? 

“We have been meaning to expand the scope of the cases we take,” Heeseung said. “Instead of scratching off online posts, we thought maybe it’s time to start taking orders for monetary gain. It’s always the more the merrier when it comes to those kinds of operation.”

“Right,” you muttered. “What’s in it for me?”

“You can quit all your jobs now and move in with us. It’s free housing, besides being sent to work on different cases occasionally. You can have your own room. We have a garden outside, a swimming pool at the back, and a greenhouse. Whatever you can think of,” Heeseung listed casually. “If you’re uncomfortable asking for money whenever you want something, Jay can always arrange to get you a card to use whenever you want.”

He had you at free housing and quitting your customer service jobs, but you let him finish because you didn’t want to seem too desperate to be out of your current tax bracket. The vigilante work didn’t bother you as much; it was a reasonable price to pay for everything else you would receive. As for your impressions of the manor’s residents—Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay were fine; some others you haven’t met; the rest you were cautious about, but nothing being a little avoidant wouldn’t solve. 

This manor was huge. Seeing its seven residents was an option. 

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll join you guys.”

Jake grinned, and Sunghoon visibly perked up at your agreement. But, before one of them could let out a celebratory holler, Heeseung waved his hands with an interrupting cough. He cleared his throat with an amused smile and settled down once again. It was great that you agreed to join the residence. However, he still needed to ensure your usefulness before offering you anything. 

“We still have to make sure your ability is intact,” he said. “The whole reason we sent Niki to the shop yesterday was to check for your power, but he didn’t get an answer.”

“If you’re looking for my Godhood–um, huh? Wait a minute.”

You heard Heeseung the first time. His words were clear as day and straightforward—Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday because they needed to check if you still have your power. You understood that the first time he said it, but the depth of its connotation failed to hit you until a few beats later. 

Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday. Niki tried to steal your necklace and railed you up. Niki broke your bones and triggered traumatic memories.

“You did all of that just to test out a theory?” you asked through a clenched jaw.

“Well, not to test out a theory. It’s more to answer a ques–“

“My limbs were twisted. I was crying on the floor,” you gritted out, your hand flying up to your chest to touch for something no longer there. “Do you know how important that necklace is to me? I’m sure you already knew. I’m sure you asked that boy to take it from me so you could get me to use my power.”

It must all be so fascinating to them. The idea of Godhood, the absolute power of Heaven and Hell. To them, your power was an ascension, and Enlightenment was to be reached. 

But they would never understand. The guilt of accidental murders, the stress of keeping a mental cage mature enough to defend yourself against a concept inherently yours, the loneliness of self-isolation, and the pain of becoming. You’ve lost people and become alone. You’ve had people, and you were still alone. The road to the end was unforgiving, as was the destination you were cursed to tread.

They would never understand. To them, you’re just a question to be answered. 

Whiteness covered your eye, glitching and twitching to make itself show. You’ve had it, it seemed. Still, it was so fascinating to Heeseung that life and death did not trigger you enough. Could anger be the defining starter instead of endangerment? Or were you just extremely good at controlling your emotions?

Everyone shot up from their seats when you pushed your way out of yours and bolted toward him. Your utensils slammed against each other when you pushed the table's edge, and the chair screeched against the floor as it got shoved. Sunghoon reached out for you, but his fingertips brushed only the faint of your hair before you were out of reach. For the first time, he understood why Heeseung requested him to sit next to you. In the worst-case scenario, he can calm you down best. 

Heeseung exhaled through his parted lips and stood up. His knee hurt, but he neglected his cane to walk to an open space. He watched you make your way to him, your intention to harm evident in your aggression, but he did not respond with the same caliber. He faced you with a bland expression and, before your fist could come in contact with his face, dropped something from his hand. 

A silver cross necklace dangled on his finger. You halted in recognition.

“This does not belong to me. I’m sorry I took it from you,” he said, gently reaching out for your hand. He helped you lay out your palm and returned the necklace. “I really do apologize for Niki’s actions yesterday night. I hope if you don’t forgive the event, you hold it against me instead of him, as he didn’t agree to the test.”

Your white eye twitched. Looking down at your palm, at the silver necklace, you thought you could smell the residue of blood that once stained it. You held it in your hand and pretended you could access Namjoon’s brain and know what he would do, but the cross was always a reminder that he was gone. You were never delusional enough, and he wasn’t predictable enough. You’ve grown up without his presence. Your decisions were for you to make.

And you say you wanted retaliation. 

A loud smack echoed through the dining room. Jay looked down at the ground, his eyes meeting Jake’s widened ones on the way to ignore what he saw. You felt a sting on your hand, which you knew felt much worse on Heeseung’s cheek. 

Heeseung closed his eyes to settle himself. He moved his jaw, clicking it as his hand moved up to touch where you’d slapped him. “I deserved that.”

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyesight coming back to you. You clutched the necklace in your hands. “It made me feel better.”

His chuckle was airy. The sudden beaming from your body, in contrast to how monotonous your voice sounded, was funny. “I suppose that’s the least I could do.”

The dining room fell silent for a moment. You watched Heeseung’s smile fade after the exchange, and for the first time, you realized how delicate his features were. 

Jake leaned his torso over the table to check if you two were still talking. He pouted when he saw that there’s only a bunch of standing involved in this silence, so he clapped his hands for attention and dropped them to his side. He shrugged, his brows raised innocently. “Well, are they in now, then?”

Heeseung’s eyes softened, and he nodded. 

[jrob64]

A Love/Hate Relationship - a CS modern AU one-shot

I wrote this story because I was in need of fluff, humor and hurt/comfort after the painful experience of losing two dogs in less than a year. Zeke, who was in my story Sowing Seeds of Trust, died of cancer last June. Two months later, we adopted Winston, who was the main character in Pet for Rent. Somehow, he swallowed part of a brush (while he wasn't at home) which perforated his intestines and caused internal bleeding. He died May 23. Writing my favorite trope for my favorite couple is therapeutic for me as I deal with my heartbreak.

Many thanks to @kmomof4 and @hookedmom.

Summary: Killian Jones' neighbor, Emma Swan, has hated him since the first day they met. When she finds out he came down with the flu and attempts to nurse him back to health, he's more than a little confused.

Rating: T

Words: 2582

Also posted to ffn and Ao3

Story is under the cut

*********

Killian Jones buried his face in a pillow and pulled it up over his head in an attempt to stop the incessant pounding. After several painful moments, he realized the noise wasn’t in his head, but was coming from the front door of his apartment.

Groaning, he tossed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting with his head in his hands for a short while. When he finally got to his feet, he swayed dizzily and stumbled into the door frame, leaning against it to try to regain his balance.

He eventually made his way across the living room, unlocked the deadbolt and threw the door open. “What?” he demanded loudly, regretting it immediately when a sharp pain shot behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut before even registering who was on the other side of the door.

“Jones, how many times do I have to tell you to…Wow! You look like hell.”

Killian cracked his eyes open enough to see his neighbor from across the hall, Emma Swan. Infuriating to the highest degree and just as beautiful, she was the last person he wanted to see while he was in his current state. The two of them had a love/hate relationship…minus the love.

They had gotten off on the wrong foot when he moved in a little over a year ago. Unaware that she was a police officer who worked the night shift, he woke her up shouting orders at the movers. Emma Swan was not a morning person, especially after working an eight hour shift on the streets of Boston, and she informed him of it in no uncertain terms.

After that day, every interaction between them was filled with tension and snarkiness. Killian wished they could go back to when they met and start over again, because he knew she was basing her hatred of him on that first impression. In all honesty, he was quite intrigued by the fierce blonde and would like to know if there was a sweet or funny side of her she kept hidden very deep inside. Very, very deep.

Now she was here, standing at his door, scrutinizing him like a bug squashed on the bottom of her shoe. “Hangover?” she smirked.

He sighed. “I have the flu, Swan. It’s been going around at the office and I wasn’t lucky enough to avoid it. Now, if you’re done yelling at me, is there something I can help you with? If not, I’d really like to go back to bed.”

She took a step forward and unexpectedly pressed her palm to his forehead, then both hands to his unshaven cheeks. “You’ve got a fever.”

“Usually accompanies the flu. Now if you’ll…”

“Do you have medicine?”

“No, I…”

“Have you eaten? Are you drinking plenty of fluids?”

“I haven’t…”

“How long have you had it? Have you seen a doctor?”

Killian rested his pounding head against the door. “Must you use your interrogation techniques on me? I haven’t committed a crime, you know.”

“I’m trying to help,” she said, clearly offended.

“I could use less help and more sleep,” he grumbled.

“Yes, good,” she said, pushing past him into his apartment. “Go back to bed and I’ll get you something to drink. Do you want water, juice or…”

“More questions, Swan? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“All you have to drink is water, Dr. Pepper Zero and beer?” she asked, peering into his refrigerator. Closing it, she straightened up and began opening cupboards. “Do you have tea bags? British people like to drink tea, don’t they?”

He knew it would hurt his head to roll his eyes, so he simply threw up his hands and trudged off to his bedroom. Behind him, he could hear Emma celebrating the fact that she’d located the tea bags.

He had just gotten back to sleep, when he was shaken awake. “What now?” he growled, flopping onto his back.

“I made some tea and found Advil in your medicine cabinet. You need to drink something and get these pills in you.”

He raised his head and blinked up at her blearily. “You went through my medicine cabinet?”

“Yeah. Did you know condoms have an expiration date? The ones you have in there expired almost two years ago. Better not use them, because they’re likely to break.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, letting his head drop back down on his pillow. “Please just let me die.”

“You aren’t gonna die from the flu, Jones.”

“I meant from embarrassment,” he muttered under his breath.

“Sit up,” she commanded, sliding her arm under his pillow and pushing until he did as he was told.

First, she handed him a bottle of water. After glaring at her for several seconds, he finally took it, then swiped the two pills she held in her other palm. He popped them into his mouth and downed them with the water.

“Happy now?” he asked.

“Deliriously,” she quipped. “Now drink your tea.”

He accepted the mug she offered him and held it to his lips. Cautiously taking a sip, he grimaced and spit it back into the cup. “Did you heat the water at all? It’s barely warm! And how bloody much sugar did you put in it?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to burn your mouth,” she explained haughtily. “And I put in the same amount of sugar as I put in my coffee. Four spoonfuls.”

“Four?” he questioned. “Are you trying to kill me, or just give me diabetes?”

“You’re not a very good patient, Jones. You could at least be grateful that I’m helping you.”

“If you recall, I didn’t ask for your help.”

She ignored him, fluffing his pillow and pushing at his chest to get him to lay back down. “I found a can of chicken noodle soup in your cupboard. I’m going to heat it up.”

“Don’t add any sugar to it,” he groused, as she walked out of the bedroom, taking the tepid cup of tea with her.

“I heard that,” she threw over her shoulder.

“Of course she heard that, but didn’t hear when I told her to leave me alone,” he mumbled into his pillow. He tossed and turned, knowing that if he went to sleep, the maddening woman would just wake him up again.

Sure enough, she was back at his bedside within ten minutes, carefully carrying a plate containing a steaming bowl of soup and a small stack of saltine crackers. He sat up before she could order him to, and took the plate from her.

“You didn’t add anything to this, did you?” he asked.

“Nope, I just heated it up,” she assured him.

He dipped the spoon into the soup, blew on it and put it in his mouth, then promptly choked and sputtered. “Bloody hell, Swan! Didn’t you add any water to this?”

“Why would I add water?” she asked, a confused frown forming on her face.

“Because Campbell’s soup is condensed. It’s too salty this way. Adding extra water dilutes it enough that it tastes like soup is supposed to taste, rather than tasting like…like the ocean. Haven’t you ever made soup from a can before?”

“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest petulantly. “I make Progresso soup all the time, but I never add water to it.”

“Progresso soup isn’t condensed. This is.” He took the stack of crackers, then thrust the plate back towards her. “I’ll just eat these, thanks very much. Now that you’ve tended to me, you can leave me in peace.”

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” she asked.

Was that concern he saw on her face? Surely not. Emma Swan would never be concerned about him. It would be more realistic if she were to try to poison him. Perhaps he should have been more careful eating and drinking what she gave him.

Shaking his head slightly to try to clear those thoughts, he said gruffly, “Yes, I’m sure. It’s not like you really helped anyway.”

This time, he thought he saw a flash of hurt cross her face, before she turned and left the room. Soon he heard the front door close.

He couldn’t have really seen Emma Swan look concerned and hurt, could he? Great. Now he was going to have to add hallucinations to his list of symptoms.

He ate the crackers, then lay down and turned onto his side, tugging the blanket up around his shoulders. He was achy and feverish, but it was the guilt over how he treated his apparently well-meaning neighbor that kept him from falling asleep.

*********

Three days later, after his fever had been broken for twenty-four hours, Killian went back to work. Upon returning home at the end of the day and getting his keys out to unlock his apartment, the door across the hall opened and Emma stepped out.

“Oh, hey Jones. Looks like you recovered, no thanks to me.”

Killian rubbed his finger behind his ear. “I owe you an apology, Swan. I was rude and should have never said what I did.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s no big deal. I guess I’ll never be a Florence Nightingale.” Turning on her heel, she muttered, “See ya around.”

“Swan…Emma, wait,” he called out, hurrying after her.

She turned around. “What?” she huffed.

“I, uh, I truly am sorry. It was very kind of you to try to help me, but…”

“But what?”

“But why did you do that? I mean, given the fact you hate me…”

“I don’t hate you,” she interrupted.

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

Emma stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and looked down at the floor for several long moments. When she finally looked up, he was shocked to see the vulnerability on her face.

“Look… I’m not good with…people,” she said softly. “And I’m also not good at admitting when I’m wrong.”

She paused and he waited patiently, wondering where she was going with this.

“None of the people I know would be concerned enough to check on me if I called in sick to work. You’ve lived here long enough for me to realize that…that you don’t seem to have anyone like that, either. I never see anyone coming or going on a regular basis - besides the pizza delivery guy, but I don’t think he counts.”

Killian chuckled dryly. “You’re very observant, Swan.” He paused for a moment, debating whether he should open up to her as she was to him. “And you’re also correct,” he added finally. “I moved here from England when I was transferred for my job, and I don’t have any close friends yet.”

She nodded. “I figured it was something like that. The day you moved in, I was…well, to put it bluntly, I was a bitch. And, as I said, I’m not good at apologizing, so I just let things go on being…uncomfortable. When I saw that you were sick the other day, I thought it was my chance to make things better between us, but I screwed that up, too. I just…I guess I wanted to let you know that you didn’t have to be alone while you were suffering - that there was someone who cared. I…I’m sorry I made things worse.”

“You didn’t make things worse,” he assured her. “I appreciate the effort. Actually, if you think about it, it was really quite comical.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“And they do say laughter is the best medicine, so your failed attempts at helping are probably what cured me so quickly.”

Seeing the grin on his face, the corners of her own mouth turned up a bit. “You’re an idiot, Jones.”

He took a step closer. “How about if we start over, Emma? It would be nice to have a friend living across the hall.”

She eyed him, chewing her lip in contemplation. Then she held her hand out to him. “Hi, I’m Emma Swan. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

He reached forward to give her hand a firm shake. “Killian Jones. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan.”

She smiled and he was amazed at how it transformed her already lovely face. They stood awkwardly for several moments, until Killian said, “Well, I should let you go. Were you on your way to work?”

“Oh, uh, no. I was just going to get something to eat.”

He rubbed his hand along his jaw, dropping his eyes as he asked, “Would you, um…would you like some company?” Looking back up, he saw her eyes widen and hurried to add, “Just as a friend. As you well know, I don’t have much to eat in my apartment.”

She snorted out a laugh. “You still have more than I do at my place.” Turning away from him once again, she said, “If you’re sure, you’re welcome to join me. I was just gonna go to the diner around the corner. Tonight’s special is grilled cheese and onion rings.”

“Ah, greasy diner food,” he said, beginning to follow her. “You do know if you keep eating that stuff, your arteries are going to be filled with sludge.”

She chose to ignore him as she started down the stairs. “They have the best hot chocolate, too.”

“How much sugar do you add to it?” he grinned.

She glared at him over her shoulder. “No sugar, just cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon in hot chocolate? Sounds…interesting.”

She stopped on the landing and turned to look at him. “If you’re gonna make fun of my preferences for food and drink, you’re uninvited.”

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he said, “I meant no offense, Swan. Perhaps I’ll even give your…unique concoction a try.”

That meal led to another, and many more. Soon they added regular coffee dates. Gradually, at Killian’s urging, Emma tried and eventually acquired a taste for black coffee, no sugar. Even more gradually, at Emma’s urging, Killian acquired a taste for greasy diner food.

Six weeks after Emma’s attempt to nurse Killian back to health, they went on their first official date. Killian was very happy to discover that Emma Swan did indeed have both a sweet and funny side. They realized they had many things in common, as they talked during their dinner at one of Boston’s most renowned restaurants, then walked along the waterfront.

At the conclusion of the date, they shared a kiss outside her apartment door, which opened both of their eyes to the fact that there was a significant spark of attraction between them. As they continued to date, the spark ignited into a blazing flame. (They made sure to replace the expired condoms in Killian’s medicine cabinet, once it was obvious they were going to put them to use.)

They became each other’s ‘person’ - someone to laugh with, cry with, share everything with, and nurse back to health when the need arose. By the following winter, when the flu made its way through Killian’s office once again, he had his own live-in nurse, whose skills were much improved from the previous year.

By that time, they still had a love/hate relationship…but now, it was minus the hate.

*********

A couple of fun notes:

-Colin was drinking a Dr. Pepper Zero during the Meet & Greet I went to at GalaxyCon in Columbus last year.

-At another con several years ago, Jen admitted she never drank black coffee until Colin got her hooked on it. (No pun intended!)

*********

Thank you for reading.

Tagging:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4 @hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda

@pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426

@julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones

@zaharadessert @lyssapup27 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90 @apiratewhopines

@hollyethecurious @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @caught-in-the-filter @stahlop @veryverynotgoodwrites @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @whimsicallyenchantedrose @earanemith @superchocovian @idristardis @captainswan-kellie @beckettj

[master-of-the-railway]

How was Edward infected in the Beasts of Sodor au? (Sorry, I'm gonna be annoying you with these)

NO NEED FOR APOLOGIES!!! I love getting asks from you, you're one of my favorite folks on ttteblr. Got a little narrative with this one and it's a bit long so I'm gonna put it under a cut

Good ol' Eddy, the reliable old steam engine, grandpa of Sodor as he's known. He was very nervous upon hearing about the transformations, less for himself and more for those around him. He had built a very close bond with Bill, Ben, Marion, even Timothy. They're family to him, and his driver even more so. He loves his fireman too yes, but his driver is practically his grandson because he played a fatherly role towards his driver's dad, who was once also Edward's driver. Of course, he didn't believe that his friends would ever willingly hurt anyone he cared about, and it wasn't that he doubted them either. He was afraid of what might happen when they couldn't control themselves. He had spoken with Gordon and received confirmation that the process did indeed hurt, how Thomas had gotten through it without screaming his smokebox off was beyond anyone, and poor old Edward shuddered at the thought of his other engine loved ones going through that same pain. It was bad enough that his loved ones in Tidmouth were going through it. "Nobody's died." James would try to reassure him, appearing at Edward's line with a shining coat of fur not long after he himself had been transformed, "We've gone a bit mad at times but...nobody's been badly hurt so far. Human or machine." And it helped, but only a little. Edward was still afraid, he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad would happen. And it wasn't the big engines that got him. It was a little one. It was Thomas.

Thomas and come to spend the night with Edward and Philip, having grown too tired to make the trek back up to Tidmouth and perfectly comfortable curling up outside of the shed in a little patch he made himself. Out of all of the engines at that point, Thomas had been the least prone to get aggressive and feral, he was usually just the curious kind of feral. Philip had finally fallen asleep himself and Edward slowly started to drift off when he heard some sort of rustling, and through his barely open eyes he could see Thomas getting up. He tried to talk to the tanker, but he got no reply save for a low grumble, which Edward tried to put off as simply Thomas being too tired to talk properly. It wasn't until Thomas inched closer and the growling became louder that Edward fully opened his eyes and realized that the little engine was...stalking him. Like a big cat. Like some kind of hungry beast. The growling was louder and accompanied by some nearly silent chuffing, but Edward's fire wasn't stoked, he couldn't go anywhere. It was frankly terrifying, he could tell Thomas wasn't in control, and he braced himself for hurt when Thomas lunged at him, he felt claws and a set of sharp teeth puncturing his funnel. He tried not to scream. Screaming would make it worse. He didn't want to further upset a feral engine; never mind the fact his fate was already sealed from the moment Thomas' claws sunk into his sides. Thomas wasn't deterred until his driver rushed out to the shed with a lamp, shouting and shooing his engine off of Edward.

Thomas flinched and leapt off at his driver's voice. And it almost seemed like he was prepared to pounce at the human instead, until Edward shouted his name. Called him down. Told him to stop. And Thomas listened. That was when he snapped out of it. By god was he in tears. He was inconsolable. Nothing that any of the humans or Edward said could ease his sorrow. He had hurt Edward, he had infected Edward, the engine who had eased him into life on Sodor and guided him until Gordon had come around to accept him. It was Thomas who had hurt the old steamer. Edward felt just as guilty, he didn't want to see the little engine cry. He didn't want him to suffer because of something he couldn't control. "Thomas, it's alright. Look at the bright side...we'll match again. Remember how excited you were when you were painted blue because you matched me and Gordon? ...Thomas, don't cry, look at me...we'll all match again, isn't that nice?"

[itzzaira]

“Greetings from Cabin 11, I have come to inform you about how to correctly create a S’more”

Donnie will NOT tolerate any burnt marshmallows

(@tmnt-fandom-faimly-reunion)

We had met all of my babies except for our dear mystic warrior, hadn't we?

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

"Oh, this is perfect!" If Mikey's eyes could sparkle, they would. First, he succeeds at using his powers, finally, then they meet their counterparts, get to this cool camp, and now he can have smores?! Oh, he had been craving all the sweets ever since he had woken up! Seriously. Ice cream, chocolate, sweet gummies. And now s'mores'? And not just S'mores', the perfect S'mores'! He knew all versions of Donnie were brilliant! "Thank you!!"

...His brother did not seem to share his enthusiasm.

For you see- Leo was worried, unable to look away from the youngest's hands. Even clasped together, they shook, the flinched, they hurt. Leo knew they did.

His grab on the IV-bag tightened.

Not to mention, Mikey looked very unstable on his feet- which is why no one had let him even leave the cabin. "...Are you sure it's even a good idea for you to join a campfire in your... condition, Hermanito?"

His smile fell at once, and the youngest glared at him. "I survived opening a portal. I can survive a campfire, Leo."

"I know that, but- you know."

"I don't, actually." His expression turned more sour. "Seriously! None of you let me leave! You have Leonardo watching me all the time! I wanna have fun too!"

"Donnie had a panic attack after meeting a Kraang, Miguel. I don't want you to-"

"She has a name."

"I know, I know- it's just. If that had been you..." his gaze trailed down to Mikey's arms. Said turtle took a shaky step back.

"You disappeared and still are allowed to do what you want! Why can't I?"

"Because you almost died?"

"Well I thought you did!"

"..."

Leo looked at the version of Donnie, who still just... stood there, looking confused. Then he looked at his baby brother, who once again was abusing his baby brother privileges, looking at him with those puppy eyes.

...

Well.

He supposed that maybe the oldest three had been a bit.. paranoid. Shell, even his counterpart was rooming around- so why couldn't Mikey? He sighed, and gave a defeated smile. "...As long as you promise to take it easy-"

"I knew you were my favorite!" Mikey squealed, running over to hug the slider, tripping over his own feet and almost falling flat-faced on the ground- but luckily, Leo reacted fast, catching him just in time. The box turtle didn't seem to care, gave a quick kiss on his cheek along with a hug, tail wagging as he quickly turned to the other Donnie to grab a paper. Said soft shell seemed relieved- maybe because Leo agreed. Maybe just because of the knowledge that there wouldn’t be any burned smores from cabin 10.

"Thank you- ouch ouch ouch."

Mikey pulled his hand back as soon as he touched the paper, wincing and squeezing his wrists. He was still smiling though, so it must be fine. So, the slider thanked his twin's counterpart, took two papers in case they lost the other one, got Mikey's sticker sheet because his little brother wanted to give a sticker to the Donnie as a thank you, and finally sat him down once Donnie left. "I'm making your s'mores'." He let him know, looking around. Were they supposed to invite their cabinmates too? Those baby versions of them maybe? Or the other group of their counterparts-

Mikey made a face.

"Nuh-uh. Raph can make them, I don't trust yourself to not burn them."

"I have instructions now! Written down! From a Donnie. It will be fine! I'm not that bad in the kitchen."

"Not so bad in the- did you forget about the time you managed to set WATER on FIRE?"

"...This isn't a kitchen, it's a campfire! That doesn't count!"

[rileys-battlecats]

I really like your work! I discovered it a while ago but recently found it again and explored your tumblr finally. I'm not sure if me deciding to spend a couple hours going through your entire posting history over curiosity about Mica clan is a compliment to you or says something about me but I did it.

It was really neat seeing your Shut Eye video. Also, just to satisfy my own curiosity: it looks like of the thirteen you have Heroncall, Oriolewing, Addereye, Larksong/star, Foxjaw, Owlpounce, Buckfoot, Snaptail and her two kits, another queen and her kit, and a random cat. Are you willing to share any information about the other queen and the random cat. But it was nice to see a bit about where the clan came from, and if your ever decide to make a video about the clan's founding know I will eagerly await it.

Also, thanks so much for the family tree. Part of the reason I went through your entire tumblr was because I was curious about the details behind the clan so it's nice to have that, if a tad too late for me to save a couple hours. Also, is Heroncall mates with Buckfoot? And it looks like Robinsong may have mated with the kit in the Shut Eye video that belongs to the other queen, am I right? Also, it's really neat to sea Owlpounce and Foxjaw being siblings. It makes sense with how fluffy they are, and Embertooth is too. Also, it's really funny comparing Owlpounce and Foxjaw with their social skills and steady personality to Embertooth, who is somewhat prickly. I can also see Puddlepaw being related to the three, maybe as a cousin to Embertooth? They're very fluffy and I can see their personality as less social but just as steady as Owlpounce and Foxjaw. Is Orchidstar related to Owlpounce? When I saw her she reminded me of Owlpounce and she's also fairly fluffy.

Side not: With how depleted the clan first was after the disaster, and with how they picked up Birchspeckle just for her abilities, was there a time where the clan was friendly to outsiders just afterwards? Before the illness and attacks I can see them almost needing the extra cats. It would make it horribly ironic how they isolate Mudpaw for all that several of them would also be only half-clan, and explain all the question marks you have in the family tree. They're cats that were encountered and helped create kittens but weren't necessarily interested in joining.

Sorry for the length of this by the way.

ok first of all I love super long asks so no need to apologize HAHA

The unnamed background cats haven't really been thought through at this point, but the random cat (not the queen or kit) is Addereye's apprentice at the time of the disaster! Not sure what happens to him, but it can be assumed he lives with the clan and probably dies before the events of Mudpaw's story.

Good eye spotting Buckfoot on the family tree! I had the idea in the back of my mind of them being one of Mudpaw's ancestors ever since I designed them. I've said before on here but Micaclan doesn't really endorse the whole "healers can't have families" rule, and they especially didn't care for it after the disaster, when their numbers were so low. Plus, I like the idea of Mudpaw reminding Owlpounce of her old mentor :') I also like the idea of Puddlepaw and Orchidstar being related to Owl, Fox, and Ember! having all the fluffy cats related to each other is so funny to me ^^

Directly after the disaster, I imagine the clan sort of relied upon the help of strangers in order to survive. Maybe they even took some into the clan at first, like Birchspeckle. But I think the thing that really started their sort of isolationist-tendencies was the slow loss of their culture. I think it's entirely probable that, in taking outsiders into their group, they began losing some of the traditions and beliefs that made them Micaclan. If the outsiders they allowed to join didn't care for the idea of Starclan, or for the idea of caring for the weakest among them before themselves, or for following the warrior code... would they even be Micaclan anymore? After losing their home, their families, their ancestral territory, their very connection to Starclan... would they, the last survivors of Micaclan, maybe even the last survivors of any clan, be the ones to allow their traditions and way of life to be lost forever?

It's this fear, I think, that caused Micaclan to veer so sharply into isolation. Larkstar has many flaws, and even if it stemmed from a desire to see her and her clan's way of life preserved, she still encouraged an unhealthy distrust of outsiders in the clan. By doing what she thought best at the time, doing what she thought would keep them and their way of life safe, she ended up creating a culture of isolationism, and this very isolationism harms the clan and its members. Birchspeckle was made to feel unwanted by the clan that raised her, Possum was fully disowned for wanting to leave the clan and explore, and Mudpaw was treated badly because of the clan's subconscious dislike for anyone they consider to be other. The changes the clan underwent did preserve most of their culture, it's true, but it also meant that they lost one of the core ideals that Micaclan was built on; Micaclan was formed by non-clan cats who decided they wanted to come together and embody a code of ethics that they found admirable. Micaclan was never formed on the basis of blood!

[kumatora770]

YO PEEPS TAKE A GANDER AT DIS!!!

My Spacehey!!

Text under da cut!!!

Meet ya local neighbrohood cool kid yo!!! Bb

Ya can call me anythin [not bad]!

(If name required Ness/Camp will do!

Aroace!!! Agender!!! Any pronouns!!!

Spam likes/reblobs are okay!!!

DO NOT INTERACT

Racists/xenos

queerphobes/transphobes

any form of pedos

Any form of abusers

Ableists

sexists

proshippers (CLARIFICATION: people who actually genuinely ship a minor and an adult or insest and not peeps usin it in a story in order ta bring awareness ta it or make da story/reader uncomfortable on purpose [apparently dere's discorse bout censorship and junk, which, no, censorship ain't cool either])

*Will add more when thought of*

GNARLY

Reanimator

Fnaf/Dsaf [Five nights at freddy's/dayshift at freddy's]

80s/90s junk

Undertale/Deltarune [UT/DR]

Splatoon

Colour

Cave story

Cartoons

Jet set radio (JSR)

The stanley parable

Earthbound [/mother series]

[Falsettos]

etc

(Not important*) WACK

Under/Over exaggeratin a convo

When a bug fl[ies] past my head

Pickle taste and smell

Smoke (tobacco)

swearin [me specifically]

Fresh Jam(s)

Will Wood

Oingo Boingo

Bill Wurtz

Weird Al

JSR ost

UT/DR ost

Splatoon ost

Character playlists lol

Loose text startin from top left:

ALWAYS smilin

Shark tooth necklace

Cool glow in the dark Ghostbusters t-shirt

Picks bumps on skin

Heelys very important!

SWAG in cool letters

Jazzberry Jam <- just felt like sharin dat info [colour of crayon I used]

*meanin [not] serious issues [serious issues include] eg racism, homo/transphobia, etc [ran out of space]

Loose smaller text:

Rad

Gnarly

Sick

Tubular

Fresh

Text patterns:

-ing=-in (laughing=laughin)

To=Ta (where are ya headin ta)

Too=Too (same)

The=Da (what da heck)

That=Dat (what is dat)

Their=Deir (it's deir choice)

This=Dis (dis is bananas)

Then=Den (when is it den)

Than=Dan (dis is better dan dat)

You=Ya (What're ya doin)

There=Dere (what's over dere)

Your=Ya (What happened ta ya thing)

You're=Ya're (Ya're so radical)

Neighbourhood=Neighbrohood (neighbrohood cool kid)

Chips/crisps=Chisps (I gots chisps)

Forgot=Forgor (I forgor)

*Will add more when thought of*

Notes: brackets [] used when somethin was added ta text dat wasn't on original image. Crossed out words for when deletin text from original image.

Catch ya on da flipflop dudes!!! Bb

[cosmicmakos]

imagine holding your f/o when they need comfort from their lover (even if they don't make it known and/or try to deny it). they feel safe in your presence and can finally let their walls down and release all of their pent-up emotions while in your embrace.