#Anyway let's all keep streaming and peer pressuring the rest of the world to join in

[candied-cae]

I’m gonna be so real, babes, when I saw that storm looking so ROUGH at the end of episode 2, I was real worried The Revenge was going to capsize and completely break to splinters and just sink to the bottom of the ocean. And I was DEVASTATED!

I was legitimately about to cry for that big ol’ boat bc she’s home and she's a part of their journey, and she can’t rest until her captains have been reunited! She deserves to see it happen on her deck, or so help me-

[drabbleoclock]

The Villains Daughter pt.1

Summery: The daughter of a villain hears she may be able to shed some light on the USJ attack.

TW: mentions of abuse (not in any detail tho)

Id love any feedback :)

“Did you hear about the USJ? There was this crazy group of villains that got in and attacked! The news says they snuck in when all those reporters did. Says the main guy was some dude from the League of Villains, whatever that is.” The boy gossiped in the hallway like all the other students did. The USJ was big news, and not good news at that. But the League of Villains? It can’t be them. They said they would not be ready for another few years. He must have gotten his hands on another useful quirk. One that really sped up the process. I have to tell them what I know, I have to tell him what I know.

I pivoted on my heel and walked in the opposite direction of the exit of the school. It was the end of the day and most people were already gone, except a few stragglers. Not many people really wanted to be here after the attack anyway. Once I reach the teachers office door I give it a tentative knock which I could hear reverberating in the room. After a moment the door opened to reveal the man himself in all his glory. All Might.

“I am here… at your service young one!” His voice boomed around me as I peered into his office. It was dark, the shades were drawn and it didn't really have any sort of decor that stood out.

“I have some information for you.” I said getting nervous, I was going to have to tell him everything. I don’t know if I'm ready for that, but if the heroes don’t know this information, I could really be helpful. “About the USJ attack.”

All Might immediately lets me into the room, directing me to the couch, also occupied by a blond boy who looks to be older than me. All Might comes back to sit on the couch opposite us.

“Sorry young lady, I'm afraid I do not know your name.” he said more seriously than I had ever heard him. Even when faced with unexpected, and important information he is still so chivalrous and polite. What a cool guy.

“My name is Chiyo, and I know who attacked the USJ.” I said, I suddenly stopped looking between the boy next to me, who now had just a serious of a face, but still a slight smile resting on his lips, and All Might across from us.

“He is alright, this is Mirio, one of UAs top students, no need to worry about saying anything in front of him. He knows how to keep things to himself.” All Might said with a mighty laugh at the end, quickly returning to his serious demeanor. “Please continue.”

I took a deep breath readying myself to be run out, or worse returned to my father once they found out who I am. But it would have to be done. They need to know. Now is not the time for childlike selfishness. “His name is Tomura Shigaraki, the one with the blue hair and the hands. I assume if he was there the Warp Villain Kurogiri was there as well. He is Shigaraki’s… caretaker of sorts.”

All Might sat back on the couch looking at me, trying to piece together how I knew these things. I only stared at my lap trying not to shake as much as I was. I did not want to leave UA! I love it here. I want to become a hero and fight the people like him, not join them, but I would have no other choice if All Might were to decide I was too much of a danger to be here.

“And how do you know these things young Chiyo?” All Might asked, not unexpectedly. I took another breath trying not to break in front of the two men. Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes as I looked at my hands, grasping at each other to try to calm me down. “Well?” He pressed further, obviously getting irritated at my lack of cooperation.

“I- I know because they work for my father. They work for-” I tried to say his name but it got stuck in my throat. Tears spilled from my eyes as I realized what this meant for me. It finally sunk in that they were going to kick me out. I don’t blame them. They can’t have the daughter of the most dangerous villain in their school. But it is too late now, too late for me to go back and pretend that I knew nothing, to pretend that I am just as clueless as everybody else.

“Who?” It rang out in the air like a bullet headed straight for me. I had never heard All Might speak like this, not even to the villains on the street. He always had a cheerful tone to his voice but now it was gone. More tears stream down my face as I do everything I can not to look at him.

“I doubt you know his real name,” I said furiously, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Even I haven't heard it said in a long time, but you do know him.” I took a deep breath to gather the courage to say the name of the man that locked me away for years, the man who beat me everyday, the man who I tried everything to forget. “All-For-One.”

Silence hung in the air like lead. There was a pressure on my chest that I could not relieve no matter how hard I tried to breathe. My hands were now bleeding where my nails were digging into them. I glanced up to see All Might’s face in shadow. Not a clear look into what he was feeling.

“One-For-All is your father?” He spit the question at me like it was a betrayal. I knew this would happen. I knew he would blame me. Why wouldn’t he?

“Why are you here? At UA?” The question caught me off guard, not the question itself, but the voice that asked it. It belonged to Mirio, the boy that was sitting next to me, honestly I kind of forgot he was here. But why did it matter why I was at UA? My father is still my father, nothing can change that. I looked to the boy to see the curiosity in his eyes, and back to All Might whose face had softened to a slight, strained smile.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I was there that day. The day you fought my father. He wanted me there, he wanted to show me that no matter what you would always be there to thwart our plans.” I breathed out looking at my hands again.

“You were hiding behind those dumpsters” He said quietly, thinking back to the day that ruined his life. I nodded.

“I did learn that lesson, but I learned another one as well, something you said something in the middle of the fight that has stuck with me to this day. You said that anybody could become a hero, as long as they learned to love the world. You said that even he could become good if he tried. Of course you were wrong about him. I don’t think he could ever change his ways, not now. But you showed me I didn’t have to be like him. You showed me I could be better than him.” I finished with even more tears streaming down my face, only realizing now that the man had to be talking to me that day, not my father. Frozen with the prospect of All Might knowing how I feel about him, how he had saved me that day.

Nobody said anything for a long time. The air was heavy and silent as tears streamed. I look up after about a minute and see something that truly shocked me. All Might was crying, not just a few tears but tears were streaming down his face as well.

“After all these years, here you are! Better than he could ever be. I always wondered what had happened to you. I tried to find you after the fight but I couldn’t.” He said, wiping the tears and putting a hand on my shoulder.

All I could do was stare at him. Where was the yelling? The beating? I was the child of the man that ruined All Might's career and here he is telling me he had worried over me.

“I had hid. I-” I stopped not wanting to tell the rest for fear of retribution, but I had come this far, I may as well tell him the rest. “I had to help him. He may have been awful, but he was still my father, ya know?” I said gritting my teeth. “If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be here today… I'm so sorry!” I said going into a deep bow, my hands bleeding harder as I pressed my nails harder into the soft flesh.

“Hush now child. I do not blame you! He is your father, of course you tried to help him!”

“Was.” I corrected it immediately.

“Huh?”

“Was my father. He is no longer anything to me but my abuser.” I said, wiping my tears away. “I'm sorry I don’t mean to sound harsh but that man is nothing to me now.” The two men looked at me with a mix of pity and something else I couldn’t quite make out. Hopefulness? Fear? I don’t know. All Might gave a gasp as he looked at my hands. “Goodness young Chiyo, you have really done a number on your hands.” All Might exclaimed, moving to grab them. I flinched back holding them in my lap. He hesitated then moved slower to grab them again. This time I let him take them and examine them. They were worse than I thought. Blood was now running down the palms of my hands, nail marks red and swollen right above where the blood starts. “We should get you to recovery girl, she would make quick work of this. Mirio, would you take her please.” He said with a tone that said it was not really a request. He and Mirio shared a strained look before Mirio looked at me and smiled.

“Of course” Mirio led me to the door of the office.

“Before you go, I have one more question.” I looked back to find the serious look back on All Might’s face. “Do you have any idea where your father may be hiding?” I looked down and shook my head.

“No, I left him a few years ago. I have no doubt he would have changed location once he knew I was entering school here.” I said, disappointed in my own lack of useful knowledge. All Might nodded and let us walk out of the room.

[egg-of-mankhad]

Prompt 30: Darkness

Part 2 of Prompt 29; Cavort

You take a step off the stage.

Everything is just as silent as before. Just as empty as before.

With every step you take the world around you seemed to grow older. Aging and rotting as your presence passes. The wood beneath turning black and soft. As mites scamper out from beneath your wooden slippers. And you would start to sink lower….and lower…

Until you cannot see nothing at all.

Damp. That is how it feels here. In this solitary place beneath the floorboards and foundation set by men of old. Cold. It feels cold. Freezing dew slipping in between bare toes. Moistening the earthen soil so that it may dissolve into a muddy liquid full of mealworms and roaches. Rolypolys and ants. And other creepy, crawly invertebrate things. And lower you go.

You sink beneath the muddied waters. Your body floating down underneath the inky waves. You start to forget how to see. How to speak. How to breath. Your body tenses up as a heavy pressure befalls upon you. The silence is now a constant irritating ringing in your ears. And it won’t stop. This feeling won’t stop.

You want to disappear. To leave the plane of existence forever. And as you think this you start to lose all feeling in your toes. In your fingers. You start to forget how to touch, how to feel. You can’t even begin to notice the lack of a constant thumping in your chest. Nor can you notice the lack of feeling in your nose. Everything ended. And you close your nonexistent eyes.

You are happy. You finally got your wish.

You have never existed.

==============

the day has come where night descends,

and dark hearts are eased

the moon shines

and the shadows of the mountains all become one.

==============

Black ink dripped upon a piece of parchment paper. Pure white in color. It was handmade by monks from fiber from the gampi tree. Lovingly cooked upon a single sheet. Out in the sun, surrounded by the song of nature. Canaries and sparrows calling playfully to each other on a hot summer day.

Kaito was trying his best to recreate such a scene upon the long empty scroll. He does not know your name, and likely never will. That is good and well. He is busy considering just what sort of bird would live on the gampi tree anyways. What that sort of bird’s nest would look like. Whether or not there would be flowers of any kind. His gaze peered thoughtfully upward at the misty grey sky. Wondering whether it would be asking too much to wish to take a break and go out for a stroll. It had only been a few days since he had been commissioned in any case. 

“...Kaiiii-tooooo-chaaaaan!!”

Nevermind. Even if Kaito had wanted to go out, which he did. He couldn’t possibly go anywhere with that handsome mess of a blond inching his way towards his temple. A metallic box of some sort kept well beneath his arms.

“I brought a gift my friend!”

Kaito couldn’t possibly know just what sort of gift the eccentric man could have brought him. Frankly, he didn’t wish to. Any kind of gift that came from Buteo had to spell trouble. Either that or some sort of odd favor that Kaito would have to return sometime in the near future.

“I hope you’ve made progress with that Hitoshirezu place. Because I’ve been doing some prepwork myself” Buteo would offhandedly mention once the door was politely opened by his stoic friend. “Remember the story I told you about the resurrected Emperor Xande and his pact with the Cloud of Darkness?”

“I really don’t”

“Well...I have been studying the chains that the Warriors of Light used to bind Cerberus in my spare time….”

“I have no idea what that is”

“...And I’ve been thinking. What if we used something similar to those chains to bind the primal of Hitoshirezu?”

The priest stared blankly at Buteo. Who looked so stupidly hopeful that a serious and sophisticated individual such as Kaito would even consider his plan--

“You’re right, it’s a stupid plan.”

“Oh thank the gods.”

“--BUT...I still think we should have something like these bad boys as a backup.” He would give the container in a good SMACK. Which was presumably where he had hid the chains he intended to use on this primal of his.

Kaito honestly wasn’t even sure that his primal existed. “...About that whole thing, Buteo. I visited the altar. Multiple times. I do not think this primal that you seek so fervently actually exists.”

“Noooonesense! Haven’t you heard the stories around these parts? Of the curse of Hitoshirezu? Of how people have continued to die there?”

“Yes!! Of DISEASES, Maybe the water there is poisoned or polluted. Buteo….WHY are you so bent up over this? Is this really that important to you that you keep on dragging me repeatedly to this empty ruin? What’s going on inside your head?”

Something in Buteo’s normally confident look faltered. That cold, hard metallic casing that he gathered up in his arms in the form of a hug would fall to the floor. Nearly falling open from the impact, it’s weight falling over to a pathetic resting position. The small boy that stood beside Buteo, who had been watching the birds flutter about him with a sense of wonder and amazement, would startle at the sound; his eyes staring with a deep concern and fear between the two men.

Buteo wouldn’t speak right away. It was almost as if his voice had been caught up in his throat. Even the briefest sound, was starting to become a struggle.

“Sh….”

“Buteo…”

“She…”

Kaito hadn’t seen Buteo begin to cry in such a long time. Or ever, if he could recall correctly. But there was no mistaking the streams of wetness that would coat the cold, pale skin that stood up handsomely against greying blond hair. It was like watching a porcelain urn overflow with sorrow.

“Tell me about her” he whispers. “Whoever she is”

==============

over here, the demon's hand, it's coming closer

over there, the ghost is coming closer to the drum

jump and whirl among the shadows of the world,

and let us all be released from our bodies

==============

You couldn’t hear her name. Anything you might have been able to make out was now lost to the sky’s breeze. Dissolved in the ocean, just like you were. But you could still make up a blurred vision of a maiden, emerging like a ghost beside Buteo. She looked...angry somehow. Even though you couldn’t make out her face. All you could truly envision was dark midnight hair, cut short to a modest length. Obscuring a good deal of the head as it swayed in some nonexistent breeze.

You heard a familiar whistling noise from the wind. Almost a howl. And as you continued watching her a portion of her hair would fall away. Showing you her face. Oh gods it was terrible.

Your mind would erase the very image away--melting it off of your immediate memory like wax falling off a candle. Your whole being would turn away. Focusing its attention instead on the infamous courtyard where the House of Trees once stood. This secret place which everyone knew about, but no one dared touch unless they were the unfortunate ones; the dirty ones.

You can see it more clearly now, the sheer energy this place held. Invisible bodies piled on top of invisible bodies. All of which were naked and charred beyond human recognition. The only thing recognizable about them was genitalia, which would be in various states of becoming parted--becoming filled--insertations---and orgasmic release. Inky blackness dripping from these reproductive openings. Blossoming outwards with sharp petals that oozed with a poisonous beauty. Fountains of sex spilling out from mouths and landing in mouths. Landing in holes. Landing on the chests and the stomach which were ripped open with tiny hands grasping out towards nothingness.

Towards you.

All of these beings cried out in unison. Cried out your name. Asking for sympathy. For salvation. Their forms contorting about, twisting erotically around eachother as hips began to thrust and fuck. They wanted you to join in. To become one with their myriad of eternal pleasure. Anything to take away from the ever present burning pain. Help them. Join them. Become the rain you so desperately wished to become. Before it all falls apart.

==============

on days when the drought drags on

dark hearts accumulate

the lonely night is a kaleidoscope,

set fire by every myriad moon.

==============

But then you open your eyes. As someone reaches out and touches your face. You close your eyes, and you think of the sun. So warm. So comforting. It reminds you of summer days when the sky was lit up with fireworks and you were surrounded by friends and you were happy. It reminds you of their faces. Of how utterly filled with joy they all seemed. How at ease. How peaceful and bright.

You remember every time you’ve given those faces something. How touched they seemed. How special it was. You thought of each of them. You remembered their likes or dislikes..And you specifically chose to give each something you know they would adore.

Why do you do that, you who do not exist? Does it matter that your deeds will fade alongside your name? Your body? Your soul?

In those tiny, miniscule moments. A thousand suns are born. A thousand suns have died. And at least one sun in the sky, even by a million miles, had to bear witness to these small moments of absolute warmth and light.

So many loving feelings. It reminded you of something. Something you can’t quite place. Something you never really ever truly have known.

Questions leave you. So many questions...

That the touch does not answer. It just lifts you up a little from the darkness that you found yourself lost in. Like a clouded bubble, immersing you in that strange familiarity.

You who long so much after the sun in the sky.

Why do you not look inside your very heart.

==============

over here, the demon's hand, it's coming closer

over there, the ghost is coming closer to the drum

jump and whirl, those with no chances left,

we and that drum become the same.

==============

[sunyoonandstars]

Linked || BTS Soulmate AU Series || You x !Soulmate! Yoongi | You x Jimin || Part 7

Text/Social Media/Narrative Series

Previous Part | Next Part

LINKED MASTERLIST

Pairing You x !Soulmate! Yoongi You x Jimin

‘siblings’, ranked by age: Namjoon, Jimin, y/n, Taehyung (you grew up living in the same foster home)

angst, fluff, hints of light smut

Key you / y/n = sender (blue) Soulmate = receiver (grey)

Eventually, after years of successfully having avoided it, you have come across your soulmate. An ominous stranger of whom you know no more than the back of his head, his phone number and that he works as a part-time barista at your (former) favorite coffee shop. Having been pressured by a friend into contacting him, things start to get complicated. Because your heart already belongs to another. And the last thing you want is for your soul to find its one, true, destined mate …

“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

― Plato, The Symposium

Soulmates.

You had always dreaded the day on which the birthmark on your left wrist would suddenly start itching, whereas for most people the moment their one and only destined soulmate’s name was supposed to reveal itself, burning under their skin, couldn’t seem to come soon enough.

Foolish romantics.

Because once both sides acknowledge their destined soulmate, a connection forms which can never be undone. Not even by death.

Who in their right mind would voluntarily bind their soul to that of another for life? To share their every joy and hurt and be faithful until they take their very last breath without even having a choice? To suffer indescribable agony once the other one exits this life and be left in utter loneliness, so bottomlessly deep nothing will ever be able to fill it again, causing you physical pain and insanity?  

That’s right. Not you. Especially, because your heart already belongs to someone else …

Part 7 

You don’t even notice the cab pulling to a halt in front of your apartment building. Paralyzed, blankly staring down into your lap at your shaking hands still clutching your phone, Taehyung’s last messages echoing in the back of your mind, you remain seated, unable to move, barely managing to breathe. 

„Y/n? What is it? Why aren’t you getting up?“, you hear Jimin say, the sound of his voice strangely muffled, smothered. It is as if it’s reaching your ears through layers and layers of cotton wool, almost entirely being drowned out by the drumming sound of your own heartbeat. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Jimin poking his head in through the car door, still unable to get your limbs to move, your thoughts racing.

„Y/n? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?“

Up until now, you weren’t even aware of the tears streaming down your face.

„Y/n? Talk to me please, baby.“

Jimin’s beautiful features are distorted by worry and fear as his face now appears in front of you and he cups your cheeks with both hands, gently forcing you to look him in the eye. 

„What is it? Why are you like this?“, he frowns. 

By now you can’t hold back the sobs any longer. Violently, they shake your entire body, making it hard for you to speak. 

„Am I a horrible person, Jimin?“, you finally manage to get out the words. 

„No. No, baby!“, Jimin energetically shakes his head. „Of course not, y/n. You’re hands-down one of the best people I know. Why would you even think otherwise? Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?“

But no sound will leave your lips. So you just quietly shake your head, tears still falling uncontrollably as you clutch your aching chest.

„Breathe, y/n. Just breathe and calm down, please“, Jimin begs in a low voice, his tone tender. He darts the cab driver an apologetic glance before he proceeds to carefully help you up and out of the car. 

„Breathe, all right? You’re not a bad person, okay? You’re not“, he whispers, his hand on your back moving in soothing circles as he patiently guides you towards the steps leading to the front door of your building where he takes a seat next to you. 

„Deep breaths, y/n. In and out. Okay? In. And out.“

Slowly but surely, Jimin’s words and the familiar sound of his angelic voice prove to be effective, managing to slow your heart rate and steady your breathing. 

„Are you better now?“, he cautiously inquires after a few minutes had gone by in silence. 

You nod in response, once more filling your lungs with the crisp air of late winter. 

„Good. Good“, he hums, leaning over to brush your temple with his soft lips. „Now, tell me. What happened to get you in such a state? When we left the airport you seemed fine. What could have possibly occurred while I was asleep?“ 

Feeling your throat tighten at the thought of betraying Taehyung, your friend, your brother, you lower your eyes to avoid Jimin’s searching gaze. 

„Y/n? What is it? What aren’t you telling me? Who did you talk to? Was it Taehyung?“

You involuntarily flinch at the sound of his name. 

„I knew it! What did he say, y/n?“, Jimin keeps pressing for an answer, his cheeks visibly reddening with fury. „What did the two of you talk about?“

And so you tell him everything. Almost everything, deliberately leaving out the fact that a one-sided link between your soulmate and you has already been made, as you summarize the dialogue that took place between you and Taehyung barely more than half an hour ago. 

After you have finished, Jimin can’t contain his rage anymore. He warns you not to interfere as he gets a hold of his phone and starts typing angrily.

„Please, y/n. Let me handle this“, he insists, his gaze steady and serious as it locks with yours. „Go ahead and draw us a bath, would you? I think we could both use it.“

„All right“, you reluctantly sigh, only grudgingly leaving Jimin behind to sort things out with Taehyung, hoping devoutly that your mutual friend won’t spill your secret …

When Jimin joins you in the bathtub, he’s strangely calm and quiet. 

„What’s wrong, baby?“, you ask after minutes have passed without either of you having said a word. 

But Jimin doesn’t answer, simply wraps his arms around your waist even tighter, pulling you close to his bare chest and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

„Jimin? What is it? What did Tae say? Did you talk it out? You didn’t fight, did you? I could never forgive myself if you had a falling out because of me!“

You try to turn around and catch a glimpse of his face. Jimin, however, firmly holds you in place, merely shaking his head. 

„Don’t worry“, he breathes into the crook of your neck, his plump lips tenderly brushing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. „We’re all right. He promised not to interfere anymore.“

„Good“, you nod, the kisses with which Jimin now covers your shoulder and collarbone making it hard for you to concentrate on the questions you wanted to ask or to even hold a thought. Instinctively, your body responds to his touch and the titillating movements taking place beneath the water surface. 

„What do you think you’re doing, Park Jimin?“, you chuckle, your back arching reflexively as Jimin’s hand finds its way between your thighs. 

„I missed you, y/n“, he simply hums, pressing yet another kiss to your bare shoulder. 

„I can tell.“

You had ordered pizza and fried chicken, both dishes disappear at impressive speed. Throughout dinner, your phone buzzes, its display lighting up with an unopened text message. Involuntarily, you take a peek at it. 

Sender: Soulmate. 

You can feel your cheeks blush under Jimin’s vigilant faze. 

“Who is it? Is it Tae? Is he apologizing?”

You shrug and quickly, following reflex, turn the device upside-down. 

“Aren’t you gonna read it? Maybe it’s important.”

“It’s not polite, Jimin. We’re eating. And you just came back.”

“Don’t worry”, he assures you. “I won’t mind.”

So as not to raise any more suspicion, you flash Jimin a sweet smile and give him a quick peck on the lips before you go on to read the text that turns out to be a photograph. The screenshot of an album cover. 

“It’s a friend”, you explain when Jimin questioningly raises a brow at your head-shaking. “They want me to check out some music. Is it okay for you if I --?”

“Sure”, Jimin smiles at you while making himself comfortable in your lap. “I’m too tired to talk anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yes, don’t worry, y/n. Just hand me that last piece of pizza, please, and I’ll be just fine”, he grins.

“All right.”

So you do as asked and fondly watch Jimin nibble at the crust while you put in your earphones and start listening. 

Quickly, as if your phone had suddenly turned into lava and burned your fingers,  you let it drop onto the carpet. 

‘But I love you nonetheless.’

You can feel guilt rise up in your chest. Heart-wrenching, suffocating guilt, as your eyes now find their way to Jimin’s sleeping face, its expression utterly peaceful, so beautiful it almost hurts. 

After having finished his pizza, he had quickly fallen asleep in your lap where his head is still resting. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers through his soft hair, smiling as you recall the moment that marked the birth of your new nickname for him. 

Your snow bunny. 

There is no name more fitting for him in this world. 

Softly chuckling to yourself, you bend over and pick up your phone from the floor, careful not wake Jimin, planning on changing his name in your contacts to ‚snow bunny‘. 

Just as your blindly groping fingers have found it, you can feel the device vibrate in your palm. Holding your breath, you lift it up to watch yet another message pop up on the screen. You don’t even need to take a closer look at the sender’s name in order to know who it’s from.

For a brief moment, you hesitate and quickly peer at Jimin, who is still fast asleep in your lap, before you unlock your phone and open the message to type a reply.

In the middle of the night, a buzzing sound originating from your nightstand lets you jolt from your sleep. With a sigh, you open the text message without thinking twice. 

You go back to sleep with a smile playing on your lips ...

TO BE CONTINUED

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it so far!

Here you can find my Masterlist if you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction!

Take care and have a great day! 

The GIFs used are NOT mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

[kristie-rp]

5. Do you hear the people sing?

Who: Jackson Masters (also: Damien Reyes, Red Arcton, James ‘Scorpian’ something, Desmond Reyes, Anastasia Innot) What: A character study, I guess? Focus on Jackson and music, anyway.

“ – And apparently, it would be a fucking fool’s errand, if you will, to bother putting effort, because I am always a disappointment, and those who are always disappointments need not try to do what they are best at.”

Jackson doesn’t hesitate to throw a drumstick at Damien’s head for that bullshit, and Scorpian – James, but calling him that tends to lead nowhere, because he elects to ignore it – scoffs so he doesn’t have to. “You’re full of shit, you pretentious asshole,” he says to Damien.

The stick hits the side of Damien’s head, and he shakes his head as if to clear it, and grins lazily over the beer he’s been pretty much sculling. He’s high on something, probably; Jackson knows him well enough to know he only gets this verbose – and polite – when he’s not sober. “But Scorp, haven’t I disappointed you by beginning to say anything about it in the first place? And haven’t I therefore proven my point exactly? I didn’t have to put any effort in at all, and yet, here we are – you, disappointed; me, proven right. Again.”

“I’ll give you again,” Scorpian snaps nonsensically, and Jackson laughs as he lunges at him.

“We’re doing Pretty Reckless today,” Red says as she walks in. She’s got a real name, but unlike Scorpian and his badly kept secret, it isn’t a well known secret, and anyway, Red sounds kind of sensible, in Jackson’s estimation, so he’s never asked her what the truth is. She doesn’t bother acknowledging the headlock Damien is currently in, except to roll her eyes. “Mostly ‘cause Dam’ over here needs practice at his high notes if he ever wants to get anywhere before the newbie arrives to replace Mr Traitor over here.”

Jackson spreads his hands in surrender. “Look, if I had any input at all, I’d say no. But it’s my mums’ greatest wish that I go.”

“Fucking Juilliard, you shit,” Scorpian says, which is a fair point.

“If you needed a piece of paper from somewhere fancy to prove you’re a talented musician, Jack’, we could’ve broken into the Fort and written something up on one of their embroidered napkins.”

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t the same thing,” Jackson tells Damien, “but thanks.”

“Course it ain’t the same thing. One of them you aren’t ditching us. What’re we meant to do without a drummer? Tell us that, O great traitor.”

Jackson snorts, and flaps a hand at them dismissively. “It’s not like I’m going to Juilliard to study drumming. I’m doing piano – keyboard – the blend, if I can. You guys will still be the only people with recordings of me banging the drums.”

“Yeah, because the sixteen other instruments you can play aren’t enough for you. A fucking harp, honestly, why did you learn that?”

The answer, which Damien would say if he were sober enough to be paying more attention and share the memory with the others, would be that Damien bet Jackson he couldn’t learn to play Zombie by the Cranberries on a harp in a month. Jackson had learned it by the end of the week, and won naming rights for the band Damien was dragging him into at the time. So it happened that Distressed Monday was a name Jackson had plucked from the aether just before exams, and also figured out how to cover popular songs on the harp, just an extension of playing by ear and driving his former instructors insane.

“One of you can take care of the drum side of things fine. I have faith in you,” Jackson defends weakly. “Look, are we going to get in some practice, or not?”

-

Before Juilliard, Jackson is wound tight, a cord on the precipice of snapping, the most neurotic member of the band he’d joined in high school. He’d looked the part before he was asked, wearing studded leather jackets stolen from his fathers’ collection, too-tight jeans that cut off the circulation to everything below the waist, and boots that weren’t platforms, quite, but came close. Damien had been the one to invite him to try his hand at being the drummer, back when it was nothing more than an abstract plan, and had sold it as stress relief.

(A certain kind of pressure came from being the child of a grunge master and an operatic genius, something Damien knew. Damien had, at one time, been one of Jackson’s most trusted friends, aware of the struggle Jackson felt thanks to the one panic attack he’d witnessed, back when he and Jackson first met.

It was before the drugs, before the band, before anything; the would-be punk rocker had found a boy in a studded leather jacket, huddled in an alleyway just off his favourite record shop. Aborted breaths had caught his attention, and he’d reluctantly peered into the alley, expecting a situation of the like Anastasia had saved his brother from ages ago. Instead, he finds a lone boy, older than him, unbruised and unmarked, fighting for a full breath and hunched in on himself, as close to the ground as he can get. Damien talked him down from the terror of certain death, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Or should be.)

During Juilliard, Jackson focuses on the music. He drives his tutors insane with his fondness for learning by ear, but they manage to beat an understanding of actual written music into him, proper, lengthy things, and not the aborted mess of notes his father and mother are fond of. He promised before he left that he’d keep contact with his friends from Port Lyndon, but as assignments swamp and more time passes between their messages and his own, it becomes too awkward to reply with yet another excuse. So Jackson lets the contact die off in drips and drabs, and loses himself to the music.

It’s at Juilliard that he starts singing, minoring in it, discovering a knack for it that must be inherited from his mother. She’s operatic, and enthralling, and enrapturing; he has some of that when he sings, too; it has applied to much of the music he has played over the years. He tends to ignore the way his tutors struggle to complain about anything other than his approach to learning music, and so it goes largely unnoticed. So Jackson picks up singing and spends years mastering both that and piano, and he comes out of it with such a range his tutors try to convince him to go for opera, like his mother – it is not every day one finds a switch, capable of being either tenor or bass and anything in between, somehow keeping it convincing regardless of the role he fills. He’s a coloratura for sure, and it enraptures and vexes those assigned to train him, especially when he denies operatic training in favour of going home to a YouTube channel and music hosted on various streaming services.

(The blood of a siren runs in his mothers veins – Kiri Kaufman is a hybrid, a half-blood, half human and half supernatural. Her son is one-quarter siren; sea water and enchanting runs in his veins. If he heard of magic and chose to dabble, he could be gifted in charming others to do his bidding, if he so desired. Technically speaking, a drop of siren blood is enough to give some the power to take over the world, at least through musical means.

Jackson knows none of this, of course. He is absently aware of the supernatural and the way the sea calls to him, sometimes, but he thinks of it not at all. It’s less stressful, that way – and he has had to stress less somehow. How else could he not be the tightly wound geek of yesteryear?)

-

After Juilliard, Jackson comes home to meet step-siblings, as Kiri has married in his absence. There are three of them, all younger than him, and their dad is a decent bloke called John, who Jackson isn’t really interested in getting to know. And his dad is in L.A., has been there since Christmas break after Jackson started at the world’s most well known music college.

So he moves into a tiny flat with half-heartedly improvised sound proofing in the form of foam stuck to his walls, and dives into the world of YouTube fame in earnest, taking advantage of his many musical talents (prodigious in all except guitar, which for some reason didn’t come as easily) to gain a following that grows by the day. And also into local fame. There’s no reason he can’t perform in bars or be hired for concerts at parties, after all.

“What the shit,” someone says after a show at a dingy bar that Jackson is fairly sure has a fight right. “Jackson? Jackson Masters? Didn’t you go off to music school or something?”

Jackson pauses, surprised at being recognised despite the fact that he’s been known in certain circles all his life (the media in Port Lyndon is easily bored, since so many of the potentially impossible things get covered up somehow). It takes him a moment to place the voice, even after he turns around. “Desmond?”

Desmond Reyes had been the older, overprotective, brother of Damien, way back when. He’d been adopted by this blonde femme fatale, and – there she is, Jackson thinks in some surprise, catching sight of Anastasia over the hulking mass of a man he remembers being – well, not weedy, no one could seem weedy alongside a teenaged Damien, but something close to it. “Red had a theory that you thought you were too good for them since you got into Juilliard. Between us, I’m pretty sure she just missed ogling you.”

There’s a taunt there, Jackson is fairly sure. He offers a placid smile instead and clasps Desmond’s hand in a brief shake, amusement piling over the place where he is sure he’d have once begun hyperventilating. “I’m no better than I was back then,” he says instead of freaking out, “how are the others, anyway? Is DM still a thing?”

“Despite Damien’s best efforts to make it not, yeah, Monday’s still a thing.”

Jackson blinks. “Is that an undertone I hear? Did something happen – did Damien do something?” Because when Jackson had left, Damien had been high more often than not, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the drugs had… complicated matters for the band, or pissed off Red enough that she might actually leave.

A shadow passes over Desmond’s face and, as if summoned by a change in mood, Anastasia appears and elbows her friend – soulmate, Jackson had always privately thought – until he takes a beer off her hands so she can clap him on the shoulder. “Damien messed up,” she says, blunt. “Didn’t stop at ecstasy, just got worse and worse. And then got Angeline into it, until she got herself out. He’s – not great, now.”

Jackson is fairly certain he doesn’t know an Angeline. Regardless, he frowns, concerned in spite of the tone Anastasia adopts that very clearly says she thinks whatever Damien gets, he deserves. “He’s still looking after himself besides that, right? Food and shelter and such?”

Anastasia and Desmond exchange a look. “Um,” Desmond says, and waits for Anastasia to say something. Anastasia doesn’t seem to know what to say, though, aside from “You should talk to Scorpian and Red, they know better than we do.”

It’s not the full story, Jackson is sure. They definitely know more – Desmond is too overprotective not to. He feels a dull ache, that old worry from his teen years rising in his gut, and says his farewells to the other two to go back to his set, some numbers from musicals he thinks he’s pretty good at.

It’s easier to drown his worry in music, after all. At least it isn’t destructive.