#WARNING: THIS TACKLES THE SUBJECT OF DEATH AND LOSS

[qitwrites]

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“How is he?”

Aizawa’s voice, normally gruff and sleep-heavy, sounds sharp and worried. His eyebrows are pinched tight on his forehead, and his hands are folded across his chest with an iron grip, as if barely keeping himself together.

Ken looks at Aizawa and sighs. “He talks and he talks and he talks, but he’s not really saying anything.”

Aizawa purses his lips.

“I don’t think speaking to me will be the breaking point.” Ken laces his fingers together and stares at them as he continues, “But he will, indeed, break. As you did, as I did, as we all did. And when that happens, perhaps, being in the dorms will offer some semblance of comfort.”

Ken looks up and waits till Aizawa catches his eye. “I will be here when he needs me. Until then, I shall continue our sessions, even if he just keeps talking without saying anything.”

Aizawa nods curtly, mumbles out a goodbye and walks back to his accommodation.

---

A hero never forgets their first.

The work is dangerous. Most days are easy and mundane, and then there are days where the hits keep coming. People get hurt, heroes get hurt, and villains get away. You even lose people, in the crossfire or because you were too late, and those wounds never fully heal, the scars faded and jagged, moving with your every move, a constant reminder.

And then there are the days when you feel the Earth beneath you crumble as you watch a child die. When you lose someone young, innocent, with baby fat on their cheeks and wide toothless smiles. Kids with scrapped knees, stars in their eyes, and the softest hair. Kids like Eri.

A hero never forgets their first child.

Aizawa watches Kaminari speaking animatedly with his classmates, eyes bright and body language lax, and feels his fists clench.

He sucks in a deep breath, pushes away any thoughts of blue hair and big, loud smiles and continues his lesson.

---

It’s Bakugou that stays behind in class one day, two and a half weeks after the incident.

“Something’s fucking wrong with Sparky.”

“Language,” Aizawa says automatically, before lowering his books and looking at the blonde. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, something is just. Since that day, he- Fuck, I don’t know.”

Aizawa lets this one go. “He’s been coming to class. He’s attended every therapy session with Cementoss. Lunch Rush tells me he’s eating well, and he seems-“

“His eyes-” Bakugou interrupts, nose scrunched in deep thought. “- his eyes are too bright. That’s not his usual, happy-go-lucky-idiot shine. They’re too bright.”

He stands up and pulls his bag over his shoulder. “His eyes feel artificial. He moves his body too much, every movement exaggerated, like he’s constantly compensating. Like he’s fucking pushing something down as hard as he can. And then, there are these moments-“ Bakugou stops just shy of the door. He looks over his shoulder but his eyes don’t seek Aizawa, instead glaring at the tiles near his feet.

“There are these moments when his eyes are vacant, like he’s not even in the same room as us.”

With that, Bakugou walks away and Aizawa finds himself thinking back to the past, the well-acquainted pain in his chest rising from slumber, squeezing till his heart feels like it’s about to break, shatter apart the way it did that day.

Because Aizawa and Hizashi grew up.

That day though, they lost Loud Cloud, who was nothing more than a kid. A young child, gone before he could ever learn just how terrible the world really is.  

---

Kaminari attends class. He eats lunch with his friends, jokes around with them, trains every day, and sleeps in on the weekends. He never finishes his homework on time, calls his parents at least twice a week, and continues to go stupid when he overuses his quirk.

He also goes quiet more often, enough for Kirishima to pick up on it too. Bakugou watches Kaminari carefully, watches his eyes go vacant in the middle of movie night, watches him flinch when metal protests under the force of Midoriya’s quirk during training and watches his smiles get wider and more rigid, eyes so bright the fluorescent bulb in the common room dims in comparison.

There is nothing to do but wait.

---

It took Aizawa three months to break after Shirakumo.

Long after the cremation and the memorial and after the chatter picks back up in the hallways. He goes home one day, puts his bag on his desk and takes a seat, intent on finishing his homework. His pen is nowhere to be found so he yanks his desk drawer open-

Only to find a blue and white pen with the name Oboro etched into the body.

Aizawa thinks he hears a crack as his heart splinters and the tears begin, flowing freely. He bites into his forearm to keep from wailing, and he can’t see or breathe or feel anything past the wave of pain that drowns him.

With shaking hands and a complete lack of coherent thought, it takes him 14 minutes to type out a message to Hizashi. It takes the blonde another 8 minutes to get to his room, scoop him up and cry with him, and that wound never quite closes, always exposed, ever-present.

---

It finally happens on an average Wednesday, a month after the incident.

Aizawa’s just finished up with homeroom announcements, and as he straightens up the stack of papers on his desk, he hears Jirou.

“Kaminari, check out this mem- whoa, you ok, man?”

He looks at the blonde and startles when he sees the tears streaming down his face as he stares vacantly at his own hands.

Aizawa moves fast, because that’s what pros do- they calculate, they assess, they make split second decisions that spell life or death and everything in between.

He instinctually activates his quirk just as he whips his capture weapon out, pulling everyone around Kaminari away from him. Because he smells the static in the air, feels the prickles on his skin and he knows the boy is this close to losing complete and absolute control of his quirk.

Kaminari doesn’t acknowledge the chaos around him as people yell out in surprise and try to understand the situation. Aizawa keeps his eyes on Kaminari, and watches as Bakugou turns to Yaoyarozu and yells, “Make me some fucking insulated gloves now.”

Surprisingly though, it’s Shinsou that snatches the first pair and jumps across the desks to get to Kaminari, ducking down to his eye level, staying out of Aizawa’s line-of-sight.

“Hey, do you know where you are?”

Kaminari jerks at that, his eyes snapping over to Shinsou. They’re still vacant and hollow, lifeless. Shinsou keeps one glove on but leaves his other hand free.

“Kaminari, do you know where you are right now?”

Slowly, like he’s underwater, Kaminari swallows and shakes his head.

“Ok, that’s ok, take your time. I just want you to know you’re safe. Do you need anything right now?”

Kaminari looks around slowly, as if trying to understand what’s going on. He looks back at Shinsou and swallows thickly.

“There’s so much blood,” Kaminari says, and his voice sounds haunted. He bites his lip as a fresh pool of tears gather in his eyes.

“Get Cementoss,” Aizawa says to Shoji, his eyes still trained on Kaminari. They’re starting to feel a little dry and irritated, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Bakugou is also by Kaminari now, hovering behind him protectively, keeping the others away.

“I don’t understand,” Kaminari suddenly says, voice clear and colored with genuine confusion. “How does a kid just die?”

He laughs, a slightly hysterical sound, before his eyes, wide and far too bright, whip over to Aizawa.

“Sensei, there’s no way that kid died, yanno? She was so tiny, barely up to my hip. And so cute, with a lisp. There’s no way she’s dead. Obviously.” He knocks his own head, a hard hit that makes Kirishima flinch, and Bakugou gently holds his arms, to keep him from hurting himself. Kaminari barely notices.

“Kids don’t die,” Kaminari says, his eyes boring into Aizawa’s. “Right, Sensei? They don’t. How can they? They’re too tiny. Someone that small can’t die.”

Aizawa’s eyes sting, and he can say it’s his quirk but he feels it in his heart, a bone-deep ache that’s just second nature to him.

“Kaminari, nobody can live forever.” He clears his throat, slowly walking around the table as he approaches the boy, holding his gaze. “Nothing is forever, not even the- not even the children.”

Kaminari’s eyes go vacant again. “That can’t be true, you know? Cause that means she’s gone.” He looks at Shinsou. “Her hands fit in my palm Toshi. Her entire hand. I don’t. There was so much blood, I can’t- how?” He reduces to nothing but a blubbering mess, and finally, he slumps sideways, right into Bakugou’s abdomen before he wails, the sound of a deeply wounded animal permeating into the very walls of the room.

Shinsou keeps a grounding grip on his knee while Bakugou pushes a hand into his hair, holding him close to his stomach. His own face is scrunched up, eyes red and daring anyone to say anything, to him or Kaminari.

Bakugou goes with him when Cementoss comes. They take Kaminari to the therapy room and Bakugou stays the entire time.

Aizawa turns to face his class again, once the chairs are moved back in place and the shock of it all simmers down, leaving behind an empty cavity in the very middle of the room.

“You never forget your first,” Aizawa tells them, speaking from his soul. “You will never forget your first, and I want you all to promise me that when it happens, you find me. You find somebody. You seek help. And you keep pushing forward. So that someday- “

He clears his throat and pushes through, “So that someday, there won’t be a first anymore.”

He watches his students nod before they turn to each other, looking up ways to help someone in Kaminari’s condition, using their time together as a reference for what will help the most. And Aizawa feels hope and pride gently coat his heart, a band-aid atop a deep, bleeding gash, but it’s something.

He thinks about bright blue hair, a smile that put the sun to shame and the warmth of a gentle soul.

You never forget your first.

[neo-shitty]

no longer human — n.jm

description. in which you plunged face first into the horrors of a world left abandoned for three centuries in search of your only friend, na jaemin, wondering how you’d fare in a world where the species perched on top of the food chain were no longer human.

pairings. na jaemin x gender-neutral reader

genre.  angst, post-apocalyptic!au, dystopian!au, childhood friends!au, best friends!au

warnings. mentions of bullying, mentions of injuries, graphic descriptions of violence, character death(s), swearing, non-sexual nudity, mutual pining, mentions of loss of weight and gradual decline of health. reader’s discretion is heavily advised.

word count. 30k

playlist. no longer human.

notes. this is long overdue and i'm really sorry. this was just hard to tackle alongside a freaking law subject i had a million readings for. belated happy birthday, new year, and valentine's, allex! good luck with school and your 348209382 orgs! ily :] @hannie-dul-set | taglist: @baekybaeky @jccv @taem-min @doiefy @tyongishs @rae-blogging @cavaree​

From the window of the space shuttle, the Earth seemed so minuscule in the emptiness of space. The black void stretched as far as the eye could see, littered with bits of stardust and clumps of gas that shimmered in the distance. In the center of it all was the blue sphere your species once inhabited and it was the only touch of vibrant color for light years.

You found it hard to believe that something so vibrantly blue existed naturally in space, let alone at a distance that wasn’t unreachable. The swirls on its surface made it look like the marbles the other kids rolled on the floors during recess. But again, natural. It made you think about bigger beings; did they ever look down and view the Earth and the moon as nothing but mere marbles?

At times like this, you liked the unknown better than the things you already knew. The unknown wouldn’t tell you that you weren’t cut out for the job no matter how hard you tried. They’d never tell you that you weren’t good enough. 

The hallways of the space shuttle were quiet now, free of the chatter and laughter of the other kids who were in the same training room you were in half an hour ago. You had the hall and the bench with the enormous window all to yourself. But you were just as alone with the view as you were with your thoughts.

You tore your eyes away from the void, looking down at arms you could still surprisingly use. Both were coiled with bandages, one ran up to your wrist while the other coiled even your fingertips. Your limbs felt sore all of the time from overuse, dull pains shooting through your system whenever you stretched too far or too sudden. Sometimes the skin beneath the paper stung, other times they itched uncontrollably. Both were tell tales of the wounds that lay beneath, sometimes fresh and others healing. Either way, you couldn’t win. None of those were considered valid excuses from the training that caused them in the first place. Today, you walked out with a slash on the last spot on your left hand that was left uncovered. 

Masking your disappointment was hard when you saw your name below the red line that separated the excellent kids from the bad ones. You were only above the line for a few weeks then you were sent back down to what they called your rightful place. The other kids celebrated maintaining spots, some others were vocal about their gratefulness that they weren’t you.

Perhaps you weren’t cut out to be a fighter and you did make the worst mistake of your life when you signed up for it a few months ago. Combat training, weapon wielding and gun firing looked more interesting than having to sit in a class for hours on end every single day. But books didn’t break bones, nor did they give you bruises. 

“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

A brown-haired boy popped out of the end of the hallway. A sparring helmet was clipped between his arms and he was dressed in the same pair of white clothes every trainee wore, a plain t-shirt and track pants. Except his shirt wasn’t stained with crimson spots from bleeding palms. 

Na Jaemin was at the opposite end of the spectrum and he was good at everything you weren’t. He was a naturally gifted fighter; fast reflexes, high stamina, and strength that could knock out people much larger than he was. Rumors had it that his parents might’ve been part of the prior troops that were sent to scout the Earth and he was right where he was destined to be, while you were fighting to fit into a puzzle that you weren’t sure you were even a part of.

Envy was hard to fight off whenever you were with Jaemin. He had everything you wanted to achieve in the months that you’ve spent in training but you could never bring yourself to turn your back on him. And even when you did, he always came back. Jaemin was your only friend aboard the shuttle. Unlike the others, he never scowled whenever you were grouped into his team. Whenever your name was announced and you were sent to his team, he’d be the only one applauding while the others would beg him to swap you with someone better—someone who was an asset to the team rather than a burden. 

Jaemin easily befriended everyone. He could’ve chosen to eat anywhere at the cafeteria and he’d be welcomed with open arms. Being at the top of the ranks, people either flocked to him in admiration or made it seem like until his back was turned. 

“Move a bit, will you?” he said and you scooted, leaving a space on the bench for him to sit on.

He sat on the edge of the bench, placing the first aid kit he had been carrying in the space between you. It popped open with a light press. The aluminum lid split into two and the plates slid apart, revealing the supplies inside, before retreating to either side of the kit. You’ve been injured a hundred times over the past few months, yet the mechanism of the kit has always intrigued you. 

“Hand,” Jaemin demanded. You’ve protested numerous enough to know that it was useless to refuse his aid. He insisted and insisted until you eventually gave in just so he would shut up. Now, you saved him the effort and willingly gave him your hand.

Jaemin turned to one of the shuttle chutes. They were like vending machines but they dispensed items from a central storage room somewhere in the ship. Unlike their ancestors, they offered a wide variety of items. Food, drinks, office supplies, medical kit needs, and the like. Jaemin tapped one of the buttons and in seconds, a bottle of water shot out of the chute and into his hand. 

He caught it before it could land on the ground with a loud clatter. He poured a bit onto your hand, washing away the blood around the wound. Thankfully, it was no longer bleeding. Pulling a bandage out of the kit, he began to wrap your hand in it. Gentle and done in no time.

Prying eyes often wandered over to your direction whenever they passed. Apparently, the friendship between the top fighter and the weakest link earned a few curious onlookers and eavesdroppers. Rumors spread like wildfire on the shuttle; some said you were dating, others said you were holding him against his will. All the other twelve year olds knew to do was talk nonsense, they never knew how to mind their own business.

The talks often got to you. Most times you purposely avoided Jaemin just so the talks would die down. They never did, the Shuttle thrived in gossip. It would spark more and more rumors until you were ultimately back at Jaemin’s side, letting him convince you that they’re all bark and no bite. For the most part, he was right. When he wasn’t looking, it was a whole different story. 

He had a fair share of admirers, all waiting to sink their teeth into your skin at the next opportunity. Being one of the weaker ones in your batch, you were an easy target and the training system gave them an upperhand all of the time. The higher you were on the list, the more respected you were; the lower you were, just prepare for the worst.

They were ruthless fighters whenever it came to you. They kicked your ankles with boot-clad feet and cut your skin with the sharpest of swiss-army knives, excusing the abuse as a part of training even when they were clearly taking out their anger on you. 

It might’ve escaped the trainer’s notice, but it didn’t escape Jaemin’s. Feeling guilty that you suffered at his expense, he’d spent his post-training hours nursing your injuries and patching up wounds, pressing cool compresses on your bruises and making sure that you slept comfortably afterwards. On days that you weren’t too battered, Jaemin dragged you back into the training rooms. 

The trainers never taught you how to fight, they only coached you during ring fights whenever you were too busy getting beat up to acknowledge what they were saying. Your only take away from the drills they put you through was the stronger body that came with the harsh exercises. 

Jaemin shared the secrets to his success and by the end of the month you thought he might as well be a trainer himself. He gave you extensive drills he’d found on the internet. Not only were they more effective than the ones they forced you to do for hours on end, but they were also more practical. You spent hours training together in the dim training rooms and other times you’d practice stealth for fun in the paintball rooms. Jaemin always won but every time you survived longer without getting caught, he celebrated with you. He taught you the secrets behind the perfect way to land a headshot. 

As the days flew past, you got stronger and you slowly rose from the lower ranks until you no longer had to worry about your name being under the red line during monthly evaluations. As you rose, Jaemin rose higher.

In your fourth year as trainees, he was granted permission to cross space—among the youngest of all time to be deployed to Earth. You were both sixteen then and awaiting your awards as trainees. You were among the top 50 trainees, Jaemin had remained on top consistently for the past four years. Even among the troops, he easily stood out. On the expeditions to expand the domes he often covered the most land, be it with a team or on his own. He rose up the ranks like a mad man, putting longer troops to shame with how quickly he was promoted. It must’ve hurt other people’s pride to call a younger man a captain. 

His visits home were few and far between. Of course, he tried his best to keep in touch and he always looked for you first whenever he came home but there was the inevitable shift of two people no longer being on the same plane. You understood it anyway; Earth was where he was destined to be, back on the frontline to reclaim the lands that once belonged to the humans. Jaemin was the best man to lead quests into the Wastelands and a member of the Elites—the top trainees back in the shuttle. He spent more time at the dome setup on the land that was once called South Korea, one of the few oases that have been set up on Earth. 

Jaemin was the youngest of his rank, labelled captain of the Elites, the best troop of your generation. Of all the people you expected to go missing on an expedition, he was the last person on your list.

The Shuttle’s main hall had only grown more crowded with every gathering. The air buzzed with the chatter of hundreds of trainees all gathered into one enormous room. The hall spanned an entire floor, the sole place where everyone could be gathered without tipping the balance of the ship. 

Today was Judgment day, the day of the month when the fate of trainees young and old were decided. Whether you were stuck for another thirty days in space or ready to be deployed to Earth was up to the higher-ups ‘unbiased’ judgment. You’ve been in troop training long enough to recognize the looks on everyone’s faces. Some looked just as they did, unfazed by the unchanged rank, while others had their shoulders slumped in defeat. Deployment announcements came directly after the weekly ranking, anyone who dreamed of being deployed had to be above the red line. From what you saw, someone didn’t quite make the cut. Having been in their shoes, you almost felt sorry.

The double doors at the back of the room opened and a silence veiled the room, leaving a hush so quiet in its wake you could hear a pin drop. You didn’t need to see who they were. There were only so many people in the Shuttle that could quiet everyone like that. Younger kids straightened their stances, others who’ve trained long enough only raised their hands in flimsy salute. The three men walked a straight line down the center of the hall, parting the sea of people the way Moses did the water from that story thousands of years ago. 

Commander Suh climbed up the platform, the other two soldiers flanking him. He adjusted the microphone on the podium before he took a good look at his audience. He held a hand up in salute which the crowd returned, greetings roared by pliant soldiers still hoping for a chance to be deployed. Hope for you has fizzled out long ago, the dream to see the Earth dimming with every month that passed. These days, you spent your days convincing yourself that life as a trainer on the Shuttle wasn’t too bad.

Feedback echoed through the speaker making you wince. Commander Suh tapped the mic twice before speaking. “Good day, troops. This month, there will be no new units to be deployed,” he cleared his throat. “The replenishment unit members have not been picked based off of the troop ranking but were rather hand-picked by the commanders in charge back on land.”

Where mutters should’ve broken out, there was only silence. News of units unable to come back wasn’t uncommon. In fact, it was more rare for troops to be deployed in a brand new unit rather than to be deployed to fill in spots. The creatures outside the dome were feral, rabid, a bite away from turning you into something like them. Thinking about them made you shudder, the ultimatum that your life in training ends in coming face to face with terrifying creatures making the Shuttle life seem like paradise. Snap out of it, you told yourself, shaking your head to rid your mind of the images of the yasaeng. 

Suh’s voice broke through the thick wall of your thoughts. “Half of Unit Zero have been reported missing Wednesday, Week 23.” 

Zero. Gasps escaped the mouths of troops in the crowd but they weren’t hushed by others, just as you piece together the information in your mind. The cream of the crop soldiers, the military’s pride and joy, the famous Elite unit did not return. In all four years of training, no member of the Elite unit has ever been reported missing. The only time members stopped coming were when they were promoted to higher positions in the military like Suh.

The Elites always paraded back after months away, all eight of them clad in the special uniforms that made them distinguishable. Up front, you recognized that one of the Elites stood alongside the commander. He had his head hung low, avoiding scrutiny and judgment from the other troops. He wasn’t Jaemin, so you prepared yourself for the worst.

“The members that have not returned are the following,” Suh read over their serial numbers. The numbers would’ve bored anyone to death but they were lucky numbers, memorized by most and almost prayed for like saint statues. 2319-0205, a scrawny boy who didn’t look his rank but proved himself worthy with his cleverness; 2319-1122, a feisty fighter who was rumored to have bought himself to the top; 2319-0724, second-in-command and the sole girl in the team; and 2316-0813, their ace—Jaemin. The last series of numbers replayed in your head and you see Jaemin again, holding up his ID card when he was first deployed. 2316-0813, Jaemin was missing.

Impossible. But with the gloom casting over the other Elite member’s face, you knew Commander Suh didn’t make a mistake reading the serial codes. Murmurs you couldn’t make out spread like wildfire through the hall with no one bothering to put it out. Some were wondering what could’ve crippled the best team, others were already excited to be slotted to take their place. You fell into the former like the other older trainees. The training center must’ve been unfazed with the announcement of deaths, others even rejoiced with the opportunity to be deployed as replenishment. But the Elites were supposed to be untouchable. If they were cut half in a blink, what chance at survival did other trainees have out there?

“Replenishment unit,” Suh’s voice thundered off the walls and the room fell silent once more. Focus didn’t come easy with the thought of Jaemin being lost gnawing at the back of your mind. “2321-0323, 2321-0606, and 2321-1130, at attention.” 

You stepped out of your line in the formation, fighting the urge to turn your head and find your other companions. Everyone’s eyes turned to you, or brushed past you to look at the other two troops; furrowed eyebrows, worried gazes, poker faces. You didn’t let your curiosity get to you, too overwhelmed by the pace things were going. Keeping your gaze straight, you stared ahead, at the commander who called your attention and the soldiers glaring down at you. 

“Proceed to Commander Lee’s office and await further instructions. Dismissed.”

“Sir! Yes, Sir!” The chant felt faint with only three people saying it. The silent hall didn’t help any better. You kept your eyes away from everyone else’s as you turned your heel and walked down the aisle. Two troops reached the door before you; both, you recognized, joined the training corps around the same time you did. You exchanged a glance and when you were all gathered at the exit, one of the boys brushed the sensor. The back door slid open and you marched out together, feeling numerous pairs of eyes boring holes into the back of your heads until the metal doors shut closed.

With most of the trainees still in the general hall, the rest of the Shuttle was quiet. The walkways seemed to narrow, like the white walls closed in around you—eyed down by everyone who passed by. Whether they were out of pity or envious, you didn’t look up enough to know. Your mind was elsewhere; already halfway across space wondering where on the ball of rock Jaemin could be. And why the replenishment team was made out of mere people ranked above the red line instead of the highest ranking troops.

Commander Lee’s office was on the highest level of the ship where the white walls turned into glass panes, revealing the black void of space. The level was off limits to trainees unless summoned by the higher ups. Jaemin frequented this floor so much he might as well have lived here.

Two guards stood guard by the doorway at the end of the hall. One of the boys stopped abruptly a few steps away, sending the other boy tailgating him into a stumble. You stopped in time, saving everyone from toppling over like a bunch of dominos in front of higher ranking officers.

The guards didn’t even bat an eye, locking all five of you in a stalemate staring contest.

“Well,” the boy upfront turned around abruptly, eyes bright as he looked at the both of you behind him. “We can’t just wait forever, can we?”

You agreed. The lack of violent reactions from the guards let you know that your arrival was expected but their silence meant your unit was meant to move first. 

“Who was called up first?” you asked

“Me,” the other boy answered. “I’ll go ahead.”

606 stepped aside to let the shorter boy step forward, clicking his tongue. “What took you so long?” he remarked. A surge of panic rushed through you when 323 glared at the other boy. First day on the unit and there were conflicts already. But 606 laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Take a joke, Renjun.” 

You figured the two went way back. Only more acquainted people addressed each other by their real names. 323 ignored him, stepping where the sensor could detect him. The plates slid open and you caught a brief glance at the office. It looked like a golden vault with the sole touch of color being the table in the middle and the man who sat behind it. Then the doors clamped back shut.

Huang Renjun was an infamous trainee, a hothead whose emotions were both his strength and his weakness. He ran on fury like it was gasoline, fueled by deep hatred towards yasaeng and a master in holographic training sessions. But it was often his own fire that wore him out; turns out the biggest flames weren’t always the hardest to put out when he lacked something he couldn’t control. One element short, he switched from combat training to medical wielding both the gentleness of an aid and the strength of a soldier. 606, on the other hand, shared spots below the red line with you back when you first started. What Donghyuck lacked in physical capability, he made up for in brains. He was better known as a strategist during practice exhibitions, an ace in mind games and an asset to team infiltration drills.

But the replenishment unit still felt like a motley crew of who shouldn’t be in the Elite team. None of you were on the top ten list of troops; nothing but average trainees when there were others that could be more fit in the expedition. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, yes, but it didn’t feel like you deserved it.

When Renjun reappeared back in the hallway, a grim expression clouded his face. He didn’t look up when Donghyuck called him, nor did he say a word about what had happened inside. It was for you to find out on your own. At the end of the hallway, he turned the opposite way, to the elevator leading to the dormitories. 

You reverted your gaze back to the menacing set of metal doors, wondering what secrets they kept behind them. 

“I’ll get going,” Donghyuck said, smiling politely before heading in, leaving you alone with the company of two stoic guards standing post.

Their army green uniforms stood in contrast with the white suits troops were made to wear. The camouflage print stood out against the smokey greys and pristine whites of the ship, ironically against their initial purpose to help soldiers blend in. They weren’t soldiers stationed on the Shuttle, they were soldiers who were once deployed to Earth.

Your eyes darted over to the one you recognized, having seen his face around back when he was still a trainee. 423 stood unflinching, gaze focused down the hall without the slightest interest towards your presence. He was the second best in your batch, always a rank lower than Jaemin but wasn’t assigned to the Elite team until a year after Jaemin was. Being grouped with him was always a nightmare. He despised anything that hindered him from overtaking Jaemin’s rank, and he never hesitated in letting those nuisances know.

But tides have turned ever since he’d been deployed to the Wastelands. He came back unrecognizable; both physically and with the matter he treated everyone else. Humbled by the yasaeng, they called him, sparking a new fear across trainees that the monsters out there were terrifying enough to knock even the strongest off their high horses. You wondered what kind of talk the Elite unit’s vanishment would spark now? Would a portion of the trainees quit the way they did last time?

“What are you looking at?”

Blood rushed to your cheeks when you were called out, snapping back into focus. You felt the heat of embarrassment all over your face then the chill of nervousness that came whenever you heard 423 regard you. You’re stronger now, you reminded yourself, keeping your head up and forcing yourself not to hide back in your shell. You simply shook your head.

423 studied your face. It made you wonder if he remembered the words he said as much as you did. Then he cleared his throat, “If you want to ask about Jaemin, I don’t have the answers either.”

You glared up at him, doubtful. But his face held no smugness, unlike the 423 you’ve grown used to seeing in the training rooms before. Maybe it was true that the Wastelands changed him, yet for all you knew he might just be faking it. Right as you opened your mouth to speak, the doors slid open. Donghyuck stepped out, less agitated than Renjun was. He gestured for you to head in and you followed, forgetting your conversation with the soldier outside as soon as the door shut behind you.

Unlike the rest of the shuttle, the office wasn’t painted bright white. It had the original colors of the plates that made up the ship, the steel grey you could faintly remember way back when you first came aboard. It wasn’t a gold room, but gold lined the walls, reflecting on the plates making the room shine. 

Commander Lee Taeyong raised his head when you walked closer. “Take a seat, 1130.”

You crossed the room, taking your place on the chair directly across his table. No matter how hard you resisted it, your eyes wandered over to the various papers that were littered across the glass of his desk. He flipped through each one with the precision of a robot, the showcase of a perfect Shuttle trainee. Skimming through the papers, you finally caught sight of the one that had your name in particular—the list of troops assigned for the replenishment unit.

“Commander.” It slipped out of your tongue before you could think to stop yourself. His fingers stiffen, seizing to shuffle the papers to spare you a glance. You swallowed. “Don’t you think there had been some kind of mistake, Sir. I can’t possibly be on that list.”

Lee sighed before he continued sorting through the files he had in hand, like he’d heard the same thing too many times before. “Oh, but you are,” he said. “The pod would be departing in 12 hours time. I hope that’d be enough time for you to pack up and say your goodbyes.”

He said it like you were headed on a one-way trip. In a way, he might be right. Whatever enthusiasm you had left for the expedition flowed down the drain at the realization, the harsh truth behind the excitement of finally setting foot on Earth.

“Sir, don’t you need the second-best troops out on the expedition?” 

“I do,” Lee replied. “But the mission isn’t to expand the charted territories outside the dome. The Elites are too valuable to lose, hence we’re sending a rescue team to go fetch them.”

The commander slid a folder across the glass. Clipped onto its cover was a familiar face. Jaemin, but without the warm smile that often adorned his face. You flipped the cover open, reviewing the contents of the front page. It was a signed waiver dated back to earlier this year. You skimmed through the page until your eyes spotted a particular portion of the page that caught your eye.

“Don’t you think that the people with the driving forces strong enough to brave the Wastelands blindly would be the ones who suffered the greatest losses?”

You grimaced. The higher ups were vile in their ways but their ways were effective both in training and keeping their hands clean. Written at the bottom of the page was the person to be contacted if the signee ever went missing. In the space provided was your name, written in a penmanship you knew too well to mistake for someone else’s. The blame of being put in a suicide mission teeters between Jaemin and those who made him sign it.

You looked up at the commander who had his chin propped over clasped hands. “I can’t say no, can I?”

“Do you want to say no?”

The question hung in the air between you and your eyes trailed back to the piece of paper again. Stupid Jaemin, you thought. Your own conscience would never let you sleep a wink if you said no, it meant letting him down for what could be the last time. Your silence was enough for him to take the hint. 

He let you sign your own waiver, inputting his name at the bottom where yours was in Jaemin’s file. If the mission fails, he bore the fault and you thought it was a good enough exchange. After inking your signature and sealing your fate, you left the room without sparing a glance. Now you know why Renjun looked grim when he left.

For someone who always dreamed of being deployed, you didn’t expect it to come so soon and under circumstances like these. It wasn’t half exciting as you thought it would be. 

The whole walk back to the dorms was a drag, unbothered even with eyes following you down the hall. Before you knew it you were back in the solace of your dorm room and you didn’t know where to begin. 

The tiny room, barely wide enough for you to stretch both arms without hitting the other wall or a cabinet, has been your home for as long as you could remember. White walls, white furniture, it was no different than the rest of the shuttle. But it had a tinge of color in the areas you touched. They never allowed vandalism but they stopped checking the dorms of older trainees. You allowed yourself a little free space, obscured from the view of anyone who would walk in unannounced—on the side of a cabinet near your desk. It had a few post-its with your favorite quotes and lyrics inked onto pastel sheets of paper, hung beside photographs you had developed a while back. 

You were only allowed one enormous suitcase each. Another perk of coming home as a troop meant you were entitled to all the benefits heroes of the country had. The commander reassured you that there was absolutely no need to carry much clothes with you. New uniforms would be provided for you tomorrow before you left. And if you were successful with the expedition, you’d get enough monetary compensation to buy a whole wardrobe. Assuming you’d survive the Wastelands, anyway. 

Still, you tossed a shirt or two in, one being the most comfy one you’ve ever worn; something Jaemin bought from one of the stores in the Oasis. You were never allowed to wear it out due to the obnoxious electric blue color so you kept it in the confines of your room. You realized that most of the unusual things you had in your room were from Jaemin, either trinkets from past adventures or peculiar things he discovered on the internet. Packing them for your trip to Earth would be undoing their purpose.

When you finished clearing up your desk area, you moved to your bed. Your eyes found the device that rested atop your side table. It was one of the things Jaemin bought from an antique store. The device was no larger than the size of your outstretched hand; a music player that required a disc to be mounted on to play anything. Your hand tapped the side of your side table, picking a CD out of the shelf. Queen, it said. 

You pressed it on to the player and watched the disc spin as the music began to play. Ancient music from three hundred years ago, you somehow found it better than today’s synths. According to Internet history, everything’s been moved online since the Earth was abandoned. People flew to outer space with little to no physical belongings in a futile escape from the creatures taking over the lands that were once theirs. Everything became digital and technology only advanced further since then. Now, everything could be accessed with a snap of a finger, a swipe of a hand, a mere voice activation. Everything was virtual. But you liked not having instant access to things sometimes. In your case, it was with changing the track playing. 

When Jaemin came home with the device after an expedition a few months back, you spent the entire night researching how it functioned. The player came with a bundle of CDs that could be played, others scratched out the music hiccuped. When you figured out how it worked, you danced to the tune of old songs in the cramped room and hit furniture every time you moved too much. A part of you thought what Jaemin would’ve brought with him this time if he made it home. 

What if you brought something to him for a change? You just hoped he’d still be there to receive it.

The trip to Earth was limbo. 

You were told that the Shuttle was always in constant movement as it stayed in an orbit between the Earth’s and the moon’s though it never felt like it. But now, strapped down to one of the seats inside the pod, you could feel your body being flattened against the leather. It was heavy enough to make you think a part of you was left behind thousands of miles away. 

Earth still looked like a marble on the pod’s sole window, a vibrant splotch of color in the all black canvas, spreading every time you looked. The sun’s rays bounced off the sphere’s surface, glazing it with a layer of light that made it look like it glowed. 423 called it a trick of the eye, the Earth didn’t actually glow. To him, it was ridiculous. Maybe because he’d travelled countless times back and forth he’d come to hate the view. 

Still, it was a sight to behold. Beneath the swirls of white and grey clumps of water vapor, the blueness you’ve only admired from afar was more vibrant now, fading into a darker blue around the edges away from view. 

“The Earth is beautiful, isn’t it?” 

You turned your head and saw Donghyuck who had his eyes glued to the view in front of you. You managed a nod and returned your gaze to the Earth. He was right, it really was beautiful. It was such a shame that the humans had to flee it all those years ago.

From your periphery you saw Renjun peek from behind the pocketbook he held up. “Shouldn’t it be ‘the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’” 

Donghyuck's soft smile contorted into a frown, leaning forward to look past you to eye the other boy. “Renjun, does that look like the moon to you?”

You snorted, biting your lip to keep the bubble of laughter at bay. 

Renjun’s ears tinted and he hid behind the comfort of his pocketbook again. “Aren’t you trying one of your pick up lines again?”

“No, I’m merely pointing out that that planet looks amazing,” the other boy replied and the pod fell silent.

There were no extra people sent on the voyage to Earth; just you, the two others selected for the suicide mission and the Elite member meant to escort you—the guard outside Commander Lee’s office, another Lee you couldn’t catche the name of. The pod’s interior was no larger than a dorm. Up front was an enormous windshield with a concave control panel. On the other end of the pod was the couch that made up the other half, a concave of soft leather that had exactly four seat belt straps. A round table was rooted to the middle of the room and when you pushed the surface down, a mini-fridge popped out with snacks and drinks to last you the whole ride. If you weren’t heading towards imminent death, you would’ve thought it was luxurious and indulged in one of the snacks. But the occasional bumps the pod came across made you nauseous and the thought of the Wastelands and the creatures that dwelled there kicked out your appetite entirely.

Space travel had improved so much in the past thousand years that the voyage to Earth didn’t take as long as it used to. The moon could now be reached in half a day now as opposed to the previous three days and the travel time from the shuttle to the surface of the Earth was half of that, more or less but most of the time faster. The past few hours were spent in the quiet, each one attending to their own businesses. Renjun carried on reading, Donghyuck couldn’t keep still despite the belt strapping him down, and 423 picked the furthest spot to busy himself with his VR glasses. 

“So, we’re nearing Earth. Can we do a little ‘introduce yourself’ to get acquainted?” Donghyuck’s proposal hung in the air and you exchanged glances, Renjun rolling his eyes. The proposer pursed his lips, “Like if we’re going to the Wastelands together, I’d be more comfortable if I knew the names of who might feed me to the yasaeng to save themselves. Wouldn’t you guys feel the same?” 

Donghyuck turned to the boy sitting beside him..

“How ‘bout we start with you, Elite?” 

423’s glasses retracted with a tap of his temple, splitting in the middle before folding on itself. The glasses disappeared behind his ear as if they were never even there. If you hadn’t looked closer, you wouldn’t have noticed the earpiece tucked behind his helix. His eyes came into view, glaring daggers at Donghyuck with irises so dark they almost looked black.

You thought he’d be the first to say no, but he swallowed and opened his mouth to speak. “2317-0423, Lee Jeno, Elite, First Lieutenant.” 

The bitterness was hard to miss, his rank more a burden than something honorable. Did he feel like he didn’t deserve it? Was it because it was still a rank lower than Jaemin’s?

Jeno crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the leather couch. “Your turn, loud mouth.”

Donghyuck whistled, eyes wide from the snarky comment. “Didn’t need to be rude, Sir. I’m Lee Donghyuck, definitely not related to hot-head over here.” The Elite didn’t react. “I’m in search of seven!”

“Seven what?” you asked. 

His eyes flickered for a sliver of a moment, the mere mention of a number capturing all stray thoughts. He opens his mouth, closes, then opens to say something else. “Nevermind. Proud to announce that I’m 2321-0606. How about you?”

Despite the odds that landed you here, it made you smile a bit. You were just as proud to finally change your code from just your date of birth to your date of deployment. Somewhere in the midst of your anxious thoughts, you forgot the bright sides of the situation. Your days as a trainee were over, at long last. It was hard to see the pros when the cons out-weighed them so much.

“I’m __________, 2321-1130. Not that glad to be here but I don’t have a choice, don’t I?” You bit the insides of your cheek as soon as you spoke. You didn’t mean to sound so pessimistic about the situation. Now, the pod slipped back into the uncomfortable silence it had when you first boarded. “That came out wrong, I’m sorry.”

Renjun slotted a paper between the pages of his book and set it down on the table. “Calm down, you were just speaking your truth. I’m Huang Renjun, 2321-0323. I’m just as upset about being here as you are.” 

You smiled at him even when he didn’t. You found it funny that the people in the pod could possibly be the first and last people you would consider friends that weren’t Jaemin.

When you broke the upper layer of the Earth’s atmosphere, you all braced yourself for the pull downwards. Jeno mentioned that it could be different from the Shuttle’s gravity, a bit disorienting too. But you were holding up just fine as the pod made its descent. 

The surface of the Earth stretched out before you in hues of brown and blue. Beneath you were the transparent plates of the dome that slowly opened as you got closer to its surface. The fall was slow and steady, barely noticeable even with the warping outside the window. Soon enough the window goes dark, the majestic view disappearing and replaced by a familiar shade of dull grey. You don’t notice when the pod finally stops moving.

“Where are we?” you inquired, turning to Jeno.

“Headquarters. The pods dock here when they arrive. We’ll be let out in a few.”

Before he could even finish his sentence, the door to the left popped open. Fizzing for a second as the air from the inside escaped through the miniature gap. A pair of men in uniform pulled the door open, taking a step back as an officer walked over to greet you.

“Greetings, Unit Zero. Welcome to Earth.”

Unit Zero. You felt like an impostor parading around with a mask that isn’t your own. It still had a ring to it, one that you couldn’t bear to carry.

All your safety belts popped off, the pod’s lights powering off along with its engine. Jeno was the first to stand, walking out the door without waiting for anyone to follow behind him. Donghyuck stood second, clutching onto the railing but managing.

It couldn’t be that hard, right? You bit back the thought as soon as you stood up. Earth’s gravity was a lot different than the Shuttle’s but you were trained to combat it for years. Still, it was your most hated activity. Having weights wrapped around your extremities and legs made it impossible to get drills done in the record time you were required to. At least you now learned the reason why it was necessary. Walking on Earth felt exactly like that but there were no weights, just an invisible force pulling you down to its source.

You followed the others out of the pod. The top floor of the so-called Headquarters wasn't much. Just the pod and its garage and a glass elevator at the opposite end of the room. 

“To the elevator please,” Mark, as indicated on the nameplate pinned on his uniform, said. 

You slowly filed into the elevator, squeezing into the tight space like a bunch of sardines in the tin cans you saw in photos. Mark came in last, tapping a few buttons on the control panel before putting her hands back to her side. 

The elevator’s doors close and you begin your descent to the real world. 

Suddenly, it was bright — you had to squint to slowly adjust to the light. The Oasis was like the cities you’ve seen on the internet. Skyscrapers of different heights appeared like spikes on the levelled terrain. Hover vehicles appeared like white ants mazing through the asphalt streets of New Seoul. Beyond, the sky was a vibrant shade of light blue, stretching as far as the eye could see as with its counterpart, the land. From here, you could see the end of the dome but you couldn’t see where the land ended.

The Headquarters building stood at a block equidistant from all edges of the dome. It was a historical building, one of the first man-made buildings after nearly three hundred years. It only grew taller and taller until it reached the last layer of the Earth’s atmosphere; puncturing a hole through the clouds.

The elevator ride was short and soon you disappeared into a building, the main Headquarters. People and AIs alike shuffled across the room, paying no attention to the glass elevator you were descending in. It resembled the Shuttle cafeterias but busier, bustling with all sorts of people — all with various destinations in mind.  The elevator docked at the bottom floor and the glass doors opened.

“This way, please.” 

You all followed Mark silently, barely keeping up the pace with Jeno who was clearly accustomed to the gravitational pull of things. Suddenly, you missed turning the gravity off inside your dorm room and being able to float about. Even the gruesome zero gravity training would be better than having to walk with a weight shackled to your feet.

The hallway you walked down narrowed into a tunnel and that was when you realized, you were being escorted to another pod. The pod was held up by two enormous metal claws on either side, clutching the pod in grip above the ground. Its glass front of the ellipse was drawn back and a portion of the control panel had been inverted to act like a staircase into the pod.

“This pod will take you to the outskirts of the city, around the edge of the dome.” Mark said it so lightly, making you forget the nightmare awaiting you.

Yet you boarded the pod anyway, wordlessly taking the same places you did earlier. Mark didn’t follow you inside. He bowed as the control panel reverted back to its original place, the glass clamping back shut and sealing you inside. The lights inside the pod flickered on; it was similar to the one you travelled in earlier in many ways but it felt smaller and lighter.

The pod powered to life, humming beneath your feet as it lodged itself off the claw machine. Then you shot backwards into the tunnel. If you weren’t tied down by a safety belt, you would’ve fallen off the couch easily and hit your head on the glass table. There was no engine, the pod simply ran on the magnetic repulsion between the tracks and the pod. It was one of the greatest discoveries several centuries ago, further modified with the advancement of technology in outer space. The darkness dispersed as you shot out of the Headquarters’ lower levels and into the streets of the Oasis. 

The city was both everything and nothing like you imagined it to be. The top of the skyscrapers were too high, your neck started to hurt from leaning backward. The others beside you shared the same astonishment. Cars moved quickly across the roads, running on the same magnetic energy the pods did. You zoomed past the streets of New Seoul. The buildings you’ve only seen in hologram screens were bigger and better when you saw them in person. Everything was in neutral shades, grey making up most of the skyscraper’s palettes with their glass panes. The effects of the supposed global warming weren’t felt behind the walls of the Oasis. With its moderated weather, it remained cool.

The further you traveled from the center, the less skyscrapers you saw in the vicinity. At the outskirts of the city were made out of housings and subdivisions where the rich folk spent their days on Earth. Soon, there were no buildings at all. There was a clear distinction between the first area the dome covered. The row of houses ended abruptly, like it sat at the edge of something and was never meant to go on. A portion of the original dome had been kept up around the border where it was first established, leaving a transparent wall between New Seoul and the Wastelands that were recently cleared after expeditions. The city moved further away from view. From where you sat it looked like paradise. It stood out obnoxiously. The dead lands beside it giving it more emphasis.

There is another area of limbo between the first area the dome was established on and where the protection of the dome rests now. There’s a stretch of a few kilometers, untouched by the modifications of the new world. The Old Seoul stands barren and abandoned. Skeletons of buildings are half-buried beneath webs of vines, steel weakened with rust. Over the years, deployed units have gone on expeditions clearing out this area of possible yasaeng in hiding. For years, there had been nothing. It was only a matter of time before the Oasis expanded again.

The outer dome was arched over a stretch of land from the previously established dome; cleared of any buildings from pre-abandoned Earth. You’ve heard that the whole area has already been auctioned off to the richest folks back at the Shuttle. Soon enough, more structures would stand and the area would expand yet again. The same tedious process until the entirety of the island would be absolved of the yasaeng.

Jaemin once told you about the pod that raced across the field all the way to the border. When you arrived, officers and patrols awaited you. The further you got from the center of the dome, the less the modifications. The border looked nothing like the Oasis and it was your first realistic glimpse one what the world had been before humans abandoned it. It was a vast expanse of brown stretching as far as the dome reached before eventually reaching the edge where it stopped abruptly. The pod stopped when it reached the end of the line and you all got off one by one. The ground crunched beneath your feet, specks of soil sticking to the soles of your white shoes. Compared to what was outside the dome, the ground here was dry and withered. Trailer vans were arranged in an array of rows bordering the curvature of the dome like a village at the edge of the town.

You followed Jeno as he mazed through what seemed to be the camp for troops sent out to the expeditions to the Wastelands. Doors didn’t open automatically, Jeno did the honor of holding the door open as you filed into one of the trailers. It was hot and crammed, a single electricity powered fan blowing wind panning from left to right. You could already feel the sweat trickling down the side of your face and your back but you chose to keep steady. The suit you wore wasn’t helping. 

A military boy walked in, flanked by others under his command. You were each handed a pack of things — thinner clothes, a bag to take into the wild. You were then asked to sit on the couch by the desk but you wanted to think otherwise. Jeno stood at the side, leaving only the four of you to sit on the couch. It wasn’t as soft as the ones inside the pod but you knew you wouldn’t be staying there for long. 

The office wasn’t as extravagant as the ones in the Shuttle. The scent of Earth seeped in through the cracks and the windows, a rich heavy scent that was more a bother than relaxing. The third commander stood with his back turned, facing the wall of the trailer where awards and photographs hung on the windows. Generations of Elite units, you realized, because Jaemin and Jeno stand side by side in one photo while the commanders stood in the other.

When he turns toward you, you try not to show any reaction. A black eyepatch ran across a quarter of his face, the scar it was supposed to hide running from over his eye down to his cheek.

“I can see you’re all exhausted from the journey so I’ll keep the briefing short. You know why you’re here, and I don’t get why Lee didn’t send the best troops in to replace the Elites.” Commander Nakamoto spat and the shame made your skin prickle.

You flinched. You could feel your comrades tensing beside you but you showed no bitterness, shrugging the bitter welcome off.

“Do you know what’s out there?” he asked, glancing at each one of you. “Y’all mute?”

“Yasaeng, Sir.” It comes from Donghyuck, a half-thought blurt brought about by the stirring tension. 

The commander grimaced. “Do you know what they’re like?”

“Zombies,” you answer when Donghyuck fails to find his words. “Feral, brainless.”

“Wrong.” Nakamoto leaned against his desk. “Not brainless, just no longer capable of thinking the way we do. They were once human after all.”

You recall the images of the yasaeng captured by previous expeditioners and their striking resemblance to humans. They were far more skinny, skin greyish or pale, lanky and fast with bubbles spilling down the corners of their mouths — always hungry. 

“At some point, the infected stopped dying when the last of our ancestors abandoned the Earth. With no one to kill them, their species spread across all corners of the now vacant world. They started adapting as the years went by; still humanoid but feral. However, they seem to be less active during the day.

“They can be knocked out with a gunshot to the head, or to the heart. Their skin is harder to pierce but we’ve learned that long ago and today’s weaponry has been modified to make the kills easier.” Yuta continued, refreshing what had been taught back at the Shuttle. A rack of weapons were rolled in, trays of guns, knives and ammo like the ones you had back in the shuttle. “Let me remind you again that whatever’s out there, they are no longer human. They’re predators and they will tear you apart every chance they get. They’re rabid, any salavial contact will make you susceptible to infection. The only way to win against them in their home court is to be a clever prey.” 

You pick a packet of daggers, silver hilts glinting in the flickering light of the trailer office. They’re lighter than the ones you trained with back at the Shuttle but it wouldn’t take long to get used to. Donghyuck and Renjun take their own weapons off the racks until all that’s left are the ones you chose not to pick. Only then do you realize that the rack was personalized for the three of you. 

“Take your weapons,” Yuta said, as if he noticed your hesitance. “Get a night’s rest, you leave at first light.”

You were ushered out of the office before you could say anything, ask anything about the other members of the previous Elite teams. Night has fallen outside, the only source of light besides the waning streaks of sunlight were the lights hanging on wooden posts, enclosed by upcycled plastic. Your quarters for the night were still a few trailers down the line.

The room wasn’t half as good as the ones you had back at the Shuttle. Two bunk beds sat against opposite walls, one shared bathroom was enclosed in a wooden wall in the corner. There’s a mini-kitchen with empty cupboards and a single dirty sink. A ceiling fan hung next to the sole object illuminating the room, a flickering lightbulb flocked by little buzzing bugs.

The boys offer you the chance to freshen up first and they leave to tour around the trailer village to give you some privacy. The bath was kept short under a faulty shower, no choice but sheer cold water to wash yourself with unlike the Shuttle’s variety. You slipped into the clothes they provided, light thin clothes that could almost guarantee you sleep with tonight’s heat. 

Still, your mind wanders to the sound of water pattering on the trailer’s floor. If there was a whole colony of soldiers waiting at the edge of the dome’s border, they could’ve sent a rescue mission for the Elites days before you arrived. Speculation bubbles in the back of your mind, saying it out loud was defying head orders — almost treasonous. It didn’t stop 323 from asking anything, though.

“You know something don’t you?” Renjun’s voice is quiet, non-accusatory. “How the other Elites disappeared and all that. Did you desert your unit?”

The room stayed quiet but you were sure everyone heard him well. There were no pointed fingers, just the mere curiosity of wanting to find out how he ended up where he was now.  It was a relief you weren’t the only one thinking the same thing.

Jeno cleared his throat, avoiding the shorter boy’s heavy gaze. “Say what you want, punk. I know why I’m here and I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I get it though.” You say and the boy’s gaze turned to you. “We’re not that much of a loss if we get killed in action, huh?”

Jeno’s eyes lingered on you, cold but with a twinge of some other emotion you couldn’t put your finger on. You have a feeling that you’re right.

You don’t know if you could call it sleep at all. 

Most of the night was spent staring at the bottom of the upper bunk, listening to how it creaked and groaned beneath 606’s weight on top of it. You think of Jaemin at 16. You had been more fearless at 16, unknowing of how terrifying the creatures outside were. The footage didn’t scare you enough, you kept your head up that with Jaemin’s help in training you could brave anything you’d come across if you ever got deployed. 

But then he returned from the Wastelands, a shell of who he used to be back when he was a trainee. 

“Again.”

The word had come to haunt you, sessions you couldn’t wait for became something you dreaded. Jaemin turned harsher and colder, a splitting image of the trainers you once despised for their cruelty. He left you no time to breathe between spars, didn’t wait for the third count before he lunged at you. He struck harder. And harder.

“Again.” He would say if he knocked you down in five moves or less.

Again, again, again.

You found out that a member of the Elite unit turned right in front of his eyes on his first expedition out to the Wastelands.

You awoke to a throbbing headache, nothing beyond the normal searing pain you’d suffer after a night without enough sleep. But you were moving regardless, muscle memory kicking in, waltzing across the room to snatch your clothes neatly piled on the counter. By the time you’ve finished dressing in camouflage uniform, the others have risen from their beds and started preparing for the venture outside. 

There wasn’t much to be nostalgic about when you left the trailer so you left the room without turning back and the others followed behind you. Rows of troops lined the way to the barrier, mixed glances boring holes into your skin. Pity, envy, fear. You shrugged them off.

As you get closer you hear it. The humming of the metal surface as electric currents pulsed through. The dome was made to be see-through, a barrier from the horrors outside it while offering a glimpse of what the Earth used to be before it got abandoned. But it instilled more fear than joy, yasaeng bashing their heads against the sturdy surface leaving splotches of dark red across the pristine panes. Ultimately, the barrier’s panes were altered with the first expansion of the dome, a glass-metal hybrid  was made to serve as screens, allowing control over the weather and the view within the dome. 

An alarm blared as you walked to the edge of the border. Ahead was one of the four gates leading out into the Wastelands. The exit is a toppled over cylinder, half buried to the ground with its other half cut through the plates of the dome. The tube ends were barred with the same material you’ve seen back at the Shuttle — hard, impenetrable steel. 

The first door lifts from the ground, groaning as the metal folded in on itself by the ceiling. Cool air flurried in, the scent of iron and newly wet soil mixing in. Uncontrolled and raw, fresh from nature itself with still a single barrier between you and the rest of the world. The simulations were nothing compared to catching it in the wind firsthand. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

The commander called from behind you, a flank of soldiers clutching guns pointed at you as if you were queued for a firing squad. Jeno gazed back, his eyes narrowing on the troops. If his rage stirs, he doesn’t show it. He turned to the three of you, nodding once as he urged you into the tube and into the chamber between life and death.

“I hate that son of a bitch.” Jeno kept his back turned as the door clamped back down behind you. “Wish the yasaeng gouged out the other eye too.” 

You don’t say a word fearing that the eye-patched man would hear you. The lights of the chamber powered down one by one as the final exit began to draw open. It creaked as it opened, like the jaw of a thousand pound robot drawing open for the first time in years. The heavy brush of metal against metal is sharp and deafening in your ears. 

“Helmets on.”

Jeno tapped his ear once, visor projecting out to cover his eyes then extending to his whole face. You followed and the out-ear machine whirred — activated.  “Greetings, 1130.” The mask is a thin layer against your face, almost weightless. A wave of light scans your retinas then your face until an image of you appears on the corner of your viewing screen. Information flashes every now and then, details of the troops hovering over their figures when your eyes go over them. Up ahead it says ‘DOME EXIT OPENING’.

Your arms are up, guns held in place and pointed at the gaping hole in the wall. The musty scent grows stronger the further the gate opens, a 7-foot gap between the floor and the gate’s rim leaving them open for any yasaeng to target. There is nothing but stillness and the pulsing of the blood through your veins as you anticipated signs of movement. Nothing. Jeno’s voice comes in through the helmet’s built-in speakers. Move.

Trails have been cleared by previous teams, but weeds have begun to crawl at the bottom — covering the asphalt. The vines ate away at the skyscrapers and you wondered how many of the creatures hid, lurking, waiting for anything to prey on. Only remnants of Seoul City remained, skeletons of old buildings worn out and long defeated in the battle against nature. You could hear them groaning as the winds picked up, swaying with the breeze as leaves would in the spring. It was hotter outside the dome, unregulated by high-tech machinery. But researchers said the world was cooler than it had been when humans inhabited it,  the lack of ozone-depleting elements in the atmosphere mending the layer of protection around the Earth — keeping temperature cool enough that it didn’t burn skin on contact. 

“Eyes forward.” Jeno commands and you snap back into focus, eyes straight ahead. 

Donghyuck’s laugh breezes through his mic and into your ears. He looks back, “And if anything comes from behind?” 

“Hyuck!” Renjun clutches his arm, yanking him to face front.

A shriek pierced the air and your head turned, your mind recognizing the figure leaping through the vines before your helmet could. Your hands find your dagger and it flies past Donghyuck, its sharp edge slicing the air and straight into the creature tumbling towards you. It cries as the blade digs into the skin of its neck, hands curling as a sanguine liquid leaks out where the dagger pierced it. The creature slows, conscious of the blood it was losing but it didn't stop. Another blade lodged itself into its body and it finally fell limp — hitting the ground with a muted thud, unmoving. 

You all stood still for a moment, adrenaline still coursing but the situation barely sinking in. On the ground lay one of the infamous yasaeng, similar to the ones brought to the Shuttle for study but seeing it move and jolt made your skin scrawl. It was humanoid, skin morphed and grey, pale in comparison to the human body. All skin, bone-thin, clutching onto the frame of its skeleton. And it was dead, leaking and inky substance leaking onto the ground where it lay. 

“Lieutenant,” you call, but he ignores you, stepping out of formation and towards the corpse lying on the asphalt.

He swung his leg, flipping the corpse over. Its body followed, rolling onto its back — lifeless. Still, he kept his hand on the grip of the gun by his belt, precaution or bloodlust, you couldn’t tell. The yasaeng didn’t move or twitch, it laid lifeless with two daggers buried into its body.

“Make the kill quick. Any more shrieking and it’ll attract the attention of others and we’d be cornered.” Jeno plucks the daggers out of the body, blackish ink staining the steel grey. He wipes the blood clean off his pant leg, barely visible over the camouflage print. He offers your dagger back as he tucks his own back to its scabbard in his belt. “Let’s keep going before its friends show up.”

You moved forward, wading deeper into the jungle of buildings. It was hard to imagine a civilization working walking here, but their traces remained, the familiarity of the buildings within the Oasis.  Every step you took deeper into the Wastelands made you miss the relative comfort of your bunk bed back inside the trailer. At least you didn’t have to have your guard up all the time. 

“You okay?” 

You startle, hand reaching to grab the hilt of your dagger. Renjun steps away, cautious, and you exchange apologies. 

“A bit rattled, I guess,” you mumble, the gun hanging over your chest.

Renjun nods as you pass another junction, your formation shifting to guard each other's back in case another thing leaped out of nowhere. “I wish I moved faster.”

“So you could defend me?” Donghyuck asks, hands pressed against his chest. Behind the sheet of thin glass of the helmet, his forehead is creased, still in mid-gasp. “Renjun, I’m flattered.”

The short boy frowned at him, moving aside and returning to his position. “Next time we run into something we’re feeding Hyuck.” 

The trek through the wild continued in intervals of silence. Some of the spots were familiar, some you’ve seen through other troop’s feeds and others you’ve seen from Jaemin’s very own. You found yourselves on a bigger clearing hours into the trek, a break from the towering heights of the abandoned buildings. The asphalt road opened into a bigger path, an intersection, a criss-cross of roads leading to other parts of the city. 

“We’re heading due east.” Jeno announces, urging everyone forward. A hologram floats in front of you, intangible. It remains undisturbed when you wave your hand through it. The image zooms out into an overhead view of your route, a long line straight across the river and into a crowded neighborhood where a chapel sits at the foot of a hill. “We have to reach the church before sundown.”

“No breaks?” The heaviness of Donghyuck’s breaths are clear, the only one stalling them throughout the trek. Jeno shakes his head and the image disperses, minimizing into a mini-map on the upper right corner of your helmet’s screen.

“It gets easier when we get to the top of the overpass. Hold on, 606.” It’s the first show of concern from the Lieutenant. You share glances, brief and unnoticeable.

Cars were littered on the bridge, but it’s far from enough from the ground that the vines haven’t crawled up to the pavement yet. The asphalt faded here, directly exposed to the rain. Only bits of the chalky black remained. 

“Are you sure it’s safe to cross the overpass?”

Your question hangs for a second. Centuries have passed since it was last renovated and repaired, for all you know it could give way any time. The trek across the famous Han River was quite a long one, over a kilometer of walking on what could be eroded concrete and posts that could break with the slightest agitation. The bridge wasn’t tall, you could handle the fall. But if it fell upon itself, you’d be sucked beneath — drowning in the water.

Jeno is the only one who didn't seem nervous crossing the bridge. “If we all die, you can blame me.”

“Can’t blame you from the grave, stupid.” Renjun says but follows after the team head.

“Not when there’s no grave to blame me from.” 

You walk on the sidewalk flanking the wide road, free of the cars blocking your path. It was the first time in the whole adventure that you seemed to be able to relax. You had a clear view of everything; the sky, the river, the road. If anything came at you, you’d see it from a mile away. Beneath you, the vast expanse of blue gently carried away by the wind. The gloominess of the place didn’t seem to touch the banks of the river. It was ever blue, free of pollution unlike the photos from 300 years ago that you’ve looked up. 

“We’re not here to sightsee.”

You push yourself forward, feet brushing against the concrete even when you wanted to stay behind to enjoy the view a little longer. 

“Ignore him. I think he’s getting tired of the view because he’s down here all the time.” Donghyuck says from behind you. “Want a photo?” 

“You brought a camera?”

“Didn’t you?”

You catch Donghyuck blinking at you, hand stretched out and waiting. The device doubled its weight in your pocket, the team’s awareness of its existence threatening your hold on it. It was one chuck away from being lost forever. But Jeno didn’t even look back.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him take it from you.” 

Fishing the cube out of your pocket, you toss it at him. It lands square on his hand and he turns the lens to you, squeezing it to capture your photo. When he smiled, you mirrored it, a little memorabilia from your first trip to Earth — something you could show to Jaemin if you got the chance. 

When he had his fair share of snapping, he hands back the camera to you and you tuck it inside your pocket again.

“If my shots are bad, I’m sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

You smile at him before you break into a sprint to catch up to the other two. “The camera’s got you, buddy. No worries.”

Hwagokro was one of  the many mile-long bridges crossing the Han river. Even beneath the heat of the afternoon sun, the sunlight felt weightless on your skin. The seasons were changing, the summer heat finally giving way to cooler days.

You were getting lost in the view, lost in the breeze and relaxing that you don’t notice the blur of movement that moved inside a car. A yasaeng stirred, its face hitting the glass of the car and making you jump. Renjun is the first to reach his weapon, pointing his gun at the car window, and firing. The glass shatters, raining on the asphalt as the creature careens backwards inside the car. It was a clean shot to the head. 

“Great job on revealing our location, stupid.” Jeno growls.

If the car still had a battery, it could’ve sounded an alarm. You just hoped the sound of shattering glass and the gunfire was carried elsewhere by the blowing wind but it didn’t work that way. You all had to move now. You couldn’t have a mob catching up to you here.

Renjun’s mood worsens, his frown more permanent now than it was earlier that day. Exhaustion creeped through your bones and every step called for a break. You were running out of daylight, you couldn’t be stranded out in the open. You gave Renjun a nudge as you passed him, giving him a reassuring smile before walking on. 

The rest of the cross was spent following Jeno who grumpily walked ahead of the rest, a radio in hand trying to reach out to the other team. Your stomach churned, expectation and anxiousness stirring into one enormous weight. You were inching closer to your goal — closer to Jaemin, but a part of you couldn’t shake the uncertainty. What if he was no longer there? The chances of them surviving with little to no resources in a place crawling with predators were slim. 

But he was Jaemin; you could toss him into the wild and he’d come back as the leader of the pack. He was the ace troop for as long as you could remember, hailed by both seniors and juniors alike. Still the youngest captain in centuries. 

And yet your fear never subsided. It surged every time you saw what you were up against. They were fast and stealthy; you’ve never had the misfortune of seeing them in hoards and you wish never to. Sunlight was waning, you still had a few more miles to trek.

The descent back to land was slow. You were walking on mossy fields again, yet another intersection swallowed whole by nature lay useless as you passed. It was hard to see down the roads with grass clawing at your ankles. The buildings were laced with vines that seemed to gouge out the windows. Places fallen into ruin, lambasted by calamities and claimed by nature, just as the world should’ve been. Humans were nothing but parasites.

“The church is down the block. We should be safer there. Be quiet, we’re in a more congested part of the city. They could be anywhere.”

The fear in Jeno’s tone was unmistakable. You didn’t think the buff boy feared anything, back as trainees and as a full blown Elite. But here he was, ears perked as he walked. The rifle hanging off his back was finally put to use and he held it with both arms in front of him.

You followed suit, grabbing your own weapon. The assault rifle was heavy as opposed to your usual gear. You liked your body light, quick. It was your only advantage against Jaemin when you sparred back in the day. But you learned long ago that close combat wasn’t recommendable when facing the yasaeng. You eventually learned about the big guns, the one-hit K.O. weapons capable of eliminating the enemy with a single curl of a finger. 

Specializing with little knives, you had steady fingers, the light hands of a sniper, a surgeon. It was always a debate where you’d be of better use but you always chose the troops, no matter how many times they tried to wear you down with discouragements. Their words fell on deaf ears, one comment from Jaemin would be enough to get you back on track — motivated, immovable. All you needed was Jaemin’s encouragement, a light nudge to keep you going again. Jaemin’s. Jaemin. You shake the thought of your mind before you could let your guard down.

You arrive at the church undisturbed. It’s red block walls have darkened with time, coated with moss that made it look nearly black with the contrast. Vines crawled up one of its spires but its doorway was free of anything. Jeno climbed the steps leading up to the front door, leaving the three of you at the bottom to watch his back. 

The houses were more congested here, the roads slimmer and thinning your view. Another pathway led deeper into the maze of houses right beside the chapel. Fear crawled up your body, thoughts of spending a night in the heart of yasaeng territory almost unfathomable. The darkness far off warped wherever you looked, forming figures even when there was nothing there.

The chains holding the chapel’s doors shut rattled off the metal rings as Jeno tugged them. Jeno pressed against the metal, light from the sun’s last rays seeped into the room. He froze, you all did because the church wasn’t empty. Crouched over the floor at the center of the room were a dozen of the yasaeng, grey backs turned to the entrance as they busied themselves with whatever was piled there. All their heads snapped to the entrance, their shadow domain shattered with the bright light. Other yasaeng hissed, snarling at the light and clutching whatever they had their hands on. A limb of an animal, a human’s? You didn’t look long enough to find out.

A shriek pierced the air as the first yasaeng charged, the others following its lead. It didn’t take their long legs long to close the distance between. Jeno shot first, switching aims faster than you anticipated. The yasaeng crumpled before it reached him. Donghyuck and Renjun had both their weapons up, firing at the other charging yasaeng.

Four against a hungry hoard, probably a family. Their snarling scratched on your ears. One stumbled backward into the darkness, creeping to the stairs and leaping over the banister.

“Shoot,” Jeno commanded and you followed, swinging your rifle up and firing. Headshot, it tumbled backward down the stairs before stopping at the foot. 

Realizing they were in for a losing fight, some of them retreated, backing away from the entrance. Others ran for dark corners, others retreated back to a stairway. Jeno’s eyes followed the file of yasaeng as they fled.

“They had a way in. Find it, seal it.” Annoyed as you were having to follow orders from someone arrogant, you followed like you were trained to do. 

Renjun trailed you as you headed up the room. Donghyuck and Jeno stood back to back, scanning the bottom floor for any sign of remaining yasaeng. You swung the rifle’s strap over your head, leaving it on the ground floor.

“What are you doing?!” Jeno shouted before another gunshot fired. 

“Too heavy!” 

You leapt up the banister, Renjun in suit with two pistols drawn. Your eyes found an axe resting in a corner and you made the quick swipe to fetch it as you rose up the steps. A yasaeng waited for you at the top of the staircase. Renjun fired, making it fall backwards. He led the way up. 

“Duck!” 

A yasaeng bolted from the shadows, catching Renjun off-guard but not you. He leapt out of the way, stumbling close to the balcony, and you swung your axe — slicing the air and beheading the yasaeng. Its body crumpled to the floor, blood flowing on the second level floor. Renjun proceeded to snipe the others as they rounded the corner. From your spot, you found the opening — a window still casting the glow of the afternoon sun through its opened flaps.

You bolted, gripping the hilt of your axe as you ran. A yasaeng charging straight at you spun as a bullet pierced its skull. It fell to the ground by your feet as you made the last charge towards the last of them. It was backed up against the corner, repulsed by the sunlight but unsure to make the leap out the window. Then it turned, screeching at you as it barrelled forward. You wound your axe with a swing of your arms, gaining momentum until the yasaeng stepped into range. You brought hell down on it, its shriek dying as the blade lodged itself into its skull. Its voice died out in seconds, its body still by your feet.

“Sometimes I wonder why you were never a candidate for the Elites.” Renjun muttered behind you, tiptoeing past the bloody corpses.

“Found something?” Donghyuck called from below, hands on his waist with his forehead glistening in the sunlight. Jeno, on the other hand, was busy dragging corpses across the marble floor, their blood painting a mosaic on the floor.

“Just an open window,” you answered, leaping over the axed head and walking over to the window. 

Donghyuck’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s how they got in? That’s one high window.”

“That’s why we don’t underestimate them,” Jeno answered, chucking something in Donghyuck’s direction which the latter absent-mindedly caught — a lighter. The lieutenant glanced up, “Bring the dead down.”

It was easier said than done. 

As you brought each corpse down, it got harder and harder to maneuver without slipping on wet ground. The stairs were narrow and every trip back up you had to clutch hard onto the railing to avoid tumbling down. You cursed the bloodiness of your own killings, bigger wounds meant bigger pools and a lot more oozing substance. But you got them down eventually with help from Renjun. Their stains on the floor was a problem for another time, or for the next batch of troops sent into an expedition this far out from the dome.

You piled the bodies on top of one another. Jeno went back and forth to pick up the remains of the supplies the yasaeng were gnawing on. You muttered a silent thank you that it wasn’t a mangled human body, even with your experience from killing the yasaeng seeing one of your own would be too much for your system to handle and you would’ve added another mess to the floor.

The last thing Jeno came with was a fuel container, bright and new — a huge contrast from the worn out nature of the other things around.

“Thank God they left a few liters.”

“Thank Him yourself. He’s right there, you know.” Donghyuck muttered, pointing back into the church. Jeno didn’t spare him a glance.

The latter turned the lid to pop it open, the heavy scent of gasoline sharp when you caught a whiff of it. He spilled the content on the pile of corpses, emptying the whole can onto until their bodies sagged from the oil. When he stepped back inside, he gestured to Donghyuck.

“Light it up.”

The other boy followed obediently, striking the flint twice before the flame caught onto the gasoline and spread across the pile. The fire roared to life in seconds, engulfing everything wet by the murky substance. You all watched before Jeno asked all of you to step back. He shut the doors, no-longer chaining them, turning to ask Donghyuck to light up the candles scattered about the first floor. 

“What’s the fire for?” you asked. “I thought fires catch their attention.”

“True.” Jeno answered. “But fires as big as that terrify them.”

You all watched as Donghyuck walked over with a candle stand that looked like a pitchfork with fiery tips. 

“Small flames are pretty but you wouldn’t walk into an enormous one right?” Jeno looked around. It wasn’t something they taught you back at the Shuttle. You were taught to avoid fire as much as you could, leaving no trace of your presence anywhere. It was something he learned on his frequent trips here, a risk the Elites took to survive — either coming up with a successful breakthrough or dying as they tried. “That fire should last us until the next watch. There are jugs full of gasoline at the back, go fetch them if you need to reignite it. Don’t ever let the flame die out.”

You rearranged the pews of the church, forming a hexagon of wooden benches around a center cleared of any yasaeng blood. You walked around igniting small candles you picked off from a sanctorium full of statues in the west wing of the church, lighting the perimeter of the circle until it looked like you were in a seance. 

“Anyone injured from earlier?” Renjun called out. For all his fiery nature, you never expected him to be a healer.

You checked your arms for anything, letting the system scan through your whole body before you stripped off the suit and retracted your helmet. Your palms were a bit unfamiliar with the wooden grip of the axe but your calloused palm from years of training didn’t seem to suffer too much. You recalled if a yasaeng managed to make contact with you but nothing came to mind.

You shook your head. Jeno however walked over with an outstretched hand. 

“Bite?” The alarm in Donghyuck’s tone was unmistakable. 

The laugh that escaped out of Jeno’s mouth was a deep one, nearly lost into the crackle of the flames burning outside. “Of course not. Just a past stitch opening again.”

Donghyuck shuddered. “Okay, shut up.” And he got back to work, lighting a series of small candles to make a makeshift stove to boil water in.

You sat in an uncomfortable silence as Renjun worked. What the smaller boy was doing looked painful but Jeno kept a straight face, as if he’d gone through worse pain than having to get a wound sewn back shut without a bit of anesthesia. 

“I have a feeling that you have something to say, 1130,” Jeno said, tearing his eyes off the void and turning to look at you. “Ask away.”

The calmness in his tone caught you off guard. You half-expected him to say something akin to ‘fuck off’. Walls thinning, maybe the Wastelands brought out different sides of people.

“Do you,” you started, at a loss for words after finally saying what you’ve kept quiet about since the night before, “Do you have a hunch as to why they didn’t come back?”

In the darkness of the room, you could see him frown but he composed himself immediately, like the fragment of emotions was nothing but a trick of the candlelight. He glanced at Renjun who was still mending his skin, the skeptical, cold gaze the smaller boy sent him was enough to let the truth spill. “If you still think I’m jealous of Jaemin the way I was back in training, I’m not.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it,” Jeno answered. “Out here, you don’t get to be petty. Every time we’re deployed, it’s a battle for survival with a superior species.” He glanced at you. “No matter how I despised that bitch back at the Shuttle, it hurt losing a team — let alone half of them. When they didn’t come back, I insisted on finding them but headquarters wanted us back. What remained of us anyway. If I set them up, why would I be back on this mission to get them back?”

“Because you don’t have a choice?” Renjun spat, tying a bandage too tight that it made Jeno wince. 

“Renjun,” Donghyuck called, shaking his head at the other boy.

“You think they were in favor of losing another Elite?” Jeno rebutted, drawing his hand back and pacing the room.

“So, do you have a clue as to where they might be.” You cut them off before Renjun could say another word.

Jeno’s expression darkened. “In the heart of Seoul.”

The silence hung heavily between you. Back when the domes were first set up, previous capitals were the designated locations and staring points. Point Zero used to be Seoul, but the city was too congested with yasaeng. Streets were swarmed with yasaeng during the day, even worse at night. The concrete jungle made it harder to weave through the streets without running into a hungry hoard.

There was an attempt to built a headquarters there, and for the first few years of the expeditions between Earth and the Shuttle there was a facility there — a small building for mission control and an area for pod landings. When they encountered the same problem with the yasaeng with every trip, they decided to move to a different place. Still near the capital but far enough to not be as congested. They landed at Bucheon, a few kilometers west of Seoul. On the last trip out, the surrounding area was bombed — creating an empty moat around the facility to preserve its structure from the yasaeng that liked roaming. 

“What makes the Elites special anyway? Harder missions? Things other than clearing operations?” Renjun asked.

“We do clearing operations but not for places. Yasaeng nests, breeding grounds where they cluster during the day to recuperate or reproduce.”

“So you bomb their motels?!”

The joke slipped over your heads, everyone too engrossed in the thought of what you were up against. Donghyuck apologized.

“What if they didn’t make it to the facility?”

“I refuse to believe it,” Jeno’s tone was nearly enough to convince you. “They may be backed up to a corner, but they’re alive.”

You ate your meals in silence. As soon as your stomachs were filled, you got ready to rest. Donghyuck decided to take first watch with you, sitting at opposite ends of the circle of pews. A part of you kept glancing up, rethinking if you’ve shut the window or if they could manage to pry it back open. If a yasaeng would leap off the balcony, would it leap to its death or manage to bury its teeth on Renjun and Jeno’s curled up bodies.

The fear of being out here, being the prey and being outnumbered, kept you awake. You considered taking the whole shift but you had a valley to climb and an indefinite chance of your goals being reached. It was a game of circumstance, they could still be alive now but with another night in the open, the chances grew slimmer. 

Donghyuck on the other hand opposed your spiral of negativity but remained silent out of sensitivity. If he had a chance he’d never stop talking. But Renjun already threatened to throw a shoe at him twice in the first hour of the shift. He resorted to other things, candle wick, broken plastic utensils that came with the cup noodles you had for dinner, the stations of the Cross hanging from the posts of the chapel, the locket hanging from his neck.

He’d unlocked it several times, popping it open like a booklet to reveal a gold cover on one side and a picture on the other. You never thought of him to be the romantic type and you’ve never seen the loud boy be this close to melancholic, almost sad.

“Who’s that?” You asked, immediately wishing you hadn’t as it violated the one rule you had for yourself during missions. Keep it professional, personal details were off limits just to make the worst case scenarios hurt less. But Donghyuck talked too much, even back when you were on the pod from orbit to Earth. Even if you didn’t mean to, you were listening. You’ve heard enough about the guy that if anyone triviad you for proof that he was your best friend you’d answer perfectly even if you weren’t.

Donghyuck stirred, sitting up so you’d get a better view of the locket. “Chil,” Donghyuck said, “Seven.”

A memory stirs at the back of your mind when he introduced himself the first time on the pod. He came in search of seven. Seven with a capital S, not seven people. Seven didn’t have the kindest expression, glaring at the camera when the photo was taken but it was the photo Donghyuck kept in his locket. Whether he did it to spite her or if it was the only photo he had, you didn’t know. Seven was another troop who you trained with, stronger than most and landing one of the Top 10.

“She doesn’t say her name to anyone, only her serial code. 724,” Donghyuck recited each syllable with a fondness you couldn’t mistake, as if he was trying to embed the number into memory. “724 is too lengthy so I started calling her Seven. Il-gop.” You snorted, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. “She didn’t like it either so I call her Chil now.”

You smiled, “Cute, 6 & 7.” Chil, Yuk. Hyuck.

“You noticed?” Donghyuck beamed, eyes wide before he pouted. “She didn’t notice that.”

“Tell her when you get the chance,” you answered. And the light conversation reverted back to the grueling reality you were distracting yourself from. “You think Seven’s out there?” 

“Of course, she is. She’s headstrong against anyone who dared cross her, how much more when it comes to things that want her dead?”

Donghyuck answered it so confidently, it made you wish you had much confidence when it came to being asked about Jaemin.

“You don’t trust Jaemin?” 

“I do.” You blurted. “It’s just hard to convince myself that he’s okay out there in a world like this.”

For a moment Donghyuck was silent, probably making peace with an anxiety he’d long been trying to hold off too. “Come on, _____. He was our top trainee for years. He wasn’t that competitive but he had an ego the size of the moon. You think he’d let himself die in the Wastelands?”

Jaemin’s achilles heel had always been his ego, you figured he’d die from it someday. The thought left a more dull ache than comfort. Looking around in the chapel made you miss him more. You found it hard to believe that not even a month before, he was pacing under the same roof. The signs of life were everywhere, the charred crumbs on the floor, the nudged pews, the leftover supplies.

You remembered the way Jeno shook his head when he saw you dragging the axe behind you. You asked him what was so funny, turns out Jaemin had been the one to put the axe by the stairwell. He hacked away at the yasaeng that were inside the chapel like a whack-a-mole. You had to learn it from somewhere, you told him.

“No.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “I don’t think he’d like the idea of dying like that.”

Donghyuck felt a tad bit accomplished but he could do nothing else to ease your overthinking, he knew that. Still, he mustered to smile back at you. “Neither do I.”

You woke up to the sound of the doors drawing open. The smell of charred corpses, mixing into the flurry of gasoline and other shit. The pile was reduced to nothing but ashes staining the steps leading up to the chapel. Donghyuck was still asleep in the next bag. 

The sun had risen and the streets were beginning to light up. There was a certain quiet whenever it was morning, the way your voice was lost into the emptiness of the air. The soft touch of the sun, the chirping of birds. You’ve only experienced it through virtual stimulation.

“Good morning,” Renjun muttered when he noticed you were awake. He was geared up, just as he had been a few hours ago when they took watch. His eyes were bordered and he’d yawn every now and then as he paced the grounds. 

Jeno was outside, kicking soot off the steps. He was all geared up and ready to go already. He had a radio in hand, what they once called a walkie-talkie. 

“Got anything?”

He shook his head.  “I hoped we’d get something by now.”

You looked around. “We’re surrounded by woods. Maybe that’s what’s disrupting the signal.”

You were hopeful as if there was a chance Jaemin and the others would still be out there. But what would happen if you crossed the mountain and the otherside was barren — or worse, swarmed with the yasaeng. Jeno thinks it was right that they brought close people along. He would’ve given up after a few hours of getting nothing but radio silence. You began cleaning up, leaving the room the way it was before you arrived minus the pile of ravaged supplies. When you were on the way out Jeno turned to you.

“I know what I said about close combat but you did well with that axe yesterday,” Jeno uttered. “Take it with you. Jaemin wanted to do the same last time we were here.”

You stared dumbfounded before you raced back up the stairs, past the dried blood splotches on the staircase and took the axe where you dropped it the night before. Jeno bolted the door back shut, chaining it the way you found it the night before.

The trek continues, this time through the winding streets of outer Seoul. The roads were narrower and the yasaeng came more often. Weapons of choice were changed. More silent ones were brought out. A silencer, pairs of knives, the axe. You cleared through waves in no time. They weren’t swarming. They’d occasionally be in hooded alleyways but nothing beyond that, nothing beyond what you could handle. But it was exhausting still, having to trek and fight every now and then.

The winding road started sloping upward and the climb became more dreadful. It was just a hill to climb, but it was exhausting sapping you of your strength as you pushed upward. You just need to get to the crest, do another check and hope it will ease a bit of your worries. Half a dozen yasaeng and a pair of sore legs later, you reached the crest that winded down into Seoul then you saw it. There it was, far off into the west. A building standing on a plateau of land around a dry moat of shattered rock and earth — the original headquarters.

“Try it again now,” Renjun said, more demanding and eager at the sight of the building. 

Jeno uttered his script into the microphone, reaching out to whoever could be on the receiving end of the airwaves. But there was nothing but static until the line goes dead.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Battery’s used up. Do you have any spares?”

“You can use my radio instead.” You reached behind you, plucking the radio from your back pocket and tossing it his way. 

“Hello, hello.” 

The voice on the other end was distorted, but even with the scratchy signal, they sounded more bored than worn out. They yawn audibly. “Hello, hello. This is Unit Zero requesting for rescue at the—” The voice trailed off. “Ah! You already know where we are. HQ 1, Seoul City. It’s hard to miss actually.”

For moments you all stood dumbfounded after hearing a voice. Jeno’s helmet retracted, the shock on his face showing through his stoic expression. He blinked, turning on the microphone on your end of the line. “Unit Zero, this is the replenishment unit, dispatched to rescue you. May I ask for your coordinates?”

“Lee Jeno?!” The voice comes sharp, cracking at the end it almost makes you laugh. “What took you so long?! Screw coordinates, you know where we are.”

Seeing Jeno smile sent more chills down your spine than the yasaeng did. “HQ right?”

The other end of the line rustles but their voice comes again. “Yeah. We’re running low on supplies and batteries. Thanks for coming to get us.”

The line went silent. 

“Be careful, we’re surrounded.”

Be careful. Jaemin always wished it on you when you went sparring, after injury. It was something you traded. You, whenever he left for expeditions, and him, whenever he had to patch you up. All you could think about was Jaemin, how he was on the other end of the line. It took physical effort to stop yourself from snatching the radio, demanding the radio on the other end be handed to Jaemin. But a chain of command needed to be followed, neither of the others acting for their own loved ones so you kept it in. 

The answered call, it was a beacon of light, a lighthouse at sea finally turning in your direction.

Beside you, Donghyuck couldn’t stop smiling, even long after Chil ended the brief correspondence between their unit and yours.

The trek down was a lot quicker with a clear goal in mind, you couldn’t be any less ecstatic. They were still out there, any second spent away was one minute they were exposed to the dangers surrounding them. 

“_____, slow down!”

But you're quick on your feet, hacking away at the yasaeng daring to approach you long before they were in the vicinity of the others. You couldn’t contain your excitement; the houses blurred past you and the buildings that creaked no longer gave you the shivers. He was out there, you couldn’t call his situation the safest but he was alive. That was enough. 

Sweat trickled down your face and your back was drenched. They caught up to your pace anyway and the trek to the edge of the crater was achieved before high noon but the sun was high up, mirages forming in the distant roads, and you wondered how the puddles seemed to evaporate when you got there. 

Jeno kept a stoic face, used to the burning sensation the sun's rays left behind. Renjun thinned your water supply every few blocks. Donghyuck sneezed ever so often that you wanted to clog his mouth up with cloth. You didn’t mind the cruel sunlight, even as it burned through your suit.

Ahead, the city stopped abruptly. Towering skyscrapers stood side by side with each other until there was nothing but the vast expanse of the sky for miles. Ahead, a singular building stood surrounded by nothing. The city seemed to continue on the other side, too far off you knew you’d never manage to step there.

You reached the edge of the crater, a kilometer stretch of nothing but the headquarters on its center and a sudden hundred meter drop into a pit of...

“Don’t tell me we’re heading down there.” Donghyuck said as he gazed down at the cliff.

You walked over to the ledge, glancing down at the empty moat and your breath hitched. Your hand flew up to your mouth, clamping over it to stop any other sound from escaping.

The whole valley looked like a mass grave. Hundreds of yasaeng were laid out on the bed of the crater, each one a few feet apart from the next. They were either curled into a ball on themselves or sprawled out on the ground. They were sleeping now but you couldn’t imagine how it would’ve been like lasting the nights here. The piles ran through the circumference of the plateau, the biggest breeding ground you’ve ever seen. Even Jeno froze where he stood.

“I don’t think we have a choice.” Renjun said, tapping two logs buried onto the ground at the edge of the crater. Ropes were coiled around and a ladder snaked all the way down to the valley’s bed. 

“They really cut off the bridge. It’s like they didn’t want to be saved.” Donghyuck stepped away from the edge, feeling safer on higher ground.

“Of course they would,” You answered. “Having it up would be a sign that ‘Hey, we’re here! This way to your next meal!’”

Jeno moved around, locating a safe route to traverse that didn’t require immediate contact with the yasaeng sleeping around. “We’re heading down now.”

“For real?”

“You want to stay out here for the night? You can stay.” He snapped. “There’s a path down that’s away from the yasaeng. When we cross, we have to do it quietly and if we want to reach HQ before sundown we need to start now.”

You didn’t like the way down. It was steep, uneven, and it took every ounce of your focus for you not to step on the wrong place. Ever so often the rock would crunch beneath your feet, sending pebbles off the edge of the cliff and on to the ground. Jeno would glare before he’d make the same mistake. Thankfully, the yasaeng were heavy sleepers. The trek down was long but it was manageable and you reached the bed of the valley alive but not for long.

You clutched your weapons closely. Everything was a last resort unless you could kill quickly. Guns were out of the picture, a shot would ring through the entire valley and awaken a lot more than you could handle. Jeno stayed behind, letting you stay up front as a head fighter with your axe. You remained tight together as you walked down. You tried not to turn your head a lot, there were sleeping yasaeng on either side of you. There was a patch of land where there weren’t any yasaeng, you could see faint traces of charred something and it must’ve been what kept them away from the path.

The path was straight but far. You wanted to sprint but you thought it would make too much noise. You walked fast anyway, briskly walking with light footsteps with only the climb up in mind. The plateau loomed tall before you, its edges shaped in a way that made it hard to scale without fighting the forces of gravity. At the other end of the path was a rock path leading up to headquarters — leading up to Jaemin. You thought of that and prayed you wouldn’t trip over your own feet and doom everyone.

When you reached the end of the path, you nearly sighed in relief but there was still a long way up and the sky was turning orange. The trek up was slower, adrenaline waning as you grew more tired after another day out in the open with little to no rest. You were starving and parched.

Somewhere behind you, the rock beneath gives way. Renjun slipped, nearly off the side of the cliff if he didn’t clutch to the edge immediately. Jeno rushed to aid him, you were a bit far ahead to help. From your vantage point, you see that this time — you didn’t get away with the noise. Below, they’ve begun to stir, early risers from where the shadow of the valley made it dark enough for them to wake.

“Shit! Hurry! They’re coming!”

The rock that gave way was large enough to crush and awaken a few of the yasaeng that lay beneath. One shrieked in pain and the others startled awake. The yasaeng, no matter how far they functioned, still had the brains of humans — capable of piecing two and two together. They glanced up and you caught each other’s eye. Your knees go weak but you hold your place.

A shriek pierces the air as their eyes look on their target and you’re running, skipping steps at a time and hoping the rock won’t give way the way they did beneath Renjun. You were still halfway up the trail and they were catching up with faster hinds.

“Go on! I’ll cover!” You heard Jeno shout behind you and the first gunshot fires. It echoes the valley and for a moment you thought the ground rumbled with it. 

You covered more space in a minute than you did in the past ten. Maybe the ground did hold if you were quick on your feet. Even with your lungs burning along with your thighs, you weren’t fast enough. You could hear them crying as they scaled the cliff.

We’re not gonna make it. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see the yasaeng scaling the wall until they were at the ledges. You had your gun ready. They were getting closer. You needed to get up to the part of the cliff that defied gravity to lose them but those steps were still far up. 

A yasaeng launched itself upward, catapulting to the upper steps of the trail. It snarled at you and you staggered backward, bumping into Donghyuck. Facing yasaeng had never been more terrifying with a 70 meter drop threatening your life. One misstep and you were dead, whether it was forward or sideward it didn’t matter. Donghyuck recovered quicker, holding up his gun and pointing it straight at the yasaeng then fires.

“Now we’re even,” he said.

You take a moment to glance back. Jeno was a few steps behind, holding off as many climbing yasaeng as he could with his back unguarded. Renjun was limp, still recovering from the fall. 

“Take Renjun! I’ll help Jeno!” you ordered, moving past Donghyuck and aiming at a yasaeng closing in on Jeno. “Jeno, move! I’ll cover for a bit!” 

Jeno didn’t have the luxury of putting his pride first. He leapt up the stairs as you put more distance between him and the incoming yasaeng. When you were confident they wouldn’t be coming up any sooner, you sprinted up again. You were getting closer to the top now, the end of the staircase a few steps away. You caught up to Jeno easily, the latter slowing down to keep you guarded. You stuck close to the wall of the cliff, listening closely to the snarling that could jumpscare you any minute. The sun was setting, there would be more of them any time now. You could only wish the doors of the headquarters were stronger than you imagined. 

A bullet whizzes past you, striking true to its target behind you. You turn and catch a glimpse of a yasaeng teetering backwards, clutching the side of its face that was hit by the bullet. It lost balance and fell off the edge of the cliff. You didn’t want to see it hit the bottom with a splat. 

“Come on!” 

The voice you hear is different and you find yourself looking up to the person waiting for you at the top of the steps. An outstretched hand grabbed on to yours and you’re yanked up the remaining steps — stumbling across a flat surface. 

“Jaemin,” you breathed, quick and disbelieving. He doesn’t turn around, focused on dragging you across the field separating you from the protection of the headquarters walls. Two people held the doors of the headquarters open and you could see Jeno slipping in before he disappeared into the darkness.

You felt like you were finishing a lap, your lungs barely registering any oxygen. Your whole body was on fire and you were slowing as you neared the end. But you couldn’t stop now, the chase wasn’t over yet. Your vision blurred and your steps grew heavier. 

“_____!” His voice came clear and you were pushing yourself to your limit in a haze until you crossed the doorway and slipped into the safety of the headquarters. 

You nearly crashed into a wall when you entered but Jaemin cushioned you, slamming into him instead of the cold surface. Your muscles lose their power, whatever drive they had to keep you upright and sprinting earlier dispersing. You could feel yourself weaken and give in, legs first. Only then did you realize that you threw your gun when you knocked yasaeng off balance when you ran out of ammo. You were breathing hard, the spots barely let any light seep through your vision. The heavier your breaths, the drier your throat went.

“Water,” you croaked. 

“Get them some water!”

A bottle was tossed to him and you try your best not to down the whole thing too fast. Jaemin, a hallucination in your haze, kept you propped up, a fraction of your weight shifted over to him. 

“_____, you’re safe now. You’re safe now,” he whispered, brushing hair off your face. 

The racing of your heart began to slow, cradled in his arms and standing this close. You stare up at him, disbelief dawning on you. Your palm cupped his face, his bones more prominent now than before. But his eyes were still soft, incapable of staring at you in any other way that made you feel unsafe. He smiled, rows of pearly white teeth greeting you. 

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Jaemin laughed, quiet enough that only you could hear it. “_____,” he said, and you wondered how long it had been since someone said it so endearingly. “You’re not dreaming. I’m here, you’re safe.”

If you had tears to cry, you would’ve. You could feel the sting at the back of your eyes but no tears came gushing out. You melt into his embrace, all the exhaustion from the hike up washing over you as he kept you upright. He snaked his arms around you, wrapping you in a warm welcome you didn’t want to be free from, even when he hugged you too tight you were gasping for air when he finally let go.

Behind you the doors have been shut close, air-tight and sealed. You were plunged into temporary darkness. Behind you, a flint is struck, sparks twinkling in the air in front of you. A fire blazes after a few strikes of the lighter. Jaemin stood by a desk right by the entrance, hoisting a thick candle up to light the wick before setting it back down inside a glass jar. He hooked his finger around a wiring holding up the makeshift lantern to illuminate the way.

In the silence of the narrow hallway, you could hear the yasaeng shrieking outside. But the walls were thick, along with the iron doors that were bolted. Their voices were muffled. You didn’t realize you were alone in the hallway, the two other Elites that kept the door open earlier already gone. 

“Let’s head to the lobby,” Jaemin glances back at you, ushering you to follow him down the hall. 

The lobby looked similar to the one back at the chapel. It was a wide empty room with a relatively low ceiling, others huddled around a fire at the center. Renjun sat with an elite whom you knew was exchanged with the Elites from another dome, speaking in a tongue you couldn’t understand. Jeno sat  with the other Elites while Donghyuck rambled on beside a girl at a far corner. Chil glances up when she sees you, waving a hand and beckoning you to take your places around the fire. The light burned low, dancing with the shadows around the room. 

Jaemin hangs the lantern on a hook mounted on the nearest wall. He takes his place beside another Elite, turning his head around when he sees that you didn’t follow.

You thought that it was surreal, seeing him again. He had a hand raised as he waved you over. Your skin tingles where it's pinched between two fingers but you don’t jolt away like you used to. The long nights of wondering whether he was still alive were over, finally. Your mind could be quiet for once. Oftentimes you’d lose focus, anxiously thinking of the next day and the hike with it drilled in your mind before you realize that you’ve done it, Jaemin was by your side, alive along with the other Elites.

Dinner was shared over the fire. Surprisingly, water wasn’t the hardest resource with a stream closeby. But it struck a question in your mind. If they could cross the valley like you did, then why hadn’t they trekked home? You didn’t get enough time to butt in. The Elites were strong and the highest ranking troops next to the heads. Questioning them always felt like overstepping, even when it came to Jaemin.

After a catch up in hushed tones and story exchanges, you were left to stand watch with Jaemin as the others got ready for sleeping. You hadn’t realized how long you had your guard up until you were alone with him, feeling safe even when you shouldn’t be. Some of the others opted to stay at the ground floor with a different pair assigned to keep watch in case anything happened. You could hear them faintly as you climbed up to the top floor. 

The second floor had a window spanning the entirety of the other wall, indestructible panes flanked beside one another where steel should’ve been. Though scratched, there were barely any cracks, made out of the same material the shuttle panes were. Four doors were scattered around the room, one on the far wall and the other three equidistant from each other on the opposite wall of the window. What were offices then have been turned into bedrooms now. 

With the lanterns out, the view outside was clearer. The moon casted the empty lands with a faint glow. As pretty as the view was, you didn’t want to risk stepping out.

Jaemin nudges you when he notices that you’re looking out for too long, barely hearing what he’d begun to say. “Jeno mentioned you brought the axe with you,” he said, to which you replied with a small nod. The silence hangs between you, a tinge of awkwardness where comfort should have been. Maybe it was the change of setting, or the trek here that made things different. The ice would thaw, you hoped, convincing yourself you were the only one acting awkward and not him.

So you continued, “Lost it to the yasaeng too.” You remembered bringing it down the skull of a yasaeng that tried to climb up the cliff. It fell to its death before you could pull the axe back. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

His eyebrows furrowed, play-hurt. “Don’t you have a little faith in me?”

“I do,” you defend, though you owed it to the others who kept their hopes up when yours dwindled.. “It’s just that everything seemed to be looking down for miles and we couldn’t contact you until earlier today. I thought you were done for.” Your thoughts pour out, one honest secret at a time until finally you muster the courage to ask about the suspicions you couldn’t shake off. “The valley didn’t seem to be the problem so why hadn’t you come back?” 

The moonlight glinted back on Jaemin’s eyes, illuminating his face with a faint white glow. “It was a mistake to continue searching for the breeding grounds at night. We were exhausted, heading nowhere unaware that it was right under our nose. I thought the breeding grounds would be a cave carved into a wall, a building swarmed with yasaeng, not a crater full of them. Thank fuck the bridge was intact, we never would’ve made it here safely.

“We had enough supplies for our needs for a while but we ran out of ammo. We expected the headquarters to have spares but the boxes we searched were empty. The next day we tried to plant as many bombs as we could, clearing a path where yasaeng wouldn’t dare step on until our ammo ran out. We weren’t even halfway done but as Elites we were never welcomed back until our missions were finished. We had more bombs to plant, yasaeng to fend off and we were armorless and trapped on this plateau with the undead knocking on the doors every night. We tried our chances in melee but that nearly resulted in one of us getting bitten so we stopped and gave up.

“Chenle,” Jaemin smiles, “this kid. He said we’d be too much of a loss for the government, they’d never leave us alone. He was confident the first night, and the second, until he was just as hopeless as the rest of us. Everyday we took turns waiting up here for any radio to contact us, any chance Jeno’s team was still out there. You weren’t the rest of the Elites we were hoping for but I was thankful for any rescue mission.” He tears his eyes away from the ground, turning to face you. “I just hate that it had to be you.”

“You were the reason I was sent here,” you say, catching the way his expression darkens at the mention even when you didn’t mean it to.

“I know,” he answers. “And I’m sorry for putting you through—”

“Nana.” The nickname is enough to silence him, his mouth falling back shut. His eyes are glassy in the moonlight, studying yours as you glance back at him. “It’s fine. I’d do anything for you.”

He breaks the stare and turns away, looking out into the darkness beyond the window. A part of you wished he’d say the same thing back, that he’d sacrifice just as much to get you home safely if it came to it but he doesn’t. 

The night was quiet, as quiet as the thick barriers allowed it. And that’s when you hear it, snarling. Too close for your own liking.

You were on your feet in seconds, scanning the room for any signs of movement. The scratches were faint as if someone was trying to muffle it but it’s unmistakable, too familiar to not spark a fight or flight response from you. “First door,” you point but you know Jaemin figured it out long before you did.

You close the distance in steady shallow steps, daggers drawn. Jaemin turns to you slowly, his own hands wrapped around a pistol. “Wake the others up just in case,” Jaemin orders and you nod before you head for the other doors. 

Jaemin had his pistol up, the comfort of having a loaded gun making his stance more leveled — more confident. The other doors open one by one, the others filing out bed-headed but armed with their own weapons. 

When you were back at Jaemin���s side, he glances back, holding his hand up and counting down with his fingers before he knocked the door down.

Holding a finger up to count up to three before he knocked the door down. The kick knocks the door lock off its hatch and you’re greeted with a horrific scene. The window on the back wall casted a light inside the room to illuminate the scene. Donghyuck was sitting on the floor, backed up against a wall with a hand over a bloodied shoulder while Chil — or what you assumed to be Chil — was on all fours, heaving, snarling.

Her head snaps up, leaping forward but never reaching her target. Jaemin disappears from your side, tackling Chil and knocking onto a desk at the far end of the room. She was pinned to the floor now, still weaker in strength compared to the other boy. She was writhing, gnawing on empty air. It made it hard for you to register that she had just been a human eating dinner with you hours ago. 

“Donghyuck, shoot her now!” Jaemin shouts but the boy sat frozen, even when he had a gun in his hands.

You were about to move in when Jeno pushed past you, aiming the gun at Chil. You could hear Donghyuck’s cries. “No, no, please.” But he’s unable to stand, wincing when he tries to push himself up and Jeno fires — missing Jaemin but striking his target. 

Chil shrieks and Donghyuck leaps out of his place on the floor. You’re quick to stop him, accidentally yanking him back with his weak arm. He fell back to the floor in front of you. Jeno fired twice more until movement seized. Even in the dark, you could see the silhouettes of the holed chest, shattered skull with a pool of blood staining the ground beneath her.

This time you were too weak to stop Donghyuck from standing. He walks over to Jeno, pushing the older boy against the wall with whatever strength he had. Tears were streaming down his face, his hair disheveled and his voice breaking. 

“Why did you do that? Why?!” It was an irrational question. Everyone knew why, even Donghyuck. But in the shock of it all, everyone else remained silent. He knew the truth but it wasn’t sinking in yet. 

Renjun steps in from behind you, pushing Donghyuck back gently before speaking in a hushed tone. “She could’ve doomed us all.”

Donghyuck was glaring, eyes bloodshot as he met everyone’s gazes. The wound on his shoulder was a painful reminder that he was different now too. Things were different now, the reunion short-lived.

“Patch him up,” Jaemin says as soon as he got up. Renjun mutters something you couldn’t make out, guiding a dazed Donghyuck out the room. The others by the exit cleared away, keeping their respective distance. 

Jeno was the sole person who hadn’t moved from his spot yet besides you, staring down at Jaemin as he walked past him. “If you’re just going to endanger us like this then I shouldn’t have shot—”

“He isn’t one of them yet,” Jaemin cuts him off. The air in the room buzzes and suddenly the office isn’t big enough to hold both of them. “We’ll keep him locked up until morning. We’ll figure out what to do with him tomorrow depending on which state he wakes up in, sane or not”.

The other boy relents and you’re all dismissed. Jaemin offers to take the night watch by himself. You walk over to where the boys were, the one that was supposedly yours for the night. The lantern you carried found its place on a desk nearby, illuminating the room in a flickering orange hue. You pick a flashlight instead, spotlighting Renjun’s things and Donghyuck’s shoulder. The effects of the bite didn’t show up immediately, you knew that much. Donghyuck would last over 48 hours without feeling anything but the tingling of his wound. At least, that was what you hoped for his case.

You let Donghyuck walk freely, feeling it was inhumane to have him shackled and restrained when he was nothing but wounded. He sat down on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath him. The room was quiet, except for your exhales and the shuffling of Renjun’s kit.

“We need to wash that up first.” Renjun looked around. “Is that a comfort room?” 

You walk over, prying the door open. The door swung and you kept alert, your gun up even if the door didn’t lead outside. You were met with a tiled floor and a sink, glancing back to give the boys a nod to come over. Renjun worked silently, asking Donghyuck to take his shirt off. You half-expected Donghyuck to make a joke about it like he always did but he remained silent, compliant. 

It hurt to hear him mutter to himself, asking them not to blame him for keeping quiet. It was hard seeing the light of the room lose its vibrance. You knew how long he’d been looking forward to this day only for their reunion to be cut short.

And you finally understand why you didn’t hear him scream as her teeth dug into his shoulder to inflict the wound. She was all he had left. If you were in his place, you might’ve done the same thing. What was his will to carry on if she was gone? The back of your mind screamed that it was a stupid reason. But his emotions had been his kryptonite — his driving force to get here, his way to smile in the face of inevitable doom 

You waited inside the room instead, giving in to the exhaustion of the long day and slumping onto the nearest chair. The pair walked out a few minutes later, Donghyuck’s top hung loosely over his body with damp splotches. 

“_____,” his voice was quiet, nearly drowned by the sound of Renjun shuffling through his equipment. “Could you tell them not to burn her body? I want to bury her tomorrow if I make it through tonight.”

It was a big favor to ask, all three of you knew as much. But the troops honored the last wishes of the fallen, but whether it applied to turning soldiers you weren’t sure.

Renjun patched Donghyuck up with you keeping watch for any sign of turned activity. But Donghyuck remained the same, the only odd thing about him was his silence. The room was dead, cold and silent without his hearty laughter. You’ve only been in his company for a number of days yet his inevitable demise was heavy, the waiting only making it worse. 

When you walked out you delivered the news to the remaining Elites, reaching an agreement to rest Chil in a body bag until sunrise with someone to keep watch over it. Chil was kept in the room closest to the building’s wall, on the opposite side of Donghyuck’s.  

When you first saw Jaemin staring down at the body bag, you were silently thankful it wasn’t him. But your stomach twisted, selfishness overlooking your morality. Everyone was glad to have survived the Wastelands these past few days, Donghyuck of all had been the most excited. No one deserved to have luck that worse.

“He let her bite him.” Jaemin listened as you talked but his eyes remained glued to the closed body bag.

“Did Chil ever show any symptoms?” you ask.

The boy shook his head, making his way out the room and into the second floor lobby where you both had been mere moments earlier before the commotion started. He found the nearest wall, slumped against it and you followed. You had a clear view of both rooms from here, and you’d easily be able to spot any movement should there be any. You doubted there would be anything, but you could never be too careful this far out in the Wastelands.

“_____.”

You hummed.

“If it comes to that, don’t hesitate to kill me.” He said the words so casually, like the conversation was nothing out of the ordinary. It was in the line of work, and after witnessing Donghyuck’s hesitance to end Chil’s misery and endangering the rest of you, you understood why he felt the need to bring it up. “If you won’t do it as my friend, do it for me as your superior.”

Selfish bastard. You spat in your mind. You had to stretch your fingers to stop them from shaking, feeling your chest tighten, breath coming in short intervals. Yet you kept a stoic face as if your composure wasn’t crumbling beneath your skin. I’m not losing you again. You wanted to think but there was never any certainty here.

You never agreed to him. The thought alone was enough to make your body go stiff, submerged in icy water. But it was the unfortunate reality of 2321. If you wouldn’t make it past this hurdle, all future generations would have to face the same.

“We’re making it back to the Oasis alive.” You claimed, as if saying it out loud would suffice to turn it into a reality.

You stood in front of the door like a SWAT team about to swarm the room. You were gathered in an awkward convex formation outside the door, Jeno by the doorknob and Jaemin directly behind him. You were at the supposed crest of the inverted concave, furthest from the curve with your gun pointed straight at the doorway. 

“If you won’t open the door, I will. It’s fucking hot here, I feel like I’m in a boiler room!” 

The door swung open and you swore someone nearly fired their gun. Donghyuck let out a rattled scream, barrelling backwards, mirroring the horror in all of your faces. 

“What the fuck?!” 

“Precautions,” Jeno says up front, waving his hand for everyone to lower their weapons. “It had to be done.”

Donghyuck had his arms up, one raised a bit lower than the other. He ripped out the sleeves of his shirt and his top seemed to be damp. Beads of sweat were trickling down his face and his hair looked like he’d been fresh out the shower.

“He wasn’t kidding about the boiler room.” Jisung, one of the other Elites, said as he fanned himself, the heat of the room pouring out.

Like you expected, Donghyuck’s symptoms haven’t manifested yet, he looked normal to say the least despite the dressing over his shoulder. Everyone was still tasked to keep a close watch on him but the others seemed hesitant to get close, save for you and Renjun. The others backed away when he stepped out into the hall.

Donghyuck glanced over to Jaemin first, eyes lacking the enthusiasm that you’d grown used to. “Where is she?” he asked.

“Back there. Follow me, we have something to discuss.”

You trusted the idea that Donghyuck wouldn’t turn any time soon and Chil was gone but you were still reluctant to leave Jaemin alone with them. The others began to file back down the stairs, called down for breakfast. The ground floor smelled amazing, the scent of a decent meal lingering in the air and you wondered how that was possible with very little supplies. But the Elites were a talented bunch, harnessing skills of survival better than any of you would. 

Even as you gobbled down your first decent meal in days, your mind was elsewhere — wondering why it was taking so long for the pair to follow you down . But they eventually reappear on the staircase, Donghyuck dressed in military uniform and Jaemin trailing behind him.

“Join us,” Chenle calls out.

Donghyuck shakes his head and your eyes follow him as he crosses the room, meeting Renjun’s gaze in the process who shared the same confusion as yours did. If you knew anything about the boy, it was his notorious meal snagging and bottomless pit of his stomach. 

“Where are you headed?” Renjun turned his head as Donghyuck passed behind him. The other boy doesn’t say a word, heading straight for the door without looking back. No one other than the both of you seemed to be fazed and you felt the invisible barriers between who were Elites and who weren’t built back up. 

“Donghyuck will no longer be joining us on the way back to the Oasis.” Jaemin announces, walking down the opposite direction and taking his place beside you. 

“But you should’ve at least let him have a meal first before kicking him out,” Renjun says across the room.

“I didn’t kick him out. I told him Chil’s outside and he can bury her now.”

Utensils clatter as you dig into your meals, veiled with a heavy silence no one was daring to break. You were still shaken from last night’s events. You couldn’t say the same were true for the other Elites but they didn’t bring up anything either. But you had a feeling there was something they weren’t saying.

“What happens to Donghyuck?”

Jaemin stills for a brief moment, the others in the room following suit. The only person who was just as concerned as you were was Renjun. The rest of the Elites were unfazed, unbothered, like the same thing had happened a hundred times over. Losing a part of the team must’ve been heavy for them, but you couldn’t see anyone mourning Chil’s turning.

Beside you, Jaemin sighs. “Let’s just say he’s making the most out of the time he has left.”

You had a feeling he was trying to shake off the subject so you didn’t pry any further. It was obvious they didn’t want to talk about it anymore. So you went on with your meal, forgetting Donghyuck temporarily and convincing yourself he was just outside to give himself time to prepare for what was to come.

In time, everyone finished their meals, tidied up the place as if you hadn’t been there. Your bag felt significantly lighter now without the guns and the ammo packed for the Elites. The metal door churns slowly as it was reopened and you got to breathe in the Wasteland atmosphere for the first time since yesterday. The scent of rotting flesh the yasaeng seemed to carry makes you nauseous, lingering where they had been camped the night before. It wasn’t too hot today, winter’s traces already showing. The cold weather worked best. It meant there was a chance the yasaeng were beginning to cluster in an attempt to stay warm.

Donghyuck was outside, sitting on the edge of the cliff, shovel on one side with a disturbed patch of soil on the other. 

“Out here without guns?” you say as you approach him.

He squints up at the sky then at you. He shrugged off his uniform now, white shirt shining as it absorbed the sun’s rays. The situation with the bite has gotten worse now, webs of infected veins running down his forearm. “They didn’t seem to mind me. I think they know I’m one of them now.”

From behind you the rest of the team assembled outside, locking the door to the headquarters behind them. There was no turning back anymore. Either they made it back to the dome alive or they didn’t. “We need to get going.” Jeno mutters as he passes by you, the others already trekking down the path down the valley. In the broad daylight, the yasaeng didn’t stir. 

“You’re not gonna bid me goodbye?” Donghyuck asks, a hint of his cheekiness in his tone. It made your heart sink.

Jeno turns, face still stoic, but he raises a hand to his temple in a salute before tapping twice. His eyes disappear behind the visor as his helmet assembles over his head. Donghyuck salutes back and Jeno leaps down the path.

You left Renjun and Donghyuck to have more time to say their goodbyes. By the time the former climbed down and caught up to you, his eyes were red. You didn’t bother to ask about it. You tread the path that cuts through the death valley just as silently as you had the first time. This time, you all managed to cross without any disruptions. The yasaeng liked the humid weather, deep sleep as if in hibernation.

You sighed in relief when you made it back onto the main road. Jeno was still leading the way, followed by the easily rattled Jisung whose Elite status you always questioned. Renjun and Chenle walked in silence, matching the others’ steps but not talking anymore. Jaemin stayed behind, a few feet away from you with his own rifle slung over his chest. 

“I’m sorry, _____.”

You didn’t look up to meet his gaze. “I know. Protocol.” 

The utter brutality of the army corps. Infected people were left behind to avoid endangering the people that lived at the Oasis. Any form of resistance would result in execution. At least, with Donghyuck’s compliance, it hadn’t come to that.

You took one final look back on the plateau and the headquarters sitting on top of it. Donghyuck was no longer where you left him. 

“We need to move.” Jaemin mutters beside you when he catches a glimpse back at the place you had just abandoned.

“Are we really in that much of a rush?”

He doesn’t answer, only upping the pace to which he was walking until he reaches Jeno far up front in the formation. Then you remember a snippet of your conversation last night, the very reason they’ve been there in the first place, why they haven’t left. 

“No.”

The valley birthed new batches of yasaeng and sent them swarming across the Wastelands. No matter how much land you cleared, if you didn’t pull the problem out from the roots your endeavors would be pointless. Eliminating the breeding grounds became top priority, assigned to only the most skilled troops — Elites. This by far was the largest nest yet. Leaving it undamaged would only put your problem on loop for generations.

You pulled your visor on, the mechanism clouding your eyesight as soon as you activated it. You zoomed onto the plateau. Donghyuck sat outside, vault door open after hauling two enormous cargo boxes outside. You knew what those craters held; grenades, gasoline, all would burst at the slightest agitation. He sat on top of one and pulled something out of the other, a handheld radio.

“Oy, hope you’re far enough.” You hear a scratch of static then the radio blares to life. “Renjun, stop crying. _____, hit Jeno for me.”

“You’re mad, Hyuck.” Renjun says, voice cracking but he manages to laugh.

“You all owe me one. This was supposed to be your job.”

The Elites ignore his light-hearted small talk. “We crossed over the first kilometer mark, Donghyuck. Ready when you are.” Jeno says into the radio’s microphone then he turns to the younger boys who stayed back to listen in on the radio conversation too. “We’re not sight-seeing. Let’s move.”

You try hard to walk forward without looking back, visor aside. Every stride forward felt heavy, every step against your will. But it was protocol, for a better world, you reminded yourself. There was nothing more that you could’ve done. The explosion comes in seconds, shaking the ground where you stood no matter how far. The bombs the Elites installed from days prior, you remembered, the chain reaction waiting for its activator.

Another explosion followed, then another, and another. The wall around the crater seemed to crumble with the explosions, the shrieks of yasaeng audible even from a distance. Gunfire echoed, filling the air between explosions. Jaemin kept you facing forward.

One explosion louder than the rest, rattles you out of yourself — like a bass drum struck right by your ear. You finally tore your eyes away from behind you, the last image of the horizon clouded by a thick dark cloud of smoke from the burning headquarters. The plateau’s structure shattered as another bomb lodged deep into the ground detonated, the whole thing crumbling down leaving nothing but rubble in its wake.

The way back seemed shorter with the trek already familiar, veiled with a heavy silence between the members of the team but walking beside Jaemin seemed to ease your grief. You were walking back with half of the anxiety you came with and that was enough. You reach the church long before sundown, taking it as a time to recuperate after everything that’s happened thus far. A part of you couldn’t wait to be back inside the trailer, at the bottom bunk of the abnormally hot room or anywhere without the threat of waking up to a snarling yasaeng over you.

You had half an appetite for a meal, exhausted and emotionally distraught with the sudden loss of company. But you realized everyone else was grieving just as much as you were, just as closed off as you were. The Elites lost Chil, the replacement team lost Donghyuck, Jeno lost both but he never seemed to show how it affected him.

“My first death felt like that too.” Jaemin says beside you, as if to read your mind. He had his sleeping bag directly beside yours. “Horrible, huh?”

You remembered him coming home the first time, the harshness of the following training sessions before you figured out that the Wasteland experience changed him. He later told you one of the older Elites died, right in his first mission out and spent weeks blaming himself for it. 

Camp was a lot more silent without the chatterbox, despite being one of the weaker members in the team. So you dead set your goal on surviving or his death would’ve been for nothing. There were more of you now, attracting more attention from the yasaeng but you’ve crippled an ample amount when you bombed the nest. You had relatively better odds of making it back with no more casualties. The mission was done, all you had to do was go home. You won’t have to spend another day out in the Wastelands after tonight. You’ll be home by sundown tomorrow, before the monsters start crawling out of the shadows. 

“You can’t stare up at the ceiling for the whole night.”

Jaemin’s voice shakes you out of your reverie, breaking you out of the hypnosis the darkness was drawing you in. You turn your head, “Is that a challenge?”

He lets out a laugh, a quiet one so as not to wake the others. “No.” He rolls on his side, tucking an arm beneath his head. “You’ve improved a lot. Jeno mentioned you were a fighter on the way here.”

Scoffing, you glance at Jeno who was lying across the room, never thinking he was capable of saying nice things. “The Commander was right. The most powerful driving forces lied within the people who wanted their loved ones to come home safely.”

You never thought that part of the reason that Jeno came back was that he could’ve been another person who had someone important. But you saw him be overprotective of Jisung, an orphaned kid he’d taken a liking to long before they both got deployed to the Wastelands. Renjun and Chenle, Donghyuck and Chil, you and Jaemin. The actions that drove you through what should’ve been impossible situations.

“Loved ones,” Jaemin repeats, “So you love me then?” His voice was quiet, teasing and you could almost hear the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

So, did you love Jaemin then? You thought about it, blinking back up at the dark blank ceiling. Your desperation to get to him, had it only been out of concern alone? Or was it attachment turned to something more? What was love, even? You’ve only seen it in movies, in solemn gazes at one another, in slurred professions after kisses. 

When you turned to him, his eyes were already shut, lashes casting a shadow over his face. His hair fell over his eyes, his breathing shallow. You cupped his cheek, brushing a thumb on a scar lining his cheek bone.

You didn’t know how to answer. “Good night, Jaemin.”

There were barely any yasaeng around the rest of the way, it made you think that the bombing of such a vast breeding ground crippled the population of yasaeng in the area. Early the next morning, you reached the river. If there was one thing you heard of that didn’t change about the world, it was the sea. It only got better without the pollution.

The sky wasn’t as dreary as the first time you passed. It was a sunny day but not too hot nor too cold. The telltales of the change in season, the sunlight a warm touch on your face.

“You said you’d take me to the sea someday,” you said, turning to Jaemin who followed closely behind you. He’d been to the shore once on an expedition. “They said the river ends there.”

“It does,” Jaemin answers.“It isn’t too far from the dome. In a few years time, you’ll be able to enjoy it as much as you like. I would take you there today but for now, we need to get back to headquarters.”

“Take me next time.” You muttered. If there was a next time. You were on Earth now. Would they send you back to outer space again when the mission was through? It was successful, would they grant you permission to stay here permanently?

If you were honest, you didn’t want to be separated from Jaemin again. You were stronger now, you could manage staying down here, facing the monsters rather than staying alone in outer space. You wanted to stay. You’d beg the commanders to let you. You wanted to see the beach with Jaemin, dine in one of those extravagant restaurants that didn’t serve the canned food you’ve been consuming lately. If you managed to save enough, you’d buy a room in one of the high rise buildings in the Oasis, a better apartment for yourself. 

A fleeting thought crosses your mind. Maybe the prospect of sharing the same space as Jaemin wouldn't be too bad. A future with Jaemin wouldn’t be too bad, and not impossible now too. With you on Earth, what was stopping you from spending your days together like you used to? Did he feel the same way about it? You tried not to think too much about it, slowly coming to and realizing that Jaemin was talking and laughing. You hadn’t heard a word he said.

Looking at the same sun was okay, being under the same sky was better, but breathing the same air was phenomenal. 

As you crossed the bridge, the dome got closer and you plunged back into towering skyscrapers and city blocks. You didn’t realize how tall it was with your back turned to it. It loomed at an overwhelming height, far up as the eye could see. The panels mirrored back the light from the sun, resulting in a halo around its bubble. It was close to sundown when you reached the border.

An alarm blared to life as you got closer, the metal gate exhaling as it opened. You were met with guards clad in PPEs, covered from head to two as if coming close to you would contaminate them. You were sprayed by a mist, your things taken and deposited — a literal weight taken off your soldiers.

“Hold it, troop. You’re still subject for the rapid test.” A soldier said and you extended your hand. He pricked your ring finger, drawing blood and storing it in a device. He patched it up and waited for the device to process the information. One by one the other troops were tested too. And while you were sure not a single yasaeng had gotten close enough to you, you wondered if by any chance you’ve gotten infected. There had been cases of slow turns, infection through minimal contact, it must’ve been what happened to Chil if her symptoms didn’t show until it was bad enough. You shuddered.

Then the device glints green and you’re allowed to pass. The guards forming a blockade step aside to let you in. The air of the Oasis lacked the heaviness from the outside, you max out your lung capacity and sigh in genuine relief for the first time in a week. It was great to be back on protected soil and up ahead you could see the shining city of New Seoul. The dome really was an artificial bubble, it didn’t feel raw like the Wastelands. Sunlight here was mediated; hot but not as searing as the rays outside. A part of you wanted to walk under raw sunshine, but at least you were back in the safety of the dome where you didn’t have to be alert 24/7 for a potential attacker from any possible direction. You finally began to relax.

The others were unloading, just as relieved as you were. One of the Elites headed straight for the showers.

“We made it back, huh?” Renjun says, coming up beside you. “Do you think they’ll send us back out there?”

You shrug but after a moment of thought you continued, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Renjun huffed, “I would. Hope they won't force us to.”

You agreed with him and you understood. Donghyuck’s death was heavier to him than it was to you. He disappeared down the path of trailers, heading for the showers. Jeno gave you a small bow as he passed and disappeared with the others. You were busy breathing the old air but the moment doesn’t last long.

Your ears ring as the alarm sounds again, a different sound this time. One aimed to elicit panic, one that captured your instincts in one go. You never wanted to hear this, but the familiarity of it drilled into your mind every day when you trained at the Shuttle. Yasaeng. It was an alert that sounded only if there were any nearby. You drew your gun out of your holster, pointing it behind you where the alarm had come from and found yourself turning at the border entrance. Jaemin stood by the entrance with both his arms raised, flanked by two buff soldiers on either side of him.

Commander Nakamoto stood at attention by them, radioing someone from the headquarters. From where you stood you heard him mutter, “This is code red. 2316-0813, positive at South Border. Send reinforcements immediately.”

Amidst the sound of the alarm you stood silent. Jaemin was whisked away, head down and not sparing you a glance — as if he had known all this time.

The bite didn’t sting the first night. Jaemin had thought it was just another gash he didn’t know the origins of. It was on his right arm, the one he used to block Chil’s pounce. He hadn’t realized that her teeth grazed his skin, spilling rabidity into his system. He blamed his ignorance towards it on his heightened pain tolerance. 

When he woke up the next day he felt it numbing, pinpricks over a fraction of his arm that felt like the limb had gone static. He wasn’t sure if it was a symptom showing skin or his own paranoia chewing on him again. The pain grew as the day passed, rendering his dexterities immobile and he knew that when you took his hand in yours and he barely felt anything. 

It was only a matter of time but there was no way it would be under two days. It would be more than enough time to get back to the Oasis, ensuring you’re back safely behind the barrier of the dome. He could be blocked at the checkpoint, subjected to research. The pain only worsened as you got closer to the dome and he hoped no one would notice he was holding his gun with his off hand. The weight of his arm was nearly impossible to ignore one. He knew he was endangering everyone just by being there, but he was far from turning. To infect it had to spread through his whole system. For now, it hadn’t mazed past his arm.

Jaemin once dreamt of retiring at an age where he was still capable of doing something. No joint pains, no shortness of breath. Young. When he scored a spot on the Elite team, he knew he’d have the opportunity to save enough money to sustain a simple life at the Oasis. Someday, when you were both through with Shuttle training, he envisioned doing expeditions on Earth together, clearing as much area for future generations as you could. It had always been a dream since you were younger. After you’ve done your efforts to serve, you’d be living the lives of regular Oasis citizens after decades of public service.

And just like that, he didn’t have a few years anymore. Alone in his cell, he was struggling to accept what happened — that was it. No more future for him.

Jaemin once thought that the underground facility beneath the outskirts of New Seoul was nothing but a thing his trainers used to scare him when he was younger. If you turn, you’ll be sent to the chambers. He learned it the hard way that it had been true, they just tried to sugarcoat it. He recalled the first time he had to take someone down there, the scent of formalin thicker than oxygen in the air. The halls were white, just like the Oasis, just like the shuttle. Cells lined both sides of the hall, thick glass barriers separating him and the creatures on the other side. But they weren’t quite yasaeng yet, half-human. He always tried not to stare as they passed, leading the fallen troop into the nearest available chamber and leaving them there until the day they turned. He hated coming down here. It felt inhumane to jail people, to let them feel the infection spread in isolation, to be studied until the last of their moments. But it was a population-wide agreement that experiments and studies could be carried out on them to devise some sort of vaccine against the virus carried by the yasaeng outside.

It hadn’t been long since he’d last been here. The him from days ago would’ve never expected to be on the other end of the journey down. They let him go when they began their descent. He was still flanked by two troops, the commander close behind him. He was asked to walk into the chambers himself. Even in their last moments, troops were awarded more freedom to move. They knew they wouldn’t make it out of the underground facility without bullets drilled onto their backs if they tried. 

The glass slid open when Jaemin stepped on to the steps in front of it and he realizes that this was the reason why no turned yasaeng managed to escape. There were two glass walls, one bordering the main chamber and the other lining the sides of the hallway. It allowed a two-foot space for any visitors. The scent of chlorine was still heavy in the air, mixed with a faint scent of iron. Newly cleaned, someone else had just died here — killed here. He was just another soon to be corpse, just another tenant in the room. These four walls would be the last things he’d see before it was all over.

“How?” Commander Nakamoto stood at the other side of the glass. His voice came through the speakers around the room. Rude as the commander was, he always seemed to show mercy towards troops who’ve been turned. Granted their last wishes, kept them company when no one else came.

Jaemin spilled the truth in detail. The rescue team's arrival. Their unknowingness of Chil’s infection, probably contracted mid-way through installing the bombs around the crater. What happened to Donghyuck. The bombing, their escape, the journey back.

“When did you find out?” the officer asked.

“I was only sure of it today.”

Nakamoto stood silent at the other side of the glass, staring down at Jaemin but not saying anything. Jaemin hated pity but he understood why they glanced that way. “It was an honor serving with you, kid.”

Jaemin only managed a weak salute back.

“Someone’s here for you.”

Just like that, he knew that that would be the last time he’d see the officer.

You appeared in his stead. You haven’t changed yet, filthy uniform and worn out face. Jaemin remembered having to nurse you back to health after training when you were younger. You were the only one who treated him normally; unlike the other trainees who were either competing with him, either trashing his name or putting him on a pedestal. You were often subject to comparisons to him, and yet you maintained your genuinity, your kindness without a hint of despising him. He knew you were a keeper since then.

At 16, he was sent out to the field. And so began the long expeditions into the Wastelands, away from what he’d been accustomed to call home for all his life. Homesickness wasn’t an option, he had to get his shit together to survive out there, to keep up with the other Elites. He shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind but they always resurfaced. He missed the Shuttle dearly, he missed you dearly. 

Throughout his expeditions, he’d note key places you’d like if you were ever sent on an expedition down here. He documented them in his camera, sent them online whenever he’d be back in the safety of his apartment in the Oasis. He’d bring trinkets with him, against the protests of the hazard committee. They always told him three-century old things would carry three-century old bacteria. He’d douse them in 99.9% alcohol and hoped the remaining 0.01% would be harmless. He stayed alive out there, every breath and waking moment spent in eager hope to get back to the Shuttle, back where you waited patiently..

Then he remembered the waiver given to the Elites when they were first sent onto missions that required elimination of hotspots within the charted territories beyond the dome. It was an honor to be in the cream of the crop, but the tremendous pressure that came with it was often nerve-wracking. He thought he’d break the night they realized they were trapped at one of the biggest hotspots with little to no resources. They couldn’t blow the place up without someone staying behind to set everything off. 

Then came the day Chil burst into the headquarters, claiming to have spoken to Jeno, enumerating the codes of the members of the rescue team and dumbfounded when he heard yours. He thought he was dreaming until he saw you climbing up the path leading up to the headquarters. Your hand in his, your face illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the windows. Your reunion was cut short by the incident and by the dull burn of his arm as it spread up his body. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“When did you find out?” you asked, the same question as Yuta. 

“Was only certain today.” Jaemin whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” you said. Jaemin agreed, neither you nor him could do anything about it anymore. “Uh, I,” you trailed off, your voice cracking at first but you pushed through. “I documented my first mission to the Wasteland, do you want to see it?” 

Jaemin doesn’t miss the force in your voice, but you pushed the enthusiasm. It was there, somewhere, just overpowered by your grief. You tried for him anyway. He nods and the glass between you lit up like a screen. You were sitting on the floor now, Jaemin mirroring you on the other side.

“I was supposed to show you these back there but we were always preoccupied.” you uttered quietly, swiping the hologram up until what your watch showed was mirrored onto the glass Jaemin was staring at. 

Jaemin watched as you swiped through the photos, narrating details about the two-day adventure that you went on. The roads you crossed were familiar to him, and he couldn’t find it in him to tell you that he’d seen it all before. But there was a photo of you, smiling at the camera with your hair swept by the wind. 

“Who took this?” 

“Donghyuck.”

“Pretty.” He swiped the screen, in an attempt to save it but the air was unresponsive. They were disabled within the chambers. He sighed.

You went on with the rest of your photos, cut off only when your visor got cracked on your trek up the plateau. The glass turns transparent again when the slide show ends and you sat in silence, neither of you wanting to say a word.

Jaemin caught sight of your bloodshot eyes, hearing you sniffling even when you tried to do so as silently as possible. He wished he could hug you one more time but they’d never allow it now with more of his symptoms surfacing.

The events of the upcoming days were left undiscussed, an obnoxious elephant in the room.

“I’m sorry,” Jaemin said. You didn’t reply and walked out.

Jaemin grew weaker as the days passed. The gradual decline of his health, the thinning of his limbs, the darkening of his eyes. As he finished the first week of the 21-day incubation period of the virus, a chain was clamped to his ankle — one too tight in case he’d lose more weight in the upcoming days and slip out of it. For days you leaned against the glass, and he’d sit as close to the glass as the chain allowed him. 

Some days he was strong enough to sit up, lean against the wall and talk to you all day about anything and everything. Reminiscing, dreaming of a life outside. But as the days passed, he talked slower, opting for you to talk more. He’d sit listening until he eventually drifted off. He grew tired more easily, the disease eating away at his life. You went to him as soon as your day started and you left when the scientists came. The first few times, you wanted to stay and watch what they did exactly. Envious that they were able to get closer to him than you did. Then they’d flick their wrists and the glass barrier would turn into a two-way mirror, with you on the reflective side.

It got worse as the days passed and he’d spend more time sleeping on the floor instead of the bed provided for him, unable to hoist himself up without his muscles aching. You could only sit and watch, hearing his murmurs to take the pain away. All you ever wanted was to hold him, tell him that he wasn’t facing this alone. You were there, but even that felt like a lie. The pain he had to go through was unimaginable, you couldn’t fathom how much it hurt to have your whole body be overrode by a foreign entity. Losing control of your limbs when you could still see them, losing sight even with your eyes pried open. 

You both had your own burdens to carry. His painful death, and the void of his absence. Living the rest of your life without Jaemin was something you didn’t want to think about but was forced to. You wanted time to slow down, have him here a little longer, but prolonging his agony would be selfish. You had to let him go.

The tranquilizers stopped working today. 

You were back in his apartment in the Oasis, one with a majestic view of the white city. Your visit today had been short and Jaemin had remained unresponsive. He was nothing but a shell of who he used to be. If he heard you, it didn’t show. He would pace the roam, chain clattering against the tiled floor but he’d pay no attention to the wall where you stood. 

You received a knock in the middle of the night. It comes twice before you finally decide to open it.

“Jeno, what are you doing here?”

“The tranquilizers stopped working. As of today, he’s considered turned. They stopped the experiments, it’s too dangerous to send someone in.” You wondered if it ever burdened Jeno to deliver such tragic news because his poker face never seems to change. “He’s awaiting execution.”

You saw it coming but the announcement stunned you silent. You felt your world crumble, the gnawing feeling you’ve avoided that maybe you could just let him fall in the hands of others. His final request had been too cruel, too selfish, and you had to carry the burden. You hated it, you wanted to hate him. But you couldn’t bear the idea of having someone else put the bullet in his head. 

Jeno handed you a file, a list of Jaemin’s assets and where they’ll be headed after his execution. Majority of it to you, a significant portion to the various organizations working to find a solution. You  left it atop a cabinet, dressed up and followed Jeno out of the building minutes later.

The facility felt more suffocating today. You walked past crying relatives, the faint ringing of a bullet, a dull thud then the deafening silence that came after. Jeno led the way to the chamber, even when your feet memorized the route. The glass slid open as you walked up the stairs until you were looking into Jaemin’s chamber. 

“If you don’t want to do it,” Jeno trailed off. The gun rested on his palm, one of those weapons with the sharper bullets. 

You looked up at him and you realized that Jeno had seen the scene happen too many times and made the killing shot for others who couldn’t countless times before..

“I’ll do it.” You steeled yourself, taking the weapon and grasping it in your hand. The grip was warm against your hand, but the metal was cold. The killing shot was a bullet away.

When you were ready, Jeno tapped the code and the glass door slid open, just enough to let you slip in before it closed back shut again. The sharp tang of blood hits your nostrils even through the mask they’ve given you, making your nose scrunch. 

Jaemin stood facing the wall. This was the closest you had been to him physically since he was locked away. But when he turned around, you realized that it wasn’t him and your best friend was gone. What stood in his presence was a yasaeng. Bone-thin, grey-skinned, sunken cheeks and eyes with no pupils. His clothes were ragged and ripped, his own skin scratched, bloody fingertips leaving a trail of droplets pooling at his feet. All his limbs were shackled now.

He inhaled deeply and before you knew it, it was running straight at you.

“_____!” You heard Jeno’s voice through the speakers. But you knew the length of the chain and just how far he could reach. 

The shriek he let out was blood-curdling but cut short when the chain’s stretched and reached their limits and he fell forward. He pushed himself up, body and head pushed forth with his arms and legs hanging back. He had his teeth bared, red substance staining once pearly white teeth. He was snarling at you, his eyes showing no recognition and you felt the last of your hope fizzle out. 

You pressed the barrel of the gun against his head and he jerked his head backward. Thankfully, he doesn’t knock the gun off your hands. The chains clanged and he lurched forward, jaws snapping and aiming for your hand, missing your skin by a millimeter. Too close. 

Even on the brink of death, Jaemin was a force to be reckoned with. Your body recalls the last time he headbutted your gun in training, long before your mind does. Muscle memory kicks in and with a swift hand, you hit the back of the gun against his head. His body falls limp again, hitting the floor with a loud thud. You aim the gun where he laid and before you could hesitate, you fired.

The sound echoes the room and it rings in your ear. Then you fire again. 

Blood pooled beneath his head, leaking out from the holes you’ve punctured through him. You stagger backward as it crept closer to your feet and the realization hits that you’ve killed your best friend with your own hands and you had no one else to console you.

In another life, Jaemin would’ve been proud. In another life, you wouldn’t be here.

You remembered the first time you heard about Christmas. It was nearing the end of the year. One random night, Jaemin asked you to skate with him and bring a gift along with you. He hadn’t been home in a while and you figured this was his way to make up for lost time. 

At the time, you didn’t understand the necessity of it. His birthday had passed months ago. But you got him one anyway, the lack of time making you purchase something off the top of your head. You chose something practical, a gift package for this game he’d been playing with the others lately. After doing your research, you picked items for his avatar — skins and weapons that were, according to the strangers you consulted, were the best of the best.

Jaemin arrived a little after you did, clad in a polo and slacks as if he were going to one of those lavish parties the administration threw annually. You barely saw him outside his jumpsuit, mesmerized by how he looked in formal wear. While you, on the other hand, were practical — a puffy jacket for the cold air of the rink. He shivered as he approached.

“You invite me to the rink and wear something thin?” You yelled from across the room.

His laugh resounded down the stadium. “Did you forget to bring the gift?”

You shook your head. “It’s not something I could physically bring.” 

You tapped on your wrist, toggling the hologram of your screen in front of the both of you. The screen floated and you swiped through the air, scrolling through your inventory until your eyes happened upon the familiar blue and silver packaging of his gift. You curled your fingers, pulling the hologram out of the screen and hovering it in the air between you and Jaemin. 

“You didn’t have to bring it out now. I planned to give you mine first.” 

“That can wait,” you said, unable to contain your excitement for his reaction. “Open it.”

He tugged it to him, pulling it to his own screen. He swiped up, the top of the gift popping off and vanishing off the holographic screen. The box shifts and vanishes along with it. In its place was the list of items you carefully picked out to form the package in the form of game cards.

“No fucking way. You shouldn’t have.” His eyes widened, scrolling through the Kwangya merch you’ve gathered. “Rare guns, rare skins, you’re kidding.” He looked over at you. “This must’ve cost a portion.”

“No worries. Take it as a token of appreciation for everything.” Training me. Being friends with me. your list could go on. If you enumerated everything you were thankful for, you’d be here all night.  

“So what’s with the random gift-giving?” you asked.

Jaemin tapped his wrist watch, the screen powering off and disappearing from the air. “On our recent mission, I discovered that people used to celebrate on the 24th or 25th night of the 12th month. They called it Christmas. There’s a lot of gift-giving involved in winter.”

You never experienced winter but the ice rink was the closest to your experience. 

“Follow me on to the ice.” 

You were still wearing modified boots, so did Jaemin. Blades popped out your shoes and you were gliding on the ice. You followed him, speeding when he did and stopping otherwise. He held your hand as you circled the rink, enjoying the wide space only the both of you occupied for the time being. You were too busy laughing that you didn’t feel him slip something into your hand until he pressed it. 

“What’s this?” You realized late, staring at the box you now held in your hand. Jaemin let go of you, skating a bit further as you stopped to examine it. “A box?”

“Open it.”

You let go of his hand, prying the box open. A ring was tucked neatly into the foam. “A ring?”

“I found it back there. Well preserved inside a vault along with a stash of other things.”

“You stole this?”

He shook his head defensively. “I asked for the commander’s permission to take one. He has enough to have one around each finger and toe.” You snorted out laughing, tucking the box into your back pocket and wearing the ring around your finger. 

Jaemin looped back to you. “Have you heard of promise rings?” 

“No. I’m assuming they have promises tied to them?” 

“Not physically,” he said as he lowered your hand when you were snooping the inside of the ring, searching for the inscription. He held out his own hand and you see that a ring similar to yours was coiled around one of his fingers. “We make a promise and we’re bound together by the rings.”

“So what’s the promise?”

Jaemin’s expression was somber when you looked up to him. “Can you promise that you’ll stick with me until the end?”

You blinked back. “That’s funny. You’re always the one who’s leaving.”

He chuckled, dropping his gaze momentarily. “But can you promise?” He was insistent, as if he was scared that you really would leave regardless of how impossible it was. You were suspended in space with no other person you held close besides him. The promise was easy to make.

“I promise,” you replied and you let him slip the ring into your finger. “Will you promise the same thing?”

Jaemin glanced at you. “Of course,” he replied. “I promise.”

At least he kept his end of the promise. He stuck with you until the end — until his end. 

You found yourself at the beach. The waves rolled up to greet you, the seafoam fizzing as the water retreated back into the sea. The view was amazing and tranquil. The blues stretched out forever, the lighter sky overhead and the other darker hue by your feet. The view remained the same, you just wished the company had been different.

“Are you sure you’re retiring?” Renjun stepped up beside you, squinting at the horizon. He’d been on the same team as you were since the rescue mission and the friendship between you had only grown since then. 

“I have enough money to live a good life until I die of old age,” you replied.

Besides, they didn’t need as many soldiers anymore. With the development of the vaccines, there were rarely any cases outside of the dome. The yasaeng walked around paying no heed to the humans passing by. Most cases were born out of provocation, the same way predators functioned in the wild. The population of yasaeng slowly died down and one by one the ships in space started returning to Earth soil. The number of domes doubled over the past few years, growing wider with largely cleared areas. Someday, they wouldn’t need the domes to protect them from the outside anymore. It was the future Jaemin had envisioned and it made you wish he was here to enjoy it with you.

Some days you would nearly forget him. His face; wide eyes, sharp jaw, soft brown crown of hair. His voice and how he spoke with a slight squeak whenever he was nagging. You’d catch a quiff of his perfume on the street and you’d spin around in an instant. He was warm as sunlight when he wrapped his arms around you. You thank technological advancements for keeping tabs of his life but the archives could only hold so much of him. You think you’ve gone through every file it had to offer.

Every happy memory you had of your miserable life was spent with him; you waded through the darker days to get to him only for him to be swept away from you when you thought things were finally going to be okay. You achieved the dream he wanted, to have enough to get himself out of the high risk job and live a quiet peaceful life for the rest of his days. Jaemin still lived in the trinkets he left behind, in the pictures you hung on the walls of your apartment, in your heart and in your mind. He left a long enough mark on you that he might as well be alive. It was almost guaranteed that you’d carry his memory until your dying breath. 

Even then, years after, you’d think of him — the long awaited reunion when your body finally succumbed to age. There was a story of a life well-lived awaiting to be told. When the time comes, he’d be waiting for you with a cup of too-bitter coffee in his hand as you gazed into the sea, somewhere away from the darkness, somewhere where you could both be free.

a/n: this took much longer to write than i expected. it’s my longest work yet so i would highly appreciate it if you left your thoughts in a reblog or my asks. thank you so so much for your time and if you made it this far, i hope it didn’t go to waste like mine did.

© neo-shitty, 2022

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

[aenaxes]

one to ten

[jesse x gn!reader] there are ten things you remember about jesse.

warnings: tcw s7 spoilers, suggestive themes, mentions of death

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: sorry for the constant parentheticals lol. ishei is a spin on a biblical name/the hebrew name basis for jesse (yishai) as a kind of namesake (surprise, you've now adopted a togrutan).

01. Your first glimpse of beauty in war comes in the form of a clone trooper.

It doesn’t make sense. They all look the same, you groan to Uche, the one other civ enlistee who didn’t waste their breath (or your time) waxing poetic about galactic justice or pining after the out-of-touch idealogues holding rank in the jedi temple and Senate floor.

What’s so different about him? Uche asks, and you don’t have an answer.

You remember sneaking furtive looks from inventory protocol drills to the landing platform, seeing the unnamed soldier step off the dust-beaten hull of a gunship transport with a straight-backed swagger. Even from afar, he demands attention, presence, in ways the men with him cannot.

I don’t know, you mumble. Maybe it’s the tattoo on half his face.

02. You learn the name of this beautiful man when Uche ditches the buddy system to wander off with a trooper in red armor at 79’s.

Shitty friend, comes a voice you’ve heard a hundred times over. You turn your head, ready to shoo away a shiny eager to prove his mettle, but instead you are met with the beautiful soldier and his ridiculous face tattoo in Uche’s seat. He flashes you a grin, raising his brows at you in a way that oozes the same confidence you remember in the landing bay. Can I make it up to you with a drink?

Will it be worth my while? you shoot back. (It’s amazing how well you mask the excited tremor in your voice. The wonders of working in a military hierarchy.)

No promises, he shrugs as he flags down the barkeep. But I think you already know your answer.

Then fine, I guess, you fight the smile playing over your lips. And when he closes his eyes and laughs, you think it’s only fitting that your nameless soldier has a laugh as gorgeous as himself.

I’m y/n, you say.

Jesse.

03. You meet this beautiful man again (Jesse, you curl your tongue over his name), and it just so happens that you end up assigned to the same ship as him. You board the Resolute, your civ certification in hand and a drab uniform as your completion gift, and as you claim your quarters aboard the destroyer, a firm tap at your shoulder stops you at your door.

Fancy seeing you here, y/n.

You’re kidding me, you smile. When you turn around, Jesse’s grinning back at you, bucket tucked under one arm, the other propping him up against the hallway wall in the worst attempt to look even remotely flirtatious that you’ve ever seen.

I’m hard to resist, I know, Jesse laughs, and you do your best to muster the most irritated expression possible despite the elation in your chest. I guess 79’s wasn’t enough for you, huh?

Sure, I can’t get enough of me absolutely drinking you under the table, Jesse, you snort.

Okay, okay, I was off my game. But you can’t tell me I’m not a better kisser when I’m tipsy, he shrugs.

I haven’t kissed you sober, you deadpan.

You think I could change that by the end of this tour?

04. You’re in bed with this beautiful man for the nth time this month, and you’ve never been too good with pillowtalk, so you tell him what you have always thought since the day you first saw him. Your fingertips light over his cheeks, you tell him that he is beautiful.

Jesse laughs and leans in to kiss your wrist. Between kisses trailing up your arm, he tells you that he is one face of many; that he is all rough skin and scars; (that there is no beauty in war embodied, cemented in the flesh over and over and over); that you just might have poor taste.

You jab his arm (because fuck you, Jesse, this was supposed to be a romantic moment), and he yelps, cackling. But you’ve successfully stroked his ego, and he thanks you by pulling you down onto his bunk again.

05. You’re in love with this beautiful man.

The revelation is a long time coming and yet somehow the greatest surprise that shocks you awake one morning when Jesse is still asleep in his bunk with one heavy arm draped over your bare hips.

It’s more than simple beauty as you watch him sleep, his lips parted and brow slack. Done away with the bravado and big talk, with the tension lifted from his proud features, Jesse is terrifyingly vulnerable in the way that makes your heart ache (even if he might be drooling just a little bit).

And then the ship alarm blares, and Jesse’s scrambling awake, sleepy apologies and bleary eyes as he shuffles around you to fumble for his armour.

See you in a few, sweetheart, Jesse laughs, locking his vambrace in place before he leans close and presses a quick peck to your cheek. And then he’s gone, breaking into a jog down the hallway as you shrug on his GAR bomber and pull it close over your chin.

You tell yourself that you don’t breathe deep on purpose, that you don’t shiver when you catch Jesse’s scent, standard-issue aftershave and spritzes of the Corellian cologne you’d bought him planetside, saved for the nights you spent over in his quarters.

You’re in love. (Fuck.)

06. You’re in love with this beautiful man.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, he says softly, perched beside you on the stout nose of a laatie. You lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his unreadable gaze (all you know is that it is soft) with a furrowed brow.

When you ask him what it means, Jesse—smooth-talker, sly bastard, a snappy retort always a word away—sputters unintelligibly, forgoing any excuses or mistranslations for sliding down the gunship’s hull and breaking into a run across the dewy grass. And you forget that you haven’t run this fast in months when you take off close at his heels.

Tell me, asshole! you shout, sprinting after him.

Not on your life! he shouts with a grin thrown over his shoulder. But he is slowing, his run pacing down to a jog, then a funny little walk on the heels of his feet as you close his lead and tackle him to the cool grass underfoot.

You feel a bruise blooming over your knees, and you’re fairly certain he’ll have a worse bruise over his tailbone. But all you can do is laugh as Jesse traps you in his arms and wrestles you onto your back under the silver light of the Nemoidian moons. (When was the last time you had laughed so freely?)

And when you catch your breath, vision blurry with the best kind of tears, you look to the wonder in Jesse’s eyes as he kneels above you.

You think he might be in love, too.

07. You’re in love with your beautiful man, and when you call him yours (when he calls you his) between hushed breaths and soft moans, you savor the thrill that rushes up your spine every time.

General Skywalker’s married, Jesse says one night, his voice rumbling under your ear as you lie over his chest.

It’s kind of obvious, you respond, and he laughs.

No—I mean, I knew—we’ve all known. But what if we got married?

You lift your head, and something heavy and warm lurches alive in the spaces between your ribs when you meet Jesse’s eyes. There is no witty playfulness, no heckling rise—only yearning, deep and vast and held with bated breath when he reaches up to touch your cheek.

Just you, me, some peace and quiet. I’d make a hell of a mechanic. And kids, maybe, well, if you want, he says, and with each word, his voice grows softer and softer still until you can just barely make out the last sound that passes his lips.

You could be a realist, cruel and cold, listing some regulation manual clause and the twofold speed at which Jesse would live and love (and die). You could tell him that the chances of you both making it out of this seemingly endless war were slim to none. You could tell him that the grief of losing a husband would fester where the loss of a friend would heal. You could leave.

But normality is so, so sweet—the vague yet enchanting idea of life beyond a war for which your beautiful man was born, a war which has swallowed you whole.

Rules and probabilities be damned, it’s worth the risk.

I’d like that, you whisper, and Jesse’s incredulous, enthralled laugh sweeps you off your feet before he’s kissing you like it’s the first time all over again.

A week later, Fives officiates, Echo bears witness, and they shower you with handfuls of tiny blue flowers scrounged from the flaxen Lothal plains as Jesse kisses you breathless.

(Both of them are dead within the year.)

08. You’re in love with your beautiful man, and you don’t think yourself a fool when all you can wonder is whether he still loves you from behind the mirrored visor of his helmet, one pound of pressure away from two blaster bolts and twin wounds (one for Ahsoka, one for you).

It is not his voice you hear over the labored blare of the ship alarms. It shares the same breath and passes through the same lips, but it is not the cocksure charm in rank or the languorous warmth of leave you have come to call your own.

You’ll be demoted in rank from commander and subject to execution along with the traitors Ahsoka Tano and y/n l/n.

It is not Jesse’s voice. (The last time your full name found home over his tongue, Fives and Echo had been alive.)

And then you watch him fall.

The hangar is a flurry of blaster fire and gunsmoke, and it’s a wonder that through it all, only one shot manages to graze over your leg before Ahsoka hurls you onto the docked y-wing and into the gunner’s seat.

The thrusters rumble to life as you slam your viewport shut, and you hear Rex’s voice crackling over the intraship comm for you to strap in. But all you can do is search frantically for any flash of twin ARC pauldrons and a shock of royal blue in the violent sea of helmets paying forgotten homage. You press your palms to the glass because he was there, he was there, right where Ahsoka spears her lightsabers into the metal, he was there.

The floor drops from beneath your feet, and you tell yourself the smoke and ache in your lungs is from your head connecting hard with the domed viewport glass as you scramble for your controls.

(What goes through a man’s head when he knows he will not wake when he lands?)

09. And then your beautiful man is dead.

You will think later that you were lucky, blessed, even, that you were not the one to pull his mangled body from under the charred belly of a destroyer, but that fact makes uncovering his face no less difficult. The broad ink stretched over his skin does little to hide the blood dried over his brow, bled into glassy eyes unseeing.

Did he feel it when the ship tore apart? You slide his eyes shut. (You do not hear your own wailing.) Was he in pain?

His brother tells you to leave his helmet over his grave because you buried bodies, vessels, ghosts of who they had once been. Jesse was not himself when you ran. Why would you carry a marker of someone you no longer knew, someone who no longer knew you?

There won’t be space for it on the ship (leave the dead with the dead), and you pretend not to hear how young Rex sounds when his voice bows under the loss of everything he’s ever known.

You hang the bloody plastoid back onto its perch.

It feels like the death of a saint, not because Jesse was some paragon of virtue, but because it is cruel, uncaring and unjust and pulled out of your hands into a single divine lie. It’s a wordless eulogy come too soon, and you cannot seem to pull away from the scuff marks and chipped paint at your fingertips.

It’s time to go, Rex says.

We got married, you say.

I know, Rex replies.

I’m not ready, your voice cracks. I didn’t say goodbye.

You feel strong arms pull you close, and if you focus on the sound of the slowly groaning hull before you, you can pretend like you aren’t being pulled apart at the seams, crashed into some cold moon, dirt under your nails, blood on your knees, alone.

I know.

10. Sometimes, you see your beautiful man in fleeting glimpses over his brother’s face. They are only split-second visions blurred by sleep (denial, denial, denial). You see copper skin and a soldier’s eyes, but that is where the familiarity ends and reality begins.

Even if you took away the tattoo arcing over Jesse’s skin and placed them side by side, Rex does not have the slight curve in his nose from a sparring session kicked too high; he does not have the dark freckle just below his chin; he does not have the playful twinkle, the knowing gleam that lit up his eyes whenever he saw you. (Rex only looks to you with shared grief, pity, these days.)

Clone or not, he is not him.

So you sleep.

If only for a glimpse of Jesse, his face blurry and voice warped under the weight of memory (played, rewound, and played again), you treat your precious shifts of sleep when Rex takes the helm as nothing short of speaking to the divine itself. Even if your dreams are more often than not nightmares of staring down a blaster barrel, part of you thinks that it’s worth the shaky hands and uneven breaths as Rex shakes you awake, that you might try to say goodbye.

Tonight, you see him again. But this time, the hangar deck is silent, blasters raised but frozen in place, a snapshot frame of the day a part of you died with him. The script changes. He lowers his blasters, you step forward, and when you reach up to lift his helmet from his shoulders, it is the clearest you have ever seen his face since you laid him to rest.

I’m sorry, his voice floats, settling in the space between your ears, soft and strong. I love you.

Goodbye, Jesse.

And when you wake, for the first time in weeks, your eyes are dry.

You will heal.

—

00. Buir, a soft voice filters down from the top bunk as your ship hums around you.

Ishei, you call, lifting one hand to rub at your eyes. You catch your son’s little horned head peeking over the edge of his bunk, and he scampers down the ladder when you beckon him close.

I can’t sleep, he whispers as he crawls beside you and tucks his arms around your waist. Will you tell me about father?

(Jesse will never know the orphaned Togrutan boy who calls him buir. You wish he did.)

Every night, you laugh softly, gently rubbing between his budding white montrals. Every night, I tell you about Jesse’buir. You don’t tire of the same stories?

You feel Ishei shake his head against your chest. Jesse’buir is my hero! Did he really look just like Rex ba’vodu?

Not at all, you smile. Not at all.

[wizardcommune]

zenitsu agatsuma sfw alphabet

pairing - zenitsu x reader

warnings - none

word count - 1.8k

a/n - i want to beat the shit out of zenitsu while simultaneously giving him a hug.   also zen’s theme song is cariño by the marias no i will not be debating this

(reader is a demon slayer)

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

he’s extremely affectionate. he likes physical and verbal affection the most, because he can show it at any time!! he definitely does not give a shit about PDA and will sit in your lap at any and all times

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

inosuke was actually the first one to meet you first, as he accidentally barreled into you when he ran too fast on a curvy road. when zen saw what happened, he was like “inosuke just ran into someone again and jesus christ they’re cute abort abort”

he definitely got really mad at inosuke as he stood there like 

tanjirou helped you up and zen got mad at him too since that was supposed to be his job; get it together guys

as long as you don’t do anything to embarrass him, he’s very sweet as a friend!! he’ll always bring you little things he found to make you happy

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

he loves cuddles!! even before you started dating, you, tanjirou, nezuko, inosuke, and him would all have cuddle sessions (it was tanjirou’s idea, obviously)

after that, he warmed up to the idea of platonic cuddles!! it made him like cuddles even more when you got together

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

settling down is definitely something he wants!! as much as he likes the other demon slayers, it stresses him out a ton and he’d rather get to have a family with his s/o.

very minor spoilers for the end of the manga for the rest of this letter:

when the main four all moved in together, zenitsu was so fucking excited. he wouldn’t have to worry about getting mauled to death and he gets to live with you? he was bouncing off the walls the entire time everyone was setting up.

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

i think he’d be the type to want to break up if he thought he was gonna die on a mission. he’d be very solemn and quiet, saying that he didn’t want to hurt his s/o, but if something were to happen to him it would hurt more. (remember how he acted when he saw kaigaku again?)

if it was forced upon him, he’d definitely be a crier. you can barely make out was he’s trying to say because he’s blubbering so much; after he gets it out he’d immediately hug you and sob into your shoulder. :(

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

have you seen zenitsu? king wanted to marry that poor girl after 7 minutes tops

when he first started crushing, he would wanted to get married immediately. even if you weren’t together yet, tanjirou + inosuke would have to pull him off because he wouldn’t stop clinging to you.

especially since you’re a demon slayer, after the final arc he’d get a lot more serious about it. obviously he would never lose his personality, but he would finally officially confess (like you didn’t know before DHFJGKBFDHK) and maybe give you some space. 

once you were older and had been together for a few years, every once in a while he’d be like “so uh... s/o..... howwouldyoufeelaboutgettingmarried” and then promptly leaving because poor boy was embarrassed

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

zenitsu is pretty gentle physically, but not as much as someone like genya or tanjirou. especially since he’s the type to tackle you into a hug HAHA

he’s very emotionally gentle!! he’s really sweet to you and is really sensitive 

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

king LOVES hugs. he’s so clingy he’ll randomly jump at you and just. latch on. good luck leaving

when he’s softer, like if one of you gets hurt, he’ll hug you really gently and won’t say anything for a while. he’ll probably sniffle into the crook in your neck a lot. booger haori :(

i = i love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

immediately. he doesn’t really understand how much it means, but tanjirou probably explains it to him because him and nezuko couldn’t handle the secondhand embarrassment

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

oh god he gets jealous so easily. you can just be waving at inosuke and he’ll start crying 

when he gets jealous, he’ll get even more clingy than normal and will start crying a ton. you’ll have to cuddle him for a while to get it through his head

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

he loves kissing you and being kissed everywhere!!! he doesn’t have a favorite place to kiss you, but he loves being kissed on his cheek :^) his kisses are really soft!

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

please for the love of god don’t put him near children

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

he’s not a morning person at all. right when he wake up he immediately snuggles more into you. if you have to get up early for training, he won’t stop whining oh my god

if you bring him tea in the morning he’ll love you forever (he will anyways shh)

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

it normally takes him a little while to fall asleep. he prefers to cuddle with you though because it helps a bit!! also because he’s touch starved

explained more in z, he moves around a ton. he likes talking about small stuff before bed too, since it distracts him a little.

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

it would take a while. kaigaku isn’t something zen brought up to tanjirou or inosuke, and i don’t recall him mentioning it after the final battle. his grandpa is also a very sensitive subject to him, so his s/o would have to have his complete trust to talk about it.

i think he would reveal things slowly unless you asked him about it more.

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

with you, it takes a while for him to get mad. even if you embarrass him, he’d mostly get really dramatic and teary. 

if you get hurt, though, he’d definitely get mad at you for putting yourself in that position. losing you is something he doesn’t want to think about

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

i think he would take mental notes without even realizing?? like he’d remember the stupidest stuff you said just because he’s so head over heels. chill

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

zenitsu’s favorite memory was the day he confessed.

it was right after the final battle, and he was physically and emotionally exhausted from the losses. he just kinda went “fuck it” and went to go confess to you!! 

he was really blunt since he was half knocked out on his feet. once you reciprocated, he kinda just. collapsed onto you and giggled really tiredly before passing out LMAOO

he gets embarrassed whenever you bring it up, but it still makes him really happy. 

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

i mean... it depends? when he passes out during a fight, he subconsciously gets really protective. when he’s awake, however, he’d rather be protected HAHA

seeing you fight to protect him is his favorite!! it makes him feel really safe (despite being two seconds away from getting clawed in the face)

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

he moves very fast in the relationship. he still has that underlying fear of dying at any time so.. “fuck it i should marry s/o”

until he gets through that, you and the others will probably have to help him. he’s stronger than he realizes and while being cautious is good as a demon slayer, his paranoia is only stressing him out further :(

also he picks his nose

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

not very much? when he first started crushing on you, he was checking to make sure his haori was straight and his hair wasn’t messed up and his shirt was tucked in and and and

but after he started dating you, he let up a little bit as he got more comfortable.

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

honestly? yeah. zenitsu is dramatic as hell and won’t hesitate to tell you that he would die instantly if something happened to you FBHDJGFH

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

he really likes the smell of flowers, so if you ever wore deodorant/cologne/perfume that smelled like daisies or some shit he would follow you the entire day

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

he would really want you to like his friends, and if you didn’t, he’d be so sad. they’re the people he respects the most, so to hear you don’t like him would hurt a little bit.

he’d also like someone who didn’t tease him much, just because he’s a little sensitive.

also he is absolutely horrified of bugs

z = zzz (what are some sleep habits of theirs?)

whether you fell asleep touching or not, you will always wake up to zenitsu clinging to you. especially if you get up before him, he won’t even realize he does it unless you bring it up

he’s an active sleeper!! i’m so sorry if you’re a light sleeper because he won’t stop fucking moving. he also talks a lot in his sleep, and more often than not will snore lightly. 

sometimes, though, after a long mission, he’ll just hold you while mumbling some slurred “love you, s/o” and then passes out instantly. on those nights, he won’t move at all or make any noise.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

can we adress how toxic some of these self/harm and suicide fics are?? as someone who has struggled with these issues, treating them as just a way for the two characters to get together, or one character to be the savior who cures someone of their problems? I'm so frickin over it. continuing to put your partner in limbo by threatening this behavior when they don't give you enough attention is a symptom of something major. This is not something i like seeing romanticized. at all.

[CONTENT WARNING FOR ENTIRE POST: heavy discussions of trauma, suicide, self harm, depression, political issue mentions, and eating disorders. Please proceed with care. I am not cutting the post because I think the message is important, so scroll past until my icon disappears <3 Stay safe, My Lovelies.]

Hey Nonny

Okay, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here because you mention you DO have struggles with these issues, so I’m going to state right up front here and say I AM NOT DISREGARDING YOUR PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AT ALL. Your view of this topic is valid, and it’s not something I am ever going to say is wrong for you. 

I would like to offer an olive branch, here, Nonny, and give you an alternative take on this, because I’m concerned that perhaps you are still coping with your own struggles and in return, you unwittingly and unintentionally are coming off as unsympathetic to other people’s coping mechanisms.

I KNOW how hard it is to see another view when yours is the only one that seems right, especially after a tragedy or after dealing with heavy things. But all I am asking is for you to temporarily extend some empathy as I discuss my thoughts in this post, and I apologize in advance if I come off as dickish, because, again, it’s hard to see past your own feelings, and I tend to give a “firm but understanding” approach to asks like this. It’s NOT meant to call you our personally. Just asking for an open mind.

I will tackle this ask in a similar fashion to this post here, which talks about shipping vs fetishization so CW for that, as well as like this post here, where we discuss pet peeves. My assumption here is that Nonny is unsure about what “romanticizing” actually entails, and how much this ask is basically Gatekeeping Fiction 101, a thing that’s been going on since the beginning of storytelling. The ask is perceived by me to be emotionally unaware of how unsympathetic it actually sounds, and in turn can unintentionally upset people who engage in these stories.

First thing’s first, Nonny, and I said it before, I GET IT. I understand what you’re going for here, why you feel it’s toxic, and why you think it shouldn’t exist. Here’s the thing, though: what you’re ACTUALLY calling for here is censorship and gatekeeping because YOU PERSONALLY take issue with something, want the fandom specially curated just for you, because it PERSONALLY OFFENDS YOU. And that, it itself, is what’s really toxic, here. Just because YOU are offended, does not mean that it’s not helpful to SOMEONE ELSE, and it’s selfish to make such a demand of people.

Let me explain.

As I mention in the link above re: shipping, many people read and write fics to cope with the reality of their own experiences. Nonny, your experience is NOT the same as someone else’s. Your pain is NOT universal, and you DON’T KNOW what that author has been through; for all you know, they spent 6 months in-hospital after attempting suicide, and they are now simply processing their trauma through storytelling. 

Or, “continuing to put your partner in limbo by threatening this behavior when they don't give you enough attention” ? It’s a VERY REAL THING that ACTUALLY happens in real life, and perhaps it happened to that author, or they want to write an alternate ending to their pain.

Or, “one character to be the saviour who cures someone of their problems?” is something a suicide survivor WISHES someone did for them. Because they feel alone in the world and don’t want to be alone anymore.

These stories are simply escapism for people, either to learn about or share what these mental illnesses do to people, or are the “fantasies” of survivors, of their ideal outcome to their own tragedies. Coping with guilt over the loss of someone they feel they could have saved. The brutal truth about realty.

And sometimes, it is because some people need a good cry and a feel-good happy ending, because real life? Well, it rarely has those happy endings and so few opportunities to let us cry, and sometimes life is just easier when we view it through the eyes of fictional characters. Do you not want someone to save you sometimes Nonny? And I mean metaphorically here, too. Someone to just take all of your hellish burdens off those shoulders for one day. Someone who will come in to save you from yourself. I know I do.

And, well, sometimes, Nonny, it makes people feel less alone in this socially distanced world.

They’re not glorifying that issue Nonny. They’re telling their story.

Here are some thoughts:

Romanticization: Some trendy teen outlet selling a shirt with “mentally diseased” written across it.

NOT Romanticization: A character in a story coming to terms with a diagnosis of mental illness and learning ways to adapt. Their partner is involved 100% and they learn together.

Romanticization: Sherlock merchandise being sold with “I’m a high functioning sociopath” (not mention ableist as all heck)

NOT Romanticization: A character self-harms because of depression, and character B helps the character through their pain and together they get proper therapy and treatment.

Romanticization: Calling yourself “OMG I’m so bipolar!” because it’s trendy.

NOT Romanticization: A clinically depressed author, who survived a suicide attempt, wanting to tell their story through characters the world is already familiar with, and one that a touchy subject can be expressed and understood by other people, because they’re not ready to write the “real” book. Fandom is a safety net for them.

See what I mean Nonny? We don’t KNOW what kind of pain these authors have PERSONALLY been through, and to censor them from having their voices heard and their stories told is just not on for me.

And let me be clear: YES OF COURSE romanticization happens EVERYWHERE. I am not denying that. But your ask is coming off like EVERY STORY EVER WRITTEN is glorification of something. By your logic:

Disabled people shouldn’t write about their disabilities because they’re romanticising themselves.

The authors with medical degrees shouldn’t write realistic med-fics because some where in the world, ONE person MAY HAVE had a similar experience as Character A and B.

Someone broke their foot in ballet so they shouldn’t write a story about a ballet dancer who broke their hip because it may offend ONE ballerina SOMEWHERE in space and time who got sideline at the prime of their career? 

Stories about LGBT+ people shouldn’t be written because homophobes think it’s icky.

We shouldn’t write about wizards because it offends high school catholic pastors (an actual thing that happened)? 

How about cancer stories because kids die of cancer all the time? 

Non-fiction autobiographies about holocaust survivors is not okay.

Science books offend flat earthers, so we shouldn’t write those.

Books about the Big Bang and a 4.5 billion-year-old earth offends creationists, so burn those.

A now-adult child rape victim writing their survival stories to help get their often-in-power abusers behind bars are taboo.

True crime stories from detectives on those cases shouldn’t be told because they weren’t the victim.

Non-fiction in general because someone somewhere may have had that one singular thing happen to them.

How about coping with grief over a parent’s sudden death because I personally might find offense in that since that was a horridly traumatic experience in my life?

Do you see how progressively out of touch this argument is? (the answer to all of these: authors should be allowed to write them, because stories make us human). Your argument leads down the very dangerous path to censorship of books, the internet, and history... to have people only read and learn what someone else dictates, leading to... well.

I’m not trying to be a dick here, Nonny, I’m really not. But I think you’re really missing the entire point of fiction and story telling. I feel you’re failing in the empathy game here, and failing to understand what romanticizing really actually is. 

Whenever I get asks like this, I always feel like the Nonnies don’t really know much about pre-Ao3. I come from “early internet” fandom age, and I’m talking before tags existed. Back when I had to go buy a book at Coles and guess what was in it based on a cover description. No “amazon reviews”. No “harmful content warning” stickers. You just picked up that book, and sometimes you get a sweet story about a friends exploring an alien landscape, and other times WHOOOPS ACCIDENTAL ALIEN SEX I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR. And sometimes, it ended with a dark story about death, and the reality of coping with it.

Twenty years ago, books on the shelves at bookstores and libraries were the only place you could do your reading and they certainly do NOT have tags on them... Modern tagging of stories are a REALLY recent thing introduced probably no less than 15 years ago and was perfected by Ao3 (which was started in 2009). 

These days, there is no excuse if you only consume fanfiction on Ao3. Fics are tagged with proper possible-trigger tags 90% of the time. They have a VERY METICULOUS filtering system. You aren’t being forced to read the fics, you don’t have to read the fics, so use those tag filters, they exist for a reason.

So, with that in mind, I genuinely DON’T GET this attitude about people wanting everything sugar coated and saccharine by default. Especially when you can LITERALLY CURATE YOUR OWN CONTENT. Life isn’t sugar coated. And fiction shouldn’t have to be either. People tag fics with triggers for a reason.

As they used to say back in my early internet days: Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Don’t comment, skip, next story.

And to put this ALL into perspective, so that you don’t think I’m talking out of my ass, I’m going to reveal something here: Do you know what fics I can’t read, Nonny, because they trigger me? Eating disorders. That’s self harm, Nonny, in a very different way. But you know what? I know that those fics DO help other ED people so I’m not going to sit her and tell people NOT to rec or write them. And some of those authors who write those stories are processing their own ED through those stories, healing in their own way. And you know what I do when I see one of those fics? I don’t read them, move on, next story.

I’m sorry if you perceive this as me being harsh with you here, Nonny, and you DON’T have to agree with me and you can block me and never talk to me again, and I’ll understand. As I stated at the beginning, I’m offering an alternative perspective, and helping you to see that some people take comfort in these types of stories.

I think what this all boils down to Nonny, after all of this, and rereading your question a final time to see if I missed covering anything, is that (and feel free to shit on me if I am wrong here) I’m getting the impression – as an unprofessional outsider looking in – that you’re still struggling with your inner demons, whether you realize it or not. The tone and brashness of your ask has me believing this... It feels like it was written after a trigger-moment and you needed to vent AT someone because you are alone, and that hurts my heart so much. I truly hope you find peace in your mind, soon, and I hope you have someone to talk to professionally, or at least a friend. (tw under link, suicidal ideation discussion and links to phone numbers that can help you). I only wish the best for you, my Nonny.

Anyway. I welcome other people to chime in here, respectfully, and let me know if I have the wrong take here. Because I genuinely don’t think I do, but I am not a professional, so my entire thing that took me 3 hours to write here is probably moot. I’m especially interested (on anon in my asks if you’re not comfy with revealing yourselves) on thoughts from other people who have survived the original topics here, as well as any therapists and authors as well.

Take care of yourself Nonny. And please curate your own content for your mental health. Ao3 has an “exclusionary tag system” as well, please use it. *hugs*

[diavolosthots]

Hi! This one is kind of a sad pone tho, okay, so MC sees that the brothers (at different times) are kinda down because of missing Lilith/being reminded of her, etc. MC tries to talk to them and tells them they understand how they feel, MC sense that they might get offended by that comment feeling it only came from pity so MC proceeds to tell them they lost one of their parents sometime ago so they understand that kind of pain, thank youu 💚

Im in a sad type mood so I decided to tackle this

Warning: mentions of death, traumatic subjects

THE BROTHERS reacting to MC approaching them about Lilith/sharing some of their own pain

Lucifer:

You're right, he does think the feeling only comes from pity and this is a sensitive (and bold) subject to approach him about. He will most likely act irrationally at first, but upon hearing you talk about your own loss and pain, he will become quiet and just listen. Chances are he won't even say anything after you finished, but just know it's not because he doesn't care, but he just treats pain with silent acts.

Mammon:

Surprisingly, he won't push you away. He will let you speak and try to comfort him. It hurts everytime her name is brought up, but he will let you talk about her, slowly moving closer. When you talk about your own pain, he will hold you, as you will hopefully have held him, and he will listen. He might speak a few words, something along the lines of, "yeah well... Things need to be done...things happen."

Leviathan:

Much like Lucifer, he'll be on the defense, yelling at you for bringing up her name before he goes quiet. He will let you finish, realizing slowly that he's lashing out over nothing. Comfort isn't up his alley; he doesnt know how to deal with it. Slowly, your words will register in his brain; words of comfort and shared pain and he will take your hand in his, head hung low, not saying anything. Only the stroke of his thumb over your skin reminding you that hes there.

Satan:

Hes never met Lilith, obviously, but hes born from Lucifer and has felt his pain. He often wondered who she really was and was tempted to ask about her, but he knew it was a sensitive topic for everyone and thus rarely ever approached it. However, hearing you speak so openly about your own pain causes his heart to clench in pain. He wants to comfort you and be there, and he offers his shoulder and words of comfort.

Asmodeus:

His eyebrows would furrow in anger upon hearing you bring her up, but his mouth wouldnt let him say anything. Slowly, he would relax, and a soft tear might fall from his face. He keeps that pain tucked away, deep inside his being, and rarely ever brings it up. Hearing you share his pain and relating to it, makes him throw himself into your arms and just break down, for both you and him.

Beelzebub:

Losing someone so close to you is never easy, and Beelzebub carries the pain of that with him every day. He feels so guilty. He will never not feel guilty. Hearing you bring her up makes him immediately go into his memories and relive those painful moments. He'll sit down, head hung as he is between listening to you and reliving his pain. Hearing your story just adds to it and he pulls you in tightly, soft tears falling onto your shoulder as he just holds you, pouring out his heart.

Belphegor:

He would lash out, literally. Hes still angry. Still hurt. Its hard to hear her name and not feel everything hit him once again. He needs to talk about it, needs to let himself feel, but he refuses. There might be some insensitive reaction to your story as well, but he didnt mean it. And he will come back and apologize, slowly sitting beside you and just... Letting it out. Slowly. Dont ask questions, don't interrupt, just let him speak. Give physical comfort, not verbal.

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 38

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: graphic depictions of violence (updated)

read on ao3

1915

and when i see you then i know it will be next to me

and when i need you then i know you will be there with me

i'll never leave you

Riza hadn’t given much thought about how she would die. The concept of death had become an intense fear when she was only a child. After her mother’s death it was suddenly very real. Berthold had silenced young Riza whenever it was mentioned, being too lost in his own grief to even begin to discuss it with her, so she’d quickly learned not to bring it up again. It was never explained to her properly, so this image of death had manifested itself in her mind as a being who took away those she loved most.

Growing older, her fear had eased somewhat. As her understanding of it grew, the fear of death lessened. That had not been an enjoyable lesson at school when her teacher first broached the subject. Sitting in pure terror, young Riza had excused herself and bolted from the room. It had been too much. However, after reassuring her teacher that she was fine, it was just a stomach bug, Riza quickly learned to swallow it and cope if the panic reared its ugly head. Digging her nails into her palms sharply, not hard enough to cause any damage, but enough to jerk her mind out and away from those thoughts worked well enough. It stopped the panic from overwhelming and consuming her completely. Once leaving school, it had almost all disappeared, having been buried so far down that it was forgotten about completely.

After her father’s death the beast returned, but it was quiet. It lurked in the darkness of the shadows but after her isolated childhood and her father’s neglect it was hard for her to muster up the same grief she felt when her mother passed. Riza always thought he’d died along with her, though. His body lived on but his soul had departed when her mother’s did. It led to a difficult childhood. The thought made the skin of her back tingle as she remembered her tattoo.

After her father’s death, for the first time in a long time, Riza felt free from his oppressive and silencing presence, as well as the burden he placed upon her. She felt like her own person, and not someone shushed and hidden away by a man who was so lost to grief and his life’s work that he worked himself until he died. She was allowed to think and feel and fear. It was freeing.

Then Roy Mustang breezed back into her life though and brightened it once more, like he’d done when he was her father’s apprentice.

After marrying Roy, the thought of death niggled away inside her mind once more. After their initial six months of bliss it was a terrifying thought to lose him. She’d found someone to love and to care for and Riza didn’t want to lose him in any capacity, which was only natural, she felt, when falling in love.

Roy made it through Ishval, alive, but at a cost. After realising she hadn’t lost him to gunfire, losing him to his mental state became another beast to tackle entirely. It had been rocky, sloppy at certain moments, but they’d made it through. They’d only been young. She’d still been young, barely even twenty. There was a lot of naiveté there, not to mention juggling being a new mother as well as a husband that was suffering from PTSD and struggling to deal with it. It was a lot to have been thrust upon her at the same moment, but she pushed through as best she could despite feeling like she was being pulled in so many different directions. If Riza could go back and change a few details from how it was handled, she would. Just to make it easier on them both. However, those choices had allowed them to grow, not just individually, but together. They’d made it through those tumultuous few months and come out the other end closer and more tightly knit. Despite the pain and heartache, it had been productive at the very least. Most importantly, they’d made it through.

Then everything with Maes… Again, Riza would change the way she’d worded things. She’d tell him to take a second to breathe and listen to her, rather than getting angry at him throwing accusations in her face. It had hit Roy harder than anyone because he felt responsible for Maes’ death. He’d been upset and angry, both very valid emotions for what they were going through, and they were both at fault with that big blowout. They were both grieving. It wasn’t an excuse, but they were only human. With that outcome, that fear of losing him to death had come rushing back, as well as losing him to himself. She didn’t want Roy to be murdered for discovering the same information Maes had. When dealing with it, the agonising time they’d found themselves in didn’t help matters, and she’d been all over the place thanks to hormones. Not their finest hour, but they’d persevered. Sitting down to a mature discussion and airing everything out had done them the world of good, despite the fallout that sparked such a deep regret inside her heart.

Every time, they’d made it through. Death and loss hadn’t come to claim them yet.

Then the Promised Day arrived.

Riza hadn’t known what to expect. She was concerned for Roy, wondering if their talk about him seeking out Maes’ murderer had been enough. In his heart, his choice may have been to remain calm and collected about it all, but until faced with that confrontation, and so suddenly too, one could never truly tell how they’d react. Roy had struggled with it. Riza could see that clearly. He didn’t want to give into his hate, but it was still there, cruelly enticing him away from her and into a realm of darkness. Envy’s teasing and mockery hadn’t helped at all, neither had the attack on her.

Thankfully, he hadn’t given in. He’d resisted. For now, in the middle of this battle, that was all that mattered to Riza. All talk and discussion of what had happened with Envy could be done afterwards when a threat to their lives wasn’t waiting around every corner.

And they needed to talk.

Roy wouldn’t look at her. Shame clouded his eyes and marred his expression. Once he’d let go of her in his desperate hug he didn’t touch her again. His hands lowered to the ground and gripped onto the stone tightly. The tips of his fingers turned white underneath his nails.

At least Edward and Scar had turned and given them some distance after Envy’s death. Riza had taken the chance for a quiet moment together to try and talk to her husband.

“Roy?”

His eyes never lifted off the ground. All he could muster was a broken, “I’m sorry.”

“Listen, Roy.”

His fingers shifted on the stone, gripping it even tighter.

Riza cupped his cheeks in her hands and slowly guided his face towards her. Well, she tried to. She was met with resistance but would not be beaten so easily. Instead, she moved so she was in front of him. Riza didn’t try to lift his head this time though. She simply kept her hands on him as a comfort. Her thumbs stroked his cheeks and she noticed him flinch slightly.

“Roy. I need you on your feet.”

No response. She could see his mind racing and the disgust in his eyes. Her hands dropped to his shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze instead.

“Colonel. We need to move.”

His eyebrows tugged downwards in confusion and his eyes flicked over to look at her, but quickly turned away. It made her chest ache that he couldn’t even look at her. Déjà vu struck, remembering how she’d done the same to him during and after Maes’ funeral. Riza swallowed, uncomfortable when the unbidden and painful memory popped into the forefront of her mind. Like him, she would persevere and help him through this.

“We can talk about this later, okay?”

Slowly, his gaze made his way up to meet hers. She gave his shoulders another encouraging squeeze and a kind smile.

“I –” His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat.

“Let’s get through today, all right?”

He scoffed to himself quietly, that disgust in his eyes twisting his expression too. She could see it tearing him apart within. He didn’t want to be that monster again and he’d fought it off. He’d chosen not to do it. Roy would never accept that, would think he failed, Riza knew that for sure.

“I really am no better than they say,” he muttered bitterly. “I’m a monster.”

Her thoughts were confirmed. “Roy –”

“I hurt you,” he croaked. His eyebrows tugged together to a frown. “Yelled at you when you didn’t deserve it. That’s inexcusable. And I did it after saying I wouldn’t.”

Riza shook her head. Roy’s head jerked to face her in disbelief, but he was met with nothing but honesty.

“We have no idea how we’ll react in a situation until we’re in it. Especially not this one.”

“That’s not good enough,” he shook his head.

“Well, they weren’t exactly playing fair either.”

“Please,” he begged her, “don’t try and make excuses for me.”

“Roy.” She commanded his attention fully and he held her gaze for longer than a second for the first time since Envy’s defeat. “I love you. And I need you on your feet. We need to keep moving forward. Don’t get stuck in the past. Not now.”

His eyes averted away briefly, but when he looked back up at her he didn’t look away. “I don’t deserve you,” Roy whispered hoarsely.

“You do,” she argued, her tone confident.

“I almost pushed you so far away that you left me. Again,” he scoffed with a barked laugh. “I do not deserve you at all. You deserve so much better,” he added bitterly.

“Well, I want to be with you. Still do. Nothing has changed.”

He shot her another disbelieving look but Riza just shook her head in the negative.

“We can sort through this like we did before, but we can’t do it here. It isn’t safe.”

Roy let out a long breath.

“Let’s get through the day and work on finishing this. We have two kids waiting for us to come home. Both of us. So I need you on your feet.”

Exhaustion was apparent as Roy lifted himself to stand. Riza latched onto his hand tightly and gave it a squeeze. He hadn’t tried to, but she wouldn’t let him pull away even if he did. Riza wanted him to know she was there for him.

“Let’s go,” he announced grimly.

Edward and Scar turned to look around, hearing Roy speak. He nodded to them both and exhaled slowly before he started to move.

They walked in silence and slowly, Roy’s grip on her hand eased over time, as did hers. They no longer clung to one another, just walked comfortably side by side. She took that as a good sign and her breathing became easier. They were moving forward again.

In her free hand, she grasped her rifle. It was not aimed or ready to fire, but it was there. It was a comforting weight and Riza was thankful for it. Her pistol had been holstered. She didn’t want to hold that again so soon. Not after pointing it at her husband’s head. That image was seared into her mind and made her stomach roil. Riza didn’t think she’d be getting over that any time soon.

At least you never had to fire it, she thought. Letting out a long breath she reminded herself of that fact.

Edward started muttering to himself as they walked, head turning left and right as he looked around the endless tunnels. Everywhere looked the same to Riza so she didn’t even pretend to know where they were headed. There was no way to tell, no landmarks, just endless doorways. Envy was right, this place was like a labyrinth.

Roy shot her a tiny smile before extracting his hand from hers. His stride lengthened as he moved ahead to catch up with Edward.

“Was it this way? Or this way?”

“Are you lost, Fullmetal?”

Riza rolled her eyes at his light mocking tone. As they bickered Scar fell into step with her, silent as he watched the two alchemists.

“You two should keep quiet,” Scar scolded suddenly, “before the enemy hears us.”

She hadn’t even considered that, but from Edward’s indignant yelling, that could very well become a possibility. She shifted her grip on her rifle, moving to hold it in both so that she could be ready to fire and defend if need be.

“Scar?”

There was no reply, but his head turned a fraction towards her, signalling he was listening.

“I just wanted to say thank you for helping us back there. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to talk him down by myself.” It stung a little to admit but it was true. “I don’t know if that means anything to you. I’m not really anybody in the grand scheme of things and after what Roy did in Ishval… Well, I wanted to thank you for your kindness.”

His head turned further. Scar’s eyes were sharp as he regarded her. “Your gratitude is unnecessary.” Without another word, Scar turned and continued walking.

Still, Riza would be eternally grateful to Scar. Like she said, after what Roy did in Ishval, Scar didn’t need to assist with talking him down. His help had been invaluable, and she’d never forget it.

The group walked until finally, they came upon an open room. A man was crouched in the centre, seemingly waiting for him. Underneath his feet was a transmutation circle, drawn in white chalk. Riza gripped her rifle tighter. Roy stepped forward, partially putting himself between her and this newcomer.

“Well now,” the man said in greeting, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to have an audience. You’re going to give me performance anxiety,” he chuckled, flashing his teeth in a grin. One single tooth was pure gold and caught the light in the room, making it shine.

Edward clapped his hands and turned his automail arm into a blade. Roy and Scar readied their stances to fight, causing Riza to do the same. She didn’t like the look of this man at all. He made her skin crawl, and she was instantly alert.

“Who the hell are you?” Edward glared at him, reading his stance.

The man grinned again, his smile unsettling.

*          *          *           *           *          *          *           *          *

Riza’s rifle was knocked out of her hands by one of the Fuhrer candidates. She jumped back and out of the way of his advance, evading his swinging sword just in time. The man lunged at her, his expression completely blank and unchanging as he fought. He moved impossibly fast, but she managed to dodge far enough away so there was enough time for her to draw both of her pistols. The second one Roy had given her had lain dormant, but now it was time to put it to good use. Especially with the speed these men were moving at.

Breda had resupplied Roy with a weapon after he’d passed on his own to Riza, but after their fight with Envy, he’d given it to her. She understood the weight of such a request. Now she had two to train against him, should she need it. Riza vowed that would not be it’s purpose and she would not let things escalate as it had done before. She was adamant about that. Plus, Roy was strong enough now, she was sure of it. 

Riza drew both pistols from their holster but only fired one, and in record time too, to hit her attacker’s sword arm. He crashed the ground but uttered no sound of pain. Riza didn’t trust him, but his form remained unmoving while his fingers twitched from the result of his wound. He didn’t get back up, just stared blankly ahead. He wasn’t dead but he was out of commission for now.

She lost sight of Roy as they fought. Riza tired quickly, just like she had after fleeing from Envy’s attempted kidnapping. Adrenaline was fuelling her but that would only last so long. Her legs were quivering already after everything she’d gone through that day, not to mention the blood loss from the wound on her shoulder. It hadn’t been deep, but it was still throbbing with pain as she moved.

As she leaped backwards to avoid another strike from a sword, Riza’s back collided with something solid, stopping her momentum. Springing away, she turned, weapons lifted and aimed, coming face to face with Roy. He smirked at her, his own hands ready to fight, but they dipped slightly once he realised who was in front of him. Behind him though, a candidate lifted his sword and aimed right for Roy’s head. Riza fired immediately behind Roy, making him cringe.

She killed him.

A bullet entered through the candidate’s skull and he crumpled in place, sword clattering to the ground. He didn’t get up or move.

You killed him.

Riza didn’t even think about acting before she fired. She saw the man aiming his strike to kill Roy and she pulled. There was not a moment of hesitation before pulling the trigger.

If they threatened to kill her, kill her family, then she’d fight back. There was no question about it.

“Riza!”

Her grip on both pistols grew slack. Riza was just staring down at the corpse before her. Roy was gone. He’d moved away – Riza thought she’d seen him lunge behind her but wasn’t sure – leaving the dead candidate in full view in front of her.

You killed another human being, Riza.

Someone gripped her arm roughly. She jerked away on instinct when she turned, Roy was looking at her worriedly. His eyes were wide with concern and his mouth was moving but Riza couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All she heard was the roaring in her ears.

“I killed him,” she breathed.

“Riza –”

Roy disappeared from view and grunted, punching someone out her field of vision. It took Riza a few seconds to process his quick movements.

“Riza, you with me?” He was desperate as he called to her, urging her to answer him.

“I’m…”

“Stay with me, Riza,” he breathed. Suddenly, there was a heat upon her forehead as he spoke against her skin. His lips caressed it, making her relax slightly. His touch was enough to anchor her back to the present. Riza swallowed down the vomit crawling up her throat and let loose a shaky breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Roy continued, “I am, but please, just stay with me.”

His arm wrapped around her shoulder tightly, dragging Riza in close to his body sharply. She gasped at the sudden movement. Stumbling slightly, she fought to regain her footing as Roy spun her away. He punched another candidate in the face, knocking him down to the floor.

“That should do fine. I suppose it’s about time we got started,” the doctor across the room finally spoke.

Riza turned to look at the doctor, returning to the world around her. He was standing now in the centre of a completed transmutation circle. Before Riza could comprehend it any further she was shoved forcefully backwards away from Roy. It broke her concentration and she hit the ground hard. Looking up, she saw Roy was almost standing over her, protecting her, as he fought his way through the onslaught of candidates.

Snap out of it, Riza!

She had to stand up and fight. She had to help him.

One candidate charged at Roy from the left while he was already struggling with another. He grunted and gasped, realising at the last second that he may be overpowered and beaten.

Riza fired. Twice. One shot hit the man in the shoulder, throwing him off balance so he tipped and veered off to the side. The other hit his forearm and the sword fell to the ground at the same time he did. Riza let out a breath as he remained there, grimacing in pain, but didn’t get back up.

As Roy fought off the other candidate and shoved him away, Riza stood. Once she was up she noticed the other candidates had all frozen in place, waiting for their new command now the doctor had spoken. 

“You okay?”

Riza exhaled and turned as he gently touched her bicep. Roy’s worry was evident. His question was less for her physical state and more for her mental one. She wasn’t okay. She’d killed someone, taken a life. Riza didn’t think she’d ever be okay with that. But she did promise to fight to protect her family. That guilt would stay with her for the rest of her life though, she was sure.

The weight and consequences of any actions would be dealt with later, she’d told herself. If only it were that simple.

“Riza?” He was desperate for an answer. He needed to know.

She gave him a tiny nod.

“Number Sixteen,” the doctor called to the room. Candidate Number Sixteen’s head turned sharply to face him. “Number Seventeen, Number Twenty-One, Number Twenty-Three, and Number Twenty- Six. Come join me.”

Five of the candidates ran over immediately, removing themselves from the fight. They stationed themselves around the circle uniformly. Standing completely still, they remained in place for their next command.

“What’s he doing?” Edward’s cry pierced the room, then he gasped loudly, staring at the doctor. Or more importantly, what was beneath the doctor’s feet.

“Now then,” the doctor grinned. “Here goes!” His hand lifted, pointing towards the sky with his fingers splayed open. In a quick movement his hand slammed into the ground, in the middle of the circle to activate it. Blue light sprang forth into the room and the force of the transmutation kicked up a wind, buffeting her hair and jacket.

The circle changed in colour, turning purple. The light in the room turned to match it and black tendrils erupted from the floor. They stretched upwards and formed tiny hands at the end, waving side to side like long grass in the summer. Once they reached the height of the Fuhrer candidates, as soon as they made contact with their bodies, the men disintegrated bit by bit. Tiny squares of their bodies floated up into the air before vanishing into nothingness. Riza watched on in horror.

Suddenly, a large eye appeared underneath Edward’s feet. Riza reached for Roy’s arm on instinct, gripping onto his overcoat tightly. She remembered her last run in with an eye that looked exactly like that. The ghostly feelings of black tendrils wrapping around her throat and squeezing tightly made her recoil instantly.

“What,” Edward gasped in terror, staring down at the large eye beneath his feet.

The same hands that had consumed the Fuhrer candidates reached for Edward.

“Ed!” Riza cried, taking a step forward, because he too started to disintegrate. His body was disappearing, bit by bit, in tiny squares.

Edward struggled in pain, trying to fight against the grip the hands had on him.

“No… Fullmetal!” Roy shouted for him, his expression matching hers. He couldn’t believe what was happening either.

“You bastard!” Edward cried before he vanished completely. The arms snaked back into the centre of the eye, which blinked and disappeared, taking Edward along with it.

“Fullmetal!”

“He disappeared.” Riza stared at the spot where Edward had been standing. She couldn’t look away. With wide eyes she was begging the ground to return him to them, despite knowing that would not happen.

“What did you do?”

Roy’s demand wasn’t answered because the Fuhrer candidates charged as one towards them again as the doctor laughed to himself. The fighting resumed once more and Riza jumped back to avoid a lunge. She fired in response, not quite catching the doctor’s response but from what she could make out, it made a chill run up her spine.

“You need not worry where he’s going,” the doctor grinned, “because you’ll be joining him soon enough.”

Blue light flickered and sparked throughout the room as transmutations were cast by Scar and Roy. Riza’s gunfire also sounded as she worked on disarming the candidates. The memory of the one she’d killed made Riza’s jaw clench tightly and her stomach twist, but she managed to put off the urge to vomit. Adrenaline and the fight to stay alive fuelled her, pushing her to keep aiming to disarm, rather than kill, if she could.

It cost her.

One candidate was charging and managed to dodge every single one of her bullets. In a last-ditch effort she aimed for his head, feeling her heart rise into her throat, but that missed too and he quickly closed the distance. In an instant she was grabbed and flipped harshly onto her back. The air was choked from her lungs after she landed and Riza gasped as pain flared up her spine. He pressed his forearm into her throat hard, restraining her on the ground and restricting her ability to breath even more.

“You bastards!” Roy yelled. “Let her go!” His arm extended, fingers poised to snap, but a sword cut through his gloves, slicing the fabric through the transmutation circle, rendering it useless.

Riza watched as two candidates grabbed Roy’s arms, pinning them extended from his body. Her eyes widened and she struggled and fought against the hold, trying to yell at them to get off him. That cost her as well. The forearm pressed further, eliciting a harsh gasp from her. She couldn’t breathe.

Painfully they lowered Roy to a seat on the ground, both candidates still armed and ready to attack him if he fought their hold. Riza’s focus was removed from him when the candidate grabbed her arms tightly to push her roughly into a seated position. As soon as his forearm was removed from her windpipe Riza was coughing and spluttering, trying to catch her breath. Her chest heaved as she wheezed loudly.

“Careful!” Roy barked, glaring at the man holding her.

Glancing over, she saw him try and shrug off the hold they had on him before his eyes met with hers. Silently, Roy’s eyes widened a fraction as he held her gaze. He was asking if she was okay. As Riza coughed, she nodded, not breaking eye contact.

However, before given a chance to properly rest she gasped in pain. The candidate’s grip on her was unforgiving and his fingertips dug into her upper arm hard enough to bruise. Once seated, his arm wrapped around her throat with no mercy. Out the corner of her eye Riza noticed Roy was fighting to get free once more.

The doctor started to clap. “All right, good!” he praised. “Just hold him there.”

Riza’s gaze snapped up at the doctor’s specific point of wanting Roy to be held in place. It also halted Roy’s struggling, now the doctor’s attention was focussed on talking to him.

“Here we are, Colonel Mustang,” the doctor announced. “I’m afraid we’re out of time. At this point, you’ve no choice but to cooperate with us.”

Roy scowled at him and Riza shifted in place. Like hell he’d agree to work with them.

“I would like you to perform some human transmutation and open a portal for me.”

“Are you serious?” Roy looked on in disbelief, just like Riza did. That idea… There was no way.

“It doesn’t matter who. A parent you’ve lost? A lover?” The doctor turned his head to grin at Riza and she shifted uncomfortably. Roy bristled too. “A friend?”

Maes Hughes’ face flashed in Riza’s mind eye.

Roy couldn’t do it. Not human transmutation. That’s what had cost Edward and Alphonse their bodies. It was dangerous. Riza may not have known much about alchemy but she’d picked up enough as a child to know that human transmutation did not work, and it should never be tried. As she’d grown older, regrettably she’d come to learn just how devastating it could be.

“Or that man you were so close to. What was his name again? Hughes, right? He’ll do just fine. I’ll get things set up for you, right over here,” the doctor taunted.

“You mean… I’m a sacrifice?”

Alarm bells were going off in Riza’s head. She shifted again but the grip on her was too strong. The candidate tightened his arm around her throat to stop her from moving.

“Not yet,” the doctor grinned, “but as soon as you’ve opened the portal you’ll certainly become one.”

“That’s why the Elric brothers were chosen,” Roy questioned.

“Yes, it is.”

“They told me human transmutation couldn’t be done,” Roy replied forcefully. “Why would I even try to do it, knowing it would fail?” Roy was becoming more agitated by the second and all Riza could do was watch on, struggling to breathe.

The doctor laughed to himself. “You’re right there, but all I really need you to do is open the portal and then return.”

“No! Not a chance! I won’t be your puppet,” Roy spat. “You open it yourself!”

Riza relaxed slightly. Her earlier thoughts regarding him being strong enough were solidified inside her mind.

“I told you, we’ve run out of time.” The doctor’s tone and demeanour changed immediately. He was more threatening than before and a chill ran up Riza’s spine as she watched him adjust his glasses, hiding the dark look in his eyes from her.

There was a sharp pain in her neck then Riza was falling. She wasn’t sure where the pain had come from. As she tipped over she briefly saw a sword in her line of vision but was unsure why. Had that caused her pain?

“Riza!”

Her head had bounced off the ground after she fell, and that second head knock of the day had made her sight blurry and unable to focus completely. Head woozy, she focussed all her brain power on her vision. 

Roy was screaming her name. She heard him, but it was as if it was from a distance. It faded in and out, which caused some anxiety for her. His voice always soothed her, and she felt like she wanted to hear it at that moment. In her gut, she knew it would help.

Riza was unable to determine why though. For a second, she blinked slowly and tried again to think about how she’d ended up horizontal on the cold ground. But no… It wasn’t completely cold. There was a warmth spreading on the side of her head and body, enveloping it like a blanket would. It was moving slowly though, which Riza thought was odd. It trickled further up her head and disappeared into her hair, completely encompassing only one side.

“I’ll kill you!”

Roy’s screaming jerked her back to reality. She gasped in pain. Suddenly, every sensation flooded her mind as the shock wore off. Her neck had been sliced cleanly. She was bleeding out and dying. They were using her against him, just like his worst nightmares, and the bastard of a doctor was almost laughing about it.

She started to move. Sharp corners from the uneven stone dug into her skin roughly as she was dragged and tossed into the centre of the circle.

“Riza, answer me!” he demanded of her, but she could barely get her mouth to work. Her tongue was like lead and refused to cooperate. 

A choked breath left her lungs as she finally came to a stop. The means of delivery to her destination had not been kind, and her shoulder struck the ground hard enough to make her gasp in pain. Once the world stopped spinning Riza could just make out the sight of white chalk at the edge of her vision as it wavered. Then she saw the blood. Her blood.

She was in the transmutation circle. The bastard was trying to use her to get Roy to perform human transmutation.

He couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let him!

Anguished, desperation flooded every part of Roy’s expression. His image blurred in her vision. Riza still watched though on as he strained, wide eyed, and fought everything against him. But he couldn't escape their hold.

This was killing him.

Riza could see the tears falling down his cheeks and the way his chest heaved with his breaths. He choked, screaming once more that he would kill them for doing this to her. A violent shrug almost broke him free, but his captors quickly grabbed him once more as he called out to her, his voice cracking.

He was stuck.

And she was dying.

“Come on,” the doctor taunted loudly above her. “If you don’t hurry, your wife will be lost to you forever.”

A tear trailed down Riza’s temple, eventually getting lost in her hair. She couldn't die. She had two wonderful children to go home to once this was all over. She couldn't leave Roy all alone either. She promised she wouldn’t. They were a team.

“Ah,” the doctor continued, as if he finally realised something great, “I understand. Would you prefer to transmute your wife after she’s already died? That would be acceptable,” he reassured.

“I’m not gonna die,” Riza finally managed to choke out. A shaky hand moved to press against the wound in her neck. It was agony to talk but she had to. Riza did it for Roy. For her children. "I'm not going to leave you.”

Roy’s head perked up as she spoke, stalling his violent thrashing.

The man standing above her scoffed, rambling about immortality but Riza didn't care. All that mattered was Roy.

"Roy." Her voice was quiet, her throat scratchy. "Roy, please." She didn't want him to hurt himself, but that would be a naive request. He'd tear the world apart for her. That was a fact.

"I'm sorry." He sounded so broken, stuttering over the words. Guilt and sorrow made his chest heave as he breathed. He was breaking down further. Riza knew he would be blaming himself for this, but he couldn’t. Envy was the one who had pushed her out here, not him, and Riza had chosen to come here of her own free will. Roy would never accept that reasoning and would shoulder it all, Riza knew he would, but as the doctor said, they’d run out of time. She didn’t have the time to reassure him.

Movement from above Riza caught her attention. Despite the pain ravaging her throat, she felt shock belay it when she saw the chimeras from earlier suspended in the pipes above her. The one that looked like a toad – Riza couldn’t recall his name – pressed a finger to his lips before turning to look above, back up the tunnel.

“So tell me, Mustang, what will it be? Your precious wife is about to die. If you don’t act, she’ll bleed to death. All that blood before your eyes.”

Ignoring the doctor completely, Riza returned her attention to Roy, and him alone. No one else mattered. She had a message to get across before it was too late for her.

“It’s okay,” she croaked. Her voice was raspy as she spoke, but Roy strained forward to hear every word.

"Riza–" Eyes wide, Roy pressed his lips into a thin line. He was struggling. It was clear on his face and his body was shaking. Her heart broke for him but she pleaded with him not to give into it. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t save her with human transmutation. Riza wouldn’t hold that against him. He had a goal to achieve for both of them. He had their children to look after too on top of that. They couldn’t be left alone.

“Remember, Mustang,” the doctor sneered, growing impatient, “I can save her life. All I need is for you to make a decision because whether you like it or not, her fate is in your hands, Colonel.”

The doctor was relentless and Riza wanted to shoot him right between the eyes for it. He was being unnecessarily cruel.

“If you don’t decide, can you live the rest of your life with your wife’s blood on your hands? Could you really do that? Could you abandon her to her fate and live on, knowing you did nothing to even try and save her?”

Riza wanted to stand and wipe that smirk off his face, but her limbs were growing too heavy, along with her eyelids.

“Wait,” the doctor remarked, “she looks so cold and still. Perhaps she’d dead already?”

Far from it, you bastard!

With renewed vigour, Roy strained forward.

“Roy, please,” she gasped, noticing his effort.

It worked though. He paused. His body and face relaxed after hearing her speak.

“You don’t have to do this. Don’t sacrifice everything that you’ve already achieved just for me,” she pleaded.

Roy let out a choked laugh of disbelief. She knew exactly what he was thinking: “How can you say something like that to me?” But she had to distract the doctor.

“But you will do it, won’t you Mustang?” The doctor just would not give up, forcefully goading Roy further.

"I love you," Riza whispered.

Roy must have thought she was saying goodbye because his eyes grew wide, his body locking, and expression turning to pure terror.

“I’ll always come back to you, Roy,” she reminded him.

“Well?” The doctor demanded an answer, finally fed up with this waiting game.

Riza’s eyes moved to look up towards the gap in the ceiling where the chimeras were waiting. That was her signal. When they returned and refocused on him again, Riza saw Roy turn away from her. His entire body relaxed as he averted his eyes, his fringe curtaining the orbs Riza loved so much, hiding them from her.

"All right." 

Panic seized her. For a brief second, she was unsure of his meaning. Her breathing halted completely and the grip on her neck went slack as her strength waned.

“Good!” The doctor’s exclamation was full of triumph. “I knew you’d see reason!”

“All right, Riza. I won’t perform the transmutation!”

He hadn’t been agreeing to do it before, like she’d feared. Roy had turned away because he was full of shame while admitting defeat. It cut him deeply not to fight for her but he was trusting her. She was grateful for that.

"You won't even save your wife?" The doctor was incredibly surprised, taunting Roy, and Riza saw his shoulders stiffen. Roy’s lips parted as his teeth clenched together hard and his eyes squeezed tightly closed. "That's cold, Colonel,” the doctor remarked, but Riza didn’t particularly care for his feelings on the matter.

Riza thought Roy might snap again. His body language expressed his desire to. Silently, she thanked him for trusting her, despite the pain it was causing him.

Blinking once, Riza's vision blurred for longer than it had before. Sucking in a breath, she felt herself beginning to panic as the corners of her vision grew darker. She was fading. Her hand slipped completely from her neck. The back of her knuckles hit the ground and she could feel the digits were slick with her blood.

Riza didn't know what the chimeras above her were waiting for but she wished they would hurry up. She didn’t have long left and she couldn't die! She couldn't do that to her children or to Roy. Riza refused.

There was a burst of movement and sound around her, but she was unable to determine what had happened. Her brain was too sluggish as she was fading faster.

No! She couldn't die! Not down here!

Fight.

Sudden heat startled her from losing consciousness. But only for a second. Riza’s eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Hands grabbed her tightly, easing her with the greatest of care onto her back. There was a sudden warmth against her cheek, and it was nice as she felt her body growing colder.

Roy... That was the only person who would be holding her so tenderly down here, Riza thought. However, it was fleeting as she was losing her grip on everything. She barely even felt him gently removing the strands of bloody hair from her face. Or stroking her cheeks, temples, and closed eyelids with his thumbs.

She started to drift as Roy screamed her name in the distance. He ordered Riza to open her eyes. To come back to him. Her heart ached, wishing she could stick to her promise of remaining by his side, but knowing she’d be breaking it. That ache swelled as she thought of her wonderful children. She’d never see them again. How she so desperately wanted to. Her Mia Bear and Baby Maes. That thought brought her so much pain, but slowly eventually that emotional pain started to dull.

Although feelings had left her, sound was still present. Roy’s sobs were still there. Riza wanted to open her mouth to soothe him, to reassure him that he would be all right after all of this, but it was impossible.

One last time, Riza wanted to tell Roy that she loved him with all of her heart. She’d tell him she was sorry to be leaving him and going back on her promise. That her decision had been made for her against her will.

Riza’s body was rocked back and forth in Roy’s arms as he cried over her. His tears lightly tapped the skin of her face, coating her cheeks and forehead in moisture and her husband’s devastation.

But Riza barely felt anything anymore.

[yejiroh]

Hello! I love your Wake Up and See Me story! (not so secret slut for angst and character death) I'd like to request very angsty HCs for Obey me! charas x fem!reader who is still grieving for her family singing her mother's lullaby while spacing out somewhere public. The lullaby in question being Lullaby of Woe by Ashley Serena, The Hanging Tree from Hunger Games series or Come Little Children by Erutan. Wanna see their reactions so bad!!!

I- I really need to update that series. Thank you so much for the support of it anon!

And thank you for the request darling! I’m sorry it took so long, but the lullaby’s were beautiful! So yes, I decided to listen to them all and match them with who I think it’d get the best reaction from! I made a little scene as well before the reactions, so it may or may not be a bit of a long read.

Lullaby Reaction! Obey Me BROTHERS x Fem!MC (ANGST)

Couldn't add the Keep Reading link because Tumblr is a beeotch. Sorry not sorry to everyone because this is LONG!

***

TRIGGER WARNING: death, loss of parents, toxicity, mentions of cannibalism, more death, child abuse, traumatic stress, mentions of suicide, nightmare factors, unintentional murder, loss of siblings, and as the anon requested, A SHIT TON OF ANGST!

Side note: I really really liked Lullaby of Woe...may consider making a series based on the lyrics. Who knows?

***

This one is kind of long because I did get carried away, but I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

***

Lucifer, Mammon and Beezlebub: Come Little Children

As the cool Autumn breeze hit her face, MC took a sip from the hot cup between her clothed hands. Today would mark the 15th year since the orphanage- her orphanage, had burned down. All 23 children and her parents except she had burned to an ash- less than that truly. She, with her ill body and frail stature, she, with her poor value and level of importance, she, the one who had been trapped in the building longest of all.

Every time she had walked into the toy store around the corner, MC felt pulled towards the puzzle sets. Specifically, the 24 piece sets. MC was the 24th child. But she was also the first. Every day, she’d buy a set, just to lay it on their graves, sorry that she had been left behind. 

“Come little children, I’ll take thee away, into a land of enchantment…oh momma, I’m so sorry I let you all down...I’m sorry I played with the fire, I’m sorry.” A tear had poured down, slid to her dry lips as she desperately held them back.

“I’m sorry momma...papa...I’m sorry I didn’t listen...I’m sorry I killed you all…”

And, as she walked away from the tombstones, a heart that was not hers broke.

{Reactions}

LUCIFER:

1.Never before had Lucifer been so...disturbed.

2.The song was stunning, and that was true….but somehow he could relate

3.He would definitely stay on the down low for a while, his pride showing when he has to come up with lies as to why he wasn’t talking to you

4.Okay, flashbacks for weeks. He was genuinely affected by the song.

5.In the end, he needs more comfort than you once he finally kicks pride out the window and sheds tears in front of you.

6.“I’m sorry, MC…”

MAMMON:

1.Okay...he wasn’t the best at spying on you-but he was worried! Your behavior was odd since last Sunday...actually, every Sunday.

2.He ran out to you, crying hard as he tackled you, saying how sorry he was for digging into your personal life. 

3.The demon was holding fistfulls of little puzzle pieces, candy, and notes, claiming they were from the souls of the children, who wished you the best in life and to move on.

4.He, the avatar of greed, had done something of huge charitable value for these children as he held you close

5.Yes, he got flashbacks….but decided not to dwell on them, more so trying to comfort you.

6.“Stupid human...you can come to me always, ya know that?”

BEEZLEBUB:

1.Beezlebub doesn’t always show his feelings, sure. But he does, forever and always, come for those he cares about. 

2.It’s like a magnetic pull as you cry. He’s there, wiping the large tear threatening to spill with his thumb, licking it off before wiping his hand off. 

3.A kind smile with eyes pain ridden as his big hands engulf your own, for he too, had a tragic past and lost someone he considered blood.

4.“It’s okay, MC. They’re right here, and always will be. Please don’t cry.” He says as he points to your heart, right by your breast, but with no sexual intent. Only comfort. 

5.“Come on, big girl, don’t cry, I’m here.” He says, holding you close and running his fingers through your hair with the gentlest of touches.

6. No one can harm you in your vulnerable state as the Avatar of Gluttony protects you.

Satan and Asmodeus: The Hanging Tree

It was in class- herbology. The lesson was on wisteria trees when MC bordly began to hum a tune.

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree? They strung up a man, they say who murdered three. Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight, in the hanging tree.” 

“Miss L/n quiet down! I’m trying to teach!” The professor had called out, but MC was lost as tears began to bubble up. She continued her little song quietly as her desk mates huffed in annoyance. She’d done this every day of the week, only to end up crying. Nobody knew what was wrong with her, nor did they get a word out of her. Not until Amso took MC and Satan out for a spa treatment.

Filing her nails, Asmo blew off the dust, his brows furrowed.

“Say, MC?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is it you sing that depressing song every time someone brings up wisteria trees?”

Now Satan looked up, lifting a cucumber off his eye, his curiosity sparked. MC looked away, pulling her hand away from Asmo’s as she pulled her knees to her chest, a deep sigh escaping her lips. Asmo quickly waved his hands in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, sorry MC! I didn’t know it was a touchy subject-”

Satan interrupted. “Care to share?”

“Satan!”

“No, no, Asmo- it’s okay. It’s...it’s just not something I really talk about.” MC said, finishing off with a whisper. 

The two leaned in, eyes big and expectant when MC looked to them.

“You know, my father passed away when I was really young. It was a selfish reason, really- to put it into his own words, it was, “To escape the responsibility of life.” , but that wasn’t the case.” MC  raised her pant leg, revealing all the burn marks and scars covering the skin. 

“It was really to escape the guilt of hurting me.”

The brothers went quiet for a moment before Satan put a hand up.

“So what does that have to do with that song you were singing?”

MC smiled bitterly. “Because he was the man in The Hanging Tree my mother always sang to me.”

“So what happened to your mother?”

“She too, joined him in death…and left me alone.”

{Reactions}

SATAN: 

1.He was at a loss for words, to say the least.

2.Never, in the demon’s countless millennia had he come across such a pitiful soul

3.Taking a bite of the cucumber before tossing it aside, he took the other off, tracing his fingers across the burns that resembled his rage: Ugly, loved, and traumatizing

4.As the room was quiet, he just felt intrigued to know more, had to know more. 

5.“You’re very strong, MC.”

6.The Hanging Tree did not leave his mind for quite some time as he tried to figure out the mystery MC had unknowingly left implanted in his brain.

ASMODEUS:

1.He has never ruined his makeup by crying in front of somewhere. Never ever.

2.But he sure as hell came close to it. 

3.Asmo had nothing to say but grab MC’s hands and kiss them softly over and over again before continuing the manicure he had initially started.

4.A mental note to take MC’s mind off other things so as not to give her wrinkles from stress or depression. 

Leviathan and Belphegor: Lullaby of Woe

She never had a peaceful night's rest. The dreams always came back to haunt her.Each night, she’d live through it, again, and again, and again. Oh, how the false man in white would come to her, a mischievous grin on his handsome face before cutting into her mind, showing her the deaths at her fault. Her mother, kind and beautiful, always coming in to protect her, reassure her that it wasn’t real, that she was seeing things. 

“Momma, please! I’m scared! I don’t wanna see him again momma!” A little girl wailed, holding onto her mother’s waist, legs wrapped around in a firm hold, hands bundled in her clothes.

“My darling, please just sleep~ I’ll always be here love. Always.”

And always she was, for her remains laid in that rotting home to this day, not yet known. Still, no one would believe the late Mrs. L/n’s daughter.

MC shuffled more in her sleep before finally waking up, eyes puffy from the unconscious crying. Slowly she got up, getting ready for the school day as she washed her face, prepared, and left the room. 

“Good morning.” Each of the brothers would greet her, to which she’d return a small nod. There was nothing to talk about. Not when these nightmares haunted her so.

A little girl sat by her mother’s corpse, a man beside her.

Drink, child. Feast in the blood of a sinner.

“...But….but mother wasn’t a sinner…”

“Ignorant child. You are but a bastard, for she was never married. Drink and cleanse yourself of the blood of a sinner. Repent and be saved.”

Truly, the false man in white was but a liar, wanting nothing more than a child’s innocence and fortune as he toyed with her. 

Lost in her own fantasies, she began to sing, the tall Jubokko tree towering beneath her with the damned’s skulls by her feat. 

“For the witcher, heartless, cold...Paid in coin of gold, He comes he’ll go leave naught behind, but heartache and woe…”

“Deep, deep woe, for the witcher, heartless, cold, Paid in coin of gold, he comes…”

MC’s voice broke into it, pathetic cracks of the voice clear but quiet as she stopped.

A small applause was heard behind her; Belphie and Levi had seen and listened patiently, attentive and concerned.

The Avatar of Sloth put his arms down, kicking a skull as he sat down.

“That was a beautiful song, MC. What has made you so upset?”

Levi too, had sat down, his eyes no longer focused on the forgotten D.D.D.

MC just smiled sheepishly, sitting down with the boys as she tucked back a loose strand away. 

“It was nothing important. A story for another time.”

{Reactions}

BELPHEGOR:

1.Girl, honey, darling. You're lying. It’s okay! You can trust him!

2.If MC doesn’t end up telling him, then he can just slip into the dreams (I think?)

3.Honestly worried for you. He’s the Avatar of Sleep- he KNOWS you’ve been disturbed lately, and more so than others.

4.Can you imagine the pure look of hatred once he finds out about this man?

5.And ew, you drank your mother’s blood? 

6.But that’s cannibalism, which is a major sin so…

7.I guess you really can stay with him forever!

8.Honestly, he’s like a flame; burns as long as there’s fuel, then will move on to another topic.

LEVIATHAN:

1.So yeah. He didn’t really say anything.

2.But he was listening. 

3.Didn’t make an anime reference once because nothing he’s ever knew of had been that horrifying. 

4. Didn’t wanna make you feel shy about it, but kind of hints about it later on. 

5.No, he doesn’t care about the man, because as you sat down on the skull ridden dirt, you just seemed so...peaceful

[laryna6]

One of those ‘A Christmas Carol’-based fics with Saotome Eiji.

Kyousuke’s dad appearing warning of the demons of the Sanzu river and the measuring of karma that awaits the dead, and Saotome going ‘I must have fallen asleep/that’s a foreign Buddhist thing’ because of the... heavy pushing of a... propagandized version of Shinto as part of Japanese nationalism building up to WWII.

Instead of Christmas it’s Obon (a festival of Buddist/Confucian origin) ofc.

To fit with ‘the idea that people have to earn the right to live is effed up’ from the original, perhaps as a child he was sent to an orphanage bc his family couldn’t feed him? The additional damage of not knowing who your ancestors were in a culture practicing ancestor worship.

Other students of psychic research inviting him to hang out at the university but he wanted to get an officer position in the army, so needing to avoid undesirable elements.

Saotome’s present day obon, Kyousuke who was raised in China being taught about Shinto because as a half-Chinese person on top of an esper in an era of nationalism... they worry about the kid and he might be safer if he do all the ‘I am a loyal subject of the emperor’ signaling. Two of the espers in the unit canonically come from traditional priesthood families and have OPINIONS about what these motherfucking nationalists are doing to corrupt and twist everyone’s spirituality and traditions and their sense of connection to their families and their people and the land. Making shinto priests government officials?!

Saotome going they’re not proper LoyalTM to the army and Japan

Spirit #2 going ‘was the army ever loyal to them?��

Fujiko and her father discussing how their family is nobility and the need for the nobiiity to give up power and instead bring about democracy if Japan was going to escape being conquered and exploited by imperialists like the countries around them.

Fujiko going ‘but the warrior classes all got positions in the military, and now we’re a military dictatorship and Japan has just become one more imperialist power, it’s disgusting and her father going absolutely, and discussion of duty to their ancestors and their country foreshadowing Fujiko making a choice that according to traditional morality and the noble code of conduct was ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLY HORRIBLY WRONG to the point of disgracing her entire family line because what kind of people could have produced a traitor like that... but because of it in the modern day Japan is the second least awful country in how it treats espers.

Then spirit #3, and Saotome going ‘I’ve seen the precogs, espers going to war with normals, Kyousuke betraying the country/me to serve a queen’

And then it’s the younger queen and two other girls going ‘Minamoto we want to go to a festival with you’ while a harried man basically shoos them out the door with a broom and goes ‘go! Your families want to see you! Here are your boxed lunches and snacks for the trip’ and the girls are espers who use their powers to get to their normal families. the queen and her big sister get in a wrestling match over the cookies and only belatedly realize their mom’s eaten them all while commentating while they dress for the festival. another girl and her normal father engage in some police brutality towards festival pickpockets as bonding. the third girl, at least, is traditional and proper even if she’s performing a ceremony that comes from non-Japanese origins (and yet... it’s still a tradition that ties them to their ancestors and the gods and who they are, and Shinto says that tradition is sacred, it doesn’t say that traditions that first came from outside aren’t sacred)

The man is following his mother around as she chatters with everyone and gets up to shenanigans at the festival. ‘Father couldn’t make it again’ mentioning a grandmother who used to stay with him at these. Looking up at the sparks rise above the fire to send the dead home, lonely even though he’s surrounded by people in his hometown... and then he gets tackled by the three girls demanding he take photos with them while they’re all in kimonos

And then it switches to someone announcing That Bastard is finally dead. Far from the land he was born, with no one in the country he served who cares to claim his body ‘so we should send someone to pretend to be a relative’ and someone declaring that this is now a formal meeting because while obviously they all want to desecrate his grave, they are going to do it in an organized fashion that reflects the gravity of his crimes and pays respects to his innocent victims and continuing victims of that bastard’s legacy of murder and hatred. Eggs and toilet paper are not up for discussion is said with a pointed look at another man, who whines ‘big bro!’

This is the most diverse group of people Saotome has ever seen, people from all over the world united in their hatred of someone who gets referred to with several different languages’ curse words.

And then someone walks in and goes ‘here you are, okay, what are you up to? I’ve been raising kids for half a century, I know that when you’re all quiet and busy somewhere you’re up to no good’ and it’s Kyousuke. The guy who went ‘big bro’ gets his ear twisted, and whines ‘dad!’

It’s revealed that ‘that bastard’ is someone who hurt Kyousuke, who they’re protective of like the unit is (he still looks so young...) but when he gets it out of them he’s no! and there is a whine of ‘dad! He shot you!’ ‘I know’ *bullet scar revealed* ‘I’m the one he shot, so I get to decide what to do with him’

Kyousuke lifting away a sheet to reveal a body old and twisted and crippled. And Saotome’s. Kyousuke is blank an solemn... and sad.

Going through the Shinsosai funeral rites, all foreign Buddhist influences removed as he would have wanted, and maybe there’s a reason the people of Japan for centuries were happy to have Buddhists to help them usher their families into the next world, because he can see the weight of the kegare on him, how Kyousuke mourns him, is the only one who mourns him. Eventually a woman who treats Kyousuke as both an embarrassing younger brother and as a respected father comes to help, to cheer him up, even though she despises Saotome too, for hurting him.

A picture of the unit, in Kyousuke’s family shrine. ‘Now everyone in this photograph but Fujiko is dead... He took my family from me, but he, too, was family.’

Then he grabbed the woman, teleported, and dragged her down with him into the ocean for purification.

...then Kyousuke goes to bully the man from before, who is arguing with the three girls about how yes, they are sleepy, Kaoru nearly flew them into the ground getting home, while making them all tea before he shoves them into their bedroom. When he turns around Kyousuke has stolen the cup that was supposed to be for him, and the man at first automatically raises his hackles, but then looks sympathetic.

Kyousuke looks away, annoyed and pouting, at sympathy from this person.

‘...If I try to comfort you you’re going to shove my head in the toilet again,’ the man says, getting himself another cup of tea.

‘Absolutely’ Kyousuke agrees.

Silence, and eventually Kyousuke says, ‘at first I thought you were his reincarnation, even though he would have been offended at the idea of him reincarnating. Then I found he was with the Comericans, had been since the war, and I thought, it would have been better if he was you. Not for the Queen. But for him. If I hadn’t failed to avenge my comrades back then, he could have moved on to a better life or the otherworld. Not been forced to live on a failure and a pawn in a foreign land, unable to return home. He was a proud man.’ Looking down at his tea, ‘when I met him again, he asked me to kill him.’

‘..in the precog, I know there’s a nuke on the way when I shoot Kaoru,’ the man says, and now Saotome knows where he’s seen him. ‘even though I want to kill her so she can’t leave again and I want it enough to kill her before she stops that nuke from destroying Tokyo, I still know that I have to die for this. I’m just getting the order wrong. I should die before I do that. Having to live with what I do in that precog would be a fate worse than death.’

‘That was why I erased his memories that day. He... there was no point in him continuing to suffer. None of us would have wanted that for him. I thought... didn’t he know our feelings? That we were loyal to him, that we didn’t mind dying for him? And then I saw that he truly didn’t recognize our feelings. Because he didn’t know what it looked like, to recognize when people truly cared for him. But he cared for us, and so when he thought that espers would turn against normals, that it was impossible for us to ever care for him... Those damn precogs. They broke his heart before he put a bullet through mine.’

‘Maybe... next obon?’

a shake of the head. ‘he thought it was too foreign. It’s fine, our comrades will beat sense into him in the afterlife.’ Kyousuke drank the rest of his tea.

‘..Some of the parts of the traditional ceremony... PANDRA loves you, but I think that would have made it hard to force them to cooperate,’ the man said. “I don’t want to hear words honoring him either, but you like to do things I don’t want.’

‘What, are you going to give me condolences for his loss?”

‘I can honestly say that I am very sorry he’s dead, because it means I will never get to strangle him,’ the man vigorously throttled the air, going from kind and patient to a man more than capable of shooting a young woman in love with him, and back, ‘from turning you from such a sweet, good little kid into the godawful brat I have had to deal with.’

Kyousuke snorted.

“Do you want another cup of tea, or a cup of milk?”

“Milk.” Kyousuke said, and when the man was on his way to open a white door, he began, “Utsumi-san said that he graduated first in his class, but he had no family and no background. The esper unit was his proposal, so when he told us that we could serve our country and be accepted, he wagered his own future on the chance that ours could be happy. Utsumi said later that he never trusted Saotome-Taicho, because he knew he didn’t truly care for us. I asked once why he didn’t warn us, if he knew that, but... Utsumi knew his heart, so he knew that Saotome-taicho also was different, was desperately wishing to prove he was valuable enough to accept. He knew what bait to dangle before us because it was the exact same lure that led him to the army. We all wanted him to have that happy future, along with us.’

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Verboten 7 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:   AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: Mentions of blood

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 7

Danny was unnerved by the turn of events. After his ultimatum, Plasmius somehow pulled him through the floor and sat him back at the same table as before. If he had to describe the experience, it was a mix of having his stomach drop while his body went entirely numb, and if he was honest, for a brief moment, it felt like his body didn't exist. It left him chilled to the core, although he wasn't certain if that chill was mental, physical, or a mixture of the two.

Plasmius didn't seem bothered by the action, which would make sense if he really was a ghost. However, it was clear he wasn't in the same cordial mood as before. Instead, he seemed both impatient and distracted at the same time. He didn't speak. He just stared at Danny as if he was waiting for something.

"You're creeping me out," Danny told him when the staring got too much to handle. "Look, you wanted to talk to me, and it's not like I can go anywhere." Like before, he was once again stuck to the chair, but this time he noticed there seemed to be a faintly glowing green substance. If he had to guess, that was what was keeping him in place. "How about you explain how we originally met? You said you helped me when I got lost before, right?"

"That I did," Plasmius replied as his posture relaxed. "It's not every day a young boy appears at the door steps of my castle. While I'm not exactly sure what lured you to this realm first, I do know you appeared frightened and asked for my assistance. Normally, I would have turned a child away, but something about you caught my interest so I provided you with food, shelter, and entertainment until a weak spot, a portal so to speak, between the realms once again formed."

"You had piqued my interest so much that I kept a watch on you over the years," he continued as watched Danny closely. "I believe you may have caught glimpses of me, but we didn't meet face to face again until you wandered into the woods behind your house one particular day. Once again, I entertained you until you could make it back on your own."

Plasmius' story seemed plausible, but there was something about it that was bothering Danny. Something important was being omitted, but he was at a loss to understand what that might be. What would make this ghost so interested in him of all people? "Are you sure you have the right person? I mean, I'm pretty average."

The ghost gave him an incredulous look. "You are the only son of doctors Madeline and Jack Fenton, are you not? Aren't you the same boy who went missing for a week when you were out berry picking with your aunt and sister?"

"I am, but…"

"But you do not understand why you're here, correct?" When Danny hesitantly nodded, Plasmius gave him a chilling grin. "Simple, I've been looking for an heir. Over the years, I've had plenty of workers and servants, but none of them have met the criteria. You, on the other hand, have the potential that only a handful ever have."

"I still don't understand…" Danny was sure Plasmius was now playing with him, and it was giving him a headache. Actually, was it a headache? Or did he still feel off from going through the floor earlier? He leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

"You'll understand in due time." There was a strange pause. When Plasmius spoke again, he seemed concerned. "Daniel? Daniel, what's wrong? Butter biscuits. You appeared to be responding so well previously… Is this a backlash?"

Danny felt his body suddenly lurk forward. He barely registered that his back was no longer stuck to the chair as his vision swam. In an attempt to calm his head, he rested his head in his hands and breathed steadily. His body shuddered every so often as chills started, and a groan escaped him. This was the worst timing for him to get sick.

He could vaguely sense that Plasmius was now beside him. The ghost carefully touched his shoulder and then forehead before unexpectedly lifting him. When he tried to protest, Plasmius ignored him and plunged them both through the floor.

….

"How else? I'm the one who took him."

A creeping fear gripped Sam. Although she had known the specter should not be trusted, she hadn't quite expected him to be forthcoming regarding deaths. Although, she did had to acknowledge that death might not be as big of a taboo to a ghost, it did nothing to ease her concerns.

"I find it best to test my plans ahead of time," Plasmius continued. He seemed to be enjoying her and Tucker's fear. "And with such a varied success rate, it was better to use as many test subjects as possible. Hmm… I forgot it is possible for Daniel to lose part, if not all of his memory. Should I wait to act until after the process finishes?" He continued to mutter to himself for a few moments before he grew very still.

"Is it just me," she whispered, making Tucker jump, "or does it seem like he's distracted?"

"I think you're right," he agreed as he gave her a searching look, "and, that's going to help us how?"

"He might have keys or something. I mean, he locked us in here somehow."

"Sam, he didn't use the door, and I don't think attempting to tackle someone who openly admitted to murder will end up going too well for us."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Tucker sighed. "On three?"

Normally, Sam would say something smart regarding her victory, but this wasn't the time for it. "On three," she agreed.

Instead of their normal verbal countdown, Sam used her fingers to count. When she reached three, the two of them lunged at Plasmius. Instead of hitting something solid, Sam felt like she had been plunged into a bucket of ice water before she and Tucker crashed into the ground. She was stunned for a second before she glanced towards the ghost. He was still there. How…?

As if he read her mind, the ghost sneered at her. "Such a pity. That may have worked on a human, but if you didn't know, most ghosts can become intangible. But enough of these games, I have need of your assistance. It appears Daniel isn't doing quite as well as I hoped."

"What did you do to him?" Sam demanded as she scrambled to her feet.

"I haven't done a thing!" Plasmius pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing. "I don't have time for this. Come here." Sam and Tucker barely had time to react before Plasmius lunged forward, grabbed them by the arm, and pulled them through the floor.

After the freezing sensation subsided, Sam glanced around and gasped. She and Tucker were now in what appeared to be a modern lab, and in the middle of it was what appeared to be an examination table. After a double take, she realized there was a second Plasmius hovering over it.

The Plasmius who brought them to the room moved to the other one as disappeared into it. The now singular Plasmius turned to look at them, and by doing so, she had a better view of the examination table and who was on it.

"Danny!" she and Tucker shouted. She tried to run towards him, but Plasmius blocked their way.

"Don't shout," he snapped at them. "Daniel is in a precarious situation."

"Oh, so now you show concern?"

"I told you, I don't wish any harm on him. However," he glanced behind him at the unconscious boy. He was very still, but his shuddering breaths indicated he was still alive. However, his appearance seemed to ripple. His hair was still white, but it would momentarily flicker to black. His skin now seemed to have turned a strange tan, almost the same color as very old paper, but it would fade back to the healthy and pale skin tone Danny naturally had, "his body can't figure out which form it needs to take, and I can't have him completely dying on me."

Sam shared a look with Tucker. That statement didn't make any sense. If he was a ghost and wanted Danny to stay with him, why wouldn't he want Danny to die?

"What exactly do you need us for?" Tucker hesitantly questioned.

"Right now, I simply need you to watch him. There is research I must do before I take further action." A strange, almost smug grin appeared on his face which gave Sam the creeps. "Perhaps it was an unexpected blessing you ended up coming as well. If Daniel's condition continues going south, then I might be able to use your blood to strengthen him."

"Our… our what?"

"You have no idea how much power the essence of life holds for the dead. Putting that aside, that is not something I would consider unless it becomes absolutely necessary as Daniel would not appreciate it, no matter how noble the cause." He regarded them carefully for a moment. "I will return shortly." Plasmius took a few floating steps forward before he faded out of sight.

Sam let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. That… that think was seriously considering using their blood? As sick as it sounded, she had a nagging feeling she had come across that same concept before. Something about providing clarity? She quickly brushed the idea aside. She was probably just remembering something that came out of one of her gothic horror stories, and fiction was not what she needed at that moment.

Now that Plasmius was gone, she carefully approached Danny. His brows were furrowed, and he wore a slight frown as he rested, but there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. If it wasn't for the weird thing his skin and hair was doing, she would have guessed he was just fighting off a fever. Maybe that's what was wrong. Maybe his body was fighting off some ghostly bug. It was as just as plausible as anything else this world had to offer.

"Danny?" she hesitantly whispered as she gently shook his shoulder. When he didn't respond, she began a little more forceful as she tried to ignore how cold he felt.

"Wha…?" Danny's voice was incredibly sleepy as he finally stirred. He tried to sit up, but immediately fell back to laying flat. "What happened? Did someone catch… urgh… the license plate on that truck?"

Despite herself, she let out a weak chuckle. "I think that's one thing ghosts might not have. How are you feeling?"

"I dunno… I've heard of ghost trucks before." Now that he was more awake, it was obvious Danny was not doing well. Even though he was still trying to joke, his voice was weak and soft. When his eyes opened and flickered towards her, she noticed they were now a dull green. "Sam? When did you…?" His eyes widened in alarm, and he tried to sit up. Worried, she tried to help him. "Where's Tucker? Where did Plasmius… ugh…"

As Danny held his head, Tucker came over to him. "You might want to take it easy. We're perfectly fine, but you look like Dash got a hold of you that one time when he was nearly suspended after breaking that freshman's leg."

"That bad? Plasmius didn't do anything to you?"

"I mean, he did lock us in a room and kinda threatened us."

Danny's eyes momentarily became a brighter green at Tucker's statement. "That asshole! I thought he was just interested in me." He tried to inch towards the edge of the table but stopped as he swayed. "Woah…"

"Dude, I mean it, you should take it easy right now. We're fine. He didn't actually hurt us, yet."

"Tucker! What he means is that Plasmius was debating what to do with us, but since he seems to want to stay on your good side, he's not interested in hurting us." Sam deliberately left out Plasmius' mention about them possibly becoming like him and whatever Danny might be. Did Danny even know what was happening to him? Biting her lip, she hesitantly asked, "Err, what happened to you?"

"I… I really don't know. I think Plasmius just talked to me, but I don't know what happened between that weird forest… and… and waking up at that table. I started feeling sick after he phased me through the floor after he showed me you two were okay." He glanced around. "Where are we exactly? Is this a lab?"

"It is," Tucker responded. Sam looked over to see he was fiddling with one of the computers. "I finally figured out that this is where that signal from earlier was coming from, but I don't understand why a ghost would have computers like this." He tapped a few buttons which caused the screen in front of him to change. "Well, that was easy. Let's see what he's up to?" After a few more taps, a folder opened. "Oh? Oh my god….!"

Concerned by the tone of his voice, Sam went over to investigate. It was a decision she was fairly certain she was going to regret for the rest of her life. The images on the screen… they had to be some of Plasmius' failed experiments. "I'm going to be sick. Tucker! Change it!"

"What? What is it?" Danny called from the table.

"It… it's nothing. Don't worry about it." Tucker quickly minimized the folder. Catching he didn't completely log out of it, she sent him a questioning glance. He just pointed towards his PDA, which looked like it was downloading something. With a start, she realized he was downloading the files onto his PDA. "In case we make it out of here," he explained as he opened a second folder.

This time, it just appeared to be a bunch of employee profiles. However, there were two major company logos that kept appearing on the profiles: VladCo and DALV. "Wait, are these Vlad's employees? Why would a ghost have files on them?"

"Sam, I think these are most of the victims," Tucker whispered to her. "If… if I didn't know better, it almost seems like he's been specifically targeting them."

A strange idea crossed Sam's mind. It was so incredulous, but that the same time, she couldn't shake it. "Do… do you think Vlad is working for or with Plasmius?"

Tucker gave her a long hard look. "I really hope that's not the case, but how else would Plasmius get technology like this?"

"And didn't Plasmius say he arranged this meeting with Danny? And we saw Vlad at camp. Was he there to double check things?"

"Guys?" Danny's hesitant and distressed question brought Sam and Tucker's attention back to him. He was staring at his hand, or where his hand was supposed to be. It was gone, but there was no sign of blood or trauma. It was just gone. After a moment, it faded back into visibility. "Guys, what's happening to me?"

"I… I really don't know Danny," Sam truthfully replied. "It might have something to do with us being here. I mean, Plasmius did say this was the land of the dead." She tried not to wince as she fibbed. If Danny was in the dark regarding what happened to him, she really didn't want to alarm him, especially when she didn't know to fix it.

Tucker seemed to catch her reasoning as he added, "It might stop when we get out of here."

Danny tried to glare at them but was unable to muster much of one as he swayed again. "Guys, I know you're hiding something. What's… hey, what was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Shh! Listen!"

A grinding sound slowly filled the room. The three looked around to try to find a source, but it seemed to come from thin air. After a moment, Sam caught movement. One of the floor's large flagstones was beginning to shift.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Note:

Drawing back into mythology/legends for the blood thing. If you travel all the way back to ancient Greece, there was a belief that the way for a ghost or shade to recover its senses and sense of self was to provide it with blood. This can be human or animal, and this is actually referenced in The Odyssey. This is because the Greeks believed the spirit and blood were closely tied together, which is also seen in Vampiric lore.

This concept of providing some form of essence to other realms continued, but as time passed, it became more associated with food offerings. Those of the other realms did not 'eat' the food, but instead they took what is best phrased as the vitality, essence, or energy of it. This force, for lack of a better term, is sometimes referred to as foyson or toradh. The food offering varies from culture to culture. And interestingly, if food was not offered, then the otherworldly forces took revenge and/or brought misfortune.

So, for this story, "food" is very important… and I don't think I originally set out to do that. From what I understand, most of you have guessed Danny is still a 'halfa' for this story, and since, like previously mentioned for this AU, food is the easiest to acquire, use, and understand, Plasmius is using the duality between what's found in the realm of the dead and the world of the living to try to keep Danny's two halves balanced during his transition. Human blood is a more potent carrier of this essence, so as things go south, he's considering it.

Also, per this story, the blood thing is yet another reason humans are sometimes taken by ghosts. There are a lot of possible reasons for abductions in this story.

[whyralltheusernamestaken]

Eunoia

Eunoia : It comes from the Greek word εὔνοια, meaning "well mind" or "beautiful thinking."

Where your first impression of Todoroki is to avoid him because he reminds you of your dead father.

Todoroki Shouto x reader 

Genre : mainly fluff, some angst and comfort 

Trigger warnings : mentions of death

Words : 1,500

Masterlist

A/N : Hope you enjoy!

Todoroki Shouto. He was cold, aloof, distant, the list could go on. The average person may have been attracted by his good looks or intrigued by the mysterious aura that surrounded him. This had been proven by Mina's many remarks on his appearance and Midoriya's unsuccessful attempts at being friends with him. Yet you stayed away. It was barely two weeks into the school term but you had already made your intentions clear. Even your new classmates had picked up on it. He reminded you of your recently deceased father, whom too was cold and distant. Neither you or your mum blamed him, but he had become the shell of the loving father and husband he was before. You haven't expected it, but you weren't surprised at the cause. Lives, dozens of lives lost to a villain he was unable to stop. The guilt had eaten away at him alive, to the point where he gave up on himself. Your attention returned back to the class as people piled in, eyes flickering as you racked your head to remember their names, and in walked one of which was the subject of your silence. You were almost certain that his seat was on the other side of the classroom but when his attention turned to you, eyes locked on yours and figure approaching, you acted on your urge to flee. Standing up abruptly from your seat, you looked around, ignoring the bewildered stares of your classmates and you saw the door behind him. There was no way you'd make it to it without having to go past him. So instead you turned and ran to the windows, yanking one open and jumping out, landing roughly on a bush below before running off, ignoring the shouts from your classmates, who all piled on top of each other to peer out of one window. "Y/N either is scared of you or really hates you." Kanimari commented, giving a sad shake of his head to Todoroki before Kirishima smacked him over the head. "Don't be so rude." he scolded. "But it's true." Asui spoke up. "What did you even do to her?" Todoroki raised his eyebrow at her. "Nothing. I haven't even spoken to her once." He kissed his teeth in confusion as he walked back to his seat, lips pursed as he wracked his brain for any reason for you to hate him. Sure his father had reprimanded him for the thought of making friends and he had kept to his wishes fairly well, he couldn't help but wonder at your erratic behaviour. Did you perhaps have a crush on him? There were multiple girls, and sometimes boys, who had a crush on him and he had observed their behaviour on occasions, but he wasn't sure if this was the case, after all you made no attempt what so ever to even talk to him, to get to know him. Perhaps you were shy but not once had he ever seen your eyes on him. He had looked over at you several times, more so than he would like to admit. And so he dismissed this possibility almost immediately.   Was it that you were indeed scared of him? Kaminari had mentioned it before but he couldn't understand why. Fear was something he had his father labelled as. It wasn't that he was scared of him, that had long ago been replaced with hatred and anger. On the other hand, others were certainly scared of the person he distastefully called father. Everyone knew that all the citizens were scared of him, and that was something Todoroki had made sure to be aware of as he trained to be a hero. Was it his appearance? It had to be, he hadn't even spoke to you before and you and him had been classmates for nearly half a month. And so his thoughts wandered. And he questioned if maybe, just maybe, it was his scar that frightened you. ~~~ You had joined the rest of your class in the afternoon for hero training, with All Might, opting to have spent the majority of your day in Recovery Girl's office. She had completely seen through your pathetic excuse of skipping class but she allowed you to stay in her office, telling you that this would be the only time before continuing her work. You slipped onto the field, standing behind Mina as you quietly listened to the instructions your teacher was giving. And luck would have it, you would sparring against Todoroki. With a small pout on your lips you walked towards him, trying to give him your best smile, despite it being very tight lipped and fake. The fight, other than a few acknowledgements here and there, was completely silent, neither of you even attempting to start up a conversation. That was until Todoroki tackled you, pinning you down to ground. "Why do you hate me L/N?" he asked sternly. You spluttered, mind flickering between him physically and then his words. He was above you, chest heaving with ragged breathes as you believe you had put up with a good fight. And his hair, the longer strands blew in the wind as his bangs stuck to his forehead. He looked completely ethereal, sun shining against his face as his eyebrows furrowed tightly into a frown. "E-excuse me?" you squeaked out. "I asked why you hate me." he repeated, inching forwards, cautious to not overwhelm you. After all, he would hate to be anything like his father. "I don't." you said, keeping your eye contact with him as you felt the urge to just sink back into the ground and away from his scrutinising stare. He seemed dissatisfied with your response, sitting back with that all so familiar frown etched on his face. "I don't Todoroki-" He cut you off with an sigh. "You say that but you avoid me." He moved his hand off your arms and brushed away a stray piece of hair that was about to fall into his mouth. "Do I scare you?" he began to ramble, something you had never witnessed the aforementioned male to do. "Is it my personality? I'm not here to make friends so I'm understand I'm often too straightforward and come off as rude but I don't understand, I've never talked to you before?" Your face dropped at the thought that he had taken it the wrong way. Of course you made it pretty obvious that you were avoiding him, heck, you even jumped out of a window to escape the possibility of him starting a conversation with you, but you didn't stop to think how he would take and here you were, watching your usually stoic faced classmate second guess his every move because you, a complete stranger, had decided to take your grief out on the wrong person. "Is it my scar?" His question snapped you out of your thoughts and your mouth hung open at his question. "W-what? No of course not." you shouted. You had taken him by surprise, evident by the way his eyes widen at your outburst. You started to sit up and he shuffled back, now sitting at your feet. You crossed your legs and looked at him sternly. "Don't you ever think that Todoroki." you say sternly. "I get that it's an insecurity of yours, everybody has at least one, but I think you're absolutely stunning, and your scar does absolutely nothing to change my mind at all." You felt your face flush at your comments but you flashed him a small grin. "And no, you don't scare me, and your scar is not at all scary, I'm sorry if I made you think that." You watched as his mouth hung open slightly. His cheeks were dusted a light pink. "T-thank you." he said quietly before continuing. "That's still doesn't answer my question though." You noticed as his face shifted back into a small frown. "It's not your fault I promise." you quickly said, hating the downcast expression on him face. You decided to carry on, sure that he wouldn't be satisfied with such a vague answer. "It's just that you remind me of someone who was close to me that recently passed away." you explained, giving him another, this time slightly smaller, smile and he nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss." he said. You shake your head. "It's alright, it happens to everyone." you said, standing up as you see your other classmates start to walk back to where your teacher was standing. Smoothing down your PE clothes, you held out a hand to Todoroki, who looked up at you from where he sat. “Yeah but-” he began to speak. "Come on, let's go." you smiled, cutting him off as you nodded your head towards where the majority of your class stood. "Alright." he responded, grabbing your hand and you pulled him up before turning around to walk back to the class. Not before noticing the smile that graced his lips. 

[rosezure]

Songbird 2 - New Beginnings

Songbird - Chapter 2

A/N:  This chapter focuses more on certain BNHA characters, but there's still some Asa thrown in there.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the BNHA/MHA universe, nor its characters. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only. My own characters are, however, of my creation.

Content warning: mentions of jumping from planes, talk about character deaths, !spoilers for the manga!, some AU stuff cause what is cannon if not a suggestion, tattoos, talk about physiotherapy and injuries, swearing/language. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can correct/add it!

Summary | Chapter 1

If Keigo knew anything, it was that he hated the Hero Commission more than he hated Endeavor. And that was saying something, considering his longtime idol was a child abuser. He hated that they made him into a monster. They took an innocent child and distorted his reality. 

Keigo decidedly hated a lot of things. 

But he couldn't hate Aizawa. Not after everything that's happened. Not ever, actually. The man was every bit the hero Keigo once thought Endeavor was. Yet, he couldn't help but feel like the teacher had ulterior motives. The two sat across from each other on a small wooden table in a secluded pub. It was just on the outskirts of Musutafu, which made it the perfect place for this kind of encounter.

"I want you to teach at the UA."

There it was. The ulterior motive the hero Hawks was trained to identify. Keigo cursed in his mind. He really didn't want to find a reason to be suspicious of Aizawa of all people.

The man had literally sacrificed an eye and a leg for others, for fuck's sake!

"Shota... I don't think I can. What could I possibly teach? I'm a monster... These kids need an actual role model. Not some bastard murderer with a hero title." Keigo's voice was small and quiet. He was miles from the great Hawks he was supposed to be.

"We've all done things we're not proud of, no matter how big or small. You did what you thought you had to do. In the heat of the moment, it was your only option." The older hero sighed.

Aizawa looked at the young man in front of him. He looked so broken and fragile. But he understood. Killing Twice, someone so vulnerable yet dangerous, weighed more than Keigo let on. The Winged Hero Hawks died then and there in Keigo's mind. And Aizawa knew it was taking a long time to heal from that loss.

"Look," Keigo looked up from the table, "Killing Twice-" He visibly flinched, but Aizawa pressed on, "That wasn't the best thing you could do. The man could've been helped. Maybe he could've become a great hero or teacher even." 

Keigo was about ready to stand up and leave at that. He wasn't going to sit and listen to yet another person throw his wrongdoings in his face. He didn't need it. His mind was cruel enough.

"You're right in feeling like shit. But I'd be more worried if you weren't. You're still a hero, Keigo. You saved lives that day, even if you took a drastic measure. Even if your decision was a horrible one." Aizawa took a deep breath. "You know it was wrong. You know it was cruel. But you had good intentions-"

"Hell is full of good intentions, Aizawa." Keigo gritted, hitting a fist on the table and standing up. 

Aizawa stood up as well. "Then teach those kids to not make that mistake. Teach them about good intentions and good actions combined."

With that, the older male went to the cashier to pay for their drinks. Neither of them had taken one stingy sip, but Shota still thought ordering drinks was the polite thing to do. 

The two left together. Being grounded was new to Keigo. Sure he walked every once in a while, but he'd be flying to his penthouse by now. He'd be soaring through the skies. The thought of the wind blowing through his feathers made Keigo look up to the sky. He longed for the day his wings grew back, then he'd flee and never return.

"I know that look," Aizawa's voice snapped him back to reality.

"The day I have my wings back..." The blonde whispered, "I'm leaving and never coming back, Shota. I'll be free."

"Will you?" 

"Will I what?"

"Will you actually be able to leave?"

Keigo stopped in his tracks, making Aizawa pause as well. Would he really be able to run away? Would he be able to just take flight and never look back? Keigo wondered if he'd have the guts to do that. 

"I don't know," He admitted with a sigh before starting to walk again.

"But I'd sure love to have the chance to find out."

On the other side of the world, Asa was packing her bags. She had very little time to prepare, and she wondered why the Queen and Santos hadn't informed her of this mission weeks ago. From Asa gather through the reports and files she read, the confrontation between heroes and villains in Japan was months ago. So why was she only being sent now?

She'd have to go through the other files Santos gave her. Maybe then Asa would know what was really going on.

"Asa!" Caique's voice rang from behind her door. Asa smiled softly.

"Come in, punk!" She shot back.

"Can you believe it? I'm Commander! I went from Captain to Commander!" He looked like a puppy that's just been given a new toy.

"Oh, shut up!" Asa laughed at his happiness. 

"So, my subordinate," Caique sauntered over to Asa, putting an arm on her shoulder, "My first order is that you let me kick your ass once." He grinned cheekily.

Asa rolled her eyes and pushed his arm off her. "No way in hell, babe. I've got a rep to keep, you know?" She winked over her shoulder as she walked to her closet to gather more items.

"Hey!" Caique pouted. Asa giggled at his face, shaking her head.

"Don't pout," She scolded playfully, "It makes you look five."

"Right, and you hate children," He added teasingly.

"I do not!" Asa shot back laughing, "It's them that hate little ol' me." She shrugged.

"That's not true," Caique huffed and took a seat on her king-sized bed. "By the way, I never really understood why I got the position and not one of the generals."

"Cause I've been preparing you for the position for three years now. I was gonna retire right before the summer festivities."

"Retire?! Girl, you're like 23! The fuck you mean retire?"

"I've been at this for almost 16 years, Caique. And I'm unhappy."

Her words silenced Caique. He knew very little about his Commander. Asa was strong, intelligent, agile, cunning, and charming (if she wanted to be). She was 23 years old, soon turning 24, and she was quite attractive. But that's all he knew about her.

"You never really told me how a 7-year-old became a soldier."

"And I don't think I can ever tell you. I can't remember it myself without having a breakdown!" Asa tried to play it off as a joke, but they both knew this was a sensitive topic.

"So, are you done packing?" Caique quickly changed the subject. It was her last day here, and he didn't want Asa to be tackled by ugly memories.

"Almost. Most of my things are already on the plane." Asa gave him a small smile. "I slept a total of zero hours last night. Santos was adamant that everything needed to be loaded onto the plane before sunrise. And I mean everything!"

"That man is wound up way too tight," Caique shivered. "Is there a way I don't have to deal with him directly?"

"Sorry, but that stick in the mud is your issue now." Asa bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at Caique's disdainful expression. 

"Thanks, that's really encouraging," His sarcasm made her lose her composure and laugh, "What's the mission anyway?" He looked at her attentively.

"You know I can't tell you that..." Asa trailed off, unsure how to keep her promise to the Queen without shutting Caique out. 

"Ah, you're right. If the Queen asked you to keep it a secret, then you must," Caique offered Asa a small smile.

Ever since they met six years ago, Caique and Asa were joined at the hip. Neither went into battle without the other. It was common knowledge among the guards and soldiers that one should never mess with either of them. Now they were being separated, and it already felt like they were miles apart.

A few more minutes pass as the two make jokes and chat. Asa began to think about how she could remember her last moments in Pindorama forever. She needed something to look at or touch every day. Asa never dealt well with homesickness. As Caique helped her fold some clothes, an idea hit her. She grabbed his hands, inspecting the many drawings inked into his skin.

"What's up? Why are you suddenly so interested in my tattoos?" Caique chuckled as he let Asa twist and twist and turn his arms around. 

"Let's get a tattoo together."

"What?! Now?!"

"Yes, right now. Call the artist!"

Keigo couldn't believe this was happening. He took Aizawa's offer and applied to a position in the UA High School. However, he didn't think they'd actually accept him. And he was even more surprised to learn the Commission authorized it. Had everyone gone insane?

The world really did turn upside down...

But here he was: sitting in Nezu's office and listening to him drone on about the rules, the teaching plans, and other things Keigo wasn't paying attention to. Shit, he actually got in. Now what?

"If you have any questions, feel free to ask Aizawa. I've put him in charge of your training. Please be prepared to start in April next year." Nezu smiled at Keigo, standing up to shake the blonde's hand.

After that, Keigo left the headmaster's office in a daze. The last six months were hell: grieving the loss of fellow heroes, dealing with his demons, going back and forth from the hospital and his residence... Keigo couldn't remember a time in which he felt carefree and at ease. And now he's shaking whatever peace he still had.

"What have I gotten myself into?"

"Probably your greatest challenge yet." Aizawa lazily lifted the corners of his mouth as he limped towards Keigo. 

"Oh, I don't doubt it..." He muttered to himself.

"Follow me. I'll give you a short tour, then we can head out for some coffee." Shota offered as he pointed his chin to the hall he came from.

"A tour would be nice, I guess..." Keigo shrugged his shoulders and followed the older man. 

Aizawa could be surprisingly chatty, it seemed. He showed him as many classes as he could. He took Keigo to see the event arenas and other facilities. Last but not least, he took him to the teachers' room.

"We prepare our classes here," The hero explained, "Over there, we have the cabinets with students' tests and reports. Next to that, we have the teachers' lockers. You can keep some personal items in there." 

Keigo walked over to the lockers, tracing the names of the heroes that taught at the UA. He recognized some of them. These lockers had belonged to some of the fallen heroes. Keigo's back ached with phantom pain. Seeing those names triggered the torturous memories from six months ago.

"They haven't had the heart to remove the names," Aizawa explained.

"They shouldn't." Keigo placed his fingers over Midnight's name tag, "She'd want us to remember her."

"Other teachers survived and will be returning."

"They won't be the same."

"No one's the same."

"Nothing's the same. Everything and everyone is different," Keigo sighed, "And different is bad."

"Different allows growth."

"So it seems." Keigo scoffed at his own words. 

Was he even still capable of that? Growth was such a foreign concept for someone who was fabricated. Oh, the irony. He was built from scratch, molded to the Commission's wishes. He "grew" under their supervision. Would he have grown at all if they hadn't taken him in?

"How about that coffee?"

"I think I'll pass. I want to start working on the material I'm gonna present in class."

"I suggest a more hands-on approach. Depending on which class you're assigned to, theory won't get you anywhere. I speak from experience." Aizawa thought of the many setbacks a specific class had due to the students' tempers.

"Right. Still, I'd like to-"

"Form a strategy? Make a plan? You're not patrolling, and you're definitely not in an undercover mission. This is teaching," Aizawa paused, trying to think of the right words, "You need a base, but you're gonna have to improvise from time to time. And these are teenagers, not villains. The most they can do is piss you off." He smirked teasingly.

"Got it," Keigo answered simply, already flipping through a book on teaching methods he found lying about.

Aizawa rubbed his face, watching the ex-hero with something akin to pity. The boy had never been a real teenager. How was he supposed to deal with so many of them at once? He'd need a lot of support, that's for sure.

The two sat at the table near the pantry. Keigo was reading aloud some parts of the book he found, asking Aizawa for his input. Whenever the older hero gave a tip, Keigo immediately recorded it on his phone's note app. Halfway through the fourth chapter, Principal Nezu walked in.

"Aizawa, I just received great news from Tokyo!" His ears twitched in excitement.

"What news?" Aizawa raised an eyebrow.

"The Prime Minister has successfully contacted Pindorama. They're sending the hero we discussed last week. She'll be arriving next week!" Nezu informed with a smile.

"You mean the one with the practically extinct quirk?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I heard she was trouble."

"Oh, I doubt she'll be a burden to us."

"Sorry to interrupt," Keigo lifted his head from the book, now curious about the person they were talking about, "Who are you talking about?"

"Oh! Hawks!" Keigo stiffened at the use of his hero name, "I forgot to mention it to you earlier, but you won't be the only newbie. A special guest is coming from another country to help with things around here. She has a very rare quirk, which will greatly help us as a country bounce back from the events of March." Nezu beamed, folding his paws in front of his chest.

"What kind of quirk?" Keigo squinted his eyes.

"It's of a healing nature, but no one is sure of how it works," Aizawa explained, "There's not much written about this quirk. The only group of people that knew everything about it are all gone." He slumped in his seat, feeling sleepy already.

"So, there are no records on it? How can we trust this stranger?" Keigo frowned. 

"That's a reasonable question," Nezu lifted himself onto one of the vacant chairs and looked at Keigo, "But there's no need to worry. She's a show of the alliance between the two countries. If anything goes wrong, it'll be a war declaration."

"That just makes her even more dangerous. I don't think we should let someone so-" Aizawa interrupted Keigo by clearing his throat.

"Rest assured, Keigo, that she won't be a problem to any of us," Nezu added. He smiled widely once more before hopping off the chair and bidding the two heroes goodbye.

A few minutes passed as Keigo continued to read the book and ask Aizawa questions. Meanwhile, the raven-haired man was fighting to stay awake and help the young man understand the methods and concepts. But he had drained himself during his physiotherapy session that morning. He needed a nap, or he'd pass out right there.

Sensing the older man's tiredness, Keigo decided to excuse himself. He told Aizawa he'd continue reading at home and that he'd take notes of any doubts that might surface. After packing his things, Keigo bid the teacher goodbye and left.

The next time the two men met, Keigo was at the school to look for more teaching supplies. They greeted each other at the gates with a quiet nod each. Aizawa seemed better, stronger, Keigo noted. Maybe his physiotherapy sessions had been paying off. Eri's contribution probably helped too.

Aizawa had once told him that Eri wanted to heal him and give him his wings back. But Keigo had refused. He didn't want them back, not like this. Hawks died, and if Keigo had any say in it, he'd stay dead. So, if his wings grew back, he wanted to earn them and start anew.

For days, he and Aizawa would sit together near the pantry in the teacher's room. Keigo would read excerpts from teaching books or bring teaching plans and ask for Aizawa's input. Day in and day out, the older man would reassure the blonde that the material was suitable. And day in and day out, Keigo would create different versions on the same plan. He swore they were only backups in case he forgot to prepare for a class or something. But Shota Aizawa knew very well that the young man was scared of messing up.

After what happened in March, Class 1-A was going to need a lot of support. So Aizawa often found himself praying to a whatever higher energy that they'd be okay. That every student and teacher would find solace in being a hero and saving lives. He prayed for everyone to find a way to cope.

These prayers always startled Shota. He wasn't religious at all! He never cared about gods or spirits or ancestors. But he sure as fuck hoped that something was watching over them and that things would be fixed. He knew better than anyone how naive thinking like this was. But he also knew it was better than wallowing in self-pity.

Yet, Aizawa felt like Keigo would be the one getting support from the students.

Aizawa just wished Keigo would accept any form of support.

"Ready when you are, Siren!" The pilot yelled over the radio system of the plane, "We are one minute away from the drop-off point!"

"Roger that, Captain!" Asa shot back, preparing her equipment and adjusting her suit.

Her first mission was to infiltrate the HPSC building and bug the president's office. If she had time, Asa was going to try and bug any other high-ranked offices too. She had to be precise and fast. One slipup and the whole mission could be compromised. 

Once they reached the drop-off point, Asa removed her protective headset and put on her goggles. She waited for the crew to open the plane's doors while she made sure everything was ready. The plane's doors opened, and Asa saluted the soldiers behind her before throwing herself out of the plane.

Asa had missed the exhilaration of jumping into the night. She forgot how thrilling it was and how powerful she felt. The dropping point had been 14000 feet (around 4267 meters) high, so Asa had about a minute of free-falling before she could open her wings. Having done this many times before, Asa successfully landed on top of a building south of the HPSC headquarters. 

She retracted her wings, thankful for her suit being backless, and prepared to jump onto the next building. They dropped her off a little away from the premises to not alert any busybodies. 

Asa wasted no time getting to work. In just under 10 minutes, she had made it onto one of the windows on the 14th floor of the HPSC's building's south side. And in less than 20 minutes, Asa had located the president's office.

Asa managed to open one of the smaller windows and slithered in. She placed a bug on one of the far corners of the giant window behind the desk. She also placed another under the desk table and one behind a few books. Asa put the fourth and last bug under the clock that hung over the entrance door. After that, as quickly as she got in, Asa was out. She checked her watch. Asa had some time left before a helicopter picked her up at the designated rendezvous point. So, she decided to find the vice-president's office, or maybe a lab of some sort. 

Flying around the building, Asa used her enhanced vision goggles to see if she could locate any useful information. On the west side, she found a lab with the words "authorized personnel only" printed on the door. Squinting, Asa flew closer and found a way in. Smirking at her findings, she bugged the lab as thoroughly as she could.

Once she was outside again, Asa dropped onto a nearby building and sprinted to the rendezvous point.

"This is Siren speaking," Asa's voice was barely above a whisper, "Heading to the pick-up point." 

Asa dropped down from a building, disappearing into the night.

Chapter 3

[buckleyirondad]

30. Recovery

I. 356 Days Without Peter

It had almost been a year.

Since the Avengers lost, and Thanos won. 

The Titan was dead, that might seem like a victory, but it wasn’t. His death served no purpose. He died the victor, and there was no changing that.

Tony struggled to move on, in the wake of devastation. It hurt to breathe every day, knowing that Peter Parker was gone.

Survivor’s guilt had made itself comfortable, pressed against his chest, slowly suffocating him. He buried his pain deep but made sure he never forgot his ridiculously intelligent, and caring mentee. They say you’re not forgotten until someone speaks your name for the last time, and Tony had a plan, to make sure the universe chorused Peter’s name, until the end of time itself. Tony didn’t sleep much, as unhealthy as that was, it did come in handy with a newborn baby. Morgan Stark.

Since Peter died, Tony felt like life stopped, as if everything around him was frozen in time. He still felt like that, the space Peter left behind would always be there, however, Morgan helped him along. Tony could now feel time passing, but it was slow.  Morgan was three days old, and Tony hated letting her out of his sight, even for a second. He did that with Peter, and before he knew it, the kid was fading away. The fixation was self-deprecating but he couldn’t risk losing her too. Happy was yet to meet Morgan. He’d been in Europe when the big day came, and couldn’t make it back in time. Tony could tell he was upset that he missed such a tremendous event, but he would make up for it.  “He’s here,” Tony whispered, he watched as Happy jumped out of his car and raced up the porch stairs. Morgan was fast asleep in Pepper’s arms, she smiled as Happy opened the front door. “Hey…” Tony went to greet him, but Happy simply handed him a gift bag and hurried over to Pepper. Tony stood in shock, “Um, wait.” He turned, “You know, I hate being handed things.” Happy didn’t give a shit about what Tony was saying, he was too busy cooing over his niece, “Wow.”  Pepper shook her head as she chuckled, “This is Morgan.” Happy grinned, “She’s amazing.” “Hey…” Tony teased, “I’m meant to be the centre of your world, Hogan.” Happy snorted a laugh, “You sure are, boss.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes, “Yeah, that’s likely.” His mouth twitched into a smile as he watched on, he hadn’t seen Happy like this in a long time, not since before they lost Peter. The kid had a knack for finding his way into the heart of those with the coldest exteriors, it took him a while but eventually, he did it with Happy. Happy took Peter’s death hard, even if he didn’t show it. He confessed his guilt, he felt responsible for Peter and wished he had done something that day, to stop Peter from joining the fight. Tony’s curiosity got the best of him, and he reached into the gift bag. His heart leapt up into his throat, as he pulled out a onesie. Not any old boring onesie, but a Spider-Man one, inspired by Peter’s suit.  Tears filled his eyes as he studied it. It was one of the most adorable things he’d ever seen in his life.  “Sorry, I should have warned you…” Happy eased, “I saw it, and could hear the kid telling me to get it…..I mean, he’d kill me if I’d ignored it.” Pepper smiled, with misty-eyes, “It’s beautiful.” Tony blinked away tears, “Yeah.” He wasted no time in charging over and tackling Happy in a hug. Happy let out a wet laugh, as he folded an arm around Tony’s back. This was perfect and was exactly what Tony needed.  He couldn’t save his kid, but he could be damn well sure that they would remember him.  II. 718 days without Peter New York City mourned Peter too. They missed their Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man and everything he stood for.  Their love for him sparked a holiday. Spider-Man Day. It was a festival, of sorts; famous bands (or what was left of them) headlined, tickets sold out quickly, and streets were closed across the city.  It was crazy, and Tony knew Peter would freak out if he were around to see it. Morgan’s first birthday happened to fall on the second Spider-Man Day. So, naturally, they took her.  She wore adorable ear defenders, and a new Spider-Man outfit, as she’d outgrown the last. She spent the day, clapping at everything, and happily gurgling at all images of Spider-Man. They found an empty cafe for lunch, because being who they were, they got noticed.  Pepper popped to the toilet, while Tony entertained Morgan. She was yet to say her first word, so they enthusiastically enunciated every word they said, in the hope, it would make it easier for her to pick up. Tony took the Spider-Man plushie he bought for her, she leaned forward in her high chair, she cooed as she held out his hands, “You want it?” He handed it over, “There you go, little miss.” Morgan blew a happy raspberry as she squished the toy, with love, “You like it?” He asked as he bopped her nose, “Me too.” Morgan flung her hands back, over excitedly, the toy fell out of her grasp onto the floor. She leaned down, frantically searching for it. “Oh no…” Tony sighed sympathetically, “Don’t worry, I’ve got…”  “Pee–ty!” Morgan exclaimed urgently as she tried to reach it.  Tony stared at her, with wide-eyes, “You…”  “P…etey!” She chanted again, adamant in her need.  “Um, okay…” Tony stuttered, in disbelief, “I’ve got him.”  He picked up the toy and gave it back to her.  She wrapped her arms around it protectively, the closest she’d ever get to hugging her brother, “Petey…” She said, softly, as she cradled the toy.   “Yeah.” Tony hiccuped, as he brushed his fingers against her cheek, “That’s right, Morguna.” He bent over, kissing her forehead, “You’re brilliant.”  Peter was the subject of many of Morgan’s bedtime stories, so it made sense that his name was her first word, but it tugged at Tony’s heartstrings as she happily chanted it, without a care in the world.  Pepper skipped over, Tony looked up at her, with teary-eyes, “Honey…” She said, worried, “What’s wrong?” Morgan perked up, “Petey!” Pepper’s breath hitched as her focus shifted to their daughter, “Oh.” She knelt, Tony watched as she showered Morgan with praise, he smiled, as he wiped tears away with the back of his hand. Morgan was still too young to realise that Peter was real, not just a fairytale. Right now, Tony was content with him being her hero. III. 1827 days without Peter  Time used to pass by slowly.  However, as Morgan grew, it flew by, in an instant. She’d been a baby one day, and then, suddenly she was four. Tony couldn’t tell where the time had gone. It hadn’t healed the loss of Peter. That hurt was still there. Every day it followed him like a shadow, in everything he did. It was ironic, that Tony been mourning him for longer than he had known him; Peter left an impact, especially on Morgan, even though the pair never met. She idolized him, not only as Spider-Man but as Peter Parker too.  She was mischievous and found her way into rooms, cupboard, places she shouldn’t be. She found a box of Peter’s old stuff, that Tony had saved from his and May’s apartment before it was sold. She loved his punny t-shirts and had started wearing them as pyjamas.  Slowly, she realised that Peter was real, and Tony could tell, she wasn’t far away from wanting to know why she never got to meet him. Morgan’s grief for Peter, would one day marvel Tony’s. He knew Peter, he got to love him, and watch him grow.  Morgan only had stories, and when she reached a certain age, that wouldn’t be enough, and she’d realise what she missed out on. Morgan was charging around, in her Spider-Man jumper, playing her solo edition of ‘Cops and Robbers’ which was basically‘Spider-Man and Robbers.’  She stopped, and climbed up onto the couch, next to Tony. She leaned her head against his bicep as she caught her breath.  “You tired?” He asked as he twiddled his fingers through her hair. She shook her head, as she stared down at the floor. Tony could tell there was something on her mind, “What’s wrong, baby?” She anxiously fumbled with the sleeves of her jumper, “Where’s Petey?” She asked, her voice low as if she were scared to say it. “Oh.” Tony swallowed the dread in his throat, “Come here.” He gently moved her onto his lap, and locked a strong arm around her front, “You know about the blip?” “Yeah. People disappeared…” “They did.” Tony confirmed, as he brushed strands of hair out of her eyes, “You see, Peter was one of those people.” “I know that.” She held out a hand,  “It’s just…where is he?” “Um…” Tony stuttered unsurely, “I don’t know, honey.” She pressed her head against his chest as she looked up at him, “Is he lost?” “Something like that.”

A knowing smile grew on her face, “I have an idea!” She escaped Tony’s grasp, and charged around the room, in a state of joy. 

“Yeah?”  Morgan froze, “I’m gonna ask Santa if he can find him.” Tony kept up appearances, a small smile, not wanting to burst her bubble.  She charged away, in search for paper, to write an early Christmas list. Tony sniffled, as tears spilt down his cheeks. His heart was heavy and he found it impossible to breathe. Morgan could ask Santa for anything, and she was going to ask for something she could never have. IV. The day Peter returned  They did it.  The Avengers achieved the impossible.  They were back, all of them. Everyone they lost.  It took five years, and many sacrifices, but they did it. Tony would admit, he only did it for Peter. He didn’t care if that sounded selfish, screw what anyone else thought. It was true. If Peter had survived, there was no way in hell Tony would have even considered the time heist.  Tony was pushed down to the ground. He flipped around, ready to fight, but the creature looming over him had the upper hand. Then, as if he’d never been gone, Peter webbed the creature up and pulled it back, effortlessly. Scott, as Giant-Man, then squished it, for good measure.  Peter charged over, closing the distance between them. Tony’s heart stopped, and the air was knocked clean from his lungs. He didn’t know to do or say. When you mourn someone, you don’t expect them to come back. There are five stages of grief, but this needed a new definition. A sixth stage, to help those who got their loved ones back after going through the recovery of losing them.  Peter grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled him to his feet, with ease, “Holy cow! You will not believe what’s been going on!” He exclaimed as he held onto Tony’s arm, “Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? I must’ve passed out, because I woke up, and you were gone.” He rambled, holding out his arm, “But Doctor Strange was there, right? He was like, “It’s been five years. Come on, they need us."” He twirled his hand around, to emphasize his tale, “And then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time.” Tony couldn’t hold back, as much as he loved to hear Peter talk like there was no tomorrow. He moved forward, pulling Peter into a hug, holding him as close as he could.  “What are you doing?” Peter hiccuped, confused. God, this kid would never understand what they’d been through in the wake of losing him. How empty the world was without him in it, “Oh, this is nice.” Tony leaned, to press a kiss against Peter’s cheek, “Mr. Stark?” Tony didn’t give a shit about the battle around them, he had his kid back in his arms. He would take every precaution now, to keep him safe. He would take helicopter parenting to a whole new level. Tony stepped back, to study him. He deactivated the nanotech on his hand, so he could cup Peter’s cheek, “You’re back…” “What?” Peter raised an eyebrow, “You miss me? Tony scoffed a cry, “Oh, kid. You don’t know the half of it.” He tugged him into another hug. He silently thanked the stars, and Natasha Romanoff, for saving his kid.

Also, Morgan, whose seemingly impossible Christmas wish had come true.

V. 34 days since Peter returned Tony thought he was going to die. He put on that gauntlet, knowing that it would destroy him but that didn’t matter. The world was falling apart, and he was the one who had to put it back together.

If he died, he did it for the future of his children. In the knowledge that they’d at least be together.

However, when the prominent smell of hospital disinfectant overwhelmed his nostrils, he realised he’d survived. Wow, he loved it when he did that. Although, he wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, and he probably had more than a few people to thank. 

He blinked his eyes open as ignored the annoying beeping coming from the machines around him. He could hear Rhodey, his friend was closeby, talking outside in the corridor. He was talking to May...that was May's voice. She was back and alive. Tony was spaced, but he could make out a few things; Pepper was fast asleep, with her head rested against the bed, and her hand laid on top of his.  His heart fluttered, at the sound of familiar snoring that came from the other side of the room. A sound that he hadn’t heard in five years.

He turned and saw something he never thought he would.  Peter was fast asleep on the couch in the corner, and curled up, rested in his arms, was Morgan. They were together, it was real.  Tony smiled, knowing this marked the day, where his life truly began. 

[i-am-not-a-dinner-roll]

Snow

Summary: It’s a snowy night, a few neighbors cross paths out in front of their apartment building

Pairings: past logicality, familial creativetwins and anxiet

Warnings: cursing, implied major character death (but it’s in the past), suicide mention, loss of a child, breakup, distant family/poor family relationship (please let me know if I missed something, or if there’s anything I should tag and how)

Genre(s): Angst

A/N: This is my first fic I’ve ever shared, so let’s see how this goes. (I also have no idea what this is but oh well) Maybe a part 1? We’ll see if anyone actually cares

     Roman needed some fresh air. He’d been working all evening on an English essay for a book he’d barely followed past the homoerotic swordplay. With jacket in hand he tapped his way down the stairs and out the front door. The cool night air washed over him, making everything feel more crisp, allowing him to focus. He stood in the doorway for a just a moment, absorbing the clarity. The biggest mistake he made was opening his eyes.

     First, there were already two men there, one in a woolen grey coat and yellow scarf and a second in a blue jacket. They didn’t turn to look at Roman when he came outside, and they couldn’t have been holding a conversation from so far apart. So they had probably come here alone and intended to leave that way. Like he had.

     Second, the entire front lawn was covered in snow.

     Nostalgia hit Roman with a physical force. Suddenly, he was six years old, flinging himself into the snow banks to make snow angels. His brother had said they were ugly enough to be snow demons. He was eight years old engaged with Remus in the most intense snowball fight the world had ever seen. He was laughing and hot under his layers of jackets and sweaters, hats and scarves. So many layers he barely felt it when his brother tackled him, giggling like an idiot kid, to the ground. He was twelve and he was milking the higher part of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” while Remus changed the lyrics on the lower part to something much more unsavory.

     He blinked and it was gone. He wasn’t a kid. He wasn’t happy. He was seventeen and alone. Now he was seventeen, alone, and trying not to think about how long it had been since he’d heard from his twin. Trying to ignore that the last time he’d seen him Remus had lost a fight to an impressive opponent, and was babbling enough of the time Roman wasn’t sure he’d even remember that moment had existed. Hoping that he could forget the unread messages, and the late night thoughts on why they hadn’t been answered. And the sky had the audacity to snow.

     He grabbed a fist full of snow, shaped it roughly into a snowball and chucked it into the street.

      It exploded on impact becoming an irreparable mess. Roman almost wanted to laugh at the cruel symbolism. Instead he just stood, staring out into the darkness, feeling the stinging cold on his wet hand

                    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .                   

      Dee was really cold. He’d never been great at regulating his body temperature, so clearly, the best thing he could do was stand outside on a freezing, snowy night. The cold wasn’t the only reason he should have stayed inside tonight. He couldn’t stand staring out over the untouched snow. It was an awful reminder that it had been nearly a year since his world disappeared.

     Yet somehow he couldn’t go back inside, somehow he felt he owed his son to stand out in the snow. His son who’d always felt alone, no matter how hard Dee tried to talk to him. His son, who, convinced he would never make a difference, gave up his only chance to. His son who felt so inconsequential he left the world convinced no one would care. This stupid fucking world who dared take his family. He wanted to scream the name into the cold, white abyss but he couldn’t. He could only whisper, and so he did. 

     “Virgil,” he muttered, over and over, “Virgil, Virgil, Virgil” He shifted his scarf to hide his tears. Funny how the word tear is spelled the same as tear. Tearing up. Torn up. Ripped to pieces. Say it how you like. It didn’t change the water that dropped silently into the snow.

                   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .                  

     Winter had always been Patton’s favorite season. Well, that’s a lie, he’d liked all seasons pretty equally until Christmastime about five years ago. He’d bumped into Logan at an ice skating rink, and suddenly winter was the best time of year. Funny that Logan was the reason he hated it now. 

     Patton’s most treasured memories were of snowy walks in the park as a couple, hot chocolate in hand. He loved the way Logan looked in a knitted hat, he’d make him more just to see it. He’d listen to his boyfriend talk about the identical snowflakes found by a very determined scientist while the subjects studied would dust his nose and eyelashes. That’s what he wanted to remember about snow.

     He didn’t want to think about Logan storming off, leaving a heavy trail of footprints. He tried to block out the long walk home alone, the wicked wind freezing the tears to his cheeks. He wished he could forget his belongings, soaked after being tossed out to the snowy sidewalk. Nothing could fix the dull ache in his chest, but he couldn’t help but hope that somehow the snow could heal his heart.

     “A lovely night tonight,” Patton remarked. The others agreed politely.

     None of them could have hated the scene more.

[hellsparadiseessays]

Aza Brothers Week - Day 5

I released that essay on r/Jigokuraku back in early July, about one month after the infamous chapter 56 got out. It wasn’t a fun topic to tackle, so as a result I’m leaving the warning I put at the start of the essay before the cut. Because chapter 56 was not ok. Though keep in mind that I’m not mad at UG for it - quite the contrary, his intent is clearly not to make the chapter sexy. However, I heavily suspected the fandom to not find it as obvious because well, we have our own cultural issues. And considering how this essay has been received, and the stuff I noticed even in the Japanese side of the fandom... Well, this essay is in my opinion much needed to explain why chapter 56 is more brutal that it seems. It’s also a good follow-up on yesterday’s post, which stopped at chapter 55. 

Warning : This thread will contain references to rape, so if the topic is sensitive to you, I suggest you avoid reading it. This thread will contain spoilers for the most recent chapters as well, so read it once you’re up to date with the manga to avoid being spoiled and know what I am talking about.

Chapter 56 - A commentary on power and powerlessness

I have been keeping it to myself (and occasionally kinda raged about it on Discord join us) ever since chapter 56 was released, back in April. I’ll be honest with you, despite me joking with everybody else on Discord, that chapter really hit a personal chord and I had a hard time working on this commentary because of that. Let’s just say I regularly had to stop and come back to it a few days later, once I got my head cool again and my brain fully functional – I didn’t want my emotions to get in the way of the analysis.

Here we are now, ready to tackle a difficult topic: the borderline rape of Chôbe by Rien. And I say “borderline”, only because it was Chôbe who successfully did his Chôbe thing. He remains in a dangerous position, one I certainly don’t envy, and one that he himself strongly dislikes.

This commentary will be divided into three parts: firstly, the use of rape as a comedic device in mainstream media and how it trivialises a situation that, in fact, has dramatic consequences. Then, we’ll study Rien has a character through his past and present actions, to establish the nature of his interactions and the way he perceives himself. Finally, we’ll address Chôbe’s reactions while facing danger, and how he deals with his emotions.

I. Rape as a comedic tool

One of the many reasons why this chapter makes me uncomfortable is my personal fear for jokes made about that sort of situation. Why, you may rightfully ask? Because it is very much present in mainstream media, be it in Japan or in Western countries. Considering Reddit is mostly Western-oriented, I chose to pick a reference that focuses on rape in Western media to build my argument around, and I strongly suggest you to watch the video before you continue with this commentary. “Sexual assault of men played for laughs”, by Jonathan McIntosh from the Youtube channel Pop Culture Detective, thoroughly explores the issue through the lens of North American media, which have an area of influence that goes way beyond North America itself – especially with the massive worldwide use of internet. While not all the items of this video fit with the commentary at hand, it nonetheless points out an especially interesting argument: the man who failed to be a man – the one perceived as in control of the situation -, is subjected to various mockeries because it’s fair after all, he wasn’t really being a man when it happened, so he failed as a person.

I think we could even see this issue as a double insult to both men and women with that issue: 1) women can’t be in control because it’s not their role, 2) men who aren’t in control are perceived as emasculated, and thus the jeering is entirely justified because how dare they consider themselves men, right? Basically, this sort of joke is based on a perception of power and who is supposed to hold it. And power is what sexual assault is about. It’s not about lust or provocation. Sexual assault is the act of abusing your power over someone else to the point of robbing them of even their intimacy. This is something that tends to break people, or at least seriously damage them. Yet, this loss of power is something that remains mocked or silenced. And while women are starting to speak up, it’s still rare to see men open up about it. In Jonathan McIntosh’s video, the example of Terry Crew in reaction to the Harvey Weinstein affair and the following #Metoo movement is telling: losing power (what is perceived as such), especially as a man, is still treated in a demeaning manner that should only be mocked or ignored, not as something serious that can affect the victim for years and have a negative effect on their life in general.

Sexual assault of men as comedy is destructive, yet still awfully present in the series and movies we watch – even kids’ shows. Yes, you read it well. Kids’ shows. It gives a certain inclination to joke about rape – especially when it happens to men -, by internalising the issue and not realising how demeaning it actually is. It’s even visible in the most mainstream manga and anime (Naruto’s 1000 years of pain, anyone?) and we’ll play a little game about that: in your comment, I invite you to point out sexual assault as a joke in a manga/anime you know (and maybe enjoy). Keep in mind that I’m not doing that to slam the creations or their authors, it’s just to point out how surprisingly common it can be. I also wish to point out that, in chapter 56 of Jigokuraku, UG didn’t go that way at all. On the contrary, he made it clear that Chôbe was in danger and painfully aware of it throughout the chapter, while Rien... Was being Rien, with his own perception of who he is and the power he holds.

II. Rien: the perception of power

Now that we’ve established the basis about the way sexual assault with men as victims is perceived (especially in the West, a point of view vastly predominant on Reddit), we can start digging on Rien’s case of A God I Am.

As soon as Rien gets his first appearance (chapter 26), his status is made clear: among the boss level characters we’ve seen so far (Ju Fa, Tao Fa, Zhu Jin), he is one cut above and presents himself as the uncontested leader, the patriarch of a family who rules and serves punishment when he deems it necessary. From his point of view, he’s the head of the Tensen family as well as (potentially, it depends on Jofuku being alive of not), the ruler of the island – or the head scientist of the giant laboratory that is Kotaku. It means that Rien isn’t just the most powerful being on the island (though the notion of power can be discussed there, considering the power system used by UG), he also perceives himself as such and demonstrates it with an iron hand: the way he treated Mei before she escaped is good enough as a proof.

Behind his position as the head scientist, he shows a ruthless cruelty and a readiness to not even consider other people as persons. Mei herself, suggested as being one of the first successful experiments by Jofuku – and thus being “family” to Rien -, gets banished, mutilated and used as a living experiment material for the very thing she dared openly call out (the massive use of humans for experimentations). Rien even openly states, in chapter 26, that he’s the only one with the right to punish family members when Ju Fa injures an already weakened Zhu Jin. It gives us an idea of what Rien may mean by “punishment”. Go against his will: die or become an experiment. Disobey him: get severely injured if you’re part of the Tensen family, I heavily suspect death may be the sentence when you don’t have that luxury – and so does Chôbe. Until now, Rien has thus been shown as having a general behaviour that could be qualified of sociopathic: being indifferent towards others to the point of not seeing them as people, dehumanising anybody, using the “we’re family” or “I’ll tell you everything” tactic to try and keep people on his side. Interestingly, between him and Mei, he’s the one who has spend the most time with the other Tensen, and it is visible in their behaviour as well: they show similar sociopathic traits (Mu Dan’s experiments he seemed to find most amusing, Ju Fa qualifying Chôbe of “it” and “livestock”...).

However, no matter how godly Rien thinks he is, he remains surprisingly human and this has been shown to us through the point of view of his latest victim, who managed to do what, I suspect, no other character in the story would have been able to pull off without seriously getting in trouble for it (meaning: die immediately): he momentarily reversed the power dynamic to save his skin for at least a moment.

III. Chôbe’s status as a victim and how he handles it

Since the start, I’ve been claiming left and right that Chôbe is probably too smart for his own good, but it’s not just that. It’s an accumulation of everything that happened to him and his brother. Chôbe is very intimate with the notion of powerlessness. He’s been living it repeatedly since he’s a kid, slowly losing his place in society until he became an outcast. As a consequence, the way he thinks isn’t based on honour or revenge: it’s about survival, first and foremost.

The first time we see him go full survival mode is when he and Toma momentarily run away from the Sôshin that are outnumbering them, to find a better position to fight. In that chapter (chapter 9), we witness another way to survive that is very much Chôbe’s own method – no other character has done it, not even Toma -: instead of resisting a power stronger than his own, he integrates himself into the equation by mirroring the person who’s displaying power over him. By doing so, he creates an impression of kinship he can exploit to his advantage. As a kid, he mutilated himself to the point of losing sight in his right eye and being seriously scarred to “pretty himself up” by looking more like the bandits who were planning to harm Toma and sell them both. Doing so created a strong impression in their captors’ mind, and Chôbe used that impression to claim a place among the bandits – a first step towards claiming his power as an individual capable of thoughts and choices back. By integrating himself like that, he managed to become the leader of the pack, the chief of an entire village of bandits, causing so much trouble it warranted death penalty for him.

This method of mirroring the person holding power over him is visible again during the entirety of chapter 56. This chapter starts with Chôbe being captive, literally tied to a bed and clearly uncomfortable for many reasons: he’s been beaten to the point of passing out after having been treated like a wonderful unicorn (not a person), wakes up in an unknown place, tied to a bed in a peculiar position. By that point, Rien already marked a lot of Creep Points, and Chôbe has a lot of reasons to find the situation disagreeable. But it’s not enough, and Chôbe ends up facing actual blackmail: cooperate or become Tan (which is pretty much like dying, but worse: your life force is sucked out of you while you’re in a fake wonderland. Chôbe had a taste of it and saw what it looked like while he was in the Tan pit, both him and Toma weren’t enthusiastic about the situation and quickly got out of the pit). During the entire chapter, Chôbe weighs his options and stalls time by asking questions and gather more information on his situation to pick the best option to stay alive. It’s a daring move, to do that while facing the local godly being, but Chôbe isn’t stupid and understands having the choice of cooperating means he has value somehow. And to squeeze all the information he needs from Rien, to better weight his option and understand what’s going on on this unnatural island (he realised it’s unnatural in chapter 54), he does what we’ve already seen him do in the aforementioned bandits’ village flashback: he mirrors the one having power over him to gain some agency back through deception.

That’s where something we’ve seen him do a lot happens: he smiles. Mind you, it’s not a genuine smile. Chôbe isn’t really a smiling person, we’ve seen that everytime we’ve got even the smallest hints regarding his true feelings. However, Chôbe uses his mask as a tool for deception and picked this habit as a kid: a grin to the bandits even though his face was heavily injured to convince them of keeping him and his brother, a grin when he steels himself while facing the Sôshin, a smile when he tries to deceive Gabimaru before suddenly attacking him. It’s the vicious, weaponised grin of someone who figured out what to do and where to go, while keeping others’ attention down. He even smiles while sweating when he is nervous, at the end of chapter 55, because he has no idea what’s going on but somehow he’s tied to a bed and someone one-sidedly decided to have sex with him (yes, in case you hadn’t noticed, Rien didn’t care about his consent, because Rien doesn’t see him as a person). However, during chapter 56, we slowly see him integrates himself in the equation again by imitating Rien’s moves to numb his wariness under the guise of complying with the cooperation request. His actions mismatch his thoughts exactly for that purpose: his first thought is about a way to escape, but he realises it may be too dangerous for him. So he renounces - for now - to by himself some time and repeats his mantra, to adapt and figure things out, and gives Rien what he wants because it’s the only viable option for survival.

Since then, qualifying his attitude towards the Tensen of “bad faith” could be an understatement. He may be willing to concede certain things under the threat of death, but he will still have the guts to stand his ground, even while facing a whole group of people who could kill him – and openly threaten to do so. It takes a certain kind of madness to do that sort of thing, and oh, it’s exactly what the bandits said about him when he purposefully injured himself just to prove a point. Chôbe is too smart for his own good, but he still manages to get his agency back when it’s stolen from him, and that’s what makes him incredibly dangerous, even for the Tensen. Even in real life, it takes a certain kind of character to pull that sort of thing off. Still, despite all of his wrong, what happened to Chôbe during his childhood as well as chapter 56 qualifies him as a victim, and UG handled it incredibly well, making it tragic (if not outright nerves wracking, at least in my case) instead of using it as a comedic tool. Thank you for that, UG.

This commentary took me about... At least 10 days just to be worked on, despite the very small amount of references needed for it.

Without giving away too much information, I empathise strongly with Chôbe’s predicament and generally find him very relatable, at a personal level. His tactics are easy to recognise not just because they’ve been made fairly clear by UG, but also because there’s a pattern I know all too well in them. So yeah, that commentary tackled some difficult topics for me, and I had trouble keeping a cool head while writing it. It was a difficult birth, chapter 56 still makes my skin crawl. However, I hope you found this write up informative or entertaining. Don’t hesitate to share your thoughts, answer my little challenge (an example of sexual assault played for laugh in a manga/anime you know), ask questions, scold me for yet another Chôbe rant...