#also this painting is so soft and painful im dying

[figbian]

Tell Me of the dunmeshi wip 👀 that title bangs. also tell me about frat au and how much of it is based on The Frat.

dungeon meshi wip CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS so putting it under a readmore. everyone else has to suffer thru frat au info.

frat au is only Sort Of based on The Frat (dear readers, this fanfiction author joined a fraternity and is a brother of [loud car horn]). due to the like ways fe3h works narratively, it felt a lot more true to a Good AU to be honest to an all-male fraternity, so it draws on The Frat's past (as we didnt haze, but hazing definitely used to occur) as well as info from other fraternities or fraternity-like structures (and a handful of How Do College-Age Boys Behave anecdotes coming directly from my real life college-age brother who is Not a frat boy).

sylvain, dimitri, and others are in a frat. their fathers (plus rodrigue lol) were in this frat. etc. not exactly explored but crucial to the narrative: how traditional fraternities uphold like lineage and legacies in college settings and why that creates bad gatekeeping etc etc etc. basically the ways fraternities suck on an individual level (hazing, unhealthy relationship to substances, pressure to conform to a certain set of standards, etc) AND the ways they operate on a structural level in a shitty way.

the plot however is: sylvain returns from some time off at university. in his time off, he's effectively ghosted his friends and no one knows what happened/why he vanished. felix is recovering from an injury that delayed his journey to become a professional tennis star (<- lol). they've known each other for so long, they both have dead brothers, but also how much do they really know about each other?

posting this snippet SPECIFICALLY for brothers of [siren wail]. i think youll all recognize the inspo for 'the green room.'

“maybe we should shift to explosions,” raphael said as he came back into the room, looking over at the car crumpling into a tree playing on the television. “for the vibe.” “the vibe,” agreed sylvain, privately wondering if there was that much of a difference between crashes and explosions. he figured that any kind of disaster suited the green room. the windowless room in the phi ep basement––named for the carpeting, which had, once, allegedly, been green (sylvain’s efforts to deep clean last spring had failed to prove anything except that one should always wear shoes in the green room)––was less of a vibe and more…well. the couches were all leather––easier to clean if someone puked on them; the ceiling had suspicious stains; the walls were covered in bad murals painted over several years of pledging––and sylvain would know they were bad, being an art history major; the tv sat on a pile of wooden crates. at least the sound system wasn’t terrible. when sylvain wanted to impress girls, he never brought them to the green room. he sat back on the couch and spread his legs. “yeah, fuck it,” he heard himself say. “explosions.”

dungeon meshi fic is suuuper rough rn. its Probably a 5+1 of 5 times marcille's friends died and 1 time they didnt (hahaha) but what i have written so far is all about chilchuck going senile and dying. the fic is very obviously tackling like "what happens when the people you love and remember as young and full of life grow old, and how is preparing for someone's death as painful as their death itself" BUT ALSO is about "what if the dragon part of falin makes her age at the same rate as marcille...and how is that, in some ways, worse than if she just lived as a human did?" bcs As You Know im always interested in the question "when is it true that living beyond when the narrative expects you to is worse than dying?" that part just doesnt have a lot written.

there is NOT a lot written that i posted for wip wednesday but here:

chilchuck has lost most of his teeth, so he has to eat porridge and other soft foods. “at least it’s not monsters,” he says to marcille every morning, which was funny the first few times and now is depressing. “yeah,” says marcille, pouring some sugar into his tea. it’s unclear to marcille––who, despite having half a century to prepare for this, feels unprepared––exactly when chilchuck seems to think it is. he keeps asking about his wife, his shop, his daughters, whether or not they could resurrect falin.  “have i reached out to her?” he asks. his wife, he means. mostly he seems to think they’ve just defeated the winged lion. marcille has not gained much patience in last fifty eight years; having to admit to mistakes she made fifty eight years ago every day for the last couple of years has been––hard. it’s been hard. “no,” she says, gritting her teeth. chilchuck’s ex-wife died fourteen years ago. marcille learned many mornings ago it’s best to convince chilchuck to write her a letter that cannot be sent rather than make him relive his grief every day.

[forthehpfanboys]

Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

-

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame. 

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead. 

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit. 

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling. 

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours. 

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily. 

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead. 

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny. 

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but  he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry. 

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.” 

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers. 

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him. 

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give  George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back. 

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

[curious-menace]

Can you do headcanons of any Riddler getting cared for and gentle kisses from reader after getting beat up? He needs some loves.

SO I MAY HAVE SUGGESTED THAT MY ULTIMATE FANTASY IS TO GIVE RIDDLER A HUG WITH BACKRUBS AS HE TELLS ME ABOUT HIS DAY AND I STAND BY THAT WHOLE-HEARTEDLY .

i freaking love this stuff so im going to do all of them mwahahah

post asswoop riddlers getting loves

Arkham riddler

He’s VERY quiet, which knowing him and his inability to stop talking, is  bad news.

I paint arkham riddler as a cry baby and i stand by that. this is the hill i will die on. He’ll have dragged his sorry ass into your apartment or house , dripping blood on your floors but he wont bother calling for you. he’ll just sit at the table with his head in his hands having a lil pity party until you find him.

when you do finally get home, he’ll be looking like a kicked puppy. he’s gotten stuck in his own head, mentally beating himself up even more. he got a fright when you came in because he was so caught up he didn't even hear you at the door.

He’s literally sits there like a child with his arms up for you to come scoop him up. he’s not even sure why his first thought after getting beat up was to come here, he’s probably lead the cops here or something and that was so stupid and- you should probably give him a lil soft smooch on the head to stop him before he goes into a spiral.

he needs more emotional and mental care than physical. Talk to him while you're patching him up. any topic, it doesn't matter just keep him focused on your voice and not the one in his head calling him dumb.

he wont admit he wants to be held and coddled after something like this. get your softest blankie and 2 mugs of coco with marshmallows and just ramble at him. tell him about your day or ask him to explain something boring and complicated so he’s focusing on that rather than how upset he is. let him sit on your lap or between your legs on the sofa and watch how its made or mythbusters or something until he falls asleep. he should be ok again in the morning, he doesnt stay down for long. 

Blacklight Riddler

He’s used to getting his ass kicked, either by batman, the other rogues or once he’s a PI, by unhappy clients and the people he put away. He might be tiny but he’s pretty tough. 

even if he’s really hurting, his probably trying to crack jokes and tell blood and bruise related riddles. He doesn't like to see you worry so even if he’s in a lot of pain or a bit upset about things, he’s trying to make you smile.

he likes kisses on his bruises. even if he just banged his hand on the table he’ll come to you because he wants you to kiss it better. 

He’s a decent fighter, unlike a lot of riddlers who couldnt fight their way out of a paper bag. He can throw punches but he lacks in defence and with his bad knee, dodging can be a little hard. even if he wins the fight he’s still likely to need you to patch him up.

He likes kids plasters. like hello kitty and spongebob. no im not joking, he ALWAYS wanted them when he was little and his parents always said no. now he’s an adult he’s going to use them whenever he damn well pleases.

 if it was a particularly bad one, he’ll be ok in the moment even if he has to go to hospital. But he’s going to drop the facade at some point and let you see how upset he is. winding up in hospital after being beat was a common occurrence in childhood. even after doing it time and time again as an adult it doesn't make it any easier on him. he’ll want to stay in your bed, be close to you for few days until either he starts to heal or something snaps him out of his funk.

BTAS Riddler

he really prefers other people to do the fighting for him. well physically anyway. he can handle his own arguments...most of the time. He’s going to need you to nurse a bruised ego more than anything. he probably got dunked on my batman or crane and now he’s huffing.

i don't know if this counts as care and kisses but he clearly needs you around to keep his sorry ass alive. he hurt his side in a fight once and said he wasn't hurt. believable... until he started to act a little confused, a little dizzy. needless to say it worried you enough to take him to emergency care. 

He was obviously in agony by now but he was still fighting with you the entire drive there, insulting you and insisting he was fine. its a good job you took him when he did, turns out he’d ruptured his spleen and would probably be dead if you weren’t around to act like his common sense.

he still hasnt apologised for that. or any of the other times you insisted on medical care to stop him from pushing up daisies. he just pretends like you know he’s grateful so he doenst have to admit he’s bullheaded, stubborn and worst of all, wrong. 

if he has been seriously hurt, he acts more indignant about it than anything. he wants to be waited on and pampered while resting in bed. he can be a genuine pain to deal with, talking about how lucky you are to see him in such a vulnerable state and how you should be grateful he’s letting you do this for him.

He doesn't want to admit how much he actually needs you. his goons wont put up with him when he’s like this and he’s freaking paying them to do it. you do it for free and no matter how annoying he is you havent left him yet. he doesn't tell you but youve noticed he starts getting you more gifts about a week after he’s recovered. like its taken him a day or two to work out he should probably thank you for all you do.

Original Riddler

this riddler is just weird. like he gets a freaking hang nail and he pretends like he’s dying. but he could nearly lose a limb and he’ll say “tis but a scratch” and still try to hobble about like nothing is wrong.

actually he’s more like olaf “oh look i've been impaled.”. he probably tries to laugh off life threatening injuries like its nothing, taking maybe 3 steps before he collapses on his face in a blood puddle and lets out a tiny “help”

good luck moving his tall lanky ass around. better get a gurney and maybe those vets at the zoo who deal with giraffes. seriously if you want to take care of him you are going to need help or some sort of action plan and a go bag because with his limp butt this will not be easy.

he’s kinda like BTAS riddler in that he needs you to tell him the injury is serious. hes not dumb he just has a high pain threshold and genuinely doesn't realise that injuries are as bad as they are. 

he can be a bit of a baby while being patched up. he doesn't like a lot of blood or gore, it makes him feel a little sicky. better give him your phone to play with like a kid at the doctors or put the tv on for him to watch while you bandage  him. word of warning, he will pass out or throw up if you try to give him stitches.

i think you should focus your love and attention on him AFTER medical care. just focus on the job, be silent and as fast as possible to get it over with quickly. you should probably bring him something sweet too. no not just you, although you are sweet for looking after him. give him something sugary because he’s going to be light headed after seeing any blood. maybe you could give him a lolly for being a good patient. 

Telltale riddler

this riddler is essentially a metahuman. he can REALLY take a beating and bounce back fairly quickly. just look how many times batman punched him in the face and it barely stunned him! he doesnt usually need patched up after a fight. maybe just a lil smooch and some hugs

he did really need your help after the whole pact thing. having his friends abandon him hurt like hell, more than any physical injury ever could.

after that, he clings to you. almost obsessively so; we know he’s got some serious mental illnesses but he usually has the worst of it under control, even without meds. now? it seems like he’s experiencing ptsd and is afraid to go anywhere without you, like you might up and disappear if you arent in his line of sight at all times.

i think this riddler might need the most intense care from you. hugs and gentle reassurance wont be enough. you’re going to be responsible for taking him to therapy, keeping him taking his meds and grounding him to reality. this is the kind of responsibility you took on when you got involved with him but i doubt you realised how hard it would be. i cant promise it will all be worth it but i can promise he wont ever forget your kindness.

the kind of care he needs after such a hard knocking down is just stability. im not one for romance or any mushy gushy stuff but please just pour your love into the cracks in this poor mans soul.

its hard going, but he has his moments. his gallows sense of humor is still there and hey, after him being in and out and gone for so long, it might be nice to have him around more.  

Zero year riddler

INSUFFERABLE LITTLE SHIT THIS ONE. he could LITERALLY be bleeding out in your arms and he’d STILL be backseat driving on your medical skills. the temptation to just leave him there to bleed is INCREDIBLE.

he’ll drop the act eventually. he’ll ask and maybe even beg for your help. man has  no shame and all the self preservation instincts of a lemming. dont get me wrong, he can be a total coward some times, only looking out for himself . but when he’s actually hurt ? not a fuckin clue. does this head wound need an ice pack or heat pack? is this spurring blood wound worthy of medical care? no idea. he was a very sheltered child who never got so much as a bruise so he has no idea what to do when he’s hurt.

he gets the everloving shit kicked out of him on a clockwork basis. like you could hear knocking on your door at 3 am and already be at the table with a first aid kit like oh its tuesday riddler must have broken his nose.

he takes entirely too much joy in making you patch him up. youre starting to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose just to see you in your little apron and latex gloves . he’s getting off on this and you know it but god help you, you just  cant resist his dumb face asking for your help and would you also wear this pink nurses outfit while youre at it?

one time he lost a LOT of blood. he would be fine but he was pretty damn loopy from lightheadedness. while you were trying to get him into bed to rest he started flirting with you. can you believe the audacity? he’s lost 3 pints of blood and he’s still more focus on his libido? 

he’s actually going to be both humble and grateful for your help when he finally comes round. dont get me wrong, he’s still a bit of a prick but at least he says thank you for saving him before he demands you kiss all his booboos and ouchies. 

nonnie i am having a stroke. i was trying SO hard to just pick one but i COULDNT because i am WEAK for hurt and comfort.

theres a reason i have a tag that literally says “i have naughty hands and no self control”

someone needs to stage an intervention

got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm! im always game to talk about our favorite curious menace 💚💜

[oikawasass]

i’ve been listening to too much freddie dredd so take this

bakusquad + tododeku as eboys

⠀⠀‣ headcanons.

⠀⠀‣ warnings : swearing.

katsuki bakugo:

the “im gonna have that super idgaf about anything aesthetic and just roll my eyes while edgy music plays” eboy

skinny ass 5 following - 113k followers ratio

user grxundzxro

fits consist of black and neon orange, chains, huge platform sneakers, baggy black cargo pants and graphic skull tees, oversized bomber jackets

his ears are 100% pierced

his comments are just....

“have my children” “stomp on my throat as hard as you can” “hes so pretty 🥺🥺🥺🥺” “rip me in half i’m fucking begging you”

mf knows how powerful he is and is so cocky about it

only posts once or twice a week, has gotten half his shit taken down for “violating community guidelines”

it’s mostly just him showing his outfits, but the occasional vid of him telling kaminari to go fuck himself does pop up

but he also posts a lot things of him shopping, along with vids of him and his friends that make everyone feel jealous and lonely

$uicideBoy$, Ghostmane, KAIBA type beat for his sounds

is weirdly good at transitions bcus he refuses to be bad at anything, this we know

straight goth boy vibe, that’s it.

shouto todoroki:

the “I don’t even know what i’m doing on here half the time but bitches love anything i do anyway because i’m just really sexy” eboy

skinny as ratio mf (2) hes following like 15 people while he’s got ‘round 100k

user would just be “shoto” which makes everyone wonder how the hell he managed to get it

clueless soft boy kind of vibe

imagine if benji krol didn’t know how to express basic human emotions, that’s shoto

his comments?

“you are a prince I would die for you” “you’re so pretty I love you” “DHDJDDGS 🥺🥺💗💗🥺🥺💗💗” “break my back please god put me in a wheelchair”

let’s mina pain little snowflakes and flames on his cheeks for him to film and post

turtlenecks, black khakis, expensive sneakers, rings, probably owns an overcoat. everything is top branded and bought on his dads credit card obv

i feel like he’d listen to artists like oliver tree, clairo and cuco

posts maybe once every two weeks, he always forgets to post. when he does it’s those little aesthetic vids of his outfit, him walking around town, getting coffee, recording his friends being stupid.

he totally died his hair half and half for tiktok.

eijirou kirishima:

pure. purest of boys. the “i’m so mfing adorable not a single one of my fans can find it in them to weirdly sexualize me they just want to kiss me and hold my hand” eboy

he would have a pretty even ratio, probably like 300 or so following to like,, 90k followers

redriiioott or some kind of clownery like that for his handle

sweet boyfriend material vibe!! everyone is in love with him

“he’s so baby” “worlds cutest boy I love you” “can we hold hands pls” “if someone doesn’t kiss his fucking forehead I swear to god i’ll do it myself”

posts all the time! it’s mostly him goofing off while he’s working out or him and the rest of the bakusquad annoying bakugo in some way.

him and kaminari 100% do tiktok dances together, there ain’t a single one they don’t know

he still doesn’t know what a shirt is and has gotten vids taken down because of it

thrasher tees and black sweatpants are his religion. let’s mina and bakugo dress him up for videos sometimes since they have the best fashion sense, they really like to put him in striped long sleeves with some kind of graphic tee overtop. also bandanas ™️

conan gray, verzache, don toliver and that’s CANON

posts himself dying his hair whenever he does his roots and somehow makes fyp everytime.

denki kaminari:

“i’m the goofy boyfriend everyone dreams of but can’t actually have” eboy and that’s it.

he’s following one person and it’s dr phil. his 90k followers all admire it.

user inthetrapwithurmom

the biggest clown out of the gang, as expected.

depending on the video, his comments consist of “pls you’re so cute” “what the fuck is this 😭” “I think i’m in l*ve with you” “kami is everything okay at home?”

tucked in open button ups, trousers or ripped skinny jeans, chains, beanies, doc martins and black af1’s

posts vids of him speaking complete gibberish at like 4 am when he hasn’t slept and is sleep deprived, ends up getting a “your followers are worried about you” notification in the morning

he 100% forces bakugo to do the renegade with him and kiri any time they go out in public

also dances to cannibal by ke$ha and will NOT hesitate to throw that shit back

probably listens to a fuck ton of chase atlantic and the nbhd, has “i threw glass at my friends eyes and now i’m on probation” in his playlist somewhere too

probably does vids of him touching up and dyeing the little black lightening bolt in his hair which always lands him on the fyp

he let mina and hagakure do drag on him once and posted 600 videos of him feeling himself in it

overall tiktok god

( hi I would do sero but hes literally the exact same as kaminari i’m ngl )

izuku midoriya:

unbelievably baby

is only on the app bcus all his friends were on it and he wanted to feel included

his username is something like stanallmight and that’s canon

he’s following everyone in 1-a, 1-b (except monoma), the support class, general studies, anyone really. he’s got a solid 112k followers

it’s like, imagine if benji krol was really shy. that’s eboy midoriya

his comments are 90% people screaming at him to date either todoroki or uraraka.

he doesn’t post too often since he’s pretty shy. but when he does he’s with his friends, either trying to do dances with kami and kiri, or uraraka painting pink clouds all over his cheeks

when the comments aren’t “JUST FUCKING DATE ALREADY” they’re his followers screaming about how disgustingly adorable he is

baggy cargo pants or tight jeans, normally wears a belt, collared shirts underneath big baggy long sleeves, probably wears converse and white af1’s, HOODIES.

he wears little hair clips sometimes after much convincing from hagakure and mina

have i mentioned hes baby? because he’s baby

[undinoble]

Crazy long text ahead i warn you, just explaining some process I went through while drawing this Frank and Julie low light dying thingie, probably gonna drop some wips along the way, you may want to see… idk, dealer’s choice

!TRIGGER WARNING! Violence, death, suicide. Proceed with caution.

Well where do we begin? The inspiration maybe?

Exploring the magical world of Spotify when a band came in, one of the first songs (if not the first one) of theirs I heard was Partners in Crime by Set It Off, you know, love at first sight, love for their voices, their music style, aaand the lyrics, OH BOI the lyrics, check it out:

“You’ll never takes us alive We swore that death will do us part They’ll call our crimes a work of art You’ll never takes us alive We’ll live like spoiled royalty, lovers and partners”

Dunno, for two passionate juvenil delinquents that just wants trouble this line really fits to me, the dreamy couple feels invencible.

“Everybody freeze Nobody move Put the money in the bag Or we will shoot Empty out the vault And me and my doll will be on our way”

It’s actually interesting to think of the Legion robbing a bank, it’s not like troublesome teens didn’t do that in movies c’mon, it’s a small city, they wear masks, ez!

“Our paper faces flood the streets And if the heat comes close enough to burn Then we’ll play with fire ‘cause

You’ll never takes us alive”

THIS. This is so a Legion thing to say. Can you imagine their masks all around the streets as a warning like “HEY, WE ARE HERE, FEAR US” I love this

“Here we find our omnipotent outlaws Fall behind the grind tonight Left unaware that the lone store owner Won’t go down without a fight Where we gonna go He’s got us pinned Baby I’m a little scared Now, don’t you quit He’s sounded the alarm I hear the sirens closing in”

The second big moment, the adrenaline along with the instrumental is crazy for real

“The skies are black with lead-filled rain A morbid painting on display This is the night the young love died Buried at each others side”

THIS. (again) is the main theme of the drawing, it’s where the inspiration flood over me, the scene was clear in my mind, c’mon if you read till here there’s absolutely no reason not to listen to the song you won’t regret im not even getting payed to show it off

ACTUALLY FORGET IT- i just won a sub on Cody Carson’s stream WHAT IS LIFE??????? Thanks Max!!!

I totally didn’t draw this while listening to the music when i should be working what are you talking about??

Hold the sketch, focus on the gun. It’s dope aint it?

Anyways, here goes the lore, along with the music lyrics I filled up the gaps, well, Suz and Joey are not around, maybe doing school stuff Julie didn’t feel like doing so she decides to hang out with Frank in the meanwhile, they’re on the lodge, bored, upset about the world cause it’s what teens do in their free time, listening to one of their mixtapes, probably Frank’s, the more hardcore one when the idea hit: what if they try some good mischief? “There’s a small banks a mile from here, want some adrenaline babe?” And oh of course she does, grab your mask, here we go

Sorry, not a big legs-drawing fan…

They grab their knives, put on the masks, get ready, drive to the bank. I didnt really think this part through, the song says it all. Long story short - they rob the bank, the police arrives, the action begins.

They brought their knives, didn’t expect the cops to show up with guns, damn they didnt even know little Ormond cops had actual guns. After long minutes of hiding on the bank safe the couple decides to fight their way out, they would be more useful alive than dead so laws could apply, but that went out of question once Frank stabbed the first bank employee on his triumphal way out, the police don’t think twice before shooting to protect the citizens inside.

Frank and Julie have too little time to react, the stress and anxiety kicks in, they go feral, crazy cinematic bullet avoids, for a moment it’s possible to get away. It all happened too quick, but in Julie’s vision it went slow motion. She just saw a cop leaning behind a car, aiming directly at Frank, even her fastest reaction wasn’t fast enough to stop the trigger from popping. With tears in her eyes she watches as the bullet hits her boyfriend right in the chest. 

She snaps. One target in mind, she sprints to the cop and stabs him over and over until she’s sure he won’t see the sun set ever again. She takes his gun and rushes towards Frank who is kneeling against a taxi holding his torax, she screams that they must go to the hospital immediately but he refuses, hospital would be just a quick stop on his way to jail. No fucking way. 

He demands to go back to the lodge, the cops are too busy helping their wounded partner to look for them, they think Frank may be dropped dead somewhere on the street after multiple shots, the two of them must flee before the cops realize the mistake and go hunting for them. NOW.

Julie side-carries Frank back to their car, the lack of a license of her own won’t stop her from driving as fast as the car can. Breathing heavily while constantly telling Frank to hold on, they will find a way out, they must do. Oh what a fucking stupid idea holy SHIT. 

The travel takes half the time it usually does and still feels like hours. The car gets all red with Frank’s blood that keeps leaking. Once they arrive, Frank wants to go upstair, Julie shouts at him to keep next the central campfire once he should grab some heat (and for god’s sake why is he still carrying the money bag they stole????), anyway he gets the last word and they climb the stairs up and lay on the bed, Frank hisses from the pain but also sighs in relief for the soft spot under him, ignoring Julie cursing besides him, saying she can still call an ambulance, she doesnt want to lose him, Suz and Joey will be devastated, although he just replies with the phrase they were saying sooner that day “They’ll never take us alive”.

After 20 minutes of agony, low whispers of memories of how they met, what they had been through together and a huge amount of blood moisturing the covers, Frank says he’s feeling light-headed, Julie looks at him and he’s paper white, the blood loss is finally getting to him, she wants to cry, scream, curse and stab that damn cop a hundred times again, but all she does is cuddle her head harder against his shoulder and tell him she loves him, that she will keep his legacy alive, with Joey and Susie, she will revenge him. He chuckles and slowly feels the life being drained from his weaked body until everything goes black.

Julie need a few seconds to process. Frank died. For real. He was good a few hours ago, he was right. They would never take them alive. Death could do them apart, but, he never said for how long they would be apart.

She reaches for the gun on the hand under Frank’s body. THAT DAMN GUN. She aims it to the side of her head, never leaving Frank’s side on the bed. Triggers it.

“Partners in crime”

Damn did I just write a fucking fanfiction? This shit is way longer than I expected, did anybody even get down here?

Well, this is the part of the drawing where i left cause I just couldn’t afford to work on it, have in mind everytime the file were opened the whole lore came in my head, and fuck did i feel dizzy writing it all down. Hell the bloody details get me, seeing Frank so white with a blue undertone simulating the lifeless body gave me headaches fr. My escape was drawing other things until the courage to finish it came back. It was easier because the story kinda faded away from my mind, the drawing became “lighter” to deal with.

Well, guess that’s it. I hardly have this big insight while drawing, to visualize the finished piece on my brain and it’s just so fucking cool, making art with so many mixed feelings along, and overall pride, cause i feel so proud with the result you have no idea. It isn’t perfect tho, but i like it anyway. So, thank you so much if you made it all the way here. gonna sleep now for fucks sake im gonna pass out bye

[vancilocs]

Im gonna throw some words and see what inspires you, no need to complete all, i know i dont have anything worth publishing for hands but i got a grand idea for sunrise. Beloved, mercy, mightnight? (Again no need to write all)

midnight is smth i wrote a little while ago that i figured i would never publish bc i think it's Bad but oh well (does it fit the prompt perfectly? nah not really but night is an element)

Beloved

The night was harsh and the wind bitter cold. The woman bundled her delicate quarry tighter into the furs, protecting him from the elements, as she made her slow but meticulous way forward with her companion. The taller man held aloft a persistent torch that battled against the wind, bringing some clarity to the path ahead. Not too long after two others joined, coming to greet the travelers from the other direction.

A few pleasantries were shared, quick and hushed. The mission was dire, and delicate. The taller man followed as the two newcomers lead the woman further, to the door of a solitary, silent hut. The man and the locals stayed outside as the woman quietly cracked the door open and stepped in.

The house was cold and dark, but in there was safety from the whistling wind. The woman brought up light with her own magic and the small bundle in her arms stirred, making some small noises. She shushed the baby and sat down to a vacant chair in front of the cold fireplace.

Now she would wait. She calmed her fussy package, the small boy in her arms soon settling down and closing his eyes for another, well-deserved nap.

Time passed. The woman knew these things were not to be hurried. She only wished she had been right.

The wind outside calmed a little and stopped whistling in the crooks of the chimney and at the door hinges. The atmosphere in the dim light became cozy, welcoming - warm, almost, but not in the sense of actual temperature. Mahran had known what to expect, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She looked up and was greeted by the translucent, spectral face of a young woman. "Hello", she said, her voice thin and echoing, but still clear.

"Nesia, was it", said Mahran and the shade nodded. "I am- I was Qharil's wife."

The shade turned her head down in shame and regret. "I never knew", she then said and Mahran nodded.

"I blame you for nothing that happened. It's I who grieves for you", she said. "There are no words for me to express my sorrow for what he did to you."

Nesia nodded, grief still evident on her face - and the vicious wounds evident on her body. The attack had been swift and cruel. "But the most important is safe?" she then said, lifting her eyes to the bundle in Mahran's arms. Mahran gently revealed a bit more of the baby boy she had brought to see his mother.

"He's safe. And perfectly healthy. A beautiful child", she said and Nesia smiled, reaching out a spectral hand to touch the face of her beloved, the one she was ripped away from all too soon. Kaede yawned, eliciting a delighted gasp from Nesia, reaching out his little hands to swish past her outstretched fingers.

"You will keep him safe? You will raise him?" Nesia asked, voice strained, tears already glimmering in the corners of her eyes. Mahran nodded gravely.

"As if he was my own", she promised. Nesia simply nodded, choking back her tears, hand shaking ever so slightly as she reached out for Kaede's small hands. She mumbled something in a language Mahran didn't understand outright, but as a mother, she could guess the meaning.

"Thank you", Nesia whispered.

"And I'm sorry", said Mahran.

"You will tell him of me?"

"Everything he wishes to know."

Nesia nodded a final time and retreated, as Mahran bundled Kaede back into the warmth and comfort, him soon nodding back off into sleep in Mahran's arms. Nesia blew him a kiss, waved, with tearful smiles.

Mahran stood up and made her way to the door, when the lingering shade spoke once more. "Promise me something?" she asked.

Mahran turned, waiting for the request.

"Get that son of a bitch."

Mahran chuckled. "Count on it."

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

Mercy

An eery disquiet held a grip of the barracks as he walked in through the gates. He paid no mind to the gate guards as they let him pass without question, said no word, made no eye contact. He had always disliked the barracks and the nameless, faceless men clad in black and white, ever since he was a child. He would rather not spend any more time in there than was necessary.

Some of the knights stared, some were too involved in their own hushed conversations to pay mind to the man walking past, making brisk headway to his destination, the largest building within the walls of the compound. A knight by the door said nothing as he approached, merely bowed his head and opened the door for him.

The air inside was quite nothing like he had experienced before. He had seen death, yes, but in the confines of his own home, not within a dimly lit stone hall, not where death had took its rawest form, placed on the table right in front of him in the middle of the room.

He hesitated for a moment, for two. He stood in front of the shut door, fists clenched - out of anxiety, maybe. Or out of lingering resentment. He had not seen his brother in months, and the last time they spoke was... not on friendly terms.

It was odd.

Numair had grown to know Mahir as a large, intimidating, harsh individual whose physical presence took hold of a room and gripped the minds of men who were compelled to listen when the man, eldest of the three sons, spoke. He was a man who criminals ducked out of the way from, who stood out on the battlefield not only by his crimson sash, but also by his height and sheer stature.

But here, laid down on the table, still in his blood-soaked vestments, he seemed... almost small. Worn. Thinned out. Numair took a tentative step forward, looking down at his eldest brother's face. Even death had not brought him peace - his expression was that of lingering horror, eyes ever so slightly open and staring dead into the ceiling. The blood was the worst part. The deep, deep crimson pouring from his mouth onto his chin and down his throat only exaggerated his sallow skin and painted a macabre picture of his last moments.

Had it been painful? It must have. It must have been terrifying.

And had he always looked so thin, or had death already begun its work? His cheekbones jutted out compared to his sunken cheeks, dark shadows laid under his eyes and deep wrinkles framed his brow. Numair didn't even remember. Mahir had always had a stern look, and his dark eyes - inherited from their mother, just like Numair had - never held the warmth they should.

Silently Numair reached his hand out and swept a couple of curls off Mahir's forehead. His skin was cold to the touch and Numair almost pulled his hand away, but resisted.

This had been his brother, once. Numair didn't know where the change had happened. During their youth, when they drifted apart? During the years of relentless arguing over who should pick up the sword and who not? Or had it just happened, when the commander, the eldest son, was finally cut down?

He hadn't noticed the tears coming in. This was a hollow husk of the man he had once loved and admired as his brother and protector. This was the lingering ghost of a man who once knew love yet sunk into the bottomless depths of revenge and all-consuming grief, who responded to death with rage and more death, who made it his life to pay back the endless pain he endured not just for him, but for his mother, for his brothers, for his sisters.

It was no way to live.

Perhaps this, in its own, macabre way, was mercy.

"You can rest now, brother", Numair whispered, bent down and placed a soft kiss goodbye on Mahir's cold forehead. Then he wiped his tears, turned his back and left the room.

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

Midnight

The ocean was still. Night had taken over the coast, laid to rest all the little critters and birds who made no sound on the moonlit shore, giving in to the atmosphere of quiet solace and calm. No nearby people, no sound of city hustle and bustle, just a solitary hut with the smoke of the final embers of the morning quietly dying down. In the silence of the hut, one man sat awake, next to the peacefully sleeping form of another.

He had awoken suddenly, twisting himself free from a memory that was still too fresh, too harsh – time had not yet smoothened out its edges, not laid down a fog cloud of forgetting on its raw form that burned when touched. Claws, digging into skin, twisting bone and chilling its depths, teeth rending bare, unprotected flesh, a face so familiar but yet not at all, burned and gnarled and… wrong. The memory still held a grip, of his mind and his heart, which now beat harshly in the still silence of the hut, so loud one could almost hear it.

Slowly, almost afraid Goose turned his eyes to the man quietly laying besides him. Elk was asleep – in the depths of something blissful and calm, his breathing deep, his heartbeat steady. The sight of him both calmed and frightened Goose, because despite his love, his deep knowledge of the man, the stain of the demon who took his form to attack him still crept at the edges of his vision and threatened to cloud his mind altogether.

He wouldn’t, Goose told himself, over and over again; he wouldn’t, it wasn’t him. It had never been him. Elk had told him, his body wasn’t his own, his own memory had faded away from the way of the demon. It wasn’t that Goose didn’t believe him. But what Elk didn’t remember, Goose did, and those memories stuck to him tight in the hours where no other thought was there to push the doubts away.

Almost tentatively he reached out his hand and gently as ever stroked Elk’s cheek – unharmed, untwisted, warm and familiar as it had always been. Elk drew in a sigh, stirring but for a moment in response to the unexpected touch, a shadow of a smile creeping up to the corner of his mouth. But he did not wake yet, he remained asleep, peaceful as ever. Goose smiled as well for a moment, remaining still to ensure the man didn’t wake further. And, confident he didn’t, he as quietly as possible clambered out of their shared bed, careful as to not stumble over Elk’s legs. The previously so comfortable and welcoming warmth of the hut had become oppressing, the shadows in the corners almost feeling as if they had crept closer in the night than they had before – silently, Goose unlatched the door, creaked it open and snuck outside, pressing the door shut behind him.

Once outside, he drew in a deep, long breath, closing his eyes and taking in the sea breeze. The faint smell of salt felt purifying, almost. It smelled like home. It was where he had grown up, where life had offered him its most, given all to him – given him too much, sometimes, more than he could understand, more than he could do with. The small stones underneath his feet clicked and clacked as he walked barefoot towards the shore, until he found a suitably big rock and sat himself on it, facing the ocean and its ever-lapping waves. Somewhere in the horizon he saw birds against the clouds illuminated by the moon, too far for him to recognize. He had always been jealous of birds – what an existence, to just fly with nary a worry about tomorrow. But despite his sometimes less-than-affectionate nickname, he was merely a man, left to earth with his worries, mistakes and the regrets that followed.

Stupid fucking conch. Stupid fucking Goose. Of course they don’t talk to people. Only an idiot would think a conch would actually talk. All it was was just bait for someone as stupid as him to latch on to and for others to get in trouble for. It had always been like that – Goose gets in trouble, does something stupid, and the rest around him have to make excuses and take the blame: give him a rest, he doesn’t get it, you can’t expect Goose to get it. And it was up to the others to pick up the pieces. It was up to the others to put themselves in harm’s way.

To sell themselves to demons.

A demon Goose called in by being stupid, and now had to be protected from.

He didn’t know if his tears were of anger or regret, quite possibly both – he wiped them down to the much-too-long sleeves of his husband’s shirt. He stirred from his thoughts for just a moment to hear the gentle footsteps on the rocks behind him.

“What’s wrong?” Elk asked as he sat on the rock besides Goose and noticed the tears on his cheeks. He raised his hand instinctively to wipe them away but Goose turned his head away, and with a mix of confusion and worry, Elk put his hand down.

“Bad dream”, Goose mumbled and sniffled.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elk asked, and Goose shook his head slightly. Elk knew if the man didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t – but knowing him, being silent was either short-lived, or a reason for worry. Elk was content sitting quietly for a time, staring at the ocean alongside his man, pondering what the next thing he would say was. The silence did not end up being long.

“It had your face”, Goose mumbled.

“Was that the dream you had?” asked Elk, and Goose nodded silently, not looking towards his husband. Elk was quiet for a moment, hesitating – “It was just a dream”, he then said.

“It was real to me”, Goose said, still staring at the waves. Elk didn’t argue – Goose had refused to talk much about that day, and even if they had returned to life together under one roof there were hitches in the man’s behavior that had not been there before. Elk had seen hesitation in his eyes, seen him ever so slightly duck out from under his touch.

“I know. I’m sorry”, he sighed. Goose didn’t say anything, just sat there, swinging his legs slightly. The silence had an uncomfortable tinge to it, an awkward flavor that permeated the night, but which both of the men hesitated to disturb.

After a period of silence filled only with the waves lapping at the rocky beach, Goose turned his eyes at Elk once more.

“Why’d you do it?” he said.

“Did what?”

“You gave yourself to a demon. It was my shell. My mistake. It should have been me that the bastard took,” the man answered, voice wavering.

“I felt-“ Elk started, then spending a moment to choose his words. “I felt it was my duty. As a paladin. And I mistakenly thought I could… do something about it.”

“Do what? Kill it?”

“For example.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Elk sat quiet for a second, averting his eyes – Goose could feel the regrets the man had, and felt that he had pondered that same question himself.

“I tried to get through to you before. At this point I… I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t know how strong of a hold it already had in you, for it to start communing with me, as well”, he finally answered, meeting Goose’s gaze again. “I was scared for you. I was scared that if I told you, the fiend would make you outrun me – do something I couldn’t predict or prevent.”

Goose sat silent until Elk spoke again. “I’m sorry”, he sighed. “But I couldn’t lose you.”

“I could have lost you!” Goose exclaimed and Elk turned his eyes away in shame. “Weeks, Vragi, weeks – what was your plan? What did it want? You would disap- you’d disappear, I would… what was I to do? No matter the demon in my ear, but you? What would I have done without you?” said she smaller man, fighting back the tears that now tried to once again force their way out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ Elk began, pausing for a moment to pick the words.

“You don’t have to fix my wrongs! You don’t have to throw yourself into danger for me, because I’m too stupid to understand it myself! You don’t need to-“ Goose started before Elk could continue, when the man turned back to him and placed a firm but gentle hand on both of Goose’s cheeks.

“I did it because I love you!” he said, firmly, eyes nailed on Goose’s eyes, the man looking back in tearful bewilderment. “And I was terrified of losing you. Love and fear, they make men do the stupidest things, but I need you to know that everything I do is… I love you, Fégla”, Elk continued with a softer tone, hands still holding Goose’s head in place.

Goose looked back, sniffled, and Elk took a deep breath.

“I don’t have an excuse or explanation that would make sense now. I cannot justify leaving you with no word. I’m sorry, my love – I cannot take it all back. I wish I could”, he sighed. Goose, turning his eyes away from his husband choked back a sob, pulling in a long, wavering breath he then let out slowly, calming himself, collecting himself.

“I wish so too”, he said and Elk sighed deep, lowering his hands to his lap and pressing his forehead to Goose’s. He delicately, almost tentatively took Elk’s hands in his.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled.

“I can’t imagine-”, Goose said back, but wavering. “If I lost you-”.

“I’m sorry”, was all Elk could repeat.

“I love you.”

They sat together for a moment, foreheads together, Goose holding Elk’s hand in both of his, listening to each other breathe in the rhythm of the gentle waves of the moonlit ocean lapping at the rocky beach. The first squawk of a distant seagull stirred Goose from his thoughts and he looked at the horizon where the soft, pale tones of reds and oranges breached into the purple and blue hues of the night sky, blending into a promise of warmth and life for the new dawn.

Elk took both of the Goose’s hands in his, for a change, giving them a gentle, reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Whatever happens”, he said. “I will be there for you every step of the way.”

And Goose smiled, wiped off the last remaining tears from his eyes and leaned in to give his husband a gentle kiss – a kiss of promise, and mistakes forgiven.

“Let’s go to bed.”

[bokutosvoid]

slowly, with no remorse | o.u

Pairing; uraraka x (gn) reader, a pinch of platonic todoroki x reader

Warnings; major character death!! Minor explainations of bruising and people dying (very brief)

Genre; a n g s t

(a/n); this is really sad like, really, really sad. Also if you don’t ship tododeku that’s okay!! I don’t really either but i really wanted to do uraraka so it works | also haven’t ever posted any of my bnha writing so enjoy!

We watched the world we once knew burn. Right in front of our very eyes.

No one could have predicted the chaos you were swept into. Thick smoke made it hard to see the place that was once home, but everyone knew that it wasn't what it used to be. The last string of fleeting hope slipped through your fingers and into the wind when you had stopped receiving intel from the pro-heroes and the space around you went silent.

There were only four of you left, your other classmates left scattered around the city, none of them had made it. That truth was bitter on your tongue, trying to swallow this feeling only reminded you of how your screams burned your throat bare upon finding Katsuki Bakugou’s body. The person you had thought would be the only one who could have made it, was crushed under rubble trying to save a child.

After that moment, my world kept crashing down. Over and over. Slowly, with no remorse.

Defeat breathed scorching kisses along your tired bodies as you stood above, watching buildings crash into the ground and explode into clouds of dust and nothing more than wreckage. You closed your eyes, allowing tears to fall freely down your cheeks, painting streaks along your skin due to the debris that had swarmed you just before. You thought about the people you couldn’t save, now just left forgotten in places you didn't know.

“What are we going to do?” Uraraka cried out, her voice breaking over her words. You would give anything to hold her, touch her, tell her. Tell her you loved her, you had loved her all these years, all this time, and you will love her in each and every single life you can find her in.

Tell her that even if you were in different universes, different worlds, or under different skies, you'd always find her.

“I don't know…” Midoriya spoke quietly and in a way that broke down on your defeated heart. He was always shining, always. He was supposed to be the world's new hope and beacon of light. But it seemed he had lost it all, filtered away when realisation settled in his stomach. You couldn't see the pair, too busy battling yourself to be able to tell Uraraka what you've been holding in for years.

“Hey, look at me. it's okay. Im here.” Midoriya's voice was soft as her sniffles lessened. You looked up and saw him holding her tightly, cupping her cheeks in a way you wished you could. A painful clench to your heart caused your breathing to hitch in your throat. This feeling overtook your body as you stared at the scene before you, knowing that this was your last chance. And you couldn't have it. It wasn't yours for the taking and you knew that, but part of you didn't want to lose your only chance before you’d see her again in another life.

It felt like searching for something your entire life, reaching and running after that thing, only to find it was never there in the first place. She was there, just not there for me.

But there was so much you wanted to say. So much you needed to say. It had finally hit you. It hit you hard and all at once, stomping your withering heart into the cracked concrete you stood upon.

“Ocha-” you held your hand out for her, only to feel a hand press on your shoulder.

I was so close, so very close, practically a breath apart but it felt like we were separated by an ocean.

“Don’t,” Todoroki's voice brought your attention, you whipped your head around to see his face. His cheek wore a large bruise as frostbite marks remained on his skin. “We have to let them be, even if it's not what we want.” he spoke, never taking his eyes off Midoriya. His eyes were welling up with tears, running down the abused flesh once they filled up enough.

You hadn't ever seen Todoroki emit such an emotion. The end of the world truly changes someone but never enough for Shouto to be blinded by his own feelings. He knew not to bring attention away from them in their final moments together and for that...

“But we have each other, right?” he held out his hand to you, biting down on his bottom lip to keep them from quivering, from giving him away. But it didn't matter either way. You nodded your head slightly, the action was almost invisible as your entire body just wanted rest, your body so achingly wanted to lie down and sleep.

Even after I've had everything taken from me and then some, I just wanted to close my eyes, for only a second or for an eternity. Either would be fine.

“Right.” you took his hand, watching the world burn at your feet from every direction. There's this bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring. Heroes always win right? So what did you do wrong? What could you have done?

There was a quiet moment that passed between you, only needing the small touch of your hands to keep yourselves and your unmatched feelings at bay.

“y/n…” he spoke softly, quietly, gently. “If there was anyone I could have died fighting beside, I'm very glad it's you.”

And for that, Shouto Todoroki was the bravest hero I had ever known.

You smiled at him, eyes welling with more tears as you hooked an arm around his neck, pulling his body towards yours. You stayed like that until the world had finally perished beneath you, leaving behind nothing more than smouldering buildings and young heroes whose dreams were broken and crushed in front of their very eyes. And you had to watch the girl you love, kiss goodbye the boy you wished you were, the hero you wished you were.

But maybe, in some other life, you would be able to be the one who got the girl in the end, just maybe.

[cle1024]

dead loss | hhj

member: hwang hyunjin 

genre: fluff, angst 

summary: life was an exhausting and pointless ride for hyunjin, but you managed to make it a little more bearable while you could.  delinquent!au, friends to lovers!au, coming of age!au 

warnings: smoking, alcoholism, swearing, violence, death, drug-dealing (no usage), lots of illegal stuff my dudes 

disclaimer: there are ships within this story. i am NOT trying to force these relationships on any of the boys, nor am i trying to use them as anything other than an aspect of the story. these are purely fictitious scenarios and relationships, i feel the need to add this disclaimer because some people take ships w a y too far (insisting they’re real to the point where it’s uncomfortable and borderline fetishising) and i don’t want to come across as one of those people. 

a/n: anyway i’m gonna go disappear for another 5+ months 

Life in a small town was peaceful in the outsider’s perspective ― everyone knew everyone, there was a strong sense of community and unbreakable bond built on reliability and trust. People who believed that shit clearly didn’t live in a small town, or at least not your small town. No, in your hometown everyone was a stranger. If you look at them for too long ― alternatively referred to as “looking at them the ‘wrong way’” ― they wouldn’t hate to get aggressive, borderline violent or just straight up violent. There was no trust in this town, how can you trust a stranger? It was a shady and hopeless area that people struggled to escape. Many of you have accepted your future, stuck in this abysmal hellhole, but some things just aren’t easy to come to terms with―especially when you hate the future you’ll inevitably be trapped in. 

A slight metallic scent tainted the air as Hyunjin leaned against the wooden planks of the treehouse, a huff passing his busted lips. He had managed to drag his sorry ass back to the rickety treehouse after sending a simple text to you ― something optimistic and charming: “im going to fucking die. treehouse” ― in the hopes you would come fix his wounds. That’s what you always did after Hyunjin had been in a fight, regardless of whether he asked you to or not. Though he had to ask you this time, even if it was the ass crack of dawn, because he genuinely thought he was going to die any second now. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d used all of his energy in the fight, his wounds bled too much, or the result of not sleeping in thirty-seven hours. Hyunjin didn’t think he really cared about dying, everyone has to go at some point, but he did care about whether he would be in pain or alone when he died―and right now, he was both. There was a faint pattering of footsteps in the dewy grass, growing louder until they were gently working their way up the wooden ladder to the treehouse. Hyunjin opened his eyes lazily, watching as you pulled yourself up and into the structure. He smirked slightly and wheezed out a chuckle, “on a scale of one to ten, how dateable am I right now?” You stared at him blankly, scanning over his injuries before huffing slightly and shifting towards him. 

“Losing fights isn’t a personality trait, dipshit.” 

“Yeah, but it makes me seem like a bad boy, huh?” Hyunjin chuckled hoarsely at your immediate eye roll, tilting his head to give you better access to his bleeding face wounds. He winced softly as pressure was applied to the bloody mark on the top of his cheek, a fresh bruise blooming under his soft skin. He couldn’t see all of his wounds, but he could undeniably feel them. His cheek was bruised and bleeding, his bottom lip was busted with blood seeping into his mouth occasionally―he was just loving that―while there were numerous pains to his abdomen, mainly in his ribs and lower stomach. 

“Jeez, you need to stop picking fights you can’t win,” the corners of his lips twitched upwards momentarily, a tinge of smugness painting the action. 

“This is the prime of my life, darling.” 

You scoffed at his excuse, “yeah, you’ll only be young once but you’ll be stupid for the rest of your life, Hwang.” 

“Touche,” he shrugged nonchalantly as your eyes widened in mock offence. 

“Oh, do you want to bleed some more?” The two of you chuckled at the threat, though Hyunjin’s sounded much more breathless and painful than yours did.  

“Nah, only other people are allowed to hurt me. How else would I get your attention at night?” Hyunjin’s comment elicited another eyeroll and soft smile from you. He knew you’d drop everything to be with him, regardless of how sleep-deprived it made you, because that’s what friends did. 

Hyunjin is a delinquent, down to the very definition: “(typically of a young person) tending to commit crime, particularly minor crime.” He does that a fair bit, stealing from different shops run by tired and aging people who can’t be arsed to chase after the mischievous teenager. He smokes, despite his youth, but won’t take a swig of alcohol ― something Jisung often laughs at him for, but that boy was a borderline alcoholic. The tall boy also happened to be involved in fights at least one a fortnight, you sometimes have the displeasure of witnessing them and almost always have the duty of taking care of him afterwards―no one else was willing to do it. You don’t approve of Hyunjin’s lifestyle, frankly you never have, but you know he has his reasons. Besides, he’s a stubborn boy and wouldn’t change even if you tried to force him. He’s reckless and usually impulsive, which became undeniably obvious when he was fifteen, stood in front of a train until the last second so he could dodge it, all with the undying support of his former enemy Jisung ― “You got this, man!” 

“All he’s got is a one-way ticket to the afterlife,” you’d deadpanned, earning a scoff from the other boy. 

“As Teddy Duchamp once said, ‘train dodge, dig it’.” 

“Yeah, but he didn’t stay around long enough to dodge it, nor is he a real person!” 

At the end of the day, it really didn’t matter how Hyunjin acted, he would still be your best friend. He’d filled that position since the two of you were kids, it came naturally when you lived one street away from each other and had fathers with a similar friendly relationship―until work got the best of them. Now they don’t have enough time for their children, let alone each other. They differed in some ways: your father harbours expectations far too high for you, meaning he spends most of his free time reprimanding you for not trying hard enough, whereas Hyunjin’s father was always busy and didn’t really care for his son. As a result, Hyunjin spent most of his time away from home, locked inside that treehouse his father built for him and his childhood friends ― many of them had moved on to other things: moved away, became too good for him, or died, but you and Minho always stuck around, later adding Jisung to the bunch when he and Hyunjin outgrew their petty mutual hatred. Smoking, playing cards or watching scenery while he played with a lighter, it was enough for Hyunjin. 

Sometimes you think about Jisung and Hyunjin’s weird friendship, it’s an evolution you all laughed about from time to time. When the pair were younger, the age of twelve during middle school to be exact, they harboured a burning mutual hatred that continuously burdened their mutual friends ― namely upperclassman Lee Minho; at least, he was the only one of the bunch who stuck around. There was an incident where the pair were ready to throw hands at one another, but Minho and some of his older friends stepped in and told them to squash it, even if momentarily. After Jisung aided Hyunjin in a fight with some older boys from the next town over, the two sparked a short-lived ‘frenemies’ type of relationship ― of course the older boys weren’t scared of two kids who had only just figured out the ego-boost of developing muscle, they were more fearful of Jisung’s older brother as they knew damn well how ruthless he could be; they didn’t want the risk of dealing with someone from the same genes, but Hyunjin and Jisung maintained it was their intimidation that warded the boys off. Jisung initially brushed off Hyunjin’s thanks, but there was a definite shift in their relationship: their sharp insults became sarcastic remarks that garnered a teasing response after the other, then after one incident they were friends. Hyunjin never told you the specifics of the incident and you never pushed, but it was essentially Hyunjin paying back Jisung for saving his ass ― though you later found out the only threat to Jisung at the time was himself. Regardless, Jisung and Hyunjin had discovered their compatibility and Minho had never been happier to see drama fizzle out. He wasn’t a fan of such petty disagreements, “all problems can be solved in this world, either with a fist or verbal expression.” 

“Are you recommending violence?” 

“It’s still honest communication.” 

Lee Minho was truly one of a kind―all three of them were, but it was their varying ability to believe in themselves that set them apart the most. 

The Hwang boy was smart, but he had no faith in himself. At the age of fifteen he’d already accepted that he wouldn’t go far academically, telling you “I’ll become one of those tradies that gets wolf whistled when I’m trying to do my job, and no one will say a damn thing because I’m a male,” you could remember him taking a short drag of the nicotine stick, “that’s my inevitable future.” That was one of the many ways you contrasted Hyunjin. You wanted to make your father finally accept you as his child again, and the only way to do that seemed to be success ― but at this point you weren’t sure what that looked like in his eyes; everything you perceived as a success was a comical failure to him. You didn’t smoke ― you tried once when you were fourteen and found it dreadful ― and you certainly didn’t shoplift chocolate bars or ‘train dodge’ like Hyunjin, but you still had your downfalls. Rather, you bury yourself in work you couldn’t understand, got pent up over the possibility of failure, and then turned it all in like nothing ever happened―nothing’s wrong. There was a lot wrong, Hyunjin and you both knew it, but neither ever voiced it. All you wanted was to make your father proud, but you always wanted to run away from this godforsaken town and never come back. Hyunjin wanted you to stay around, the kid couldn’t afford to lose another person in his life, but he knew it was your choice at the end of the day―you had to do what was best for you. It was just difficult to accept. It was like life had kicked Hyunjin and rolled all over him, yet you managed to bring a tiny little spark of life in his soul, something that brought him to carry on. You were his rock, you understood him more than he understood himself most of the time. He loved you, not romantically, but in the way people who have no one else who get it love each other, you know? 

He realised he loved you in that way when he was thirteen, after he had his first existential debate with you ― it became a monthly tradition after that: one night you’d silently climb into the treehouse with puffy eyes and a red-tinged face, and he’d never question it because he knew you’d tell him it was fine. Then you’d wonder what happens after death and where you went. Hyunjin had always been firm on the idea there was a Heaven and Hell due to his long standing religious beliefs, and he always assumed he was going to Hell, but those midnight talks always made him realise just how unsure he was about everything ― he didn’t know what or who to believe, but he eventually decided he probably didn’t need to. 

Hyunjin realised he had fallen in love with you when you were sixteen, after Jisung and Minho had convinced the two of you to spend your Saturday doing an ‘adventurous hike’ with them ― you didn’t know it at the time, but the two had found out some pricey drugs had been dropped in the woods, and neither of them were in a situation to refuse the money that would come with selling those substances. The two boys were energetically bounding ahead of you and the tallest boy, Hyunjin and yourself dawdling on the train tracks to avoid any shattered glass mixed in with the gravel surrounding the rails, trying your best to avoid being cut through the thin and worn soles of your shoes. Hyunjin squinted at the sunlight, distracted by his own thoughts and daydreams, too distracted to realise Jisung and Minho had stopped dead in his tracks. He bumped into the older of the two, startling him back to reality with confusion, “dude, what the fu―” his voice trailed off as he watched five men ― as in full grown, adult, ‘probably from a gang’ type of men ― snarl at the four of you. Though, their eyes seemed to be trained on Minho. 

“Lee Minho. You said you wouldn’t come around here anymore, didn’t you?”  

For the first time in his life, Hyunjin saw genuine fear on Minho’s frame as he shifted his eyes and gulped softly; clearly they’d made a grave mistake. 

“Y-yeah,” for you, that was the moment you became alarmed. Lee Minho, the self-proclaimed ‘King of Confidence’, doesn’t stutter, “I know, man. I-I must’ve lost track of where we were, you won’t see me around here anymore. I’m not here to cause you any trouble, nothin’ like that,” he spoke rapidly, desperation seeping through his usually nonchalant tone. One of the men eyed the four of you suspiciously, straining his vision on you for far too long―Hyunjin sensed it, pulling you out of his line of vision with a glare. He was always one to protect his friends, reckless enough to put himself in danger to do so, it was nothing new for any of you. 

“I better not see you around these parts anymore, Lee. You got it?” Minho nodded firmly, “good. Now go,” the man waved his hand in a dismissive motion, “run along with your friends.” 

To Hyunjin, Jisung and yourself, that was your que to turn around and never look back; but Minho knew these men, you didn’t. The oldest knew it would never be that simple, and that became evident when he saw the shining tip of a dagger being pulled from one of their pockets. The four of you reacted fast, running purely on fear; Minho frantically pushed whoever he could reach, without looking, in the opposite direction, urging you to run as fast as you could to get the fuck out of there. Hyunjin grabbed your wrist securely, tugging you in the other direction and refusing to slow down for a second, even when he heard Minho and Jisung yelling distantly. Your legs slowed down slightly until the both of you stopped in your tracks, much to the dismay of Hyunjin. 

“Hyunjin, we have to go back.” 

“They can handle themselves, Y/N.” 

“We can’t just leave them!” You pleaded, gesturing to the distant figures of your two friends. 

“And I can’t lose you!” Hyunjin yelled back, startling you into a momentary silence. It was built on uncertainty, confusion and hung heavily in the air for a few seconds, until the sound of approaching footsteps, the sound of frantic running to be exact, and Minho’s frantic yells of “move your fucking asses! Run!” broke the tranquility. 

You didn’t find out what Jisung and Minho had argued about until you were twenty-one years old and attending Minho’s funeral: “When I was sixteen, he was going to risk his life to save myself and my two other friends. We yelled at each other; I couldn’t leave him behind to get beat up or blatantly killed by the people who confronted us, but he couldn’t let me in harms way. I only found out why he cared so much and risked his everything, all the time, three years after it happened. But, that’s a secret we all promised to take to the grave.” 

All four of you promised to keep that secret ― you’d all promised Minho that you wouldn’t out him, have his parents disown him during or after his life, and you all took that to the grave. Jisung lost the ability to love romantically when he was twenty-one; he’d given it all to Minho and allowed it to be buried with him. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. 

You were officially eighteen and two months, not that the months meant anything. Both you and Hyunjin were anxious about turning nineteen, yet he didn’t want to voice it and destroy the wall he’d built around a certain part of himself―his fears. Being nineteen meant he had to act like an adult: get a job, support his family until his parents found out he had enough money to survive on his own and kick him out, settle down and have his whole life figured out. Nineteen would mean the death of his youth: no more skipping chemistry because it was insufferable or only showing up for woodwork classes, no more train dodging because it was ‘immature’, no more stealing or the shop owners would actually make an effort to ensure his actions had repercussions since he was no longer a delinquent teen. The worst of all was the thought of losing his friends; he already saw Minho significantly less than he used to due to his two jobs ― a barber during the daylight and a bartender during the hours between ― Jisung would probably continue secretly writing poetry ― though the three of you secretly knew he did it ― and work as a truck driver, or something, to escape the dullness of your hometown for a little bit. You, Y/N the bright one, would probably go on to do great things with your life and be added to the list of friends he lost due to not being good enough anymore. Hyunjin wasn’t sure whether you or Jisung felt the same ― Minho excluded since he was already passed nineteen, with Jisung endearingly referring to him as ‘hag’ ― and a part of him didn’t want to know because he didn’t really want to think about it. Of course, that didn’t stop it from being the only thing on his mind twenty-four-seven. Hyunjin groaned inwardly; losing friends. You were just a friend. Hyunjin couldn’t help but scold himself. He could steal from stores without a second thought, stand in front of trains without fear, yet he couldn’t admit his feelings to you. Then again, your friendship spanned across most of his life, and losing that would mean he would lose you. And, frankly, you were the only thing that mattered to him in life. His parents neglected him, other friends had abandoned him over time or just failed to be there for him, but you never left. You stayed, even when you became far more intelligent than him and practically radiated potential. No matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t dare risk losing that. He couldn’t lose you, he’d told you that before ― although, when he thought about it, and he absolutely thought about it, he’d lose you regardless of what he did or didn’t say. 

But, he had to put those thoughts aside. It was a fresh summer, after all, and there was supposedly no room for sadness in summer. There was only room for happiness, laughter, good vibes, getting high on the good vibes, or just getting high and conforming to the sickly summertime syndrome people were often infected with. Thus, Hyunjin had tried to spend the new season conforming to such a syndrome―excluding the fight where he was beaten within an inch of his life and had you fix him up, that probably didn’t fit the mold of a fun summer. It’d been successful to an extent ― the local pool had far too many people, including neglectful mothers attempting to flirt with the underage lifeguard Kim Sunwoo, and the beach was littered with shattered glass, plastic and cigarette ash mixed amongst the sand ― but the weather was still nice, and Hyunjin did play a soccer game in the park last weekend. That was it, though. The rest of his time was spent mowing the lawns of other houses for some extra cash, pocketing cherry lollipops and dealing decks of fifty-two cards for games that would be inevitably cheated in―like you were now. Hyunjin, Jisung and Minho were in a heated game of Go Fish, a cigarette dangling from Hyunjin’s plush lips and intoxicating the midday air, while you half-focused on the game in amusement, half-focused on the dusty comic book you’d flicked your way through. It’d been buried under many other prints of various comics, all neglected as time and puberty had lowered your interest in the bright illustrations. You couldn’t remember ever reading this one though, it was probably one of the rare collections Hyunjin refused to share through his childhood. A huff passed the lips of the oldest as he lost yet again, mumbling something about disrespectful youths and how they had obviously cheated. Jisung snickered, earning a wack in the gut from an agitated Minho. He scooted over to sit beside you, reading over your shoulder in an attempt to show his disinterest in the card game ― though it really just made him look like a sore loser, and it was quite clear he had zero interest in the childish story you held. A frustrated groan sounded as he threw his head back against the wall, as dramatic as ever. 

“I want to go outside,” he complained. 

Hyunjin scoffed, “there’s the door,” gesturing to the entrance with sass. 

“No,” Minho hissed and narrowed his eyes. Man, he was really spending too much time with those cats, “I want to go outside outside. Like, camping or something.” 

Jisung threw his hands up in defeat, “well, why didn’t you say so!” He exclaimed in exasperation, “I’ve got everything you need to go camping! No one in my house uses it.” 

Oh, Jisung’s house. What a nightmare that was―or, rather, looked like. It was dilapidated with a rusty truck parked in the driveway, a large shed in the back acting as storage for years of hoarding, of course there’d be something for camping in there. Jisung had once told you that most of the stuff in the shed belonged to past owners who never returned to get it and he’d, for some reason, seen it as a tradition that has to be carried through each owner. You didn’t press the idea or criticise it, the boy seemed really excited about it after all. 

“Welcome to my shed of wonders!” Jisung introduced. It was so, so, dusty. You were almost certain some of the junk within the metal sheathing dated back to the 19th century, maybe the 18th if you really analysed the dilapidated furniture and crumbling artefacts. Jisung hummed in thought, “there’s gotta be a tent in here somewhere…” He strolled into the shed, seeming to know exactly what to move and how far. The rest of you stared at the collection in awe―you kind of understood why Jisung prided himself on the contents of his shed, some of those things would make a good buck on Antiques Roadshow and keeping them must’ve given Jisung some sort of positive emotional release, perhaps a feeling of “I have a get rich quick scheme, I’m just choosing to be poor”. Probably made him feel better when people gave him crap for not being able to afford cool toys as a kid. You’d never seen the torment Jisung received, nor did he ever desire to speak about it, but Minho had been vocal numerous times in his distaste for the way the younger was treated. Jisung had a heart of gold, something Hyunjin could acknowledge even when they didn’t get along. He was the kind of boy who deserved nothing but greatness; he was destined for greatness. You could always pray the town didn’t suck the potential out of him, as it did to most others, but you knew those kinds of prayers go unanswered. Jisung’s epiphanic “a-ha!” derailed your thought train, your eyes shifting to see the brunette male pulling a large tent from one of the many, almost overflowing, storage units. 

Hyunjin squinted his eyes in confusion, “how did you even find that?” 

“It looks a hundred years old,” Minho added. 

The youngest male rolled his eyes at their comments, dusting off the green tent. An excited smile graced his face as he turned to face the three of you, “alright, where should we go?” 

The sun beat down on you, a light sheen of sweat glistening over your burning skin. How long had it been? Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours? You hadn’t a clue. The last time you ventured down railway tracks you ended up running in fear of men who had a vendetta against Minho―for reasons you’d soon find out. The oldest had evidently learned his lesson, guiding everyone in the opposite direction and away from any men with reasons to stab him for walking in their ‘territory’. Hyunjin dawdled beside you, eyes trailing the railway the four of you walked along. Minho was leading the group, Jisung chewing his ear off in a conversation that probably didn't interest the older, something about the spirits in the woods you were approaching. You could barely make out the faint scoff that passed Minho’s lips, but the younger seemed to hear it clear as day. 

“I’m serious! If we don’t get murdered in our tents then we get murked by demons in these damn woods!” 

“Is there an outcome where we don’t die on this trip?” Hyunjin questioned with amusement, effectively closing the younger’s mouth and halting more words from spilling out. Minho rolled his eyes at the short bickering, trudging through the forest with an impatient yell, “come on! I want to get there before the sun sets.” It was a dark and dank environment, the air felt musty and thick around your lungs. Trees were overgrown, roots seeping along the dirt trail and serving as tripping hazards. Light dimmed under the cavern of green leaves, yet shadows still managed to dance in the slivers of golden rays. It was tranquil, but also unnerving. In retrospect, it was probably the childhood tales of drug deals gone wrong that put you on edge. Even if it was pure fiction, naive belief was enough to trick your mind into feeling unsafe, watched, hunted. If you ventured alone your fear would have pushed you to the other side of the trail at a much faster pace than you currently maintained, but, of course, you weren’t without company. The aura of discomfort and fear gently wafted in the air ― stronger from the likes of yourself and Jisung, though minimal to non-existent from the two other males. Those two had been fearless since you met them―Hyunjin stood in front of trains for an adrenaline rush! Then again, you weren’t entirely sure as to whether that was fearlessness or recklessness. They were one and the same to that boy. 

The group passed through the forest until you found a clearing, a large field with a distant fence to halt you from further adventuring. It appeared to be the outskirts of town, past where anyone would travel for purposes other than hiking or illegal business. Hyunjin stood still with his hands rested on his hips, observing the area, “oh, this’ll do. This’ll do just fine.” 

Your eyes rolled at the antics of your best friend, trust Hyunjin to say something straight out of an 80s movie―at least, it sounded like it would be. Jisung strolled ahead, hot on the heels of Hyunjin as they ventured through the long grass. Minho eyed the ground suspiciously, hesitance floating through his orbs before mumbling, “there better not be any snakes around here.” His words clearly weren’t as quiet as he had hoped, as Jisung stumbled away from the grass with a sharp gasp at the announcement. A huff passed Hyunjin’s lips at the other boys’ dramatics, causing you to shift an eyebrow in question―he had no right to be judgemental, he was the most dramatic of all. 

“Chill out, you buffoons. There’s short grass ahead, we’ll set up there,” well, that made sense. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Jisung stumbled to his feet and worked to catch up with Hyunjin’s footsteps. 

The process of setting up a tent had been… difficult, to say the least ― “Jisung, how the fuck do we set this up?” “Just read the instructions?” “They’re in Russian!” ― though the four of you eventually managed to successfully pitch the tent. Though, in all honesty, the sun had started to set by the time it was standing. That was at least an hour ago. Now, you lay still in your sleeping bags and mumbled descriptions of distant memories and under-developed universal theories. 

“Hyunjin, move your irritatingly long legs so they’re resting somewhere other than my feet,” Minho grumbled. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Your mind wandered back to the adventures of that day, dawdling across train tracks and praying none of the smoking vehicles came running up behind you. The memory struck you like lightning; you remembered the time you dawdled down the wrong train tracks and ran for your life. A slight laugh passed your lips at the image of your younger self frantically running, “hey, do you remember when we tried to almost got murked by that gang on the outskirts of town?” Hyunjin mumbled an agreement, a fond smile on his face. Jisung piped up to laugh about how he almost ‘shit his lungs out of his ass’. Although you were able to laugh now, you all knew there was nothing funny about the primal fear you felt in that moment. The fear of the unknown; of death. Silence settled over the four of you momentarily before Minho voiced new information softly. 

“I almost killed one of them.” 

Jisung just about shot up in his sleeping bag, “what?” he exclaimed. 

Minho maintained his characteristic calm composure as he explained, “yeah, it was a few months before we went down there. I was still hanging out with Hongjoong and that gang,” ah, the days of Minho being a gang. They were fond―somewhat fond―memories, “one of them had beat up Mingi, got the wrong guy or something, so Hongjoong and I went after him.” 

In all honesty, you never knew Kim Hongjoong very well, nor did you remember much about him. You were never close with him and he’d moved away before any sort of friendship could bud, but you knew Song Mingi well―rather, you knew of him. He was a bubbly kid, tall and friendly with a goofy smile. There was something about him that exuded innocence and happiness, like he was crafted by embers of the burning yellow ball in the sky. 

“We didn’t mean to get him that bad, but we couldn’t stop ourselves,” Minho mumbled softly, his mind wandering off to a different space as he blurted out the words, “Mingi didn’t do anything.” 

The three of you shared a look before turning back to focus on the oldest, his face blank as his eyes clouded over with thought, concern, nostalgia. Hyunjin cleared his throat awkwardly, “well, it’s in the past now. We learnt to never travel down those tracks again,” he shifted around in his sleeping bag and closed his eyes. 

Jisung had proposed the idea of keeping someone on lookout, claiming he didn’t want to get “fucking murked by a coyote or something”. There was the initial suggestion of taking shifts, but Jisung didn’t seem willing to take up the role and Minho said he was “too old to skip sleep”. Hyunjin didn’t give you a chance before saying he’d stay up all night ― of course he wasn’t actually planning on staying up all night, just until Jisung had knocked out for long enough to be unaware of the lack of surveillance. It didn’t matter, though, you both ended up out there after you tossed and turned for a solid thirty minutes. The wind was howling, the tent thrashing from side-to-side at the sharp movements of air. Hyunjin sighed with discontent, “why didn’t we check the forecast before we left?” A light chuckle passed your chapped lips. 

“Because the forecast is never correct,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes at your matter-a-fact tone, a slight smile gracing his moonlit features. It was very clear in that moment — and many others, if you were being honest with yourself — why so many girls had thrown themselves at him over the years. All of that started in your first year of school, when a pigtailed girl claimed it was Hyunjin’s neat cursive writing that attracted her, not his cute face—of course that was a crock of shit, it had always been about Hyunjin’s face. It shouldn’t have been, but people were shallow like that. 

His visuals had never crossed your mind, not until your early teenage years at least. You were thirteen when it first struck you, bundled up in sleeping bags in your best friend’s lounge room watching some teen movie. It wasn’t something you focused on, your eyes had drifted to your giggly friend and refused to move. His hair was black, dark eyes curved into crescent moons as he attempted to stifle laughter at the current scene. Skin smooth, blue winter pyjama shirt buttoned up to the collar and a pillow clutched between his arms. With a tilted head, he turned and stared back at you with curiosity, “what is it?” 

You look perfect. “Nothing,” you smiled tightly. 

“What are you thinking about?” The question passed Hyunjin’s lip in a voice of honey and warmth, comforting in the midst of the vicious whipping wind. 

You shrugged slightly as you formulated an excuse, “just the future. What I’ll do after school,” Hyunjin hummed solemnly. He didn’t like talking about the future, mainly because it brought in thoughts of losing everyone and everything he’s ever loved. He didn’t want to think about a world where that happened, even if it was inevitable, though the words manage to spill out before he could catch them. 

“Will I ever lose you?” 

You were dumbfounded. Lose you? Of course he’d never lose you, “how could you ever lose me? I won’t let you, Hwang,” you attempted to brighten the glum atmosphere. 

Picking at his cuticles, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, “I’m not good enough for you, I’ll never be enough for you.” A frown formed on your lips at Hyunjin’s pessimism, eyebrows furrowing in satisfaction and sadness. You never knew he felt so little of himself. 

“Hey,” the word was spoken gently from your lips, hands reaching out to cup Hyunjin’s face and turn him towards you. He still had a scratch on his lip from that last fight he was in, “you are more than you think, Hyunjin. So much more,” the glaze of your eyes held such sincerity and honesty, “you can do anything you want, man,” yet Hyunjin still couldn’t make himself believe you. 

Eyes downcast, “yeah,” he mumbled distantly, “anything.” 

The four of you walked home in a comfortable silence the next morning, accepting it would be the last time any of you felt this free. 

At the age of twenty-one, Jisung became distant. It was understandably so, Minho had been found dead and was buried within a week of the discovery. There was no proper time to grieve about the loss, everyone expected you to go back to work as if nothing had changed—nothing’s wrong. Everything was wrong, so fucking wrong. Jisung and Minho were never ‘official’ because neither of them had the bravery to face discrimination for being something other than straight. You never knew whether Minho was homosexual or bisexual, even pansexual maybe, but it never mattered. All you could wish was that he was happy, at least once, before he was laid to rest. Jisung closed himself off, became a silent and reclusive man who lived on the outskirts of town. He was a truck driver, swinging between different towns before inevitably returning to the one that seemed to have something against him. It sucked the life from him, it took everything from him; he hated that fucking town. You didn’t see him after Minho’s funeral, not in the way friends see each other, at least. Of course you’d spot him in town occasionally, exiting his house or driving back home after weeks away. Yet, you never spoke a word to him. Never said a ‘hi’, never wanted to speak in case it pushed him too far—broke him, if you will. Rather, you let him seclude himself and suffocate in loneliness; if only you didn’t make that foolish mistake. 

When you were twenty-three you bid your goodbyes to Hyunjin, planning to move away and pursue a career that, frankly wouldn’t make you happy, but it would give you enough money to pay rent for a good place. That’s all you really needed, you supposed. Hyunjin bid his last goodbyes with a letter. It was written in his beautiful handwriting, the calligraphy style he liked to brag when he was younger, but seemed to have forgotten about as he emerged into his teenage years — he never forgot, he still prided himself on such perfect penmanship. It was a letter that contained words you never expected your best friend to say, though always secretly hoped to hear. It was a letter that slapped you across the face for being so blind and cowardly. It was a letter about how he fell in love with you, too hard and too fast, and how he always knew you’d be too good for him, one way or another. You hated when Hyunjin put himself down with such words, but you hated knowing that you caused most of them. The boy was incomparable, so unique and one-of-a-kind. There would never be another Hyunjin in your life, never one to take your heart and treat it as his own. Hyunjin was more than he thought. So, so much more. 

“I love you, more than you know. In more ways than a platonic-friendship-type of love. The kind of romantic love that’s, probably, unrequited,” Hyunjin, you foolish boy, your love has never been unrequited. 

Perhaps you were the fool, not Hyunjin, for keeping your mouth shut about your secret attraction for years. Heaving a sigh, your hands folded the letter closed, you were such a fool. 

In your life, you had three great friends that taught you many lessons — many lessons they failed to learn themselves. 

Minho often preached about staying true to who you are, exuding confidence in your identity and being fearless of others. Yet he failed to accept who he was, though that was fair enough in your opinion. He had his own struggles, many struggles, but never wanted to confront them. Minho never wanted to confront, let alone accept, the possibility of being subjectively weak; he struggled under the pressure to conform to masculinity—no weaknesses whatsoever. Gosh, that boy was one of the strongest you knew. One of the kindest, too, a heart of gold, truly. That boy didn’t deserve to die, none of your friends did. 

Jisung often told you to be careful with your feelings, yet easily gave his away to Minho. The boy had always had an eye for detail, noticing the veins in leaves and miniscule dirt stains on a vintage photograph in his shed, but he tended to overlook the bigger ideas. The things that were right in front of him, you supposed. He failed to notice how he gave away his feelings to one person so easily. He never noticed that he left no room for the regrowth or reacquisition of those feelings, but maybe he just didn’t care. Minho made him feel so peaceful and at ease, how could he find it within him to care? 

Hyunjin, where did you start with Hyunjin? Your friend since childhood, your first love, someone you’d never be able to forget—someone you’d never allow yourself to forget. He taught you to be bold, a little reckless to spice up life — though not ‘stand in front of a train’ type of recklessness. He spent years teaching you to overcome your struggles, though you felt as if you failed to tend to his. Of course, he’d never see it that way, but he was head over heels for you. Just as you were for him. The boy had always been talented, insanely so, with perfect handwriting and a unique perspective on the inner workings of life, ambitions and dreams. There was so much potential held inside his body, marked with scars and bruises from the fights he’d had through the years. He’d always told you to never settle for anything less than perfect. Perhaps that’s why he never wanted you to settle for him: he never saw himself as perfect. You wanted him to do the same, go as far as he possibly can to fulfil his limitless potential. But, that didn’t happen—life could never treat him kindly. Hyunjin never made it out of that shitty town. It pained you to think about it — he could’ve been anything, anyone. He had so much potential, yet that place sucked it away and kept him in an iron grip. When you thought about it, you realised none of your friends got lucky like you. One way or another, they all stayed in that town—dead or alive, it didn’t matter, they all remained. Many would’ve seen that as luck being on your side, but without at least one of them by your side—without Hyunjin by your side—what was the point of going? 

Walking back into that town had never felt so eerie. Nothing was the same as you remembered. Visually, nothing changed, yet at the same time everything had changed. You were no longer a young adult searching for opportunities, no longer a teenager stressing over school work, or dragging yourself to the treehouse in the middle of the night to tend to Hyunjin’s wounds. You wondered if that thing was still intact. That’s not why you were back in town, far from it, but something ate away at you. Was your rickety hangout still standing? Or had it fallen apart after all of you left, in more than one way. 

There was no noise coming from within the wooden confines of the treehouse. You were glad it was still there, even if no one used it. It felt like you were running on autopilot, your feet guiding you up the ladder as you opened the hatch to pull yourself into the space. You swore it was bigger than this. Eyes darted around, taking in the old drawings on the walls, outdated comics and dusty packs of cards. Nothing had changed. You gasped, startled, as you made eye contact with another person, sat in a slightly slumped position across from you. The corner of their lip was slightly bloody, a cigarette dangling from the other side. A reminiscent smirk crawled on their lips, it couldn’t be. 

“Long time no see, darling,” he hadn’t changed one bit, “and just in time! You can patch me up before the service.” 

There was a bitterness in his tone, one you could taste on your own tongue as you contemplated the right words to say. It was mockingly cheerful, like he knew everything was falling apart and there was nothing that could stop it ― who are you kidding, that’s exactly what was happening ― “because that’s the only reason people ever return to this town, right? To mourn the ones that’ll never leave.” 

Words couldn’t pass your lips. There was so much you wanted to say: questions, nonchalant agreements, apologies. It was bittersweet, really, to be meeting like this. It was like old times. A bloodied Hyunjin sat against the wall of the treehouse, nonchalant in the pain of being beaten up, fully prepared to be patched up by your delicate, unbruised hands. But everything was different. Minho no longer whinged over losing a card game, Jisung no longer cheated his way to success in said card games. They’d stopped doing that years ago, and it was an activity they could never engage in again. Hyunjin noticed the despair clouding your gaze, guilt etching your face. A frown creasing his face as he caught your train of thought―you had a habit of blaming yourself, feeling guilty about nothing. 

“It feels weird, doesn’t it?” 

You nodded slightly, “almost... wrong.” 

Hyunjin tossed aside the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe before he opened his arms welcomingly. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed him until the moment you crawled into his arms―you missed all of them. All you wanted was to say one last goodbye to Minho, one last goodbye to Jisung. To thank them for everything, tell them how hard they worked, how incredible they were to be around. Fuck, you missed them so much, you couldn’t help it. Tears were already falling and staining Hyunjin’s t-shirt before you could even attempt to keep them in. A solemn sigh passed his lips, hand stroking your hair as a form of agreement. He’d always fantasised about having a solid friend group that lasted into adulthood, then into the elderly ages. A part of him knew it would never end that way, but he didn’t think this would be the outcome of your friendship circle. When he pondered the potential loss of contact he always assumed it would be a result of moving on to better things, better places and people. He couldn’t help but think back to that camping trip; it was the most carefree time in his life. None of you could’ve ever imagined this outcome ― you could imagine moving away and losing contact over time, you couldn’t imagine being pulled apart by something out of your control. You didn’t want to, but who would? The idea of your friends being taken before their time―before you deemed it to be their time―was almost as upsetting as it actually happening. Life and death, it was a torturous cycle for everyone involved. Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut as fear bubbled in his chest, the fear of losing you all over again. He tightened his grip on you, what tragic lives we’ve led. 

“And then there were two.”

[thanks--for--listening]

collision moments

hello ppl im back with another FMAB fic this time featuring my best girls, Olivier and Izumi. there’s a chance i do another fic in this series but tbh i’ve struggled with it so who can say whether it’ll happen or not lol. (also on ao3)

~~

Olivier Armstrong prided herself on her refusal to give in to fear. 

It wasn’t that she was fearless. To never be afraid would take away the core of her humanity — even the Humunculi, it had been reported, seemed to hold some level of fear, if for nothing more than their own death. Unlike what she let so many men believe, she wasn’t void of the feeling: she simply knew how to handle it. She’d spent a lifetime refusing to allow it to transform into cowardice, to let it debilitate her. Survival depended on the ability to compartmentalize, to fight off paralysis long enough to eliminate the threat. In battle, she would never waver. She would never allow someone to see through her, to let her own feelings fan another’s spark of hesitation into a flame of weakness. She’d stand in front of them like the very wall they compared her to: unwavering and unbreakable. 

But compartmentalizing was only effective if there was some form of relief. So it was in the cover of night, when no one was there to follow her lead, that the cracks began to show.

Tonight, she saw the beast. In her dreams it stood in front of her exactly as it had that morning, it’s eyes lifeless and it’s skin impenetrable. She’d beaten it before, but the variables had changed. Central City was too warm, too populated, its men unaccustomed to the survival instincts those at Briggs relied on. And there was Alex, fighting alongside her, and for all her complaints and her irritation, she couldn’t stop her heart from skipping beats with every blow he took. Especially when he took them for her. 

She watched her brother defeat it time after time, only for sparks to sew its artificial limbs back together. She could feel the blood dripping down her face, blurring her vision and painting the room red. The pain in her arm screamed, and it took more energy than she’d care to admit to ignore it. Alex held his own scars, blood decorating his face as well, and as it began to charge, a part of her thought that, at the very least, their deaths would be honorable. 

A fist of stone punched through the wall, through her thoughts of honor and sacrifice, and for a moment the end didn’t feel imminent anymore. The woman fought with grit, cracked a smile at the sight of the beast before them. As she pieced together her identity, she thought perhaps she was looking at the reason those brothers had lasted as long as they did, the reason they’d managed to hold their own alongside her men. The survivor mentality surrounded her, shined like the glow of the colors they sometimes saw in the northern sky, just defined enough to know it wasn’t a trick of the light.

In an instant, they were on the stairs. Olivier silently begged her mind to wake up, to leave before it happened again, because there was one moment that scared her beyond belief, more so than the monsters and the soldiers without souls, more so than dying alongside her brother in the heat of the city. 

Her brain refused to give her the relief of avoidance. Perhaps this was the cost, the price she’d have to pay for holding herself together when it happened. The eye appeared out of nowhere, opened up as if it was emerging from inside the earth. Izumi screamed as the hands pulled her apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. In dreams she often saw reality in brutal slow motion, every misstep spotlighted so bright she couldn’t ignore it, but not tonight. Tonight, it blinked and took her as fast as it had in real time. 

The only way she could think to describe it was forbidden; no human should be able to witness what she saw and walk away with a sound mind. Olivier couldn’t tell if it swallowed her whole or simply snapped her out of existence. Worse than the sight of it was the feeling, Izumi’s hand in her own turning into nothing but air. Despite her strength and her unfailing grip, when it mattered most, she wasn’t strong enough to hold on. 

In the safety of her subconscious, she allowed herself to give in to the terror she’d buried. It pressed down on her chest like a weight she wasn’t strong enough to lift. Tears fell from her eyes and she let them, just this once, because she truly thought they’d all meet their ends, losing to something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she'd held her a little tighter, if she hadn’t needed help in the first place, it could have all been avoided. She wouldn’t have had to listen to the desperation in Sig’s voice, to watch as he searched for someone that may no longer exist. The blame sat heavy on her shoulders, and she let it suffocate her. 

Olivier woke with a gasp. The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was the lights. The brightness rivaled the sun’s reflection on the snow, a sight that could cost a man their life in the North. She shut her eyes again, a groan slipping out before she could stop it.

“It’s about time you woke up.” Olivier felt the lights dim around her. She hesitantly opened her eyes again, turned her head and found Izumi sitting in a chair, mindlessly turning the pages of the book in her hands. 

A hundred questions sat on her lips, but she settled for the important one: “How long was I out?”

Izumi shrugged. “About a day, give or take.”

That couldn’t be right. She glanced out the window, saw the afternoon sun hanging in the sky, and it was exactly as she remembered but...but she hadn’t been inside. She’d been brought up from under the ground, she’d seen the youngest Elric brother stand in his own skin, and then...and then…

She tried to sit up, but her body screeched at the first hint of movement. Every bone throbbed, every muscle ached. Injury and pain had never been a stranger, but this rivalved her worst moments. Holding her breath, she gingerly settled back down. 

“You’ll want to take it easy,” Izumi told her. “Doctor said you took quite a nasty blow to the head. He wasn’t sure how you’d survived it, let alone the damage to the rest of you.”

Olivier scoffed. “Then he’s an idiot. It’ll take more than some falling stones and a beast as idiotic as that one to kill me.”

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “From what I’ve seen, I don’t doubt it.”

She turned her attention back toward the window. Her brain tried its best to think back to the fight, to the aftermath, but even trying to think made the pain so agonizing she was forced to shut her eyes again. Damn Bradley, and damn his fucking monsters with their sorry excuse for a life and their outright refusal to die.

“How—“ she asked in between labored breaths, “how did I get here?”

Izumi hesitated. “How much do you remember?”

Normally, she’d refuse to give up anything that could be used against her, especially to someone outside of Briggs. She was vulnerable here, confined to her bed, body broken and bruised and memory ridden with holes. Logic said to keep her mouth shut, but there was something about her. She may not have been one of her soldiers, but her gut told her that Izumi Curtis was someone she could trust. And her gut was never wrong. 

“I know about Alphonse. You carried us up to the surface just in time to see him stand. After that, there’s nothing.”

Izumi nodded. “At first, everybody celebrated. It was calm, even after everything that had happened. Al getting his body back...well, it was about as clear a victory as any.”

Olivier watched the way she smiled at the thought, the way her eyes held unshed tears. Truthfully, the boy getting his body back hadn’t been at the forefront of her concerns, but she’d hoped for their sake they’d accomplish it. And hearing her talk about it, about both of the Elric brothers, it became increasingly clear that despite her intensity and her ruthlessness, Izumi cared deeply for the two of them. 

“What happened next?”

Izumi laughed. “You happened next. You walked up and demanded someone take Al to a hospital, before his weakened body gave out on him.”

Oh. Well, she wasn’t wrong. The boy had been nothing but skin and bones, the textbook image of malnourished. She would bet that Edward might not have appreciated her interruption, but he’d come to understand her later. 

“And did they? Take him to the hospital?”

“Your brother did. Lifted him up and carried him there himself.”

“I assume he cried the whole time?”

“Like an infant.”

Olivier groaned. “My brother’s soft heart and hysterics will be the end of him one of these days.”

“You should have seen him in here earlier, blubbering over you.” She scoffed. “Men and their emotions. They just don’t know how to control themselves.”

She hummed in agreement. “It’s a disease if you ask me.”

Izumi nodded, before adding, “Although, perhaps it was better that he left when he did.”

“And why is that?”

“Once he carried Alphonse off the battleground, you began commanding all the people who were left. You coordinated trucks to take the injured to the hospital, communicated with the soldiers still out in the streets. It was impressive, until you gave your last order and promptly collapsed.”

If her arm hadn’t been bound to her chest, she would have curled both fists in frustration. A leader never showed weakness like that, not even after the battle came to an end. Her reputation would need patching, of that she was certain. 

If she noticed her embarrassment, Izumi didn’t comment on it; instead, she shrugged and said, “It could have been worse. Most of the soldiers had already dispersed. Plus, you didn’t hit the ground. Not sure your body could have taken another blow like that.”

Maybe it was the head injury, but she couldn’t fully comprehend the words she was hearing. “How is that possible? That I fell but never reached the ground?”

“Simple. I caught you.”

As if her humiliation couldn’t get any worse. The thought of being caught like an overwhelmed maiden made her want to take her sword and plunge it through her body herself, but instead she sighed and said, “I suppose I owe you an extra bit of gratitude, then.”

“Nonsense. I’m a housewife — I’m meant to take care of others.”

“You’re much more than that. The way you fought that beast was as impressive as any warrior I’ve seen.”

Izumi smiled. “I must admit, it felt nice to fight something that presented a challenge. And I’d been itching to let my alchemy loose ever since Hoenheim healed my ailment.” She laughed to herself as she said, “Vomiting blood would not have been an impressive conclusion to a battle like that.”

Olivier raised her eyebrow. “Vomiting blood?”

“A consequence of my visit through the portal. Physical exertion like that used to leave me bedridden for days.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond. The image of Izumi confined to a bed was almost as unimaginable as the one of her desperate enough to attempt human transmutation in the first place. She’d chalked up the Elric brother’s mistake to childhood idiocracy and arrogance, but she couldn’t fathom what would lead a woman like Izumi to do the same. 

“You’re wondering who it was,” Izumi said, her tone attempting neutrality and almost succeeding. “You’re wondering who I tried to bring back.”

“I understand if you want to keep that information to yourself. You don’t owe me any kind of explanation.”

“No, but I think I’ll give you one anyway.”

The answer surprised her. “Why?” 

“Because I’ve spent years forced to pretend it never happened. The attempt alone is enough to get me arrested, or worse. But ever since Ed and Al came back, ever since they figured it out...I’m not sure why, but it felt nice. Talking about it. Not trying to hide from it. I’d like to continue to do that, if I can.”

Had she been in a different place, a different time, she may have left it at that. Instead, her thoughts slipped through her mind’s weakened blockade, materialized right in front of her. “I know this topic is...delicate. For all his flaws, my brother is the one who knows how to provide comfort. If you’re looking for sensitivity, you won’t find it here.”

The words felt like a confession. She’d always been this way, cold and callous and short-tempered when it came to matters of the heart. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sympathize with anyone (although, in all honesty, she found many of the so-called problems people claimed to have were weak excuses for pain, and didn’t deserve her sympathy in the first place), but she had never known how to express the feelings properly. Her and her brother could be pinpointed on opposite sides of a spectrum, and while she’d choose her position over his a thousand times over, she could still admit that, outside of the battlefield and the barracks, her lack of emotional expression could be perceived as a shortcoming. 

“I’m not looking for someone to cry for me,” Izumi told her. “I’ve spent enough years crying for myself.”

“I don’t mean to be rude. But I don’t know what it is I have to offer you.”

“How about a captive audience?” She said the words with a smile, and despite the fact that Olivier could hear the lie in her voice, she decided not to call her out on it. 

Izumi put her book down beside her, but she let her gaze drop, spoke to her lap instead of her face. “Ever since I was a girl, I’d longed for motherhood. Most people never expected it of me. Those who knew me wouldn’t have described me as the nurturing type, and they wouldn’t have been wrong to do so. I spent so many years wanting. It made me angry, how much I desired, how much I had to fight for every piece of it. The ability to make decisions for myself. Independence and strength. An education. I wanted it all, and I wanted a child of my own. A legacy.

“When I got pregnant,” she continued, “I thought I would finally get to stop fighting. Sig and I, we’d spent so much time trying. I’ve heard some describe motherhood as a gift or a miracle, but to me, it felt like a victory. A battle I’d finally won.” Her tone softened when she said, “I made the mistake so many do when their mind is clouded with arrogance. I celebrated too early.”

A part of her didn’t want to hear what came next. Listening to this story was like witnessing a car crash and knowing you didn’t have the time to avoid the collision. There were only two options: watch it happen, or close your eyes. Either way, the end was inevitable. The only difference would be whether to spare yourself the added pain, to become blind to the indisputable evidence laid out in front of you. 

Weaker men often chose to hide. In the collision moments, plenty of strong men did, too. But she’d never been the type to look away when faced with the incoming hurt; she wasn’t going to start now. So she said nothing, showed nothing. She simply waited for Izumi to find her way to the conclusion.

After a moment of hesitation, she did. “Our baby never cried. Never made so much as a sound.”

Every puzzle piece clicking into place only made her regret asking. When the Elric brothers told her about their mother, they’d done so mostly out of necessity. It was all connected — their action, their bodies, their shared enemy. It pained them, obviously, but she hadn’t realized how much of that pain had been clouded by the looming danger. They’d told her, but not like this. Nothing like this.

Izumi stared right through her, like she wasn’t even there. “Silence had never felt so sharp. So present. It was like it was making fun of me, drowning out all my claims of strength by reminding me just how little I could control. Even now, in the quiet, I still hear it. The mockery. It drove me to lengths I never thought I’d go, carried me past lines I never thought I’d cross.” She tried to laugh, but it never stood a chance. Nothing about this was funny. “You can fill in the blanks of what happened next.”

Olivier waited for more; when it became clear there was none, she began searching for words of her own. She wondered, for a moment, whether now would be the time to channel Alex, to speak the way he might. But his words would sound fake coming from her. Even if they were the right ones. 

In the end, she settled for sincerity. “Boy or girl?”

Izumi blinked, and Olivier watched as her eyes refocused. She could hear the joy hidden in her response. It was buried underneath the hurt, just barely poking through the rubble, but it was still there when she smiled and said, “Girl.”

She nodded. There wasn’t much else to do. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

Silence slipped back in. Olivier thought about her words, about the noiselessness. She’d never been one to relax in the quiet. Any good soldier knew that the most dangerous of enemies hardly made a sound, but right now it felt almost tangible. The weight of it grew with every passing second. Loss was heavier than any object she’d come across, and while she was no stranger to it herself, this pain Izumi described felt harsher than any she’d ever experienced. 

As the seconds passed, she felt a restlessness unrelated to her physical incapacitation. Uncertainty crept up on her, and in its presence she found her thoughts from yesterday’s battle, the observations that now felt increasingly relevant.

“Well,” she told her, “If it’s a legacy you want, I’d argue you’ve already got one.”

“What do you mean?”

“You taught the Elric brothers. Their success is your success. And right now, they have a significant share of it.”

Izumi shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

“I know. But it’s close, is it not?” Izumi hesitated, before nodding. Olivier shrugged and said, “Maybe one day close will be enough.”

She spoke with more confidence than she felt. An old habit from childhood, when she’d learned that faith in oneself could be manufactured, that pretending to have it could make it appear. She may not have her brother’s alchemic strength, but in her mind she’d discovered her own kind of magic, one that had yet to let her down.

“You know,” Izumi said after a moment. “I don’t think you were honest with me earlier.”

Olivier frowned at the accusation. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You told me I wouldn’t find comfort here, when in fact, I think you may have told me everything I needed to hear.”

She had to bite back the smile that threatened to make an appearance. “If you ever tire of the warmth, I could use someone like you up North.” Olivier knew the suggestion was nothing more than a courtesy, but she meant it. A spirit like Izumi’s was hard to teach — often, it had to be found. And she’d never found anyone quite like her. 

“I appreciate the offer, but my life is here. I’m not ready to give that up just yet. Although,” she said with a grin that could only be described as mischievous, “I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy fighting alongside you and your brother.”

She couldn’t help but match her expression. “You should see me fight up North.”

“A spectacular sight, I’m sure. Though I don’t think you’ll be fighting any battles in the near future.”

“I wouldn’t rule the possibility out just yet. Reconstruction is no simple task, and there’s a lot of idiots still hanging around in the military. And that’s not including the ones on our side.” 

She groaned at the prospect, at her own reminder of what frustrations lay ahead. Just the thought of having to work alongside Mustang during this incoming period of transition was enough to bring her headache back. 

Izumi laughed. “I don’t envy you and your companions for the job ahead of you. The complexities of bureaucracy were never of much interest to me.”

“A necessary evil, I suppose, albeit an annoying one. Governing would be so much simpler if we disregarded the absurd level of formality and politeness demanded by those in charge.”

“The perk of teaching the Elrics on my own — I never had to adhere to such ridiculous standards.”

Izumi looked so much calmer, so much happier, that Olivier almost didn’t ask. But curiosity and boredom formed a crossroad with opportunity, and holding her tongue proved to be much more difficult than she’d expected. “Will you continue teaching?” She asked. “Now that your ailment is healed, that is.”

She hesitated, and for a moment Olivier longed to take back the question. “Maybe,” she finally said. “The future isn’t as clear as it once was.”

“I suppose that’s the beauty of it.”

“Yes,” Izumi said. “I suppose it is.”

Unconsciousness tugged at her brain. Olivier tried her best to resist it. There was work to be done, after all. Their revolution didn’t have the luxury of idle time — there was a country to rebuild, and she would be crucial to its second life. Yet, lying there, conversation dwindling back into the comfort of silence, she found it hard to stay awake. The weight on her eyes wasn’t just from the pain, or the medication, or the head injury; she found herself at ease here. It was a feeling she often avoided in the North, and one she certainly hadn’t known in Central City for quite some time. 

Izumi noticed, which didn’t surprise her. “I should let you rest. When you wake again, I suspect responsibilities will be waiting for you.”

“Before you go,” she said, “I wanted to thank you. You saved my life, and my brother’s. That’s not an act I take lightly. I owe you a debt I may never be able to repay.”

She smiled, but this time it was softer, lacking the bite and mischief of the one she’d worn earlier. “Fix this country, and we’ll call it even.”

Olivier couldn’t hide a groan as she put her remaining energy into lifting her free arm, extending her hand out as best she could. 

Izumi looked at it, before laughing. “Guess even you aren’t immune to the military’s ridiculous formalities. Is a vow in words not enough? We need to shake on it?”

“It’s—“ she held her breath, gave herself two seconds to let the pain subside, before continuing, “—not about the military.”

Recognition came over the other woman quickly. Olivier wondered how she remembered the moment, her own disappearance. How it might have felt. Part of her longed to ask about it, but so much had been given to her today — it felt insensitive to want more. Not to mention it wasn’t answers she needed: it was confirmation. Indisputable proof of her own that, despite her own failure, she’d truly come back. 

Izumi didn’t take her hand; instead, she kept her eyes on it, like it might disappear if she looked away. “I hope you know there was nothing you could have done to prevent that.”

“Had we not needed your help, then—“

“Then I would have been taken somewhere else, and my husband would have been left stranded on the street instead of in your company. Trust me when I say that sticking with you was the best thing we could have done.”

Olivier closed her eyes. The pain still lingered, her outstretched hand dropping slightly with each passing second. She wasn’t one to dwell often, and the logical part of her understood that few people could stand up to alchemy as advanced as what she saw yesterday. But none of that changed what she knew to be true.

She opened her eyes, waited to speak until she caught Izumi’s gaze. “Regardless of the circumstance, you saved me. And I couldn’t save you. For that, you have my sincerest apologies.”

Izumi finally took her hand. Olivier forced her mind to pay attention, to commit this moment to memory, because she knew in the coming nights, when she saw her failures again and again, she’d need it. She’d need to remember. 

A handshake could tell her more about a person than any words they might say. It spoke not only to their character, but also to their perception of her. Yesterday, Izumi’s grip had been firm, communicating mutual respect and self confidence. It was looser this time around, more delicate, but Olivier could tell the change wasn’t an insult or an indication of weakness — it was a sign of care. Thoughtfulness, the type only found in nurturers, given to her in perhaps the only way she’d accept it.

“My husband said you refused to stop searching for me.” She spoke softly, kept their hands clasped together. “I appreciate that.”

“Of course. I’m not in the business of leaving my people behind.”

The grin spread quickly, until it took over Izumi’s entire face. “I’m your people, huh?”

Olivier tried to humor her, but sincerity won in the end. She wasn’t entirely sure when it happened. During the battle, maybe, or the conversation on the stairs afterward. Maybe it didn’t happen until today, until she’d woken up and found her sitting by her side. Either way, the truth couldn’t be denied: Izumi was one of hers now. Not a soldier under her command, but a companion she knew she could trust. And that meant there was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

 “Yes,” she told her. “You are.”

“Do I get a say in this grouping?”

Olivier raised an eyebrow at her. “Would you object to it if you did?”

The standoff only lasted a few seconds before Izumi burst out into laughter, finally breaking their handshake to wrap her arms around her sides. She tried not to focus on how deeply she felt her absence, how cold her palm became without Izumi’s hand to keep it company.

“No,” she said lightly. “No objections here. Although if I’m really part of your group now, I wouldn’t mind a chance to test out that sword of yours.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she fought a grin of her own. “Don’t push it.”

Izumi just kept laughing. She wasn’t prepared to like the sound so much, to feel it echoing in her chest. To feel the desire to join her. A sound like that, after the battle they just had, wasn’t so easily conjured. It took strength to find joy after trauma, to stare death in the eye and laugh, not at it but in spite of it. And for someone like Izumi, with so much heartbreak and hurt in her history, to stand here and revel in it? It was impressive, as much as any display of alchemy or strength in battle. Olivier just stared and tried to resist a smile of her own. Each minute with her revealed a new layer, and she could hardly fight the urge to uncover her completely. 

“I’m just saying,” Izumi said, “how else am I supposed to fight off all the military assholes who’ll try to wake you up with their paperwork and other useless bullshit?”

“I think you’d manage just fine without it.” Five seconds passed between them before the rest of her sentence clicked. “What would you still be doing here, anyway?”

Izumi scoffed. “I’m not just gonna leave you by yourself.”

“But I’ll be asleep.”

“Yes. And I’ll be here. Doing exactly what I was doing before you woke up earlier today.”

She should have left it alone, but whatever shame she’d had disappeared the moment she’d heard about the fainting incident, so there really was no point in trying to resist curiosity anymore. “Why?” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never stayed in someone’s hospital room before. As a general, I imagine it’s something you’re quite familiar with.”

“No, it’s not that — why me?”

Izumi stared at her, wearing an expression that managed to combine amusement with confusion. “You really don’t get it, do you? If I’m your people, then you’re mine. And I don’t leave my people alone when they’re hurt. Conscious or otherwise.”

She didn’t know how to explain it. The way it made her feel. Like the sun was shining from inside her, spreading its light through her veins until warmth was the only thing her body knew. She wasn’t one for humility, but she genuinely wondered what she’d done to deserve it, this kindness that felt entirely unearned. Whatever the reason, she decided then and there that she’d fight to hold onto it, no matter the cost. 

“Very well.” The words came out softer than she intended. She forced herself to swallow the emotion back before she added, “But don’t avoid seeing the Elrics on my account. I imagine they’ll need you more than I will.”

Izumi waved her off. “Al will be in here for quite a while, I imagine. And Ed — well, I suspect he’ll be desperate for some time alone with his brother. The last thing they’ll want is my hovering.” 

“You don’t hover,” she said without meaning to. 

Izumi just smiled. She did that a lot, she’d noticed, and Olivier didn’t know how each one managed to convey something different. Amusement, joy, borderline impertinence, all finding their way into what should have been a simple expression. Maybe it was Izumi’s own kind of magic. Maybe they shared more than she thought. 

“You know,” she said, “it’s okay to put yourself first once and a while.”

“Maybe next time,” Olivier lied. 

Izumi shook her head as she looked back at the book in her lap. Part of her wanted to grab her attention again, to keep whatever this was going, but her eyes grew heavy again with sleep, and she could only hold it off for so long. She caved as she finally closed them. Silence slipped back in, broken only by the slight hum from the turning of pages. 

Sleep, the restful kind, had evaded her for the past few months. Even before this war and its revelations, it had always been a luxury she couldn’t afford, a risk she refused to take. But now, accompanied by the quiet presence of the woman sitting next to her, it knocked at her door. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, she let it in, without fear or hesitation.

[aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoldretired]

alrighty! im gonna talk about my two new dr!ocs and some updates on sheon’s whole thing. remember they don’t have names yet adkaljasdkfa

SURVIVOR: the ultimate jazz singer. 

as mentioned, she’s the ultimate jazz singer. pretty subdued personality, but she’s the type of jazz singer who would just. scream into a microphone a la screamin jay hawkins. she is pretty neutral/friendly but disconnected in the prologue/first chapter/second chapter. she gets more jittery as the interactions go on. but once you get to the post-fte section of chapter two, that night she actually tries to kill the protag. at this point its revealed her big Angsty Backstory is she got involved with drugs through the music scene and is currently suffering withdrawal symptoms and is Super desperate (something ive seen a lot with my co-musicians and its not good) big breakdown, really delirious, will eventually be talked off the ledge and calmed down. kind of like if sayaka was actually calmed down in thh chap 1

just so happens that during the night whoopsy someone else was killed. so you two have an alibi but to reveal it means you tell everyone about her issues. either there might be a lying feature like in drv3 to cover, or you tell the truth and end up isolating her. for chapter three and most of four she will keep her distance from the protag bc she’s uncomfortable but will eventually reach out to be friends again after chap 4 execution. 

is generally pretty useful during trials, tends to be a person who tries to help calm down more emotional students and look at things logically. is good at trying to calm down the blackened once the protag catches their bluff bc she understands what its like to be desperate. she does, however, cry during/after every punishment. tells others not to speak poorly of their executed classmates. 

she compulsively chews gum, and one of her favorite gifts would be gum. jokes about having an oral fixation. during school mode she might joke about singing love songs but being so awkward about it in real life. really likes dogs, has a dog plushie in her room. 

a first two fte will focus on her health/wellbeing. the third she’ll ask to not talk about that anymore and the next three are just about general stuff. the final one she’ll basically go a little further into detail but the moral of her story is like, she’s not a bad person for doing what she did, no one is. she’s just a person. and it cn happen to anymore.

dresses in clothes more inspired by late mod/early 70s fashion. hoestly im seeing like a turtleneck/pantsuit combo. short curly hair. big heavy under eyelashes. 

MASTERMIND: the ultimate drag racer (ultimate cruiser)

ok but I LOVE him. personality wise he’s the story’s anxious character, think closer in personality to chap 1 shuichi. quiet, skittish, easily flustered, sometimes cracks jokes that fall flat. he’s framed for the chap 1 murder (someone died in a go kart accident, its assumed he sabotaged the other car, his argument is why would he kill someone in a race in front of all his classmates?) the protag obviously works hard to prove he’s innocent. after the execution he makes a promise to the protag that he owes him one big time, and while it seems innocent at the time, the wording should have like. a slight suspicious undertone. 

he’ll investigate weirder areas of the school instead of practical (sometimes he has clues sometimes not) and if there’s ever a mechanical question for a trial, you’ll generally ask him for clarification. he’s not very trusting of others and is often the one to accuse others/bring the information learned in trials back into the real world and make a big deal out of it. for example, he’ll make a big deal about the attempted murder in chap 2, and he’s the one who’s constantly accusing sheon of being a traitor

at first he seems like he’s just anxious, but obviously, he’s the mastermind, and he’s trying to tear the group apart. 

his fte he’s awkward the first few times but he opens up slowly, showing actual comfort/joy around the protag. wants to be close friends. offers to take protag go karting. while their personality is pretty awkward most of the time, there are flashes of an adrenaline junky every now and then especially when talking about cars, where he seems so full of life and drive it’s almost scary. very competitive during these times, his determination almost taking a sadistic glee when talking about beating others. of course he explains it as his cutthroat sport, but ya know...mastermind. instead of saying we’re going to survive he says we’re going to win. friendly towards the others but doesn’t really care about them focused on protag. is consciously trying to seperate protag from sheon.

for a mastermind he’s actually quite the empath and grows attached to his classmates, which he actually takes pleasure in the amount of despair he feels after each of their executions. reason behind the game is the adrenaline rush he feels, never has felt more alive than on despair. he discovered the rush the first time he got in a car accident, and the moments before his crash where like pure bliss. he wanted to let everyone else feel his feverish joy, and talks about how everyone has enjoyed this, deep down. they’re all getting their sick kicks. breaks the fourth wall and alludes to the fact that the protag (through the player) is having the most fun of all. 

final trial where it’s revealed, he’s still v attached to the protag in like an almost yandere way and wants to follow up on the favor he owes from chap 1. he offers a deal to the protag where if they’re welcome to be their accomplice in all this and get out of the game. protag should push to bargain that everyone can give up their morals, sacrifice themselves to despair, and live as the mastermind’s accomplice in exchange for ending the killing game. 

eventually, he’ll agree, but only if the group decides one life among them to sacrifice for no other reason than to kill an innocent friend. the way to get to the correct ending is to choose yourself which will like invalidate the deal. protag ends up dying and everyone else lives. leaves the mastermind in a despair, but for the first time, he does not derive any pleasure. 

takes a LOT OF GLEE in admitting he convinced everyone else sheon was the traitor when she was not, everyone else is horrified.

anyways. his school mode/love mode events show his more likeable side, he can actually be a really cute partner if it weren’t for the part he’s evil but uh. soft sometimes. 

really likes energy drinks. talks about sponsorships. color scheme is like. a black racing suit but his jacket is tied around his waist and he’s wearing a wife beater. tons of accents of neon all over his outfit from like patches and brand deals. backwards hat. blushes easily. has a mullet. i love him. 

“TRAITOR” : SHEON FUKUDA (the ultimate film maker) 

ok so. still antagonistic. but more in the way of pushing your buttons and pointing out your flaws in a trial. like somewhere between antagonist and kirigiri. super chill personality, cracks a lot of jokes, is hardcore struggling with the games and will be open about her mental illness. her fatal flaw is still her martyr complex

is first framed after chap 2 bc of accused of having the ability to direct and oversee a production like this, and from that moment forward no one can trust her and she’s SUPER alienated. she’s still awkwardly trying to be friends/friendly but people act like she’s going to betray them all. tries to prove innocence multiple times going as far as to beginning of chap 3 announce to the group if they need to kill anyone, let it be her so no one else gets hurt and is super transparent about who she is. but this transparency makes people more suspicious. as she goes on she gets more desperate/gallows humor. last convo bfore chap 5 begins she has a vague conversation about with protag about if they fear death. chap 5 would end up being either a suicide or double murder (they killed each other one in attack the other while being defended against) so there’s no execution but monokuma still wants something. its also in this trial that the ultimate drag racer plants evidence taht makes it look like she’s the traitor and is addressed head on. 

a common motif for her is ‘playing the role assigned’ and knowing who she is and who she isn’t. she’s pretty comfortable knowing who she is but expresses unhappiness about being painted a villain. maybe like, three times through the story to this point it’s established as a motif/quirk of fitting a role she’s assigned bc if the protag asks her a question about herself/past/the overall story, she asks the protag a question like well, what do you want 1) 2) and you choose and she’s like. ok. then its _______. same thing here. as she’s finally excused she stares at the protag and is like do you really believe im the traitor? (yes) stares long and hard, somethng sad and defeated in her eyes. ok then. i am.

the trial doesn’t have a punishment originally planned bc the blackened are not alive. but she chooses not to vote and willingly chooses to be punished because everyone else has decided she’s the traitor and she chooses to play along so they can get closure. her last conversation should be about choosing the act of resistance, no matter how convoluted it can be. she doesn’t fear death. the pain sure, but not death. this was her choice to be punished, not the masterminds, and she hopes they lose any glee they take in her suffering because its a sacrifice for hope instead of a death in despair. last request is that she asks for the protag to make sure the manuscripts she wrote during her time are published, the last great work of sheon fukuda.

EXECUTION: CULTURE SHOCK so she wakes up on a soundstage to blinding light. she’s attached with electrodes. monokuma is sitting on a director’s chair with a director’s hat. basically the premise is as the ultimate film maker, she has to recreate different iconic movie scenes and every time she makes a mistake she gets shocked. she keeps on getting thrown into new scenes into the middle of old ones, throwing her off. after a sequence of costume changes/farces she finally collapses in the soundstage. 

beat. she looks up. above the soundstage is a sign that says “congratulations” or something. everyone gasps. she believes she beat it. a single light comes on in center stage prompting her to take a bow. she stumbles over, stands up, and looks into the shadows in the general direction of her classmates. a teleprompter prompts her classmates to clap. she takes glee, soaking in her win, and bows. as she comes up she smiles for a second before a short rings out. she’s shot through the heart. culture shock!

fte are mostly talking about directors/film references and what its like to be a film maker. real dry humor, sometimes talks about deeper stuff. her backstory is that her dad was working for an american embassy so she grew up in america going to art shool, and she feels out of place, despite being a japanese student with the same basic culture as everyone else. sometimes talks about slimeball directors, sometimes talks about missing certain food, loves takling about movies. as a filmmaker she specializes in dark comedy/farce which makes her suspicious of how someone can enjoy writing somethng so twisted

views are very intersectional, a little new agey, but still well put together. clearly a free spirit, very quirky from working in cinema, super dry sense of humor. likes philosophy

really likes blueberry jam. favorite item is somthing blueberry.

after chap 1 trial she expresses to the protag how she can never be the blackened, not just because of murdering one student, but to get away with it, everyone else would be punished instead, and she can’t deal with the blood on her hands. 

is open about her struggles with mental illness and how she was getting help and showing improvement bfore coming here but now she feels herself spiraling and hates it.

values everyone here as good friends, and while she tries to play it off she hates how they’re painting her as a villain. takes every death very personally. 

color scheme is very pastel, and she wears sweat pants and a collared shirt with a light blue robe. you can’t tell if those are pajamas or an outfit. wears rose-colored glasses. all about the aesthetic, just lean so far into film culture with her. personality/feelings towards style are very influenced by the fact she went to an american arts school instead of a japanese school like her peers so every part of her is slightly off/quirky/out-of-touch

she’ll mostly wear the glasses over her eyes, sometimes pushing them down on her nose for emphasis to make eye contact. only her anger sprite (point) shows her taking them off. 

during her execution she pushes them onto her forehead before taking her bow, almost to meet eye to eye. after she’s shot the last frame is them landing on the ground, cracking. 

i love sheon so much

[ain-t-bovvered]

15x05 Commentary

bunch of tired and caffeinated Europeans ( plus a sleepy American) scream together, and then die and try to get on with their day ( lol AS IF)

Hello and welcome:

@smol-and-grumpy​​  (Nat)

@dean-winchesters-bacon​​​  (Kat)  

@waywardbaby​​​  (Zee)

@ain-t-bovvered  (Giulia)

Zee: Careful with the coffee

Giulia: Never

Zee: I mean careful you don’t spill it again

Giulia: It’s “paint with bob ross” kinda morning

Zee: Whenever y’all ready

Zee: Someone should wake Kat up

Nat : I’m ready

Giulia: Ready

Zee: I’ll scream at Kat

Giulia: @Kat yo bitch wassup

Nat : @Kat are you still up?

Zee: Houston we got a problem

Nat : Shall we wait

Giulia: Y’all in a pinch. She’ll see the texts ..?

Nat : Nah didn’t see one since 7.47. I mean she didn’t read one since then, I’m almost positive that she fell asleep

Giulia: @Kat  lol poor bb

Nat : Ok the rest of you ready

Giulia: Ya

Zee: Yep

Nat : go

Nat : Yummy

Giulia: Aaaah hell yeah

Zee: Beautiful

Giulia: Crack

Nat : It’s just us

Zee: Not Rowena again

Giulia: DON T MAKE ME WATCH ROWENA AGAIN

Giulia: NOT THE BREAKUP AGAIN

Giulia: NOOOOOOO

Zee: Not dean being a dick again

Giulia: THE PAIN I DIDN T NEED

Nat : Ah they ded

Zee: They dead

Giulia: no one is that clean during a camping trip. With make up and cute hair

Nat : 11years of not dying

Zee: She said it right

Nat : Are they triplets?

Zee: Who is so clean on camping

Nat : Yeah, I wish I looked like that when I go camping

Giulia: Also those immaculate white socks

Zee: I do t go camping

Zee: First dead

Giulia: Nice fake lashes bish

Nat : The camping alone is so wrong. At least make it believable

Giulia: Fuckinng hate those 90s hats. Why are they back They should burn

Nat : No, JUlie is not ok

Giulia: The fuck u doing

Zee: Why do people ask that after they hear someone screaming

Giulia: Oh she was doing it right

Giulia: Hewwo

Zee: He’s huge

Giulia: what she said

Giulia: AWE AWE AWE

Nat : Sam texts Cas

Giulia: JARED BB

Nat : SAM DIDN’T EVEN KNOW CAS TOOK OFF

Giulia: UGH IM HURT

What’s the last text??? I wanna knoooooow

“Cass  _(b/h)_ _ k  in  _ _    _ _ _ p “

anyone have suggestions?

D: Hey, you know they make Ghost Pepper Jerky? S: Uh, you’re not gonna like it.

Zee: Food again

S: Dude, ghost peppers are really hot.

D: It’s really good. I like it.

Giulia: lol Me

Nat : YOU WEAK DEAN

Zee: New reaction gif

Giulia: Me with vodka. And spicy stuff

Zee: He’s trying tho

Nat : Water does not help Deano

Giulia: Snort I cannot

Giulia: U DESERVE IT

Nat : HE REALLY DESERVED IT snorts

Zee: He has puked in his mouth

Giulia: What he’s saying lol

Giulia: AH

Nat : Yeah sure that helps

Giulia: new reaction gif

Zee: This is ridiculous

D: Oh, sweet mother

Nat : Hi Samifer

Zee: OH NO

Giulia: OH NO FRIED CHICKEN SUIT

D: Please forgive me.

Nat : Ah, that’s the scene then

Giulia: no

Giulia: JESUS

Nat : NO FUCK I DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING

Giulia: neither did sam

Nat : WHAT SHE SAID

Zee: WTF

Nat : Ah, what a surprise

Giulia: oh wow

Nat : no

Nat : NO

Nat : N.O.

Giulia: Nice and toasty

Nat : Listen

Zee: I don’t like this

Giulia: From meat man to BBQ man

Nat : WHAT IF THIS IS A FORESIGHT (do you call it that?)

Giulia: Yeah

Nat : WHAT IF THIS WILL BE THE END. SAMIFER AGAINST DEAN

Zee: Yes

Nat : DEAN DIES EVERY TIME

Nat : SHUT UP NAT

Giulia: Well we don’t know if lucifer is gonna be there again tho

Zee: Yeah. Shut up Nat

Important announcement :

nice, proceed

D: Fish and Wildlife.

D: Look at you. You look like a baby.

Giulia: 2 babies

Giulia: Can i have that mug lol

Zee: Obviously

Nat : Obviously

Giulia: Obviously

Giulia: Oh look at use spelling it all right in one sitting

Giulia: *us

Giulia: FUCK

Zee: Their legs tho

Giulia: I can’t with those hats

Zee: Friend’s? Not sisters?

Giulia: Ah so pretty

Giulia: Good hair

Nat : She’s so pretty in the hospital bed

Giulia: Make up on point, Lashes

Zee: You have a thing with that

Giulia: I love fake lashes so much, I want them 24/7

Nat : I mean COME THE FUCK ON, at least try?

D: Whatever you saw.. we’ll believe you.

Giulia: Awe soft dean

Zee: That close up

Giulia: DEAN DON T BE SOFT WHEN IM ANGRY WITH YOU

Nat : Why do the doctors not put something on that gash?

Giulia: RIGHT

Zee: Because she has to at least look like she’s been attacked

Nat : Listen, I have a problem with that

Nat : So now her tears go into that gash

Nat : Very sanitary

Giulia: NO STOP IT DEAN STOP BEING SOFT IM SO ANGRY

Giulia: FUCK U

D: Werewolves, monsters – they’re all real. And me and my brother – we hunt them, and we kill them.

D:  That’s what we do.

Giulia: aaah yes the bad werewolf

Nat : Doesn’t make sense that the werewolf let her go

D: Hey. Whatever you’re worried about, hey, whatever comes at you, we will handle it.

Nat : STOP IT DEAN *throws hands in the air"

Giulia: BABY

Giulia: SOFT BABY

Nat : Yeah, rub your hand in your gash. That’s gonna make it better

Zee: I don’t think we can be angry at Dean this ep

Giulia: Fucking watch me

Nat : ANGRY

D:  I promise you that.

Giulia: what a pretty shot

Zee: FOCUS

D: Hi there. You mind if we have a moment of your time?

Moon Moon #1 : Can we say no?

Moon Moon#2 : We just don’t have a lot of visitors.

Moon Moon #1 : Because we don’t want visitors.

Zee: THATS YOU ?

Giulia: He’s me

Giulia: And @Nat

Nat : Oh Oh

Zee: The look

Zee: I want some visitors

Giulia: That s why i didn t tag you

Giulia: Shifty eyes sam

Nat : You go out to the woods at night a lot? That sounded like a pick up line

Nat : Ah wolf fight

Nat : Ah they brothers

Nat : I thought they were lovers

Giulia: I thought they were a couple

Zee: I thought they were friends

omg they are brothers

Nat : snorts

Giulia: Aaah can t wait for the parallels

Nat : Can I already roll my eyes at them

Giulia: Im already doing that

Nat : Sleepy Bear Inn

Zee: Wtf she wearing ffs?!

Giulia: A good berret

Nat : WHAT IS SHE WEARIING

Giulia: A berret

Zee: There she is

Giulia: Bad color

Zee: Hideous color

Giulia: But all berrets are good. It’s IKEA’s color and i hate it

Giulia: My god doesn t she looks like mini donna tho

S: I just – This case – I mean, it – it just feels weird.We – We roll into town. There’s an eyewitness. We find them immediately. Doesn’t it seem a little too easy?

It’s what we’ve been saying

A : Actually…um…could you stay with me?  Just until I fall asleep?

Zee: Stay with me

Nat : Could you stay with me. Hey

Giulia: Get in line bih

Zee: I really need to pee

Giulia: Keep it

A: Do you like your job?

D: Right. Do I like it? Uh… I do. I mean, there’s bad, don’t get wrong. There’s a lot of bad. Still, it feels good to help people.

Giulia: …DEAN NO

Nat : So she will sleep in those clothes? The make up too

Giulia: dat gloss

Zee: Why does he do that?

Giulia: That shirt is crying for mercy

Zee: Giuls, enough with the make up

Giulia: Insert dean’s bitching gif

No it’s important

Nat : I don’t understand why they couldn’t do it a little more real

Zee: I’m where I’m supposed to be

Nat : Insert Dean’s gagging gif

Giulia: Stop wasting screen time with that

A: Wouldn’t it be great if everything was just planned out for you…if it was all just already decided?

Nat : Why doesn’t she lie down

Giulia: Look at those lines

Zee: I AM

Giulia: And jaw line

Giulia: And scruff

Nat : Stop

Giulia: Pouty lips

Nat : Ah

Zee: Great

Giulia: Ok but HOW those 2 dumb shits got past Dean Winchester tho

Giulia: I don’t understand

Nat : It’s MEH But the lashes on point

Giulia: What is happening

Zee: And they know that they suspect them

Nat : What are they

Giulia: WHERE DID THEY RAN BITCH

Nat : I don’t think shes’ “Ashley”

Giulia: those teeth are so bad my god

Nat : I dunno. It’s gotten worse don’t you think? Throughout the year?

Zee: He shot his brother

Nat : Yeah

Giulia: Well

Nat : I saw that coming

Giulia: PARALLELS they did foreshadow

Giulia: Oh wow

Giulia: Lol

Giulia: K

Giulia: Bye

Giulia: Hate this

Zee: Can he stop?

Giulia: …

Nat : Ah

Giulia: NO

Nat : Okay

Giulia: Hate it

Nat : That was weird.

Nat : You don’t say

Giulia: Fuck

Nat : OH

Zee: WTF??!!

Nat : WHAT?

Zee: Shut the fuck up

Giulia: WELL WOW

Zee: Lilith

Nat : LILITH

Giulia: oh come on

Giulia: Oh right she did got out

Giulia: …seduce dean?

Giulia: SHE TOO YOUNG OMG

what I meant here is , although Lilith is a centenary demon whatever, the body she is in is too young looking for Dean, and honestly…gross ok

Giulia: ah she did put dean to sleep

Zee: I love the hard way

Nat : I mean, did someone expect anything else to happen

Giulia: No dean come on

Zee: What?

Nat : What

Giulia: hate it

Giulia: OH HEWWO

Zee: Demon

Nat : Hi

Giulia: BB

Giulia: I MISSED U

Zee: Back off

Nat : Mmmhh

Giulia: yum

Giulia: YUMMY

Giulia: YUUUUUUM

Nat : Eats him alive

Giulia: MY GOD

Nat : How do I get the feeling that at the end one of the brothers will die

Zee: He came and left

Giulia: He really did sigh

and left us satisfied but already wanting more

Nat : I need to pee

Giulia: KEEP IT

Giulia: i was burning last time

Zee: Nine more minutes Nat

Zee: She’s sassy tho

Zee: One brother killing the other ??!!

Nat : ONE BROTHER KILLING THE OTHER

Giulia: Of course

Zee: I don’t want this

Nat : They are getting us accustomed

Giulia: US

Giulia: AH that’s from the trailer

Zee: STOP IT BITCH

Zee: WE UPGRADED

Giulia: Thanks grandpa winchester

Nat : She upgraded too

Giulia: Oh ok

Zee: Oh crap

Giulia: Out of god’s control

Giulia: DON T TOUCH BABY

Nat : It’s in the car

Giulia: DON T

Zee: Bitch

Giulia: OH THANK GOD

Giulia: Wait

Nat : Great

Giulia: Of course

Giulia: What was that face dean

Nat : Hate it

Giulia: YEAH IS THAT CAS

Zee: He’s asking about Cas?

Giulia: AWE THEY KEEP HIM INFORMED

Zee: Shouldn’t have driven him away imbecile

Giulia: well did you two really believed it

Giulia: What

Giulia: WELL I DON T

Nat : THEY ALL END THE SAME WAY

Giulia: what I said

Nat : FORESHADOWING

Nat : We should probably let Becky write the ending

Giulia: Yeah Well Not really If her ship is still the same

Nat : She’s changed

Giulia: Well she’s evaporated so

Nat : DEAN STOP YOUR FACE

Zee: Well, Dean has lost faith

Giulia: They both need to shut their faces

Nat : STOP THIS MEH I CAN’T STAND IT

Nat : Trailer?

Giulia: Ok but like the episodes have less and less positivity in them. They are darker and hopeless and I kinda live for it

Zee: Next week witches

Giulia: Meh witches, That are not rowena

Nat : I’d love if they would have some good real make up

Nat : CAS

Nat : Why won’t they stop hurting Sam?

Zee: I HAVE TO PEE

Nat : ME too

Giulia: What

Nat : Cas was in the trailer

Giulia: …WHERE

Zee: WHERE ?

Nat : Or is it a flash back

Giulia: OH YESH

Giulia: I was distracted by y’all talking

Kat: I can’t believe I fell asleep. What a loser.

Zee: Bb. You needed sleep.

Kat: I DIDN’T WANT IT

Nat : Sometimes you don’t always get what you want

Zee: Thanks Nat

Kat: Like I wanted my demon to have at least one sassy line but NO

Nat : Good that you were asleep because we salty enough lol

Kat: I glanced through. How’d y’all like the parallels and Lilith’s return?

Zee: THE PARALLELS . LOVED THEM

Zee: Right @Nat  ?

Kat: Do you think shouting makes you sound less sarcastic?

Kat: The only thing I got really annoyed about was them having the gun in the glove compartment. The boys would never put it there

Giulia: Dean would have kept it close to his hands or in the bunker

Nat : MEH MEH MEH MEH

Nat : I’m annoyed that the girls look picture perfect. Don’t get us started on the lashes

Zee: Hi Giuls

Giulia: Listen. I’m ok with make up , but at least make it natural That wasn’t natural

*it was supernatural….snort*

Giulia: Who has eyeshadow in the hospital And what is with the yellow theme. Idk if that was a choice or not. Whatever all seems more…theatrical or is it just me

Kat: The first scene definitely was. I mean the first girl to get killed was in a skirt camping for fucks sake

Nat : I mean, who wears make up for camping?

Kat: Did y’all notice the salmons on the boys hats?  SALMONDEAN

Kat: And the curtains at the end? Thanks Rich, didn’t need that punch in the heart after my baby was already crying

Giulia: A salmon yeah…what s the dean part?

Kat: It’s a joke I’ve seen them do at panels. You know people say Sam and Dean like it’s one word? Jared thought it sounded like salmondean and there’s been a whole bit about it

Nat : Yeah, I noticed the hats but I didn’t look that close to what fish it is

Giulia: I don t hear it. But ok

Kat: Are you pronouncing the L?

Giulia: No because it’s not there

Nat : snorts

Kat: Right Just checking

Kat: I just- My demon 😍

Zee: I’m feeling things again

Nat : Is ghost pepper jerky a thing?

Kat: Yes All kinds of jerky

Nat : We only have like honey and teriaky besides the “original”? So lame

Kat: I went to a jerky store in Florida once. Dean would be in meat heaven.

Giulia: I wanna be in a meat heaven

Giulia: What

Nat : I wanna be in man meat heaven

Kat: I wanna be in meat man heaven

Nat : I rewatched some scenes and like, why did the writer write for Lilith to try to “seduce” Dean. It’s kinda weird

Giulia: IT IS WEIRD AF. I hated it

Nat : Do they think that Dean will hump every young thing that bats their fake eyelashes at him tho

Giulia: Idk maybe chuck version

Nat : It was 10 years ago. Sam was older then too

Nat : Chuck watches too much porn. Probably has a daddy kink too

Kat: Yeah gross

Nat : The ending will be like Chuck wants it. One of the brothers dead. Probably he wants for Dean to kill Sam but then Dean offers to kill himself or by the hands of Sam and then at the last moment, Sam can kill Chuck somehow but it’s already too late because Dean’s drawing his last breath.

Or they find the way to have the Equalizer back, Dean offers himself to the the one pulling the trigger against Chuck but then Sam somehow wrestles the gun from him and shoots Chuck, leaving Dean there, watching as his brother dies and all his purpose in life until now.

Nat : AH SHUT UP NAT

Zee: DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO THAN SHRED MY HEART TO PIECES??!!! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!!!

Zee posts something hurtful on 19/11

Giulia: Why u attacking us on a tuesday

Zee: 🤷‍♀

Nat : Great job in ignoring my theories

Giulia: I don t like them

Giulia: insert Becky’s monologue

.

.

If you want to get tagged send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @wayward-angelgirl​  @destiel-honeypie​      @mariekoukie6661​      @dragontamerm​       @closetspngirl​    @rainflowermoon​     @mattiecat​       @bunnybaby121115​  @aliaitee2​    @jacks-word-of-the-day​     @4evamc​       @dammitsammy​     @legendary-destiel​   @winchesterprincessbride​    @destielhoneybee​    @castiellover20   @ravenhg​ @evvvissticante​ @emoryhemsworth​ @markofdean79​

[no6secretsanta]

On the morrow he will leave me

Hey gecko (@lostemotion)! I was your secret santa this year! I took your prompt to heart and came up with this fic. I hope you like it! Happy holidays! <3 - Ace (@hi-im-secretly-satan) Word count: 2161 Warnings: none Summary: Nezumi has a tendency of leaving Shion behind without saying where he’s going, or when (if) he’ll come back, leaving Shion to simply having to trust he will return. Nezumi’s wandering spirit as seen through Shion’s eyes. Title from The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.

—

The first time Nezumi had left him, Shion was twelve years old.

The rat had crashed into his life, soaking wet, and filled a void Shion hadn’t even known existed. As soon as he woke up alone in his bed (suddenly way too big for just one person) and saw the two empty cups of hot cocoa on his desk and the open window (the only traces of Nezumi’s presence), the emptiness crashed over him like a wave and had left him incomplete, always yearning for that missing piece. It was almost like Nezumi had not only taken the checkered flannel and the first aid box, but also his innocence.

The months following their strange encounter had been hard. At night Rashi’s face flashed through his mind, with his cold smile that never reached his eyes. Asking questions like “why” and “where”. Why had he taken in VC103221? Where did VC103221 go? Buried deep under the covers, Shion asked himself the same questions. Why had he let that bleeding boy in? Stitched his wound, fed him his own food, clothed him in his own clothes? And where had Nezumi gone? Each time Shion relived his memories searching for answers, he only found more questions. If he could turn back the hands of time, return to his old room and watch the hurricane crashing down on the city, would he still open the window if he knew the price he would pay? Save Nezumi while knowing it would cost him his prestige and his comfort here in Kronos? No matter how many times Shion thought about it, turned it over, analysed every bit of data at hand, he always came to the same conclusion.

Yes, he would.

But after all the wondering and pondering, the question he found nagging at him the most was “Will I ever see him again?”

Oh, how Shion longed to unravel the mystery that had thrown his life upside down. He needed to see Nezumi again; gather more data than his memories contained. In those grey eyes raged a storm he wanted to lose himself in. He wondered what could have scarred Nezumi’s back at such a young age. Wondered where and how Nezumi had learned to effortlessly, coldly, render him motionless, ready to kill if needed. There was so much Nezumi hadn’t told him and Shion wanted nothing more than for Nezumi to take his hand and show him this new, mesmerizing world he had never known existed.

-

Meeting Nezumi again was everything and nothing like Shion had hoped. He had not expected Nezumi to come to his rescue, but then again he hadn’t expected to be labeled a criminal either. It surprised Shion how little he cared about having to flee No.6. As irrational as it was, he had a feeling that as long as Nezumi was by his side, he’d be able to survive anything. After four years of living with a memory, the real Nezumi was within his grasp and this time Shion would not let go so easily.

Nezumi was still the same contradictory enigma he had been when he was twelve. He told Shion not to be kind to strangers, yet he had given Shion’s flannel to one of the children living nearby. He told Shion to let go of his memories, yet clung to his own past. But the one thing Shion couldn’t wrap his head around was how Nezumi had kept an eye on him for four years, watching him from the shadows and keeping him out of trouble, yet now he seemed almost hostile. They got into fights and every night Nezumi left him. Nezumi left him just like he did all those years ago. Whenever Shion asked why, where to, or when he’d get back, he dodged the questions.

One night, a month or two after Shion had arrived in West Block, he was alone in the underground room again. Nezumi had run off somewhere without telling him where the day before, and hadn’t come back. The stew Shion had made earlier that evening was cooling down on the stove. He hadn’t wanted to have dinner alone, but it was getting late and his stomach growled. He had never known hunger back in No.6, had never known how hard it was to ignore, making it impossible to focus on other things. His clothes were baggier on him than he remembered them being. Another growl echoed through the vault and Hamlet chirped on his shoulder. Shion smiled and reached up to scratch its head.

“We can’t eat yet. Nezumi isn’t home,” he said with a sad smile. He put down his book, the enchantment of the “Lady of Shalott” broken by hunger and worries. He ran his fingers over the spine of the book and stared at a stain on the open page. Hesitantly, as if speaking the words out loud would make them come true, he asked, “Do you think he will come back?” The mouse chirped again, seemingly reprimanding him. Shion chuckled and shook his head, scolding himself for even daring to think Nezumi wouldn’t come back. This was his home, after all. “You’re right, of course he will.”

He loved his new life with Nezumi but he couldn’t deny it was lonely when Nezumi wasn’t here, even though he had the mice to keep him company. With a sigh, he closed his book and pushed himself off the floor. Right when he had turned the stove back on to heat up their dinner, the door opened and Nezumi stepped inside, a gust of wind accompanying him. It seemed to storm wherever he went.

Immediately all of Shion’s worries melted away, the tension flowed out of his body and he sent Nezumi a bright smile. “Welcome home.”

He had been foolish to doubt Nezumi. Of course he would always come back. No matter how many times Nezumi left him, he always came back. Even when Nezumi had collapsed on stage, when Shion feared his life had been taken by a parasite bee, Nezumi had opened his eyes and called out Shion’s name.

So surely Nezumi must come back to him now as well. That was the thought that grounded him as Shion stared at his hands, painted red with Nezumi’s blood. A sight he’d never expected to see since he had stitched up his shoulder. It was a silly thought, but after Shion had watched Nezumi survive so many perils that were sure to kill him, he had come to think it was impossible for Nezumi to die. He had forgotten Nezumi bled just like humans do. He had forgotten that Nezumi was human. Nezumi, who laughed, danced, fought, bled, was human.

And now here he was, lying on the floor of the Correctional Facility, his pale skin crying crimson, sluggishly gushing bloody tears, his breathing shortening and pulse slowly, slowly, slowing down. Dying like humans do.

A vague voice in the back of Shion’s head yelled at him to get up, drag him to safety, tend to his wound like you did all those years ago. Shion slowly tore his gaze away from his bloodied hands, stared at Nezumi’s face which was growing paler by the second.

Get up! the voice screamed. After you have saved each other so many times, do you really want to let him die now?

“He killed Safu….” Shion murmured.

You know that is not true. You have both killed people. You are both drenched in sin. Now get up and save Nezumi, otherwise he will never come back to you.

A soft whimper, impossibly loud in the cacophony of death and destruction around them, snapped Shion’s attention back to the bleeding body in his arms.

Right. He had to save Nezumi. He had to save Nezumi and get out of the Correctional Facility. Inukashi and Rikiga were waiting for them. His mother was waiting for them. And together they’d return to that room underground - to their home.

Shion hooked his arms under Nezumi’s armpits and started dragging him to the nearest room, wincing as he watched another wave of blood flow from Nezumi’s chest. He was going to save Nezumi, even if it would cost him his own life.

-

Even before he was fully awake his mind had registered every cell in his sore and battered body screaming in pain. But as he opened his eyes and recognised the storage room that also used to function as his bedroom, the memories of the past few days slowly washed over him and the pain turned into a pleasant ache. The injuries were almost a trophy, proof that he and Nezumi had destroyed the Correctional Facility, destroyed No. 6 and received a second chance from Elyurias.

Nezumi.

Shion looked over at the other side of the bed and found it empty. Although they had shared a bed in the West Block as well, he was no stranger to waking up alone, for various reasons. But today, waking up without Nezumi was a punch to the gut. After everything they had been through, the horrors they had witnessed and survived, he couldn’t bear being alone. He had to know if Nezumi was still alive.

A breeze caressed his cheek and he glanced at the window. Karan had opened it last night for some fresh air and they hadn’t closed it. Shion sat up, blankets pooling around his waist, and stared outside. Was this a repeat of four years ago? Had Nezumi really left him already? Again? Or had it all been an eerily realistic fever dream? He did not know which would be worse.

-

The relief he had felt when he had found Nezumi standing in the door opening, a cup of coffee in his hands and a gentle smile on his face, his hair swaying in the breeze and fondly greeting him with his usual “your majesty” was nothing compared to the feeling of rejection that shook him to his very core when Nezumi had told him he wanted to travel. The sparkle in Nezumi’s eyes when he spoke of discovering distant lands made Shion envious, wishing Nezumi would look upon him with the same wonder as he gazed at the landscapes.

But as much as the truth hurt, Shion knew deep in his heart that this was for the best. The idea of making a home here was paradise to Shion, but to Nezumi it would be a prison. He was a free spirit that should not be caged. Still, that did not stop him from pleading Nezumi to stay anyway. As they stood in the fields and Nezumi checked his provisions one final time, ready to leave on a long trip to unknown destinations, it was suddenly hard to breathe.

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Nezumi’s hand and called out his name. “I’m begging you. Please don’t leave, Nezumi. A world without you means nothing to me. Nothing, Nezumi. There isn’t any meaning at all.“ The words tumbled over his lips in a desperate attempt to convince Nezumi to stay. He half expected Nezumi to scold him for saying weird things again, but then gentle fingers on his chin lifted his head and Nezumi’s face was suddenly a lot closer than it had been. He barely got to protest before Nezumi pressed his lips against his. A hand came up to cradle his jaw and Shion squeezed his eyes shut, not caring about the tears that spilled over his cheeks. As one who is shipwrecked clings to a piece of driftwood that once belonged to the ship that carried and guided him over the vast oceans in life, so Shion reached up and clung to Nezumi’s arm like it was the only thing capable of grounding him. Sorrow, yearning, anguish, love, and more feelings he could not even identify rushed through him and threatened to drown him.

When he finally came back up for air, Shion almost didn’t dare to ask for fear of his heart shattering. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He doubted he ever would be. But more than that, he could not bear the thought of never seeing Nezumi again. He did not know what he would do with himself if Nezumi truly never returned to him. He couldn’t-

“It was a promise,” Nezumi replied with a gentle smile. He carefully untangled himself from Shion and pocketed his hands. “Reunion will come, Shion.” Nezumi sent him a final, longing look and with that, he turned away.

As Shion watched him casually walking down the rocky path like he was simply going out for a stroll, he thought of the questions he had asked himself when he was thirteen, hiding under the covers, and the answers he had gotten during their winter together. He realised most questions still went unanswered, but that was all right. As long as one question would be answered, nothing else mattered.

Will I ever see you again?

[ohtheseboysilove]

My favourite girl [Gwilym Lee x F!Reader]

Words : 1, 100 K +

Summary : Reader suffer with chronic illness and feel like a burden sometime. But Gwilym strongly disagree with that.

Note : Uuurgh im not very satisfied with this one, it was a hard subject and I wanted to do something good. Anyway im sorry it’s a bit shitty but i hope you gonna like it ! And im really sorry for what you’re going through with your endometriosis, i hope you’re doing alright even if I’m sure it’s not easy every day :/

🌼Request are open🌼☀ Masterlist ☀

You sighed deeply as you recognised Gwilym’s voice. Of course he came, even if you told him you couldn’t go to the date he planned for both of you tonight.

"Gwil I don’t want to see me like that" You replied as entered the room anyway, you gave him an emergency keys and you almost regretted as he stood in front of your bed. He was handsome as ever and you...well it wasn’t your best day, definitively. "What are you doing here ?” You snapped a bit harsher than you wanted to but you weren’t in a good mood.

The brunette didn’t seem to care and gently sat on the side of your bed, his hand grabbing yours with a soft smile.

“I just wanted to see you, love. I didn’t see you for almost a week" He replied as his thumb slowly traced your fingers.

You knew his words weren’t mean but you took them like an accusation, the pain and tiredness rolling in every part of your body clouding your judgment.

"No need to come all this way to say what I already know !” You lay back and turned your back to Gwil, feeling completely powerless. "I know it’s my fault if we can’t see each other like we want to"

“(Y/N), honey...it’s certainly not your fault. I never thought that, not for a second" You heard the sound of clothes falling on the ground and soon enough, you saw him walking around the bed to join the other side, only wearing the pyjama pants he left at your place, for days like that, unplanned sleepover.

The brunette smiled tenderly and slid under the blanket, his hand coming on your cheek, rubbing it slowly.

"Hi gorgeous" He murmured before pressing a kiss on the top of your nose, making you giggled gently. "I know you didn’t want me here but I couldn’t resist to come and see my favourite girl” You flushed at his words, you would never get use to be the lucky who dated this incredible man. "I brought your favourite dessert”

“Cookie dough ice cream ?" You asked sheepishly as his hand kept caressing your skin, tracing random patterns very softly.

"Of course" The British replied with a wink and he smiled when you pressed a quick kiss on his pretty lips. “So...what do you want to do tonight ?”

Your smile fell, this damn pain wouldn’t let you have a nice evening with your boyfriend. He was in your bed, bare chest and looking like a whole five-courses meal but still, you couldn’t do what you really want. Life was unfair.

"We can’t do much, all my body ached like crazy, I’m sorry Gwil, I—"

“Hey, stop apologising for something you can’t control honey” He put one of his finger on your mouth, intimating to stop your rambling. "I happy to do nothing with you” You both chuckled at his answer, looking at each other with a loving gaze.

"Maybe...maybe you could read for me ?" He arched a brow and you felt yourself blushed harder. "I really really like your voice, I’m never bored of hearing it"

He smiled softly and it was his turn to blush.

“I can do that. Do you want me to bring your heating pad ? I saw it in your living-room" You nodded eagerly, warmth applied on your painful muscles was exactly what you needed. "And some ice cream maybe ?” You simply smiled widely for all answer and he chuckled before leaving the room.

You slowly sat up, grunting in pain. You were pissed off to have this constant soreness in your frame, it was driving you insane. You moved your pillows, trying to find a comfy position for your back then grabbed your current reading, Into the wild. You already read this book several times but you definitively had a soft spot for the story of Christopher McCandless also known as Alexander Supertramp. And Gwilym reading it could only be even better.

“Here honey, do you need anything else ?” The tall british gave your heating pad and put the ice-cream bowl on the night table, his fingers brushing away few strand of locks from your face.

“I’m alright, thank you Gwil” You replied with a soft smile, wrapped the heating pad around your lower abdomen, a light sigh escaping your lips. You felt a tiny bit better.

The brunette grabbed your book and pushed his glasses on his aquiline nose, giving him a very hot british look. You pressed your cheek onto his chest, one of his arm sliding on your shoulder, the other one holding your book. He cleared his throat as you filled your mouth with a spoonful of delicious ice-cream, your eyes looking adoringly at him. Gwilym started reading and you couldn’t repress the happy smile which creep on your features, his warm and velvet voice helping you relax.

“My point is that you do not need me or anyone else around to bring this new kind of light in your life. It is simply waiting out there for you to grasp it, and all you have to do is reach for it. The only person you are fighting is yourself and your stubbornness to engage in new circumstances...”

His voice was soft like honey, his tongue licking his thumb when he turned to the next page, his eyes drifting to you, from time to time. Sometime you wondered how he was still here, dating you. You stopped counting the numerous times you had been nasty to him because you were in a bad mood from your chronic pain, the times when you couldn’t go out because you were exhausted for not other reason than your condition. And how many times did you had to stop a make out session because you weren’t abled to have sex even if you were dying to, he was always comprehensive with you. Something that rarely happened with your ex-boyfriends, finding your health state too annoying to deal with. But with Gwilym...for him you were perfect, your chronic pain was a part of you and he wanted you, all of you.

“What are you thinking of pretty girl ?” You snapped out of your thoughts to find his beautiful blue orbs looking at you, a cute smile painted on his features.

“I love you” You blurted out before putting a hand on your half-open mouth.

Shit. Shit Shit...

“I love you too” Gwilym replied immediately, his face cleaned of any hesitation.

You smile was so wide, it reached both of your ears, matching your boyfriend’s one. His lips found yours for a sloppy kiss, both of you taking your sweet time, savouring each other presence.

“This night is definitively going better than the date I had plan for us” He murmured against your mouth, his nose brushing gently against yours.

“Thanks for coming tonight, Gwil” You replied as you pecked several more times his pretty lips.

“Thank you for letting me staying with you (Y/N)”

[merrysithmas]

the museum explosion vs martin incident (parallels)

(another long post)

im still Shook at the fact that literally ALL shell-shocked Theo could say post-Martin until he was forced to leave Boris' side was "Your arm" over and over again (four times ;__;), god he was so terrified to lose him. and he made himself literally feverishly sick worrying about him afterwards.

" 'Boris give it to them!' I stammered, as I stood frozen in horror as the one named Fritz put his pistol to Boris' temple..."

there is a whole passage in that scene, which is struck through with imagery of fire, metallic burning, gunsmoke, and ash, which serves at the bookend for Theo's original fiery trauma at the terror attack in the museum from which Theo has, until that point, been utterly traumatized and stagnated by.

Theo tellingly describes this moment as a "skip in a DVD", a time-jump he isnt entirely cognizant of. he is lurched in that moment from the time period of his psychological fixation and stagnation into the present moment when Boris is in danger. Boris, someone he loves as fiercely as he does his mother and the only character in the book he with certainty would not have known had she lived (if there was no bombing we are led to believe in another parallel perfect life it can be assumed he would have spoken to Pippa and Welty in the gallery and likely would have made friends with them, thus meeting Hobie too. Xandra he likely would have met through Larry, eventually). this juxtaposition between Boris and Audrey is important, in a life or death situation, one Theo can finally control -- which was his lifelong regret and wish.

"It happened before it even happened, like a skip in a DVD throwing me forward in time, because I have no memory at all of picking the pistol up off the floor, only of a kick so hard it threw my arm in the air, I didn't really hear the bang until I felt the kick and the casing flew back and hit me in the face and I shot again eyes half-closed against the noise, my arm jolting with every shot, the trigger had a resistance to it, a stiffness, like pulling a too-heavy door latch, car windows popping and Martin with an arm coming up, exploding safety glass and chunks of concrete flying out a pillar and I got Martin in the shoulder, the soft gray cloth was drenched and dark, a spreading dark stain, cordite smell and deafening echo that drove so deep inside my skull that it was less like actual sound striking my eardrums than a wall slamming down hard in my mind and driving me back into some hard internal blackness from childhood."

in a few paragraphs Theo even compares the garage to Manhattan: "The smoke from the fired gun was oddly the same bracing ammonia smell of Manhattan thunderstorms and wet city pavements". he then goes on to talk about the pool of blood coming towards him, he fears it viscerally, not knowing what he will do if it touches him. unsure what to do now that his personal psychological wounds (symbolized by the blood) are finally exposed, black and tarry on the garage floor, inching towards him with each passing second-- he collapses and sits down.

and finally, Boris picks up Theo's glasses and wipes the blood off of them himself. helps him see clearly again. Boris tells Theo the very important and meaningful and plot heavy words: "All over now. You saved us." while in the very next sentence Theo references how "the gunshot set off my tinnitus like a swarm of locusts buzzing in my ears" -- an injury he obtained during the original explosion in his childhood screaming back, wailing like a wraith (locusts) sent back to hell.

in this scene which bookends Theo's trauma there is also important parallel drawn between Theo's horrifying and fated encounter with the dying Welty and his murder of Martin/Fritz, who we can say are the morbid specters of Theo's guilt and PTSD from Welty (in another analysis you could maybe say Fritz -- who grabs Boris by the hair-- might represent Boris' demons with Boris' own father or both those things, simultaneously for the both of them). Welty and Martin even have similar descriptions to their final injuries, with Theo himself decidedly and with finality causing the former, finally "killing" his demon.

on Welty: "the side of his face was stippled with an ugly spray of burns, and his head, above one ear, was a sickly black horror", "I had the dreamlike sense of having failed him, as if I'd botched some fairy-tale task through clumsiness and ignorance", "his eyes, in the ruined face, were intelligent and despairing", "one papery eyelid, half shut, twitched, a blue-veined tic... his hand in mine was limp." "he coughed a percussive gout of blood that spewed all over me"

on Martin: "and Martin's viper eyes met mine and he was slumped forward... when I shot again and hit him above the eye, red burst that made me flinch", "I was still hearing echos... retching and doubled over, with Fritz's blood crawling and curling on my tongue"

in the same scene we can also draw parallels between Theo's hazardous concussion at the museum, "In a cascade of grit, my hand on some not-quite vertical surface, I stood, wincing at the pain in my head" and his grateful knock back to LIFE (PULLED OUT OF THE PAST) from Boris, "Hard, but without anger, Boris cuffed me with his closed fist on the side of the head: an impersonal clout, no heat about it at all. It was as if he was performing CPR."

and lastly, naturally, we have to point out the fate of The Goldfinch itself in these two scenes to come to a conclusion about Theo's state of mind.

Welty begged of Theo to take the The Goldfinch (his innocence, his childhood, his happiness, his soul) intact from the museum. in his near-death state Welty spoke scatteredly of fond remembrances of the innocence of the children in his own family, intermixing them with the present. he warns Theo to TAKE THE PAINTING! mourns how the perpetrators of the attack (aka Death itself) already ruined so much in the gallery, do not let them take the little bird (Theo) too.

"Don't leave it. No." He was looking past me, trying to point at something. " Take it away from there." ... "I reached out and picked the board up by the edges, it felt surprisingly heavy for something so small.... Drawing my sleeve across the dusty surface. Tiny yellow bird, faint beneath a veil of white dust."

with the martin situation, the painting is lost. Boris even dives into Theo's idealized past (a fixed and escapist/stagnanted past that Boris cannot exist in, represented by the painting, explained in my other meta), risking his own place in Theo's life, trying to rescue it for him.

"I heard the sound of running feet on concrete-- the boy [!!], white coat [like Audrey at the museum] running to the exit [!!] ramp with the painting under his arm, his was running up the ramp to the street, echoes [from Theo's past!!] reverberating in the tiled space", "Boris, there was Boris, winded and breathless and bloody, running back in, his voice was coming from a million miles off [he dove into Theo's idealized past, self-sacrificing], Potter, are you alright? he's gone, I couldn't catch him, he got away"

long story short... the explosion and the Martin scene are narratively paralleled in a way that shows Theo can overcome (some) of his past fixation and Boris is pivotally present in the second scene as someone Theo rescues, his most-valued person next to his mother. Theo willingly gives up The Goldfinch for him, being solely concerned about Boris' safety thereafter, terrified he gave it up, exposed himself to himself, the truth, put it all on the line, and Boris might not make it--

--which he realizes without any real thought but instead pure spontaneous emotion, would crush him more than the loss of the painting (and all that it represents) ever could.

[cherryjuicegf]

Wraith

A/N: As you can see i have a thing with promises so here's some despair and exhaustion added to a not so happy at all storyline. Things are spoken and Enjolras has existential issues. I know im not funny. Enjoy!

chapter 4

Chapter 5th

Fourth Bottle: Promises

A lightning brightened the dark sky as if ripping a sack to let more raindrops flow like running rivers down the earth. The night was almost over, yet the first rays of the sun were lurking behind the mountains, as though afraid to appear and interrupt the fight of the thunders with the wind. Yet the storm wouldn't bother any of them, as it echoed like a lullaby in the seemingly empty room that hosted no sound except for the raindrops hitting the window and the soft sound of a bottle filled with wine touching the wooden table at times. Two green eyes were fixed abstractly on its smooth surface, trying to discern the fine figure of thin air through its vitreous walls and strangely succeding, either due to his perverted imagination or to a shadow that occupied the second chair across him, to descry the pale delicate fingers that once touched his skin and the pair of blue eyes that once avidly devoured him with their stare. He recalled a melody, possibly a lullaby he had once heard him singing under his breath. Oh, that angelic voice that sounded as if it was accompanied by hundrends of whispering harps, as if the rays of the sun had no other direction but him, wrapped around his gracious posture that radiated more light than the sun itself and made him so awesome in his demureness. He closed his eyes for a moment. He could see him, not in the way he did when he looked around him, no. He could see him alive. Alive and young, his gentleness bursting through his proud look, his passion thriving in his eyes. He seemed to need no one, so imposing and sober was his air. But he was not alone anyway.

He moved suddenly, as if waking from lethargy, and with one sip he emptied half of the wine in the bottle and placed it on the table, feeling shudders through his spine as it quenched his throat. He bowed his head pensively for a moment, feeling nailed by a sad look that almost brought him tears, because he knew its meaning, but he couldn't fulfill its request. He couldn't stop. Not now. Yet he hesitated for a second, as if a weight was pressing down his heart that resembled to a warning, a warning that he couldn't take it anymore. But his fingers touched the fourth bottle though instinctively. This wouldn't end well, he knew. But he didn't care anymore. He would drown it in wine, as he would drown himself and the faster, the better. His sanity was gone since a long time anyway. He had nothing more to lose.

"You ruin yourself with that, you know?"

He raised his look to meet Enjolras' darkened eyes and stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed shaking his head.

"I do what?", his voice cracked in a sob he held back but was the only one to hear it, thus making Enjolras to frown with his sarcasm. "I don't need wine to be ruined and you know that better than anyone. Wine is my friend."

"Stop it."

Enjolras sighed and bit his lips as he leaned on the table, fixing his eyes on him with a serious yet pleading look. Grantaire chuckled with bitterness and nodded in an agreement full of irony that implied his despair in more than one ways. He took a sip with an abrupt movement and looked at Enjolras again faking a smile.

"I can't."

Enjolras stared at him snorting and remained still, faced with the greatest nightmare he could ever imagine of. But Grantaire wouldn't stop, a mad grin curving his lips as he continued drinking without any trace of guilt shading his eyes. And if it did, no more darkness could ever flow from his look, no more pain and sorrow than it already did, so a little bit of guilt could hardly be discerned.

"You see, Enjolras, wine may blur my thoughts, but it also takes the pain away..."

"Does it?", Enjolras interrupted him with an ironic tone and shook his head. "If it actually did I wouldn't be here now and you wouldn't get worse with every passing day."

Grantaire stared at him for some moments, refusing to admit he was right once again. He sighed with confidence, although he didn't know which broken piece of his heart it stemmed from and licked the wine that painted his lips red.

"It does, yes", he said in a stable voice and shrugged. "It does take the pain away, because it is not the one that caused it."

The last phrase sounded sharper than he intended and Enjolras flounced slightly, understanding an innuendo that made his heart break, or at least, the memory of his heart. Grantaire bowed his head slightly, regretting his tone but not his words. It hurt and he could do nothing. It hurt more than the day he saw him dying, because he was here again just like he wanted, but only to remind him he could do nothing but see him and devour with his look a body that was once part of him. He preferred him staying dead, he could admit it. Because then he would have few chances of reducing at least his desire for him since he couldn't see him but in his dreams. Yet now he was obliged to suffer and oppress his need while he watched him moving in front of his eyes like a living man but he couldn't even touch him. He had no choice, as if he was doomed to accept his death only by imagining him alive. He was unable to decide what was worse.

"I can't stop", he uttered finally in a succumbing voice and took another sip with a nervous movement that implied his anxiety, feeling his heart beating faster. "And I won't."

"For how long, Grantaire?"

Enjolras swallowed and nailed him with his grave look that gave him shivers, resisting the urge to grab the bottle from his hand and smash it on the floor, knowing it would end up as another meaningless action that would remind him he was nothing but air. Oh God, he couldn't even cry. And he wanted to cry so badly, he couldn't stand being unable to prevent who he loved the most from destroying his own life. Words were not enough, they never were. If only he could just hug him, kiss him, only to feel alive once again. And Grantaire read his thoughts, he always did, they thought the same anyway. Because he nodded at him softly, his smile fading slowly like the last rays of the sun that hide behind the mountains before darkness dominates, and his voice got bitter, suddenly hoarse.

"As long as it takes to touch you again."

Enjolras didn't move, he just stared at him speechless, as if hit by a thunderstorm. He wasn't surprised, not at all. He knew the purpose of every single sip of wine that flowed down Grantaire's throat and he knew he was the one to blame in particular. The sight of him suffering was too hard for him to stand, but he was there for a reason, he couldn't leave him yet. What shook him actually was the fact that this whole time, he was faced with himself. He was faced with the same pain, the same desires and longings as his. Both of them searching for their lost pieces, both of them wanting to reach a redemption beyong the rays of heaven, both of them alone and broken, seeing each other as if through a transparent wall of glass that would break any time soon, but he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted. Because he could never accept being the reason for a sacrifice, especially when it came to life and death. That was the only difference between them. This time Grantaire fought for a cause, while Enjolras was filled with doubt, trapped between what he thought he wanted and what he actually needed. He was yet to realise he was selfish, he was yet to realise he was no human anymore. Because deep inside he knew what was best for both of them, but he didn't want to admit it. It was not hard, not at all. Yet there was something that still held him back, like a hand that refused to let go although the fall would be saving. There was something that picked him continuously, probably the greatest risk he had ever taken, something whose failure was already predicted yet his hopes were not lost, until now. There was a promise.

He swallowed. He couldn't let Grantaire collapse, he just couldn't, it was too much. He had to keep him down here, at least he had to try. Words were going to waste, but there was no other way, only his. The mad one. And he was more than willing to follow it.

"Touch me, Grantaire."

He himself couldn't believe the words that had escaped his mouth but he seemed less than daunted. Grantaire looked at him frowning in confusion and chuckled. He must have heard wrong, he couldn't tell otherwise.

"What?", he stuttered and made to smile, but his smile faded when he met Enjolras' sharp look. Oh God, he meant it. He shook his head. "I... I can't touch you."

For a moment, he looked saner than the other and Enjolras knew it. They were ridiculous, for God's sake, he almost laughed. But he wouldn't stop. He wanted to see how this would end, where it would take them. Just like a game. Just like life.

"You can't?", he continued in an ironic tone with a hint of tease and nodded, resting his back on the chair. Grantaire raised his eyebrows baffled and glared at him. He did this on purpose, he knew it. But he couldn't understand why, as his lips parted hesitantly and formed a bemused 'no' with no sound coming out, just slightly shaking his head. Enjolras grinned with an innocent expression and shrugged.

"How can you see me?"

Grantaire didn't answer immediately, he just stared at him breathless, holding back a chuckle that would resemble more to a sob if it came out. His mind, blurred by the almost four bottles of wine, tried to solve a riddle that had no more than one possible answer, which he uttered out loud in a voice that implied heartache, yielding.

"You're mad..."

And Enjolras smiled. That was what he wanted to hear. A hope flamed his soul. He could show Grantaire his mistakes, he would keep him alive, his life would go on. He wouldn't give up, he would live, he would live for him. That was what he wanted, that was what he asked. To see him happy again. Even if it was without him. But there was still a long way to cover. So he took advantage of his words and went on.

"Me?", he asked sarcastically. "I'm the one who's mad? You are the one who's drinking for no reason, destroying his life and suffering while you can go on with the memory..."

Grantaire clenched his fists, suddenly feeling rage growing in him along with pain and grief. He had heard those words before, not the same yet similar. Oh, he wasn't supposed to talk like that. He wasn't supposed to erase everything and go back to the start. But Enjolras didn't stop talking, not believing in half of his words, yet trying to prove a point out of nowhere. He would make him angry, he knew. There might be a result this way, it was the only one left. What he forgot though was that when he used to scold him like that, the wine got sweeter.

"You have to stop doing this, I beg you!", he added, his voice almost cracking and snorted with a soft, pained look. "Take a look at yourself, Grantaire. I am not worth dying for."

"And who told you that I was?!!"

That was the last shot. Grantaire's eyes sparkled as he turned at him breathing heavily and slammed his fist on the table, his voice coming out hoarse and loud, yet broken from a sob. He could feel his heart hitting his chest as if it wanted to come out, hot tears flooded his eyes, red from insomnia. He rested his back on the chair, looking at a shocked Enjolras and their eyes met, both seeming empty, both hiding so many feelings inside. He discerned a nervous tremble of his pale fingers on the table. He shook his head.

"You really think our love is not worth the suffer?", he asked breathlessly, fear and disappointment making his voice shake like the one of a little child alone in the dark. Enjolras flounced, feeling like a million bullets had pierced his body at once. Oh, that hurt way more than a wound. Grantaire can't have said that, he heard wrong. It was wrong, it was completely wrong. The suffer was the one not worth their love. Yet their hearts had already fallen in the trap of pain.

"Grantaire, I...", a sob choked him as he bit his lips and swallowed in a vain attempt to keep his voice stable, "I died for you..."

Grantaire gazed at him for some seconds and then lowered his look, letting the tears fall down his face. What was he supposed to do? He never asked to be saved, he never asked to stay alive. His life would end anyway. Oh, he was such a coward. He could find a rifle, that same day at the barricades and just pull the trigger. No wine, no suffer. But he couldn't. He had to deceive himself, he had to save someone to replace the loss. And now he realised it was the greatest mistake he had ever done. Because Jehan didn't deserve to stay alone. Not like him, he was not alone, with guilt and grief following each of his steps. But Jehan hadn't done anything. Jehan could be happy now with his friends. He was such a fool, such a fool. Why to save him, why stay alive himself? Enjolras died for him.

"As you can see, it was vain."

Enjolras didn't speak. He felt his voice refused to come out of his parted lips, he stayed still, staring at him as a shade fell over his eyes. It was not vain. Dear God, for him it was not vain. Because he didn't have to see the love of his life dying in his arms and he knew he was the lucky one this time. But Grantaire was right, and he realised that when he stood in his shoes for once, even if it hurt. He didn't care, he had known pain, he was used to it. Oh, there was no way to go on, not after everything Grantaire had gone through. And he reached a point of love and respect that was so deep it would have brought him tears. Because he understood that if he was the one alive, he wouldn't last more than a day. Suddenly he looked up to him. He was so strong, he had even saved his friend in all his misery. He was too strong. That was why he had lasted until now. He knew it, yet he didn't want to admit it would be over, he didn't want to watch him dying, even if it was to come to him.

"No...", he stuttered, trying to deceive himself, his voice cracking in denial. "No, it was not..."

He was selfish. But who wasn't. Oh, he forgot again. Ghosts.

Grantaire gazed him breathing deeply, slightly shaking his head. That was the only thing he could do. Shake his head. With exhaustion, with sarcasm, with disappointment, he couldn't tell. Maybe he was tired. Tired of suffering, tired of coping with Enjolras' almost childish denial, tired of thinking, of breathing, of living. He just wanted to sleep. Oh, yes, sleep and never wake again. How wonderful it seemed to him, to dream forever, even if it was a nightmare. It's better when you sleep, because it passes, another dream follows, a different self rises up and it's sleep, it's always sleep. He had no more life to give only to live in the nightmare. The wine was not enough. The bottles were four. Yet, they were not working, they were not working at all. He was not sleeping. Why was he not sleeping? He was not alone. Why was he not alone? He wanted to be alone, he wanted to scream, to cry, to smash the empty bottles at his feet. But he was not. Why? He didn't want anyone, not even Enjolras. Not even him. Because he could do nothing but look at him and think. All the words he never uttered, all the smiles he never smiled. Oh, he knew what he wanted. He wanted a hug. He wanted a hug to sleep, and he knew where to find it. He wanted to go home.

"Grantaire..."

"No."

Enjolras raised his head surprised and frowned when he met Grantaire's cold look behind the tears flooding his eyes. Grantaire clenched his fists and snorted, peering at Enjolras with no fake smiles this time.

"I can't do this anymore."

His voice was determined, sharp, as if uttering a statement in a matter of vital importance. He nodded without taking his look off the young man that was staring at him speechless, suddenly losing the last trace of hope that struggled to stay alive in him, only to say he still had something that unpretentiously kept him in life. He swallowed and blinked, trying not to sink in the sea of deception he himself had created. His crystal eyes sparkled with complaint. A timid, broken smile curved his lips.

"You...", he chuckled softly, his voice cracking, "You promised..."

"YES, I DID!", Grantaire interrupted him with shaking voice and slammed his palm on the table, hurrying to lower and soften his tone as he saw Enjolras flouncing a little and he bit his lips. "I did...", he made a small pause to raise his look and gaze Enjolras straight in the eye with all the honesty he had in his heart, slightly tilting his head. "But then I realised you were dead and my whole life had gone away with you."

A thunder was heard outside and the rain started falling harder, intruding the room from the broken window that would stay forever open. Enjolras had not aversed look from Grantaire who on the contrary refused to face him, shuddering at the thought and only of his clouded blue eyes that were flooded with so much pain and so many tears that could not fall. Enjolras heaved a deep, shaky sigh and hid his face in his hands, leaving a sound that resembled to a sob, but fortunately for Grantaire, he was not able to see the broken expression that deformed his angelic face. Was shatter an emotion? Because that was what he felt at the time. For God's sake, he asked nothing special. To see the man he loved more than anything happy again, to see life stirring in him again and feel alive with him. Was that so hard? His egoism and pride were too much to let anyone die for him. He was nothing anyway. Even if he had been human once, he was just a human, not an ideal, not a hope. And now, oh, now he was a nothing that shadowed the memories of the ones he left behind. Just a few people. Grantaire, Jehan, his mother, an orphan little girl on the doorstep of his apartment who he used to give some money to. They were few, yet so important to him that he almost hoped his need for them was requited. And still his hope was reduced as he saw what his absence could induce. Grantaire lost the love of his life, Jehan lost one more friend, his mother lost her son, her only child and that poor girl probably lost one of the few hopes she still had in this world. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to realise he was so important only because he was an everyday man, so important that the ideals he fought for meant nothing to the people who wanted him back. At least, was he remembered by the rest of them, the ones who faced the rebellion as the beginning of a flame? He couldn't tell.

The ideals are so great to fight for, until a loved one is lost. Then the dead one becomes an ideal, a thought of what could have been and the grief gets harder. How astounding can it be, to fight so much and so passionately for a cause until you become the cause itself. But what did he know? He, after all, was just a ghost.

chapter 6

[kamino-ink]

Finifugal | Park Chanyeol [02]

✧ finifugal - hating endings; of someone who tries to avoid or prolong the final moment of a story, relationship, or some other journey.

✧ 01 | 02 | ???

✧ Genre: Bodyguard!au, angst, fluff, romance, probably smut at some point lets be honest

✧ Summary: After an ambush that leaves your left shoulder in stitches, your head bodyguard decides to scour the country in search for a new recruit to help up your safety - when Park Chanyeol shows up and his first request is to dye his hair, you can’t help but wonder who in the world Junmyeon just so happened to recruit.

✧ Word Count: 2k [ I swear I am trying to make these longer but my brain just refuses im v sorry friends :( ]

                                         ✧

 “I’m... I’m sorry?” Is the first thing that manages to escape your parted lips as you blink in confusion at the man - who called himself Park Chanyeol - and his rather unusual request.

 “I asked if I could dye my hair pink, boss lady,” Chanyeol snorts at your questioning stare, gesturing a bit crudely to Junmyeon, who is standing beside him and glaring at the new recruit with a stingy glare, “the other boss guy here said I can’t because its like, unprofessional or whatever.”

 You glance over at a fuming Junmyeon, who is vehemently glaring daggers at Chanyeol. Clearly this giant of a man had to be a phenomenal sort of bodyguard if his personality was shining so much that one of your calmest, most patient men was having a difficult time keeping his cool. “Honestly, I could care less. Just try to keep me breathing and you can turn your hair into a fucking rainbow for all I care.” You admit with a soft shrug, purposefully keeping your gaze locked on Chanyeol instead of your head guard who’s sharp glare was burning glares onto your skin.

 “Fuck yeah - okay so far, you are my favorite person here boss lady-”

 “Okay not to sound like a bitch, but I have a name, which is not boss lady,” you cut him off, “its Y/N. Please, no more boss lady.” It comes out as an exasperated plea, and you narrow your eyes at the tall man when he snickers and steps closer to you, now having to tilt his head down to properly look at you.

 “What, not kinky enough for you?”

 Your eyes turn into saucers. “Excuse me-?”

 “You are excused, boss,” Chanyeol takes a turn to interrupt you now, his tongue suddenly darting out to slick his slightly chapped lips, “I’m gonna go and, you know, dye my hair so if you need me, you know where I’ll be.” He finishes with a deep chuckle, running his fingers through his mess of brunette hair before he turns around once, twice, and finally a third time.

 “Hey boss, where can a guy find a bathroom around here?”

                                         ✧

 You really didn’t know how you ended up in one of the master bathrooms with Park Chanyeol. One minute you were being baffled by his bluntness and crude humor, then the next minute you were begrudgingly leading him into your bathroom upstairs and helping him dye his hair a pretty pink.

 Considering you had never dyed someone’s hair before, you had at first tried to convince the man to go to an actual salon where a professional could make sure his hair (which was incredibly soft and naturally curly) wasn’t completely destroyed by an amateur. Yet he had shrugged a bit too carelessly and dragged the stool from your vanity towards the sink, plopping down onto it with a grunt.

 “It’ll be just fine boss, promise. Make me pretty already for fuck’s sake.”

 And so you did - or so your pride said with a smug look once the dye had settled in, the pale but beautiful color coming through even more once you had blow-dried his hair, revealing the curls he had spoken of, curled into soft ringlets now painted pink. “Not bad, not bad.” He hums in content, staring at his reflection in the wide mirror hung onto the wall.

 You huffed in disbelief from where you stood by the tiny trashcan next to the sink, slipping off the blue latex gloves and letting them fall into trash along with the box the dye had come in. “Not bad? I think it looks great, coming from someone who has never dyed hair before.”

 Chanyeol stifles a laugh at your statement, going to rest his chin on the palm of his hand as he turns his attention to your offended gaze. “Ah, so you think I look hot, then? I knew the pink hair was going to be a hit with the ladies.”

 It is in that exact moment in time that you realize this guy is really, really going to get long with Byun Baekhyun.

 Gingerly you walk over to his slumped over posture, abandoning your façade of gentleness the second you smack his bare arm. “Fuck off, Chanyeol, you know what I meant.”

 “Uh huh, I know what you meant.” He hums with a sly, wolfish wink and grin. Before you can protest any further, he’s slid off from the stool and slung the spotted towel you had lent him onto the tiled floor. He lets out a loud groan and bends his back, a resounding ‘pop!’ erupting from his spine. Of course, you couldn’t exactly blame him, especially since you had really taken your time in dying his hair - paranoid that you were going to damage his hair beyond repair. That in itself would have been a loss to all naturally curly haired men in the world.

 Maybe two hours was a bit much. Maybe.

 But he hadn’t complained - not once, oddly enough. That also surprised you, especially since he had muttered complete and utter nonsense about the “fucking enormous” mansion and its “stupid ass three floors and shitty amount of staircases, like, boss, no one needs this much.”

 And you thought you had a potty mouth.

 “Thanks for the assistance boss,” he says casually, straightening out his back and running his fingers through his newly dyed pink hair for just about the hundredth time, “now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go explore for a bit. See you.” Chanyeol does a mock salute that you just nearly laugh at, watching as he retreats from your bathroom and goes about his business elsewhere in the mansion.

 You turn back to the mess that had been made in your bathroom, a disgruntled sigh passing through your lips.

 “Fuck, I really need to hire a maid.” Is the first thing you utter when he leaves, now left to your own devices in the muggy bathroom. The sink had water droplets splashed onto the counter it was dug into, with vivid pink splotches still on the gray steel of the sink itself (and a bit on the marble countertops as well.) Not wanting to leave your own bathroom too messy, you decide to get to work, first picking up a washcloth hung onto the neck of the sink so you could wet it and begin to wash away the leftover dye and excess water.

 For the next few minutes you simply wash away at the sink and counter, humming an old tune under your breath to entertain yourself. In your head, you wonder why you don’t just ask FRIDAY, the intelligence system constructed throughout the mansion, to page one of the boys and ask them to clean up. It wasn’t like they could necessarily refuse - but then again it would be a dick move to have your bodyguards clean up such a small mess.

 Its because you need to take your mind off of things - off of everything.

 You remind yourself of this almost unwillingly, your bottom lip jutting out into a silent grunt of reminiscent pain when you scrub away at a particularly jarring speck of god-knows-what on the marble counter, the damaged nerves in your left shoulder sending prickles up to your head. You are thankful that you didn't change into a tank top after Chanyeol had left, like you normally would have before cleaning, because then you would be able to see the nasty stitches embedded deeply into your still healing skin.

 Whenever you even caught a glimpse of them out of your peripheral vision you were struck with flashbacks. Flashbacks that gnawed at your conscious mind, screaming and pleading with you to just forget everything that had happened that night.

 You shake your head in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of those horrifying memories and go back to scrubbing at the dirty countertops, the throbbing of your shoulder starting to become all too familiar.

                                         ✧

 Once the sun has set over the horizon, you can see the distant dots of the city lights glowing and flickering in the background, a long ways away from the window you had been gazing through. If you were to bother yourself with concentrating hard enough, you might even be able to picture yourself back in the heart of Busan; exploring the bustling nightlife with your friends, tipping a talented group of buskers as you pause to watch how their limbs glide through the air almost flawlessly while they dance to the music.

 You miss Busan, no matter how much it doesn’t miss you.

 Luckily though, the boys have all seemed to welcome Chanyeol with open arms; albeit Junmyeon, Minseok, and Sehun were still cautious around him - which was expected of the trio, as they usually took time to warm up to just about anyone who wasn't you. While you probably would have pushed for the three men to not be so cold and rigid to the generally warm, bubbly newcomer, you knew now it was best to leave them be and hopefully develop a bond with him themselves. You were far past making the mistake of putting your full-hearted trust into someone so soon.

 Yes, Park Chanyeol was relatively kind and incredibly outgoing, a trait that became obvious when he willingly started to drag the ever stoic and quiet Kyungsoo into a debate about whether snakes had feelings or not with Baekhyun and Jongin. Even now you jumped a little whenever you could hear the four of them throwing themselves into a fit of loud, booming laughter - a pleasant sound you had come to miss for some time now. You were tempted by their laughter and joy, wishing to join in their carefree fun, but you were distracted by something else.

 “Is FRIDAY still down?” The man merely a few feet away questions you, to which you turn your longing gaze away from the shadows of Busan and to him, watching as he swiftly chops another onion without shedding a single tear. “Ah, so she is.” He concludes after not hearing an instant reply, noting the hesitation in your silent answer.

 “I don’t understand why she suddenly shut down, Dae. I’m the only one who can deactivate her system besides Yixing, and he’s still in Europe with Taeyong and Doyoung.” You express your growing concern over the intelligence system, pinching the bridge of your nose. It wasn’t normal for your systems to just, crash - in fact it had never happened before, not including the time Yixing shut her down so you would get out of bed and stop telling her to ‘bug off.’ Junmyeon and Minseok were the only other two of the boys who knew FRIDAY was currently out of commission, since you knew it might start a panic if the others figured out the biggest chunk of the security system was down.

 A panic was the last thing you needed on your plate, that much was for sure.

 Jongdae, who had moved the chopped pile of onions into a glass bowl to the side and was getting started on chopping a few peppers, opened his mouth to speak once more when the house shook a bit, causing him to pause abruptly.

 Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked outside the window once again, the lack of rain or even murky clouds merely fueling your wariness. In the background you could still hear the four boys laughing and chatting to their heart’s content, Baekhyun letting out a high pitched squeal in the midst of their fun.

 “Dae, it isn’t supposed to storm tonight, is it?” You ask him, still gazing outside the window.

 He makes a noise of confusion. “No, it’s supposed to be a dry week until Thursday. Why do you ask?”

 “Because there is no way that could’ve been thunder-”

 And suddenly you were being thrown backwards, your body going limp as the back of your head smacks the wooden floor with a sickening thud.

 There is no alarm, only the surprised shouting of the others and the sounds of shoes scuffling against the floor in a rush.

 And then, there is nothing.

                                          ✧