#and of course. how much of those odd changes in memories are meant to be apart of his fears. or just how he remembers the events himself

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

[o-sachi]

Roses and Thorns ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ you always wondered what what his tattoo meant... and now you know

ଳ character; michael kaiser (bllk)

ଳ tags; angst, more angst, but comfort at the end, depiction of Kaiser's trauma, no y/n, gn reader

Roses naturally came in colors of red, pink, yellow...

But never blue.

Yet, that was the same flower that adorned his arm. From his neck and down to the back of his hand, a beautiful blue rose littered his pallid skin. You always thought it was a captivating tattoo and in many ways—it was what made Kaiser... Kaiser.

Throughout your relationship, your perception of him changes and so does your idea about what his tattoo might mean. You could have asked him directly why he had it done, but where's the fun in that?

You liked the mystery and besides, he never talked about it in the first place.

That led you to think that it was one of those tattoos that people get on a whim. Not all tattoos had a deep meaning—sometimes it's just cool to look at.

Kaiser doesn't seem like the sentimental type after all. The only thing he probably cared about in this world was football and hopefully... you.

However, that view changed the longer you've been together. After seeing more sides to him, you realized how naive and insensitive it was to box him as the kind of person who had no capability to feel deeply for anything else.

The world may know him as an arrogant prodigy, but only you knew everything else behind that. You knew the tireless dedication he had to the sport—spending many restless nights watching replays of previous matches. You knew the vulnerable Kaiser whenever he'd spend weeks away from you—missing you all the way from his fancy hotel room.

But even then, you still had no idea what his tattoo meant. In fact, the more you got to know the true Kaiser, the more doubtful you became of the countless theories you've conjured up about his ink.

Nevertheless, you were firm in your belief that you knew him inside and out. The tattoo could remain a mystery for all you cared.

But roses always came with thorns and you had to learn the hard way.

It had been a couple of weeks since you've last seen each other. Being a football superstar was cruel. What people don't see behind the glamour are all the lonely nights he spends away from your arms.

As soon as he saw you standing in the doorway of your shared condo, he instinctively wrapped his arms around you. He swayed you side-to-side, inhaling your scent that had dulled in his memory after all this time being apart from each other.

After being absent for so long, all he wanted was to sit back and relax with you—no fancy dinners or grand dates. None of that. All he wanted was to be cooped up in your arms until he fell asleep, only to wake up again in the morning.

You indulge him, of course. You wanted it too anyway.

Both of you were now sat on the sofa. It was one of those L-shaped sofas you'd see in home magazines. They were large, but the space was wasted on the two of you since you'd much rather be cramped together in a suffocating embrace. It was better that way.

You absentmindedly traced the black stems of his tattoo as you held him—as you always did. Although, it was a bit odd. Normally, at this point he'd be going in and out of sleep—fighting back the drooping of his eyelids so that he could keep talking to you.

But he was wide awake.

"You don't seem tired tonight huh?"

He huffs out. "Chugging 2 energy drinks after lunch wasn't the best idea."

"Seriously? 2? What for?" you asked, a bit puzzled.

"I figured it would give me enough energy to at least hang out with you a bit before dozing off again, but I miscalculated. That shit was strong..."

Oh... How can you be mad now?

You could only chuckle at his thoughtfulness. "We could always catch up in the morning, y'know? It's not like I'm gonna disappear."

"Eh, still," he retorts, stubborn as ever. "We haven't had a movie night in a long time anyway."

He a had point. Back then movie nights were frequent. Both of you loved it—chilling, eating popcorn, and watching a good flick before bed.

It was good timing. Before his long-awaited arrival, you had been planning on how to surprise him in little ways. You wanted to keep him on his toes and it just so happens you figured out a way to spice up movie night.

You downloaded a bunch of old romantic German movies. It would be a lot different from the usual movies that you'd watch, but he might appreciate watching a movie from his own country. He had a preference for English movies, that much you knew. It was the only thing he'd watch for some unknown reason.

Excited—you hopped off the couch at lightning speed, ready as ever to retrieve the hard drive with all your downloads. As soon as you set everything up, you were back in your earlier position with him on the sofa.

"What's up with the hard drive? You forgot to pay for your streaming account?"

You shook your head with a smile. "No, I just have a surprise~"

"Surprise huh?" A small smile formed on his face at the thought. What could be so surprising about a movie?

The film starts off with a pitch black screen before a soft song filters in. He quickly recognized that it was German—it was a German love song.

He only needed to hear that to know what the "surprise" was.

Kaiser bit his lower lip in anticipation, not that you knew what exactly he was anticipating in the first place.

He wanted to be wrong—so wrong. He hoped that he wouldn't have to see her. The woman with beautiful long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes... the woman who most resembled him.

His mother.

But fate had a funny way of curbing expectations because she was right there on screen, smiling at him.

How cruel was it that the movie you chose—out of all the German movies out there—it had to be this one.

You were quick to notice the resemblance too. The eyes... the smile... they were practically the same. Perhaps he was aware of it too with how he stiffened in your grasp.

But before you could point it out, he had excused himself. "I'll just go to the bathroom for a sec... don't wait up for me."

The sudden change of the air around him was one thing, but for him to let the movie playing without him was another. He'd always ask you to pause it if he had to leave even for a millisecond.

...Did you do something wrong?

Worry filled you to your bones. It was unusual, sure. Maybe you were overthinking it. But the longer you stayed alone on the sofa—in the darkness of the room—the less you believed that you were being melodramatic.

Maybe there was something wrong with the way he turned rigid upon seeing that woman. Maybe there was something wrong about the way he abruptly stood up and left.

Your thoughts got the best of you and you decided to check up on him. In his haste, Kaiser forgot to lock the door. So, there you were—standing by the door and staring at him.

There was something definitely wrong with the way he clutched the bathroom sink as he breathed raggedly.

You could see how his fingers turned white as he gripped his arm, almost as if clawing at the rose etched on his arm.

"What's wrong?"

Your voice snapped him back to reality. Truthfully, he didn't know what was wrong. He thought he had gotten over it all—how his mother left him and how his father treated him. But he was wrong.

There was a reason he avoided those kinds of films. He was scared she'd pop up... looking happy.. acting happy—in a world where she didn't have to be concerned with her own son.

But that's precisely it. He chose to run away from it all instead of confronting it. So now that he was faced with her after all this time of avoiding anything that evoked the concept of her—he broke down.

And he hated that he had to do it in front of you.

But it was involuntary. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

His silence told you enough—all you had to know was that he needed your embrace. To which, you indulge him again.

You cautiously made your way over to him, hovering your arms around him at first before finally pulling him into you. The air stilled around you and time stopped for a moment. Neither of you moved a muscle or spoke a word—feeling content to stay like this for however long.

Eventually, he let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. He turned around to face you, unbothered if you had to see how glassy his eyes became or if his mouth was fixed in a frown.

All this suspense caused a pit to form in your stomach. Your chest felt hollow and your hands were clammy. If he stayed silent another second longer, the water works would've kicked into high gear.

"Sorry... did I scare you?" he asked while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Sniffling a bit, you wiped your eyes as if tears have already rolled down—though, it definitely felt as if it had. "I... no, I was just worried about you. What's wrong? Please tell me."

The way you pleaded at him clenched his heart painfully. Kaiser pulled you in, planting your face into his chest. His hand caressed your hair with his chin poking the top of your head as he embraced you softly.

"Do you believe in the impossible?" he asked.

All train of thought stopped in an instant. You didn't like that this confrontation you were having was slowly turning into one of those philosophical discourse about the meaning of life and whatnot. All you wanted to know was what happened to him—plain and simple.

"That woman on the screen," he continued. "That was my mother."

The normal reaction would be shock, but it made sense. Perhaps this wasn't developing into that philosophical discourse you dreaded.

"Back then I thought I'd never have to see her in person. Maybe in one of her films, but in the flesh? I would only dream of it. But then..." he chuckles, reminiscing of the past. "Not long after that thought... I came across her on the street. Well, more like I was loitering and she was surrounded by fans while she made her way into a hotel."

His expression dropped at the recollection of such a bittersweet memory. "She never looked my way. She only smiled at the people vying for her attention. But it's funny isn't it?"

You had no idea what was so humorous about it. The revelations were coming too quick for you to let it all sink in. Silence was the only response available from you.

"Then, a week after that, the police took me away from my father." He lets out a stifled laugh out of disbelief. "And back then I thought I'd never get away from him."

"The impossible always seems to happen," he adds.

His past was just too sad, almost like it was taken from a sappy telenovela. But the fact that it was real rendered you speechless. All you could do was hug him tighter to show him that you were still with him.

With an ear to his chest, you could hear how his heartbeat went from erratic to steady. Letting that all out had calmed him down, thankfully. You felt yourself growing relaxed as well. Your eyes wandered to his arm—to the rose that entangled his limb.

To answer his question earlier—no, you didn't believe in the impossible. It's called impossible for a reason. But the sincerity in his voice had you thinking otherwise.

Blue roses... those are impossible too, you thought to yourself as your eyes trailed his tattoo. It could be another one of your silly theories, but the coincidence was hard to deny.

His hands stopped caressing your head, choosing to find purchase on your lower back instead. This prompted you to look up at him and the sheepish smile on his face.

"And..." he started again. "I thought it would be impossible for me to be loved..."

"Yet, here you are."

[🐟]: HELP THIS IS SO CHEESY I'M SORRY. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT BUT I GOT CARRIED AWAY.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[dragonwitch77]

Tiny

Chapter 2: One Month

One month.

That was how long Syringeon ordered him to rest. One month for his arm to recover properly.

Which was too long in Bittergiggle’s opinion.

A whole month without using his arm? That was impossible!

How was he supposed to do his jokes without his arm?! Without Philbert?! Philbert was his right-hand man in-jokes! Hehehehehe.

Jokes aside, Bittergiggle needed his arm back in working order. He had a lot of stuff that required two hands to handle them, and being reduced to only one arm was a serious setback to his plans.

And a hindrance to his normal escape routes in the Kingdom.

An arm that was in recovery wasn’t something he could work around, especially if he ran into the Sheriff. Bittergiggle was fast on his feet, but Toadster was pretty quick with his throwing stars, and the jester wasn’t keen on having more injuries to his body just yet.

Not until his arm was fully healed first.

Which meant that he couldn’t risk being on the same floor with the Sheriff.

For a whole month.

It was torture.

Bittergiggle loved company.

He loved being around other living, breathing, talking beings. Beings who could talk back and share conversations with him. Beings who could tolerate his presence. Beings who, if they were being nice, would only roll their eyes in disinterest of his jokes instead of telling him outright how bad his jokes were.

Beings who didn’t outright hate him.

Of course, the only being Bittergiggle could think on the top of his head who could possibly fit all those things was his minion/pet Kittysaurus, and she was still in the Kingdom back in her room. And that was too much of a risk to take.

So weighing his options, Bittergiggle decided to stay on the floor below the Kingdom until his arm healed enough to go back.

And it was torture.

For someone who strived on social interactions, Bittergiggle had a hard time keeping his sanity in check. It didn’t help that his clothes were in a bad state and he couldn’t change them, but the surroundings reminded him of old memories.

Memories he wished not to revisit as they tended to open some nasty wounds.

Yet it was pretty hard to ignore most of them, so Bittergiggle chose to stay in the one place that had the least amount of fond memories. The Introduction Sector.

It was really the only place Bittergiggle didn’t have any fond or grand memories. A room with a big screen? Hardly anything to look at. And since the humans didn’t bother to come down to the lower levels these days, Bittergiggle was left to his own devices to do whatever he pleased in the place.

Which, to be honest, wasn’t very much.

With only one arm that wasn’t in a sling, Bittergiggle had, and could, literally nothing to do except sit around telling jokes to an empty room. 

An empty room wasn’t a great audience, mostly due to the lack of an audience to hear his jokes. As much as he was aware of how bad his jokes were, Bittergiggle still wanted someone’s opinion on some of them.

Kittysaurus always liked them, but she was his loyal friend, and she couldn’t really tell him what she thought about his jokes. His two clones back at his hideout never gave him their opinion.

In fact, they never spoke a word to him, and he was starting to think that maybe they weren’t even alive at this point.

Which was disappointing. Two more failed potential ultimate jokesters. Four dead clones out of six. Seven? He wasn’t sure if he should count the one that could split into two as a single being or two separate beings who could merge into one.

Bittergiggle wasn’t sure where he messed up on the cloning process with that one, and sure as heck he didn’t miss their bickering. And he certainly didn’t miss Bittershiggle’s odd speaking mannerisms. Bittergiggle could never tell if they were being threatening, honest, or joking when they spoke.

He was glad those two (Three?) were gone. 

Though, as time slowly passed, Bittergiggle was starting to wonder if he could actually tolerate their presence right now. He wouldn’t mind having someone tell him how bad his jokes were just as long as he had someone to talk to.

He was beginning to debate if he should go find Bittershiggle or the split jester, just so he wouldn’t be lonely anymore, when the seat he was sprawled out on was suddenly kicked over.

“Wha–HEY!” Bittergiggle shouted, scrambling to sit up. To his surprise, he found Syringeon staring down at him.

Or rather, glaring down at him.

“Syringeon? What are you doing up here?” Bittergiggle asked, perplexed and startled to see the four-armed Mutant here instead of his home. 

Ever since the failed rebellion, Syringeon had been permanently moved down to the lower levels of the facility. The humans kept him under strict watch, meaning he couldn’t go to the upper floors without the humans being notified of his movements.

But to see him out of Cityngeon? That was surely something Bittergiggle would never think Syringeon would risk!

The jester’s eyes widened, looking around in worry. “Not that it isn’t great to see you, but you know you can’t be up here, right? The humans might spot you and think there might be another rebellion in the making!”

Syringeon didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t say anything.

The surgeon’s eyes were in a deep glare, piercing Bittergiggle down with a cold, almost murderous gaze that the jester couldn’t help but feel small under the older Mutant’s glare.

Bittergiggle’s eyes darted around. He wasn’t sure what was going on. He was glad to see some company, even if said company wasn’t currently glad to see him, but he didn’t understand why Syringeon was giving him such an ominous stare.

He hadn’t seen the surgeon since he reattached his arm. And that was a month ago!

A month ago.

Bittergiggle’s eyes darted to his arm. He hadn’t paid it much attention, but now that he thought about it, it had been a full month since the surgery. Which means he was all better to return to the Kingdom.

And try to think of the ultimate joke to tell the Queen.

“Are you here because of my arm?” Bittergiggle asked, wiggling the said arm. “That’s nice, but it’s really not worth risking coming up here to see me–”

“I’M NOT HERE BECAUSE OF YOU!” Syringeon roared, startling Bittergiggle enough to flinch back and cover his face.

Syringeon was well known for his hair-trigger temper, and Bittergiggle was not keen to be on the receiving end of such temper from the surgeon.

“… Well, no, actually I am.” The sudden shift in tone startled Bittergiggle, peeking through his hands to curiously glance at the surgeon. “Though I really wish it wasn’t such the case. Especially with you involved.” He growled, narrowing his eyes at the jester.

The frowning half of Bittergiggle’s face fell deeper, drawing a thin line on his grinning side. “Yeesh. Feeling the love here.” He rolled his eyes as Syringeon hardened his glare back on him again. “Tell me, what exactly did I do? The last time I saw you was when I needed Philbert reattached, and that was a month ago! I haven’t seen you till now!”

“And yet, you manage to do the unthinkable.” Syringeon growled, tapping his foot on the ground.

“Unthink–? What are you talking about? What did I do?” Bittergiggle asked, more confused than ever. He really had no clue what Syringeon was saying. He really hadn’t been back down to Cityngeon since his surgery. Bittergiggle knew Syringeon could only tolerate him for so long as a patient, and the jester knew it was best to leave the surgeon alone if he wanted to keep his arm on.

He hadn’t been back to Cityngeon since then, so he had no clue as to why Syringeon was angry with him. Even as he tried to think back on anything he might have done, Bittergiggle couldn’t think of anything he did that could possibly earn such ire.

“You really have no clue?” Syringeon asked, earning a head shake from Bittergiggle. Rolling his eyes with a disgruntled scowl, Syringeon pointed at the jester. “Hold yer hands out.”

“… what?”

“Do it.” Syringeon hissed, his tone hinting that he wouldn’t tolerate the jester’s lack of cooperation.

Wordlessly, Bittergiggle held out his hand. He quickly figured he wasn’t holding them out the right way when Syringeon’s glare became deadly, and quickly adjusted their position till he was holding them right out in front, looking like he was asking for something.

He wasn’t asking for anything, but Bittergiggle got something anyhow from the surgeon.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now Bittergiggle had taken notice that Syringeon’s lower set of arms carried something. It was small, and wrapped in a cloth, and it was quickly passed to the jester’s waiting hands.

“Don’t drop it.” Syringeon commanded as Bittergiggle stared at the bundle in confusion.

The jester glanced curiously at the surgeon before turning his focus back on the bundle. Getting in a more comfortable seating position, Bittergiggle lowered the bundle to his legs, wondering if this was some sort of trap or something Syringeon cooked up and wanted to test out on him instead of one of his tens of hundreds of children.

He wanted to be more cautious, but couldn’t do much under Syringeon’s dark watchful glare. At least he was certain that the Mutant wouldn’t kill him… probably. The surgeon had offed a few of his own kids before, so Bittergiggle wasn’t so sure if the mad doctor would be so merciful to him. Even when he had no clue as to why he was so angry to begin–

Bittergiggle jumped, yanking his hands away from the bundle.

Did he imagine it? Or did he just see movement?

His eyes darted to Syringeon, but the Mutant just glared at him, all four arms crossed across his chest and giving him a gaze that dared him to try anything stupid.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Bitergiggle looked down at the bundle, now more cautious than ever as he grabbed the fabric. Slowly, he pulled away at the cloth, his nerves on high alert as each fold of the cloth was pulled away as his mind ran a million miles with questions.

What was it? What could it be? Why did Syringeon give it to him? Why was he so mad? What did he do to make the surgeon angry at him? He couldn’t recall anything that might have made him mad, so why was he angry at him? Had he done something without knowing? And if so, why give him a bundle instead of outright using his surgical hands on him? And what was so important that he had to leave Cityngeon just to give it to him?

Questions circled Bittergiggle’s mind as he slowly unraveled the bundle, becoming more and more nervous as the last of the cloth was pulled away.

It all came to a crashing halt when Bittergiggle saw what was hiding inside the fabric. He looked at Syringeon, fear, shock, and alarm clear on both halves of his face.

“Yep.” Syringeon scoffed. “Congratulations.” He continued in mock praise as Bittergiggle stared in horror at his lap. “Yer a father.”

🧪

Givanium.

A rare, highly potent chemical that, if handled correctly, could bring certain inanimate objects to life.

Ever since he first woke up, Syringeon was obsessed with studying the substance. A chemical that could bring things to life? Who wouldn’t be interested in such a thing that had brought him and other Mutants into this world?

It was incredible. The possibilities were almost infinite.

Almost, but not quite.

Givanium was rare. It was hard to come by, even when he demanded more to work with, threatening the humans many times to have even a barrel delivered to him. They might have the capabilities to destroy him, but humans were prideful greedy creatures, and when he realized that they viewed him as too valuable to lose, he made sure to put his intimidating appearance and tools to good use to get exactly what he wanted.

It didn’t work all the time, but it worked just enough for the humans to supply Syringeon with enough Givanium to make a few Infants to keep him company. It was always disappointing when Infants grew up to their Citizen form and showed just how incompetent they could be, but they still served a good purpose here and there.

As long as they didn’t prove to be too incompetent and were actually useful.

Syringeon hated wasting precious Givanium on resources that were of no use to him.

And what he REALLY despised was when others so carelessly wasted such valuable resources for no such reason.

Namely to try and make sub-cases, or create new creatures that turn out wrong, or set the blasted thing on fire.

Or create tiny versions of certain annoying jesters.

Syringeon had been disgusted when he laid eyes on the small creature.

A tiny Bittergiggle? From the machine that crafted his Infants? It was one of the biggest insults to his face! It was an even bigger insult that it came out perfectly when his own children always came out as spheres with nubby feet instead of his own likeness.

Syringeon had wanted to repurpose the creature the moment he realized that Givanium had been wasted to make this… thing.

But something had held him back. Something that halted his tools and made him think twice as he stared at the abomination that stole his limited resources.

He deeply wanted his Givanium back, but as he stared at the tiny mini-Bittergiggle, an idea popped into his head. One that would surely teach the jester a lesson about messing with his property.

“W-W-W-W-W-WHAT?!” Bittergiggle’s scream echoed in the room, snapping his head up and down as he looked between Syringeon and the small bundle in his lap that had a tiny Bittergiggle curled up in it. “WHAT?! NO! NO NO NO NO! I’M NOT A–! THIS ISN’T! I CAN’T BE A–! TH-THIS HAS TO BE SOME SICK JOKE OR SOMETHING, RIGHT?! RIGHT?!”

“Oh believe me. This ain’t no joke.” Syringeon hissed.

“BU-B-B-B-BU-B-BU-BU-BUT HOW?! AND WHY?! AND WHEN?!” Bittergiggle stared at the mini version of himself, his hand reaching up to his fur and tugging on it. “WHY DID YOU MAKE A MINI ME?!”

“I didn’t!” Syringeon growled, taking a menacing step forward to loom threateningly over Bittergiggle. “You did.” He jabbed one of his tools at the jester’s chest.

“M-ME?! HOW?!”

“That’s what I want to know.” Syringeon demanded, grabbing Bittergiggle’s shirt. “How in the world did you manage to sneak in your contaminated genes under my radar? How did you slip some of yer Givanium into my machine?”

“Hey! I’m not contaminated!” Bitergiggle protested. “And I don’t know! How should I know?! I never asked for a kid!”

“Well you should have thought of that before!” Syringeon scoffed, shoving Bittergiggle harshly. “A waste of resources is what it is! That machine is only meant fer MY creations. Not fer makin’ smaller versions of yerself!”

“I don’t want a mini version of myself!” Bittergiggle cried, grabbing the tiny him and holding it out to the surgeon. “Here! Take it back! Get your resources or whatever! I am NOT being held responsible for! For! For this THING!”

“On the contrary, it IS yer responsibility.” Syringeon hissed, leaning his face down to glare right in the jester’s face. “You made it, you take care of it.”

“W-who-wait-wait-what?! Me?! My respons–I DIDN’T MAKE THIS!” Bittergiggle glared down at the tiny jester. “I didn’t even know it existed till now! Take it back!” He held it out to the surgeon, but the four-armed Mutant jumped back.

“Hell naw!” Syringeon hissed. “It’s made of yer genetic code, which makes it your responsibility! I’m not wastin’ my time and efforts on your offspring.”

“Off–?! It’s not mine!” Bittergiggle jumped to his feet, trying to force the tiny him back into Syringeon’s arms. “I don’t want this thing! I have other problems to deal with! I don’t want a kid to be added to the list!”

“Well I don’t want anythin’ to do with it!” Syringeon backed away with a hiss, keeping a distance as Bittergiggle tried handing the child back to him.

“Take it back!”

“No!”

“Syringeon!”

“No!”

“I don’t want it!”

“Too bad!”

“I’m not crafted for childcare! I was made to tell jokes!”

“Yer not even good at it!”

“DON’T REMIND ME!”

“You made it, you deal with it!”

“I didn’t make it! And I don’t want it!”

“Too bad!”

“Syringeon! Please!”

“SHUT UP!” Syrigneon roared, yelling directly in Bittergiggle’s face. “IT’S YOUR MISTAKE! So it’s your responsibility!”

“B-B-B-B-B-But I didn’t do this!” Bittergiggle protested, looking at the small him in alarm. “Why would I ever think to have a kid?! Because I thought it would be fun seeing how you enjoy it?! Na-ah! No way! Nope! That’s only you! I’m content to never be a single parent for the rest of my life! So take this! This! This! This THING back! Get your Givanium or resources or whatever! I don’t want it in my life!”

Syringeon stared at him, giving him an odd look for a long while. “… you really had no idea about this?”

“No!” Bittergiggle affirmed loudly. “No I didn’t! I’m a jokester! I’m not a father!”

“Well now you are.” Syringeon turned, heading for the doors.

“What?! NO!” Bittergiggle hurried after him. “I can’t–! You can’t just dump this on me! I-I don’t! This is some sort of mistake! Someone must have set me up or something! Syringeon! You can’t do this to me! I have a life–!”

“And so does everyone else!” Syringeon spun around, glaring down at Bittergiggle once again. “And I’m not goin’ to waste my time with raisin’ your when you’re more than capable to do so yourself.”

“B-but. B-B-But I don’t know the first thing about raising kids! I only know jokes! Twisting my body around like a pretzel! I’m not capable of this!”

Syringeon let out a scoff. “And you think I was? It’s a trial-and-error process. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Syringeon!”

“Look, Bittergiggle, I’m a busy person. I have stuff to do. Important stuff. I can’t run meself ragged lookin’ over your spawn.”

“It’s not my spawn!”

“Too bad. Your mistake, your mess.”

“But. But.” Bittergiggle looked at the tiny jester in his hands. The tiny, almost doll-sized jester creature that slept in his grip. “But. But I can’t! I don’t have the capability to! There. There must be someone who can. One of your kids? Another Mascot? Or a Mutant? Maybe even a human? They should be willing to raise–”

Bittergiggle let out a choked gasp, kicking his legs as Syringeon yanked the jester close, glaring his dark brown eyes into Bittergiggle’s own jade and amethyst eyes.

“You. Will. NOT. Under NO circumstances. Hand your spawn over to a HUMAN.” The surgeon hissed dangerously in Bittergiggle’s face. “You and I both know fully well that handin’ them over to a filthy human is nothin’ but a guaranteed certainty life of pain, misery, and sufferin’ in their hands. You remember all the awful thin’s they’ve done to you, don’t ya? To all of us? All those days and nights of torment under their kind. And you think they’ll be nice and raise it without question?”

Bittergiggle stared at Syringeon, taking a small glance at the mini-him in his hands.

He knew the answer. Syringeon knew it too.

Humans were nothing but monsters. They both knew it. Ever since their kind woke up and opened their eyes, their lives had been miserable under their creators’ hands.

Bittergiggle still couldn’t stand being confined in dark rooms by himself.

He could still hear himself screaming somewhere in his mind.

“… I can’t raise a kid.” The jester looked back up at Syringeon. “I’d me… I won’t be any good at it.”

Syringeon stared at him for a long moment before letting out a scoff, releasing Bittergiggle and wiping his gripping claw on his coat. “Good or not, this child is yours, Bittergiggle. And I will certainly not waste any of my precious time being roped into raisin’ it.”

A look of sickness crossed Bittergiggle’s face, staring in mute horror at the tiny him.

He didn’t know what to think. He was never made to be a parent. All Bittergiggle knew was to make jokes. Terrible jokes, but that was all he knew what to do. Raising kids was never part of his plan and he certainly had no idea how to!

Bittergiggle wanted to cry. To demand Syringeon to take the small him back and get rid of it. He had no desire to be a parent, and he certainly didn’t want the duty to be dumped on him with no reason. But the glare Syringeon was giving him offered no room for compromise or reconsideration, nor did it hold any sympathy towards the jester.

Did he really believe that Bittergiggle had done this on purpose? Make a small him for no reason other than to cause some sort of chaos?

… Well, that did sound like something he would do if he thought about it that way. But making a baby?! Nope! Na-ah! That draws the line!

“… Maybe I can find someone else?” Bittergiggle suggested, shifting the tiny jester to his arms. “There are other Mutants and Mascots. Maybe someone will take him in?”

“Him?” Syringeon said, squinting his eyes at Bittergiggle. “Him who?”

Bittergiggle gave the surgeon a quizzical look, pointing down at the mini-him in his arms.

Syringeon raised an eyebrow before a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh, wait, you think? You think it’s a boy?” He scoffed a little. “No, no. It’s not a boy, it’s a girl.”

Bittergiggle’s eyes widened, looking down at the tiny jester in shock.

A girl?

A Girl?

A GIRL?!

“GIRL?!”

“Is there a problem with that?” Syringeon’s voice became hard with a sharp edge to it, giving the jester a look that could fill a river with poison.

“Isn’t it… isn’t she supposed to be some sort of carbon copy of me?” Bittergiggle asked, staring at the tiny girl in his arms. “Shouldn’t she be a boy instead of a girl?”

“What’s wrong with her being a girl?”

“Nothing! Isn’t that how it works with cloning? They’re the same thing right?” Bitergiggle asked, which Syringeon shook his head.

“The new batch of Givanium Infants were all set to be girls. Figured I had too many sons so I wanted a few more daughters. The machine was set to inject female chromosomes instead of male. Hence why she came out a she instead of a he.” Syringeon explained.

“… oh.” Was all Bittergiggle could say, looking back down at the mini-him.

Well, not exactly mini-him.

Gender aside, she had different coloring. Instead of indigo and green, she was a royal azure and dark purple, looking almost like the eyeless clone back at his hideout. Aside from that, her appearance was exactly like his.

Only, she was smaller. Chubbier. And fluffier. Very very fluffy.

In fact, she was a fuzzball!

How did that happen? He wasn’t this fuzzy… maybe. God he hoped she wouldn’t have problems combing her fuzz like he did. It was a nightmare to get all the knots out when his fur gets matted. He doubted any of his combs and brushes would be the right size for her.

“And with that, I bid you adieu.” Bittergiggle snapped his head up, his feelings of fear and horror of his situation crashing down on him as Syringeon began leaving.

“W-What?! That’s it?!” He cried out. “You’re just going to leave?!”

“Not my problem, not my mess to fix.” Syringeon said. “She’s your problem now.”

Bittergiggle’s jaw was hitting the floor, looking back and forth between the surgeon and the child.

“Oh, one more thin’ I should mention.” Syringeon stopped at the doorway, looking back at Bittergiggle. Something in his eyes made the jester freeze in the spot. A cold gaze that made him feel ten times smaller and a hundred times more vulnerable to the four-armed Mutant than he had ever felt towards him in all his life.

“If I were you, I’d keep your offsprin’ a secret. The humans might not come down here much anymore, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have eyes and ears everywhere. So it’s best if ya keep them hidden somewhere where they won’t be found.”

Won’t be found? Well that was easy. Bittergiggle could just dump her in one of the rooms that were abandoned long ago. She could easily live with the Givanium in her body. She didn’t need him.

“And,” Syringeon’s sharp tone cut through his thoughts, interrupting his memory of where the best room to dump her in would be. “Be sure she stays a secret. If one of them finds out about her, who knows what they’ll do… though, I can guarantee that it wouldn’t be pretty fer the both of you.”

“… both?” Bittergiggle echoed. What did he mean by that?

A smile curled on Syringeon’s face. One that made Bittergiggle feel cold with dread and fear.

“… Both.” He repeated, chuckling in a dark tone as he left the Introduction Sector, leaving Bittergiggle standing in the room with his new problem.

< Previous / Next >

[meyousing]

𝐵𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊, 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒴𝑜𝓊

𝓶𝔂 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼: today (february 1st) is my birthday, and i wanted to write something special for the occasion! ᵔᴥᵔ happy birthday to me!

𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: your yandere captor surprises you on your special day, in such a sentimental way.

𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼: this is meant to be an insert of whichever yandere character x reader you want! sfw, slight hurt to comfort, fluff. not super proofread, too excited to get this out on time :P

Never could you have imagined living to see the day where you’d find yourself alone in bed, cuddled up with a book, and dearly missing your captor. Uncharacteristically, he had awoken you this morning with a soft kiss, telling you that he had a lot of plans and errands to run today; he would not be home until later that night, likely when you’d be sleeping. He ensured that you had your usual entertainments and devices nearby before taking his leave, but not before tenderly telling you that he loved you, and that he hoped you would have a pleasant day in his absence. If you had to admit it, pushing all of your feelings aside–he had never mistreated you. Aside from the whole kidnapping and controlling everything that you were allowed to do, of course. With those aspects not in mind, you could only say this was uncharacteristic to an extent. 

He was always showing you distant affection, holding you very gently as if you were something fragile, and letting you go when he could tell that you wanted to be detached and alone. Today, he was acting more affectionately with you than he usually did; so thoughtfully, what with the kisses and sweet wishes. Could it be that he knew what day it was? He hadn’t said anything, though…maybe he was just in a particularly good mood, from some other reason that he felt wasn’t important enough to mention. 

You chose not to dwell on it for too long, as wondering for an extended period would only allow your mind to run free, and too far. You knew that you would start to recall bitter memories of your past birthdays, of your so-called friends and uncaring family who would respond to your rhetorical inquiries of “Do you know what day it is today?” with “...Wednesday?” Not to mention how, the older you grew, they would only hum in response to you telling them that it was your special day, or they would think you were joking, telling you that this attempt at gaining their attention was so odd, such a weird excuse to use.

Ah, see? You let your mind run off again… you did not want to remember any of that. But you continued to think about it, to let it eat away at you; too occupied inside of your own mind as your eyes scanned over the first sentence of your book’s current page over and over again, not really taking any of the words in when the ones being spoken in your mind were too caustic and distracting. It wasn’t until something fell down onto the page that you blinked out of this self-induced stupor. It was a wet spot… oh, you had started crying. 

You began to contemplate your feelings as more tears fell, and the more that you did, the more you were able to reassure yourself these memories were just that: memories. Figments of the past, things that have been said and done, that were no longer a problem for you now. So why were you so upset? 

Perhaps it was due to the fact that the one remaining person in your daily life had not done anything to change these recollections for you. He who claimed to be so devoted to you, to know everything about you, to have your best interests at heart and would do anything if it meant a benefit to you… had also forgotten your birthday. And what made you feel so much worse was how badly you craved his company right now, in such a disquieted moment, whereas on any other day you would banish him from trying to look at you when you were in such a state. 

“Y/N? I’m home.”

His voice was distant, you had time. You lifted a quivery hand to your face, clumsily shooing the tears off of your cheeks and wiping that same hand on the pillowcase beneath you to dry your fingers. What impeccable timing he has, you thought to yourself. 

As you heard the door grate open and his footsteps as he entered the room, you looked up to his frame in the doorway and could only pray that your eyes were not bloodshot, that your nose was not too swollen following so many sniffles. He returned your gaze after closing the door behind him, trekking over to you--he had not yet mentioned anything about your face looking different, and it didn’t seem like he would be once he gave you a soft smile. Safe, you told yourself. He sat down on the bedside by your feet, resting his hand on your blanketed knee and giving it a light squeeze.

“Did you have a good day?” 

How could you answer him without giving away the truth? You were sure that honesty would lead to endless questioning about what he could do to make you feel better. Anyone else would certainly appreciate that, but in a moment where you were made so sad by a topic so vulnerable, you only wanted your own company to cope; perhaps it was the countless years of being left alone on this day that made you crave loneliness. 

He squeezed your leg again, bringing your attention to the lingering silence in the air upon your lack of an answer. You blinked a few times, mustering a phoney smile in return to his as you nodded your head. Your response being nonverbal shouldn't have been anything he wasn’t used to, but it didn’t stop him from gazing at you for a bit longer than what seemed acceptable in that moment. Oh no, could he tell something was off? 

You had to restrict a deep sigh of relief when he turned away from you briefly, once more indicating that you were safe from his hounding since he had said nothing else. But when he turned back around, your body tensed on the spot.

“This is for you.” He almost sounded awkward, his eyes downcast as he slid a small, hand-sized box in your direction, stopping when it bumped against your hand. 

Was this… a gift? It took you a second to rip yourself away from the shock-induced paralysis of seeing what looked like a present being given to you today. Surely you were getting ahead of yourself, you couldn’t get too worked up over this just yet, even though your hands moved to unwrap and open the box faster than you could process the velvety feeling of it in your palm.

Inside was a delicate bracelet. And not just any bracelet, this was the one that was given to you earlier on in your life. It was the only gift you had ever received from your family, even though you had received it when you were an infant. It had sentimental value; the memory of an experience you had never felt since then. 

When he had torn you away from your everyday life, forcing you into captivity at his side, you were forced to leave behind all of your personal belongings. Not only was this bracelet important to you, but it was the first item you had touched from your old home in over a year. Could he understand just how much this meant to you? Did he even realize what exactly he had just returned to you?

“I remember the story you told me about it.”

Oh, right. You had spoken about it once before, when you were in a mood to open up to him. You wound up crying into his arms and falling asleep in them, something that you pretended never happened when waking up the next day, since it had still been so early on in your time here. 

“I’ve had it in this home since the day I brought you here, but I wanted to give it to you on your birthday to make the reunion special. Sorry for making you wait so long…” his words were almost cheeky, the grin he shot at you holding the slightest hint of guilt. 

The way that your eyes and nose appeared to him now could no longer concern you, they were going to become bloodshot and swollen once more as tears welled up on your waterline. Your body acted before your mind could, a sob from your chest wracking both of you as your arms met around the back of his neck in an uncoordinated hug. 

“You remembered,” you whimpered into his shoulder, pressing into him as tightly as you could. At first, he didn’t make any moves to return your embrace, but you knew that he must have been momentarily surprised by your sudden lack of apprehension towards him, for once. His arms found your waist seconds later, welcoming you to him by pulling you closer and nudging his cheek into your neck sweetly.  

“Of course I remembered. I just wish I could have spent my day here with you. I could hardly stand the image of you being alone in here all day long, on your special day.” 

Such words made your heart flutter, you could barely believe them. Nobody had ever wanted to spend time with you on your birthday, especially by their own choice. As your eyes dampened his shirt the more you let out such joyful tears, a feeling swelled deeply inside of you that you never could have imagined experiencing towards him, had it not been expressed by him in the first place. He only made it known that your feelings would not be unrequited. 

You could swear that by him and for him, you felt love. 

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[shootingstarwritings]

FEStival Fiasco

Part 7

The Puppet that Played at being a Star

A lie.

That was all Centaurus could think when Professor Polaris said that.

“Y-You’re lying to me,” he said, wincing and chiding himself as he heard how shaky his own voice was. Why was he so nervous? His heart was pounding. Every pump was like a hammer to his temple. “You can’t be telling the truth… the whole war, being a lie?!”

It was far too ridiculous to be true.

No, it wasn’t just that.

If there truly was no war, then why was Centaurus born, nameless and abandoned, in those mines? Why did so many others before and after him? Why did so many of his fellow brethren die cold, hungry, alone, and in pain?

‘Did my suffering not matter? Did theirs? Did they all have no meaning?’

To believe the professor would be to accept those thoughts. And if Centaurus did accept them…

Why was he even here? Why was he even alive?

“Liar…! You piece of shit, I oughta kill you right here!”

Polaris’ expression remained unchanged; unwavering even as Centaurus charged him and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt.

“Where the hell do you get off mocking me?!” Centaurus demanded, spit flying. “Huh?! You bastard, you better tell me the truth right now or—!”

“You already know a way to see if I’m lying or not.” Polaris quirked an eyebrow, licking his lips. “You’ve seen your hosts’ memories, haven’t you? Well, it works for each other as well.” He smirked. “It really makes you wonder what was the real purpose behind our species’ ability to interact and share with each other’s neural networks. Maybe we were meant to communicate better with each other this whole time, huh…? Centaurus, what do you think?”

Centaurus’ grip slowly loosened as he took in Polaris’ words. “You want me to bite you, as though I was possessing someone,” he said, arms fell to the side, hanging limply as though they were lead weights. “I’ve… I’ve never done something like this.” When had his host begun sweating so much? When did he start trembling? What was Centaurus so afraid of?

‘Why am I even here?’ Once more, that question came to him, but he quickly shook it away.”

“Curious?”

“… Of course I am.”

“Well? Are you going to do it or not?” Polaris, still smirking, tilted his head forward so as to touch Centaurus’ borrowed forehead with his own. “I have high hopes for you, Centaurus. Search my mind, and don’t hide away from the truth.”

“… Are you taunting me…? Centaurus asked, drained enough that he couldn’t even remain angry at Polaris.

Professor Polaris let out a chuckle, pulling Centaurus in for a tight embrace. “I saw your potential, y’know? That’s why I fought hard to allow the board of our academy to allow you to attend. And more specifically, to allow me to become your teacher. Haven’t you ever wondered why a former military commander became a professor? It’s because I insisted.”

Certain details made more sense, but there was still someone odd about all of this. “But, why? Why did you want me to join the academy? Y’know I was a worm, so then…?”

“Because whether they like it or not, it’s only by meeting another with widely different circumstances that these students’ worlds actually expand. Without you, there’s no way that any of them will ever grow. But the reverse also applies to you. There’s no way you will the true injustices of the world without witnessing those who inhabit it. This is how the seeds of revolution can be planted. It’s the only way that society will ever change.”

Centaurus, frowning, scoffed and pointedly looked away. “This is such bullshit,” he muttered. “So I was just a puppet for you to manipulate? A tool for your little play at a revolution?”

It always felt as though he was being pushed and pulled by forces beyond his understanding. Whether it was the Elites who looked down on him from their ivory world or the coach who stood before him, Centaurus was just dancing to a tune that only he couldn’t hear. “What am I, Polaris? Am I just something to be used, or am I someone who can choose his own fate? Am I… simply a worm…?”

Coach Polaris’ expression grew grim. A heavy silence spread throughout the dark room. To Centaurus, it felt like “Judgment Day,” an event that held considerable importance in his host’s mind. Yes, Centaurus’ world felt like it was about to crumble before him. His purpose seemed scattered in the wind, as though it was about to vanish when it was so close in his grasp. He thought that he was building his own fate, a path that he crafted with his own hands.

Yet… that was never the case.

“Who am I?” Centaurus asked again.

“You’re… you. That’s all. That’s what you decided for yourself, right? ‘Centaurus,’ named after the sun that everything in our world revolves around. That was the point, wasn’t it?”

Centaurus hesitated, just for a moment. “Yeah, but not quite. I… I loved that sunrise that I saw, the first time I ever left those tunnels. And, I wanted to be that for others. Other worms that had spent their lives underground. I wanted to be like that beautiful sight that inspired me to finally live—finally retake myself. If just another one of my brothers and sisters was inspired, then I’d make it all worth it.”

That settled it. The truth was right before him, and Centaurus would sooner die than allow it to escape his grasp. He carried not just his own life, but all of those that came and died before him in those damn tunnels. Centaurus nodded and stepped forward.

It began.

“Allow me to show you,” said Coach Polaris, walking in a circle as Centaurus slowly spun, eyes glaring down at Polaris’ host. They moved as though following a rhythm only they could hear. Somehow, it felt right. The two moved and swayed as they approached, their fingers intertwining as they waltzed in the dark. “Is this instinct? Fate?” asked Polaris.

Centaurus shut his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just doing what I’m supposed to.” He was leading for whatever reason. Was it his host’s idea? Muscle memories that were flowing out in this moment? “I’m doing what feels right.”

“It’s a forgotten dance in our people,” said Polaris. “We were meant to share our minds, our souls, with each other. But this hierarchy prevented that. This is the dawn of a new age, Centaurus. This is—”

“I don’t know if this is true or not yet,” growled Centaurus. “Let’s… Let’s just do this.” Deep down, he was trembling, but he threw himself towards the fire anyway. Centaurus leaned in and kissed Polaris’ host. He slithered through their intimate kiss into Polaris’ borrowed body.

The host choked and struggled as yet another creature slithered into his body. It was difficult for his body to withstand it as Centaurus crawled into his brain. The two snake-like creatures danced and chased the other's tail, following their instinct like always. An ouroboros. A dragon that would wrap around the world.

Centaurus' vision grew dark as foreign sensations flooded his body. It was a trade. Their minds, memories, souls, and hearts were all shared. It was an electric experience, somehow more intimate than sex yet somehow more universal at the same time. It was like he was ascending to the heavens or reaching Nirvana.

When Centaurus’ vision returned, he was staring up at a starry sky on unfamiliar soil. This wasn’t his memory, he had never seen this sight before. Yes, this was from Polaris. It was a hazy sight and he couldn’t move. It was like he was watching an old film that had been rescued from the clutches of being lost forever.

The stars looked more like streamers zooming by as fireworks lit up the night sky.

“You promised you would come home soon.”

Those weren’t Centaurus’ thoughts, but he heard them all the same.

“You promised you’d come back to them; and promised to come back to me. I waited for you on the ground, wishing on the stars that flew next to you to bring you back safe.”

A shooting star came barreling down the sky, a trail of smoke and flames right behind it. Centaurus’ heart raced as terror and despair flooded his mind.

“Why did you have to die…? I loved you. I loved you so much…”

His heart broke. Not Centaurus’, but Polaris. These were Polaris' thoughts. And the ship he Centaurus focused on carried the one whom he had longed for ever since he could remember. “I didn’t mind you finding another mate and building a family as long as I could remain by your side. How was I supposed to tell them you were gone? How could you take my love and leave me behind…?”

Zathina’s father, Altair, died on that day. His son, Vega, perished soon after in the same dogfight. There was little of each body to bury, a right both of them had.

Polaris mourned and suffered, and Centaurus felt each heartache as though they were his own.

‘So that’s why he wants to watch over her,’ thought Centaurus.

“All that remained of you was that child—Zathina. So I tried to help her, tried to keep her safe. She became hardened and strong, but I could still see the scars in her heart. She stood on her own, but it had crushed her completely to do so. It was like a vase that had been shattered and put back together. Though it still stood, it was far more fragile than ever before.

“And, I wanted to find out the truth. I wanted to know why you had to die, why this war that took you away continued to drag on despite victory after victory.

What was found… was schematics of the enemy’s ship, military plans based on their battle tactics, and receipts for expenses that had been kept secret. When Polaris found them, only one conclusion made sense.

“The ships you had fought that day… were built by our very own military. Not just on that day, but every combat you had ever flown on, and even before that. None of them were piloted by our enemy, the Carinos. In fact, they were more than likely extinct. Wiped out by us.”

When had the conflict ended…? For how long had the war been fabricated. How many of their own did the Emperor sacrifice for the status quo to continue? Those were the questions that raced through Polaris’ mind all those years ago. He had discovered the truth; he understood that there was no reason behind Altair’s death. He died for nothing. And a part of Polaris died along with him.

“I couldn’t stand being in that department for much longer. I left. I had to leave. If I didn’t, I was certain I would kill someone. Most of us there didn’t know the truth, but some of them did. Yes, the higher-ups must’ve known. I needed to leave and go elsewhere before I tried to make them pay. If I got myself killed before exposing the truth to everyone, I wouldn’t be able to avenge you, my love. So I left and joined the educational department. If I could make a difference with our youth, if I worked to change everything…”

It wasn’t long before Polaris discovered and joined an underground revolution. His eyes were open, and his mind would follow soon after. So much of life, even among the Elites, was hidden and censored by the Emperor and his council.

“Did you know, my dear Altair, that they no longer wish to be called ‘Worms?’ That’s right, they want to be Cosmopolitans; those who are found everywhere, those who are ubiquitous. Elites and Worms are to become useless terms. We all want to become Cosmopolitans. That’s what freedom is, right?”

Time passed, and eventually Polaris came to find someone named ‘Centaurus’ trying to apply to the academy. It had taken urging for the school board to accept him, but Polaris’ reputation was a major help. Perhaps his young one would join the revolution. Perhaps he would be a good influence on those Elites that had little knowledge of the people that were forced below them.

‘It was him… Polaris had been… guiding me along…

‘And… it was really a lie…

‘A lie… the war… the society that had been shaped by it… it was all falsehoods.

‘They died…

‘For nothing…’

“I’ll kill him. The Emperor. I swear I’ll kill him. I won’t rest until my hands are around his thorax.”

The last sight The Emperor would see was a shining star sending him to hell. Centaurus swore on that.

[iamnmbr3]

Maaaaaaan ever since I followed you you've brought up such good points I never even considered.

like how Snape actually SHOULD be allowed to remain bitter about his childhood and the abuse from James because it was genuinely awful

or the fact that Tom's genuinely terrified reactions to dumbledor when they first met essentially made him even more resentful of adults and possibly beyond the point of no return on that front considering how he feels and reacts later on. (Which honestly that whole scene just from dumbledors perspective sounded very biased to manipulate Harry and if Harry wasn't so focused on trying to stop Tom he probably would have empathized with Tom there)

I low key kinda feel like JKR forgot what she wrote halfway through the books because she actually did write some interesting characters just not in the way her current self agrees with (also how does someone's own opinions of characters change that much and that bad??? I still don't understand, tho the guy who wrote Ender's game was homophobic and he literally wrote a book about the gay experience soooo who knows anymore)

Anyway thanks for your interesting takes!

What a delightful message to get!! Thank you so much! I'm really glad you've having a good time with this blog and that my posts have been thought provoking and enjoyable for you. That's so nice to hear.

I definitely think if Harry had witnessed the memory of Tom and Dumbledore's first meeting in a different context he probably would've reacted very differently - especially given his own history of unhappy experiences with adults arounds him during his pre-Hogwarts childhood. Harry is primed to be biased against Tom for the very understandable reason that Voldemort killed his parents, tried to kill him in 1st and 4th year and caused the death of his godfather in 5th year and on top of all that he met diary!Tom in second year and that didn't go well either. So of course the memory Harry sees is filtered through the lens of those experiences and traumas and doesn't raise any red flags.

If the diary had shown him that memory in an attempt to turn him against Dumbledore or he'd seen it in another context without knowing who Tom Riddle became things might well have been different.

And yeah. It's weird. The characterization in the books is actually very good and interesting. It's the strongest aspect of the series in my opinion and why I feel so drawn to the fandom surrounding these characters. The interesting thing is in general the characterization is internally consistent and complex. So it's not just a matter of wasted potential (though there is some of that too) where a character is shallow but could've been interesting or even a case of wildly inconsistent characterization that can be fixed with fandom.

Rather, it seems that what she created was accidental and wildly at odds with her intent. So what she wrote, isn't what she meant, but it's also a lot more interesting than what she meant.

[redrobin-detective]

I keep turning over a sad little thought in which if all of Simon's memories from the time he put on the crown were stored in it. So when he is magically separated from the crown in CAWM, he retains no memory of any of the events while he was controlled by it. One minute he was teasing Betty in the 20th century and the next he's surrounded by candy people, vampires and talking dogs. How absolutely devastating would that be to everyone involved?

Simon is in a state of shock and it probably takes him months if not years for his brain to mentally catch up with the fact that his civilization died and a new magical one sprang up in what was to him the blink of an eye. Not to mention he knows he lived and experienced in that thousand year interval but when he pokes that spot, it's all a blank. People keep talking to him like he's familiar, bringing up stories and it's like they're talking about a different person. And they ARE in a way, Simon Petrikov PhD student was a very different person after the War and the force of the crown's madness.

Can you imagine Marcy's devastation, that she gets her father figure back and he once again can't remember her? He's normal and sane but he looks at her like she's a stranger. They're back at the same point when he was Ice King. They both work at the relationship and Simon cares for her, but this man didn't raise her, didn't give up his sanity to keep her safe and keep coming back to her even when his mind was gone. They make it work but it's different than what it had been. Marcy looks at him and sees a friend and a mentor but not a father.

Finn too had slowly, despite himself, become fond of Ice King. Especially when he learned of his tragic story. They had developed a relationship and Finn was eager to meet the human behind the magic. Much of his life is defined by loss and here he experiences another one. A man he had beat up, then pitied then against all odds befriended looks at him like a lost kid. This Simon doesn't understand Ooo and Finn's status. He's a man in his 30's to 40's, it will be hard for him to see a teenager as an equal without having developed the relationship over time. He would probably try to fill in the mentor/father role like he did Marcy but Finn would feel cheated. This man was, but also wasn't, the friend Finn knew.

Just a Simon who has to crash course adjust to the literal entire forces of the world changing under his feet with no prior knowledge. He has to cope with the joy and the grief of people who loved him (this other him) dealing with his existence. He has to learn about Betty's sacrifice all over again and not really comprehend just what she went through for him to return. Simon will lie awake at night and try his hardest to remember being scared and starving in the apocalypse, losing himself to madness and becoming a joke, a pointless nuisance, for the people of this world for centuries.

He suffered under the crown but he would give anything to have those bad memories back if it meant he could actually feel connected to the new world he was trapped in.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Hey! @sonyawix

This is an interesting take and I had to consult with the Holder of the Jalice Braincells (@volturialice) to really break this down.

It sounds like the author of that take is kind of more interested in perfect, idealized relationships and might not be a fan of Alice, honestly. Plus SMeyer made a lot of the relationship dynamics in canon a really odd thing - we see all three Cullen relationships as very one-dimensional because of the relationship triptych I've ranted about before.

Because of Alice's backstory and her gift, we know that she's going to be a bit of a weirdo. She's essentially bet everything she has that the pictures in her brain are a path to happiness, that Jasper will make her happy. She has no reference point to interpersonal relationships beyond her visions, she has no memories of humanity; we really aren't shown exactly what level she was functioning at when she woke up. Those 28 missing years would be fascinating in how she built herself into a functional individual, honestly.

She bets everything on Jasper, and I think that shows what an optimistic, determined person she is. She could have gone to the Cullens straight away and probably would have been welcomed warmly - there's nothing in canon indicating that wasn't an option. But for whatever reason, Alice commits to waiting for Jasper. That's loyalty and dedication and love.

Just because their meeting was fated/planned doesn't mean it isn't meaningful.

So Alice seeing Jasper for all those years is not going to necessarily match up with him in real life. It's one thing to know a person has trauma, it's entirely another to meet that traumatized, depressed person. It's one thing to get the greatest hits of the relationship pumped straight into the brain, it's another to have all those small moments, those in-between times.

We know from Jasper's time with Maria that he tends to deify the women he's involved with. He put both Maria and Alice on a pedestal. That's just how he loves and commits - fully and totally. His 'hyperfocus' on Alice is a sign of how much he loves and treasures her. I honestly don't think it would have mattered how or when they met, Jasper would have treated her the same - the most precious thing he has.

We also know that Jasper has spent the best part of one hundred years in a high-stress environment where nothing was guaranteed. He didn't trust Maria at the end. So being introduced to someone who could tell him which path would be safe? Where there was no risk or fighting? I think that would be an incredible support for Jasper. I imagine in the early days, he'd probably ask Alice to check the future more than necessary because of his PTSD. And I can imagine Alice checking every time he asked, and going over all the details with love and patience.

And we know that Jasper does go against her wishes - he disagreed with her decision to return to Forks when Alice thought she had died, and Alice went alone (side note, if Jasper had gone with her, there was an opportunity for a lot of Eclipse set up right there.)

As for dehumanizing all her relationships, Alice is very distinctively trying to help throughout the series. It might be over the top, and it might not go to plan, but all of her visions and guidance are meant to help the people she loves. Alice has never known life without her sixth sense, so of course she uses it like we use our five senses. Does it give her a God-complex? Yes. Do I think it's meant to be more of a nod to Meyer's insistence on calling her a 'pixie' and utilizing fae imagery since fairies in lore are supported to love helping? Absolutely.

I think it's pretty disingenuous to say that people are 'ideas' to Alice when she was changed and abandoned. It's more likely that Alice is more intensely aware of what makes them happy so that they all stay together and she's not left alone again. If she didn't see people as people, but as chess pieces, then she wouldn't have go to see Charlie when she thought Bella was dead; she wouldn't have gone to Volterra to save Edward; she wouldn't have taken Jasper with her to find the hybrid.

So yeah, I disagree pretty strongly with this because it feels more like a way to minimize and dismiss Alice and her relationship with Jasper. But this is just my take on the character, and I'm sure there are dozens of different readings and interpretations out there!

[right-brain-left-brain]

Can you tell us anything about the secret boss you shared under the reblog of Veratus and @mercair's Quiddo?

I wish to hear more about your secret boss who's been over taken by plants and vines.

This is my first time sharing my secret boss ocs' lore, so I'm fairly excited. Alright, hope you like my ramble session. Here goes.

In the Light World, Rainie is Asriel's old raincoat. The memories of that raincoat alone is enough to be the basis for teru-teru-bozu-like darkners called Raindolls (temporary name?), of which Rainie is one of them.

For context, Chapter 6 is focused on the Dreemurr family, specifically Asgore (and Asriel somehwat). It's still a rough idea, but it's going to test him as a person and his will. Fittingly, Asgore is the 'Flower King' himself, while his subordinates are the Fun Gang (plus Asriel) and Darkners from this world.

So, for their backstory. You know how Jevil has Seam, and Spamton has Swatch? Rainie has Steambert (who in the Light World will be a watering can or one of those spray bottles for wall plants). Steambert doubles as both the head scientist/inventor of the Flower King Dark World and its 'main' shopkeeper.

The Raindolls were built to assist, and they would help whoever they're assigned to. Rainie happens to be an assistant to Steambert. Whether he's building something or managing his shop, Rainie would lend a hand as much as they could. The calm, persistent Raindoll would always help the eccentric inventor-shopkeep when there seems to be a dead end. With their help, the Dark World's cities prospered with steam powered machineries. A perfect combination of nature and machine.

One day, the shop by proxy of its assistant received a special customer; a strange man (you know who). This man, proclaiming himself to Rainie as a 'traveling scientist' visited the shop in hopes of talking to Steambert. Rainie looked for and found Steambert. The mystery man discussed with the 'fellow scientist', seeing great potential in the bright mind behind the country's machines. The discussion, however, shifted slowly from scientific matters to more... Weirder ones.

Things like the world being weaved from strings of 'codes', and how every single thing is a predetermined course of action. Just like the very machines that the shop's owners built and programmed. And with this odd message, the strange man offered Steambert a dark, dark crystal.

Raindolls are sensitive to changes in the atmosphere, and Rainie is no different. Sensing something dangerously off about the crystal (and the mystery man), they rushed to their master and snatched the crystal away. Even if it disrupts the otherwise (seemingly) fine discussion, they will protect Steambert; a master and a friend. If only they didn't make the mistake of looking at the crystal itself.

They saw too much. Things no living being should see or feel or think about. Things like how the world are codes and files and animated images and-

It's been days (weeks?) since the little, calm Raindoll left the workshop. While still well managed and visited, it hung by a thread when compared to its better days. Whispers amongst the crowd and light rain says that the little Raindoll can be seen peeking from behind the sprawling flora just on the outskirts of the Blumengeschäft's Castle and the Downtown. Though they were said to be seen wearing a raincoat made seemingly of petals, and the strings emblematic of the Raindolls seem to now be purple-red vines. In fact Raindolls aren't meant to have a purplish tint; could it be moss or fungi?

They waited and searched for so long that they've merged with the nature. Waiting, biding their time to search for someone who they can (and will, no matter what) help in freeing the people of this Dark World from their fates set in stone.

If you've reached this long, thanks for reading and hopefully you enjoyed the ramble session.

[seizethedre]

(In the Land of Gods and Monsters)

Chapter Four: Shining, Like a Fiery Beacon

Lucifer isn't good with people. Or questions. Or feelings, for that matter. However, they seem to be all he's dealing with lately.

There are certain, undeniable perks to being an angel, even if that angel’s status had been demoted to fallen as of the past couple thousand years. Lucifer wouldn’t say that the experience of becoming a fallen angel was an agreeable one, but even he could admit that the situation could have been much, much worse. Of course being the first of his kind meant that there wasn’t really any other experience to compare his fall from grace to. Hell, he didn’t even know what it meant to fall until he was half-way to burning alive and plummeting in a blazing heap down towards the boiling cesspools that bordered what would eventually become the Pride ring. 

Much of those first few days, months, years were spent in aching agony as both Lilith and he recovered from being cast out of Heaven. The memories always stung as though brand new; perhaps that pain was a reminder, just another punishment inflicted by his curse. It had cost them everything, but eventually with time they healed, and in that healing there came discovery.

Among the darkness and brimstone that made up their new home, Lucifer was surprised to find glimpses of what used to be. It was years before he was able to see his reflection again, but Lilith had told him that he looked different, much like how Lilith herself had changed after they fell. 

When he finally could bring himself to look upon his countenance again, it was an odd experience to say the least. 

His complexion was still pale as porcelain, smooth and unmarred, cheeks a deceptively cheerful rosy hue. So white and pristine. Clean , almost. But he knew it was a lie, was reminded of reality as one of his hands went to trace the sharp edges of his new teeth. They were black as night, dark as the void had been those many eons ago before he had been commanded to create the lesser lights that would become stars. Although they no longer pained him as they had when he had first landed in Hell, Lucifer understood that those scorch marks would always remain, a stain from elbows to clawed fingertips to remind him of his undeterrable exile. 

Most surprising to him was the fact that his wings were still intact and functional. He had been terrified that his brothers had done something to them when they cast him out, too caught up in the confusion and agony of the moment to register any injury that may have been inflicted upon them. They had been futile as he fell, despite the desperate manner he had flared them and flapped, they did nothing to slow his descent, charring under the flaming heat just as his hands had. When he could finally bring himself to bring them back out, he was pleased to see that they were unscathed, albeit a little unsightly. The proud whiteness of them was stained with a deep redness, but not the same blackness as his hands as he had suspected they would be. They felt heavier, wilted like lilies under the direct heat of the sun, but they worked and for that, Lucifer was grateful.

Even his eyes were different. Before, they’d been light and pale, a swirling blue and gold that reflected the angelic grace that made him up. Now they were red, fearsome and wretched. He had been afraid that as a result of his fall he would have been stripped of his angelic powers. Since his brothers had decided his fate he had been cut off from their minds, unable to feel the familiar warmth of their souls. For the first time in his life he had been alone, banished and forced into strangeness. He had felt like a stranger, too, his features familiar yet all too foreign, uncanny in a way that twisted his insides into impossible knots.

Perhaps it was that strangeness that had prevented him from any attempts to access his power. Perhaps it was just his fear. Regardless, Lucifer had spent a long time huddled under the cover of darkness with Lilith at his side, deep in the shadows cast by Heaven’s light high up above them. But anguish has a way of calling out to even the most suppressed of instincts inside of all of us, human, angel, and demon alike. Maybe it was madness, pain and suffering that had finally nudged him to insanity, or maybe it was simply desperation, but the tightness within him had given way one day and light had exploded from his palms. Glorious and unexpected and warm. 

Lucifer had reformed a part of himself after that experience. Perhaps his father had still harbored some good-will towards him, and allowed him to keep those gifts that had esteemed him so greatly amongst the legions of Heaven. Perhaps the retention of his angelic abilities was meant to make a mockery of him in the same way that a canary still feels inclined to sing when confined to the wires of a cage. Lucifer couldn’t pretend to understand why he still had his powers, he was just grateful that he did. He would not be helpless, would not perish in this wasteland, and that was reason enough to believe that everything would be alright.

And, yeah, ‘alright’ is an appropriate word that Lucifer would use to describe his life right about now. You know, if you consider the entirety of the Exorcist army targeting the hotel, Adam almost killing his daughter during the last Extermination, and a broken treaty with Heaven alright. But he’d cross that bridge and deal with the consequences as they came.

The truth of the matter was that the hotel was rebuilt, Charlie and her friends were, for the most part, alive and well, and Heaven would have to answer to him for being the ones to break the treaty in the first place. Honestly, Lucifer hadn’t felt this good in a while and he had his darling little girl to thank for that.

Well, her and his aforementioned angelic powers. Because in the entirety of Hell, no power looms larger than the King’s and you’d have to be suicidal or just a massive idiot to mess with that guy. 

So that’s exactly how Lucifer had found himself appointed as head of the hotel’s security. Given his status, it wasn’t exactly a difficult position to oversee and he had suspected that Charlie, bless her heart, had given him the job in hopes that he would feel included among the hotel’s employees. Lucifer was so thankful for the way she took him into account–-recognized that this was yet another way that she was trying to reach out to him and mend their relationship–-and normally he would cater to her expectations without fault or complaint. 

Except for one teensy, tiny, little problem: the gig was boring as fuck.

Lucifer, in all his might and grace, had been reduced to little more than a glorified guard dog. Maybe the hotel had a few loan sharks or wannabe overlords break down a wall or two in the past, but ever since the word got around that the owner’s father–aka Mr. The-Big-Boss-of-Hell-Himself–was staying on the premises full-time, no one really dared so much as break a window or light a dumpster on fire a block within the hotel’s vicinity. 

In the rare, off-chance that some excitement did stir in the area, Vaggie was already on the scene, materializing out of nowhere at the first signs of danger, armed with her trusty spear and ready for a fight. Lucifer had to hand it to Adam, as much as he loathed the man, he sure knew how to whip his war machines into shape. Alas, there were also the laws of self-preservation which dictated that if Lucifer wished to keep existing, he would be wise to remain far, far away from spear-wielding Vaggies. 

So yeah, the hotel’s security problem was pretty much handled.

For a while, he had given the welcoming committee a go, but that idea went up in flames not even an hour in when Lucifer came bounding down the stairs and into the lobby to greet the new prospective guests with his freshly conjured I-heart-redemption t-shirt, all excited glee and wide, toothy grin only to have the poor sinners take one look at him and high-tail it out of there. If he had to guess what went wrong in that scenario, people in Hell probably don’t assume the best outcomes from strange, deranged-looking angels barreling towards them with an open mouth full of razor sharp teeth. 

Noted: tone down the enthusiasm next time. 

It was decided then and there that maybe having the King of Hell as the face of the welcoming committee wasn’t the best idea for a place that was trying to promote trust and tranquility. It had stung a little bit, but Lucifer understood Charlie’s reasoning and backed off before she could feel worse about it. 

Of course, now barred from interacting with new residents meant that Lucifer’s options for entertainment were limited and boy did that make him antsy. Not that he could be blamed for it, really. 

For a long time after his creation, the angel was go, go, go. Creating and conjuring and changing according to the designs of the Plan, touching-up and polishing, tweaking and adjusting. Sure there was a century or two of rest after Eden was done, but then he was cast out and then there was Hell to raise–literally. So Lucifer became King and then he became a father when Charlie was born and wasn’t that just a stroll in the park. Basically, Lucifer was used to being busy. 

Maybe the last decade or so had seen him a bit more subdued, forced into hibernation by a particularly aggressive bout of depression, but recently things had been different. When Charlie had reached out to him, he felt excited. Now they were on the road to regaining years of lost connection and Lucifer felt good about that. Between his daughter wanting to see him and know him, the fight with Adam, and rebuilding the hotel with Charlie and her friends, Lucifer was feeling fired up and eager for more.

But life as of late seemed to have other plans. He supposed he should be thankful for the peace, but all it did was make him feel anxious and squirmy. Even his decades-long hyper-fixation of making rubber ducks didn’t seem to be cutting it anymore. He’d tried hanging out at the bar and chatting with Husk, but the bartender wasn’t exactly a man of many words and didn’t seem to care for Lucifer’s jokes. 

Angel Dust was entertaining enough whenever he could find him outside of the studio, but there were only so many raunchy details of his latest filming endeavors that even the original temptation could handle before he started blushing. Lucifer was torn between feeling awed by the spider, concerned, or terrified. 

On the other hand, when it came to Niffty the devil could easily conclude that terrified was the proper emotion to assign her. The little housekeeper was horrifyingly silent and had made it a habit of popping up and scarring the king half to death at all hours of the day. She never really spoke to him, just kind of popped out of the odd vent or from behind a bookshelf, her singular eye wide with disturbed amusement, giggling up at him as she brandished some sort of roach-encrusted chain or crown. He always accepted the, er, gifts from her and definitely not because he was afraid of what the consequences of rejecting them would be. He was a gentleman, after all. Angels were the inventors of chivalry, did you know? And although her small size made her seem harmless, Lucifer knew better, and wasn’t too keen on risking his life or his sanity over a conversation that may or may not provide him respite from his boredom. 

That left three people: Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor. Charlie was out of the question, for obvious reasons. Running the hotel demanded a lot from her, even with all of the help she had. Lucifer didn’t want to seem incapable of looking after himself, nor did he want to give her any more reasons to worry about him. There comes a time in every parent’s life when they realize that they have to step aside and let their kids take control of their lives and Charlie was doing just that–-and no, Lucifer couldn’t claim any credit for her determination, that was something completely her own. He was proud of her, honestly. 

Vaggie was also out of the question. Honestly, Lucifer was awed, and a little bit mystified, by the way she balanced the roles of assistant manager, security detail, and supportive girlfriend without fail. Charlie was lucky to have found such a good partner and he knew that the hotel was just as lucky to have her sense of duty, structure, and attention to detail, too. Okay, maybe it was selfish of Lucifer to admit it, but having another angel around was a cathartic experience as well. It made him feel seen, despite the circumstances of their defection being wildly different.

That just left Alastor, but who was he kidding? Lucifer was desperate, but never desperate enough to spare that guy more than a second thought, pompous, antlered sinner that he was. Additionally, Lucifer didn’t think that spending some one-on-one time with the Radio Demon would be good for either of them, much less the rest of the hotel. Oil and water they were. Or Maybe something more akin to vinegar and baking soda? Something explode-y for sure, he concluded. Plus, it’s not like he was ever around, anyways–again, not that Lucifer was keeping tabs on him or anything. The hotel was just noticeably quieter without him around, no static noise to intrude on his thoughts or lame-ass jazz music to drag him headfirst into an unexpected snooze. Where did the guy disappear to anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be helping Charlie run this place? Lately it seemed that he was never here, not that Lucifer cared, but it wasn’t fair to leave Charlie high and stranded like that out of nowhere. Now that Lucifer did care about. 

That was the thought on his mind when he heard his name being called from down the hall. He sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, legs crossed as he sketched some new designs in his notepad. He glanced up at the sound, grinning widely as Charlie rounded the corner, looking around until she landed on her dad. 

“Dad, there you are! Did I catch you at a bad time?” Lucifer scrambled to his feet, sending his sketchbook back to the desk in his room with a quick flick of his wrist.

“Of course not ducky, what can I help you with?” Taking a good look at his daughter, she looked a smidge more disheveled than normal. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yes, everything’s okay.” She huffed out a breath, clearly frazzled but Lucifer didn’t push her. “Actually dad, I was hoping you could help me run a quick errand?” She smiled guiltily at him, afraid she was asking for too much, and wasn’t that just a preposterous thought.

“Sure thing, Charlie. Whatever you need! Anything for you, darling.” Okay, maybe he was being a little too enthusiastic, but father, anything would be better than sitting around here pretending to be productive for another second. Plus, Charlie had come to him for help and he could never refuse her. Her face instantly collapsed in relief.

“Wonderful, thanks so much dad. I just need you to run into town to this bakery right here and confirm the catering options for the open house we’re having in a few weeks. Normally I’d send Al to do it, but I haven’t seen him all day and I’d really rather get our order confirmed ahead of time. Think you can manage?” Lucifer glanced down at the business card she’d picked from the pile of notes she had tucked into her clipboard. Graham’s Patisserie . Huh, he wasn’t familiar with the place, but the address was simple enough. It wouldn’t be a problem to locate it.

“No problem at all, sweetie. Your old man’s got this, don’t you worry.” See, you don’t need that unreliable Radio Demon around when I’m here . Yeah, he’d force that smiley asshole out of here one way or another.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, dad! I owe you one!” She threw her arms around him in a quick hug before straightening herself back out and turning back to her clipboard. “Call me if anything comes up, thanks again dad!” He waved her off, smiling fondly as she turned and left in a speedy blur.

Admittedly, it had been a few years since Lucifer had ventured out solo into the city. Save for the occasional meetings he had with the other Sins, he didn’t really have any reason to leave the palace. This would be the perfect opportunity for him to reacquaint himself with the city. Of course, this little trip would run much smoother if he could open a portal to Graham's Patisserie , but he wasn’t too sure where it was and he really didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of the pentagram by mistake. He supposed he could fly though, but that would probably draw a lot of attention and he really didn’t want to accidentally get shot down as a result of some sinner’s shitty shooting practice. 

So, walking it was.

Lucifer wouldn’t exactly say that walking down the streets of Hell was a scary activity, but it definitely wasn’t pleasant. The hotel was located on the outskirts of town, where the foot traffic was pretty mild, but the deeper he ventured into the city, the more he was reminded about how much he hated it here. 

The Hazbin Hotel was the exception. He knew the people there, and had shared a beer or two with them. They had risked their lives for a good cause, for Charlie, because they believed in her. They were good, trustworthy people for the most part. Misguided in life, sure, but redemption seemed in the realm of possibility for them. The hotel was a good, unique place.  It was a place he’d helped to rebuild. Every brick had been laid with good intention and renovations were made everyday to accommodate the needs of sinners who may or may not even deserve them.

It's not that he didn’t believe in Charlie’s dream. Hell, it had been his own dream, too, once. But all of these people didn’t make Heaven’s cut for a reason. They were selfish and cruel, the lowest of the low. A real rotten bunch as evident by the bloodstains that covered sidewalks and the walls of alleyways. Black smoke from rogue fires clouded the air as people screamed obscenities at one another. Not for the first time, Lucifer was glad he didn’t need to breathe to survive as he was sure the place probably reeked of brimstone and something rotten. 

Had it been a darker day for Lucifer, he was sure these thoughts would send him into another one of his downward spirals, but today was a good day. There was a bounce in his stride and a business card in his pocket that promised one more step in regaining his daughter’s trust should he see this task through. 

Speaking of which, that place should be around here somewhere. If Lucifer recalled correctly, Donner Street branched off of Main and ran right up to the gates of Cannibal Town, which was a few blocks ahead and that meant that–

Oh, fuck me .

Up ahead, he caught sight of an irritatingly familiar pair of red ears. Alastor was exiting an antique shop no less, because of-fucking-course he would. Surprisingly, he was joined by a woman, probably his height, but seemingly taller as she adorned her ensemble with a wide-brimmed hat covered in dead flowers and–-wait, were those skulls ? And oh my father the pair of them were laughing, delighted little chortles accompanied by canned laughter and little blips of static. 

Lucifer had half a mind to portal his way over there and offer the woman help–blink twice if he’s holding you against your will–-because, hello, how else would any sane person be spending time with Alastor of all people. Maybe he owned her soul? Threatened to eat her children if she didn't accompany him on his little window shopping trip?

Or, perhaps, and most probable to spare Lucifer the headache, he could remain exactly where he was, cool his pace, and wait for the demons to continue on their merry way, none the wiser to Lucifer’s presence and he could likewise pretend that he never saw them. Yep, there’s a good plan. Winner, winner. Way to go Lucifer, gold star. So he slowed down, his eyes never leaving the duo as they continued to meander down the street, unbothered as sinners scurried out of their way.

They appeared to be chatting pleasantly if the occasional chuckles were anything to go by. By the looks of it, Alastor seemed to really like this lady–or he was really good at faking it. She was a bit on the loud side and part of Lucifer wished she would say something embarrassing or incriminating that he could use against the sinner someday, but the conversation seemed relatively tame and not at all blackmail-worthy. Dare he say, it almost seemed like the two of them were friends .

But Alastor doesn’t really do friends, does he? I mean, Charlie definitely considered him a friend, but she was the exception. Husk didn’t count because Alastor owned his soul. He wasn’t sure what Niffty was to Alastor, but he wouldn’t say they were the giggly chatty type either, not like these two appeared to be. Had Hell frozen over?

If the day’s revelations couldn’t get any more bizarre, Lucifer’s jaw dropped wide open when the lady demon threw her head back in glee and placed a teasing hand on Alastor’s shoulder. The angel winced, mentally bracing himself for the woman’s sure-to-be gruesome demise, but it never came. Alastor didn’t seem bothered by it, not so much as a tense shoulder or anything and, okay, who the fuck is this woman and why does Lucifer want to hand her the key to the city? Give her his job too while they’re at it because damn is she fearless. 

And then she hugged him . She actually put not one, but two arms around the demon and pulled him towards her own body where all of her vital organs were and everything. And Alastor had the gaul to return the embrace, and holy shit his smile actually looked genuine, all-close mouthed and soft . 

Are we sure that angels aren’t capable of dreaming? Because Lucifer couldn’t really trust what he was seeing right now and he was 98% sure he hadn’t been drugged in the last couple of minutes, not that they make hallucinogens strong enough to affect him anyways. 

Too caught up in his astonishment and internal concern for his mental and psychological health, Lucifer didn’t notice when the pair pulled away from one another, Alastor twirling his cane as he bade the woman farewell with a cheeky little waggle of his fingers. That is, until Lucifer ran face-first into a street sign, denting the metal with a loud, reverberating clang .

In an instant, all eyes were on him, but he could only feel the accusing heat of one man’s crimson stare. Then it was gone. 

Alastor had dissolved into a pool of shadows and Lucifer was once again left dealing with the itchy feeling of guilt crawling across his chest, the same he’d felt that day that Alastor had given Lucifer the sweet drawing he’d made of him during Charlie’s bonding exercise. The picture was still on his desk, folded neatly and untouched since he’d put it there. Lucifer had decided that night, after staring at the thing for the better part of an hour, that he didn’t want to spend the energy it would require of him to unpack what the moment Alastor had captured meant. But now those feelings were worming their way up to the surface and he felt an odd sense of conflict well up inside of him.

On one hand, Alastor was a prick: had been since day one. Clearly the guy was bad news, I mean, you don’t wind up in Hell of all places by being a good guy and you definitely don’t become an overlord by helping little old ladies cross the street and donating to the poor. Plus the guy had always been nothing but a jerk to Lucifer. Not to pull rank or anything, but Lucifer was accustomed to at least a certain level of decency from his subjects and Alastor had been nothing but a mess of arrogance and condescension since the day they’d met. 

But, but that picture meant something. Maybe not to Alastor, but to Lucifer it did. It meant that he was capable of goodness, of love and support. He was capable of putting his dreams and hopes in someone other than himself, capable of putting them in Charlie. His sweet, darling Charlie who had been the sole inhabitant of his dusty old heart for so long now.

Surely Alastor couldn’t have known what that look was, what it meant, could he? But then why else would he have drawn it? The man was a  fool, sure, but Alastor was no idiot. He was smart, observant, knew how to read people as easily as one would a kid’s book. He was a master of manipulation and a raging sociopath,  of course he knew what the look on his face met. So why draw it? Was this some sort of power move? Was it meant to intimidate him, a sly way of letting Lucifer know that his weakness was on clear display? What sort of game was he playing at? He should know by now that there was no way Lucifer would be leaving his daughter’s side any time soon.

But then what about the demon lady and the moment he’d witnessed? He didn’t exactly know her, so he couldn’t say for sure whether she was just as sick and twisted as Alastor was, but it wouldn’t be fair to label her as a monster so quickly. Come to think of it, this wasn’t the first so-called friend of Alastor’s that he’d met. Briefly, he recalls that one flapper-lady, Missy was it? She said she’d known Alastor when they were both alive. If anyone would know what he was really like it would be her, and there was a reason why she had sought him out for help in the first place. Their greeting had seemed fairly genuine to him, too. 

Oh father, what was this guy doing to him? Much too early to be having these thoughts, Lucifer. 

Focus.

“Focus on what, your Majesty?” Well, if it wasn’t the man of the hour himself. And no, Lucifer wasn’t startled by the sudden appearance of a certain Radio Demon at his side, he’d merely jumped a foot in the air because exercise is good for you and you should try it sometime. 

“Alastor! Buddy, pal, didn’t see you there, ha ha.” Yeah, okay, that sounded bad even to his own ears. The demon simply smiled down at him, head tilted and eyes narrowed.

“We are neither buddies nor pals, I’m afraid. But do tell me, to what do I owe this poor attempt at espionage? Surely, your Majesty must know that it isn’t very nice of one to follow a poor fellow around in hopes of catching him unawares.” The demon straightened to his full, insufferable height. He peered down at the kind in distaste, keeping his smile smug.

“Yeah okay, you’re one to talk.” Lucifer scoffed, rubbing a knuckle into the skin of his face where he’d rammed it into the pole, suddenly noticing the throbbing. “And I wasn’t spying on you. I’m running an errand for Charlie, one that you were supposed to take care of but you so conveniently never seem to be around when you’re needed.” He raised an eyebrow in judgment of the sinner in front of him, crossing his arms and silently letting him know that he wasn’t happy with the behavior. Alastor hummed in response, turning away from the angel and walking up the street.

“My my, I had no idea my presence would be so dearly missed by our beloved Charlie. Though I suppose the situation must have been truly dire if she entrusted you with her errands.” He tutted his despair. Lucifer bristled, stomping after him.

“Charlie doesn’t need you around. Plus, I volunteered to help her.” A lie, sure, but Alastor didn’t have to know that. Or maybe he somehow already did, because he turned back to look at Lucifer with a skeptical look.

“Oh I’m sure you did. It’s not as though you’ve ever failed her before, hm?” Oh fuck this guy, Lucifer had dealt with the cocky bastard enough for one day. Mentally, he was taking back any good consideration he’s ever had about the guy. Physically, he was reaching out hoping to snatch that tacky microphone cane out of his hand and hopefully watch something other than smug arrogance cross over the demon’s face for once.

“Listen here you piece of –”

There are two things that happened in the moments after Lucifer’s fingers closed over the staff.

First, his hand began to burn as though he had come into contact with something holy or blessed. He flinched at the sting, eyes flying up to the Radio Demon’s face. At the same moment that he touched the staff, Alastor had stiffened, his body contorting and snapping as he grew in size. His eyes shifted into dials, green and glowing like the sheen that covered the rest of his warped body. Static noise poured out of him, white hot and forceful, prickling at Lucifer’s skin. 

Then, just as quickly as the onslaught had begun, it stopped. The Radio Demon standing as pristine and still as ever, as though he hadn’t just deafened half the street and caused the rest to end their afterlives out of sheer terror of what he’d do to them. Just Alastor, smiling winningly at the King where he stood, bewildered and confused. 

The demon reached down to where Lucifer’s hand still held onto the cane, little shocks of electricity still traveling up his arm at the contact. Carefully, and with a gentleness he would have never thought him capable of possessing, Alastor pulled the angel’s hand from the microphone, finger by finger, slowly unraveling his grip until he held Lucifer’s limp wrist in his hand and dropped it at his side.

“We’re here.” 

With that Alastor entered the shop just up ahead of them without so much as a spare glance back towards his companion. Lucifer could only stare at the spot where Alastor had stood as the little bell by the door of the shop chimed. His mind was racing but felt frustratingly blank at the same time. He had so many thoughts, questions, concerns, but nothing was slotting together as it should have. 

Finally, he brought up his hand, the one that had held onto Alastor’s cane. He flexed it cautiously, the remnants of whatever that was being absorbed by his angelic grace. It didn’t come from Hell, that was for sure. A strange feeling lingered on his skin, prickling his nape and flushing his ears a soft gold. He’d also felt where Alastor had touched him, could swear he saw the impressions the sinner left on his skin. 

He shook the heat from his face and marched towards the store after Alastor, steeling his thoughts and regaining his composure as he walked in after him, fist clenched to dissipate the tingling that remained.

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[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Death Does Not Part

Meera pesters Vanessa about the odd bond between her and Sydney; a Faustian contract is involved...

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

.

Meera slid into the booth and came to an easy stop beside Vanessa as the blonde worked on filling out her first set of records on the opening of Radical Eats. With a grin on her face, the owner of Circus Baby’s Pizza and Parties rested her cheek on her fist and waggled her eyebrows at Vanessa, the younger woman lifted her head from her work to blink back at her in confusion.

“Soooo,” Meera drawled out, glancing out at the dining area where Sydney drifted on the fringes of the room like a phantom, silent but observant in his security uniform, and then glanced back at Vanessa, “you and my cousin, huh? Been meaning to ask how long you’ve been a thing but I wanted to wait to see if it lasted.”

Vanessa squinted her eyes at her, still confused. “A.. thing?” she echoed and tilted her head a bit, “What are you-?”

“I mean, getting trapped together for some years tends to mess up a person’s perspective on relationships, so I wasn’t sure if that was what was going on with you two,” Meera went on with a shrug, “But you’ve been going to therapy, right? And you have this business now so you can technically stand on your own and not need Sydney around anymore.” She grinned again, a mischievous slant to the smirk. “But you’re still living together, still doing a lotta things together.. so I’m a little curious on if and when you hooked up with my cousin so I can do my familial duty of giving the shovel talk.”

“Oh! That!” Vanessa remarked with a sheepish laugh, “No, no, it’s not like that at all! He’s my best friend!” Meera’s expression only changed a bit, one eyebrow raising in disbelief of her words. Vanessa’s smile became a bit strained. Of course there was more to it, but not in the way Meera was thinking. If only it was as simple as the claim of ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ or whatever…

The slip of paper bearing two signatures, folded neatly and tucked into an envelope, safely secured in a lockbox at home. A notarized copy folded up and carried around on her person at all times. The weight of what those words placed in her hands.. she tried not to think about them at all if she could. How could she explain any of it?

“Then why,” Meera began, her voice lower, darker, her smile more menacing than friendly as she leaned closer, “is yet another Afton interested in keeping yet another member of my family so close to them?”

Oh.. right. Alex had told her about Meera’s goal, didn’t he? Vanessa swallowed, eyes widening as she tried to weigh her options. What could she say that wouldn’t result in turning her friendship with the other woman into a renewed fight?

“Okay, first of all, not a blood relation to the Aftons,” Vanessa began hurriedly, holding up a finger and chancing a glance to the dining area herself. If Sydney caught a whiff of this, what would he do? She had no idea. “Second, I had no part of it and no idea until Elizabeth brought it up.”

Meera sat back, a deep frown on her face as she narrowed her eyes. “So.. you don’t have feelings for my cousin,” she said but her tone was questioning, unsure, “But the way he is around you.. it doesn’t really give me ‘just best friend’ vibes.” Her fingertips drummed on the tabletop of the booth. “How is Elizabeth involved? What did she do?” she muttered.

Well, at least she didn’t look like she was going to immediately jump to murder. Vanessa let out a small sigh of relief, setting down her pen and sitting back herself as she gathered her thoughts. So much time spent trying to ignore that paper and what it meant for her and Sydney and how truly fucked up everything turned out to be that she’d been oblivious to until that night.

“She wanted me to be Emelia’s body, and she wanted me protected until then,” Vanessa began, cringing at just the memory of Elizabeth’s explanation, how proud she sounded, how arrogant. “Or more like she wanted my body protected until Emelia took it over, and then she wanted Emelia protected so she could have that second chance at life in safety.” She looked up again to spot where Sydney was in the dining area. Freddy was taking to the stage with a new show concept, so of course the man was on the opposite end of the room, watching the performance.

“She wanted Sydney to be that protection,” Vanessa muttered, “A personal bodyguard and pet hitman for her precious daughter. He refused at first, but then changed his mind when he offered some conditions for a better term of service in Elizabeth’s favor.” She swallowed the lump in her throat at Meera’s faintly horrified look but it did nothing to move the sour weight in her stomach. It took a while for her and Sydney to turn that contract into an inside joke between them, coping with humor and playful teasing and acting. A silly shield put between them and the awful truth.

“What the hell happened in there?” Meera breathed, eyes wide with alarm, “What did he agree to?!”

“A contract between Elizabeth and Sydney, assigning him to me as personal guard and ‘cleaner’,” Vanessa replied numbly, picking at a napkin to tear tiny pieces off. Keep them busy, so she’s not pulling at her hair. Keep them busy, so she’s not clawing at her skin in screams. “If she stopped trying to get information from him on who he was protecting before being taken by her, then he’d agree to a lifelong term.. and beyond.” She laughed, a nervous giggle that cracked partway through as she ripped a larger piece of napkin free. “He wouldn’t be able to escape it by dying; she’d just force him back to life in some manner to keep serving. Crazy, right?” she laughed too brightly.

Words that burned themselves into her eyes, unable to be removed, while her idiot best friend just grinned at her with a sheepish little shrug, like he just made a silly goof and wasn’t it just so funny, why wasn’t she laughing?

“So he’s mine, literally,” Vanessa whispered, and oh god she wanted to throw up, she didn’t want this, she’d destroy the contract if she could but the fact that two copies of the thing existed meant there were legal copies stashed with Fazbear Entertainment and they would never let Sydney go as long as they existed. And what kind of loopholes did Elizabeth’s lawyers wiggle through to make it bind without tripping over half a dozen laws against it? She read it top to bottom over and over until she was hugging the toilet and still couldn’t grasp how it worked. “Mind, body, soul, he belongs to me.”

“Like a fucked up marriage contract,” Meera muttered, looking a bit green as she sat back too. “Can’t it.. be nullified, or something? You’re the legal loophole finder!”

“You think I haven’t tried? Or looked?” Vanessa countered bitterly, throwing down the shreds of her napkin. For a moment she wished the scraps of paper were that contract, torn to bits and freeing them both from Elizabeth’s last kick of spite at them from the collapse of the Pizzaplex. “I even asked Sydney to terminate it on his side; he’s got grounds for coercion to negate his signature!” she added in irritation, throwing up her hands. If she thought about that moment for too long, she’d just get pissed off at him again. “He just brought me a sandwich and kissed me on the forehead and then went out to mow the lawn. Why is he so infuriatingly uncaring about his own agency?!” she ranted, “It’s his goddamn life and he just signs over control of himself to some random woman he’s never met before on a chance that another random woman won’t go hunting down his little brother for retaliation?! Does he not see the insanity of that?!”

Thinking about it made her head hurt, throbbing pain spreading from her temple to behind her eyes, making tears well up in frustration and agony. Her jaws felt tight, her fists clenched for lack of something to rip into, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream. The sound of it was bubbling up. Every memory she had of time spent in the Pizzaplex with Sydney, moments of quiet companionship, of happy little spots of time where he kept her spirits up or showed her something fun or sweet, all of it slowly tainted by the contract Elizabeth had pressed into her hands when she invited her to join as a second Vanny.

Did he do those things because he was ordered to? Was expected to, as her personal bodyguard? Was their friendship ever real?

Was he still with her because he wanted to be there for her, with her? Or because he couldn’t get away from the legal noose around his neck?

Arms suddenly wrapped around her shoulders, one hand burying itself in her hair and cradling her head as she was pulled against a body in a comforting hug. The familiar scent of Sydney’s favored cologne drifted around her and she felt herself relaxing even as she still wanted to scream. Her head pounded and Vanessa turned to press her face into his chest to hide from light and sound, eyes squeezing shut as a few tears escaped.

Her best friend hugged her in silence, his heartbeat stable and rhythmic and lulling her into calm. Here was her security and comfort, this idiot soothing her worries when he’s the cause of her worrying. And maybe it was selfish and horrible, but Vanessa couldn’t help the flash of gratitude that such an awful contract meant she was guaranteed to keep him close by, meant she could always reach out to grab him when she needed him and Sydney would be there to give her hugs and comfort.

Her memories wiped, no past connections beyond what little she could get from her unwanted name and each time she leaned on ‘Afton’ was a risk of being dragged back into Elizabeth’s clutches; she would be lost if she tried to move forward alone with Gregory. But at least she had Sydney. Her own pet mercenary, willing to feed her a home-cooked meal or traffic illegal weapons for money for her, all with the same warm little smile.

“How do my family members get themselves into such fucked up situations?” Meera sighed. Oh right, she was there, Vanessa almost forgot she started all this. “What a mess. Are you both gonna be okay? I don’t think the lawyer I know can help with this.”

She tuned them out, keeping her face hidden in Sydney’s chest while he scribbled out responses on her notepad with her pen. Let them both argue over a contract she’d already fought and lost against. Elizabeth could have her one stupid victory, but at least Vanessa could enjoy the results on her own terms.

As soon as she pushed all the horrible thoughts about it back to the dark corners of her mind so she would ‘forget’ and be happy with things again.

[deepspacedukat]

Ruination

Blah blah blah, busy days, you’ve all heard this a billion times from me. Very sorry, love you all, and I hope that the level of filth in this fic will make up for how late it is. 💖 And yes, I know I have a ton of asks and things to reply to. I am getting to those. Plz don’t hate me.

Day 22: Felching

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Valdore (ST:ENT) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies sex, Human/Romulan sex, unprotected sex, felching, oral sex (female receiving), face-sitting, everything is consensual.

~*~

Saved from the burning wreckage of an Earth vessel, tossed into an interrogation room, and just barely allowed the privilege of remaining alive, Admiral Valdore couldn’t help but admire her courage. Outside of the skirmish that damaged her ship and killed the rest of her crewmates, he was quite certain that she had never seen a Romulan before they’d snatched her from the jaws of death, but she never once flinched. She was clearly afraid, but she showed no sign of giving in.

Her people thought she was dead, of course. His spies had been monitoring transmissions long enough to know that there had even been a memorial service for the poor souls who’d been aboard her ship. ‘A doomed battle, courageously fought, which sadly left no survivors’ - that was how the Humans had described the vessel’s destruction.

That was, perhaps, a small mercy for the people of Earth. If they knew that the Romulans had occasionally picked up Humans for study or interrogation, they likely would have been more cautious in their maneuvers. However, never had they done so openly, and never before had they allowed their subjects to survive without being experimented on in some manner. The final say about her fate had been given to Admiral Valdore as he’d been the one to capture her in the first place.

Now, two years later, Valdore grabbed his lover’s thighs, dragging her hips to the edge of their bed as he thrust inside her. The desperate cry of his name that issued from her throat made him growl in pleasure. After all the nights they’d spent together and all the secrets they’d shared under cover of darkness, she still made the most sensual noises for him. It was almost as if their people had never been enemies to begin with.

Never in all his days had the Admiral been intimate with someone who tugged at his heart - and his loins - the way that his little ex-Starfleet officer did. What had he done to deserve such a devoted lover?

Once he’d seen how terrified she was - and how beautiful - he couldn’t simply allow her to be executed. After the interrogation, he’d entered her cell and given her a choice: she could continue to be docile and cooperative or he could give her to the Tal Shiar. Even in the face of his intimidating stature and high rank, Valdore could see her steeling herself and attempting to prove that even though afraid, she would not falter.

And she hadn’t. She’d asked what being docile and cooperative entailed, and he explained with a small smile across his lips that at that moment, it meant she would not fight them...would not attempt to escape.

He could still remember the way she raised an elegant eyebrow and spoke with such an odd mix of defeated, dry humor, and seriousness.

“Admiral, given that your people are physically much stronger than me, I highly doubt I’d get more than a few feet. I’ve cooperated, so far. Have I given you any reason to believe that I would change that behavior any time soon?”

She hadn’t, of course. Just because she didn’t have any of the information he sought didn’t mean he would start behaving monstrously. He’d given the Romulan government notice that the prisoner was under his watchful eye and installed her in a small set of quarters aboard his ship. There was nowhere safer on all of Romulus for her. He kept her under guard at all times, and slowly, over the course of a year and dozens of dangerous missions, he came to know her as more than just a captive.

“Jol-ao au,” she whimpered, and that sent Valdore over the edge. His fingers held onto her more tightly, ensuring that when his lok twitched and spurted his pleasure, he did so deep within her. The shout he let out could easily have been mistaken for pain, but she’d heard it so often that he knew she’d understand.

She had to know what she did to him after spending such a long time together. 

Valdore was not naïve. He knew there was a chance that she was simply doing what she believed would keep her alive long enough to give her a window of opportunity in which to escape. He was acutely aware of that possibility, and every time he pondered it, he felt sick to his stomach.

But there was something in her eyes that made him believe that perhaps she really had fallen in love with him just as he had with her. Maybe there was a chance, however slim, that his foolish emotions weren’t as unrequited as he’d originally thought they were.

“Jol-ao au, e’lev,” the Admiral murmured as her pretty little hands skimmed down his abdomen.

It wasn’t intentional, this gradual reduction in his defenses. He hadn’t meant to befriend her...or fall for her, for that matter, but as he’d shared a story with her over dinner a little over a month after the anniversary of her residence on his vessel, he found that he couldn’t deny it any longer. She laughed - a rare, but beautiful sight - and the inescapable truth of his emotions planted itself firmly within his chest. Admiral Valdore, one of the most respected and esteemed military personnel in the entire Romulan Empire, had lost his objectivity and his heart to a Human.

The evening seemed to somehow pass both faster and slower than he wanted once that revelation had settled itself in his mind. What was he supposed to do now? The wise course would be to ignore his feelings. They were inappropriate given the circumstances and the political ramifications. Throwing them aside was the smartest thing to do.

And yet, as she stood and walked him to her door like she always did after sharing an evening together, something felt different. Her gaze was gentler than he remembered. Her demeanor was so much more relaxed than it usually was.

Or was he imagining things? He couldn’t trust his own judgment regarding his little Human guest anymore. He could be imagining all of this as a product of his own wishful thinking.

“Admiral? Are you alright?” She asked before he could even think of opening the door. For the first time in years, he had been rendered speechless.

He’d taken a horrible chance that night. Stepping into her space, Valdore grasped her hands and kissed her.

The gush of their combined fluids wetted his lips as he pulled her to sit atop his jaw. Large, strong hands kept her hips in place as he drank from her like a finely-made crystal goblet. Her delicate little fingers tugged at his hair, Valdore couldn’t stop himself from smiling against her most sensitive area.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded shaky and breathless, just the way Valdore liked it.

He wouldn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Romulans valued honesty, after all, and nobody deserved the truth more than she did. With a hungry hum against her clit, the Admiral resolved to keep her squirming above him until she lost her voice. Perhaps that would prove to her how much he enjoyed this.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani​ @android-boyfriends​ @attention-bajoranworkers​ @bigblissandlove1​ @darkmattervibes​ @emilie786​ @horta-in-charge​ @live-logs-and-proper​ @slutty-slutty-vulcans​ @starrynightgardens​ @toebeans-mcgee​

[claire-starsword]

Authentic Story of the Shining Force - Saint Fencer Max - Chapter 2

Translation notes:

The map in the first page is not the one seen in the final game, but the early version released during development. More info on my pre-release page as usual.

The enemies in that page are also enemies announced early before release: Rune Knights, Dark Priests, Dark Dwarves, Goblins, and the scrapped Mimic of course! That's fun to see.

Save for Lowe's odd age here, the training with Varios is very similar with how it goes in the actual game, with Lowe singing praises of how Max is on par with the knight captain. If none of that sounded familiar to you, you are welcome to hate the localization as much as I do.

Like, you think we're done with this? No way baby, Max's speech on memories is also a reference to a NPC in the start of the game! I legit got angry while doing the comparison on that one, it's a very iconic line that matches both Max's amnesia plot and the series' whole theme of forgotten evils resurfacing, it did not deserve to be replaced by generic slop. I'm glad I get to bring it back here and that it gets space in the manga as well.

Nova seems to have ears instead of horns in his brief cameo during the castle audience scene. Could be an old design, or the manga artist taking liberties or misunderstanding things. I find it curious though, because in the final version he's classified as dragonewt, however the GBA version will notoriously declare Elliot the last dragonewt on earth instead. This would make sense if Nova was intended to be something else at some point, and the GBA version tried to restore that, though it was nonetheless very badly explained.

Let's talk a bit about Max's speech patterns. In the original game, he obviously doesn't speak much, but the ending still shows him using the formal pronoun "watashi" for himself, and speaking casually to Adam, while more politely to the stranger they meet there. This continues in Final Conflict, where he's pretty casual to the team but sticks using watashi at the same time. This changed in the GBA version, where he switches between the more casual and masculine pronouns "boku" (softer) and "ore" (rougher) depending on who he's speaking to. I'm not knowledgeable enough to discuss this in depth but I do get the feeling that the choice of "watashi" for him in the original was a bit unusual. In any case, this manga just makes him use "ore" constantly. At the same time, he's pretty much always polite, even to his teammates. So he definitely doesn't come off as rough.

As example of this politeness, Max here also uses the usual "-san" honorific for basically everyone except Lowe, a literal child. I usually ignore those since they don't flow very naturally in english (at least for dialogue between friends/close teammates), but I did keep a couple instances when he has barely met Tao and Hans, because it felt fitting for a first meeting, especially with him being so notably polite in this version.

Let's talk about the rest of the team now! I've translated their in-game introductions in case you're not aware of how their personalities differs from the english version.

Hans was announced since the early coverage of the game, so every design difference you see here is the artist's choice. At no point was his personality touched upon however. So could it be that we were meant to have edgy rival Hans at some point? I find it unlikely given Hans' cute face, but my theory is that Hans had zero official personality at this point, so the manga artist just threw some elf stereotypes in and tweaked the design to fit that. It's hard to not associate Hans' attitude here with Mae's in the final game though. There's a lot of evidence in the pre-release page I keep linking to for Mae and the other centaurs' prejudice against Max to have been added late in development. So could it be that at some point elves were supposed to be the arrogant ones? Maybe! Could it be that the artist just shoved Mae's personality on Hans instead to erase her instead? Also possible! It should be clear already that the guy is not decent about female characters, and mild spoilers but, Mae is simply not gonna be around for this one save for small background cameos, which is mind boggling when she was clearly the main female character at this point in development. But could it be this has nothing to do with Hans and it's just a coincidence that his personality matches hers here? Also maybe! If it's not obvious I'm just rambling ideas at this point. To close the topic on Hans, he would eventually be confirmed as a noble in Shining Force Gaiden, as his son is mentioned to come from a noble family in the manuals. Though this is just the standard background for most characters in this game.

Tao is a curious case. She is seen in screenshots since the game's announcement, but it took longer until her art and profile were revealed. Said profile also says nothing on her personality, so my take on her here is the same as Hans. I doubt she was meant as the spunky girl we see here, but it's possible that the artist isn't warping her final personality, and she was just a blank state at this point. But it's hard to tell for certain.

Ken, on the other hand, was announced from day one to admire Max, which is probably why he's very much the same as his game version here.

Luke is the only one of the starting team to not be seen in early screenshots, and there's some evidence that Gort was meant to be the first warrior of the team instead. So the manga here gives us a better idea of when Luke was worked on during development.

The fighting tournament Ken mentions is brought up in the ASCII guide book as a tradition of Guardiana. Always fun to see little worldbuilding tidbits like this were planned from the start. And while nowhere else mentions this as the place where Ken first saw Max, it makes a lot of sense.

Finally, the battle at the Gate taking place on the inside, so dark it needs to be illuminated by torches? That's how the place looked in early builds as well.

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 18: Fish Out Of Water

Rating: T

Word Count: 635

Warnings: None

Summary: Akira made a bargain with Emet-Selch that ended with her joining the Ascians. But despite the fact that no one has made her feel unwelcome, in the hours leading up to her official induction she still feels as if she doesn't belong. [Ascian WoL AU, EmetWoL but only a little]

Master Post

The dark realm where the Ascians made their home was…comfortable. The darkness was ever present in the air, weighing heavy over everything like a blanket. Akira wandered the halls of endless doors, peeking in a few as she passed. Some refused to open; she assumed those must belong to individuals, their own little sanctuaries. Some opened to show libraries, offices, training halls, just about anything one could need. After a while, the realization settled in that the doors were magically repeating. Satisfied that there was nothing more to see, or at least not while she still was just a ‘guest’ anyway, Akira let her mind wander as she walked the halls aimlessly, just needing to move.

Regardless, Akira still didn’t feel like she belonged here. Every breath said this wasn’t where she was meant to be. No matter how comfortable. No matter how polite the other Ascians had been. No matter that the animosity between her and Emet-Selch had softened into something…else. She felt like a fish pulled from water and commanded to breathe and walk. And, against all odds, she did. She breathed. She walked. But it was all wrong.

“Well, Hero,” she heard a familiar voice from just behind her. “It’s just about time.”

“This is wrong,” she mumbled, knowing it would make no difference. “I don’t belong here.” But she had made a deal. She wouldn’t go back on it, and he knew that. Emet-Selch moved closer and pulled her against him, draping himself over her in an overly friendly manner she’d long since adjusted to. She didn’t understand it, but his proximity soothed a part of her soul she didn’t recognize.

“That’s just your Mother still hanging on. She never was a graceful loser.” He meant it to be soothing, but it only turned her stomach over. Why had Hydaelyn so thoroughly abandoned her? Hadn’t fought for her at all? Akira was constantly listening, hoping to hear what she should do next, but only silence greeted her, over and over again.

“I don’t know about that,” Akira shrank into herself, shoulders hunching up. He turned her to face him, taking her face in between his clawed hands; ceremonial, he’d called them, when she commented that the robes she’d seen Ascians wear looked so different from the one they had provided her.

“You’ll see,” he insisted. “Once you have your memories and your title, you’ll see you belong as much as any of us.”

Not her memories, of course. Akira knew he was referring to who she used to be. The person he seemed so intent on getting back. And despite the constant assurances that she would still be herself, just more, she couldn’t help but fear that this was an even more permanent end than if she’d just allowed herself to die.

She supposed she would find out shortly. She tried to call on the courage that had served her so well against Primals and Lightwardens alike, but in this unfamiliar realm and minus her usual abilities, she felt exposed. Vulnerable. No matter how much she was told that she would be far stronger than she’d been before. She rested a hand over one of his, and fought against the fear clawing its way up her throat. Emet-Selch pulled her against his chest, holding her close like she was something precious. Something she couldn’t understand, as she’d been repeatedly told.

“Come now, Hero,” he rumbled lowly. “You’ve gone through far worse than this. It’ll be no worse than one of those Echo visions of yours.”

She nodded — it was easier than arguing and there was no changing it now — and let him lead her away, one hand on her lower back. She wasn’t sure if it was out of fondness or to make sure she didn’t try to run.

[onlyweknowleeknow]

Oddinary Thrives in Your Dreams

Parts: 1…

Minho x reader, Han x reader

Genre: dystopian au, action, angst, fluff.

Synopsis: In a world where the strange and odd are destroyed, you are not safe. So what will you do when eight peculiar men fill your dreams? Will you decide to become Oddinary, or will you remain in a colorless world?

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: afab reader, language, fear, drugs, alcohol, murder, character death, gore, horror(?), dystopian au, fighting, violence, discrimination, kissing, threatening, kidnapping, etc.

A/n: this is a spin-off of the Oddinary universe, written according to how I think it would be, of course. I hope you guys like it, I’m not sure how many parts there will be, but hopefully I’ll remember to update. enjoy! :)

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

When had the world been stripped of it’s color? When had the uniqueness of people become something appalling? When did the world become so bland?

You didn’t know, for it had happened long before your life.

Being born into a world where the odd and special were cast aside was nauseating. You couldn’t have any interests of your own. Art had become something of uniform, there were no abstract pieces of people’s design. Music had become dull, there were no words spoken from the heart. Books had become few and far between, the only ones remaining in view seeming to be history or math books.

When the world forbade the creation of one’s mind, the earth had lost it’s colors. It had happened slowly, agonizingly slow.

But now, after all was said and done, paintings were of serious people and plain landscapes. Music was dry and tasteless, jazz, rock, rap, indie, country; they were no more. Writing was erased, now only few books were hidden away from the government, teeming with prohibited words.

So when you were born, full of quirks and forbidden interests, your parents, who were also born with a tiny flame in their eyes, couldn’t have been more wary. Still, they found you books and poems, old CDs and paintings, anything to show you what used to be. It wasn’t much, but it was more then the world wanted you to have.

And you had learned, over the years, how to keep these things a secret.

When you left your home, full of nearly empty hidden libraries and small, secret art rooms, you were met with the painful reality of the outside world. One you had been scared of facing your entire life.

The world had changed, it wasn’t the same as your little piece of home. It was cruel, cold, and unforgiving. When you left for college, out of the safety of your hometown, you had been welcomed with plain clothes, identical haircuts, and sad, unknowing faces.

These people, these friends, they would never know the joy of being free. They would never know anything aside from uniformity.

But there were a few, just a handful of people, who still had hope in their eyes and a fire burning in their souls. Though, one by one, as they began to show more of their unique traits, they had disappeared. Simply fading away from the world’s memory. And that is what made you melt into the background, that it what made you lock up your individuality, only finding the key when you were alone.

When you were alone, you would paint beautiful pictures, write long, emotional stories, and make the most beautiful music. When you weren’t alone, you would laugh weakly at universal jokes, you would talk the same way everyone else did, and you would never, ever let your personality show.

You didn’t know if that’s how it was with everyone, or if most people were simply born without something that made them unique. It wouldn’t be hard to believe, not in today’s world.

But you just couldn’t find it in yourself to let everything go, you couldn’t give up your art, none of it. You couldn’t keep faking yourself for the world’s approval, even if it meant you would disappear, much like those before you.

You had to free yourself from this black and white world, no matter the cost. It seemed impossible, but an impending sense of doom loomed over your head the longer you did nothing.

So you did do something. It changed your life, and it certainly changed your view of everything you’d ever known to be true.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You could hear your profferer’s heels clicking against the plain tile floor. When she arrived in the lecture room, you felt your posture straighten, just as everyone else’s did.

She was wearing a gray suit, black heels adorning her feet. It was the standard uniform for female employees at your college. Unlike her, you wore a plain black shirt and blue jeans, one of the few outfits you could wear without being whispered about. If you wore something extreme, which you never had the guts to do, you might just be gone the very next day.

Thoughts like this were what clouded your mind in the haze of the mornings, when the skies were dark and the shadows were bright.

You could hear your professor speaking, but today was one of those days, one where you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the window, where you couldn’t quite listen to the world around you. You were lost in your mind, eyes locked on the rain outside.

“Y/n, y/n? Y/n!” A sharp voice struck you from your thoughts, eyes snapping towards the sound. It was your professor. She looked displeased.

“Y/n, I need you to focus. How will you ever work if you don’t listen enough to retain this information?” She scolded you, just as she did most days.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” You said quietly, foot tapping silently against the ground.

Your teacher shook her head, but you could see the way her narrowed gaze softened, just the tiniest bit. It helped you relax, for some reason. It was nice to see hints of humanity scattered here and there, even if it was only a few times a month.

When class ended, your teacher had grabbed your attention when you were leaving. You turned around and apologized to the other students you had gotten in the way of.

“Yes, ma’am?” Your voice was frail and dry, a technique you had picked up from your mother back home. Be plain, be boring, be weak, be normal. They won’t suspect you that way.

“Please, darling. Don’t use those formalities. I’ve been your professor for three years, it’s time to move past those lousy names. Call me Miss Irene, at least while we’re alone.” Her smile was warm, something you hadn’t seen since you left home.

“Ma’am—“ You began, her sudden shift in attitude shocking you, but she tutted at you.

“Now now, y/n. I’m serious about this. I have something important to discuss with you, I’d like to be comfortable while doing so.”

You didn’t feel confident about the offer; if another person walked in, you’d both be in trouble. But you, too, wanted to feel a sense of comfort, so you agreed. “Might I ask why you called me back, ma’am—Miss Irene?”

You were welcomed with a hum in response. The teacher, Miss Irene, walked around her desk and opened the bottom right drawer. You watched her skeptically, clutching onto your bag tightly. Perhaps it was a trick, maybe she saw the part of you she wasn’t supposed to see? The idea made your eyebrows furrow and your grip tighten.

But then she did something surprising, or rather, showed you something surprising.

“Y/n, I know you’re… special, odd, even..” Her voice rang through your ears. Your gaze was locked on her hands, which were still rummaging around in her desk.

“I’m sorry?” You blinked, taking a small step backwards.

Miss Irene seemed to realize her mistake, for she quickly pulled her hands out of the drawer, a paper held in her fingers. “No no, I’m not—it’s not like that. I just haven’t seen someone like you since I was rather young. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, it’s quite the contrary.”

She began again, her left hand making vigorous motions. She was using her hands to speak, to get her point across. It was not allowed, but you found yourself intrigued. How could she be brave enough to show herself in the open? Like a mouse in a cat’s jaws, just waiting to be bitten into.

“Listen to me, carefully. I’m not going to turn you in, I’m not even going to report you. It would be hypocritical of me. Darling, you’re a very intelligent young woman, you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age.” She chuckled, brushing a hand down her suit. “I wasted my potential, mostly because there was nobody in my time to nurture it. But you, Y/n, you do not belong in a world like this. None of us do really, but there are a few remaining souls that can change the world for the better. I believe you are one of those souls, whether you realize it or not.”

Her right hand lifted the small paper she was holding, left hand laying at her side. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about you, Y/n. Other people see it too, I can tell when the other students and teachers watch you carefully, but never approach. I’m giving you this information because I believe in you, but do with it as you wish.” Miss Irene stretched out both her arms, holding the paper between her fingers, offering it towards you.

You found yourself hesitantly reaching outwards, eyes moving between the paper and Miss Irene’s gaze.

When you finally grabbed the paper, she pulled away and smiled at you softly. “It’s not my choice, but… I really think you should go. Even if you just stare and leave, it’s better then nothing.”

Her voice began to fade away into the depths of your mind. Your eyes were wide, fingers now tightly holding the paper, instead of the bag over your shoulders.

You had heard of this place before, but not in the real world. Only in the very bottom of your dreams.

Dreams. A word so foreign, so lost to the world, but so relevant to you.

Dreams. Something that had faded out of the human species long ago, and now, the only dreams left were static screens, if you were lucky. But you, now you were lucky. You not only had hopes and aspirations, but you had real, beautiful dreams.

At night, when you drifted off to sleep, you really did drift into a land of dreams, a world that people had thought to have gone extinct decades ago. When you told your parents about these images in your mind while you slept, they were amazed. Even they had only heard tales of the faraway land, and to have their own child be able to reach it? It was incredible. They nurtured your ability the best they could, researching old facts and forbidden questions about the dreamscape. And now, here you were, a vivid dreamer.

A lucid dreamer.

But you didn’t just dream of odd scenarios your mind created. You also dreamt of the world before everything had changed; you dreamt of art, music, books, personalities. You dreamt of people who were praised for being different, you dream of a world where being unique was an accomplishment; a gift.

Your eyes quickly flickered back to Miss Irene’s, your heart rate quickening. “Is this real?”

She could see the hope in your eyes, she could feel the ambition radiating off of you in waves. She nodded. “It’s real. I wouldn’t lie to you, or anyone, about something like this.”

The two of you stared at one another for a few, fleeting moments. All the words, all the emotions you could never say out loud were conveyed through your eyes. Both of you.

“You should go there.” Miss Irene broke the silence with a whisper. You only nodded, hands quivering.

You felt warmth engulf you, your body tensing for a moment. Miss Irene was hugging you. You were wary, eyes looking around the room. But you hugged her back and it felt right.

When she pulled away, her face was rosy, a tear sliding down her fragile cheek. “Go on now, darling. Prove everyone wrong, won’t you? And come back for me when you change the world.”

You, too, now had watery eyes, your vision blurring in the corners. You only nodded, not brave enough to say anything. Even after years of acceptance from your parents, the harsh conditioning of the outside world had nearly immediately pushed you into your shell. You grasped the paper, staring down at it again.

On the paper was five sentences, one address, and 8 pictures, each with a name beside them.

‘If this card finds it’s way to you, then you are invited to Oddinary Headquarters. Do not come if you are tender hearted, for our mission requires iron-willed participants. But please, do join us. We will welcome you with open arms and a little push in the right direction. We hope to see you soon.’

The message made you shudder, it seemed like a dangerous task, but it was calling to you. It had called to you so many times before. In your dreams. In fact, you knew each of the young men in the pictures and the names to go along with them. They had taken your dreams of the past, replacing them with only images of their own intricate life.

The first boy, Chan, he was the one who always greeted you at the front desk. Greeted was less true, it was more like he observed you, eyes calculating and careful, with his green-black hair, glasses with chains behind his ears, and gloves. He would always allow you further inside, but his eyes staring at the back of your head never felt very welcoming.

The second boy, Jisung, he stood in a hallway that widened into a small room. He always had too many candles lit, clocks hanging and covering the walls of his space. He often put in eye drops, his black hat covered his hair. And when you descended down the stairs, away from his space, his eyes were the only ones that brought you warmth. You could see it swimming in the depths of his gaze; what was it? That, you weren’t sure of. But with the second boy, you felt peaceful and safe. Why? You were moving to the next room before your mind could search for answers.

The third boy, Seungmin, he was the one with a camera. He always startled you when he took a sudden picture of you each time you entered his room, with his soft appearance and round glasses. The area was wide and bare, except for the Polaroid photos coating parts of his wall and the long table in the middle of the room. It was set up with lamps and many photography tools. He always offered you a cake, and when you declined, he would frown, your picture falling from his grasp. But each time you bent down to pick it up, you would stand to find yourself in a new room. And Seungmin’s eyes watching you crouch didn’t feel very nice.

The fourth boy, Jeongin, he was the one with newspapers and books. His room was dark, with a couch against the middle of the wall, cabinets on either side, shelves lining the wall to the right of the couch, coated with books and lamps and writing tools. A rectangular table laid in the center of the compact room, much like Seungmin’s, but much smaller. You would always find Jeongin laying on his couch with a newspaper thrown over his face, but he was never asleep. When you moved the newspaper, he would sit up straight and knock you down, pining you against the table with a grin, before he snatched the newspaper back and laid back into his former position. But you could feel his gaze following you from under the paper as you walked down the next flight of stairs, and his eyes didn’t feel good.

The fifth boy didn’t come yet, but instead, when the staircase widened into something modern, the sky was shown to you. And across  from you on the left, was a crouching boy, eating an apple on the roof. When he looked at you, fear shot through your spine and his vibrant, red hair still haunted you when you awoke. But he was for later. When you hurried down the stairs, a crushed can shot in front of your face and stabbed into the wall, but even that felt safer then the red head’s cold eyes.

The fifth boy, Lee Know, he was the one with a gulf club and purple hair. His room was lined with shelves of soda cans. You never got to see him for long, but when he walked closer, golf club pointing towards you with a dark smile to unstick his can, his eyes watched you. When he had gotten his can, he just grinned at you, and then, just like that, you were in a different room. But still, his threatening eyes mocked your memory, they didn’t feel very kind.

The sixth boy, Changbin, the one who moved in the darkness like he was a shadow himself. His room was a long, wide hallway. He appeared in a doorframe with red lights, each time the bulbs flickered out and then back on, he was closer to you. You always backed up, finding yourself in a bright white elevator and before the doors shut, there was Changbin, head tilted menacingly while a box was strapped to his front, it read; ‘free hugs’. His arms were outstretched, smile faltering as the elevator doors clicked shut. And his eyes, which faked friendliness, didnt seem too happy.

The elevator lifted high above the dull city, doors creaking open to reveal the rooftop and a familiar shade of red.

The seventh boy, Hyunjin, he was the one with blood red apples, crimson hair, and ocean eyes. He appeared beside you, blowing into your ear. You were never sure why, but the eighth boy, Felix, appeared beside you, too. It was strange that they were the only ones who you saw together, but in this dream, you didn’t have time to ask questions. Felix was gifted with blonde hair, which was covered by a shimmering, capped hat. He wore a crimson suit instead and had a similar blue gaze as Hyunjin’s. Felix held a lock, rather then an apple. They both leaned into you, whispering shine chilling words;

‘Do you want to be Oddinary?’

Then, they pushed you, your body breaking the thin glass of the elevator and falling, spiraling towards the ground. The two boys jumped after you, eyes full of something you couldn’t quite understand. The other boys jumped behind them, appearing one by one and all 8 of them, in all their glory, would whisper to you as you fell;

‘Do you want to be Oddinary?’

And then, you woke up. But still, a sense of familiarity followed you long after you left the dreamscape.

“Y/n? Y/n, you need to go, now. They’re coming.” Irene interrupted your thoughts, making you twitch back into reality and away from the dream, or rather, nightmare.

“What—who, who is coming?” You tensed, quickly shoving the paper into your pocket.

“I don’t have time to explain, I’m sorry darling. You need to go, hurry. You’ll be safe there.” Miss Irene was now lightly pushing you towards the door.

You didn’t have time to argue, not before Miss Irene had successfully pushed you out of the classroom. “Go there, you need to go now. Remember, come back for me.” She sounded urgent, and she gave you one fleeting hug, before backing up and shutting the classroom door.

You stood there for a moment, before you heard yelling from down the hall and glass shattering inside the classroom. Your mind swirled, confusion settling deep inside your soul. But you didn’t have time to ask questions, nor worry about Miss Irene, that became clear when the pounding footsteps and voices from down the hall got closer, and closer, and closer.

Before you could even think, your feet had taken action. You were sprinting down the hallway, away from the voices, away from the feeling that planted itself in the back of your heart, and towards the door. Towards the address of the small piece of paper in your bag, towards freedom from this world of unison.

You were out of the school in an instant, arriving at the main street even quicker then that.

You looked left and right, legs carrying you to the left, where a familiar bus stop sat.

You felt your heart rate soaring, but your heart itself was plummeting.

It was only you at the bus stop, so when you checked your watch, you couldn’t help but let a shiver run up your spine. It was 5:13pm, and the next bus wouldn’t be arriving until 5:30pm. So you stood, rigid and tense, waiting at the bus stop. Sweat trickled down the side of your face, but it wasn’t because of the few blocks you had just run, it was because of the looming sense of fear that clouded the air around you.

And now, in the silence of the evening, you were able to think about all the questions your mind had developed within the pst hour or so. The most important ones surfaced first; why was Miss Irene so intent on you going to Oddinary Headquarters? How did you dream of them before, and was your mind playing tricks on you, or would it really be how your dreams had portrayed? What happened after Miss Irene closed her classroom door, was she okay?

All these questions and a hundred more filled your mind to the brim, and before you knew it, an engine caught your attention.

The bus had arrived.

You approached it quickly, getting on without a second thought. Nobody spared you a glance, you were thankful for that.

You found a seat on the right side of the bus and sat down. Yours palms felt sweaty, your face felt hot, but still, nobody looked in your direction. Your hands gripped onto your bag, which was now seated in your lap.

You were growing more and more anxious as the seconds ticked by, your foot tapping against the ground in a frantic pattern. 

The bus seemed to be moving so slow, but you needed to remain calm, if you didn’t, somebody might notice, and if somebody noticed, you were a goner.

In today’s society, countless amounts of people were inspected for odd behavior, some never came back from said inspections. You would certainly not be seen again if you were sent to an inspection facility.

Your mind began to drift again; to Miss Irene, to the Oddinary Headquarters and the boys who resided in the strange building. Why had Miss Irene helped you and how had she seen past your walls? Why was Oddinary not shut down? What happened in the classroom after Miss Irene shut the door? Who was after you and why?

Before you could even begin to think of answers to any of your questions, the bus was coming to a stop. Your glazed over eyes focused again, redirecting from your lap, to the window.

You inhaled sharply, heart rate picking up slightly.

You stood from your seat, feet carrying you away from your isolated spot, to the front of the bus, where you thanked the driver and stepped off of the bus.

Then, it left. You were the only one who had gotten off at this stop. Honestly, you were surprised the bus had even stopped here, most people didn’t come to this part of town. You hadn’t missed the judgmental looks and disbelieving stares you had gotten when you got off at the old stop, but you were thankful that was all you had received; disgruntled glares.

Perhaps the world knew where you were going, and perhaps it was waiting for you. The air was cold and still, like the earth had stopped rotating, just for you, just for this moment.

Uniformed trees stood proudly, but they, too, seemed unmoving. The ground beneath your feet seemed to sway and fold, but that was probably your nerves. There was no noise, there were no people, no animals, no nothing. Just old buildings packed tightly together.

You watched the world for a moment, taking it all in. You probably didn’t have time, but when the world stopped, you had to admire it—you just had to.

And then, a car wizzed past you and off, into the night. Suddenly, everything came back to life. The trees blew gently in the nighttime breeze, ants crawled across the sidewalk, crickets chirped, squirrels jumped through the bush and the trees. Just as quickly as the world paused, it had started up again. Even the earth hesitated.

You tightened your hands, slinging your bag across your shoulder again. You needed to focus, you told yourself as you pulled out the piece of paper Miss Irene had given you from your pocket.

You clutched onto it, almost like it was your lifeline. It kind of was, honestly.

You looked towards the corner of the street, reading the name of the road you were on. You were close to the address, you knew.

Your feet carried you down the beaten sidewalks, eyes twitching around the unkept scenery.

Before you knew it, you had found your way to the building. Almost, at least.

When you saw the familiar red letters, your heart caught in your throat.

The building was tall, so tall. There was something ominous about the building; something strange. It was certainly the same place from your dreams—from your nightmares. How could it possibly be more horrifying in real life?

You got closer, and closer, and closer to the building. Your blood was running cold, eyes narrowed warily.

Now that you were only a few inches away from the building, you almost turned and ran. But you couldn’t, you had promised Miss Irene. Besides, you were curious. It was human nature, and you were human, weren’t you?

Then again, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. But you would prefer to be killed then forced into the dull world you had witness your whole life, so really, what was the risk?

You scoffed internally at the thought, wiping the silly words form your mind.

You reached out, towards the door. When you grasped the handle, you flinched; it was colder then you had expected.

You inhaled deeply, the cold air stinging as it entered your nose, but you didn’t mind.

Your muscles tensed, limbs working to pull the door open.

It creaked.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The noise filled your ears when the door cracked open.

You breathed shakily, working up the courage to peek your head in. You almost hurled at the sight that awaited you.

Not only was Chan, the first boy there, but also the other seven boys. They were all in the narrow hallway, either leaning against the walls, desk, or each other.

Their gazes all turned towards you, calculating looks swimming in their eyes.

You found yourself searching for a certain someone; Jisung. Jisung and his badge filled hat. He was already staring at you; they all were. But again, he was different. Something soft lurked behind his cold exterior. You found yourself longing to be closer to him, but why? Who was he? You had only seen him in your dreams, and even there you were drawn to him.

“Don’t just stand there, come in. You’re letting the air out,” an accented voice spoke suddenly, snapping you from your daze.

Chan.

He smiled at you, though it was cautious and forced.

You couldn’t get yourself to move, you were stuck in place. You had stupidly assumed everything would follow your dreams, but nothing seemed to be going as you had planned. You were expecting a lot of things, but not this. You were not expecting, nor prepared, to be met with all eight boys from the start. If you had a few more minutes, or even just a warning—maybe then you could have been ready.

Red and purple movement caught your attention; Hyunjin and Minho, the seventh and fifth boys.

They were moving closer to you, eyes hungry and threatening.

“I said come in,” Chan repeated lowly.

Again, you did not move.

You only watched in pure horror as the two boys stalked closer to you. The other six were grinning, a different emotion behind each of their smiles.

“Come on y/n, we’ve been waiting for you. Haven’t you been looking for us?”, Chan’s voice echoed—before suddenly, Hyunjin and Minho were right in front of you.

A sharp pain crept down your spine, the red haired boy, his arms were under you as you fell and each boy spoke the same bloodcurdling, heart wrenching sentence;

“Do you want to be Oddinary?”

Then everything went black.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

[judjira]

lost and found

AN: the plot that started it all. jihyo's story was the original idea that jumped off into apartment au, and it was meant to be a full fic that explored jihyo's relationship with dahyun in the past, before the apartment. who knows ? i might write it (lmao who am i kidding i probably won't) pls enjoy ! (note: this takes place a bit before slippery business!)

pairing: dahyo

apartment au

wc: 1039

Jihyo was tired.

How could she not be?

Years, decades, centuries of her life, given up for her search. A search that would take her across seas, above mountains, under the earth, through the forests. A search she had embarked on since she’d first learned of her return.

A fruitless search.

Civilizations had risen and fallen, species had evolved and died out, entire landforms raised and brought low by the tides.

And yet, she had still not found her.

She had come close a few times, when she could feel her soul so near she could touch it. Those were the most painful, when her search had almost been fruitful, until she came across her corpse, peaceful and content, as she always was when it was time for her to pass.

Jihyo was tired.

How could she not be?

She stepped off of the carriage, looking left and right. The directions she had been given were vague at the very most, and she had been wandering this dense urban jungle.

Humanity had progressed by much in the time she had receded from society, burdened by her lost love. Cities were much more than she was used to, sprawling skyscrapers that touched heaven, endless roads that formed labyrinthine tunnels, an uncountable amount of people that wandered the streets.

Yes, society had progressed much in the time that Jihyo was away.

“Excuse me, miss, your bus fare.”

A man called out from inside the carriage. Ah, yes. Compensation for travel. Some things certainly did not change over time.

Rifling through the pouch by her hip, she took out a few drachma, remnants of her time in Greece.

“My thanks, sir.”

The man looked confused as the coins were dropped into his hand, looking up at Jihyo.

“Um…ma’am? We don’t…er, accept this kind of currency.”

Really? Now, that was odd. Silver and gold was usually accepted everywhere.

“I have naught but coins on my person. Perhaps there is a service thou might have need of me?”

If not gold, then a favor. Favors could be used for payment anywhere, could they not?

To emphasize her point, she pulled the spear from her back, something that had drawn many gazes to her when she entered the city limits. She noticed no one carried weapons on their persons anymore. Odd, but she supposed people felt safe enough with the city guards. Not her, however.

Holding the spear in one hand, she nodded at the carriage driver.

“Is there someone thou findst a nuisance upon thy person?”

The man’s eyes widened, stuttering in response.

“What? Lady, this is a bus stop. We take money.”

“I’ll take care of it, sorry.”

The next person that walked out of the carriage caused Jihyo’s heart to stop in place.

Raven black hair, pale white skin, lean frame.

Sparkling eyes, soft smile, round cheeks.

No matter the era, Jihyo would have recognized her.

“My love.”

A strangled gasp left her throat.

Her world gave Jihyo a smile, before putting a folded piece of paper in the man’s hands. The man accepted it, muttering to himself as the carriage doors closed.

The carriage took off, leaving Jihyo alone with the woman she’d been chasing her whole life.

“You okay there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Jihyo could not believe it. For years, she had spent all of her efforts searching lands near and far for her love, a Hero in everything but name.

And here she was, appearing to her when she was not even searching.

“M-my love, is—is it really thine eyes I look into?”

The woman that had stolen her heart tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m sorry…do I know you?”

No memories. Of course, she should have expected this.

“’Tis…’tis I…Scáthach. Thine…thine…”

Thine lover.

The words refused to leave her mouth, a distant ache and reminder of how, in life, she had never been able to confess her dying fervor for her hero.

“Scáthach? Like…Irish mythology?”

The recognition in the woman’s eyes only resolved Jihyo further.

“Yes, yes, I…I’ve been searching so long for you.”

The woman only laughed.

“Sheesh, if you only knew how many times I’ve heard that before.”

Then she smiled, ruefully.

“But…I’m sorry, Scáthach. If we’ve met before, I don’t recall.”

Jihyo cursed every god that lived, to steal away her love’s memories each time, to seal Jihyo in an endless state of torment.

“I…I apologize, I thought…”

Was there any point to any of it then? Her search? What good would it do Jihyo now, knowing that she would be destined to relive seeing the light leave her lover’s eyes?

“I…shall leave thee alone.”

Jihyo turned to leave, sheathing her spear on her back. Perhaps it was better this way, to not subject her heart to the pain of having to see her pass one more time.

But then a hand grabbed onto her wrist.

Soft, but urgent. As she always was.

“Hey, Scáthach, uh…do you need a place to stay?”

Jihyo turned, and the woman of her life stared at her, patiently but meaningfully, as Jihyo swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I…”

“I mean, it’s a pretty big neighborhood, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t get lost or something, y’know?”

For once, it was not Jihyo seeking out her love. It was her love seeking her out. And full of emotion, Jihyo could not find it in her to refuse.

“I…that would be very much appreciated.”

Then she grinned, and Jihyo wanted to sob at the sight of how beautiful she looked.

“Come on. I own a place. You can stay there for as long as you like.”

Jihyo could feel her heart leap into her throat, then remembered the exchange earlier.

“I…have nothing to payeth thee. Unless, thou accepts silver?”

The woman smiled, slipping her hand down from Jihyo’s wrist down to her hand, squeezing quietly. The action alone made Jihyo inhale sharply.

It was her. It was really her.

“Your story would be enough, Scáthach.”

The words left Jihyo’s mouth before she could stop them.

“Jihyo. That is…that is my name now.”

The woman smiled, taking over Jihyo’s mind, soul, and heart once more.

“Hiya, Jihyo. My name’s Dahyun. I’m the Lady of the Sanctuary.”