#bond 1 dissonance

[slopapapa-dingdong]

I beg of thee does anyone have this fic??? I will literally pay money for the pdf hell if you have the series I’ll pay in feet pics 🤣🤣

Maybe not actually the feet pics but for fricken real I’m fiendish rn. I love angst and bamf lance this had it alllllll.

Can i recommend the "Bonds" series by Littleredpencil on ao3? They're long fix-it canon compliant fic spanning 4 books with slowburn (and later established) klance. just want to show my appreciation towards them cause they're working so hard on the fics. The author also has a space cowboy- Firefly klance AU called "Friends In Low Places" if that interest ppl.

thanks so much for this recommendation. this is a LOT of writing im so impressed - karri

Bonds by LittleRedPencil (824,939 | 4/?)

Bond I: Dissonance (25/25 | 190,519 | Teen And Up)

After the Battle of the Last Stand there’s been a lull in the war, but time that should be spent preparing to take the Lions into battle hits a snag when Lance’s injuries from the last fight only seem to worsen. Unable to figure out the cause, he’s forced to give up piloting the Red Lion for his own health and transfers to the IGF-Atlas as an MFE pilot under Shiro and James Griffin. Everything seems fine with the change until the enemy takes advantage of the divided team, and Lance and James disappear on a routine scouting duty. Finding themselves captive on a Fire of Purification outpost, James takes advantage of a run-in with another human prisoner while Lance gives everyone involved a hard-learned lesson on how dangerous even a Lion-less Paladin can be.

//violence 

(adam/shiro)

Friends In Low Places by LittleRedPencil (1/1 | 12,243 | General)

A response to an ask on my tumblr asking my take on Klance space cowboys. VLD characters in the Serenity/Firefly universe.

[yusuke-of-valla]

Every time I see someone say Pokémon should have a perma death mode I get closer and closer to being a petty little shit and talking about creators' vision

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Me: I really like dc canon and frankly I think that fanon flanderizes the characters to the point where they are unrecognizable

Also me: Dick and Jason are drinking buddies,

Tim has put kon, Bernard and Steph in a gc called “the roster” and dipped.

Dick is not allowed to meet Barbara’s friends bc they all like him too much and then it’s rlly hard to bitch about him. (This is actually kinda canon thank u Dinah lance in birds of pray lmao)

The reverse of this is also true but for Dicks exes and Barbara like they get along TOO well.

Babs and Kori are friends.

Babs and Donna are sworn enemies. (Mutual)

Dick gets a different signature food with each of his siblings except Steph cuz they get smoothies. 

Dick keeps trying to get Steph and Donna to meet up but Everytime he tries Gotham gets blown up

Damian refuses to sneak pets in a trench coat bc it’s bad for them to be squished.

Duke is the only bat who knows about the mpreg joker story

Tim and Jason’s only texts to each other are “help” or “you lil shit what did you do!!?!”

Tim, Jason, Cass and Duke all like the discowing suit

Steph and Damian hate it

Damian says he’s spending the weekend not with his dad and everyone assumes Bruce and talia are trying split custody but he needs to bitch about Bruce so he goes to bludhaven

Donna and Dick get drunk together and get progressively more and more sappy about how they should move in together and how much they love each other, you’re amazing no you’re amazing.

Roy and Dick are besties who text like a divorced couple trying to coparent

Dicks exes are in a discord server called “raw. next question” and they have channels called “red heads only” “also dated his brother” “tried to kill him” etc

The redheads don’t have names in this discord “redhead 1” “red head 2” “redhead 3” and so on

They also don’t discuss dick in this server at all

Bruce calls dick for ideas about the Brucie Wayne persona and also when he just doesn’t get why people are mad at him.

Dick calls wally for help with menial tasks

Tim is a big big big fan of THC (same)

Dick goes to raves

Jason is actually the DARE Robin

An image of Dick at a rave went viral on Twitter and Bruce had a mental breakdown so did Jason

Stephanie will never ask Bruce for anything but she buys a 10$ coffee every morning on his card bc of that video of people saying young people can’t buy houses bc of Starbucks and avocado toast.

Jason has a video of 19 yr old Dick spitting at a police officer and he sent it on the family gc when he found out dick went undercover as a cop. It is one of 5 messages he has sent.

Everyone of the Bats is some shade of bisexual

Dicks house is the defacto Bruce is being a lil bitch for the bats and literally everyone who is affiliated with Bruce as long as you bring liquor you’re welcome

Garth and Dick watch sad movies together

Tim and Bruce watch all the bond films together

Damian and Dick watch bird documentaries together

Jason doesn’t watch tv bc he’s a secret hipster (he doesn’t have a tv they keep blowing up.)

Linda has absolutely asked Dick to swing with her and Wally and Dick told Wally about this and Wally’s only reaction was…”soooo is that a yesss or a no?”

The fab 5 titans all hate each others exes, refuse to acknowledge any guilt their friend had in the matter , and will absolutely pretend none of them have dated (they have all dated)

Bruce is in absolute denial that his children date. Like he knows dick has dated people but he assumes that it is kindergarten dating “ah dick spent the night at Barbara’s they must really like holding hands” “Bernard and Tim are moving so fast I mean I saw one of them kiss the other on the cheek??” Meanwhile he has traumatized all robins to ever Robin bc him and Selina Kyle can’t keep their hands right themselves

Also me: cognitive dissonance thank you for your service

Dick has like 25million ig followers, donna does his photos

Tim has a very popular shitpost account on Twitter from his pre Robin days that has statements like “if i was Batman I would simply barricade Arkham” and “stalking Nightwing rn we are up to 120 flips and 30 quips…. There is no else here”

[yerimbrit]

overture : k. haerin

synopsis: even in doubt, you'll always have haerin.

# : pairing ! nonidol!kang haerin x fem!reader

# : tags ! classical music!au, haerin is a pianist, reader is a violinist, fluff, childhood friends to potentially something more, i might actually make this into a series but who knows, this could also technically be read as a 5+1 style fic but idk, domesticity

# : wordcount ! 1.6k

# : warnings ! none

"let's play."

those were the very first words that you've spoken to kang haerin, ever.

the girl had just moved into your neighborhood, to the house next door, and her mom had brought her over to your door for introductions. she was shy, even six year old you could tell, the way she hid behind her mom. once she peeked out in curiosity, that's when you uttered those two words.

her mouth hung agape, and hesitantly, she nodded. while your moms were chatting away, you decided to continue the conversation.

"i'm y/n, what's your name?" you held your hand out, smiling and proudly showing off the top row that was missing a tooth.

she didn't take your hand—only stared at it—but she quietly mumbled a, "haerin," before pointing at your mouth. "what happened to your tooth?"

you held your mouth open, pointing at it with your own finger, "this?" she nodded. "oh, i tripped and it fell out!"

it took more than a few moments for haerin to process your words, but after it clicked, tears started welling up in her eyes. panicked, you looked up to your mom for help, but she was too busy getting to know haerin's mom to notice. suddenly, a lightbulb lit up above your head, and your eyes sparkled.

the girl would soon feel an enveloping warmth around her, a hug, and her eyes widened.

"there, there, don't cry! my dad always hugs me when i cry, so maybe this'll help... wait!" you pulled away, another panicked look overtaking your childish features, "sorry! mom says i shouldn't touch others without asking first!"

once again, haerin took a few moments to process what had just happened, and you really thought you were done for, because this was taking longer than the last time.

that was until a noise made its way out of her lips. then another, and then she was giggling, and laughing, and the cat-eyed girl was now smiling, and you just knew that you had to cherish this bond and keep it safe for the rest of your life.

a few months passed and you started school together, managing to get placed in the same homeroom class. you were stuck by the hip, glued together—no one could tear you apart. even when you were out socializing, you always made sure to introduce your friends to haerin, although she would stay quiet for most of the conversations.

it was during the talent show the following year when both you and haerin found a shared dream. an older kid, maybe three or so years above, was playing a solo of a riedling piece, but what stood out the most to you was the addition of another older kid on the piano.

you wanted to play the violin with haerin at your side. and it was a good thing you knew that she felt the same way, you could see it in the way her eyes glimmered while watching the performance, because you would've begged and begged for her to take piano lessons so you could play together.

and so upon returning home, you tugged on your mother's sleeve with pleading eyes and asked for a violin.

"let's play."

you approached haerin, who was sitting at the upright piano that her father had enthusiastically bought a few months prior, when his daughter timidly asked for something out loud for the first time. she had never asked with her words, but she asked with her eyes, and her father had never been so relieved that his daughter was able to voice her wants.

it had only been four months since you and haerin started learning how to play, and you were impatient. you wanted to play with haerin.

"okay."

of course, the first few tries were a sad jumble of notes, creating dissonance and harmonies out of sync. this wouldn't discourage you. you were determined to play.

and after an hour of nonstop playing and readjusting, you and haerin's heart and soul emerged in an almost perfect ring.

you turned around to face the cat-eyed girl, a big grin on your face as you lowered your quarter size violin by the neck. she turned to you, a small smile also stretched across her lips, and while her expression was mild compared to yours, her eyes told you everything.

let's play again.

"let's play," you huffed, your voice less childish than it was six years ago, when you were seven and too innocent. "we have to get it right!"

"i-" haerin started, but paused. she was never one to say no to you—a blessing and a curse, at least for her. "okay."

you resumed playing, only to slide your pinky too far down and play a screeching high note, piercing your left ear and haerin's right one. she rested her hands on her thighs, taking a deep breath and glancing over to you. "y/n, i really think that-"

"again!" you raised your voice, and haerin slightly flinched. you weren't one to raise your voice. in this realization, you widened your eyes, gently set your violin back down in its case, and sat down next to your best friend. "i'm sorry. i've been so stressed lately."

she didn't say anything, only reaching over to push your head down. it wasn't harsh, but only just—and your head would be resting on her shoulder where it belonged.

"i'm sorry, 'rinnie," you mumbled.

she shook her head. "it's okay. let's take a break."

"mhm."

"let's play," you mouthed to haerin, both of you adorning stylish and elegant black concert dresses. now sixteen, years of experience tacked onto your belts, it was the final round of the national violin competition that you'd worked tirelessly to reach.

rachimaninoff's morceaux de salon, op 6. 2: danse hongroise.

nine years of hard work led you to this moment, where you would play and haerin would be your accompaniment. you believed in you and haerin's capabilities, for you had long surpassed the upperclassmen's level that had once inspired your dreams.

the notes you played, the ones you breathed life into, danced around the stage, entwining with the ones haerin set free before running off towards the audience for a chance to show the people your bond.

and yes, they danced, and danced, and danced. just like how you and haerin did when you were younger, when the tv was on and a i got a boy stage was playing. like how you and haerin did when it was pouring rain and haerin pretended she didn't have a collapsible umbrella in her bag because you loved to dance in the rain.

it was beautiful, both the harmony and the melody, and your relationship with haerin. you knew that you loved haerin. there was nothing you were more sure of. not even the mistakes that stuck out to everyone but you, and not even the fact that you loved the rain. and you knew that haerin loved you too. there was no need for words when it came to her.

sweat trailed down your brow as you switched between bowing and pizzicato, and with a glance to your left you saw haerin's brows furrowing in concentration, keeping up with your rapid notes. there was something in the way she played, there always was; she played the piano like she was a magician. there was something so alluring about her movements that you got surprised when she pulled something out of her sleeve. her hands were fluid, like they were one with the black and white keys, and once you got a taste of her magic? there was no going back.

in your own movements, there was emotion. joy, sorrow, anything that you could pull out of the piece. it was as if you entered the mindscape of the centuries old composers, and brought their feelings out in warm strokes of your bow. it immersed the audience, like you were bringing your hand out in an introduction and waiting for them to take it.

these two styles contrasted and complemented each other, and that was what made your performance so good.

the final notes of the piece rang out, and the crowd became silent. the only thing you could hear was the sound of you and your partner's heavy breaths on the stage and the final reverberations of your instruments.

the audience stood, and a deafening ovation was awarded for your combined efforts.

you smiled. you didn't have to turn around to know that haerin was smiling too.

"we're so little in this picture," you giggle, setting the framed photo near the windowsill that sheds light on the grand piano that haerin will play.

the girl hums, bringing a box full of old trinkets and memories to place near the couch. the apartment you now share is more than enough space for you and your partner to reside in. "you looked cuter with that missing tooth."

"oh yeah?" you feign an eye twitch, "why don't i give you one to match?"

"aw, you want to match with me?" she teases, eyes crinkling up in mischief. you playfully raise a fist and then lower it.

bending down to open the box she had just placed, you reach your hand inside and feel your fingertips brushing against a few pieces of paper stapled together, two sets of them. grabbing the sets, you read over the titles and your eyes light up along with your smile. "'rin, look! heart and soul."

haerin walks over, plucks her own set from your hands, and sets it onto the desk above the covered keyboard. she lifts the cover, motions to your encased violin. "y/n," she calls out, softly, warmly.

your smile widens, and you take the violin out of its case, naturally starting to tune it. once you're done, you walk to haerin's right side, and position the bottom edge of the instrument under the left side of your chin and onto your shoulder.

haerin says it before you can. you beam.

"let's play."

a/n : here is the haerin fic as promised, hope you enjoyed! i personally really like this one so i hope you guys feel the same :-)

[wordsfrombudha]

The Sociability of Moon Nakshatra Natives (Pt. 1)

The Moon is the Graha of social exchange and emotional absorption. It governs the instincts that draw a person into family, community, or even romance. In Jyotiṣa, it represents the emotional mind or manas, which seeks comfort, security, and resonance with its surroundings. The Moon does not process through logic but through response, forming itself around its environment like water into the shape of its container. It reflects how a person bonds with others, adapts to the emotional tone of a space, and maintains internal stability through external connection. Its expression appears less in spoken decisions and more so in intuitive adjustments. The Moon shows how a person regulates themselves through others, tapping in to how they feel their way through life going off of their subjective experiences.

Moon nakshatras approach community through the lens of emotional contrast. There is usually a sense of isolation, melancholy, or being an outcast/outsider. The feeling of not fitting in or being at odds with their emotional environment becomes the reason they seek refuge by connecting with others who carry a similar sense of being (very often Jupiter or Sun natives). These nakshatras form bonds between people who might not belong anywhere else, but who, together, create a space of shared understanding. It is a kind of loyalty formed by mutual recognition arising from emotional anomaly. It is something about their emotional response pattern that is askew from the dominant tone of the environment that acts like a signal. It selects for resonance, drawing in others whose experiences carry the same tonal dissonance. Connection is found in shared divergence, and the bond becomes specific, exclusive, and sometimes obsessive.

The way moon nakshatra natives form bonds is telling. Most of the time, they are not actively seeking to join some type of tribe. Rather, it is just something they encounter as a result of unavoidable proximity or situational obligation, things that forcefully challenge their isolationist tendencies. They find themselves in situations where they cannot keep their emotional distance, and their necessity for connection to feel secure forces vulnerability and loyalty where they would otherwise resist it. Many stories involving moon natives romanticize being an outsider or “different" because it is precisely through feeling like a wallflower that people on the same wavelength are drawn to one another. The group becomes a reflection of their own experience, resulting in a strange feeling of home they didn’t expect.

The individuals that adopted into these groups are usually what I like to refer to as the "unclaimed one." They are defined by potential without direction, sensitivity without expression, and power without context. Their identities are dormant, not completely hidden but still not yet fully activated. These character are poised, standing at the threshold of transformation, almost as if they are waiting to be called into something greater they do not yet know. They have no fixed identity, socially, emotionally, or functionally. They exist in a state of ambiguity. They exist in a state of aloof pause, and this gives them an air of mystique. They have not yet fulfilled a role as part of the group, yet they carry something special or “weird” that everyone around them can sense. They are usually desiring something that gives them new hope or zest for life, but they are not doing anything about it. This makes them seem passive or lost at first. It is almost like they are waiting for something or someone to come along and anchor them. The key here is that moon natives start out as being apart from others, but not yet against them. They are not antagonistic or antisocial as a default. They want to belong, even if they do not fully admit it. They yearn for a sense of home and emotional contentment, but it comes from a place of past insecurity, so they are initially resistant, owing to their fear of being hurt, hurting others, being judged, or being abandoned again. There is something tender in this distance, however. They have not closed the door to connection; they simply have not found the right one to walk through yet and fear choosing the wrong one. Deep down, all they want is to feel loved and praised, but by opening themselves up, they become vulnerable to where others can sense and potentially exploit that vulnerability. It is what makes them compelling to both allies and antagonists, drawing in allies and enemies without them actively seeking any out.

They usually possess a skill, instinct, or intelligence that has not yet found its context. The rookie in the boy band has the voice or charisma but has not yet been given the spotlight. The transfer student has raw talent but has not yet been trusted with the game. What makes this power compelling is its subtlety because it tries to stay hidden, emerging only under pressure or through a slow process of revelation. But once revealed, this capacity shifts the entire dynamic around them. Their presence in a group alters its dynamics. At first, they bring imbalance or confusion, but after a while when they start to open up again, their new group celebrates them. Moon natives are catalysts, individuals who compel others to adapt, expose hidden dynamics, or create a shift from the norm, challenging internal stability. They destabilize the group (or the person, if it is just one individual they are connecting with) simply by being part of it.

I came up with a way to differentiate the stage of evolution or emotional progression these natives go through, so here is a guide on what to look for and what these things are that I am noticing.

The first stage of psychological development can be called the stage of perceptual isolation. In this stage, a person feels different from others and misunderstood by those in their immediate circle. Moon natives are highly sensitive, emotionally open, and expressive from birth, but this sensitivity is rarely protected or encouraged. It’s actually very weird the way I see it manifesting. The world almost always punishes them for their strong emotionality or difference in perception. Often, it is dismissed, criticized, or targeted. When this happens through bullying, abuse, neglect, or repeated rejection, the person begins to shut down and close themselves off emotionally. To protect themselves, they detach from the world. Their new inner world feels safer and more manageable than the reality outside. It becomes a space where they can express feelings freely and imagine relationships that offer the understanding they lack in real life. Over time, this retreat increases their sense of isolation. They begin to feel fundamentally separate from others, as if no one truly sees them or understands them. This is also one reason as to why they love magic, fantasy, illusion, hobbies, etc.

(The writer of Perks of Being a Wallflower is a moon nakshatra native) https://youtu.be/n5rh7O4IDc0?si=Srq2jA83aihYN9Uj

The second stage of evolution is what I like to refer to as the initial baptism by brotherhood. This is the most volatile stage. Eventually there will be someone who breaks through their initial stupor of sorrow or solemnity, usually through intensive assertion or pursuit. At this point, the moon native discovers or realizes they are being absorbed into a new group, and this causes a reaction of confusion followed by intense euphoria from feeling accepted, which leads to an extremely strong bond being formed—brotherhood. Identity is shaped through shared emotional experiences, such as suffering, feeling at odds with others, obsession, play, love, war, or what have you. This phase is defined by emotional entanglement and the dormant potential for mutual recognition. It is the moment of impact, when someone enters a new world of physical closeness, emotional chaos, connection, purpose, mission, or shared goal/passion that binds them together. It is not something they sought out, but something that sort of just happened to them by trial or by fate.

The third stage is decision. This is where the bond solidifies but individual reservations start to surface. Roles within the group begin to take shape. Everyone gets summed up as being something to the group, such the protector, the wild card, the heart, the strategist, etc. Their identities are no longer just their own. The dynamic becomes ritualized and self-reinforcing. If a new member finds accepting and adapting to the new social hierarchy challenging, then they may start to question or undermine the group's authority and cohesion. In certain scenarios, these people are excommunicated from the group. In others, they are sort of put in their place and made to follow their assigned role. In most cases, however, they assimilate and start to instinctively open back up emotionally.

The third stage is immersion. This phase can last for a time and will sometime feel like a golden era. At this stage, they start to trust their group more than anyone else in the world and will do anything for them. They’ve gotten past their need to feel isolated, and the group becomes an emotional home, a moral compass, and sometimes the only reason for existing. There is little individuality here. Everything becomes relational, based on one’s loyalty, dedication, and love to the group. If everyone is fine with this, then it could in theory last forever, but that is not realistic. Even if no external force threatens to disrupt the group's harmony, moon men are changeable by nature and so will eventually invite their own issues sooner or later.

The third stage is ensuing fracture. Eventually, something breaks. A loss, a crisis, a fight, a betrayal, a natural drifting apart, or an external event that forces a separation will cause the group to lose its stability. This is a psychic rupture, not just a logistical one. It sets the point for the end of emotional fusion and the beginning of existential disorientation. The pain it brings is the disintegration of identity because their sense of self was strongly entangled with the group. It gives the moon native an intense feeling of abandonment. This phase can be explosive or eerily quiet. Sometimes a group member walks away. Sometimes the group dissolves. Sometimes they are torn apart by external violence even. But it always leaves the protagonist unmoored. In better circumstances, people grow apart with less violence or conflict, and there remains a lingering attachment that is not entirely erased, similar to how you might view a distant family member or an old friend you no longer keep in touch with. The more common function of this stage is usually trauma though. Something traumatic happens that burns bridges and creates a divide in the structuring of the group.

The fourth stage is isolation, haunted by the self. This is where we meet the classic lone wolf archetype. The feeling of otherness returns, and even if they are part of other groups going forward, they never quite “fit.” This is very common to sun men as well, but sun men just like to be alone because they feel they do not need attachments. For moon men, this lone wolf mentality is different. They need people and may even try to connect, but they are not able to in the same way others are. Their solitude is understood to be caused by the fracture with their older group or connection(s). They are not alone by choice, but it starts to become a coping mechanism that they push people away. The man walking alone through the desert, the one trying to find something lost to them, the one who avoids emotional attachment to what is new was once someone else. They were once part of a group or relationship bound to each other through intense love and brotherhood. This following phase of isolation is defined by control. Emotional restraint becomes their armor, but something remains beneath the surface. A flicker of memory. A quiet regret. An unconscious longing to feel again. A hope that they might return to what was lost and find out if the pieces can still be held together.

The fifth stage is reconnection or a new spark. The lone wolf devoid of connection encounters a meaningful bond once more. A new group, a protégé, a familial or romantic figure, or a familiar mission/goal/desire that demands trust binding people together despite initial resistance. They do not want to be part of a new group, and they are still trying to push people away, but it is like they are forced to anyway. There is growing tenderness in this renewed attempt as they learn to let go of their previous engagements from long ago to embrace new ones. It is like reincarnating into a new family. It is new vulnerability that has been earned. They still may resist at first, but something deeply human comes to the surface, flickering with new promise. This phase is not always redemptive. It can end in relapse, deeper isolation, or even death, but it reveals that even in their silence, they are still shaped by the memory of their past connections and future hopes. Beneath the frozen exterior, they are still just that same kid who wants to express themselves and please those they love.

https://youtu.be/Ide2cn8Wruk?si=YtPh35uDZCYlQOoJ

[imthebadguyyy]

Every Thing Has Changed

pairing : carlos sainz x reader

fandom : f1

synopsis : healing from a relationship in which you never felt loved is made easier when your a certain ferrari drive feels like home and changes your perception on love.

warnings : just some making out, mentions of a past abusive relationship, crying, angst, nightmare

a/n : just a short blurb inspired by photograph by Ed Sheeran and everything has changed by Taylor Swift💕

relationships, once resembling the sweet symphony of love can turn to play a dissonant melody, much like a wilting rose, its vibrant petals fading to a melancholic shade of gray. the once-gentle winds of understanding transformed into bitter gales of miscommunication, tearing at the fragile bonds once woven. love, once a warm and comforting embrace, can feel like a jagged, icy terrain, each step a painful reminder of the shards of trust shattered.

thats what your relationship with love had been, stuck a in a relationship with a man who did not appreciate you and found himself raising his hand at you in frustration or tear into your soul with ice cold words that threatened to shatter your soul.

it had left you vulnerable and untrusting, unwilling to open up to a relationship ever again.

until a certain ferrari driver came along.

carlos sainz.

maybe it was the way he had looked at you across the ramp at the Milan fashion show ferrari had made him attend, surrounded by other celebrities he was uncomfortable around.

your label had made you attend to show your fans you were fine post the 'termination' of your old relationship.

your eyes had met his dark brown ones, a gentle sparkle in them, and he found his lingering on yours, taking in the sight of you in all your gorgeousness across the room.

he had come up to you after, shook your hand and introduced himself.

the thick accent had you blushing, and the sight of this greek god like man dressed in a black tuxedo with the most perfectly mussed up hair had your heart doing a little tango in your chest.

he was charming and sweet, offering you champagne at the after party and telling you about his career and passion for formula 1. he had also admitted to being a fan of your music, to which you had giggled, and he had smiled.

as the party wore on, you stuck to him, finding him to be the only sincere person in the ballroom full of fake smiles, the only person who brought genuine smiles and laughter to you.

within a few hours it felt like chatting to an old friend.

you ended the night with his phone number logged in your phone, and yours in his, and a mutual follow on both your ends on Instagram.

two days later, he sent you a video of himself at the track, with charles singing Adele in the background,with the caption 'wish i could have your voice serenading me before I step into the car instead of his'

you found yourself smiling, shaking your head at his antics, but also blushing at his lopsided smile.

but something in your brain made you stop, hesitate to reply.

the scars from the past were still fresh, and the memory of heartache loomed large. the prospect of opening your heart once more, or even flirting, felt like stepping onto shaky ground.

you found yourself replying with a simple smile emoji and a promise to send him whatever new song you'd be working on soon.

days sped by, with little texts shared and likes dropped on each other's posts.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

your friends asked you persistently about the nature of your relationship with the spaniard, to which you said "he's just a friend I made recently"

when you came to barcelona to record your album, you dropped him a text, to which he asked you to a simple dinner at his favourite restaurant.

even though your heart hammered against your chest and your brain screamed no, you accepted, trying to ignore the slight alarm in your body.

and the dinner was perfect.

carlos was nothing short of a gentleman, pulling your chair out for you, complimenting the way you looked, and your music and taking genuine interest in what you had to say.

carlos found himself utterly infatuated with your beauty, inside and out, and he swore every time you giggled his heart fluttered like a butterfly.

he loved the nervous way you pushed your hair back behind your ears when you got shy, or the intense concentration as you picked your pasta, which was a butternut squash ravioli, which you told him, was your favourite.

he loved how you got so intense when telling a story, and how your hands moved animatedly as you told him a funny story about your night at the Grammy's.

he couldn't help but laugh as you told your story, and he couldn't help the slight flush to his cheeks when you said, "you look handsome tonight" with a sweet smile.

"thank you bella" he said, the nickname dripping off his lips like the sweetest honey, sending a homely warmth through your body.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't arrested to the handsome spaniard in front of you.

he had worn a turquoise blue shirt, the first few buttons undone, and pristine white pants that looked absolutely phenomenal on his gorgeously tanned skin, the Spanish sun clearly doing wonders for him.

he looked like an angel descended from the heavens, his hair falling imperfectly perfectly across his forehead, and his lips looked so delectably plump and pink that you couldn't help your eyes fluttering down to them multiple times throughout dinner.

you loved the way his accent laid heavy, as he talked to you about the atmosphere at monza. you loved the passion in his eyes and his voice as he spoke about how much he adored his job, and how deeply he cared about ferrari.

you loved the way his eyes furrowed in concentration, as he listened intently to the story you were telling him, and the sincerity in his dark eyes, the rich and velvety brown eyes radiating warmth.

you couldn't help the way your heart beat quickened, when he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, when you walked into the restaurant.

neither of you could deny the unspoken electric connection that you shared, zinging through the both of you like a bolt of lightning.

when you got out from the restaurant, he offered to drive you back to your hotel, the red ferrari purred through the streets as you both listened to the soft enrique iglesias songs playing on loop on the radio.

you continued sharing stories, as you made your way though the streets of barcelona, and by the time you reached your hotel, you found yourself unwilling to say goodbye to the handsome man beside you.

"so...this is me" you smiled, and he chuckled.

"I'm aware" he smiled back, and you giggled, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"thank you for tonight carlos. i really enjoyed myself" you told him sincerely, leaning over to squeeze his hands softly.

"you're welcome carino, I enjoyed myself too" he said, running a thumb over your knuckles.

for a moment, the urge to just grab him by his stupidly handsome face and kiss him zapped through your body, but fear stopped you.

you weren't ready for that.

you couldn't do that.

not all over again.

and yes while he had proved to be different, how could you know for sure that things wouldn't turn sour?

"i think I'll get going" you whispered, voice not strong enough to maintain its regular volume, and carlos nodded, a crease in his brow forming at the sudden tremble in your voice.

"sure, let me know if you'd like to hang out sometime later" he said, getting out to open the door for you.

you lingered in the dimly lit hallway for a second, not quite warning him to leave but not strong enough to tell him you liked him.

you fluttered between fear and intuition, before deciding on a middle ground : leaning up on tip toe to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

carlos found himself blushing, responding with yet another gentle. kiss to your hand, and then your forehead

"good night carino" he whispered.

"goodnight carlos" you smiled.

you watched him walk away, heart strumming against your chest.

oh, you were in for a hard time.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

carlos sighed as he looked at the list of media duties in front of him. he zoned out, sylvia's voice lulling him into a doze.

the soft ping of a text notification snapped him out of it, and he looked at is discreetly under the table.

y/n, carlos

you : thought of you when i saw this 🫶🏼

*one attachment*

looking at the message, carlos grinned.

carlos : haha. looks like I follow you wherever I go ;)

you : haha very funny carlos. how's imola going for you?

carlos : you've memorized my race schedule now? 😄

you : noo i just saw a post on Instagram

carlos : it's just media today which i hate so I'm just ready to go home already

you : i get that!! i don't like doing press either :(

carlos : yeah I'm in a meeting right now and I wish i was in my bed fast asleep

you : ....wait are you in a meeting RIGHT NOW?!?

carlos : yes

you : carlos 😭 why are you texting me then??

carlos : because I prefer it ;)

you : oh my gosh okay we'll talk later okay?

carlos : okay carino, have a good day

you : you too 💕

"carlos, can you please put your phone away?" sylvia's impatient voice broke the trance he was.

"yeah yeah" he mumbled a little grumpily, earning a short from charles and a nudge from his press officer.

but he didn't care. he'd prefer spending time with you over the press anyday.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

sighing, you scrolled through your camera roll, erasing any trace of your past relationship. it was gone. it wasn't a part of you anymore.

every deleted picture felt like a weight being lifted off your mind and your chest and tears filled your eyes.

the sheer relief that came with the alleviated pain had a gasp rising in your throat, coming out in a strangled choke.

before you knew it, you were sobbing, knees pulled up to your chest, tears running down your face, choked sobs leaving your throat, each one seemingly ripping your throat open.

you cried till your throat was raw and your body on the brink of exhaustion.

the sound of your phone ringing cut through, making you jump.

you watched as carlos' name flashed across the screen, and after taking a deep breath, you answered.

"hello?"

"buenos dias carino. como estas?" how are you he asked, his voice light and melodious, and you inhaled deeply, feeling the anxiety slowly leaving your body.

"I'm good carlos, what about you?" you replied, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.

"all good carino. just missing you" he flirted, but you didn't miss the sincerity in his voice.

you felt your heartbeat increase in pace, a flush painting your cheeks.

"i miss you too.." you mumbled, embarrassment flooding you as you realized you really did miss him.

"then why don't I fly you out to Monza? its ferrari's home race and I'd love to see you in ferrari red" he said and you giggled.

"I'd love to carlos" you said, and you heard him laugh.

"okay then carino, I'll have the jet pick you up okay? does Thursday work for you? ill pick you up after media duties?" he said, and you awwed at his concern.

"i can just go to your hotel? you don't have to pick me up" you assured him, and after much convincing, he reluctantly agreed to have caco pick you up instead.

"just ask him if his name is carlos too" he had joked, smiling to himself when you let out a hearty laugh.

with promises to see each other soon, you hung up.

you took a deep breath, wiping away the salty tears, contrasting to the sweet smile on your face.

maybe, just maybe, you could watch love begin again.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Thursday rolled around, and you flew to Monza in carlos' jet, to be received by a man with a kind face and a bouquet of flowers waiting for you.

"you must be carlos?" you asked shyly, shaking his hand.

"yes, I'm carlos' cousin, but please call me caco" he had smiled, offering to take your backpack from you.

the two of you chatted on your way to the hotel, making jokes about all the carlos' in the Sainz family.

"how do you manage to keep them all distinct?' you had asked, and he had just laughed and said, "trust me, we don't"

you found yourself enjoying the company of the older man, who was as friendly as someone could be.

as you reached the hotel, you felt nerves spring in your belly, and you bit your lip anxiously.

caco noticed, and sent you a soft smile.

"you know, carlos doesn't usually invite people over. you must be special to him if he's called you to a race" and you tried your hardest to not warm up at his words, but the bright smile on your face said it all.

"come, let me show you to your room, it's next to carlos', and then we can wait in his room for him to come back he should be here soon" caco said, doing the needful with the reception staff.

with a sigh you sunk down into the plush cushions of the sofa in carlos' room after depositing all your baggage in your own room.

you and caco continued to talk for a bit, sharing stories and laughs till the door opened, and a pair of white sneakers made their way over to you.

"hola carino" carlos' voice rang through the room, and you turned on your heel, heart fluttering in your chest as you took in the sight of him, in his red and black ferrari shirt and apparently signature white pants.

neither of you noticed caco gently slip away, not wanting to intrude in the private moment.

"hello" you smiled, waving at him nervously.

in quick strides he made his way across the room, engulfing you in a big hug.

you inhaled the musky scent he wore, reminding you of dior sauvage, and focused on the feeling of his large, coarse palms gently rubbing your back.

"i missed you, y'know?" he mumbled, drawing away and gently caressing your cheek.

"i missed you too, so much' you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm happy you're here" he murmured, gently pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ears.

"I'm happy to be here, thank you so much for having me" you smiled at him.

"anytime, corazon" heart he flirted, and you flushed again.

the two of you spent some time chatting, before jet lag overtook you, and you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.

carlos gently pulled your legs up and out a pillow under your neck to prevent you from getting a crick as he laid you on the sofa, penning a small note when he realized that he had to run to meet fans in the hotel.

with an odd feeling of sadness, he tucked you in, leaving you, to head down.

he remained a little distracted, not quite able to focus when he truly just wanted to spend time with you.

he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so deeply infatuated with someone, the last time someone had flooded his mind 24\7

you were so utterly perfect in so many ways, sweet and kindhearted, headstrong and independent, warm and funny, friendly and open.

but still, he felt a reluctance to be vulnerable, the walls you had put up that you refused to let him penetrate. he was also aware that you even coming to had been a huge step, and he could slowly work towards findings out what exactly was upsetting you.

with new found determination, he made his way back to the room.

upstairs, you were still fast asleep, and as he walked in he noticed the agitation on your face, the beads of sweat dripping down your forehead and the whimpers leaving your lips.

he rushed over to you, fingers gently shaking your tense shoulders, heart breaking at the whimpers escaping your lips, little murmurs of “please don’t hurt me..” leaving your lips, making his heart shatter.

still in a haze, you frowned, watching as the dark shaped got closer and close to you, you tried to run, but you were frozen in place, a scream rising to your throat only to stick, mouth open without making a single sound. the dark figure got closer and closer, ominous giggles leaving their mouth as they approached you, faceless, but for an evil smirk on their lips.

the figure reached out and touched your face, cold and clammy, and you felt a chill run down your spine.

"im going to hurt you," the figure whispered. you tried to speak, but no words would come out. you were trapped, helpless.

the figure leaned in closer, and you could feel its hot breath on your neck. It reached out and touched your throat.

you closed your eyes and waiting for the impact.

but then, you heard a familiar voice, sounding almost dreamlike and distant, like a guardian angel descending from the heavens to refuse you.

"wake up, carino! it’s just a dream. I’m here, estas a salvo” you're safe Carlos’ voice broke through and you awoke with a gasp.

carlos took in the sight of the tears dripping down your cheek, and the pants leaving your mouth, and he swore he felt his heart shatter.

"stay away" you whispered, bringing your knees to your chest to shield yourself.

"wh-what?" he mumbled, surprised.

"i said stay away!! don't touch me" you shouted, voice quivering with fear.

the storm of emotion in carlos' eyes sent self pity surging through your heart.

"oh, cariño mío, nunca, nunca, nunca te haría daño, te lo prometo." oh my darling, i would never ever ever hurt you,i promise he whispered, but still, he took a step back. he did not want to cross any boundaries.

"don't lie to me" you whimpered, shoulders shaking and chest rising and falling rapidly. you were still dazed, not quite processing that it was carlos in front of you, not your ex, and that he was the last person to raise a hand on you.

"im not lying, mi duce" he said sincerely, gently reaching his hand out to you.

"no! thats what he said too" you sobbed out, knees giving out as you fell to your knees on the ground, face buried in your hands as you sobbed.

carlos decided that space wasn't the answer. with steps as light as a feather, he was beside you in an instant, gingerly reaching out to stroke your hair.

surprisingly, you didn't push him away, but you did flinch, and the sight made Carlos's heart break further.

"oh, oh, cariño mío... siento mucho, mucho que eso te haya sucedido..."oh, oh my darling, I'm so so sorry that ever happened to you, he whispered, gently rubbing your arm, the warmth of his hands helping the shivers taking over your body.

"I'm sorry" you sobbed, embarrassment, guilt and shame coursing through your veins.

"no, why are you sorry? you haven't done anything wrong" he stated firmly, gently letting you lean into him, sniffling into his shirt.

he didn't care about the mess on his shirt. he didn't care about the fact that he was late for a press meeting. all he cared about was making sure that your were okay.

"i shouldn't have been so stupid, so stupid that someone had to hit me to make me see sense" you continued, mind so drowsy and scared you didn't even know what you were saying.

"you're not stupid, amor, i promise youre not. i am so sorry that happened to you but please, mi dulce, don't ever demean yourself. eres más valiosa para mí que el sol, la luna y las estrellas, y juro que hay millones de personas que piensan lo mismo. no puedo deshacer lo que tu ex ha hecho, pero haré todo lo posible para tratarte mejor y hacerte sentir amada de nuevo, si me das una oportunidad, mi cariño. significas el mundo para mí y pasaré cada día de mi vida demostrándotelo si es necesario." he said,You are worth more to me than the sun moon and stars and i swear there are millions of people who think so too. I cannot undo what your ex has done, but I can try my damn hardest to treat you better and make you feel loved again, if you will give me a chance, my darling. You mean the world to me and I'll spend every day of my life proving that to you if i have to", gently lifting your chin so he could look into your red eyes.

"I'm not worth it carlos.. you deserve someone who isn't a mess, who isn't wrecked, who isn't a useless, used thing, like me.." you started but you were cut off by carlos pulling you into a tight hug.

inhaling deeply, you let yourself sink into his embrace, clutching the material of his shirt as if you were scared he would disappear into thin air.

"you are everything to me" he murmured, and you looked up at him, gaze flicking from his sincere eyes, the worry lines on his forehead to his perfectly plump lips.

and in that moment you made a decision.

"kiss me" you whispered, hand reaching out to stroke his stubble.

"there's nothing I want more, carino, but..are you sure? no quiero que te arrepientas de esto más tarde." i don't want you to regret this later he said, and you smiled.

"nunca he estado más seguro de nada más."I've never been more sure of anything else you replied, gently pulling him down to meet your lips.

you closed the space between the two of you, pressing your body against his as your hands found home on his face and waist, his in your cheek and hips

carlos sighed softly, against your mouth hands moving to wrap around you, resting on your back as he kisses you back, with unfiltered passion.

you never thought that actually someone could actually leave you winded with just a kiss, but here was a man, something out of a story book, taking your breath away with a kiss.

"I've wanted to do that for so long" carlos mumbled against your lips, as you slowly pulled away, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your belly.

"i have too, but i was scared.." you started off, but carlos cut you off with a feather soft kiss to your forehead.

"you don't owe me any explanation, mi amor. thank you for trusting me" he whispered, and you smiled.

"just... promise me you won't hurt me?" you asked, vulnerability evident in every syllable.

carlos responded with a soft kiss to your knuckles, to your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, and then finally your lips.

"never."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

that summer, carlos took you to mallorca to meet his family.

he had brought you along, introducing you to his father, his mother, his sisters and a few cousins who had come to spend the summer.

carlos sainz sr had welcomed you with open arms, despite your initial nervousness. reyes had enveloped you in a warm hug, expressing her excitement at finally meeting the woman her son couldn't stop raving about, making the both of you blush.

his sisters, blanca and ana, had both gushed over you, making very little effort to hide how much they loved your music and how excited they were that their brother was dating you.

you were grateful at how welcoming and sweet his family was, how they treated you like one of their own, taking you sightseeing and taking you to their favourite spots, treating you to lovely lunches with the family, with reyes making you your first ever homemade gazpacho that you fell in love with.

out of everyone, you found yourself gravitating to her the most, and spent as much time with her as you could, laughing at stories she told you about carlos.

one evening she took you and her daughters out for a spa day. carlos couldn't hide the happy smile that refused to leave his lips the whole day, heart full at how well you meshed with his family.

"you look lovely dear" reyes warm tone greeted you as you made your way to the car so you could go to lunch and then a spa. she was so kind to you, even though she only met you a few days ago, she welcomed you into her family with open arms. "are you enjoying yourself, mi hija?" the nickname made you flush, as you nodded, a shy smile on your lips "don’t be shy!" she said, gently squeezing your shoulder, eyes twinkling

"mallorca is really beautiful! i really like it here" you said, a genuine smile on your lips, and reyes nodded. "thats good because I get the feeling we'll have you over much more often now", blanca added from the back seat.

she winked at you which made the four of you laugh.

"well, i hope i can visit much more often" you said, smiling at the three sainz women in front of you.

"you will, i know for a fact my brother is head over heels for you with how he looks at you like you hung the stars sun sky and the entire cosmos up" ana said sagely, making blanca snort.

"don't expose him like that, he'll kill you if he hears you told her that" her older sister chided

"I'm not wrong! he doesn't bring anyone home unless he's serious about them!" ana said indignantly, and you felt your heart flutter

"my carlito is very shy, hija, and that's why we were so happy when he told us you were dating, and even more when he said he was bringing you home" reyes said to you, a nostalgic smile on her lips as she thought back to when all her children were babies.

"you're a lovely person, y/n. i knew it the moment you walked in the door, and I know you make carlos so happy. welcome to the family unofficially, mi hija" she said softly, to voices of agreement from ana and Blanca and you felt tears rise to your eyes.

overwhelmed with emotion, all you could do was squeeze their hands and say a soft "thank you"

later that night, as you and carlos for ready for bed, he came up to you, wrapping his arms around you, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulders, massaging your shoulders with lotion.

"what did you talk to my mother and sisters about mi dulce?" he asked, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone.

"thats a secret, amor" you smirked and he whined, burying his face in your neck.

"ana has been winking at me all evening and poking me in the side. what did you dooo" he whined like a child and you giggled.

"i can't tell you,but they were all so lovely" you said, climbing into bed, as carlos snuggled up to you.

"see? i told you they'd all love you. my dad told me today as well, he thinks you're a perfect match for me and he'd like to take you for a round of golf sometime" he said, running his fingers through your hair.

"I'd love that" you smiled, kissing his nose.

of course, it didn't stop there.

before you knew it, carlos' lips were on yours. you pushed him away with a giggle, knowing it wouldn't stop at one.

"please amor, just one more, I've barely seen you today" he pouted and you rolled your eyes at his antics.

“fine. just one. one more kiss and that’s—”

carlos' mouth pressed against yours in a desperate kiss, mumbling a quick ,"yes, hmm, yes," as he nudges the tip of his tongue against yours to open up, trying to get you a more passionate kiss.

you pull back with a gasp, hands against his chest, “no no no no no. you need to behave and i only said one and your entire family is here and this is more than one —" he cut you off mid way again, pressing a flurry of pecks your lips.

desperately trying to keep your thoughts straight, you begins to cave in as his teeth gently nibble at your bottom lip, pulling it away and his eyes watching as it snaps back in its place, his tongue meets yours again.

you whine, body relaxing slowly into his, hands resting on his chest and face, monetarily forgetting the fact that you were making out with him in his family home.

"ay dios mio!" caco's voice exclaims and you jump, pulling away from carlos.

"por favor, cierra la puerta si vas a involucrarte en estas actividades, hermano." he said backing out of the room.

"qué quieres, caco?" carlos yelled after him, grinning at the sight of you burying your face in the blanket, shouting out an apology to caco.

"just wanted to say good night, which I now know you'll have!" he shouted back and you gasped, pulling the sheets over your face.

you were sure ana in the next room must have heard it.

"carlos" you whine as he laughs, anas voice floating in from next door "please don't traumatise me!"

all of a sudden, he pins you down, fingers ticking your sides, relishing the sound of your laughter.

“im so in love with you, angel, te amo." he whispered.

"te amo carlos" you mumbled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

everything had changed, thankfully for the better.

and you could not be happier.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : might make it multi part or just leave it like this, please let me know which one you'd prefer!!

as always likes, reblogs comments, opinions etc are appreciated!! much love always 😘

TAGS

f1 : @theonly1outof-a-billion @rileynicol3 @ivegotparticulartaste @moon-enthusiast @superlegend216

everything: @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird

TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM SPECIFYING WHICH FANDOM ♥️

[graementality]

Welcome to the Kosmic Entwinement AU!!!

Me and @letardoursprout have been working on this for a little while now, so here's our new cccc au!!

Basically Kosmic Entwinement entails: Cacophony is going as per usual, the Juno incident has just recently gone down and Astreaus (soul) is stressed to their limit. They start to notice small weird 'glitches' and brief flashes of Harmonia in their reflection and such, which all leads up to the two of them eventually glitching into one being: Kosmos! Artemis (heart) and Aelius (mind) develop a bond over their shared distrust in Harmonia/Kosmos and take over the pysche not long after Kosmos appears, leaving Astraeus and Harmonia (now sharing a body) to figure out how the hell to navigate this new situation + eachother.

More below the cut :D

A few things are different in this AU:

Eras:

Calamity -> Animosity

Cacophony -> Antipathy

Concord -> Amity

Names:

Mind -> Aelius (he/him)

Heart -> Artemis (he/it)

Soul -> Astraeus (they/them)

Whole -> Harmonia (he/him)

Soul-Whole -> Kosmos (they/them)

And the timeline is as follows:

Animosity:

• Animosity is essentially the loops; everything that happens before Kosmos appears (causing the timeloop to end now that Harmonia is technically present in the pysche). Also known as Cacophony pt. 1 /silly

• It begins with the recovery of the Juno incident, which happened roughly a couple of weeks ago by now. Artemis and Aelius are barely talking, the house has essentially been in a divide, with Astraeus at the centre of it. It is Tense.

• Artemis and Aelius begin bickering and having minor arguments again, Astraeus is instantly on edge and Paranoid. In this period they start to notice small glitches [eg: seeing themself as Harmonia in reflections for a split second, losing time/memories briefly.] They're Stressing tm

• A fight between Artemis and Aelius eventually breaks out. Astraeus instantly Freaks Out and screams for them to stop. They start glitching out of control, panic attack ensues and Harmonia starts being Present. The other two start bickering again whilst trying to figure out what to do (and also being incredibly confused as to what's happening), this obviously makes things worse and Astreaus just screams; glitching and permanently transforming them into Kosmos.

Antipathy:

• Antipathy follows everything that happens after Kosmos appears, or: Cacophony pt. 2

• After the inital shock of Kosmos' appearance, Artemis and Aelius realise they both hold alot of shared resentment towards Harmonia. Now that he's technically here, they can finally tell him just how much pain he's caused. This leads to the two ids' eventual friendship and their rulership of the psyche together.

• Artemis and Aelius slowly grow closer while they're in power, whilst still dealing with and sorting out their previous issues. They essentially ignore Kosmos during this era, leaving them to themselves (creating a them vs us dynamic almost,, yeah the dissonance isn't over yet)

• Harmonia & Astraeus, now sharing a body, get closer. Astraeus has to get used to the fact that Harmonia is infact, Just A Guy (cue soulwhole weirdness). Harmonia is also Immensly guilty about everything, and has to navigate both Astreaus' initial devotion, as well as the others' hatred towards him.

• (oh yeah! Being two people in one body, Kosmos uses they/them pronouns, leading Astraeus to figure out that they're non binary!)

Amity:

• Concord yay!!

• Time goes by of Artemis and Aelius' rulership, they all slowly grow closer after a long period of dissonance, leading to Kosmos' eventual acceptance into the group. Artemis is the first to accept them, then finally Aelius comes around. They learn to live with eachother as friends and equals, now that the loop is technically over.

• Basically: they're all friends now yippie!!! Oh yeah, and also, Kosmos petre :3 yes this is plot relevant, they're the ouppy ever

[leiuvr]

BOUND BY FIRE | SYLUS LOVE AND DEEPSPACE, COMPLETED (M) | CHAPTER 1

Chapter Synopsis: Lung’s world is built on logic and routine—until a stranger with platinum hair and pyrope-like eyes shatters it. A fleeting touch sends a vision crashing through her mind; crimson wings, and a name whispered like a ghost, Lyra. Shaken but unable to ignore the pull, she searches for answers. Her late-night research leads to ancient and forgotten myth, The Cursed Bond of Sylus and Lyra. As she stares at the dragon’s burning gaze on the screen, she thought whether her past has come for her or is this just a mere coincidence.

Word count: Approx. 2,342 words

A/N: Hellooo! I’m glad that you’re here. I really do hope you will like this piece I wrote. If you have not seen my masterlist post, I mentioned there the things you need to know like genres, overall synopsis, and disclaimers. Besides that, I also said on there that this storyline is quite different from the game storyline of Sylus. I just find it fun to write that only gets a few bits and pieces from his story in the game and make a new story off of that. But anyways, I hope you like this one! Lots of love💕

CHAPTER 1: A GLITCH IN THE ORDINARY

The fluorescent lights of the university library hummed a monotonous tune, a steady, unwavering drone that seemed to vibrate through the very air, mirroring the rhythm of Luna’s highlighter as she traced key concepts in her textbook. Another Tuesday, another lecture on behavioral patterns, another step towards a perfectly ordinary life. She preferred it that way. The scent of old paper and the quiet rustle of turning pages were a comfort, a predictable backdrop to her studies, a sanctuary from the unpredictable chaos of emotions. The library, with its towering shelves and hushed whispers, was a fortress of solitude.

Luna preferred solitude. It wasn’t that she disliked people, but emotional entanglements felt like messy equations she didn’t have the energy to solve. She found comfort in the structured world of academia, in the predictable patterns of human behavior that she studied. Diligently, she underlined a passage on cognitive dissonance, her dark, slightly wavy hair falling across her cheek, casting a shadow over the page.

Her deep brown eyes, usually sharp and focused, scanned the page, absorbing the information with practiced ease. Her simple silver necklace, a thin chain with a small, unadorned pendant, a gift from her grandmother, caught the light as she moved, a subtle shimmer in the otherwise muted atmosphere. It was her only concession to sentimentality, a small, tangible reminder of a connection she valued.

A shadow fell across her textbook. Luna looked up, and her breath hitched. He was tall, impossibly so, with hair like spun platinum and eyes with a hue of a strange, internal fire. He looked at her with an intensity that made her skin prickle, like she was being dissected under a microscope. His presence was a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the library, an electric charge in the still air, a disruption of the carefully constructed peace she had built around herself. He seemed to fill the space, his aura a tangible force that made the air thicken and the hairs on her arms stand on end.

His voice a low, smooth rumble that seemed to vibrate through her bones. "Are you using this?" He gestured to the thick tome on the table, a book on ancient mythologies.

As his fingers brushed hers, reaching for the same book, a jolt of heat surged through her. A flash of crimson wings, the roar of a dragon, and a voice whispering names she didn’t recognize—Lyra—echoed in her mind. Then, it was gone, leaving her breathless and confused, her heart pounding in her chest. The contact was brief, a mere graze of skin against skin, but the aftershocks were not. His skin felt unnaturally warm, almost burning, as if he radiated an internal heat, a fire that threatened to consume her. It was a sensation that defied logic, a feeling that whispered of something ancient and powerful.

She blinked, trying to clear the lingering disorientation. Just stress, she told herself, forcing a shaky laugh. But the image of those wings, the sound of that voice, wouldn’t fade. They lingered in her mind, vivid and unsettling, like a dream that refused to be forgotten. "No, you can take it," she managed, her voice a little shaky, a little breathless. She pulled her hand away, her fingers tingling, her skin still burning from the brief contact.

He took the book, his fingers lingering on the cover, his gaze fixed on her. "Thank you," he said, his voice low and intense. "I've been looking for this." He didn't elaborate, didn't explain why he needed a book on ancient mythologies, but his words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. His red eyes, like embers glowing in the dim light, held hers captive, searching, probing, as if he was trying to see into her soul.

"Luna? You look like you've seen a ghost." Greyson’s voice, warm and familiar, broke through her daze. His blue eyes, always filled with easy warmth, studied her with concern. His copper hair, usually meticulously styled, was slightly tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it, a sign of his unease. "Are you alright?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding, comforting, a stark contrast to the unsettling heat that radiated from the tall man.

She turned to him, grateful for the familiar presence, for the anchor he provided in the swirling chaos of her thoughts. "Yeah, just… a little tired," she said, forcing a smile, trying to dismiss the strange encounter as nothing more than a figment of her imagination. "Long day."

Greyson frowned, his gaze shifting to the tall man with platinum hair, who was now absorbed in the mythology book, his long fingers tracing the faded illustrations. "Who's that?" he asked, his voice low, a flicker of suspicion in his blue eyes.

"I don't know," Luna replied, her eyes still drawn to the man, his presence a magnetic pull she couldn't explain. "He just asked for a book." She tried to focus on Greyson, on his familiar face, his comforting presence, but her gaze kept drifting back to the tall man, his presence a constant, unsettling hum in the background of her thoughts.

Greyson's gaze lingered on the man, a flicker of suspicion in his blue eyes, a sense of unease that mirrored her own. "Well," he said, turning back to Luna, his voice laced with concern, "let's get out of here. I know a great cafe nearby. They have the best hazelnut lattes." He offered her a reassuring smile, a silent promise of comfort and normalcy.

As they walked away, Luna glanced back. The man with the platinum hair was watching her, his red eyes burning with an intensity that made her skin crawl. He didn't look away, didn't pretend to be absorbed in his book, but held her gaze, his expression unreadable, a mask of cold intensity. She quickly turned away, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, but the image of those crimson wings, the sound of that strange name, lingered in her mind, a haunting echo of something she couldn't understand.

As they stepped out into the bright sunlight, Luna took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering unease. The warmth of the sun on her skin was a welcome contrast to the chilling intensity of the man's gaze. She glanced back at the library, its imposing facade a stark reminder of the strange encounter. The man was gone, vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving behind only the lingering echo of his presence and the haunting image of crimson wings.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Greyson asked, his voice filled with concern. "You seem really shaken up."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Luna replied, forcing a smile. "Just a little overwhelmed, I guess."

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the bustling campus filling the air. Luna tried to focus on the familiar sights and sounds, to ground herself in the present, but the image of the man's red eyes, the sound of that strange name, kept intruding on her thoughts.

"That guy," Greyson began, his voice low, "there was something…off about him."

"I know," Luna replied, her voice barely a whisper. "I felt it too."

They reached the cafe, a cozy little place with warm lighting and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. They found a table by the window, and Luna sank into the plush cushions, grateful for the familiar comfort of the place.

"Tell me what happened," Greyson said, his blue eyes filled with concern.

Luna hesitated, unsure how to explain the strange encounter, the fleeting visions, the unsettling feeling that had taken hold of her. "It's hard to explain," she began, her voice low. "He just… looked at me, like he knew me, like he was expecting something."

She told him about the book, the brief touch, the flash of crimson wings, the voice whispering a strange name. Greyson listened intently, his expression growing more concerned with each passing moment.

"Crimson wings?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know," Luna replied, her voice filled with confusion. "It was just a fleeting image, a fragment of a dream, maybe."

"And the name?" Greyson asked. "Lyra? Does that mean anything to you?"

Luna shook her head. "No," she replied. "It’s just a name, a strange, unfamiliar name."

They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the cafe swirling around them. Luna sipped her hazelnut latte, the warm, sweet liquid a temporary comfort.

"Maybe it was just a coincidence," Greyson said, his voice laced with doubt. "Maybe you're just stressed. You've been working really hard lately."

"Maybe," Luna replied, but she didn't believe it. The image of those wings, the sound of that voice, felt too real, too vivid to be just a figment of her imagination.

"But," Greyson continued, "if you're really concerned, maybe you should talk to someone. A therapist, maybe?"

"I'm not crazy, Greyson," Luna said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "I don't need a therapist."

"I didn't say you were crazy," Greyson replied, his voice letting out a small laugh. "I just think it might help to talk to someone about what you're feeling."

Luna sighed. "I'll think about it," she said, knowing she wouldn't. She didn't want to talk to a therapist about draconian wings and strange names. She wanted to forget about it, to pretend it never happened.

They finished their lattes as they talked about school, work, and some classmates they unadulteratedly loathe. As they left the cafe, Luna couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She glanced around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual crowds of students, the bustling city streets, the ordinary world she longed to return to.

But she knew, deep down, that her ordinary life was gone, replaced by something strange and unsettling, something that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed peace she had built around herself. The glitch in the ordinary had occurred, and there was no going back.

That night, Luna's dreams were even more vivid, more chaotic. The crimson wings filled her vision, the roar of the dragon deafening. The voice, deep and resonant, called her name again and again—Lyra, Lyra, Lyra. She saw flashes of a burning castle, a silver dagger, a desperate embrace. She felt the heat of flames, the sting of tears, the weight of despair.

She woke up with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest, her body drenched in sweat. The images lingered in her mind, vivid and unsettling, like a nightmare that refused to end. She sat up in bed, her gaze fixed on the window, the moonlight casting long, eerie shadows across her room.

She got out of bed, her legs shaky, her heart pounding. She walked to her desk, her laptop screen still glowing softly in the dark. She had left it open the night before, an article on ancient mythologies pulled up. Something about it had lingered in her mind, nagging at her even in sleep.

Taking a deep breath, she sat down and placed her fingers on the keyboard. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she clicked into the search bar, hesitating for only a moment before typing:

"Lyra mythology"

She hit enter. The page refreshed, loading various sources—encyclopedias, scholarly articles, forums. She skimmed through them, but nothing stood out. Most results were about constellations, unrelated myths, fragments of stories that didn’t connect to what she was looking for.

Frustrated, she refined her search.

"Lyra myth dragon"

A new set of results appeared. Her eyes darted over them until one caught her attention—a digitized manuscript from an obscure mythology archive. The title made her breath hitch:

"The Cursed Bond of Sylus and Lyra."

Her fingers trembled as she clicked the link. The document loaded slowly, its text old, translated from an even older language. She scrolled down, skimming until she found an illustration—a dragon, its crimson wings spread wide, its eyes burning like embers in the dark.

A name was inscribed beneath it in elegant, flowing script: Sylus.

Luna’s heart stopped.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind racing. Sylus. The name felt foreign yet achingly familiar. It felt deep in her gut that it was the name of the man in the library, the man with the platinum hair and the red eyes. She swallowed hard, her breath unsteady as she scrolled further. Each word, each line, felt like a whisper from something long buried, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to unearth.

But she couldn’t stop now. She had to know.

She looked out the window again, her gaze fixed on the dark, silent city. The world seemed different now, charged with a strange energy, as if it was waiting for something to happen. A sense of dread settled over her, a feeling that she was on the verge of something momentous, something that would change her life forever.

The city lights blurred, and she saw, not the streets below, but a vast, desolate landscape, scorched and broken. A figure stood in the distance, silhouetted against a crimson sky. It was Sylus, his platinum hair glowing in the unnatural light, his red eyes burning with an intensity that pierced through the darkness.

He turned, his gaze fixed on her window, on her. He raised a hand, his fingers outstretched, as if reaching for her. She felt a pull, a magnetic force drawing her towards him, towards the desolate landscape, towards the crimson sky.

She gasped, stumbling back from the window, her heart pounding in her chest. The vision vanished, replaced by the familiar city lights, the ordinary streets below. But the feeling remained, a sense of dread, a sense of inevitability.

She knew then, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that her life was about to change. Sylus, Lyra, the dragon, the curse—they were all connected, and she was caught in the middle. The glitch in the ordinary had occurred, and there was no going back.

[mandos-mind-trick]

The Phantom of Pabu - Part 1

Summary: After being rescued from the Empire, Crosshair spends his days miserably existing on Pabu. Haunted by the past, he's slowly drowning in his thoughts, until he spots you. You pique his interest from the start, a person who might just be more broken than he is.

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, suicide attempt, alcohol abuse, nightmares, sleep deprivation and its side effects, stalking-like behaviors, depression, descriptions of war and its aftermath, sleepwalking, brief mention of slavery, brief allusion to trafficking, trauma bonding, possessive and protective Crosshair, a bit of a savior complex

A/N: This is so different from anything I've written before, in a different style than I usually write. It evolved into something way more than it was supposed to be, and honestly I'm a little scared to share it. It's a testament of where my mind has been these last few weeks and really just a lot of feelings and emotions pouring out onto the page. Please heed the warnings as this is a pretty heavy story, especially this part in particular.

Next > | MASTERLIST

(Gif found on Google since Tumblr's gif search sucks)

At least they managed to settle somewhere warm. 

Crosshair is grateful for that one thing as he reclines on a bench, shielded from the unrelenting sun by a tree. The island is hot today, drawing his brothers to the beach in an attempt to stay cool. As uncomfortable as it is, it is much preferable to somewhere cold. 

He hates the cold. 

The beach bustles with the sound of the inhabitants of the island, all of them seeking the cool water in relief from the heat of the day. It’s loud, sights and sounds threatening to overwhelm him. He hasn’t been here long, not long enough to feel comfortable with the freedom he’s been allotted. 

No one knows.

No one cares. 

He knows. He cares. He can’t forget. 

He might have left, he might have suffered in the heat in favor of somewhere quiet had he not had somewhere to focus his attention. A distraction from the screaming of children, the endless movement of the crowd on the beach. 

It hadn’t taken him long to spot his distraction, the grounding scene to keep him from losing his mind. You’re seated in the sand, as far from the crowd as you can be. Your shoes are off, placed neatly beside you. Your legs are pulled against your chest, your arms wrapped around them as you stare out at the cerulean water. 

You haven’t been on Pabu long. He’d glimpsed you during your arrival with a few others, quickly lost in the crowd he was trying to avoid. Hunter had dragged him along, repeating the endless mantra that socialization is good for him. 

Crosshair disagrees. 

Hunter was persistent in forcing him into social situations, knowing well Crosshair would simply observe and refuse to participate. He preferred watching from a distance, becoming nothing more than a figure in the shadows. He knows the corners of Pabu well; that was where he made himself at home. 

You have made this outing less unbearable, at least. 

You’ve hardly moved since he spotted you, shifting only slightly to alleviate an ache in your joints. You don’t seem bothered by the sun or the heat, your skin glowing under the bright radiance from above. 

Crosshair wonders what you’re thinking about. He rolls his toothpick between his lips, mind wandering as he considers you. He refuses to believe your head is empty as you stare out at the horizon. You’re far too fascinating to be reduced to a brainless shell. He had never been one to consider the thoughts of others, but staring at you has made him curious. 

Not curious enough to approach, not curious enough to ask. 

Curious enough to disregard the crowd and its maddening dissonance. He’s always alert, always ready, but your mysterious presence is enough to quiet the ruckus to a bearable level. 

He gazes at you as the sun tracks a path across the sky, the crowd beginning to thin as evening settles in, turning the sky shades of orange and pink. You remain sitting there, still as a statue, when Hunter calls his name. He’s almost hesitant to leave, hesitant to walk away before you do. For a moment, the absurd idea passes through his mind that you might actually be a statue, but he knows that’s not true. He’d seen the small movements as you adjusted yourself, the small flinch as two children got too close to you while playing. 

You’re still there as he rises, turning his back to you as he leaves his bench. His curiosity has been piqued. 

Perhaps this place isn’t so unbearable after all. 

***

You’ve invaded his thoughts, controlling his mind even as he sits alone in his room. He’d memorized every small detail of your being that day; you’ve been plaguing him since. He doesn’t know your name, he doesn’t know where you live. He doesn’t know a single thing about you, other than when you’d arrived on this island refuge, disappearing into the crowd of welcoming inhabitants like a phantom. 

He’s become existential in his thoughts. Are you even real? Are you a figment of his imagination as he fights the guilt and shame threatening to devour him every time he gets even just a brief moment of reprieve? 

He needs to see you again, even if just to prove you’re more than a figment of his imagination. 

A ghost sent to haunt him for his sins. 

Maybe Hunter is right. Maybe he has been alone for too long. 

He can’t stand the considerate, generous, welcoming inhabitants of the island. He doesn’t deserve such kindness, such compassion after the things he’s done. If they knew the blood that stained his hands, the oppression he’d doled out simply because that’s what good soldiers do, they wouldn’t be so amiable. 

He’s become almost nocturnal to avoid them. 

Sleep evades him, and when exhaustion overcomes him, the nightmares begin. His brothers are gracious enough not to mention it, but he can see it. The worry, the concern in their gazes as he blearily stumbles out the door, choking on smoke and frigid air and rain. Endless rain. 

Muscles tense and tight from the frozen air, clothes soaked through, half delirious from the cold and hunger. He’s weak, barely able to get his legs under him as he races for the door, desperate to escape, desperate to forget. 

He walks in the warm air, when the sky is black and dotted with stars, when the world is quiet and asleep. No one around to try and engage him in conversation, no one to give him pity-filled looks as he passes. No one to ask after him, the disgusting shine of sympathy in their gaze. The few who pass on rare occasions don’t look at him, avoiding his gaze fearfully as if he’s some wraith slinking through the blackness ready to feast on the unfortunate soul who looks him in the eye. 

A ghost haunting the island, lost and wandering for all eternity until the ocean washes away the last remains of the rock where the city stands. 

His hands are still trembling, clenched into fists at his sides when you appear out of the darkness like a phantom. You’re ahead of him, far enough you haven’t noticed him yet. Even his enhanced vision has trouble making you out, but it’s you unmistakably. 

Dressed in black, whether it’s on purpose or simply chance, you blend into the shadows of the night, slipping in and out of the light at each doorstep. You truly appear like a ghost, steps slow enough to make you seem as if you’re floating. You’re barefoot, nearly silent as you slip through the darkness. 

Crosshair follows, encaptured by your mysterious presence. His mind draws forth the stories Omega had heard from Phee and recounted to them. Stories of seafarers seeing ghosts in the waves on stormy nights, sailors hearing the voices of women calling out to them, drawing them into the waves to be lost forever. 

You walk the streets, nearly making one full circle around the island before you stop, freezing in the spot between lights. Crosshair blinks as he comes to a stop, as if he’s suddenly waking from a dream. He’s closer than he wanted to be, three houses separating the space between you.

You suddenly turn, his body stilling in the darkness. Can you see him? Had he made a sound in his distraction and alerted you to his presence?  

There’s fear in your eyes. Your shoulders lift, squaring as you tense, almost like you’re preparing for a fight. Hands balled into fists, your chest heaves as you glance around, almost as if you don’t realize where you are. You take half a step back, eyes glancing over him but there’s no sign of recognition, no realization that he’s there. 

You’re running. He’s half tempted to follow, half tempted to finally learn where you live, if only so he can remind himself you are, in fact, real. He stays planted where he is, watching your retreating form meld into the darkness until you’ve disappeared from his sight. 

He stays where he is, playing over the scene in his mind. Did you notice him somehow? If he had been the cause of your fearful reaction, you hadn’t confronted him. Perhaps you felt his stare, some primal instinct recognizing something was behind you, something was following you in the dark. 

Whatever had happened, it startled you. He likens you to a wild animal, feeling a bit like the predator that had been stalking his prey. You were easy prey. 

It would have been so effortless. 

He’s shaking by the time he returns to the house, the stars beginning to disappear as morning arrives. He slips into bed, drawing the covers over his head as though he can hide from his very thoughts. 

***

The next time he sees you, it’s during the day. 

You had been absent from his nightly walks, his eyes tracing every inch of the darkness he could see, waiting for your form to appear like a ghostly apparition. You had been missing, however. Perhaps he startled you more than he first imagined. 

You appear at one of Shep’s parties, towed in behind Phee rather reluctantly. He’s in his corner, surveying the party from a distance like he preferred. Most left him alone, having learned he was a bore in conversation and those who hadn’t realized it had felt the bite of his words. Hunter had scolded him like a naughty child, but if it kept them away, he would face the reprimanding of his abrasive nature. 

His interest is piqued when you appear, looking like the phantom he pictured you as. The glow that your skin had radiated under the sun is gone. You’re pallored and gaunt, even in the orange glow of the setting sun, looking every bit like the ghouls in the stories Omega enjoyed so much. The wispy blue dress that hung from your form was no help, limp strands of hair rustling in the breeze off the sea. Your eyes are swollen and dark as they pass over the party, eventually meeting his. 

He should draw his gaze away and pretend he was simply doing the same, observing the milling party-goers. Yet he can’t seem to draw his gaze from you, locked in under your stare. There’s no recognition there, no sign you had seen him that night, no threat you were going to make a scene, expose him for following you for an hour as you wandered around in the middle of the night. 

You break first, drawn away as Phee introduces you to Tech. You look displeased to be forced into conversation, Tech oblivious to your dismay as he prattles off some senseless facts about something Phee had said. At least with Tech, you could avoid having to partake in the conversation. He could talk enough for everyone involved. 

He continues to watch you through dinner. You’re seated across the table and two seats down from him. The tenseness in your body speaking to your discomfort has not lessened any. You’re still again, aside from the slow lift and lower of the fork in your hand. You avoid everyone’s gaze, as if trying to ward away any attention that may be brought upon you. 

You luck out, most of the guests seem to forget you’re even there. Crosshair doesn’t; his gaze is coaxed back to you constantly throughout the evening. He can’t look away, feeling as if he’s watching a tragedy unfold in front of him. 

He’s witnessed enough of those.

None have affected him like this. 

You disappear before dark, slipping away without a sound. No one seems to notice. No one but Crosshair. He casts a glance over the throng before he slips away, catching up to you. He stays a good distance behind you, not wanting to reveal himself yet. He’s reminded of that night he followed you, except he doesn’t have darkness to use to his advantage. 

You look no less like a phantom in the red light of sunset. If anything, it makes you look more like a ghost. A ghoul painted in bloody light, a visage of pain and suffering. 

He’s lost in his thoughts once more as he follows you, distracted by your haunting image. His heel drags across the stone, loud in the quiet peacefulness of the evening. You pause upon hearing the sound, shoulders squaring once more. 

He moves instinctually, dipping behind a wall as you turn on your heel, eyes scanning the street behind you. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for someone to be following you at this hour, even if they only happened to be going the same direction as you. Yet, your reaction says differently. Had you been lost in your thoughts as well, distracted by whatever raced through your mind?

“I know you’re there.” You say, voice low and soft. He’s never heard you speak before. Your voice is just as haunting as he imagined. There’s no accusation in your tone. It’s not a shout to draw attention. “You’ve been following me.” 

He stays behind the wall, fighting the war within himself. He should stay hidden, he should keep himself at a distance. If he reveals himself, you may realize he had been there that night. What answer would he give if you asked why? He hadn’t meant to follow you, at least not for so long. You had lured him behind you like a fish caught on a line. 

Would you run again if he spoke the truth? Despite his dislike of practically everyone, you’ve caught his attention in a way he’s not sure he wants to lose. It frightens him, and it worries him all at once. He needs no one. He’s happy in solitude. 

That’s not true, is it. 

He slowly steps out from behind the wall, keeping a safe distance from you. Your eyes widen a bit, as if you had been doubting yourself, as if it would be the same as the night he followed you. Had you thought you were going mad? 

You shift your weight as he reveals himself, the tenseness of your shoulders not easing any. Why should it? He’s a stranger to you. You’ve never spoken before now. He’s not even sure if you’ve seen him before tonight. You had caught him staring upon your arrival. Would you assume he’s been the culprit the entire time? 

“You left the party early.” He says, trying to come up with an explanation before you can ask. You may not take to the truth as openly as he could hope. 

You shift again, hands curling around the wispy edges of your dress. “I don’t like parties.” You say it with such bluntness he can’t help the smirk that lifts his lips. 

“I don’t either.” He says. “Too many people.” 

“Too much noise.” You say, nodding in agreement. “You’re...one of Tech’s brothers.” He gives you a questioning glance. You seem to know of him, despite this being the first time you’ve spoken. “Phee likes to talk about Tech.” You quickly explain.

Of course. You had arrived at the party with Phee, meaning she had likely invaded your life as much as she invaded his brothers’. She and Tech were very much infatuated. While he’s not heartless enough not to feel happy for his brother, Phee’s personality was grating to his introverted nature. Omega likes her too, and so she spends ample time with them. 

It appears she has gotten to you as well. 

“The name’s Crosshair.” He says, slipping a toothpick into his mouth. 

You tell him your name, his mind replaying it over and over to commit it to memory. It wasn’t likely he’d forget, but he doesn’t want to run the risk. 

“Are you going the same way?” You ask, taking half a step backwards. You’re anxious to get home. He can tell by your body language. You want to get there before others start leaving the party. “You could walk with me. I promise I won’t talk your ear off. I could not talk at all, if that’s what you prefer.” 

“I’m not one for talking.” He says, his body already moving forward. He’s not entirely sure if you’re even going in the same direction he is, but he’s not going to complain. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you fall in step beside him. “I was raised in a culture where you don’t speak unless you have something meaningful to say.”

“Sounds like an ideal place.” He says. 

“It was, until it was wiped out by the war.” You respond.

So that was it. The war had been what ultimately led you here. He doesn’t press any further. He can tell you don’t want to speak more on the subject. Instead he falls into silence as he walks with you, letting you lead the way to your tiny hovel. 

It’s not far from where you stopped that night he followed you. 

“This is me.” You say, stepping up onto the small porch. “Thank you for walking with me. Solitude is nice, but sometimes silent company is better.” 

Wise words. You may be right in that regard. He didn’t hate walking with you, and he certainly didn’t regret his decision. The silence had felt natural, not forced like the time he spent with those who believed conversation was necessary and silence was some form of disease. 

Perhaps he was capable of enjoying others' company after all. 

***

Despite your formal introduction, Crosshair finds little time to interact with you alone. The next time he sees you after the party is in passing. 

Phee is the one that draws the attention to you, having spotted you leaving the beach as they were arriving. You don’t seem to have settled well into your new life. The dark, puffy circles under your eyes have worsened, and it seems you only continue to liken the ghost he once thought you were. 

You were doing more than sitting this time. Your pants are damp almost to the knees, sand sticking to the fabric. Despite your time in the sun, there’s still a pallor to your skin, making you seem almost sickly in the bright sunlight. 

He’s not the only one who’s noticed. 

“Are you feeling alright, sweetcheeks?” Phee asks, pressing a hand to your forehead. 

He watches the squaring of your shoulders, the subtle twitch of your muscles as her hand makes contact with your skin. You’re ready to flinch away, bracing yourself for whatever horrid thought passed through your mind as her hand lifted towards you. Perhaps you may have even tried to duck, had social convention not frowned upon such extreme reactions. It would have brought up questions, questions he knows you are desperately trying to avoid.

Instead you freeze, staying far too still as Phee feels your forehead. Reacting strangely would only heighten her concern. Brushing her off will save you at least this time, though she will be paying closer attention to you now. Perhaps the more extreme reaction would have been the better choice.

“I’m still trying to settle into a new place. That’s always been hard for me.” You speak slowly, and though it might only be a half truth, he can tell it’s worked. 

Phee lets her hand drop back to her side. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I mean it. Anything at all.” 

You nod slowly, something flashing across your gaze too fast for even him to decipher it. “Right. I-I will.” You begin to step away slowly, almost as if you were waiting for someone to stop you. “I’m going to go rest now.” 

You turn without waiting for a reply, hastily retreating up the path from the beach back onto the streets of Pabu. Crosshair is half tempted to follow you, to slip away from the others, but Omega takes hold of his hand, leading him out into the sand. He allows it, having more patience for the kid than anyone else. 

The increase in interactions with you has only heightened his curiosity. Even now that he’s heard you speak and knows your name, you’re still a phantom in his mind. You appear so hollow, so empty and yet he knows the depths inside your soul are so vast the entire ocean could fill them and still not reach the top. You seem to float past those around you, even the very air seeming to cut right through you. 

You appear so fragile, and yet the walls around you are so steep, even the most experienced climber would shake their head in prospect of climbing them. 

Curiosity would not be enough for him to wish to climb those walls, to see what devastation lies on the other side. Curiosity is not a strong enough word to drive him to seek you out, to yearn for your voice, your story, your very being. 

He wants to see the devastation inside you because he knows it is a mirror of his own. 

Only you could understand him in the way he yearns for. His brothers try, but they can’t know, they can’t possibly understand him. Not in the way he needs. No amount of sympathetic looks and words could possibly begin to chip away at the thick walls that protect him.

He wants to tear down your walls, he wants to see your ugly insides, if only to vindicate the ugliness that resides behind his carefully crafted exterior. You are not so good at hiding it, at least not to those who know. Crosshair knows you will shatter eventually, just as he did. 

He’d had his brothers to catch him. 

Who do you have?

***

Crosshair sees little of you over the next few weeks. He catches glimpses in passing, often being herded somewhere by Hunter or Omega. You simply seem to exist, floating past the crowd, or sitting on your porch with a cup of caf. You don’t look any better than you had before, still pallored and gaunt, all the life seeming to have been sapped from your body. 

He finds himself pausing his nightly walks in front of your small house. He hasn’t seen you walking since that night, but occasionally he spots movement in the windows of your hovel, shadows moving in the light through the curtains. 

The most he sees of you is in passing on the landing pad on their way to do a supply run. You were speaking with Phee, pushing a bag of credits into her hands. He could see the desperation in your eyes, practically pleading with her.

Whatever it is you wanted, you were desperate to get it. 

It plagued his mind the entire trip. What could you be so desperate to get? A relic from your home world? Something from your past to bring back fond memories before war stole everything from you? Or perhaps something else. It could be anything. 

It could be anyone. 

The thought stirs something inside of him, something that makes him feel sick. It burns through his veins, heating his skin. He pushes the thought aside, hating how it makes him feel. 

You disappear once more after your discussion with Phee, fulfilling your role as the ghost in his life. He continues his walks, pausing in front of your home but you never grace him with your presence, even unknowingly. 

It’s a week later when he finally sees you once more. 

It’s late. The moon is full, bathing the island in cool light. There’s not many places to hide tonight, not many shadows to conceal him, yet he hadn’t been able to shake the need to walk. His mind had been restless, and the images behind his eyes when he closed them were too much to bear so he slipped from the house, stalking along the quiet streets. 

He passes your house, pausing in his usual spot. His brow furrows as he takes in the scene in front of him. 

Your front door is wide open, the lights on inside. He pauses there for a moment, waiting for any sign you may be moving around in there, but it’s quiet. Still. Your shoes are on the porch, haphazardly laying with the toes facing the street, like you had left with them on, then decided against it and tossed them back onto the porch. 

Either that, or you had left in a hurry. He scans the area but there’s no sign of you, his stomach twisting nervously. He’s not sure why. The scene in front of him has put him on edge. For someone so closed off, leaving your door open was not what he would have expected. Even if you had ventured for a short walk, leaving your private space wide open for anyone to see was out of character. 

He continues his walk, more alert than he had been. He moves slowly, waiting for a sound, a sign, anything that may lead him to you. 

It doesn’t take him long. 

He spots you first, stumbling lazily down the street. He can hear you mumbling as he gets closer, cursing with slurred words. There’s a bottle in your hand, glowing faint blue in the light of the moon. 

You’re drunk, a nearly empty bottle of spotchka clutched in your hand. So that was what you had sent Phee after. 

He wonders if that’s the only bottle you’ve had tonight. 

He debates the best course of action. You may react if he startles you, possibly waking the neighbors. He does not want to have to face them, to try and explain. He knows it’ll only bring more unwanted attention to you as well. They’ll want to help, they’ll check on you, they’ll worry about you. 

You’d hate him forever. 

You freeze in your stumbling walk, his body stopping as well. He’s pulled into the memories of that first night he followed you. There’s nowhere to hide tonight, though if you spot him on your own perhaps your reaction will be more desirable. You slowly turn, swaying a bit on your feet like you’re trying to stand in a stiff breeze. You squint at him, mouth hanging open as you take him in. He wonders what it is you see. Can you even recognize him in this state? Or is he a shadow, a ghostly figure your alcohol-riddled mind is trying to piece together. 

He says your name quietly, your eyes widening as they focus on him. He steps closer, moving slowly, carefully. You’re unpredictable in this state. He pauses just past an arm distance away, worried about getting too close. You might run again.

“Crosshair!” You shout, bringing the bottle to your lips, draining the rest. “What’re ya doin out so late?” 

He can smell the alcohol on you at this proximity, the scent burning his nose. You look a mess, beyond just your drunken demeanor. Dark, swollen circles rim your red eyes, your clothes wrinkled and worn like you haven’t changed them in a few days. Strands of hair stick to your sweaty forehead, your face looking sunken and gaunt. Your feet are bare again, though whether that was a conscious choice or a consequence of your inebriation, he’s unsure. The haphazardly placed shoes suddenly make sense. 

“You’re drunk.” He says, looking you over. You don’t seem hurt, not physically at least. 

You sniffle, staring at the empty bottle in your hand. “Guess I am.” 

You throw the bottle with a force he didn’t know you were capable of, the glass shattering loudly on the stone street. You stumble backwards from the force of your throw.

“It’s fucking stupid.” You say, wheeling away from him. “Those motherfuckers took everything from me!” You brace your hands on the wall overhanging the cliff. You push yourself up, kneeling on the edge. It’s a long drop to the houses below. The fall might kill you, if you landed wrong. 

He suddenly feels nervous. Would you jump? He wouldn’t have pitted you for someone who would do such a thing sober. You’re not sober, though. You’re not in your right mind. 

“They’re coming back.” You whisper, staring down at the moonlit city below. 

“Who’s coming back?” He asks, watching you carefully. He can’t imagine anyone on the island so much as threatening you, much less attempting anything uncouth. 

“They’re coming. They’re coming.” You’re starting to get frantic. Whatever it is you think you’re seeing, it’s driving you mad. “We have to go before they get here. We have to go!” 

He moves purely on instinct. His years of training have saved many lives before, but none of them felt like this. 

His arm is around your middle before your knees leave the ledge, body falling forward into his arm. He uses his weight to pull you backwards, turning mid-fall so he takes the brunt of it, his back hitting the stone street. You fall on top of him, stunned long enough for him to secure his hold around you. 

His heart is pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him. He holds you tightly, half to keep you restrained and half for his brain to process that he did catch you, he did make it in time. You’re still here, you’re secure in his arms. 

He hasn’t felt this way in a while. 

He hasn’t felt this way since Barton IV, since the avalanche, since he had to keep Mayday and himself alive through a blizzard only to watch him die. He had lost Mayday after trying everything he could to save him. He feels like he didn’t do enough. He feels responsible. 

He won’t let the same thing happen to you. 

You scream, the sound muffled by his shirt as he forces your face against his chest. You try to fight him, but all the strength with which you threw the bottle is gone. You’re no match for him. Not in this state. He sits himself up, keeping you restrained against his body. 

“They’re coming back.” You sob against his chest, beginning to hyperventilate. “They’re coming back, we have to go!” You continue to struggle, but your fight is waning, getting weaker and weaker. “We have to go before they come back!” 

“Stop.” He grabs your face, pulling you away from his chest enough that you can see him. Tears and snot slide down your skin, wetting his fingers. You’re sobbing, breaths hitching as your body tries to regulate itself. “Stop.” He shakes you, nothing more than an attempt to snap you out of this delusion. “No one is coming.” 

You stare up at him with those haunted eyes, the moonlight making the dark circles under them seem more intense. “I can’t sleep.” You whisper, shockingly alert compared to what he had just seen. He can feel you folding, your body getting heavier until it’s only his grip on you holding you up. “Maybe if I get drunk enough, I’ll pass out before I remember.” 

He lets you fall limp against his chest, keeping his arms locked around you to prevent you from trying something stupid again. His heart is still racing, the adrenaline making his hands shake. He had been designed for extreme stress. He had been designed to run straight into battle and not bat an eye. 

The thought of losing you so easily has rattled him. 

He needs to get you back home, somewhere he can keep a closer eye on you until you inevitably pass out from the alcohol in your system. He shifts you in his arms, pushing himself to stand. You’re light, far too light. He wonders if you’ve been eating, or if your sleep deprivation has taken over your entire life. Tech had spewed the detriments of sleep deprivation several times during the course of the war. They were designed to go without sleep for extended periods, but even they were not immune. They would begin to degrade to the point of delusion, and death would follow soon after. 

He wonders how long it’s been, how long you’ve suffered without sleep. 

You truly are a ghost. 

It’s a surprise the inhabitants of the nearby houses haven’t been roused by the commotion. Or perhaps it’s just luck. The last thing he needed was someone else making this worse in an attempt to help. He has you under control now. If someone were to intervene, he’s unsure of how you would react.  

He carries you back to your house, the door still open and the lights still on. It feels strange, invading your space. He feels as if he’s breaking some unspoken rule, infringing upon a sacred space as he steps in the door. 

It’s a mess. Clothes and blankets are strewn around the small living area. Dirty dishes sit like landmines, half eaten food spread across the stone floor. How long it’s been there, he’s not sure he wants to know. He follows the trail into the bedroom, that space not much better off. Clothes everywhere, full and empty bottles of alcohol on the floor, the bed stripped completely of sheets and blankets. 

He can’t let you stay here like this. 

He finds the ‘fresher, stepping inside. It’s at least cleaner than he expected, damp clothes and towels piled on the floor, used containers of shampoo and soap littering the sink. He clears a spot, swiping the containers onto the floor. He sits you on the counter, your eyes closed. For a moment he thinks you might have passed out, but you crack your eyes open, staring at him. 

He leans you back against the mirror, making sure you’re steady as he digs to find a clean rag. He finds a semi-clean one, running it under the cold water before gently wiping down your face. He cleans every inch of exposed skin, checking the bottoms of your feet. Dirty, but thankfully uninjured. 

He can’t leave you here. It’s too risky. Not that he’d want to leave you in this mess anyway. He sighs through his nose, staring at your half asleep form. You’ll hate him, but he has no other choice. He can’t risk it. 

He can’t risk you. 

He picks you back up, carrying you out of the ‘fresher. Something shatters under his boot as he crosses the living room, but he’s too focused to care. He leaves your house, grabbing your shoes before making the short journey back up the hill to his own home.

It’s dark and quiet inside, just as he’d left it. His steps are near silent as he heads back to his room, his own small sacred space. He lays you on the bed, your body curling in on itself as soon as it hits the mattress, as if you’re trying to revert to some early form, back when the world was safe, when you were unable to comprehend the horrors that were soon to cross your path. 

You’re asleep, or past the point of being able to control your own body as you take little notice of anything around you. He tucks the blanket around your shoulders. The stench of alcohol is going to sink into his sheets, permeate the air in his room. He can wash them later. 

He settles himself on the floor at the end of the bed, leaning against the door. You’d have to move him to get out. Even with the exhaustion settling into his mind, the likelihood of you slipping out unnoticed is very small. Hunter already knows someone else is in the house, and if by some chance he doesn’t, he’d know as soon as he heard your footsteps. 

The likelihood you’ll remember any of the events from tonight are slim. You’re far too drunk. He’ll have to come up with something, a reason for bringing you here. 

He’ll worry about that when the time comes. 

You’re going to be angry when you wake, but if it keeps you safe, he’ll face your wrath happily.

***

Crosshair’s pulled from sleep, straightening up from where he’d been leaning to the side as you groan quietly. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, stretching out his legs. His joints pop uncomfortably, forced into one position for too long. He glances at the bed, watching the lump under the blankets shift. Your arm lifts above the blanket, rubbing across your forehead as you groan once more. He can imagine the severity of the hangover pulsing behind your eyes. 

He pushes himself to stand, approaching the bed slowly. You blink blearily up at him, squinting slightly as if you’re trying to see him better. Your sleep-addled brain is still trying to focus, trying to process everything you’re seeing. The chronometer on the wall tells him you haven’t been asleep longer than a couple hours, and it’s entirely likely you’re still a bit drunk. 

You slowly push yourself up to sit, glancing around the room, looking anywhere but at him. He can practically see the shame burning on your face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Your voice is rough with sleep or drink, or perhaps both. “It was stupid of me to think alcohol would solve my problems.” Your gaze drops to your hands like a guilty child waiting to be reprimanded. “You shouldn’t have had to go out of your way to help me.” 

So you do remember. It takes him by surprise. Some parts, perhaps, he thought you might remember, hazily at most. 

“I don’t want to die.” You say, taking his silence as an invitation to continue. “But can you really call this living?” 

He narrows his eyes at your words. You are right. He can see the suffering in your very existence. The exhaustion that plagues you endlessly, that makes you the phantom he sees you as. 

“I-I should get home.” You swing your legs over the bed but he grabs your arm before you can move too far. 

You feel so frail under his touch, and he’s afraid you’ll crumble like a stone statue if he squeezes too hard. “Don’t.” He says, your body pinned in place by the harshness of his gaze. He releases your arm, turning to grab clean clothes from his dresser. He tosses them to you, your body barely reacting in time to catch them. “Clean yourself up, then have something to eat before you go.”

You blink at him for a moment, hand clutching the clothes he’d tossed at you to your chest where you’d caught them. Your head turns slightly towards the door as the sound of the others moving around in the kitchen draws your attention. You had been introduced to them by Phee, so they weren’t entirely unknown to you. They knew very little about you, though, and certainly wouldn’t be expecting you to be here. 

“‘Fresher’s down the hall.” He says.

You stand on shaky legs, your eyes pinching shut as your hangover makes itself known once more. He’s worried for half a moment you may collapse, his body ready to catch you. You let out a long breath before you’re moving, stepping out the door. He waits until you’re gone before he’s changing, ridding himself of his alcohol-saturated clothes. He leaves his room, stepping into the living area. 

All eyes are focused on him instantly. He’s immune to it now after years, and there’s no desire for him to react, not in this safe space. Not when it’s his squad. His brothers. They’re all wondering, they all want to know. Phee rarely spent the night here. Tech was more likely to be absent from their morning routine than to have it disrupted by the appearance of someone from the outside. For him to have brought someone in, have them here in the morning...he’s the one breaking routine. 

Crosshair pours himself a cup of caf, Hunter staring at him from across the kitchen. Crosshair meets his gaze unwaveringly, giving him a telling look. He’ll explain later. He doesn’t want them to know while you’re still here. The last thing you need is for them to make a deal of it, to cause a scene, to give you those ridiculous pitiful looks, to shower you in sympathy. He knows the wrong kind of attention could drive you back to the place you were last night. 

He can’t risk that. 

You emerge from the ‘fresher nearly half an hour later. Crosshair knows much of that time had to be you working up the bravery to come out and face his brothers. Your hair is damp, cleaner than he’s seen it in a while. You’re swimming in his clothes, making you seem even more fragile than you already appeared. 

They’re all staring at you, and he can see the heistance, the nervousness of having all the attention on you. You step up next to him, standing close enough you could duck behind him if you felt the need. He’s surprised you aren’t hiding behind him, facing his brothers bravely. 

Omega is the first to greet you, breaking the silence. She greets you by name, despite the limited interactions she’s had with you. She’s always so perceptive, remembering names and details from conversations and interactions that even Crosshair missed. 

"You're welcome to stay for breakfast." Hunter says. "If you'd like."

"That would be nice, thank you." You say, Crosshair noticing the waver in your voice. Hunter likely did as well, but he draws no attention to it. 

Not that he would. 

"Come on, you can watch holovids with me while we wait." Omega says, taking your hand to pull you to the couch. 

And so their normal morning routine was back to normal. Wrecker joins you and Omega on the couch, Echo going back to working on breakfast. Hunter steps closer to Crosshair, giving him a look. 

"She needed help last night." Crosshair says quietly, reading the question on his brother’s face. "It wasn't safe for her to be alone."

Hunter nods slowly in understanding. He'll get the full story later, but for now that's appeased him. He only worried about the safety of his family, not that you posed much of a threat. 

Crosshair sits you next to him at the table as they eat, partially for a sense of comfort and security on your part and also so he could make sure you actually ate something. He doesn’t have to worry much, though. You seem perfectly happy to eat. 

Conversation flows as it usually does around the table. You don’t partake much, not that he really expected you to, but he can tell you’re listening intently. So observant, so aware. Wrecker’s bellowing laugh makes you jump, but Crosshair is the only one that notices. 

“How did you get here?” Omega asks, turning to you as she changes the subject. 

The table falls silent, suddenly all eyes on you. You pause in your chewing, hand closing around your fork just a little tighter. He can practically see your thoughts racing, the nervous tension beginning to square your shoulders once more. 

“Omega.” Hunter scolds, casting a sideways glance at the girl before turning back to you. “You don’t have to answer that.” 

You swallow the food you had been chewing, obviously not expecting to be given the option. Most people wanted to know, and they asked without hesitation, without considering what they’re asking the other person to relive. 

Crosshair can’t help but be a bit curious too. He’s not a nosy person. He doesn't care about others enough to bother knowing their secrets. The only people he cares about are his brothers, and he’s spent his entire life with them. There wasn’t room for many secrets among them, not even after his return. They knew about his excursions, and they were perceptive enough to decipher his curiosity towards you. Bringing you here likely only answered the question of just how close he’s gotten to you, even if they weren’t aware of the full story. 

They would be. He would tell them. Not to earn you more pity, but in hopes they will share his desire to look after you. 

You, however, he wants to know. He wants to peel back the layers like the skin of a fruit. He wants to know. He wants the answers to why you’re so broken. 

Why you’re so like him. 

He would never force you to share. He knows the pain of having to relive those moments. It’s enough having to see them every time you close your eyes. Having to speak them aloud only feels like a threat, like you may breathe life into them once more. Like they may happen to you all over again. 

“No, that’s alright.” You say, putting your fork down. “No one’s really asked me before. Not that they’ve really had a chance to.” You shrug, the corner of your lips almost lifting into a smile but it drops from your face as quickly as it appears. “I, uh, I was from Devoth.” 

Wrecker gasps dramatically, Hunter’s face falling in understanding. Crosshair’s chest clenches, things beginning to fall into place. So that was it. Devoth had been one of the worst battles in the last year of the war, no, the entirety of the war. They hadn’t been part of it, but he remembered hearing of it.

“What does that mean?” Omega asks, looking around at the sullen faces at the table. 

“Devoth was a planet in the Muno system located in the inner rim.” Tech says. “It was a mostly peaceful planet under the Republic government. It was used as a mining colony for centuries due to the deposits of rare minerals under the planet’s surface.”

“During the last year of the war, there was a Separatist invasion.” Hunter says, cutting off Tech’s ramble of facts about your home planet. “The battle that took place there was one of the most severe in terms of losses. The Republic won the battle, but it came at the expense of most of the battalion and the planet.” 

Omega looks at you, a horrified look on her face. You’re staring down at your plate, eyelashes fluttering like you’re trying not to cry. Your hand’s closed in a fist where it rests on the table, your entire body wound tightly. 

“Most of the planet’s surface was destroyed.” You finally say, voice wavering just slightly. “I was home alone when it happened, when the Separatists invaded. My parents had gone to the city center that morning. We had no warning. It was just a normal day then suddenly there’s a droid army marching through our neighborhood. They pulled us all out of our homes. Marched us through the streets with blasters at our backs. They were trying to gather us all in one place.” You shrug. “I couldn’t tell you what they were planning to do, but it couldn’t have been worse than what happened.”

“What happened?” Omega asks, everyone at the table leaning closer subconsciously. They had only heard the stories from those few who survived, those who fought. They’d never heard it from the side of someone on the surface. Someone entirely neutral to the war. 

You turn your gaze to Hunter, almost as if you’re asking permission to share the horror of what happened with a child. You won’t give all the details, he knows already. That’s far too intimate for your first real conversation with them. Perhaps you were trying to save Omega from experiencing the same trauma you had. 

“The Republic arrived not long after the Separatists did.” You continue. “As soon as the gunships entered the atmosphere the droids started shooting at the gunships and at civilians. I think they were trying to get the Republic to call off the invasion by executing innocent civilians, but there was so much confusion, it didn’t work.” 

“How did you survive?” Omega asks. 

“Someone grabbed my hand in the confusion.” You say. “I don’t know who she was, but we ran for it. There were underground shelters built out of old mining tunnels all over the city. Devoth was known for sudden, intense storms during the rainy season, so they were built to offer shelter when the storms blew through the city. We made it into one of the shelters with a few others.” You shake your head. “I couldn’t even recognize where we were when we finally came out a couple days later. Everything was gone. It was like a storm blew in and wiped the entire planet clean. There weren’t even bodies left.” You hastily wipe the tear that falls, sniffling. “Sorry.” 

“I’m sorry you lost your home and your family.” Omega says, speaking with such compassion it stirs even Crosshair. “I’m glad you made it. You can be part of our family now.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you. I am lucky that I made it out.” 

Hunter quickly changes the topic of conversation, sensing your distress. He won’t push you to continue, won’t push for more details. They’re capable of understanding the loss that comes with war, and the desire to leave it in the past. Crosshair knows there’s more to the story, however.

The rest of breakfast passes quickly, and despite Omega’s insistence that you stay longer, Crosshair knows you’re tired and overwhelmed. He escorts you from the house, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit as soon as you’re outside. The streets are busy and bustling already, but you don’t seem as tense walking beside him. 

You almost seem human. 

“That wasn’t the end of the story.” He says as you approach your house, slowing his pace. The Battle of Devoth had happened well over a year ago. A lot can happen in a year. 

“No. It wasn’t.” You say, slowing your pace as well. 

Silence reigns between you until you reach your porch, sinking down onto the steps. He stays standing, hovering over you. He stares at the top of your head as you look out into the street, past the inhabitants milling about their day and out into the distant cerulean ocean. 

“We were in that shelter for almost three days.” You say, tugging at the cuffed hem of your borrowed pants. “The battle happened fast, but we were scared of what we would find above. We had no clue what had happened, who had won. When we finally got out, the planet was unrecognizable. We looked for anything we could find, but it had all been reduced to dust and rubble. There were a few other survivors, others that were lucky and made it into other shelters.” 

He stays quiet, not wanting to give you any reason to stop. He wants to know. He needs to know. It’s like a sick fascination, a need to know just how broken you are. 

“We tried to contact someone, anyone, but none of the comms were working. We all thought we would die there, but the pirates arrived not long after. They were looking for anything they could pilfer but there was nothing but us.” You finally look up at him, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “We didn’t have any choice. What else could we do? Stay there and starve or hope the Republic showed back up to look for survivors? We willingly walked ourselves into slavery.” You sniffle, wiping the tears from your face. 

There’s a pain in his stomach that has grown as he listens to your story. He had never stopped to think of the horrors that the civilians, the citizens of the planets they fought on, faced too. It wasn’t their job. Their job was to fight and try to survive to the next battle. They didn’t think about the homes they destroyed or the lives they upended trying to prevent the droid army from accomplishing the same end. 

He’d done horrible things under the Empire. Worse things. He remembers it all, even when he hadn’t been the one in control. He’d destroyed lives, enslaved others, killed innocent people. All for what? 

“Don’t make me tell you what happened after.” You shake your head, the tears still falling despite your best efforts to wipe them away. 

He doesn’t need to know. He knows enough about the galaxy to be able to guess what happened to you. He’s curious how you made it here, but he won’t push you further than you have been today. You’ve been dragged through enough in the last few hours. He doesn’t want to risk pushing you to repeat what happened last night.

“That’s why I can’t sleep.” You say, staring off out the window. “I can still hear them marching down the street. I close my eyes and they’re kicking in the door, dragging me out into the chaos. I can still hear the ships, the blasters, the bombs. Sometimes I don’t make it. Sometimes I can see my parents. Sometimes I’m back with the pirates. Sometimes I never escaped at all.” 

Understanding washes over him like a wave from the sea. You’re beginning to make sense now. The rapid decline you had been steadily sliding down since your arrival here. Your struggle sleeping, the nightmares both awake and asleep. Crosshair feels the bite of loneliness in his house full of his brothers and Omega, but he’s never truly alone. 

You’re entirely alone. 

You had been alone when your life was destroyed, when everything changed. It was lucky that you survived at all. No matter how many times you were assured you were safe here, you were alone. Being alone was not safe for you. Being alone left you vulnerable to the horrors of your past, left you vulnerable to the horrors that may come through your door when you’re least expecting them. 

He begins to formulate an idea, a plan taking shape in his mind. He won’t leave you to suffer alone. You had already proven you wouldn’t survive that. You don’t have to be alone here, but he’s well aware you won’t willingly accept help. You’re too stubborn for that, too ashamed of your own brokenness. 

He’s not going to give up on you, leave you to suffer a cruel fate that could be avoided. You were so much like him, even if your experiences were different. He understands you, and you have the capacity to understand him. He can help you. He desires to help you. 

Little do you know, you are capable of helping him as well. 

Taglist:

@rosechi @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @wolffegirlsunite @jedi-hawkins @sinfulsalutations @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @clio3kantarella @eris-k @thorsterstrudle @idontgetanysleep @anxiouspineapple99 @clonemedickix @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @blueink-bluesoul @starrylothcat @523rdrebel

[lizzyyylmaoooooool]

disclaimer before this rant i’ve read like 2 volumes of the manga so maybe the stuff i’m about to bitch about is actually included and i have no idea

but i feel like there is sooo much more shit in moriarty the patriot that they could of explored, like stuff that was brushed on in the 24 episodes that i think would of been so fun to see and also would of (maybe???) made the main plot better? or things that i would of liked to see explored with more time. this is my comprehensive list which encompasses the main ones -

1) the relationship between william, albert and louis and how it’s less brotherhood and more worship between albert/louis to william, unpacking all of that and how it affected william.

2) the significance of william to moran and fred. how did they meet? why are they so willing to die for william? is it just that they believe in the cause so much or is it because william helped them in some way?

3) sherlock and mycroft and their relationship, maybe their childhood. maybe this is just common knowledge in other sherlock adaptations but i want more explanation.

4) the whole french revolution thing like hello i need more explanation why did that never come up again.

5) sherlock and his cheeky drug problem.

6) are the characters patriots or not (yes i know it’s the name of the story give me a sec). characters like mycroft, william, sherlock and albert seem to toe the line between being pro-british empire anti-revolution and then switching 2 seconds later. they admonish the class system but mycroft works for the fucking queen of england? i find the dissonance of them being seemingly fine with the british empire but wanting to destroy the consequences of it very jarring at times. from a political and social standpoint it doesn’t make a ton of sense. i feel like more content on it would make it clearer.

7) generally i think the plot would benefit from introducing some characters earlier, mainly patterson (inside man in scotland yard), mary (mainly to flesh out john as a character a bit more) and milverton (because mans figured out william as lord of crime in two seconds flat, he could of been a bit more of a longer standing adversary).

8) also introducing irene/bonde earlier because i feel like their supposed impact on sherlock was too profound considering they knew each other for 3 days.

9) more on mycroft and albert and whatever power dynamic they where fucking with.

10) THIS ONE IS UNREALISTIC but the whole show through an overtly queer lens would of been everything to me.

the actual plot and show in itself is so ridiculous but in a really fun way. ive watched it 3 times i think and i enjoy it every time, but in an ideal world having all these 10 things included i think would of padded out a lot of grey areas thematically where the plot isn’t as strong.

[sophiegreenleaf]

Okay, but hear me out…

DEAR AMAZON,

1. Just stop. Stop pretending to give fanservice to Adar fans, then doing this. The Uruk have access to water. Some (if not, I would argue, most) would bathe.

2. Adar did not drag Galadriel for days across Middle Earth in a prison cage just to have his second-in-command slit her throat at the door. This wouldn’t have happened. It’s gratuitous.

3. Adar is more bonded with the Uruk than the Elves. He wouldn’t have been so rude and disrespectful to his own leadership. Stop creating dissonance for its own sake, or at least support it with a few more minutes of plot.

4. Yes, we all love watching Galadriel be a bad ass. She’s beautiful. But Adar is a hell of a lot older and more experienced than she is. This wouldn’t have happened, and it wasn’t necessary. In season 1, yes, he was completely hopeless, but not now that he has something to live and fight for again.

5. For the love of all that’s good in this world, PLEASE give Galadriel an emotion other than THIS. She’s a good actress. It’s a great character. Give her some depth, please.

# Sam is acting his heart out. Give him a damn chance.

# Starting to think they filmed all my man’s scenes in a single weekend, which doesn’t bode well.

# I have been very patient, Amazon. Very bloody patient.

# Plenty of good writers in the world. You have no excuse for sloppy writing.

[cosmic-espero]

Torn on the Will/Eupha front.

[I will put the rest of the post under a read more for massive late game spoilers and lenght reasons]

On one hand she's the one major character (aside for Strohl, arguably, but we all know they don't have the balls to do that in a mainstream game, this isn't Catherine or Innocent Sin) for whom a romantic relationship with Will actually makes sense from a writing, theming and lore perspective.

Whereas Hulkenberg is unhealthily obsessed with the concept of royalty (even after her social link has been maxed out, she still has to work on her attitude, especially after Will is revealed to be pretty much the Prince's persona), and whereas Junah doesn't seem to show interest for other tribes probably on the basis that as a nidia her real form would result rather unappealing for most non-nidias, Eupha shares with Will endless curiosity and a fresh outlook on society, that with her being new to everything outside of Virga and him being almost literally a newborn.

Being respectively a mustari and an "elda" they're also both related to the ancient world and looked at as pagans and potential dissidents by the state church, thus being looked at with suspicion wherever they go. It is not a coincidence that her storyline is related to sanctism, just how I don't believe it to be a coincidence that both the seeker and summoner's supreme incarnations (namely the soul hacker and the devil summoner) are related to classic non-Persona Megaten titles.

I also personally find her rather endearing, appreciate her proactivity and like her character design quite a lot, so if I had to choose one character to romance it would probably be her.

However.

On the other hand, in my opinion the major issue with Metaphor (which is otherwise a game I really, really, really love) is the same one as the Persona games': that is, the writers can't decide whether they want to write a character with an estabilished personality or one who works as a blank slate for the player to project themselves on.

(My personal stand on it is that the latter doesn't work very well when the biggest game mechanic is the literal manifestation of a physical incarnation of their inner selves, but what do I know.)

I found this dissonance to be rather distracting while playing several Personas, especially P3 and P5, but when it comes to the dating sim side most games in that series work on the assumption that the player should be free to decide 1) whether to romance a cast member at all and 2) which member of said cast to romance, with the confidant/social link mechanic implemented from P3 on being generally used as the way to choose a love interest (with the only exception being the Persona 2 duology).

While this approach has its problems (with pre-Reload Makoto being unable to have platonic relationships with 99% of the girls he knows, for example, or P4 and P5 having some trouble integrating the presence of a love interest in their story beats), it allows the player a degree of control over the situation, and sometimes even allows for entirely unexpected writing peaks (aka best P4 girl Ai Ebihara and I will not take any criticism on this).

Meanwhile, with Metaphor they went out of their way to make it clear in interviews that there weren't going to be Persona-style romances in the game- which is not a lie, but only in the most technical sense of the word? Because there's the singular one with Eupha, that only happens if you maximize your bond with her.

(Also I think Catherina flirts with you? But at least in the italian localization it kinda comes out of nowhere in the very last bond and also goes nowhere, so there's that).

So, at this point, we have a problem: we have a clearly intended canon romance that is, however, being gatekept behind a social link system and is otherwise not very explored outside of it, while simultaneously being mandatory if you want to 100% the game.

The result ends up being, in my honest opinion, a mixture of the worst Persona has to offer with the romance department (excluding the whole Ken Amada Debackle that we shan't mention anymore): the relationship has pretty much no bearing on the story, the player has little to no control over it short of deciding to skip Eupha's bond altogether (thus removing agency from you), the chemistry between the two characters is sudden and dubious at best due to a lack of setup (adding insult to injury, the main character shows far more emotion during Alonso's social link, and bro isn't even part of the team), Will gets demoted to an entirely passive role in the entire matter since he's not given the option to refuse and even playing dumb will forcibly further the relationship (since the social link mechanic was reworked, there is no way to say the "wrong" thing or reverse/break the link), and Eupha and Edeni develop a sudden inability to take no for an answer or at the very least be more open about their intentions.

(Which I, for the record, consider a mild case of character assassination.)

To make things worse, Eupha is also the second to last companion that will join the group, her bond is locked behind a sidequest, and a couple of her social link episodes are locked behind two chunky skill checks (wisdom and eloquence, if I'm not wrong) that will slow you down a lot if you have been prioritizing the wrong things, thus making the romance aspect appear even more rushed if you for whatever reason got to it later on in the game.

So I'm just left to wonder: why?

There was absolutely no need for this to even be an issue; Persona isn't exactly famous for its flawless romances (just taking P5 into consideration I can count maybe two or three I would salvage more or less unchanged, and I wouldn't even pursue two of those for different reasons), but at least it allowed the player some wiggling room and variety to make up for that.

Even if the writers didn't feel secure in their ability to write a decent romantic subplot spanning the actual story instead of optional bonding, simply adding the option to say no (like in Persona 2) or leaving it implied and/or ambiguously requited (like in Persona 1, where there are a few characters who develop feelings either for the main character or someone else in the team as part of the plot) would have been a much better choice.

This way, the players could have filled in the blanks on their own, coming to their own conclusion as to how their romance resolves later on, thus also avoiding needing to talk about the very real political and social issues behind a mustari becoming queen/the king's lover and also the entire part where Will probably still has to deal with the trauma of pretty much being a fusion of two different entities (listen, I have a lot of Feelings and Opinions about this part of the plot).

Even Catherine, which is a puzzle game with very strong dating sim elements that determine the ending, has various "single" endings, so I'm not entirely sure why they felt the need to add this aspect to a story that according to the devs themselves was about "finding allies" for political and social aim, and not a coming of age story about high schoolers.

I'm just befuddled at this turn of events in what is otherwise a very strong product.

[octo-artist]

Calm before the Inkstorm

Pre-war yan! Octavio x reader x platonic pre-war yan! Craig

Chapter 1: Sunny days…

TW: Possessive relationships, toxic mentalities,slight abuse of power, Typical Yandere shenanigans on both sides

I do not condone any of the actions in this series! If you are in a relationship like this please seek out help!

Certain parts are heavily inspired by Dissonant melodies by DriftingNova

Y/N=your name

T/C=tentacle color

E/C=eye color

Masterlist Next chapter

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

Where did everything go so wrong… Why did things turn out this way… This war should never have happened, how many signs did I ignore to reach this point…

~Four years prior~

The day was a sunny one, hardly any clouds in the sky, in a castle overlooking a quaint seaside village two figures converse in the garden, an Octarian prince and an inkling gardener. The prince, Octavio, is seated on a platform beneath the tree, his octobrush leaned up to the platform and an instrument laid out in front of him, the inkling meandering about tending to the various flora around the yard. Octavio watches them with a bored expression leaning his dead against one of his fists, it does not take long for the boredom to win him over.

“y/n, come sit with me I know you’ve already finished your duties for the day so why not take a break?”, the prince calls out from his seat, patting the space next to him with his free hand.

“Your highness that would be improper of me to do, i’m just a gardener after all not a noble”, Y/n replies, a small tinge of amusement in their voice hearing the young prince groan in exasperation.

“As if, don’t make me have to order you to take a break.”, he argued back, a bit annoyed at the Inkling’s refusal to sit with him.

“Prince Octavio with all due respect I need to finish pruning these flowers, if I don't remove the withered buds the plant won’t redirect that energy to the healthy ones.” Y/n calmly explained.

They continued their work not hearing the prince stand up and begin to walk up to them until he wrapped his arms around their waist and lifted them up and carried them over to the platform despite their protests.

“Your highness put me down! We could be seen! What would your advisors think if they saw this?!”, y/n scolded the young man who merely laughed in response.

“Ah let them! They can’t say shit to me, I’m the crown heir so they have to listen to me!”, Octavio laughed as he sat back down, not releasing the inking, setting them in his lap, “besides you’ve been working all morning and haven’t stopped once to take a break, so now i’m making ya take one. Been working on more music and I want you to hear it.”

“And you couldn’t play it while I was working?”, y/n questioned not believing that to be his only motive.

“Nope, you’re gonna stay right here and listen”, the cheeky grin could practically be heard as he let go and let y/n move to the spot next to him before beginning to play, a beautiful tune filling the space with a calming atmosphere. Closing their eyes y/n lightly swayed listening to the prince play. Their bond was a mystery to those who saw them, but it was clear to many they were close, both having grown up together despite their very different lifestyles.

The peaceful atmosphere was quickly interrupted when an unknown voice speaks up from behind the duo, “Wow you play really good!”

In response Octavio whirls around grabbing his weapon and pointing it at the intruder, an inkling male with white tentacles and gold eyes, he’s fairly scrawny wearing travelers gear. “Back off! What do you want?! Are you a burglar? An assassin?”Octavio demanded, positioning himself between the stranger and y/n.

Stuttering the inkling replies, “a-an assassin? N-No I’m a… I’m a fan of your music?”

Lowering the brush slightly the confused prince looks at the inkling saying, ”My what?”

Recomposing himself, the inkling smiles and explains, “I heard a heavenly melody in the wind, so I followed your song to this courtyard! You have some real talent!”

“But how did you get security clearance?”,Octavio asks, relaxing a bit but staying on guard a bit, keeping his position between the two.

Holding up a peace sign with a confident smile the inkling states, “Oh, I just snuck in!”

Both look at him deadpanned before Octavio calls for the guards to throw the intruder out. Unfortunately dropping a notebook in the process which the prince picks up curiously when the courtyard quiets once more.

“Oh no, poor guy must've dropped it when he was being dragged out. Maybe I should bring it to the front doors to retu-”, Y/n starts but is interrupted not long after.

“No i’m sure he’ll be back for it, kinda curious what's in it.” Octavio says, still looking at the journal.

“That feels like an invasion of privacy, your highness”, Y/n says concerned.

“The guy jumped the wall just to tell us he was a fan of my music, I think that warrants reading it to know exactly how he got in”, Octavio says back, not swayed by their concern, opening the book to take a look inside.

“I’m just going to get back to work… I don’t feel comfortable looking through some poor soul’s personal property”, Y/n states, picking the pruning shears back up to continue pruning the plants around the courtyard.

“You’re too nice y/n, you gotta know when to make the tough calls for the safety of yourself and others”, Octavio states not looking up from the page he’d landed on. Y/n doesn’t reply to his comment, focusing on their work. Naturally as the prince had predicted, the inkling came back for his journal, jumping the wall like the day before. Octavio waited with his arms crossed, a deadpan look on his face as the other male climbed down the wall, “So being tossed out once wasn’t enough to teach you a lesson?” The inkling spooked by Octavio’s statement pleads with him, “I know I know i’m sorry! But I lost my journal and I was hoping-” Not letting the inkling finish Octavio tossed the journal at him, it landing square in the poor guy’s face.

”Here, I wrote a couple of verses. Some parts could use some more work, but all in all your lyrics ain't half bad.” Octavio responded.

“You…” the inkling began, “You like my songs?”, his eyes now twinkling.

“I think they’re acceptable. Craig. Don't get too full of yourself.” Octavio replied a bit annoyed.

Reeling back in shock Craig stammers “H-HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!”

“IT’S WRITTEN ON THE COVER YOU AIRHEAD!” Octavio yells back. From the door to the castle a laugh can be heard, the duo turning to see that y/n had arrived just at the tail of the conversation. This distracts the two long enough to calm down a bit before continuing as y/n walks over to join them.

“I-I see! Well Craig’s fine and all but I prefer to be addressed as cap’n”, Craig says, a sweat drop falling from the embarrassment of forgetting he’d written his name on his journal. “What are you the captain of..?”

“Captain of fresh rhymes!” Craig states striking a pose making y/n chuckle at the silly antics of the man. Octavio gets a slight frown before eventually cracking up at Craig’s antics as well.

“Alright then if THIS is what we’re doin’… I guess that makes me the Sovereign of Spicy Beats! You can call me Prince Octavio” holding his hand out for Craig to shake, which Crain initially goes to grab saying with a smile “It’s always a pleasure to meet a fellow music lover! I…” he freezes mid sentence pulling away a bit like he’d just thought of something confusing both y/n and Octavio.

“I, ah…”, Craig stammers lost in thought, “hmmm”

“Hellooo, what are you-“, Octavio starts before being startled by Craig grabbing Octavio’s hand in both of his hands with a grin before exclaiming, “Let’s start a band!” To the surprised Octavio who looks to y/n in confusion. “I mean it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try tav, it might be fun!”, y/n says trying to assure Octavio, Craig taking note of the nickname before asking, “are you two a-“ to which both end up growing flustered before Octavio pulls Craig close to whisper sternly, “you are not to tell a soul ok? They’d lose their job if we got discovered by the council, got it?”

“Crystal clear, secret is safe with me!” Craig states making a zipping motion over his lips.

“Good, then I accept the proposition. I don’t have anything better to do and it can get pretty boring around here.” Octavio says releasing Craig who’s now once again grinning.

“Oh this is gonna be great!”, he exclaims, excited to have a new friend and band mate.

[incesthemes]

For day 16 of @spnficrecfest's event! Case Fics

Finding Harmony by road_rhythm

A sense of peace and wellbeing washed over Sam and Dean the moment they passed the town limits. That was how they knew they were in deep shit.

SamDean // Teen // CNtW // 13,071

Tags: Case Fic, Meta

My Notes: Based on a Tumblr post about "how to avoid 'gross shipping' in your work" as a hyperbolic reaction to antishippers. The emotional dissonance that occurs as a result of the curse is depicted super well; I loved the level of self-awareness they had toward their experience, and it was really funny to see them talk about their issues in a dispassionate and "healthy" way.

Under my skin by yourkidney

While on a hunt in North Carolina, Sam and Dean catch a ghost ship's curse. Things go bad, mind-bonded bad. Dean obsesses over the number three and Sam tries to be patient with him. If there's a cure they'll find it, but luck doesn't seem to be on their side this time. Set after season 1.

SamDean, DeanOFC // Explicit // 31k

My Notes: Hosted on LiveJournal. Dean with arithmomanic OCD. A little bit of a rushed ending, but overall well done. I wish there had been more focus on the soul bond after the first part; the author seems to have shied away from the premise a bit after the initial shock wore off, probably for practical reasons.

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 834: Minutemen The Punch Line

Minutemen are one of my favorite bands of all time. But it didn't start out that way.

The San Pedro trio were active from 1980 to 1985. Consisting of best friends D. Boon and Mike Watt on guitar and bass (respectively) and joined by George Hurley on drums, Minutemen churned out hundreds of songs in their half-decade lifespan. Though they were very much a part of the American punk scene (and the first band after Black Flag to have records out on the seminal SST label), their sound was much stranger and more complex than their peers. The "punk" label certainly applied to their politics, their DIY spirit, and their short, jarring, adrenalized songs. But the three chord fury, sloganeering, and speed-centric template that typified early '80s punk was noticeably absent.

Somehow, Minutemen had developed a bit of a following in my hometown of Kailua, Hawaii in the early '90s. All the skaters and punk kids at my high school were into them. Granted, this maybe meant eight people total were fans, but those eight people were all in agreement that Minutemen were A BIG DEAL. So I did what every freshmen looking to fit in with the cool upperclassmen did... I listened to their music. I got the Project: Mersh Vol. 1 compilation that combined the first two Minutemen albums---The Punch Line and What Makes a Man Start Fires---and dove into their music over a Christmas break vacation to visit my grandparents in Colorado.

It was a lot of driving, and Project: Mersh Vol. 1 was one of the only CDs I had with me on the trip. Had I heard the music prior, I would've undoubtedly left the CD at home and picked something a little more in line with my then-current notion of punk---something like Minor Threat or Bad Religion. But I was stuck with Minutemen and I had to learn to make sense of it.

The songs on The Punch Line are short. Only two of its eighteen tracks are longer than a minute. There isn't much in terms of conventional song structures. No big catchy choruses. None of the meaty hooks of hardcore. The guitar-playing is jangly and sparse instead of thick and aggressive. The vocals seem more spoken than sung or shouted. There were moments that seemed a bit more in line with my idea of punk---the uptempo "Games" and "No Parade," for instance---but those moments were fleeting, and they almost inevitably segued into some strange, seemingly disjointed bass and drum jam with some vaguely political monologue on top. I didn't get it.

But I stuck with it, initially out of a lack of other musical options and later out of a mixture of curiosity and tribalism. After all, the cool kids liked it, so there must be something to latch onto there, right? And while that might sound like an embarrassing admission, it really shaped my relationship to music.

Pop music is crafted to be instantly appealing, but it also tends to be very shallow. It's music designed to appeal to as many people as possible, and in order to do that, it has to resonate with people who aren't particularly adventurous. I often think of music as another language, and pop music is essentially the communication-equivalent of a platitude. It's obvious and its meaning has been washed out from over-saturation. But something like Minutemen? It was far less obvious. You had to sit with it. It was more like a private conversation with a fascinating stranger. Maybe at first you had no idea what they were even trying to say, but the more you listened, the more you wanted to hear.

I'm not even embarrassed to admit that I stuck with Minutemen because the cool kids liked them. There were artists they loved that I never bonded with. But Minutemen contained some particular mystery and magic that kept me coming back. I've owned The Punch Line for nearly 32 years, and every time I listen to it, I feel a bit more connected to it. Hell, it's hard to even hear the dissonant skronk I initially gleaned from this album. This, as far as I'm concerned, is the what punk sounds like.

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

On the ask about how "there no benefit dor Izu be dragged on Ocha vs Toga" its enfuriating how Tsuy has to badmouth Izu. "Dont go talk to Toga...its what Izu would have done"

And like it creates a dissonance here. I posted a manga image of Iida punching Izu (forever angry about it) but it really hit me...does class A1 thinks Izu enjoys to break his arms and be in danger? Do they sincerly believe Izu lives to chase thrills? Bc if so...its easy to understand why they fall for bk's bs talk.

I said once and will say again, Izu in canon has no friends.

No one really offered a hand for him but Izu IS obligated to give a hand to all of them. I know some may say "he is a kind person" and on a level, I get it. "Dont wish bad on others" the problem I have is how....they never take a moment to realize how Izu helped them or why Izu is like that...we never had a moment of them bonding.

If Iida wanted to punched someone so badly.....Bk is right there. I can even see. Izu saved him and BK is talking trash about him and ....Iida punched BK to shut him up.

And say what you will about Bk(he is a PoS) but he is honest. He never tries to hide his disdain and hate for Izu, never. He tried to kill him 3 times...in front of witness...

Class A1:....

Izu hurting himself saving people

Class A1:🙄here we go again.

To conclude, I really hate class A1.

It is kinda weird that 1-A, despite being constantly seen as one big family, is always on Izuku’s ass when he does anything. They’re so willing to ignore and hand-wave Katsuki’s behavior yet when it comes to Izuku they’re ready to dog-pile on him.