#but I feel like my brain is very really rotting away. I'm losing everything

[david-watts]

god. maybe I do want to kill myself

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 7: Are We Old Friends Or Old Enemies?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter seven of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm going to rate this 18+ just to be sure. References to Past Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Cursing, Blood, Guts, Graphic Death, (spoilers?), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Present Day

Your motorcycle crunches loudly against the black gravel driveway outside of Crimson Countess' trailer. It looks worse than you imagined, shoved behind Vought-land, and sprouting out of the ground like a fungus. Not an unusual thought given it's ogre-like inhabitant.

You weren't looking forward to seeing her after all these years, because you knew it wasn't going to end well. Deep down you hoped that she had let go of everything that happened in the past, like you had tried, well, until Butcher and Hughie showed up at your apartment. Then again, you're not sure that you've really let go of everything that happened. Sometimes it felt like you just shoved all your feelings into the deepest darkest part of your brain where they’d been festering for the past forty years.

And ever since Butcher and Hughie showed up, those feelings had been clawing their way out like a banished Titan climbing out of Tartarus.

You think again about driving away. If you saw her, there wouldn't be any going back. You couldn't go in there pretending to be your daughter, you had to be you. Which meant the possibility of losing the life you'd constructed in the aftermath that followed your long superhero career.

Was it worth it? Was Ben worth it?

You sigh considering that thought. After the fight it was difficult to answer that question. If the answer was no, you might as well just leave. But the answer was yes. You hated that after everything that happened between Ben and you, the answer was yes.

And that meant you needed to know the truth, needed to see it in her eyes. Which also meant there was only one choice.

You look around the clearing where the trailer sits. It’s in a circle of trees that filter the setting sunlight through their lofty branches, making patterns on the gravel where weeds and patches of grass break through every few feet like an oasis in a desert. Further down the road to the right you see a collection of empty circus carts that rust onto yellowed grass, rising from the earth to tangle in the wooden wheels of the carts.

At least the trees are pretty. You think to yourself trying to focus on the positive. They were, after all, one of your favorite things to paint.

You consider your apartment downtown, the open floor plan and large windows, very different from how she chose to live her life. Your eyes trace the mobile home thinking back about the fungus analogy.

The trailer was covered with peeling white paint stained black and yellow in some areas where sticky mold had begun to fester against the structure. The rickety porch was rotted, so much so that when you walked across it, it creaked loudly beneath your feet and you stepped around several foot-sized holes, where others had fallen through.

She definitely didn't budget her money well. I wonder how much money she got when she was a hero? I know that my salary wasn't amazing. Ben definitely did better than me because of his films.

Then again, you were living off money from your father, and your grandfather's investments in real estate, not to mention your artwork was selling better than it ever had.

Your knock against the flimsy front door of the mobile home, not using your supe strength, but the entire house still shakes.

Probably wouldn't withstand a thunderstorm. Hopefully she's invested in an umbrella.

No one answers and for a moment you hope that she's not here or she's dead, but just like always you’re disappointed.

"Who the fuck is it?" You hear Countess' familiar voice shout from inside.

A swarm of memories flock across your mind at her voice, but you push them aside.

"Your best friend in the whole world." You respond, before you can stop yourself. Sarcasm was an easy fallback. If your mother was here she'd say that it wasn't ladylike.

Really just disappointing her in every century. The thought makes you happy.

"What?" Countess rips open the door so savagely that you wonder how the door didn't come off in her hand. You watch her eyes widen and her face pale as her gaze lands on you.

Well, that's certainly not a normal reaction to seeing me.

"Y/n?" You hear her heartbeat spike in her chest. "You're-" She sputters to look for the right word.

"Alive? Yes." You smile at her. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Um-"

A flash of the last time you saw her comes roaring back. The smug look on her face when you caught her and Ben together, the way her face was flushed bright red, sweat dotting her hairline while he- You clear your throat to stop the memory.

You push past her into the small residence, not waiting for her to invite you, and your nose wrinkles as the smell of sweat and her rancid perfume invade your nostrils. It was barely two rooms, the small kitchen/living room was separated from the bedroom with a red beaded curtain that doesn't hide the unmade bed and clothes covered floor.

This was unusual given the fact that she was wearing her supe suit, complete with cape and mask. It was a little tighter in some places than you remember, her reddish hair reeked of cheap dye, her perfume like a cloud of sulfuric acid, and her pointed, cruel face was more wrinkled that the last time you saw her.

"I'd like to say that this is cute," You turn to look back at her from the small kitchen/living room, that was covered in dirty plates and take-out boxes. "But it's kind of a shit hole, isn't it?"

That was fast. So much for trying to be civil. Too much history I guess.

"What are you doing here?" She keeps her voice calm, but the tempo of her heart suggests otherwise.

Your eyes trace the lines of her face, the wrinkles, the subtle graying of her hair that the dye couldn't cover. "Just thought I'd check in. See how things are going. You definitely didn't age well."

"What the fuck do you want?" She snarls this time.

You can't help but smile at her. Something about this whole situation was utterly ridiculous to you.

She said Ben died. Why am I even here? What did she have to gain from his death? The thought swishes around in your brain. But then why was she afraid when she saw me? You think about all the times you spent watching her manipulate the others on Payback and all the other times you were around her, she never showed fear. Why now?

"I'm here because somebody showed up the other day asking me about Ben." You shrug, running one of your hands against the dirty kitchen countertop examining the tip of your finger as if looking for dust. "And it's funny, because as they were asking me questions I realized that you and I never talked about what happened that day. I mean I heard what you said through Stan and Legend, but I never heard it from you. Thought it was time we had a little heart to heart."

Her pulse spikes again, but she covers it with a smirk. "You want to talk about Ben?" Her voice drips with false sweetness. "Well I'll say this, he was a good fuck. But I'm sure you knew that."

Your entire body goes rigid, remembering the night that you found them together, the night after you finally told him you loved him and he pushed you away.

"I mean, after all, he popped your cherry didn't he? Made you a woman." Countess' smirk turns into a rueful smile. "You definitely waited long enough. Ben told me how long you’d been friends. He told me the sex was so boring, that you were so inexperienced, that he wanted a real woman who could actually please him. A woman who wasn’t quite so-." She sniffs, tapping a bright red fingernail against her hip. “Big.”

Her words are like a slap in the face and you feel the cold disapproval of your mother for the first time in eighty years. The anger that surges up underneath your skin flares hot against your cheeks.

Ben wouldn't have said that about me. He- he knew how special that was for me. He said that he wanted it to be special for me.

You remember how happy he looked when you woke up in his arms the next day, before you said the three little words that you couldn't hold in anymore, the ones that you had wanted to say to him since you were eight.

"Poor little y/n. You worshiped the ground he walked on for so long  and finally he decided to pity fuck you. It’s so sad. You wasted your life pining for someone who will never love you. And you thought you could just come here and intimidate me? You’re still the same little girl who begged Ben to fuck yo-"

Her body flies forward telekinetically into your outstretched hand, that clamps down around her throat.

"But I do intimidate you." Your eyes shift to purple with your display of power. "Your heart rate hasn't dropped below 120 since I got here. So obviously there's a reason why you're afraid of me." She gasps against your hand, but you don't let go. "Tell me what happened that day." Your voice has slipped into a monotone, tinged with rage. “And I promise that I’ll let you live. In what condition, well, that's up to you.”

"I don't have to tell you anything!" She spits, pushing her hands together and sending you flying backward as the ball of fire hits you just under the right side of your rib cage.

There's a high pitched popping sound, an immeasurable amount of pain, and everything goes black.

It wasn't the first time you'd died. You'd heard of other supes being able to come back from the dead, and of course the others like Ben and Homelander who were almost invulnerable to injury, but your gift was different. Yes you had enhanced senses, speed, and strength, which were the original powers that were displayed after you received the injection of Compound V, but there was more to it than that.

It took you the first two deaths to figure it out, and you could remember both clearly.

The first was a few weeks after you took Compound V, when you and Ben were on his tour overseas promoting the might of the United States. It was supposed to be safe. The shot fired from the crowd was meant for Ben, but you pushed him out of the way. It was before you figured out he was bulletproof. Your gut reaction was to protect him as it always was. He ripped the guy in half for what he did and turned back to you. You remembered how he looked, remembered the fear in his eyes he never allowed to break through the façade he wore as Soldier Boy as he held you across his lap, holding a hand against the wound where blood poured freely from your chest. You remembered gazing up at him for what you thought was the last time and then the darkness that followed, welcoming you like an old friend.

And then thirteen seconds later you woke up, gasping for air, the bullet wound healed leaving only a circular scar behind. You didn’t understand at first, it wasn't until you died the second time that you realized how powerful you could be. The second time was Ben's fault, a scorned lover, a telekinetic, with a bone to pick with him. When you got in her way she'd snapped your neck with her powers. But this time when you woke, it was different, you felt different. You could feel her powers stirring beneath your skin, and it wasn't until you flicked her away from Ben that you understood. When you died a normal way you came back after 13 seconds, but when a supe killed you, you came back in 13 seconds with their powers.

You didn’t know why 13 seconds. In fact it was Ben that told you it was exactly 13 seconds, why he knew that you didn't know. It seemed that for everyone else 13 was an unlucky number, but for you it was the difference between life and death, literally. You also didn’t understand why you kept the powers. Sometimes you wondered if when you were killed by a supe your body analyzed how you died, understood it, and then you came back with that forbidden knowledge like you’d just eaten the fruit off the wrong tree. 

Ben was the only one who knew and when anyone asked, you attributed your sudden ability to move things with your mind as something you never used in public. Having that much power scared you. You weren't sure what people or Vought would do if they found out, so you kept it to yourself and so did Ben. Honestly, sometimes you think the reason why he kept it to himself was because he didn’t want anyone to be more powerful than him, but you didn’t care about the abilities. You didn’t think you were a god despite Vought’s constant worship and praise. If anything, you felt closer to hell and in a binding contract with the devil.

Exactly thirteen seconds later, you sit up from the floor completely healed while Countess stands there over you, a horrified look on her face. She'd never seen you die before.

"Did you just try to kill me Countess?" You ask.

She puts her hands together to shoot another fireball, but you make a motion with your hand to that flicks her away. Her body soars backward illuminated in the purple glow that manifests with your telekinesis, into the small hallway that leads to the bathroom on the other side of the mobile home.

"You know," You stand from the ground looking down at your melted motorcycle jacket. "This was my favorite jacket. Had it from the 80's it was vintage. Damn.”

“How-“ She groans stumbling to her feet and leaning on the wall for support.

“We all have our secrets don’t we? And I'd love to hear yours."

Her eyes flash to where the front door is, but you beat her to it, yanking her back towards you by the arm, crushing her right wrist in your hand. Her scream of pain quenches the anger fueling in your chest from the words she snarled at you earlier.

"You're pretty worthless, even with your powers." You sigh. “I was hoping for more of a challenge.”

She cradles her broken wrist to her chest, backing away from you. Fear flashes in her eyes when she realizes that she's made a mistake, but instead of it making you feel powerful, it makes you pause.

Being a hero was difficult. You watched how so many others abused their powers over the years, feigning to be pure and heroic but really succumbing to dark urges when no one was looking. It was also why you hated Herogasm.

You hated it because you knew what happened to the normal people, the ones that thought they would be safe with the heroes they admired so much. You'd watched Ben lose control more than once, knew stories of innocent people that were hurt, not that Countess was innocent. But you never liked to hurt people with your powers. Standing here in this trailer made you guilty and watching her cower away from you made you guilty despite your shared history and her harsh words.

"So I'm just going to ask one more time, what happened to Ben?" You force your voice into a snarl, shaking off the guilt.

Because it was necessary. It wasn't just about you settling something from years ago, it was about Ben.

She deserves this, she isn't a good person.

"Go to hell." She spits at you.

You grab her by the front of her red suit and throw her away into the small kitchen. Countess' body crashes into the lopsided brown cabinets with a solid thwacking sound smashing through the flimsy structures. Blood drips down the side of her face from where she hit the cabinet corner, blending into her reddish hair. She rises from the ground with an angry snarl, clutching a dirty knife in her hand.

"I don't want to get tetanus from that. I can't remember when my last shot was-" You begin to say with a sigh.

She swipes the air in a vicious arc, but you grab her by the wrist, dodging the knife. "You never learn do you?"

The wrist twists to the side in your hand with a loud snapping sound followed by Countess' scream that reverberates in your skull as you break her other arm. "Pretty soon you're gonna be out of limbs, so I'd start talking."

Countess drops to her knees as the pain begins to seep into her body. "Fine. I'll tell you-"

"Then do it."

"He's not dead."

As the world stops spinning a high pitched ringing in your ears takes over, filling the monotonous drone of seconds ticking past. The past forty years no longer matter, the next hundred wouldn’t either, because Ben wasn't dead. As much as you hated him, the thought chilled you to your core, because then where the hell was he?

"Or at least he wasn't when they took him." She mutters, holding her arms to her chest.

"What did you do?" Your voice comes out in a whisper because you can hardly speak let alone comprehend what she's saying. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" You scream, grabbing her by the front of her suit.

"They wanted him." She spits.

"Who did?"

"The Russians. They wanted him and they took him!"

"You sold him out to the Russians?" You roar, hauling her up into the air so close you can smell what she ate for lunch. "Why? Did they pay you?"

"No. We all hated him!" She snarls. "But you were always around." Her mouth twitches into a painful smile. "It was so easy to get him to fuck me. I knew it would drive you away, you'd wanted him for so long and he didn't give a damn about you. And then you weren't there to protect him!" She laughs through the pain that builds in her chest.

I was right. She fucked him to make me angry, to get me to turn my back on him. I wasn't there to help him and they sold him out the first chance they got.

"He always wanted me more than you, knew that I could satisfy him better than you ever could. You really thought that he could love you? Ben doesn’t love anyone!” Her eyes glint with malice. “And you’re still the same pathetic little girl who begged Ben for his co-“

Her head tears from her shoulders in you hands cutting off her next words, the explosion of blood from her carotid artery spraying your face, and soaking into your ruined clothes. The ringing is back, filling the void of silence in the air that followed the tearing of bone and sinew.

You stand there for a minute holding it, not quite comprehending what you've just done. You hadn't lost control in a long time, not since you had the fight with Ben about Countess, or when you threw your sofa through one of the walls in your apartment and then broke every piece of glass, windows included, and had to move when you found out he was dead.

Or not dead. The thought chills you. Payback handed him over to the Russians, where he's been for the past 40 years? Why? Just because he was irrational, angry, and a dick? There's got to be more to it than that. Stan would have never allowed that. Soldier Boy was his golden boy, his meal ticket-

You think about the last forty years of hating Ben, cursing him, trying to forget him, wishing that you'd never loved him. The night you fought washes over you, bringing the anger, frustration, and heartbreak roaring back. The head in your hands smashes into mush as the memories barrage your mind, surging over the dam you built to keep them away.

You and Ben had always watched each other's backs. It was the promise you made to each other before all of this started, on the night he asked you to come with him and leave everything you knew behind. You knew him better than anyone else.

And yes maybe he fucked me once and I told him I loved him and he immediately went out and fucked Countess-

Your heart cracks in your chest with the thought, the heartbreak coming back in a wave of sadness that makes you shudder.

But you couldn't leave him, because you knew he would have never left you. Ben may have said that he didn't care about you, but you knew in your gut that Ben would have torn anyone apart who hurt you. He's always protected you. Even before you became supes together.

You stare back down at the mush coating your hands and the front of your clothes.

Why the fuck is everything so complicated?

When you get back to your apartment you're covered in a thin layer of soot, from blowing up the trailer, and a layer of blood and brain matter from removing and crushing her head. You hoped that by blowing up her home and burning her body with your newfound abilities that it would be enough to cover your tracks, but you were uneasy. The buzz of killing her and the shock of her revelation had worn off, but was now replaced with a numbness when you think about what could have happened to Ben, what could still be happening to him.

The shower does little to ease your mind and sleep evades you, despite the exhaustion that pulls at your limbs for using your powers. Dying usually meant that you needed to replenish that energy, but you couldn't muster the enthusiasm to do that. You just felt listless. The last forty years felt like a lie, felt like a waste, because as you’d been living your life Ben had been trapped in Russia.

So you open your laptop on the counter, wet hair soaking through your sleepshirt, and begin to research flights to Russia leaving within the next few days.

I have no idea where I'm going. I go to Russia and then what? Where in Russia? The Kremlin? Yeah let me just waltz right up to that.

You lean forward with your head in your hands thinking about Butcher. He came here because he wanted to know more about Ben. Maybe he knew where he was. He was the one who mentioned Russia.

You pull the card he left behind on your counter towards you, rubbing your thumb over the number. Legend said he kills supes. So is that what he wanted? To find Ben and kill him? The thought makes a chill travel down your spine, immediately followed by the primal urge to protect Ben. But what had Ben ever done to him?

You look at the number again.

If I call him, he's going to know that I was lying. Not that I'm scared of him.

You finally pick up your phone and dial the number, but it goes to voicemail.

"Hey this is Y/f/n Y/l/n. I just remembered a few things about Soldier Boy and thought you'd like to discuss them. Just give me a call-back whenever you get this."

You hang up the phone and sit there for a minute, eyeing the coffee that sits untouched next to your open laptop.

I killed someone today. The thought should be chilling, but you feel no remorse, no guilt.

Is that because I think she deserved it?

Your mind goes back to what she said about Ben sleeping with you, what he told her about you. The urge to cry rises in your chest with the memory of her words.

You remembered that night. You had been so excited. Ben had taken you out to dinner for your birthday, despite your insistence that you'd celebrated enough of those. The restaurant was quiet, secluded, different than the flashy world the both of you were living in.  It had reminded you of before you took the Compound V, when you were still normal. The food was good, there was flirting and hand holding at dinner, and finally a slow dance when he kissed you for the first time.

And when he took you back to your apartment and to bed, it didn’t seem like a quick fuck, it didn't feel like cheap sex. The way he took care of you, held your hand, said your name, looked at you, held you close to him after, and the soft smile on his face that he had only when it was the two of you- it felt special. He made it special for you because he knew how important it was for you.

Tears slip down your cheeks. It would have been one of your favorite memories if you didn't know what followed, what was going to happen the next morning or in the next 24 hours. 

"Guess it was just a lie." You mutter to yourself, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes.

The next morning when you woke up in his arms you couldn't help but tell him that you loved him, whisper it to him, more happy than you'd ever been curled against his chest. You remembered the way he looked at you, like you were crazy and then he left for his movie premiere even though we were supposed to go together muttering flimsy excuses as to why he had to leave. And finally the image of him and Countess in the bathroom crashes over you, sending shards of glass back into your heart.

You thought that by now you'd picked them all out.

More tears drip down your cheeks, as your thoughts drift back to Ben and the years that followed that night. You sigh considering what to do.

I wish I could just forget, wish that I could leave him, but I can't.

But that didn’t mean you had to forgive him.

After a night of no sleep, you stand poised over the wooden chest in the back of your closet. Packing for the flight that left in two days was turning into a bigger task than you'd thought.

Your current wardrobe wasn't suited for storm the capital city of Russia and kill everything in your path to find Ben, it was more suited for late night painting and art shows. The amount of paint stained overalls, oversized band t-shirts, sweatpants, and dresses in your closet was astounding and none of which screamed "fear me." You would definitely need to go to the mall to find more things that you could move in, if need be, and find things that hid your identity. All it took was one photo or video linked online and everyone would know that you weren’t dead.

You knew that no one would be willing to talk to you, give up the information willingly, not to mention if you really had to break into the Kremlin it was not going to be a walk in the park.

It wasn't that you were out of shape. You still trained during the week, took self-defense classes, and worked out to prevent yourself from going soft, but fighting Countess was the first time in forty years that you had faced another supe and you weren’t up to speed on the supes that the Russian government employed.

You also didn't like the idea that you were going in blind. There could be any number of men there, any kind of supes, and anything waiting for you.

But the truth was, deep down you didn't care. What the rest of Payback did had ignited something deep inside you. You knew that people were going to die if they stood in front of you, but the urge to protect Ben rose above all else. Because you still loved him, despite everything he said, despite everything he did, he was still Ben after all this time and you couldn't let him go that easily. 

You hold up your supe suit in front of you. It was made specifically for you, designed of a breathable material that made movement easy, not to mention the hood and mask did a wonderful job of concealing who you were.

I really don't want to wear this again. You think to yourself, eyeing the smooth material. It wasn't that you hated your suit, it was what it represented. If you wore that again, you'd be Indigo and you'd spent the past forty years trying to put as much distance between you and your superhero career as possible. You would be recognized instantly.

Could I even squeeze into this thing again?

You look at yourself in the floor length mirror on the opposite side of your walk in closet. You looked the same as you always had. Countess’ jeer about you being big makes you flinch again, bringing another cloud of insecurity over your mind.

Maybe that’s why he never slept with me before that night. Maybe that’s why he ran to Countess.

The thought is immediately followed by the image of Missy Callahan at your 16th birthday and how Ben clung to her. Then followed by your mother’s constant attempts to hide your figure. And finally, followed by all the other women you had ever seen Ben with. None of the others had looked like you. You shake off the urge to cry and look back at the suit.

Maybe I can paint over the purple, make it only black? Would that really change it that much?

Suddenly your phone rings, shattering the still silence in your apartment. For a second you hope that it's Butcher returning your call, but when you lift the phone to your ear you realize that it's something much worse.

"Hello?"

"I need you." The familiar voice says.

Shit.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

(hi uh sorry i sent that ask very prematurely on accident could you delete the previous one? sorry i just had to rephrase it-)

i was wondering if you were interested in doing a Sozo x reader fic (GN preferably) where the reader tries to help Sozo kick his mushroom habit (as you have done before but i would really like some more in-depth mental support for ant boy) or at least help him not to lose himself even more. This next part includes spoilers for the Sins of the Flesh update so if you haven't played that feel free to wait or skip this part. I would especially like to see his Dr. Sozonius personality starting to shine through again as he gains more clarity, kinda nerding out on mushroom stuff but also extremely sorry for everything he did while under the influence of the Mushrooms

YEAH SOZO REDEMPTION ARC <3

.....

"I promise...no more shrooms...please.."

"I'm sorry, my dear. I just can't take your word for it." Sighing, you gazed hopelessly at your spouse: the belligerent ant locked up in the pillory for the third straight day now, wondering if this was the right thing to do.

This all started after you returned to Spore Grotto one evening, finding the Mushroomos there in a panic, one of them eventually leading you to the inside of Sozo's "home".

He had succumbed to the infection, as his body was laying there in such a grotesque display, covered in fungi and rotting away. Of course, the followers didn't know what to do and begged you to bring Lamb back here, as they haven't visited this place in a while.

At first you didn't want to, thinking they were the reason he was dead. You assumed he was still giving him mushrooms behind your back when you specifically told them not to do that, explaining how you're trying to get him to stop. You made him promise not to consume anymore.

It had to be Lamb's fault.

But the Mushroomos revealed something quite shocking: since he wasn't getting mushrooms, he turned to eating them all alive to satisfy his needs instead, unable to stop. The parasite that held him hostage demanded it so.

And it ended up killing him.

You grieved for a little while, before seeking out Lamb and asking if they could accompany you to Spore Grotto, explaining what happened. Yet by the time you both returned, there was hardly anything left of Sozo's body.

Nothing except his skeleton, backpack, and the smiling mushroom.

You decided to take the large fungi back to their cult, carrying it as a sort of "ironic" memento of your lover.

During the walk back, Lamb asked you if Sozo had a life before this addiction of his...and you tell them something rather surprising.

He was actually once a brilliant man: Dr. Sozonius. His research on mushrooms was known all throughout the Old Faith. He's written books, lived with family members in an ant colony, and was very wise. You two fell in love through your research and explored Anura together.

Then he brought you to his camp at Spore Grotto, the very heart and soul of Anura's fungal outbreak. He was studying the Mushroomos and their behavior patterns. They were actually very passive and social creatures, offering you two stews of menticide mushrooms.

You declined, having already ate before your journey. But Sozonius--thrilled to discover a new mushroom specimen--decided to indulge in their generosity for the sake of science.

And things haven't been the same since.

Something in that soup took root in his brain and turned him into a shadow of his former self.

He never came back to the colony, or the home you two shared, devoting himself entirely to all things mushroom-related...while that stupid smiling fungi puppeteered him around. Some days you'd visit him, and he does remember you, but as of late he's been forgetting more and more of your lives together, giggling and not taking any of your words seriously.

He tried getting you to bring him mushrooms, eat them, etc. and if you refused, his eyes turned red and he'd start yelling nonsense.

Despite all of this, you never once blamed the Mushroomos. They were only trying to be kind hosts; they didn't expect such an advanced fungi to take control of him and turn him into their "leader".

After he died, most of them dispersed throughout Anura, but some stayed behind in the hope of seeing you again.

Once you finished sharing your story, Lamb was surprised that you wanted to take the fungi back at all. They figured you'd burn it to ashes for what it did to your husband.

Yet....you didn't blame it either.

Mushrooms aren't inherently evil. It's how nature made them, and you're a strong believer in karma, deciding to instead nurture this one in hopes that it may grow into something better.

Who would've known that mentality would bring Sozo back to you a week later?

Unfortunately, as you anticipated, he was still up to his old habits and never fully understood that they killed him. He tore up the mushroom farm plots and ate any Mushroomos Lamb rescued during their crusades.

Least to say..he was being an utter nuisance in the cult. He never did any work, and none of the followers liked him.

But that's not how he really was.

You knew him better than anybody else.

Ultimately you and Lamb realized that you had to break this addiction of his for good, otherwise the cycle will just repeat..and you might lose him all over again.

Talking to him wasn't enough.

He had to go cold turkey.

Sozo got angry when you shielded a Mushroomo from his bloodlust and told them to hide in the temple, accusing you of denying him happiness and saying he'd rather be put back in the ground than look at you--and that's when Lamb locked him up in the pillory while distracted.

As much as his words hurt..you knew it was only the fungi talking, trying to trick you into thinking that's what he was feeling. But you weren't so easily fooled.

You had to starve it out.

Might it kill him, too? There's a good chance. But you had to try.

Ever since getting imprisoned, he's been shouting and begging passing followers to free him all day and all night, the fungi looking more withered as time went on. Even its smile turned upside down.

Lamb tried using the same reeducation techniques they used on dissenters. Yet they weren't quite sure how to help Sozo, as he babbled over their speeches and wanted them to go away.

You offered to take over instead, and while they hesitated..they eventually handed you a copy of one of their gospel books and said they'd pray for his healing.

If anyone could get through to him, it was you.

For a while you've kept a close eye on him, making sure he had food--all of which you cooked yourself in case anyone tried sneaking in mushrooms. He no longer screamed his head off, but he still tried bargaining with you to free him, each plea growing weaker than the last.

By the time the sun went down, most of the followers were heading to their sleeping quarters for the night--although a couple were having some concoctions at the drinkhouse. But they could usually hold their liquor and not get too befuddled, so you weren't worried about them.

Instead you just focused on Sozo..who was already looking tired. Your energy was very much spent, too, although you didn't wanna abandon him.

Alas Lamb had no moon necklaces to spare, and even if they did...they would hesitate to give it to you.

Speaking of whom, you heard their footsteps and glanced over, smiling. "Hello, Lamb."

"You can go rest, [y/n]." They nodded. "I'll watch over him for you."

"...alright." Sighing, you closed the book and looked back at your spouse, placing a hand on his cheek as you kissed the opposite one. "Sweet dreams, Sozo. For what it's worth..I'm blessed you are back on this earth with me. I promise to keep helping you."

"[Y/n]...loves Sozo that much..huh?" He huffed, sleepily opening his eyes, and you were astonished to see that they were no longer red like the eyes of dissenters.

Even so, you weren't letting your hopes get up too high. He still had a long path ahead of him.

"Of course. There's no one I love more than you. I just hope and pray...that you haven't forgotten the love you felt for me."

As you parted from his side and began walking back to the Lamb, you were confused by their dumbfounded expression. "What? Was I supposed to say-?"

"Look." They pointed behind you, and you turned back around, gawking at what you were seeing.

The fungi had completely decayed, falling off Sozo's head into a withering husk in the grass; the smaller fungi buried in his collar died off, too. It didn't cause him any pain, surprisingly enough.

Then you looked directly at his face, noticing signs of him aging rapidly judging by the wrinkles and graying furs of his collar.

But he was still alive.

And he was back to his old self.

"Wh..Where am I? Where is...my family?" His voice was quiet and raspy as he looked around, confused by the wooden contraption he was locked in.

However once he saw your face, he recognized you and smiled, feeling at total ease.

"Oh, my love. You're back."

"I-I never left.." Tears immediately blurred your vision as you rushed to unlock the pillory. "I was here the whole time. I thought you were gone forever..."

"I hope I didn't go too far." He hummed, although he felt an ache in his back from being hunched over for so long and winced. Lamb was quick to fetch him a cane so he could better support himself, but you looped your arm around one of his own to help.

"Thank you, you're very kind.." He gazed at the sheep. "My name is Dr. Sozonius. We were...studying the Mushroomos. Fascinating creatures, they are. Neither plant nor animal. They gave my partner [y/n] and I some menticide mushrooms...and.....that's the last thing I remember.." He frowned slightly.

'Ah..so he doesn't know...' You realized, but you kept your worries pushed down, too happy to care about any of that right now.

"I can't help but feel that I have you to thank for...something." He continued, smiling at Lamb. "You have my loyalty. I will remain here and serve you."

They smiled back and bowed their head respectfully. "Thank you, doctor. Welcome back."

..........

While it was such a relief to see Sozonius' sanity restored, it wasn't too long before he ended up becoming bedridden, his bones too weak to support him anymore.

You realized that the fungi somehow managed to disguise his true age, as Lamb discovered he was actually 100 years old via mindreading--making him the eldest follower in the natural sense.

Now you feared losing him again..just when you finally got him back, and wondered if Lamb could do something to help.

Sure, resurrecting him may be the easiest option, but it would be the most painful for you. They couldn't put you through that, as it would take a few days for them to be ready for the ritual.

Luckily they managed to find a quick solution:

A fountain of youth in the form of a simple egg dish.

After Sozonius ate it, the magical properties somehow reversed the clock, giving him back the energy he needed to help out with cult duties. And you didn't have to worry about losing each other again, as Lamb gifted you two golden skull necklaces as a "belated" wedding gift.

Of course, the ant was ever jubilant about his mushroom studies and continued to pursue them alongside you--in a far more controlled environment, obviously. He was allowed to tend to the plots and observe how their effects impact followers during brainwashing rituals, although he was forbidden from tasting one himself or participating in those..

At least for right now.

Even though it's been about a week since he was "cured", the few Mushroomos that lived on the cult grounds were still fretful upon seeing him, thinking he was going to eat them alive.

The one you defended couldn't believe that he was genuinely sorry and not under the fungi's influence anymore.

They were so terribly scared that Lamb mentioned that they gained a "cowardly" trait, always flinching upon you, them, or Sozonius approaching, begging to be spared from....some nonexistent threat they made up in their head. They tried to please you two how ever they could, yet were easily frightened by him simply breathing around them.

Your husband was confused until you clarified that he ruled over the Mushroomos for a long time, cannibalizing them and making threats should they fail to bring him more mushrooms--but he found it hard to fathom that he'd ever do such a thing and abandon you and his family..

Even so, he felt guilty and hoped to make things right.

.........

It was late at night when you and Sozonius were having some light brews at the drinkhouse, feeling relaxed but not entirely befuddled.

He was rambling about some of his latest discoveries in mycology, and you listened with such a loving gaze in your eyes, smiling so big your face was starting to hurt.

You were so, so grateful he came back to you..and that Lamb could save him.

But one particular Mushroomo, however, arrived in hopes of drinking their worries away...and instead found you two at the counter, disappointed.

They tried to sneak away, although Sozonius spotted them and whistled. "You, Mushroomo! Come sit with us." He offered. "We don't bite."

"Eek! I-I mean, of course Mast---I mean Sozo..I-I mean....urrgh!!" Already they were fumbling over their words, scratching at their mushroom cap and sweating. "S-Sorry, sorry! AH!" They nearly tripped over a rock on their way to the drinkhouse.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, dear?" You glanced at your husband, who just nodded reassuringly.

"It will be fine."

Even as the Mushroomo sat down and took one of the drinks left on the counter, they seemed too anxious to take a sip. Instead their gaze going to you--and Sozonius, especially. "I-I feel like I'm interrupting something.."

"No, you are not. But listen-"

"D-Do you need more 'shrooms for your studies, Sozo?? More menticide-?"

"No, no. Listen. I wanted to...apologize for what I have done to you and your fellow Mushroomos."

"Wha.....y-you do..?"

With a soft sigh, Sozonius grasped both of their hands, and although they squeaked in surprise, they didn't try running off. "I scarcely recall what I did while under the influence of the mushrooms. But...it's no excuse. I treated all of you poorly, ate your friends...and I'm sorry. I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive this old fool."

They meekly nodded. "W-We understand..mast-"

"From this day forward," he cut in gently, "I am no longer your master. You serve the Lamb now. Not me. And that goes for all of you Mushroomos, okay?"

"....yes, doctor." The mushroom creature exhaled a shaky breath, looking utterly relieved to have official freedom from his servitude.

"Good, thank you." Sozonius let go, smiling. "I'm glad you understand. Why don't you go get some rest?"

"I think..I will." They stood up and stared down at their untouched drink, before sliding it back over to you. "You can have this. I...don't feel like I need it anymore."

You nodded, bidding them goodnight as they headed back to their shelter, before gazing at the ant. "Seems you broke their habit, too."

"Well, I am a doctor, after all." He chuckled. "I wanna help whoever I can."

All you did was smile, the two of you sitting in a comfortable silence, finishing your drinks and admiring the golden shrine at the center of the cult grounds.

Finally, everything was as it should be.

[peachy-posy]

Counting Steps (Vash the Stampede x Reader)

Summary: While traveling with Vash, you get a wound and decide to hide it from him.

A/N: Howdy! This is my first Trigun fic, please be nice hehe. This was originally written with Tri Stamp Vash in mind, but then it turned into me mixing him with 98 Vash, and so now we have this.

I'm considering making a little series about the reader and Vash because I am so whipped for this silly blonde man, the brain rot is insane. If that's something you'd be interested in lmk!

I hope you guys like it <3 ALSO this was cross-posted to my AO3

Warnings: Mild violence, mild blood/injury, fainting

Word Count: 2.5k

This was inspired by this quote from @creativepromptsforwriting: “When were you going to tell me you were bleeding? When you’re already dead?!”

98. 99. That’s another 100 steps. Start over.

You grit your teeth, clutching your side fiercely. Luckily, you are wearing black, so Vash hadn’t seen the sticky, dark stain appear. Your faithful traveling companion walks several paces ahead of you, leading the two of you to a nearby settlement. You couldn’t be that far away now, right? God, you hope not. 

You lose your footing, stumbling briefly before catching yourself. White hot pain shoots through your abdomen, and you can’t stop the hiss that slides out between your teeth. Fortunately, Vash doesn’t seem to be able to hear it over the sounds of the wind. A bead of sweat rolls down your face, and you pause, allowing yourself to pant for a moment. Not for long, though. You have to keep moving.

Counting your steps in increments of 100 has been your method of keeping yourself focused. It was a simple task, something to devote all of yourself to for the time being. If you could keep going, one step at a time, you knew you could make it to the town. 

17. 18. 19. That’s another 20.

Your mind wanders to the very situation that caused you to get an injury in the first place. What a mess today has been. 

You have been traveling with the infamous Vash the Stampede for months at this point. Shootouts and run-ins with bandits and bounty hunters made for another Tuesday. Usually, that was no problem for you guys. You knew your way around a gun and could certainly hold your own, so what the fuck happened today?

30. 31. 32.

The two of you had stopped at a small plant you’d come across while traveling in the desert, thinking it was a good chance to take a breather. Little did you know, you were walking right into a stick-up, with a small group of bandits robbing a family that had stopped there as well. You and Vash stepped in quickly to help, easily incapacitating the bandits. Vash’s attention readily became focused on helping out the family, noticing that the oldest child had gotten a gash on the head.

Allowing Vash to handle the damage control inside, you had stepped back outside to catch your breath. You walked over to the side of the building, leaning against it and resting in the shadow it produced. Out of the corner of your eye, though, you saw movement. Apparently, there was another person involved that had slipped away. You sprung into action, running around the building to where you’d seen the figure disappear. After that, everything happened really fast.

The man was quick, and he lunged at you with startling speed. You were able to dodge the initial thrust of his knife towards your gut, but you didn’t sidestep fast enough, feeling the blade tear a gash into your side. The adrenaline in your system helped you to ignore the pain, and you whipped around, kicking the knife out of his hand and twisting his arm behind his back. Before he knew it, you had him pinned on the ground, arms pulled uncomfortably behind his back. Drawing your small revolver from its holster, you swiftly hit the back of his head with the grip, feeling his body go limp under you. 

After he passed out, the tension left your body and you leaned back with a sigh. It was at this point that you started to feel the sharp, stinging pain radiating from your side. Glancing down with a wince, you moved your jacket aside, laying your eyes on the gash that had been so generously given to you by your friend here. Because you wore your jacket open, it looked like it had blown out of the way and been spared by the blade. So, at the very least, you wouldn’t be spending the evening sewing the jacket up. Your body was a different story, unfortunately.

It was a small, but deep, clean cut. It wasn’t anything worse than what you’ve had before. But, it would definitely need some stitches. You were almost positive you could patch this up with the first aid kit inside. 

You released your jacket, heaving yourself off the ground with some effort, applying pressure to the wound. Once on your feet, you made your way back around front, finding the entrance to the small building. 

Vash was crouched, chatting to the teary-eyed children, calming them down with a practiced ease that came from many years of experience around kids. He smiled at them, and said something that drew a giggle from the children. Their parents watched from nearby with grateful smiles, eventually pulling him into a conversation with them as well. A soft smile formed on your lips, as it often did when you saw him have these types of interactions. 

Your pain brought you back down to reality though, and you grimaced. Your eyes scanned the room for the first aid kit, and you found it lying on a small table. You quietly walked over, and immediately grabbed some gauze to hold against the wound. You sifted through the contents, searching for the thread, knowing you definitely had some. It wasn’t until you remembered that one of the kids had gotten a cut to the head that you turned around, seeing the last of your thread stitched up in a wound already. Vash might be holding onto some more, but even if he were, it likely wouldn’t be enough. 

Well. Shit.

You faced away from everyone again, trying to think of what to do. You were less than half a day’s walk from the next town. You didn’t have any supplies other than some gauze that would help. Telling Vash would worry him, and he’d definitely want to carry you the rest of the way, even though you knew his prosthetic had been causing him soreness recently. 

You were just gonna have to suck it up and walk. You stuffed gauze into your pockets as discreetly as you could, before hearing your name called from behind you softly. You turned your head to the side, heart skipping a beat at seeing those gorgeous blue eyes gazing at you.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly, concern creasing his brow. You wanted to reach out and smooth your fingers over it, not wanting him to worry about anything. 

Instead, you gave him a convincing smile. “Yeah. I found another guy outside. We should probably tie him up with the others before leaving.” The person running the plant assured you both that they would be fine while they waited for authorities to arrive to take the men away. You made sure your body was angled to where he couldn’t see your bloody hand or the gauze. 

He raised his eyebrows, surprised to have missed one, but ultimately nodded, letting you know he’d take care of it. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mayfly. I’m getting sloppy!” he joked, and you’d giggled in reply, heart fluttering every time he called that. It was just friendly, of course. Because that’s all you were - friends.

That’s another 60 steps. Or was it 70?

You jam your eyes shut, breathing through the worsening pain. You sigh defeatedly. You ran out of gauze an hour ago. The bleeding has slowed, but not fully stopped. Not with all of the pulling from walking. At least the sun is starting to go down, giving you a break from this damned heat. 

You look up, seeing Vash’s back ahead, his red coat blowing gently in the wind. The distance is getting greater between the two of you. You’re starting to regret not filling him in about your situation. After noticing your silence not long into the walk, he’d asked once more if everything was all right. You smiled, told him you were fine, and that you’d tell him later tonight. He accepted that begrudgingly, giving you a Look, but had ultimately given you space.

You stop walking, your breathing uneven and heavy. Your vision wasn’t quite right either… had you really lost that much blood? The chill settling into your bones screams ‘yes’ at you. Vash is getting too far away. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You feel your body trembling, and you close your eyes, a dull ringing in your ears beginning. Your grip on the gauze pressed into your side is getting looser, but you’re starting to care less. It’s not like it’s working anyway.

You are startled out of your thoughts by the feeling of hands gripping your upper arms. You gasp, opening your eyes, struggling to get them to focus for a moment. Once they do, you see Vash in front of you. His mouth is moving, and he looks worried. Oh. They’re his hands, you note, glancing at his arms. 

The ringing in your ears subsides enough that you can hear his voice again. He’s calling your name.

“…you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks, searching your eyes.

“Huh?” You manage eloquently.

He sighs, closing his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of you. “You’ll be the death of me, Mayfly. What’s wrong?” He asks. “I know you said you’d tell me later, and, well, it’s technically later now, so…” he trails off, but his words have an expectant tone to them. This doesn’t really seem to be something he wants to budge on.

Not that you’re planning on withholding what’s happening at this point. You are almost certain you’ll pass out here soon. 

“Um…” you start, averting your gaze. Finally, he seems to notice the way you’re holding yourself. Specifically, the placement of your arm, tucked into your jacket. His expression shifts into something more knowing, and he seems to have caught on. 

He gently reaches down to pull your hand away so he can take a look, but as he does so, your knees buckle and you start a hard fall to the sandy ground. You shut your eyes, waiting for the impact that never comes, as you are wrapped up in a pair of strong arms before falling very far.

You are slowly lowered the rest of the way, and find yourself resting against Vash’s chest on the ground. He’s muttering something under his breath, and you’re murmuring an apology. He pulls your jacket back, sucking in a sharp breath when he sees the bloodied gauze.

“When were you going to tell me you’re bleeding? Once you were already dead?!” He asks, and yeah, you probably deserve that. He’s peeling back the gauze gingerly, scrutinizing the wound, concern etched into his gorgeous face. He’s talking, likely scolding you, but that annoying ringing in your ears is back, so you can’t hear him. You should not be thinking about how pretty he looks right now, but your vision is turning black and you don’t really care anymore. His head turns to face you, his eyes widening. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite identify.

 But everything feels heavy, and you are very tired. You slump into his chest, closing your eyes. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The next thing you know, you are lying in an uncomfortable bed, tucked into itchy, white sheets. You groan, taking in how dry your mouth is and how bad your side hurts. 

Oh yeah.

You open your eyes, sitting up with a gasp. You blink hard to clear your vision, but curl into yourself as pain shoots through your abdomen. You feel a set of familiar hands take you by the shoulders.

“Woah! Take it easy! Just take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You feel one of the hands move from your shoulder to rub your back soothingly, and you look up. Those beautiful blue eyes meet yours, relief flooding his features. Vash murmurs your name with a relieved smile.

“There you are. Are you okay?” He asks softly, gently pushing you to lay back down. You put up no resistance.

“Yeah, just a bit sore,” you manage, glancing down to your wound. You move your hand to touch it, applying pressure experimentally, but he moves your hand away, holding onto it instead. Like a worried friend, you remind yourself. You take a moment to glance around the clinical-looking room, and think you already know the answer, but ask anyway. “Where are we?”

His thumb moves slowly across your knuckles, just like a friend would do. In a friendly way. “The local clinic. We weren’t very far out of town when you passed out. I just brought you here right away. That was last night.” His expression shifts from soft to scolding, and he runs his other hand through his blonde hair. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Don’t do that again!”

You offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Vash. We’d used the last of the thread for stitches on one of the children, and I thought I could tough it out.”

He stares at you, and you wilt a bit at his hurt expression. “Why wouldn’t you tell me though? We may not have been able to stitch you up right away, but I could have-“

“Carried me into town?” You finish, and he nods. You reach up, gingerly touching his prosthetic arm. His eyes widen slightly, not expecting your touch. “I know your arm has been bothering you lately, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

His expression softens endearingly once more at your reasoning, the look he’s giving you making you fall in love with him all over again. 

“Oh, Mayfly,” he murmurs, “let me decide what I can handle, okay? It wouldn’t have been so bad.”

You understand, but you also frown a bit at his words, raising an eyebrow at him. “But who looks after you? You have and would push yourself past every limit you have for the sake of someone else.” 

He sighs, but doesn’t deny what you say, either. “How about we work on compromising a bit? We’ll look after each other, and make sure we aren’t pushing ourselves too hard.”

You try to level him with a stare, but end up relenting with a sigh and a smile. “Fine.”

He smiles back at you, mirroring your tone. “Fine.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and it seems like something comes to his mind at that moment. His smile becomes something more like a smirk, and you regard him suspiciously. 

“What,” you deadpan, somewhat dreading whatever he has to say.

He props his elbows on your bed, resting his chin on his hands, leaning forward. 

“Nothing! I’m just flattered,” he replies, and you really, really don’t like the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“By…?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“I didn’t know you thought I was pretty.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. Of course you do. But you’d never just say that.

“Yeah, right.”

“No really! You said so yourself! Remember? Something like, ‘I should not be thinking about how pretty you look-’”

You choke, blushing furiously. Oh my god. Right before you passed out. You must’ve accidentally said that out loud, delirious.

 “I-I did not!” You sputter back, but you know it’s futile. He’s laughing too hard. You hate it, but even now, as he is laughing at you, you can’t help but love the sound of it. You’d do just about anything to keep him laughing and smiling like this.

He pokes your cheek, his laugh dying down. “For the record, I think you’re pretty too. ‘Specially when you’re blushing like this.”

Holy. Shit. 

Never mind. You wish you had bled out.

[emberunderscore]

oh ffs im thinking too many thoughts about this song now okay hey chat thoughts time

"Whose Eye Is It Anyway???" by Jhariah Very coded in many ways, the way i like to see it is for my midas villain au, and if you know that you know its split into three different routes and the one this song like . embodies . is the idea of midas losing themself to the decay, it overtaking their mind and drastically changing their personalitly . also i think midas deserves to be angry so i let them be angry.

ok analysis time

My head is overflowing, with these thoughts That if I return the favor you might understand

Their mind is racing with the idea that they want revenge on Reo for what they did, how they treated them when handing over Quixis. They want to return the favour of tearing them from their home and forcing them into that position without explanation

But I know, I know you could never carry the burden You've left with me and I can't give it back So why even try?

they can't give quixis back to Reo, so why bother wasting their energy on thinking about it

I'm reeling from all of the pain I feel it making me insane

the decay seeping in, overtaking them, it goes for their eyes first and in this au i like to view the taking of their eyes as taking their soul, and taking a part of them too. so they can feel the decay eating away at both their eyes and their very soul itself

If it's an eye for an eye then we all go blind If it came to it would you cross that line?

talking to themself . asking themself where the line they're willing to draw is . and are they willing to cross it

With the taste of the blood on your tongue like wine And the weight of your crimes weighing on your mind

the worlds falling, people dying . the rotting part of them feels amusement, a sort of satifaction at the power. like fine wine. but the part of them that still remains is weighed down by their guilt

It's an eye for an eye and we all go blind again

in a way they are blind. blind to their own actions. blind to the fact that staying as quixis is no longer their own choice . blind to the person they used to be . also . eyes . the bleeding eyes . an eye for an eye and no one can see . the idea of midas not being able to see like normal without their eyes. the idea that while they cannot see through their face, connecting to their brain . they can see. they are forced to see, through quixis. they have a sort of all seeing presence to them and they can only see everything all at once .

An arm and a leg, my friend, les yeux d'la tete

"to cost the eyes of the head" a phrase that means something is very expenisve but i really like the literal meaning. you know, eye motifs .

I never give as much as I get

an attempt to convince themself that they are gaining more than they're losing

This path of heart attacks is paved with folks Who only gave their enemies what they had coming

this lyrics is so mmmmm i dont know how to put waht im thinking into words but its so like midas wanting revenge and the other veriosns of them being just as bad and the "heart attacks" bit is just silly cause everyones fucking dying something seomthing

I don't know if it's worth it

D O U B T . i give this au of midas so much doubt, denial and self loathing . and they re so <33 anyways them doubting whether or not everything they're doing is worth whatever they're trying to convince themself theyre getting out of staying as quixis. power, vengeance, entertainment . whatever they can convince themself of at that moment.

[cutting out the repeated lyrics cause .]

Is it a knife or a lie is it in your back

to icarus , about the wack , the glitching about all the sillies . thinking unlocked thoughts in specifics

Is it all I need? Is it all I have? Will it bring me the peace that I need so desperately?

gods theyre struggling so much . they DESPERATELY want to stop being in pain . just for a moment gods all they want is one moment without pain but they dont get that . because they made this choice and they cant even remember why AHHAHHHH IM SO NORMALLLLL

Will I see?

they CAN notably see. notably they have to see everything except themself . except their own actions . except what they're doing . except how theyve LOST THEMSELF

It's an eye for an eye and we all go blind again

they want to make everyone go blind at this point . they dont care . theyve lost the ability to care .

When you seek vengeance you must dig two graves

AHHHHHHHHH THIS LYRIC AKLFNAJWBDFJKABWKJA . OK SO THEY WANT VENGEANCE AGAINST THE POSITION OF QUIXIS ITSELF . THEY THINK ITS UNFAIR AND BULLSHIT AND IN ORDER TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT THE POSITION THEY HAVE TO DIE. WHATERVER THEIR REASONING IS (OR WHAT THEYVE CONVINCED THEMSELF IT IS) THEY END UP FUCKING DEAD .

[last verse is repeated lyrics]

[liquidorcard]

Lily Orchard is very politically opportunistic and her posts on Palestine show how blatant this is. She presents herself as militantly anti-fascist and anti-hate, she claims to hate centrists who try to give fascists a space to speak (instead implying she'd be willing to use violence to stop them). But like, as soon as it comes to electoral topics, she aggressively, AGGRESSIGELY insists that the liberal centrist parties are the only viable option. Like, the guys she pretends to hate. To the point where she's victim blaming activists for Democrats losing the election and telling people not to listen to activists when they call for a boycott against the liberal centrists who are upholding the right for fascists to speak and politically act. She pretends to be a leftist, but it's blatantly performative, the reality is that she is centre right and she seems to hate herself for it. Kind of sad, honestly.

I've said something before here that Lily and I grew up in similar environments? Well, I honestly think that has something to do with it.

I grew up in a very right-wing household in a very right-wing community that like, I knew I knew from a very young age I wasn't ever going to be accepted in. Assigned Reject at Birth. You know, it's one of the many ways religious and right-wing spaces just tare apart interpersonal connections important to the human psyche. That makes a wound in people. I won't go into detail, but my home life was bad to begin with. Being queer just made it that much worse.

Before moving away for college, I very much believed I was the most left-wing any human being on this earth could possibly be. I thought I was going to be met with open arms and the unconditional human acceptance I had always wanted, even though I wasn't fully cognitively aware of that.

I wasn't. And I feel people were even less forgiving of my lack of leftist literacy because I was a queer AFAB and concluded there was no excuse for me to be as ignorant as I was.

Now, I know the discussion of the social policing and virtue grandstanding gets flattened of any nuance online so the right can use it against the left, so I want to make sure I'm clear with what I'm about to say. No, the left should not be tolerant of bigotry. No, not every right-wing nut job can be deradicalized by hand-holding them through their own come to Jesus moment. Nor is anyone owed that emotional energy from you. But when you were raised right-wing, even if you grew to resent it, a person needs time to be deprogrammed. And, I know this might upset people to hear, but you won't understand how much of a privilege it is to be raised in a more liberal household unless you weren't. People who were can sometimes be, what I feel is unreasonably hostile to those of us who don't know any better because we haven't had the chance to learn.

It also just so happens I started college in 2015, right when gamergate went down. And it was an art school. Really, it was a uniquely not very ideal environment to rid myself of right-wing brain worms. And in a very real way, it retraumatized me getting rejected for not having the sociopolitical context to understand everything I was expected to. I'm not blaming anyone in particular for that-- that is more an unfortunate symptom of the anti-social rot the right causes, but it wasn't a good time. I think some people could have been kinder, and to this day I do my best to be charitable with meeting people where they're at myself. And I do think there is a problem in the left, especially online, failing to read between the lines and respond appropriately-- especially when it comes to vocabulary choice. You know, sometimes people use dogwhistles without the proper context to understand they are dogwhistling, sometimes people are just genuinely misinformed and lack the language to ask the questions they have, and vocabulary does shape perception. Right-wing ideology only can survive on the basis of rigid, strict, conceptually or literally divine hierarchy. Right-wing language is shaped on the premise of that hierarchy. The reason why a lot of social progress doesn't make sense to right-wingers and is almost impossible to communicate properly in right-wing language is because it disregards the premise of that hierarchy. Right-wingers don't literally live in a separate reality, but they kind of functionally do. Mentally. For people who are more on the right, but open minded enough to genuinely learn and want to, it's better to use as their language as much as possible to explain to them things that can ease them out of the premise of that mental trap of explicit social hierarchy in a gentler fashion.

With all that said, the root cause was still that right-wing upbringing.

I feel I have more than enough reason to very confidently say Lily went through a very similar experience to me. A shitty childhood for a lot of reasons, but one of them for sure being a queer person in an extremely right-wing household. She has a hypersensitivity to feeling shame and will go to extreme measures to avoid it, she feels isolated and desperate for acceptance in an extremely unhealthy way. In one regard she was knee-capped significantly in her ability to function socially that I wasn't, in that her parents decided she was a simpleton when she was very young, basically wrote her off and conditioned her to never take accountability. Though being overly critical of children is equally harmful (though in different ways), dismissing a child of all agency because you think they're too stupid to handle it can result in a lot more damage to everyone around them aswell as themselves and is a form of emotional neglect.

Online I think she searched out for a community that would accept her, and when that did not work out for her, when she experienced that retraumatization again of rejection . . . She took some very interesting lessons away from that. The wrong ones.

And, glass houses, it took me a whole journey aswell to get where I am. But I was conditioned to internalize social rejection, for better or worse. Lily was not. She is aggressively, profoundly, depressingly incapable of self-reflection, in healthy or in unhealthy amounts-- and even though that's not wholly her fault, she's a big girl now, and she's the only one left to accept responsibility for that. As someone myself who feels deeply angry at the ways I was psychologically damaged, I'm speaking as someone who has accepted that dwelling on how unfair it is that I have to be held accountable for that isn't going to improve my situation.

Believe it or not, I don't think Lily is inherently stupid. I think she was treated like she was stupid since she was young, and has put a lot of energy into pantomiming intellectualism instead of actually learning stuff. Again, glass houses, I also learned how to pretend I am smarter than I actually am out of an extreme aversion to shame-- but I can tell I have more actual knowledge, interest and curiosity to learn than Lily does.

I don't think Lily has any interest in learning about left-wing politics, and I don't think she has actually deprogrammed herself from the right-wing environment she was raised in. She has no motivation to care, and likely still is deeply bitter about the social rejection she's experienced in left-wing spaces. However, she has a lot of social capital to gain by PRETENDING she is.

And pretending is enough for the people she courts in her audience.

[fantasy-mixtapes]

Kristen Applebees S3 Playlist: Side A

Here's Part 1 of Kristen's Junior Year Playlist, I am obsessed with it so far and will probably continue to be. Descriptions and key lyrics below. Spoilers for Episodes 1-10

Genres include: Pop-Punk, Alternative, Punk, Folk

1. Lavender Bones, Stand Atlantic

I know I'm out of my depth, but I just float in it I try to do my best, stop picking fights with it I wanna be upset, you're not alright with it I can cover it up, I can cover it Try to speak my mind, wish it was by design But I can only confess to having doubts with it Don't wanna feel regret, I'm not alright with it I can cover it up, I can cover it

So this is a perfect background music for the start of a movie about Kristen's life right now and I LOVE finding those songs. It's perfect on so many layers, it talks about feeling trapped, wanting to fix empty habits, and not to mention how "lavender bones" really hits home to my queer little heart. This entire playlist is really a game of guessing when the "you" in songs chosen mean Tracker and when they mean Cassandra, level: impossible

2. Starchild, Sweet Pill

What do you want from me? I am not a charity Work hard at everything Do it all for free What do you want from me? I am not a guarantee Go all or nothing Lose your money ... Set up to win Wind up disappointing everyone In the end I am disappointing mostly myself In the end Hang your Head

I AM SO NOT NORMAL ABOUT THIS SONG Guys its like it was written for this very specific situation. AND THE TITLE???? FOR A CLERIC OF THE GODDESS OF MYSTERY, DOUBT, THE NIGHT, AND STARS???????

anyways just please please listen to it its so great like even without the connection to Kristen, go support Sweet Pill they have a new album being released tomorrow (March 15th)

3. Uneeda, Deady

What about the bones The bones have no problem Turn them into ash And this never happened Your ashes big asses Your brains on the pavement Oh no! I can feel myself rot Unless I take your hand

Ok so this is kind of a genre outlier on the playlist since it is very very alt punk but for me it represents the rage at the mall, Kristen's relationship to Cassandra, and both of their respective reactions to what happened. It's very chaotic, but it was a very chaotic situation and I stand by it plus I love adding modern bands to things

4. Bite the Hand, boygenius

I can't hear you You're too far away I can't see you The light is in my face I can't touch you I wouldn't if I could I can't love you how you want me to I can't love you how you want me to

Yeah, sorry had to whip out the queer break-up big guns. I don't feel sorry I feel right.

5. Untitled God Song, Haley Heynderickx

When you're drunk near a sunset, look straight in her eyes She's a quick glimpse of heaven, forgetting her headlights are on When you misread her fortune, don't misread the joke She's the note on your lampshade, the honeycomb holdin' you And she spins me around like a marionette Oh, my web is still spinnin' My web is still spinnin', you can't see it yet

Immediately going from having total contact with a divinity figure to having to grasp for straws once again to a memory you hold onto, literally holding onto the shards of your faith. Having to both embrace doubt and faith at the same time. Girlies, I'm ruined

6. C'est Comme Ça, Paramore

In a single year I've aged one hundred My social life a chiropractic appointment Sit still long enough to listen to yourself Or maybe just long enough for you to atrophy to hell ... I know that regression is rarely rewarded I still need a certain degree of disorder I hate to admit, getting better is boring But the high cost of chaos Who can afford it?

I love Kristen, and I think her arc this season is extremely relatable; currently, 90% of what she does are bits, and I KNOW it's a coping mechanism, but STILL, WHY ARE YOU SO MESSY. I love you; keep being 17, but god, keep your clothes on and stop going to the steel plants girlie you're gonna give Riz a heart attack

[sevlawless]

nothing without you

pairing: m!seven lawless x f!mc (arabella aveiro)

word count: 962

warnings: none just arabella going THROUGH IT

tags: @blainehayes @agentdumortain @valcubust-main

notes: so the @infamous-if brain rot is here and it's very fucking real lmfao- ever since i played i have not been able to stop thinking about it and more specifically, how my mc would cope post break up with seven. something something i still love you i still have to live that but how does ANYONE live with that .. anyway here it is! the song arabella sings is honeysuckle by pom pom squad

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

if i'm nothing without you, am i anything at all?

the chorus rattles around in her head long after she stops singing it. she seems to be frozen in place, her thoughts drowning out the ability to do anything else, although she does notice the faint sound of silence. the rest of dead apple have long stopped playing, but no one says anything. they seem to be doing that a lot lately when it comes to her.

she wasn't even supposed to be at this rehearsal, and she even agreed with her bandmates when they suggested she take some time away to process everything. the music can wait while she figures out how to move forward.

but all she can think about is music, all she could think about while she spent the last two weeks trying to pull herself back together is to write songs.

how do you go through something so traumatic and not write about it?

losing sev- just his name passing through her brain is enough to make her eyes clench shut, gripping the microphone stand in front for her tighter.

losing him is the worst pain she's ever felt in her life. how do you go from talking to someone every single day for the past eleven years to suddenly no contact? how does anyone cope with that? she'd really like to know.

it doesn't help that she was so unbelievably in love with him. she never was one to believe in soulmates but no matter how dumb she thought it was, she considered seven to be her's.

a soulmate who now wants nothing to do with you.

she lets out a ragged breath, which prompts someone reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"arabella-" it's rowan, his voice uncharacteristically timid, and it makes her stomach churn. she shrugs his hand off and turns to face him.

"i'm fine," she snaps, wincing at the tone in her voice. he's staring at her pitifully. if she dared to glance at the others they would share the same look.

they were just as much friends with seven as she was. why are they all so fucking concerned for her in particular? a part of her wants to say that if they were so upset about her, they never would have taken that stupid vote in the first place. the vote that ruined everything.

seeing the look on seven's face, the hurt in his eyes, the betrayal-

she can't think about this right now. she's spent the last two weeks trying to move on and fuck if she's about to cry in front of the band over this.

she turns back around, storming toward the exit. as she yanks the door open and slams it behind her, she wonders if anyone will come after her.

they don't.

she can't even get into the car before she's a sobbing mess, hands shaking as she clambers into her vehicle, resting her head against the steering wheel. her hands are balled into tight fists as she considers if punching something would help the pain subside. it didn't help last time.

last time. that night casts an unbearable weight down on her and makes her shoulders shake as she recalls her and seven screaming at each other in drunken rage, both saying things they can never take back. going to a place they could never come back from. when he left she punched a hole in the wall and her hand flares up as a reminder. her bruised knuckles are starting to heal now, and some part of her wishes they weren't. maybe so she could have one last piece of seven to remember him by. just one last trace of the effect he had on her so it didn't feel like the eleven years she spent with him were for nothing.

they can't just be nothing.

right?

that seems to be what they are now- he hasn't talked to her since that night and every day, every hour it feels like she pulls up his contact info out of reflex to tell him something. a joke, a lyric for a song, a text just to tell him she's thinking of him. she always manages to realize what she's doing before she hits send and she doesn't think that will get any easier.

if i'm nothing without you, am i anything at all?

the lyrics she wrote down one night after getting drunk in an attempt to get him out of her brain dance around in her mind again.

she can't remember the person she was before seven. it's not the one who stares back at her now as she wipes her eyes and looks into the rearview mirror.

would she like that person? would they be friends? she never thought about it until now. she never thought she would have to.

how do you move on from someone that was so inexplicably tethered to you? where there was arabella, seven was right there next to her.

she looks across to the passenger seat that seven used to occupy every day and is met with no one there. she sees the grey headrest where a black mop of hair used to lie. she sees the middle console where his fingers used to drum to the beat of whatever was playing through the speakers. she sees the dash where he used to lay his worn out combat boots on.

emptiness eats away at her until all she can do is let out another sob.

some part of her wonders if he even feels a fraction of what she does. he has to. for her own peace of mind, she hopes this has been as hard on him as it has on her.

but she wouldn't know.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

helloo I'm back!!!!!! im so sorry I've been gone, it's ramadan right now and i can't be reading smut or anything like that, plus my exams are coming up and it's my final year in school so i can't mess this up. I've had ALOT of thoughts lately that no sane person in my circle can handle but i know you will. what do you think about a mamma mia typa situation in Greece with bucky (my feelings for him have resurfaced recently), tangerine and pietro? three very different people and one of them is the father (and one of them is gay bahahahaha). like reader meets pietro, then tangerine, then bucky (i know you'd be rooting for tangerine) then she has a kid and they all left her so she doesn't know who's the dad but then years later they all come back into her life and BAM her daughter should know and everything is all over the place. bonus points if reader sings at least 5 abba songs. obv you don't take requests and this isn't one but share your thoughts with me on this since im a bit of a scatter head and my new personality is donna sheridan so... yeah. love you and hope you're much better now 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

- 🦢

angelface!! omg hii hi!! firstly, ramadan mubarak to you, hope you’re doing good!! good luck for all your exams too, I believe in you!! be sure to take care of yourself😽

so…!! I read this as soon as I received it but couldn’t reply straight away and this has been ruminating on my mind!! IDEAS HAVE BEEN MARINATING BC I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS!!! and you calling me insane?? 😧😧 (kidding, but exactly that, same with me. no one would understand my brain rot except you guys. so we all in the same boat my pal)

I go through my bucky phases very often, and rn im in a deep one😭😭😭 usually I would go with tan no question, but now im not so sure (reckon tan would be the gay one???😭 but for the sake of this gonna say he’s not)

pietro: maybe you meet him when you’re travelling, maybe backpacking through europe with a group of strangers (guess who is in your group…😏) perhaps get close with pietro and have a summer fling. maybe exchange info towards the end of the trip, but both know it’s not going to work or go any further than a fling. might lose contact—but a message here and there

tangerine: next stop on your travels is england. not backpacking anymore, so it’s a standard holiday/ vacation (idk the logistics, so you have your stuff mailed over?? or go home for a few days and continue your travels??) but you decide to go sightseeing and find yourself in a pub. maybe it’s really busy so the table you had to yourself becomes one you share with 2 guys (can you guess who?) one of them goes off to play pool so the other gets left behind with you (can you guess who? see where this is going?) you two talk casually for a bit, you mention where you’re staying and what you’re doing in town (DO NOT DO THAT IRL !!) maybe you go back to your hotel room and he leaves early the next morning. would leave his name and his number on a piece of paper?? but you never see it bc it gets knocked off and falls under the bed and cleaned up by housekeeping the next day

bucky: would be several days after meeting tan and you’d be in the hotel lobby trying to work over some issues with card payments?? maybe there’s been an issue in their system so you’ve been hanging around the lobby/ reception a lot while they try to sort it. someone would come up beside you (have a guess who) and he’d ask you if everything was okay bc he’s seen you down here constantly for last couple days. he’d ask if there was anything he could do, then segues into asking you out tonight for dinner. he’s here for work so his schedule isn’t flexible and tonight is the only time available. you agree and would have a really lovely date, seal the deal later that night. and when you go up to his hotel room the next day, he won’t be in there. he didn’t know your room number, so he left his contact info at reception for them to give to you, but they never give it/ staff changes over so

kinda broke my heart with the tan and bucky one 😭😭😭

no idea if these make any sense. I write these as I think of the words, so essentially im just rambling in my brain and I type it out simultaneously. talking shit in other words😭 omg why does this make me want to do a 3 part series of their individual stories!!? (I know I won’t be able to do that, but man I wish I could)

love you and I am doing better now, thank you bby. sending love 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

[walkintrafficjam]

Two side of the same coin

Recently, I remember this channel Markiplier created that was meant to be deleted. I think the concept is really interesting. As we are prone to want to hold on to memories. So many of us take pictures to look back on events.

But by not taking that picture, I think I hold on to the memories even more. One random night, under the palace of fine art, I saw the moon as red, big, and round as it ever can be. A marvel to behold. If I took a picture of it, it would just be another cool photo in my album. However, by not having the physical reminder, I cling to it even more. Having it burns in my mind.

Despite saying all of this, I'm acutely aware that having records is a privilege. Only the rich and noble are able to write down their experiences, leaving behind those who couldn't write their history down. It's a known fact in historical bias. I read an article for my Tourism and Management class about how the idea of tourism is very western centric. The classic idea of a big expenditure trip while forgetting the small routine tourism. Smaller nuance one where a poor kid might travel 70 miles to visit their family members somewhere else. Small yet impactful. I think the idea of how fiction can be realer than life plays a part. Can you imagine all of those things that happen that was not recorded down in history? In those imagination, a bit of their life are shown. We fill in the gaps that was not recorded.

To miss something is to remember. It's a way for our brain to make sure we treasure and remember it. I forevermore will miss that pretty moon on that night 😔. Forever missing and treasuring it. Even if the actual information details are lost, the essence remains. Our brain constantly reshape our memories every time we recall it, slowly chipping away from reality. Haha you see fiction is realer than reality because all of your memories are misconstrued ☝️🤓. We tell ourselves those stories. All memories are fictional.

Recently, a friend of mine asked me to talk about time and what it means to me. I have this big realization how much I hate time. I wish time would just stop for a moment. I'm out of breath, trying to catch up behind it. I've been so keenly aware of how time is slipping away. It's a wave carrying me and I'm literally drowning. I don't know how to swim 😭 help.

To miss is to remember. To love is to also lose. I've been thinking about why people (as in me 😞) have intimacy issues. And I think this is like the biggest reason. Do you know how much I hate losing? I hate to lose the game. And I hate to lose people. As everything is temporary, the love of your life will become the most painful part of your life. I guess that's a bit pessimistic. However, the concept is in theme. This two side of the same coin. Celebrating and grieving are the same, both acknowledging the brief present moment that we have. In love, you have to accept losing everything. And I don't think I'm ready for that. I cling to a permanence that's not there since I was a kid.

But hey, I think I'm getting better? And I hope that you find a way to process this fact too. You can't cut out sadness or anger. Your emotions are all in one (two side of the same coin). If you try to cut out sadness, you're cutting out joy. What's left is a numbness as you have effectively detach your emotions. And for a long time, I think the life was sucked out of me. And I became disregulated and blind on how to navigate relationships. I used to tell people that my heart has rotted away. That what you see of me is a corpse of what I used to be. The world is cold enough to give me frost bite. To the point that my nerves started to die and the outer skin turned black. Constant callous made the muscle stiff and my heart had stop working. Of course with constant traumatic injury, any heart would be scarred. but I think I'm starting to feel again. The blood is pumping back into my body. And of course, for my few first time, I'm experiencing grief again. It's a good sign because that means i really enjoy those events and things. That means I did experience joy. A moment where I feel alive. A moment where I live. I'm breaking all the rules that I have for myself. It's so hard but I'm finding so many things about people.

Anyways, I got two quotes about love that I totally fuck with. Alright, have a great night.

[themiracleofteddybearmanifestos]

Spoilers for Heaven Official's Blessing/TGCF

I've finished reading TGCF in record time (for me) and now idk what to do cause it was my hyperfixation and now that I'm done I'm depressed.

Anyways all that aside, since it's literally permeated my brain to the point it's rotting, any song I hear makes me think of it and here are my top few recent ones that I really love

Without further adieu, Songs That Remind Me of Heaven Official's Blessing:

1) Everything In You - HalfShy, Adventure Time. Lyrics:

You and me We got something to lose Boy, you got your dreams I got everything in you And I'll be there through all the reveries 'Cause I believe in you more than I ever believed in me Ooh, and I love you, love you, love you No, it's not so hard to tell And I love you, love you, love you Is it obvious to everyone else?

And maybe this is killing part of me But it ain't called love without a little tragedy

Explanation: Pretty straightforward, it's Hua Cheng's perspective. He's dedicated to the max. Though the intention here differs from the original context of the song in AT, it still applies. The tragedy here is not stemming from their relationship, but damn these two are poster children for tragic back stories.

2) J's Lullaby - Delaney Bailey. Lyrics:

Darlin', I'd wait for you Even if you didn't ask me to Tie a lasso around the moon And bring it on down to you I'd bottle the feelin' you give me And shelve that stuff for years to come 'Cause, baby, when your arms are around me I'd swear that I'm holding the sun I'd give you the sun if you asked me You could have all of the time You could have the stars and the trees When dividin' up the universe You could have mine You could have mine Darlin', I wish that you Could give me some more time To herd the whole sky in my arms And release it when you're mine

Explanation: again, very applicable to Hua Cheng's perspective. This song is one of the most intensely dedicated and heartfelt love songs and Hua Cheng is maybe the most loyal person to ever exist (800 years and not a single negative thought about Xie Lian, never a doubt in his mind of how much he loves him or if he should give up). Seriously, this song fits SO well I feel like to explain it would be redundant.

3) Little Life, Cordelia

Explanation: So, this one for me made me think of Xie Lian and the domestic little life he has with Hua Cheng and how much that means to him. This one isn't just lyrical, it's the whole sound and feeling of the song which is why I included it instead of writing the lyrics.

4) Slipping Through My Fingers - ABBA/Meryl Streep (both versions are good). Lyrics:

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness And I have to sit down for a while The feeling that I'm losing her forever And without really entering her world I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter That funny little girl Slipping through my fingers all the time I try to capture every minute The feeling in it Slipping through my fingers all the time Do I really see what's in her mind Each time I think I'm close to knowing She keeps on growing Slipping through my fingers all the time

Explanation: This one's a lot different as this actually made me think of Xie Lian's mom. Seeing her son grow into a god and witnessing the distance grow between them. She was fully supportive and had so much love for her son, but he grew further and further away from her. This one gets me real sad, even if his mom wasn't super present in the story it's still heartbreaking.

And yeah, basically every song will remind me of the series ATM bc it's literally all that's on my mind but these 4 especially did and made me want to edit videos but I don't have that kinda time or energy or talent lmao. But the series is just.... Ughhhh it's such a beautiful story, even with any questionable moments/details, it's genuinely such a fantastically written series and GOD the love between Xie Lian and Hua Cheng is painfully beautiful. I don't love codependency but idec with these two they're both so supportive of each other and both fully want to be together at all times and you know what I also want them to be together at all times, they deserve it. I knew there was a lot of trauma since I first watched the show in 2021 and have been a fan, but actually reading all the books and learning everything is gut wrenching and heartbreaking and yet so beautiful and satisfying.

[usertoxicyaoi]

hiii!! First of all I love you for the vegaspete playlist like i cant stop listening to it and you keep adding new amazing songs making it even better and I'm like i thought it's already reached peak the time before that, the fuck???? also i love your replies to asks like you give everything so much thought and I'm low-key obsessed with that!! and so I wanna ask if you've given any thought to Pete and his smile mask and its seeming lack of consistency? like one second its not there and then he looks down visibly composes himself and looks back up and puts it on. like it's so clearly a mask but i feel like i need someone to talk to me about it because im quite literally losing my mind over this and just pete in general! also his friendship with Arm and Pol and how does that even work after Pete goes away to be with Vegas? totally cool if not but I'm rewatching ep 9 and the brain rot is real!! keep doing you lots of love!!

hiiiiii my love!!!!! aahhhh thank you! thank you!!! honestly the playlist is now nearly on a 3 hour run time, and at this point, i just put it on as background noise whenever i'm doing this. so thank you so much for liking it!!!

ohhh, pete's smiley mask! let's talk about it!

so, its interesting because from very early on in the show, you see these flashes of pete, where he isn't this dopey smiley toothy grinned guy, with a suit that doesn't fit quite right on his body and unkempt hair, that jumps and flinches, with this naive doe eyed boy-ish persona he has going on.

in those flashes, you see that he's actually really fucking smart, observant, on alert. a lot more wiser than he lets on.

the smiley mask he has is all to do with helping him blend into the scene, in the background, making him look as harmless as possible.

and yet, he's the head bodyguard, so how does that even work? surely there must be a streak of hot clinical ruthlessness, a lethal, cold savageness about him, for him to have the position as head bodyguard. he's got to be fucking booksmart. got to be, outside of just the physical demands that being a head bodyguard has.

what really intrigues me is, if pete is SO GOOD, is the head bodyguard, then why is it wasted away on being tankhun's bodyguard? that's not where the action lies, it lies with kinn.

and i think a lot of that has to do with suppression of one's true self. there's instances, like when he's carrying a drunk tankhun home, or waking porsche up from his stupor, where pete honestly looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here:

anybody else who didn't know would think he looks bored, miserable, fed up, dejected, that his potential is being wasted, that he's being forced or bound to be there tethered by something - in his case, loyalty. somebody else would liken it to ransom.

and its funny to me, because here, pete looks like he's being tied down. he's being chained, emotionally. whereas vegas? does so physically.

and its funny to me because, here, pete isn't being honest with himself. and he knows that. and when vegas sees that tattoo and says "what a lot of bullshit", is he wrong? is he wrong? no. he isn't. because vegas by that time has sunk in and gotten to know just how absolutely fake pete's smiley mask is, how dishonest that is, as opposed to what his tattoo says.

its why when vegas says:

he isn't lying. because that's exactly how they've treated pete - caged him and suppressed him and made him become loyal to them to serve them. and in doing so, vegas recognises, they've made become pete a shell of himself. a farce.

because if VEGAS can recognise that there's a darkness in pete, then how the fuck has nobody else done so?

maybe because nobody else has ever paid attention, and nobody else ever found pete to be that deep enough, beyond his toothy grin and boyish looks. maybe nobody gets pete's darkness, so he HAS to smile it away in an attempt to hide it. and its why it's such an EFFORT to keep up apperances and keep his mask on. it takes that much energy for pete to do so.

until vegas comes along and sees that streak in pete. something that so closely resembles to the one he has in him too. and he pulls that darkness, that sweet sweet suffering, out of pete - let it out.

and its what makes pete feel so seen. so bare.

vegas more or less wanted to make it his personal mission to wipe that mask, that smile off from pete's face. and i reckon that mask pissed him off the most, fueled him even more to rip it to shreds, because the real fun he has is with pete when he is his most honest and truest self.

and there's something to be said about the pure hope pete feels here:

because. finally. FINALLY. someone sees him for more than just this bullshit good guy persona. someone SEES him. someone WANTS to see him.

and so i reckon his friendship with arm and pol, its not that it isnt genuine, but its just not ... deep enough to satisfy him. he can't be Pete with them. he's just Pete, The Head Bodyguard with them, who goes out and parties hard with them and is down for a good time yet is efficient and Good At His Job when he has to be on duty.

but just because you're amicable with your work colleagues, doesn't mean that you necessarily show them all of yourself. that's private. and it takes for someone to want to know you on that level, for you to be able to open up to them.

and vegas freed pete. he liberated him. made him feel the most human and the most HIM he has ever felt. saw all that possible potential. gave him time and attention. gave him chances to leave and yet pete didn't. and its why pete can't go back to what was before. there's just, no way.

and its funny because, the first time pete genuinely smiles at vegas, after they've had sex, is the one smile that has vegas falter instead.

that's the smile vegas wanted to see, and he was the one who pulled it out of pete.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eight - “hovel, sweet hovel”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n arrive the shelter and take a look at what it has to offer.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: what would you like to see happen next? let me know! (p.s. this is what i pictured the shelter/hovel to look like)

"I think this is it," Bucky said, looking forward at the structure in front of them.

"That's the 'shelter?'" Y/N huffed, hopelessly annoyed.

They had been walking and jogging on and off for forty-five minutes straight. Her feet killed.

"We're... gonna die."

"We are not gonna die, Y/N."

"Look at it! That is a hovel!"

"Well, inside's better than outside," Bucky retorted. "At least no one will see us if we're in there. It looks abandoned, they'll assume it actually is.”

She sighed and followed behind Bucky into the shelter. It was a one story stone structure that looked so old and weathered. It... looked like a shed. An old ass stone shed. She briefly wondered if Wakanda had a storm season because she was almost certain this thing wouldn't withstand it.

The door let out an anticipated squeak, and she was just as disappointed to see the inside as she was the outside. Bucky put the bags down and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah... this... isn't great..."

It was just as small as it seemed. And empty. Mostly. There were a few withered shelves with dusty pots and bowls, and an even more withered attempt at a table. There was what looked like a furnace in one corner with old, rotted wood in it. The wooden floor creaked under their steps.

The whole place felt like a ghost: desolate, ancient, and lonely. Except for one peculiar thing...

"Bucky?" she beckoned.

"Hm?"

(Y/N) hadn't noticed it when she first entered, but in the middle of the table sat a small, shiny, black panther figurine. It posed on all fours, looking ferociously up at her. It looked so out of place in contrast of the eternal layer of dust on everything else.

"What is this?" she asked reaching for the one thing that didn't match.

When her hand wrapped around it, energy surged into her skin. It felt almost... alive.

"(Y/N) what-" Bucky was cut off by a sound that startled them both.

In the corner across from the furnace, a section of the floor starting moving. Wood on wood on stone was not a good sound. Nonetheless, in mere seconds, there was an opening, and if (Y/N) leaned forward, she could see stairs!

Both of them remained still, feet planted on the creaky floor. They immediately looked at each other.

"What did you do?"

"I'm... not sure. I think I opened it."

(Y/N) smirked.

"What?" Bucky asked, confusion clearly evident in his tone.

"I should've known," (Y/N) shook her head. "Shuri wouldn't have led us here unless there was something more."

She held the panther figurine as she walked towards the opening.

"Wait," he grabbed her arm. "We don't know that Shuri knew that was here. What if it's a trap?"

"A trap from who? I don't think anyone knows we're here except Shuri."

"I don't know. J-Just let me go first."

"Alright. After you, oh wise one," she acquiesced, voice sarcastic but endearing all the same.

Bucky tried to suppress a chuckle. "Smartass. You're the wise one."

She tried to go down the stairs, letting him go first, but apparently that wasn't enough.

"Wait, just let me go look around and I'll holler when it's all good."

"Holler? Who says holler?"

"Me. Wait here."

"Fine," she made a show of pointedly plopping down on the top step, still and waiting as he requested.

It only took about ten seconds.

"Woah..." his voice came from far away.

"What is it?!" (Y/N) leaned forward.

"You were right! Come down, you gotta see this!"

She wasted no time... and standing beside Bucky, her jaw dropped.

"Holy..."

Beneath the ground was a significantly larger, way more modernized, and highly advanced survival shelter. All equipped with smaller versions of a table, chairs, and cabinets, along with a compact freezer and miniature stove, a chest, a closet, and two sets of bunk beds. Everything was clean and looked in optimal condition. There was even a rug.

"Shuri definitely didn’t leave you with nothing," Bucky commented, still taking it all in.

"-us with nothing," she corrected, retreating back up to the shed to get the bags.

-

Later in the day, (Y/N) got a handle on the panther key and how to use it to open and close the entryway to the bunker. Once she figured it out, she kept it closed, ensuring their concealment and maximizing their safety.

Bucky had found his way into the closet, listing off the contents to (Y/N) who sat on the floor, back up against one of the bunk bed legs. She was exhausted. Her body had been assaulted by adrenaline and strenuous mortal-danger-physical-activity. Bucky seemed to be fine, though. Curse that super soldier serum. His energy was always so high.

"...oh, and here's the bedding stuff. I don't know what this is, though."

(Y/N) lethargically leaned her head over to get a good view of the closet.

She chuckled. "That's a space heater...Oh! And next to it - that's a portable AC. Makes sense. I doubt they could get electric or plumbing out here."

And her head rolled back to center, eyes closing, body exhausted.

Bucky seemed to notice. "Hey, if you're tired, I can make the beds...or at least yours if you wanna sleep now."

(Y/N) stretched her legs straight out in front of her. "No, that's okay."

She wasn't about to force her one armed friend to make a bed for her. That's just rude. Especially after he carried those bags. She felt bad; she wished she had done more.

"Nah, I don't mind. It's not like I got anything else to do," he insisted, bringing the bedding over.

(Y/N) stood, body internally complaining in aching protest. She didn't really have the energy to expertly persuade him.

"Buck, it's fine." Her voice was faint.

He didn't even stop to hesitate, seemingly determined on the task. She thought it better to just give up and let him do his thing since he was so set on it. However, the sheet was fitted and there were pillow cases, not really one-arm friendly assets. He was struggling... very clearly. (Y/N) felt even worse.

He started moving quicker, frustration jerking his arm in quick, irritated bursts as he was trying to get the sheet to stay. There was still no success.

She stepped forward gently. "Bucky..."

"Damn it!" he hissed, slamming his hand on the bed frame before forcefully standing up. His hand went to his forehead, rubbing his eyes in disappointment.

(Y/N) was a statue. She had never seen him mad before; she had no idea what to do. Don't get her wrong, she wasn't scared, she just wasn't sure what to say.

"Can't fuckin' do anything," he muttered under his breath.

She finally moved forward. "Hey, forget the bedding, it doesn't matter-"

"Yes it does," he turned. "We're hiding from a collapsed regime and I can't even make a damn bed. Plus you've done so much for me, I just wanted to help with something. I just wanted to be able to do something."

Oh. Suddenly, his anger was gone. It was replaced with a miserable helplessness. It made her chest tight; she needed to fix this.

"Buck, you don't owe me anything. I'm here because I wanted to help, not because I was expecting anything in return. And I don't know what you've been paying attention to, but I watched you carry the majority of those - heavy - bags the entire way here while simultaneously figuring out the way to the shelter while my brain was momentarily smooth. You were the voice of reason in that chaos we just escaped from, and it's a damn good thing you were so calm because I don't know if I could have handled the panic of the both of us."

"You could've," he murmured. "And I wasn't calm, I'm just used to this. I was trained for situations like this."

No, she wasn't going to lose to deflection.

"Regardless, you were a huge help. Seriously."

He still didn't look convinced.

"In fact, I feel more safe here with you than I would with Shuri and the Queen. You're like a super soldier body guard."

A look washed over his face that (Y/N) couldn't quite place. He looked at her quizzically, like he was trying to figure something out.

"You... feel safer with me?"

"That's what I said, yes."

"You're not like... worried about..."

"The Winter Soldier? No."

He sighed. "How can you be so sure? You have no idea if or when I might... you know."

"We are literally the only people here, and I don't plan on saying the trigger words. So unless you plan on saying them, I don't really think we have anything to worry about. And, even if you did 'you know,' you could definitely get away with it and no one would find the body."

He turned bright red. "What?!"

"I'm kidding! Sorry. But Bucky, you've been doing so well with me and Shuri, and honestly the Hydra programming might not even be there anymore."

"But we don't know for sure!"

"Bucky..." she pleaded, turning her head slightly as to say what is this about?

"I can't trust my own mind," he sighed looking at the floor. "I just don't wanna do anything bad. It's just - weird that you don't seem to be worried at all."

"Why is that?"

"Everyone sees me as a monster."

The room was dead silent. He wasn't looking at her, but if (Y/N) looked at him any harder, she was sure she'd burn a hole through his head. How could anyone see this man as a monster? Logically, she understood what other people saw. But personally, she couldn’t find it in her to perceive him like that. It just didn’t work. All she could find was gentleness, compassion, and sincerity.

"I can't see you as something you're not," she said, whisper soft. "I don't care if you hands are 'scarred from murder' or however you said it a few sessions ago. I trust them entirely."

He finally looked up at her, his face filled with something she couldn't quite place. It looked a bit like disbelief and then it changed into relief and then something else entirely. A slow smile crept up on his lips.

"...hand."

"What?"

"My hand. Singular. Not hands."

A deep, deep smile - to match the one on Bucky - grew on her face just before the pair started cracking up ridiculously. Perhaps this was an odd way of releasing the tension, fear, frustration, and exhaustion of the day. Nevertheless, laughter was cathartic. It was so cathartic that eventually (Y/N) could hardly catch her breath and Bucky's stomach hurt. This went on for several minutes.

In time, they both calmed down. She didn't remember when exactly it happened, but they were both sitting on the floor now. They sat in between the two bunk beds, facing one another, each back leaning against a respective bedpost.

The atmosphere was different now, but not in a bad way. It felt like 2 a.m. at a sleepover, when the conversations get drowsily deep, with slow voices and honest confessions. It was heavy eyelids and low inhibitions.

A fresh wave of exhaustion washed over her. She let her head fall slack against the bedpost, resting.

"Bucky, what were sleepovers like in the forties?" she asked softly, eyes closing ever so delicately. 

"Well," he started, getting into a story of his past with Steve and the couch cushions.

And that's how she fell asleep. Sitting on the floor, leaning against a bunk bed, and listening to his voice fade out into the background of her consciousness.

If only she knew how she would wake up: laying comfortably on one of the beds, with one blanket on top of her and another below her because he couldn't get the sheet to cooperate. With the pillowcase carefully draped atop the pillow instead of enveloping it because that's what one hand would allow. With the bed next to her being slept in with no blanket because he used his as the replacement for the sheet he couldn’t get to cooperate.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

DRINKING SHOTS WITH CHRIS AND LEON PT. 2

A/N: So, one person asked for a sequel and even I couldn't get these two out of my mind so, here it is: the unplanned second part. Just enjoy it

Characters: Leon Kennedy; Chris Redfield; Reader

Warnings: angst; fluff

Words: 2.016

As you awoke the next morning, you remembered every single bit of the last night and even if you would hope it would be just a dream, you knew it was all real.

Chris as a cuddly teddy, you never thought this was possible.

How he has called you his 'little baby sister'.

And most important, Leon Kennedy had kissed you.

You had an odd feeling about that but you and Leon had to talk.

"Hey, Chris.", you greeted the big guy who sat alone at a table in the dining room.

"Ugh, not so loud.", Chris whined and held his head.

"Sorry. How are you doing?", you asked, slightly regretting his state because of you.

"Fucking wonderful. Next time, remind me that I don't wanna drink with you. Never again. Why are you even this fit?", he asked low, checking your appearance.

You searched for an answer because Leon's kiss had made you sober almost immediately, "Oh, uhm... Water. That's the trick. Where's Leon?"

"I hope he’s rotting in hell for not stopping you.", Chris cursed without looking up.

"He's at the shooting range.", a team mate called through the room.

You frowned. The shooting range was the last place you had expected Leon to be for such an hour but on the other hand, it was what he did when he needed distraction.

You patted Chris encouragingly on his shoulder before you turned around to leave him alone with his hungover.

As you reached the shooting range, Leon stood there, tall and proud with the gun in his hand. He aimed for a wooden target several metres away. You watched him correcting his stand, raising the gun before he pulled the trigger to make a perfect shot in the middle of the head.

Like always, you liked watching Leon. This man was good at anything he touched. He even had trained you at your first days but now, as you looked at him, something felt different. You weren't just impressed by him. You were admiring him. And to your surprise, this wasn't even a new feeling. It always had been there.

You weren't sure if he had seen you until, "Good morning.", Leon said low without looking at you while aiming for the next shot. He pulled the trigger and hit the wooden target in the spot where the heart would be.

As he was done, Leon put the gun down and secured it before he turned over to you, leaning with crossed arms against the table behind him.

Suddenly, everything felt awkward around you. You swallowed down the knot that had appeared in your throat. Everything had made sense in your head but now, where you stood in front of Leon, your brain felt like mud, "Y-you look good. Aren't you hungover?"

"No. Water is the trick.", Leon answered low but then, he went silent.

You stepped forward, trying to calm yourself with your hands buried deep into your pockets, "We should talk.", you said finally as the silence was too much.

'No, we should forget what happened.', Leon thought but as he saw your waiting and mostly insecure glance he couldn't say it, "Yeah.", he admitted finally.

"That wasn't what you really wanted to say, right?", you guessed.

Leon was surprised. Could you read him this easily? You knew him well but he always hoped he wasn't this easy to decipher.

You looked at the ground, playing with a small rock with your foot, "Actually, I can understand if you say it was just because of the alcohol. We can forget it.", you offered an easy way out and before Leon could say something, you turned around to leave. Taking his silence as an answer and losing your courage.

"It wasn't just because of the alcohol.", he said low and for a moment, he thought you hadn't heard him.

But then you stopped, facing him with your back, "So, what Chris said was the truth? You like me and never said something?"

"I haven't had much luck with women and you know that.", Leon said and as you turned around, he looked at the ground.

He was right. Since you knew him, he had flirted with some women and sometimes, he had spent the night with them but nothing lasted very long. You always asked yourself why it was like this because, in the end, Leon was handsome as hell, funny, nice, protective ... actually, everything you searched in a man, "It could be different between us.", you said low.

Leon looked up into your eyes. Hope was displayed in them and for a moment, he considered giving in but Leon had to be stronger, "I doubt that. It has nothing to do with you-"

"Right."

Leon stepped forward, "Believe me, yn. It's not about you. Yes, yesterday, with the alcohol, I got the courage to kiss you but...it should be a one time thing. Trust me, it won't end well if we try something. Our friendship is more important."

You nodded slowly before you went away avoiding that Leon could see your tears you tried to hold back. He wanted to stop you but he couldn't. He had seen the tears and the sight hurted more than he thought. That was exactly what he wanted to avoid, seeing you hurt because of him.

**

Leon stayed at the shooting range until his gun was empty and the wooden target almost destroyed. He had taken his anger out on it. Over and over, his mind was running through the happenings. The kiss. The talk. The things he had said. Your tears.

It was true, he liked you a lot and many times he had imagined to have you by his side as more than just a friend but then, he reminded himself how the most things with women ended for him and the last thing he wanted was to lose you.

Leon decided to go back into his room to find some distraction and to get a clear mind. As he walked through the dining room, he spotted Chris sitting at a table, a bottle of water in front of him, "You're such an idiot! I hope you know that.", Leon said angrily, stopping next to his friend.

Chris held his head between his hands, "Whoa! Quieter, please! And I have no idea what you mean.", he whined.

"You told yn that I like her.", Leon pointed out, ignoring the painful expression of his friend.

Chris looked up, confusion written on his face, "I did- what? No, I didn't. I would remember that!"

Leon chuckled dryly, "Sure. You remember calling her your 'little baby sister'?"

Chris' eyes went big, "I did... Oh, bloody hell! You think she's mad?", Chris asked fearfully.

Leon huffed out, rolling with his eyes, "Not about you.", he muttered.

"What are you talking about?", Chris asked confused.

But Leon just shook his head. It wasn't to blame Chris. In the end, Leon had kissed you. No one had forced him to do that. He had been weak for one second and now he had to deal with it, "Nothing, forget it. If you see her, tell me.", Leon said and went to his room.

**

The whole day, you were running up and down in your room, considering what you should do or what you wanted. And even if it became evening, you were still busy with thinking. All his words Leon had said were running through your brain over and over again.

He was right. Your friendship was great but you were sure, you and Leon could combine the friendship with a relationship and it would be even more great. You really believed that.

You stopped because you had enough of all the thinking with no point. With determination, you left your room and a few moments later, you knocked firmly at Leon's door.

Slightly annoyed, Leon opened the door. His face changed as he saw you, "YN? Wh-"

"One time thing my ass!", you said, grabbing Leon by his collar to bring him down to kiss him. It was a hungry, desperate kiss with all the emotions you had and as you two broke apart for air, Leon looked you deeply in the eyes. His rapid breath was fanning over your face while you waited for any kind of reaction.

He took some time to look at you. Your eyes were filled with hunger and your lips slightly swollen. Like always, you were simply perfect, and still Leon had doubts. He leant his forehead against yours, "We... we shouldn't do that.", he whispered but even for him, it didn't sound that convincing.

"You already said that.", you cupped his face, searching his eyes, "Listen, I understand your point, Leon. But you know me. I'm not just some random girl. We're doing the same things. We’re facing the same things. We're fighting side by side. And if you give this a try, I will even fight for us to work out."

"But I don't wanna hurt you..."

"Then, instead, forget your concerns for one second and tell me what you want.", you breathed with a racing heart. This, right now, was the time for honest talk and you feared the outcome.

Softly, he leant his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, "You're unbelievable. I'm not strong enough to resist you, you know that, right?", Leon asked low.

"I know. And now, please, answer the question. Leon, what do you really want?", you asked.

Determined, he opened his eyes, "I want you.", Leon answered before he cupped your face and crashed his lips on yours. You snaked your arms around his neck and swiftly, Leon raised you from your feet to carry you inside.

You steadied yourself with your legs around his waist as Leon kicked the door shut and pressed you against it. Pinning you with his lower body, Leon roamed over your curves with his hands and slid underneath your shirt to feel your soft skin.

You did the same, just more eager. You grabbed the rim of his shirt to pull it over his head. Hungrily, your hands were dancing over his muscled chest. Touching as much as you could find of him. While Leon kissed down your neck, you clawed your fingers into his long hair which caused him to moan because of your roughness.

Slowly, Leon looked up into your face, admiring everything on you before he carried you to his bed, hovering above you, "God damnit, you're so much hotter than I imagined.", he said, roaming over your body with his eyes.

You smirked, stroking over his naked back and scratching into his skin what let him shudder. You were about to say something as several strong knocks let you two freeze, "Leon!"

Leon laid his index finger on his lips to signal you to stay silent and you nodded. But as it knocked again, you shrieked slightly by surprise and Leon placed his hand over your mouth before he answered as calmly as possible: "Yeah? What is it?"

"I... I haven't seen yn the whole day. I can't find her. You think she's alright?", Chris asked through the closed door.

Looking at you with a devilish smirk, Leon called back: "Yeah, I'm sure she's pretty fine. I guess we will see her later." Leon answered grinning. As he heard Chris’ slowly leaving footsteps, he removed his hand from your mouth.

"Shouldn't we tell him something?", you asked, thinking about Chris and how concerned he had sounded.

Leon shook his head slowly, "No. He was the one who had blurted out my feelings for you. He can suffer a little bit more."

"Actually, Chris is the reason why I'm here right now. You should thank him.", you responded with a smirk.

Leon leant down, matching your smirk and nudging your nose with his own, "Maybe. But not yet. My attention is somewhere else right now.", he breathed before he kissed you deeply.

None of you knew where this would lead but silently you and Leon swore to each other to make this work.

[crystalirises]

Um hi when your request are open I really enjoyed the fundy npc au could you do a bit of a continuation, like maybe alivebur is just dragging fundy into his mess at attempting to break dream out of prison. I'm perfectly fine if your not interested in it

Now. As I've said, I usually might not do requests or continuations when it comes to stuff I put in the "Brainrot Central" thing cause it's just full of fanfic stuff that entered my brain and I had to write down so it would leave.

However, the NPC Fundy AU has a special place in my heart. Mostly cause Fundy vibing on his own and not actually getting involved with the whole dsmp thing is nice. And yes, I am very much aware that taking out Fundy within the storyline would cause some stuff to be different. But essentially, all the major stuff that happened, still happened. It's only minor things that have changed. But otherwise, the same stuff still happened.

Anyway, enough of my rambling. I'm adding the link of the ao3 here, but the story is also after the Keep Reading.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31985884/chapters/81078352

The cottage had rotted beyond repair by the time he got home.

Wilbur had rushed to the front door, forgetting the bags of missed gifts that he’d brought with him. He flung the door open, the hinges so loose that the piece of wood slammed onto the wall before collapsing to the ground. He coughed at the cloud of the dust that flew right into his face.

“Fundy?! Fundy! I’m home!” Wilbur stepped into the house, “Fundy, papa’s home!”

There was no shout of joy, no hurried footsteps, no little boy that clung to his leg and demanded to know where Wilbur had been. He took a deep breath through clenched teeth, quelling the panic that had begun to bubble in his chest. His son was asleep, surely. He walked deeper into the house, frowning once he realized how utterly devoid the house was of furniture. Portraits had been torn off the walls, wooden chairs had been smashed against the floor, and there were random patches of black on the stone floor - almost like someone had set a fire on them. Wilbur quietly headed towards his son’s bedroom, finding the door open and the bed completely empty.

Wilbur staggered back. His son had to be somewhere nearby. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep himself from falling into hysterics. Fundy had to be nearby. He had to be.

At some point, Wilbur found himself wandering over to the living room.

He found the letter on the table, his hands shaking while he reached to pick it up.

Wilbur could only read the first and second lines before his knees buckled underneath him, his breath picking up. A god. A god. A god had taken his son. His hand clenched around the paper, his heart breaking once he realized that the paper itself looked a year old. Wilbur was only glad that it hadn’t been a day old. He laughed at the thought of that misery. Imagine finally coming home, only to realize that you were late for one day. That he could have stopped his son from leaving if he’d just been a day earlier. Then again, what did it matter? One day. One week. One month. One year. One hour. One minute. One second. He was late. Wilbur had been late to come home. He broke his promise. He should have been there for his son. He’d been gone for six years. Six long years. His baby wouldn’t even be a baby anymore. He’d be… He’d be fourteen.

His sadness melted into anger. The gods have been a menace to his life, and now one has taken his son. It wasn’t enough that they’d trapped him in their barbaric world. They took his son too. He’d promised himself to live for his son. That no matter what the gods threw at him, he would not kneel to their whims. Schlatt had called him insane, that he was better off resigning himself to a pitiful life within the gods’ realm, a puppet whose purpose was to entertain them. Schlatt had nothing to live for anyway, except his alcohol. He didn’t know what it was like to be a father.

Six years. Six years of torture, of trials, of fucking betrayals. And all so he could return home to a ruined house and a missing son. The paper crumpled in his hold, forcing him to snap back to reality. It had been a short letter, written in the messy and hurried handwriting of a child. Wilbur traced what his son had scribbled out, ‘I’ll always I love Love you.’ His poor little baby.

Did Fundy think papa had abandoned him? He pressed the letter against his chest, remembering the day he’d left his son alone. It had been the first time he’d left his son alone in the house. It was supposed to be a quick trip to the village. Wilbur hadn’t known that the gods would whisk him away to a world where he would continually fight for his life, his son’s memory the only reason that he kept fighting for his survival. Now, his son was gone, whisked away by a god.

Wilbur didn’t know which god had taken his son. But he knew one person who would know.

He placed the letter inside the pocket of his pants, hesitating for a moment before letting go. Wilbur wouldn’t need to keep holding onto a piece of paper forever. He’ll find his son. He headed out of the cabin, pausing at the doorway while a memory flashed in his mind. The day he left, he crouched down so that he could be level with his son. Fundy had pouted at him, scared that his papa wouldn’t come back. Wilbur had chuckled, patting his son’s head before ruffling his hair. He had promised to be back, promised that he’d make Fundy’s favorite pancakes for dinner. Fundy had been so excited, tail wagging behind him while he told Wilbur to come home quickly. His hands shook, but Wilbur forced himself to move out of the rotting house. He had to leave.

He picked up the bags, glancing down at the toys that he’d brought with him. He had missed so many birthdays and so many Christmases. Wilbur picked a fox plushie among the pile of toys, pressing it close to his chest. Fundy would have been so happy to get so many toys. Tears began to fall down his cheeks. Fundy would get the toys, he’d make sure of it. He’ll get his son back. He’ll get his little champion back. Wilbur didn’t glance back at the house, it didn’t matter to him.

Wilbur could only hope that Phil would be able to help him.

---

General Wilbur Soot was content to stay like this forever…

A soft smile graced his lips, a hand reaching up to ruffle Fundy’s hair.

It didn’t matter to him that Fundy was pretending to not know him. All that mattered was that he’d found his little champion again. This was his second visit of the week, and though his son was jittery about his presence, Fundy had quickly warmed up at the promise of pancakes. Now here they were, in the kitchen that Fundy’s den had. Wilbur would have preferred that Fundy stay near him, that his son be safe and happy within L’Manburg. If Wilbur had to be honest, he had been hurt when his son immediately declined his offer. Then he realized why Fundy had done so.

His little champion had always been so smart. Wilbur leaned back against his seat, glancing over at the bag of toys that he’d left on the couch. Fundy had been confused by the gifts, but he hadn’t complained when Wilbur insisted that they were for him. His poor son. He hadn’t gotten a proper gift in so many years. Well, it didn’t matter now. His papa was finally back, and Wilbur would always make sure that Fundy was content and happy. He’d have to bring Fundy more food soon.

…but first, he had a war to win.

---

President Wilbur Soot knew he couldn’t let his emotions take control of him…

He watched his son run off, the fox hybrid scampering away before Wilbur could ask - demand - why Fundy didn’t want to stay in L’Manburg. Dread and betrayal stung his chest, but he quickly pushed them away. He supported and understood why Fundy didn’t want to stay with his papa.

His little champion thought his papa had abandoned him.

Wilbur sighed, turning his attention towards the blackstone walls that were built for his son.

…for he had a nation to run. But that didn’t mean that his emotions weren’t ripping at the seams.

---

The exiled ex-president Wilbur Soot had no more dreams for the future…

He laid in his father’s arms, the piercing pain in his chest turning numb while blood ran down his mouth. He could feel his father’s hand on him, pushing against the bleeding while he muttered a repeated prayer of ‘no’s.’ He shouldn’t laugh. He knew that. But he couldn’t help the weak giggling that slipped past his lips. He knew what it felt like to lose a son, why was he giving his own father the pain he felt? He shook his head, because he was a selfish bastard, that’s why.

Phil was muttering his name, begging him not to close his eyes. Wilbur closed his eyes. In his last moments, he wanted the world to melt away. He wanted it all to fade away. Wilbur basked in the darkness of near death. There was no L’Manburg. There was no Manburg. There was no Dream. There was no Schlatt. He floated in a black abyss, alone and silent. He felt his hold on the waking world begin to slip, and in the darkness, he could hear his father beg him to open his eyes. Wilbur chose death. It was time for him to leave this cruel mortal realm, for good this time.

His little cha— Fundy would be happier once Wilbur was dead.

… he’d already lost everything in the past anyway.

---

Ghostbur draped a warm blanket around his sleeping son.

They’d had a tiresome day. His little champion needed all the rest that he could get.

Ghostbur… well, he didn’t need any sleep!

He was more content to sit by his son’s side.

He’d make sure Fundy was safe and happy. Ghostbur will chase away all the nightmares.

---

The newly revived Wilbur Soot was very happy to be with his little champion again.

Sure, he wasn’t all too pleased to leave Fundy on his lonesome by the time they reached the prison, but it had been a quick prison break. Never underestimate a father who was in a hurry.

The warden never stood a chance.

Wilbur hummed along while Dream followed after him, his reluctant ally flinching the moment sunlight touched his pale and scarred skin. He didn’t quite wait for Dream, itching to get back to his son. Fundy could be so… He could be so… adventurous. By the time he and Dream returned to where Fundy was, his son was sitting underneath an oak tree, knees pressed to his chest while he stared off into the distance. Wilbur chuckled, the noise snapping Fundy awake from whatever reverie he had been in. He reached down a hand to pull his son to a stand, the fox hybrid pausing before reluctantly reaching out. His son stood up, then shrieked when he finally saw Dream.

“Now, Fundy, it’s rude to scream at others. Be nice, little champion.” Honestly, Wilbur was in limbo for only thirteen years (one year, apparently, in the mortal realm) and already his son had lost any form of manners. Then again, Ghostbur wasn’t much of a father. He had to control himself from thinking about the ghost of his old self, the same man who chose to leave his eight-year-old son alone. The same man who had taken so long to escape from the god’s grasps. He had been a weak man back then, but now he was strong enough to care for his son. He was just… eight years late. He glanced over at his son, the fox hybrid having hidden behind Wilbur’s back. Oh, well, his little champion had always been a bit too shy. Wilbur grinned, gesturing between Dream and Fundy. “Dream, this is my son Fundy. Fundy, this is Dream. He’s a friend.”

“I know who he is!” Fundy snapped. Wilbur frowned, his son was never this… snappy.

“Dream, if you excuse us for one moment. I have to speak with my son, you would understa— No, wait you wouldn’t. Sorry, forgot you were terrible with children.” The masked (well, he wasn’t wearing a mask now, and Wilbur refrained from laughing at the poor man’s plight) man didn’t say anything. He never even looked at Fundy. Good. Wilbur didn’t want Dream near his son anyway, even if they were allies. He led Fundy further away, a hand resting on his back. Fundy’s eyes were skittish, looking here and there almost like he was preparing to run. Wilbur held onto his son’s arm, pausing once they were far enough away from Dream, “Little champion, what’s wrong? Are you upset? I know it’s a lot, but I assure you, Fundy, Dream is a good ally—”

“Friends?” Fundy shook his head, disbelief in his eyes. “S-since when?”

“Dream brought me back to life, little champion.” Wilbur ruffled his son’s hair, the fox hybrid flinching before backing off. He tried not to take offense to that. “He’s the reason I’m here now.”

“... Where’s Ghostbur?”

“Does it matter? I’m here. Who cares about the ghost of a man long since dead?” He grasped his son’s shoulders, ignoring the frightened look in his eyes. Ghostbur had been a pitiful replacement of who he had been, but he had to thank the ghost. Ghostbur had spent a lot of time with Fundy, and had realized that Fundy… didn’t even know who Wilbur actually was. “I’m here now, son.”

“Stop calling me that.” Fundy muttered underneath his breath, eyes cast low to the ground. The sadness in his son’s look pulled at Wilbur’s heartstrings. “I’m not your son. You’re confused—”

“It’s alright, Fundy. We’ll get your memories back, papa promises you that.”

He pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. Fundy winced, but didn’t make a move to run away. If anything, a bright shine seemed to appear in his eyes at the promise. Wilbur grinned, of course Fundy would want to remember. His little champion would want to remember… But then… Wilbur frowned. Did he really want Fundy to remember the pain of his lonely childhood?

He held his son’s hand in his - still so small. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

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

Wilbur @ Dream: No, wait you wouldn’t. Sorry, forgot you were terrible with children.

Fundy, who is literally 21-years-old: 🧍

Also:

Me: you can't make Fundy's hands smol, he's a pianist >:( are you making his life miserable? Also me: Not in this world :p Me: aight seems legit

[ma-gic-gay]

Finally, the legal proceedings begin again, with testimony from rather dull people, if he's being honest. The jury, it's clear to him at least, is fairly calm at the moment, but there's not a chance in hell that Cyrus is getting off. Not this time. And that terrifies him.

A man with nothing to lose is a very dangerous man. A mobster with nothing to lose? Absolutely fucking terrifying.

A few hours and legal spats between Diane and Helstrom later, court is adjourned until tomorrow, at 8 am. Which, he calculates, leaves Cyrus with a fifteen hour period to cause havoc before the next day.

He sighs, "C'mon, let's get you home," to an unresponsive Carly. "Carly?"

"What?" She asks, snapping back into reality.

"What are you thinking about?" Jason asks, mind running with concern. After all, normally when she's zoning out while thinking, she's making a plan.

And the last plan she made landed them in this courtroom.

"The testimony. I mean, they're genuinely trying to make it seem like you or I would concoct some plan and lure Cyrus into raping and kidnapping me. What the hell do they think of us?" Carly asks, a single tear dripping down her face. "I mean, neither of us are perfect, I know, but to think that I'd do that- that you would do that, it's insulting!"

"They're trying to get under our skin, okay? There's proof they're lying through their teeth right now, Carly. Cyrus is a sick bastard and he's going to jail for the rest of his miserable life. You and I get to walk free while he rots. We will win this." He says, sitting back down in his chair to hug her.

Carly lets out a sad laugh, "God, I hate this."

"I do too."

"I need to get out of here," she sighs, standing up. "You coming?"

"I'm the one who's driving, of course I'm coming," he smiles, holding up the keys just above where she can reach. "Ha, very funny. You're in no shape to drive. Let's go."

"You know, if you would just let me drive, I would be a lot happier right now because I'd have something much better to do than-" Carly starts, stopping her statement suddenly as they leave the courthouse.

He surveys the area immediately, seeing not one, not two, but three armed guys who don't exactly look like cops aiming right at the pair. Fuck. His fingers play at his belt loops, but he doesn't have a gun on him today; it's a court day, why the hell would he bring a gun to a courtroom? That's just plain stupid and it's practically asking to be arrested.

His instincts kick in and he realizes they're gonna make the shot. Unlike the other (relatively shitty) gunmen, assassin's, whatever Cyrus calls them that he's sent after Jason, these ones actually look like they're capable of firing a gun correctly. And they're getting paid hinges on whether or not they hit Carly and him.

Bullets fly out of all three guns at the same time and he shoves Carly out of the way, yelling, "Run!" and ducking down himself but it's too late.

He's been shot, he can feel it as he stumbles onto the ground. His head pounds in his skull and he swears for a minute he can feel his brain. Ow. "Jason!" Carly screams and he can hear her footsteps as he tries to figure out where he's bleeding. "Get back here you sick fucks!" She screams even louder at the gunmen, which probably means they're gone. "I'm going to shoot you myself the second I lay eyes on any of you I swear to god."

Turns out they were just getting paid to shoot him. Carly was just the way they'd manage it.

That knowledge is somewhat comforting as the pain of the bullet continues to hit him in waves, coupled with that of banging his head on the ground when he fell from it. It's a very painful situation for the assassin, who can hear himself moaning in pain.

He's enveloped by a haze of blonde as she cries, pulling out her phone. "I need an ambulance immediately at the courthouse. My best friend was shot in the chest and he's got a head wound." That explains the pain; a chest bullet hurts pretty damn bad. It's not a fun thing. Hence why he doesn't normally shoot in the chest, but rather either a non lethal area or something like the head or the heart. The head wound, though, that doesn't make sense. If he's got a head wound, shouldn't he be unconscious by now? "Well I'm not exactly sure why he got shot, lady, but you better get an ambulance here before I sue this goddamn town for negligence of a shot person!"

A chuckle leaves his throat through the pain as the world starts to get fuzzy around the edges, despite his best efforts to have it not happen like that. "Jason, no, keep your eyes open! Look at me!" A frantic Carly screams, pulling what looks like a really ugly scarf out of her bag and putting it over where he assumes the bullet is. "Just keep your eyes open. Focus on me."

In the distance, he can hear an ambulance's siren. "Of course I'm doing everything I can to keep him conscious, what the hell do you take me for?" She snaps at the lady on the phone through tears. Even when she's witnessing him get shot (and possibly dying, though this isn't exactly the way he planned on dying), of course she's still fighting random people.

"Carly, stop harassing the operator," he says, though he can feel it use quite a bit of his strength as the fuzziness intensifies.

"You do not die on me, Jason Morgan, do you hear me? I am not letting you die because of me, I will not be able to live with myself if you die like this and I have to witness it. Keep your eyes open and just focus on me," Carly practically begs as the sound of the sirens intensifies. They're probably getting closer to being here, maybe even pulled into the parking lot. He can't tell.

As Carly's rambling about something, he can't hear her very coherently anymore, the world turns black around him. Vaguely, he can distinguish the sound of her sobs and the pressure of the scarf around his chest.

"Jason, please, please, please, open your eyes," Carly begs, sobs overtaking her pleas as the ambulance approaches. This isn't happening, this is a nightmare, he's not actually shot and possibly dying. Right? He's fine, right?

"Ma'am, we're going to need you to step away from him so we can do our jobs and help him live," a random paramedic instructs her, earning a scoff as she backs away a few feet.

Who the hell does he think he is, ordering her around like that? Acting like he knows a damn thing about either of them, or like he's got any authority. He could be dying right now for all she knows! "I'm riding with you in the ambulance," she declares. "And you won't be able to keep me out so don't even try to."

"You'll just be taking up space-"

"I've been in these plenty of times before. There's more than enough space and," her voice breaks, a quiet sob leaving her lips before she continues, "he has the keys."

Shaking his head at her, the paramedic signals her to get in and she does just that as Jason's loaded into the ambulance her. "Don't die," she begs quietly to the unconscious man. "Please, god, don't die. This can't be the bullet that kills you."

"Say a prayer in your head," the paramedic says to her and she snaps.

"Stop acting like you know what I'm going through. I don't care if you don't understand what's going on here but let me explain it to you: your job is to make sure my friend here doesn't die. Got it? You can give up on ordering me around any minute now because I'm not in the goddamn mood to listen to it." Carly snaps, tears of rage streaming down her face.

The rest of the ride is mainly silent, save for a few sniffles and sobs from the blonde. With her luck, someone will be at the hospital and this'll be front page news tomorrow.

When they arrive at the hospital, Portia immediately takes Jason's gurney and brings it to a trauma room with a slew of nurses behind her. At least he's getting five star treatment, she thinks, sitting down slowly in a chair.

He got shot protecting her. And now he could die because of it.

"Carly, what's going on here?" Sam asks, storming over.

"Jason," she starts, voice breaking and unsteady as she continues, "got shot outside the courthouse. They're, uh, taking a look at him right now."

"What?" Sam asks, disbelief evident in her tone. "How did he get shot?"

"We were leaving the courthouse and I was fighting with him over driving home and I noticed these three guys, they had guns aimed at us. He noticed and I was stuck there, wondering what the hell they were doing outside of the courthouse and he shoved me out of the way. But," she continues, feeling shame and dread crawl into her veins as she watches it unfold again mentally, "he was too late in saving himself. He got shot in the chest and he fell to the ground. I kept thinking to myself, I've got to save him, I've got to save him for one of the million times he's saved me, so I call an ambulance and wrap his chest in a scarf. And I was begging him to live and bickering with the operator when, suddenly, he stopped showing any response. I don't know if he's dead or alive."

Near silent sobs are all that's heard for a few minutes by either of them, both trying their best not to scream. "He could die," Sam notes, "because of you. Because he has this need to protect you, Jason could die."

"What?" Michael asks, heartbreak evident on his face and killing Carly's heart even more. "What happened to Jason?" When he's met with silence, he asks his question again, "what happened to Jason, Mom, that Sam's blaming on you?" She meets his eyes and sees that he's begging for the truth.

"He got shot." The words seem to echo more than she expects, the full weight of them only now hitting her as she sobs loudly in the middle of the hospital, not caring who hears.

To be continued later in this life.

e