#but also more importantly it would further show how far he’d fallen if he killed an ‘innocent’ person as collateral

[ocdhuacheng]

Was hoping denji would kill fumiko tho

[dameronology]

that’s all {din djarin x reader}

(i’m reposting this bc it wasn’t showing up in the tags and it was stressing me out) 

summary: you’d saved din djarin from himself before. now, with the pain of losing his kid, you’re about to do it all over again. (kinda based on find me here by hayley williams)

warnings: this is...flangst. fluff and angst. swearing. mentions of depression but it’s also a bit ✨positive✨

this is just me trying to be the emotional janitor to...that. i’ve tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible but some of the conversation might imply an afab reader but hopefully it’s vague to be completely objective!!

- jazz

anyways i know i already said it but !! spoilers !! spoilers !! spoilers !!

p.s spot the titanic reference 

Grogu was tiny but the whole he left in your lives was massive.

You always knew you were going to have to give him up - hell, that had been the job in the first place - but you hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. He wasn’t your kid but at the same he completely and entirely was. You’d never expected your first parenting experience to be with a tiny green Jedi but at the same time, you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The next few months were going to be hard; accepting that he wasn’t yours to keep and that he was in a better place was guaranteed to be a long process. It would be worth it in the end but the initial pain was bordering on unbearable.

Din was better at hiding it than you. Admittedly, he did have a thick beskar layer to shield his emotions and pain from the outside world but he couldn’t hide it from you; never from you. Even behind the metal, you could read him like a book. It was a product of spending every waking minute together (his overprotective doing, not yours) and in return, he had learnt every habit and every quirk of yours. He sometimes cursed your ability to read him, especially when it lead to you saying things like you did not just tilt your helmet at me like that, Din Djarin.

He’d been quieter in the days since Luke Skywalker had taken the kid - quieter than usual, at least. Din was already a pretty taciturn person; compared to how he was with other people, he practically spoke your ear off but since you’d landed back on Nevarro, he’d completely kept to himself. It was painful to watch, seeing him rise at the crack of dawn to take a bounty, only to return in the evening with a few more bruises than he’d had that morning. You wanted to say something to do something that would make him snap back to reality, but this was probably his grieving process and you had to respect that. Or, you had to at least try to.

That was, until, it felt like Din was killing both you and him; working himself to the point of exhaustion, barely sleeping and refusing to even acknowledge Greef or Cara. You could deal with him being angsty. You could deal with him grieving. You couldn’t, however, deal with him ignoring you. You had literally vowed to go through all your bad times together and Din Djarin was nothing if not a man of his word. He knew it. You knew it too - and you’d be damned if you’d let him forget it.

It was on a cold - at least by Nevarro standards - morning that you decided it was time to show him some tough love. The Mandalorian had decided to hole out on one of Karga’s old ships that morning, claiming that he wanted to fix it. You were no engineering genius, but given that the old jet’s wings had fallen off, you could see it was past the point of no return and that Din had just been looking for an excuse. He was good at that these days.

‘Din!’ You called. The bay doors were open, but the ship itself was dark and dusty. Tinkering, my ass. As expected, there was no reply. ‘Din! Don’t ignore me.’

Silence.

‘Please?’

You grumbled to yourself, walking further inside the dimly lit ship. Tiny specs of dust were floating in the streams of thin light, leading your path further and further towards the cockpit. Who ever it had belonged it, it pre-dated the Republic, let alone the Empire or new order. You tried to resist the urge to cough, instead choosing to focus on your mission: hunting down the Mandalorian. The tables really had turned, considering he was very rarely the prey.

‘I was talking to Karga.’ You continued - as far as you knew, you were talking to thin air, but you liked your chances. ‘He offered me a bounty puck for...Corellia, is it? For that big, bad guy we didn’t catch last year. You know the one that nearly killed me?’

There was a crash from the cockpit, and you grinned to yourself. It was a little unethical to scare the man out of hiding with your bullshit, but you were getting desperate.

‘I figured it would be good to get out a bit, try and distract myself, you know?’ You continued. ‘So I was gonna borrow a ship and head out there tomorrow-’

‘- like hell you’re doing that on your own.’  

A six foot mountain of beskar suddenly stepped out from the darkness. Normally, that would have been enough to scare anyone, but not you. You’d married that six foot mountain of beskar. That probably gave you more guts than anyone in the damn galaxy -- until they found out he wasn’t actually that terrifying. Not many people would have taken the Mandalorian seriously if they knew he enjoyed having his hair played with.

You held your hands up in the air, stretching out your fingers to show that there was no puck in sight.

‘You lied.’ Din grunted.

‘And you were ignoring me.’ You shot back. ‘’S going on?’

‘I told you. I was working on the ship-’

‘- nope.’ You cut him off. ‘Try again.’

‘Karga asked me to fix it-’

‘- Still no!’ You snapped. ‘We gonna go three for three or are you gonna finally pull your head out your ass and stop lying to me, Din?’

There wasn’t a single person in the galaxy who dared speak back to the Mandalorian - except you. That was what had made him fall for you in the first place. It was like you couldn’t even see the beskar. You’d always seen him as Din, and never as the Mandalorian, or a warrior. You’d made it clear from the day you met that you wouldn’t take any bullshit from anyone, him included, and he’d always respected that.

‘You have been holing yourself away for weeks.’ You continued. ‘I know it’s hard but you have to accept it. Grogu wasn’t ours to keep - he never was.’

Din didn’t response, instead dropping his gaze down to the floor.’

‘Hey.’ You put a finger at the base of the helmet, tilting his head back up to look at you. ‘Look at me. Talk to me.’

‘I miss him.’ He stated; short and blunt. Fitting, really. ‘And it hurts.’

‘I get that.’ You gently placed your hands on either side of his helmet, fingers splaying out over the cold metal. ‘But it’s better to hurt together. Can I?’

Din nodded, signalling that it was okay for you to take it off. You gently tugged at the helmet, momentarily breaking away from him to place it beside you. It was a relief to see his face after so many weeks of having the beskar between you; the soft brown eyes and slightly crooked smile that met you on the other side felt like home. You could have stared at him forever if the galaxy wasn’t so fucking demanding of your presence.

You’d spent far too long on the other side of the beskar, waiting for him to let you in. And now that you’d got him, now that you’d promised yourselves to one another forever? You weren’t going to let it happen again.

You gently pushed back a few tufts of brown hair, offering him a sad smile. ‘You know we made the right decision, yeah?’

He nodded, leaning into your touch as your hands carded through his hair. ‘I know.’

‘So you gotta stop beating yourself up, baby.’ You stressed. ‘Stop shutting people out - stop shutting me out. I know we don’t have the kid anymore but we are still a family.’

‘I lost the ship. I lost the kid.’ Din quietly spoke. ‘I’m just worried that-’

‘- I’m not going anywhere.’ You shook your head, knowing what he was going to say before the words even left his mouth. ‘Even if you paid me. You are stuck with me, okay? Cursed with me till the day I keel over and die.’

Finally, Din smiled. He looked you dead in the eye and he smiled, eyes creasing at the side as he peered down at you, eventually tightening his arms around your waist. He held your head to his chest, ungloved hand gently clutching you as he rested his chin on your hair. The first time he’d clung onto you like this had been after a rough mission; neither of you had been sure if he was going to make it back and when he did, the first thing he did was pull you into his arms and you stayed there for what felt like hours. That was when Din realised for the first time that he loved you - and now, after weeks of isolating himself and shutting you out, this didn’t feel completely different from that. It was just that this time, it was less of a realisation of more of a reminder.

‘I didn’t expect it to be this bad.’ Din quietly admitted.

‘I know.’ You whispered back, voice slightly muffled by his chest. ‘But pain is only temporary. Dark times pass and we’ll learn to look back on this and enjoy the memories. They won’t always be tainted.’

He’d been in a dark place when he’d met you. It was like he’d been treading water, waiting for the riptides to take him, to stake their claim and remind him of his mortality, to remind him that not even the bravest people can forfeit their ability to hurt. He tried. Maker, he had tried. The icy and emotionless impression he gave to strangers wasn’t an accident. It was a survival mechanism; a defense mechanism. One that you’d chosen to ignore. You’d saved him in every way a person could be saved.

Just as the waves were pulling him under, you’d dragged him out; dragged him to the shore and reminded him that pain was merely part of being human. Most importantly, you’d called his attention to the fact that no matter how much beskar he wore or how impenetrable he acted, that he couldn’t avoid being one. He could run away from bounty hunters and Imperials and the thousands of enemies he’d made but the fact of mortality was always hot on his tail.

Now, you were pulling him up for air all over again.

Eventually, pain stopped being a reminder of his humanity and instead, it was replaced by his love for you. His ability to feel things for you. You’d saved him then and now, you were helping him come up for air all over again. Being human didn’t always mean to hurt - it could just as much mean to love.

‘I’ve got you, okay?’ You tightened your grip on him, eyes meeting his. ‘Whatever you need.’

‘You.’ Din replied. ‘I need you. That’s all.’

a/n: ok i realised i published an identical but slightly different imagine to this in october but...clearly i have a type and that type is imagines where the mandalorian confesses that you’re the only thing he needs because i eat that shit up. consume it whole. i am telling you. i have no regrets. my content might is predictable but HELL at least u can rely on something in these wild times❤️

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Meng Yao uses his self-absorbed sociopath murderer-ness for the forces of good. (Am not anon, just also think it sounds interesting.)

It happened on the way to Langya.

Meng Yao was feeling quite good about how things had developed. After his father had cast him out, he had vowed to return and force the man to acknowledge him, to put himself in a position where everyone had ever sneered at him would be force to kiss his feet or die – everything after that had been further service to that goal.

He’d gone to Qinghe, because it was the only place that respected merit over blood; he’d found the most arrogant cultivators and allowed them to bully him, because he had learned that Nie Mingjue abhorred injustice among his own more than anything; he had cleared the battlefields and helped the commoners because Nie Mingjue had commented on it positively, suggesting correctly that it was the path to promotion, although becoming Nie Mingjue’s personal deputy had been a pleasant surprise. Rescuing Lan Xichen had been just as unexpected an accident, but a welcome one, and just as importantly, a useful one – it was easy enough to encourage the man to be the one to bring up the subject of Meng Yao returning to the Lanling Jin sect, and to arrange to be within earshot of Nie Mingjue when he did.

And now he had a letter of recommendation from Nie Mingjue himself sitting in his pouch.

Would that be enough for Jin Guangshan?

Meng Yao wasn’t sure. Nie Mingjue had let him see the letter – the usual sort of thing, from one sect leader to another, flattering him as possessing both excellent skills and virtuous conduct – and from everything he’d heard, Jin Guangshan would enjoy the feeling of snatching away a talent.

But would that be enough?

Would he need to do more? And if he did – how far would he need to go? Who would he need to crush beneath his feet to get to the top?

His thoughts were consumed by such worries, and he reached inside the pouch to pull out the so-precious recommendation letter, just to feel it – he often did it, a nervous tick that he couldn’t quite stop – and that’s why he didn’t see the rabbit darting across his feet.

He stumbled and fell, his fingers instinctively gripping the letter tight – and that’s when he noticed it.

There was a small bulge in the letter. Not much of one, just a little curve that shouldn’t be there.

At once Meng Yao dusted himself off, took himself off the main road and made himself a small fire near the stream; his mother had long ago taught him how to steam letters open in such a way that they could be closed again, seal intact and none the wiser. He hadn’t bothered before, since he’d already seen what the letter contained – or rather, he’d thought he knew what it contained.

He’d thought Nie Mingjue too straightforward to play any tricks. But, he supposed, one never really knew.

The letter unfurled itself in his hand: it was exactly the letter he had been shown, which was a relief, but hidden inside was another piece of paper, small and folded up – it would have fallen into the palm of whoever cracked the seal to open the letter. Jin Guangshan, presumably.

Meng Yao opened the additional letter.

The calligraphy was unmistakably Nie Mingjue’s, forceful and bold. The words –

We have never seen eye-to-eye, and I am aware that our alliance is only against the Wens. Despite this, I would ask that you overlook both our past enmity and the embarrassment you will undoubtedly feel at the prospect of accepting Meng Yao after what happened between you in the past. Underneath his calm demeanor, he is ruthless and vindictive, but he has chosen in spite of that to be a good man, deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

It was a good thing Meng Yao was already sitting down.

He hadn’t – he’d thought Nie Mingjue hadn’t noticed. The man disregarded most things as unimportant, never caring about people being rude or disdainful whether of Meng Yao or of himself, had believed (absurdly) that good conduct alone would be enough to shut their wretched mouths, something Meng Yao had long ago learned was not true – he’d assumed Nie Mingjue was naïve, even willfully blind; he’d thought he’d pulled the wool over his eyes, hiding his hatred underneath his smiles and even temperament, tricking him into underestimating him as he had so many others before. Even Lan Xichen, who liked him and treated him well simply because he was a good person, didn’t know what Meng Yao was really like – would never know, as far as Meng Yao was concerned.

He hadn’t realized that Nie Mingjue saw him, understood that he was full of spite and bile and grudges, and thought that he’d – what? That he’d simply chosen otherwise?

Absurd.

Who would ever choose to be good, simply for the sake of being good? What practical benefits could anyone get from that?

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

Meng Yao pressed the letter to his chest, which felt both hollow and full to overflowing at the same time; to think that Nie Mingjue, proud, defiant, unbending Nie Mingjue, Sect Leader of one of the Four Great Sects, the only one who was actually winning against the Wen sect – to think that he would humble himself to beg a favor from a man the whole world knew he despised as a craven fool.

To think he would do that for him.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

It was such a stupid thing. Pointless, worthless! Could you eat respect, if you were hungry? Would respect keep you warm at night when you were freezing? If a sword were held to your throat, could respect block it?

When the laughter of your enemies filled your ears, could the respect of a single man let you ignore it? Did it really matter so much, to have someone see you as you truly were and to still decide you were worth something?

...yes. It seemed that it did.

Meng Yao, don’t be a fool. Your plans..!

Meng Yao carefully resealed the letter, making sure the seal was intact and it looked untouched; the small note, Nie Mingjue’s heartfelt plea on his behalf, did not go back inside of it. If Nie Mingjue ever asked – and he wouldn’t, since he hadn’t told Meng Yao about the extra note to begin with – Meng Yao could always say that it simply fell out without him noticing.

The letter went back into his pouch.

The note he tucked into his robes, placing it right over his heart.

The recommendation letter would be enough, or it wouldn’t; there was no need for Nie Mingjue to lose face in front of Jin Guangshan. Meng Yao had plenty of plans on what to do if simply being a talent wasn’t good enough for his father to recognize him – there was a war on, after all, and Nie Mingjue had never hidden anything from him.

No matter what happened, he had plans.

-

Meng Yao fantasized about murdering his supervisor on a near daily basis.

Had he once complained in his heart about the Nie sect cultivators, who did little more than enjoy the momentary pleasure of being superior to someone of finer birth? Who were brutish and stubborn to the point of hard-headedness? Who thought strength of arms was the beginning and end of the Dao?

He’d rather be a menial servant for the worst of the whole lot of them rather than have to put up with another minute of him.

Petty humiliations on a daily basis – berating him for things that weren’t his fault, calling him all sorts of names, giving him the worst tasks, allowing and even encouraging the other soldiers to play pranks on him. Beatings, if he dared protest, and even when he didn’t, just to make sure he didn’t ‘forget’ his place. Taking credit for all of Meng Yao’s ideas and hard work, so that there would be no way for him to make his way up here as he had back in Qinghe – to ensure that his father could safely forget about his existence, having done the bare minimum that the respect owed to another Sect Leader required.

He’d even said – about Meng Yao’s mother –

It wouldn’t be hard, either; easy enough to do, easy enough to cover it up, and no one would ever need to know. Meng Yao had poor cultivation, having started too late to ever catch up in terms of strength, and so he had to substitute for it: aiming for quantity instead of quality, learning all the techniques he could – with his brilliant memory, seeing once was the same as learning. He knew Wen techniques, and there were Wen swords all over the battlefield; he bent over and picked one up.

Killing his superior, who would not expect it, would be as easy as flipping over his hand, and his corpse would simply be counted as another casualty of battle. Another debt due to the Wen-dogs.

There was really no reason not to – he already had plans to desert, having realized by now that he would never be able to win Jin Guangshan’s attention through honest work; his goals required that he take a different path, a riskier one, but when had he not been willing to stake it all on one throw of the dice? He could assuage his own anger, get revenge, and leave this all behind him, the whole world unknowing.

Now was the perfect chance.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

Meng Yao grimaced and threw down the sword.

Stupid: it clattered on the ground, and his superior heard it, and turned at once to scream at him, accusing him of all sorts of things – even incidentally true ones, like plotting to kill him (though he would have stabbed him from the front, not the back). As was usual, he pulled out his switch and began beating Meng Yao as he screamed, blows focused on his upper arms and chest and back where no one would see; Meng Yao would have to disrobe to show someone, and that would only lead to rumors. Bad enough that his superior claimed that he was making his way through the camp on his back; he wouldn’t let anyone else have any basis for saying the same.

Meng Yao gritted his teeth and bore with it. He’d be leaving soon enough –

There was the familiar sound of unsheathing.

So familiar, in fact, that Meng Yao’s mouth opened without his own volition, automatically saying, “Sect Leader Nie, please hold back – ”

In that first moment before he turned, he’d thought he’d mistaken one sheath for another, an old habit – a memory of better times, even – because of course it couldn’t be true, there was no way for Nie MIngjue to be here, but despite all common sense he heard that familiar voice roar, “I will not!”

There was, Meng Yao reflected, a certain joy in all those thoughts of murdering his superior, a warm glow at the thought of getting the revenge he deserved by making the man pay in blood.

Watching Nie Mingjue thoroughly beat the man for having dared lay a hand on him?

Even better.

“Sect Leader Nie, perhaps you should stop,” he finally said after a while. “He is after all the lieutenant of another sect.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m using the flat of my blade,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao had to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Sect Leader Jin,” he said, and that much he actually meant.

“I’m here to save him at his own request, he wouldn’t have the face to shame me,” Nie Mingjue said dismissively, but he did – somewhat reluctantly – stop, and allowed Meng Yao’s superior to go running; if Meng Yao hadn’t already planned to leave, he might have been concerned regarding who the man would complain to. “Meng Yao, why does your – why does Sect Leader Jin claim he doesn’t know who you are?”

Meng Yao opened his mouth, eyes flickering as he wondered what he could say that would save face all around and avoid starting a fight between Nie Mingjue, who he liked, and his father, who he still needed to one day acknowledge him – it would be a tricky tightrope.

One he never had to walk.

Nie Mingjue held up a hand, looking annoyed. “If you’re going to lie, just tell me you don’t know.”

“…I don’t know,” Meng Yao said obediently. His father preferred to pretend he didn’t exist, even though he owed Nie Mingjue more than that; admitting that, however, would be causing unnecessary trouble.

Nie Mingjue scowled. “You’re welcome to come back, if you find yourself unfulfilled here. The man I replaced you with is a – well. He’s not up to your standard.”

Meng Yao smiled. “I appreciate the offer, Sect Leader Nie, but – there’s another way, I think, to win enough merit to make my father have no choice but to see me.”

He surveyed Nie Mingjue’s expression, wondering if he would at last find disdain – but no, the man merely nodded, as if planning to force one’s own father into submission was an entirely reasonable, justified, and righteous path. Perhaps it was, if the father in question was Jin Guangshan.

“I have been studying the Wen sect’s techniques,” Meng Yao said. “I believe I can infiltrate their forces.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “You held the sword well enough to pass for a Wen,” he said, and Meng Yao hadn’t realized he’d arrived early enough to see that. “But it won’t last for very long.”

“I wouldn’t need it to,” Meng Yao explained. “My father has mistreated me, and everyone knows it – it wouldn’t be so hard to claim that I was defecting because I had had enough. Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of his enemy’s sons as a servant.”

He’d accumulated a month’s worth of bruises on his back for that very reason.

Nie Mingjue’s frown deepened. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It will help us win,” Meng Yao countered. “You know my skills, Sect Leader Nie; my memory is excellent and I’m not very noticeable – I can find plans, maps, instructions; I will find ways to send them on to the forces on our sides. You don’t have a single spy as good as I can be. Think of all the battles we can win – the lives we’ll save! Cultivators and common people both!”

“And it will win you the merit you need.”

Meng Yao nodded. That was the main point, of course; the rest was all just talk.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw worked as he thought it over. Schemes and deception were not his forte; he had spies, as did all the other Sect Leaders, and shared information with them freely, but it had never been the way he liked to do things.

Meng Yao’s heart was in his mouth as he waited for Nie Mingjue’s judgment. If it were anyone else, he would have just thanked him and bid him goodbye without sharing his plans; but Nie Mingjue had gone to Jin Guangshan and asked about him, without prompting, entirely unbidden – he would make a fuss if Meng Yao just disappeared. Better to tell him.

Better to gamble on respect.

“…Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of Sect Leader Jin’s blood in his ranks,” Nie Mingjue finally said, the words coming out slow and reluctant. “But not as much as he would enjoy having my deputy.”

Meng Yao’s eyes curved into crescents at this unexpected delight. “Sect Leader Nie, are you proposing that we have a fight?”

-

Life as Jin Guangyao was about what Meng Yao had expected it to be. Nasty, mean, vicious, underhanded…Madame Jin treated him worse than a servant; Jin Guangshan, now officially Father, gave him things to organize and slave over, and expected him to thank him for the gift; Jin Zixuan mostly looked endlessly uncomfortable about everything, but he’d clearly learned long ago how to keep his mouth shut.

It wasn’t all that different from life inside the Wen sect, Meng Yao reflected. At Wen Ruohan’s side, he’d gotten to torture people and found that he had the skills for it, although not the taste: it felt good to make his enemies scream, as good as he’d always thought it would be, but in the end it wasn’t quite as good as the feeling of Nie Mingjue trusting him enough to let him set the stage for his dramatic desertion.

It certainly wasn’t anywhere as good as the moment in the Sun-Scorching Palace when Nie Mingjue’s eyes filled with relief at the realization that Meng Yao hadn’t betrayed him after all, allowing himself to finally let that too-stiff back of his bend in the hands of Meng Yao and Lan Xichen, who had come at his word without so much as a question.

And that meant, irritatingly enough, that if Meng Yao wanted more of that good feeling, he was going to have to – to do that.

To be a good person.

To make the choices a good person would make, even if it was purely transactional on his part. Good deeds would get him praise and respect from the men he respected most, both of whom were now his sworn brothers; they might not get him anything more substantive than that, but – whatever.

He was good enough to find a way to get what he wanted even with being held back by stupid rules.

Most recently, he’d presented plans for lookout towers to Jin Guangshan, careful to do it in public so that no one could claim credit for the idea; his father wasn’t that interested, but it was enough to win him some merit among those watching, especially those small sects that usually had to deal with the more remote areas. Of course, plenty of people claimed it was a scheme for Lanling Jin to obtain personal benefits, but ironically enough Jin Guangshan’s disinterest did a great deal to reassure them.

No matter. He would make it work, given time.

Not that he had much time.

Jin Guangshan had him running around like a dog more often than not – organizing sect events, banquets and other things, writing correspondence, all the tasks of a deputy and none of the benefits. He even demanded that Meng Yao help him arrange his – entertainment.

Meng Yao’s lip curled.

If he weren’t so devoted to being a good person, he would have used the opportunity to ingratiate himself with his father – to try to earn his favor, or at least learn his secrets so as to use them later. But no. He had to be good.

There was more than one way to be good.

He didn’t wait for Madame Jin to find out about the new work he’d been assigned, as she undoubtedly would – Jin Guangshan was not subtle – but instead went to find her directly, throwing himself down at her feet. “Madame, I have wronged you,” he said, his forehead touching the ground. “Please select an appropriate punishment.”

She looked somewhat taken aback by it. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t say anything.

She frowned and gestured for one of her maids; the girl came back soon and whispered in her ear. Madame Jin scowled. “And you helped him?”

“He is my father,” Meng Yao said, not looking up.

She huffed, clearly irritated, and seemed about to start scolding, but then she gave a thoughtful hum instead.

Face hidden by the floor, Meng Yao smiled.

“You came here,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s your father – but you came here. You disapprove?”

He didn’t say anything. It’d be easier for him if she put together the pieces herself: he’d certainly been dropping hints hard enough, these past few weeks.

“Of course you would,” she continued, and yes, there it was, there she was, going down the path he wanted her to go down. “Your mother…you never stay late at the banquets where there are entertainers, or else you’re always in the kitchen, in the back, helping work on something. You never indulge yourself – I’d wager you despise them all, don’t you? Filial child…and it wasn’t as though your mother could say no, working where she did.”

His mother, when Jin Guangshan had visited her, had been a famous talent – she’d been educated, conversant in books and excelling in music. She still had her pick of clients, back then, though she’d been getting older, over twenty; she’d placed her hope on Jin Guangshan, deciding to bear his child.

Her hope had been misplaced.

“Still, it’s intolerable – for all that you’re a bastard, you’re still his blood; it’s a disgrace on the Sect’s name to be treating you like his personal procurer!”

“Madame Jin, please punish me,” Meng Yao said. “He will undoubtedly ask again; how can I say no? It’s not as though I have your power to find and punish him.”

“But you do,” she said, eyes bright as she leaned forward. “You were a spy once, weren’t you? I heard you talking about it just the other day, how you sent reports back to our side – whenever he asks this of you again, send me word at once. I will interfere, and it won’t be your fault at all.”

Good, very good. But not quite enough –

“But Madame!” he protested. “He will surely guess –”

“I’m not so foolish as to reveal it,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Though it would be better to make it rare…how about this? I’ll assign you to accompany A-Xuan. The old man wouldn’t dare ask you to do such filthy things when my A-Xuan is around!”

Perfect.

“You’re too kind, Madame Jin,” he said. He didn’t much like procuring whores for his father, that much was true, but it wasn’t what he was trying to avoid: no, what he wanted to avoid was his father’s laboratories, devoted to figuring out the Yiling Patriarch’s methods of demonic cultivation – to steal the man’s power for himself.

That, too, was something Jin Guangshan wouldn’t dare to involve him in if Jin Zixuan was around.

Though – speaking of that, he really needed to resolve the issue with Wei Wuxian. It had been rather a big fuss after he’d stolen away the Wen sect remnants; his father was campaigning to pressure the Jiang sect to eject him or else take responsibility. The other sects were watching.

Something would have to be done.

What would a good person do?

Meng Yao honestly had no idea. Perhaps this was something he could consult Lan Xichen for.

-

Meng Yao had always known that listening was the best way to get someone to talk. A face that didn’t seem to judge, a tilt of the head that suggested attention – his mother had shown him all the tricks to manipulate people.

He just hadn’t realized there were so many people willing to sign up to get manipulated.

“Perhaps it would be better if you told him,” he told Wei Wuxian gently. With Madame Jin’s help, he’d started taking regular trips away from Koi Tower; one of them had been to volunteer to accompany Lan Wangji on one of his trips to the Burial Mounds, as a favor to Lan Xichen, and this time, he’d stayed behind to have a little chat.

His father had approved the trip on the basis that he was supposed to get information from Wei Wuxian – and he was, just not the sort his father wanted.

“You don’t even know what it is,” Wei Wuxian insisted, twisting his sleeve in his hands anxiously. “It’d break his heart –”

“And your distance isn’t? Think about how he’d feel if he found at later that you were keeping a secret from him, a reason to explain everything…that’d be worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Why would he need to find out at all?”

“Because of you, of course. As long as you live, it will be his fault if something happens to you.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tensed. “His fault?”

“Naturally. Why are so many people willing to crusade against you? Shouting support no matter if they were involved or not, condemning you in vast numbers? It’s because he’s not on good terms with you, because his attitude never showed that your bond was too strong to be broken. In the end, even if the distance between you was because of your secret, don’t you think he’ll blame himself for all that happened to you?”

Wei Wuxian looked stricken.

“Whatever it is, you should tell him,” Meng Yao coaxed. “I’ve spoken with Sect Leader Jiang, you know –”

Only briefly, but if this scheme worked, he’d insist on having several talks like this. The man’s mind was a gigantic mess, and it would do him good to have someone help him put it back in order.

That’s what a good man would do.

That the shape of that order would also accrue to Meng Yao’s benefit – a pleasant side effect.

“– His words are harsh, but his confusion and pain are evident. He’s suffering every day, rebuilding that sect of his, all alone…”

Wei Wuxian jumped up. “Don’t you think I want to be there to help him?” he demanded. “But I can’t just abandon the Wens, either!”

Meng Yao opened his eyes wide. “Is that the choice?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him, his eyes narrowing – a little dangerous, but then, Meng Yao had played Wen Ruohan between his fingers. What was one Yiling Patriarch in comparison?

“Lianfeng-zun,” he said. “What are you saying? There’s another choice?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said. “My first loyalty is to my father. I’m sure you understand.”

“Your father,” Wei Wuxian mused. “Your father…his was the first voice to condemn me. And yet he’s always sniffing around my heels, demanding that I hand over my Stygian Tiger Seal…he’s not just scared of my power, is he? He wants it specifically. He wants – what does he want?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said.

“But there is something.”

Meng Yao shrugged, indicating his helplessness. “I owe my father filial loyalty,” he reminded Wei Wuxian. “But I also have a duty to the world – it’s very difficult to walk the line between one’s family and one’s conscience.”

Meng Yao didn’t actually have a conscience, but he’d heard things.

Wei Wuxian grabbed his hands. “Lianfeng-zun, I owe you for this,” he said, very seriously. “Thank you.”

And then he rushed out the door – probably headed to the Lotus Pier first, and then to Koi Tower. There were all sorts of clues left out for him to find.

The scandal when his father’s little experiments in demonic cultivation were discovered would either bring down Jin Guangshan or rehabilitate Wei Wuxian – maybe even both, and just in time for Jin Zixuan’s wedding.

Meng Yao got up with a stretch.

It was really surprisingly nice being a good person.

-

Meng Yao had always thought he would need to be at the top to be happy – that it would always boil his blood to see Jin Zixuan placed above him, through nothing more but an accident of birth.

More recently, though, he’d been rethinking his position.

“Sorry, Sect Leader,” he said, face fill of smiles – sincere, for once. “That information’s confidential. I couldn’t possibly betray your confidence by taking a look at it.”

Jin Zixuan’s glare was distinctly weakened by the giant circles under his eyes: he looked like a sleepy panda. “I know for a fact that you helped Sect Leader Nie with this sort of thing.”

Meng Yao put his hands over his heart. “I wasn’t yet aware –”

“A-Yao! Please! I don’t even care what you do with it!”

Meng Yao finally broke and laughed. “I can’t do it,” he said, and Jin Zixuan almost whined like a sad dog, “because I already did it yesterday. You just need to sign these papers and then you can go get some sleep before your baby wakes up.”

“Is there some promotion I can give you?” Jin Zixuan wondered, looking deeply relieved and already half asleep.

“I’m already your second-in-command, and I more or less run Koi Tower,” Meng Yao said. “The only thing I don’t need to do is get yelled at by people who are unhappy with my decisions, which is your job.”

“Why do I somehow feel like I got the short end of the stick?”

“No idea,” Meng Yao said blithely. “It��s your inheritance, after all.”

Their father had been dead for four months – sadly, the whole mess with demonic cultivation hadn’t done the trick, though it had effectively rehabilitated Wei Wuxian’s reputation; once he’d been cast into the same bucket as the Yiling Patriarch, it had been in Jin Guangshan’s best interest to make the entire cultivation world accept demonic cultivation as a valid, if dangerous, cultivation path.

Meng Yao had had to take other measures.

It couldn’t really be considered patricide: he’d been so understandably distraught to find out what his father had done to poor Madam Qin, and what that meant about Qin Su, all coming out right before he’d been prepared to marry her – any good person would have done as he’d done and told Qin Cangye.

It was a good thing that he hadn’t followed his initial instincts to bed Qin Su before the marriage. He’d considered it, since a pregnancy would make it impossible for Qin Cangye, that old stiff-neck, to back out at the last minute, but he’d reminded himself that a good person wouldn’t do it that way.

A good person would go to his two sworn brothers and look sad about the whole dilemma until Lan Xichen, at least, was fooled into going to offer an encouraging word.

Nie Mingjue thought Meng Yao was being especially full of shit and claimed that he would never get involved in any romantic matters whatsoever. His later invitation for Sect Leader Qin to go night-hunting with him shortly thereafter, a casual demonstration of the power behind Meng Yao, had nevertheless helped just as much than Lan Xichen’s friendly chat – the carrot and the stick.

In the end, of course, it all came to nothing marriage-wise, but it’d gotten his father out of the way, under such circumstances that made Meng Yao look good, Jin Guangshan look wretched, and put Qin Cangye deep into Meng Yao’s debt – and even got him several months of pampering by two very apologetic and sympathetic sworn brothers.

An even better result than the marriage, however sweet Qin Su had been.

Since then, he’d finally had the chance to do what he wanted, especially given how busy Jin Zixuan was busy with his new son, who had colic, and his troublesome brothers-in-law that were always visiting.

Jiang Cheng had in fact greatly benefited from his chats with Meng Yao – he’d had a lot of problems, as Meng Yao had suspected, starting with his childhood and continuing through some fairly staggeringly bad parenting choices on the part of the last generation of Jiangs, and it did him a great deal of good to have a comforting ear that could manipulate his emotions to a more even keel. His relationship with Wei Wuxian was slowly being repaired, though the latter’s new relationship with Hanguang-Jun was causing some bumps in the road, reawakening those tender feelings of jealousy and possessiveness and fear that he was once again losing his best friend.

(Lan Xichen, in contrast, had been thrilled. Apparently he’d known for years and hadn’t once let on to anyone. And something about – loquats? For once in his life, Meng Yao didn’t want to know.)

Actually, Meng Yao was more proud of the stroke of brilliance he’d had in sending Su She to be Jiang Cheng’s escort for a season – Su She had always wanted respect more than anything else, hating any and all people of higher status (most of the world, unfortunately), but being forced to listen to Jiang Cheng’s entire mess for several months was enough to make even him feel bad, no matter the difference between their positions.

He’d even finally agreed to remove the curse from Jin Zixun.

No, it was all working out very well: he had all four of the leaders of the Great Sects and the Yiling Patriarch supporting him, he could dump all the parts of being in charge that he didn’t like on Jin Zixuan’s lap, and anyone who even thought about calling him the son of a prostitute would very quickly find themselves rethinking it at the end of little Xue Chengmei’s knife or Mo Xuanyu’s teary eyes, depending on which approach they thought would be more effective.

Now that was an unlikely pair to have adopted each other as brothers: Xue Yang had been the most talented demonic cultivator in Jin Guangshan’s little nest, a twelve-year-old delinquent from Kuizhou (Wei Wuxian had thrown a fit), and Mo Xuanyu was the emotionally unstable, cowardly cutsleeve son that Jin Guangshan had brought back specifically to irritate Meng Yao. Meng Yao had deliberately forced them to share a room in the hopes that they would balance each other out, and it had worked surprisingly well.

Of course, Meng Yao still had no idea what to do with either of them, especially ever since they’d developed crushes on two travelling cultivators – apparently Xue Yang was also a cutsleeve, just much less obvious about it – but he supposed it didn’t really matter. He’d figure it out.

Eventually.

He had time - time and good company, now that the Song of Clarity was helping calm Nie Mingjue’s endless temper. Lan Xichen had promised to teach it to Meng Yao as well, so that they could play it for Nie Mingjue together, and then switch out - Meng Yao had suggested that Nie Huaisang learn it as well, both to help calm his older brother and to ensure that he would be able to calm himself in the inevitable future when his own cultivation got to be too much for him.

In the end, it seemed respect was something you could live on after all.

[meanminyxrd]

punchdrunk but it’s andreil based

hey losers i’m back with another song analysis, as always. i have a playlist for my andreil vibes if you’re curious, here it is. i actually have a lot but this one is for my slightly sad yearning andreil vibes. 

anyways, today we are covering punchdrunk by vaines. i really really enjoy this song for them and i hope i can covey it!! let’s go (:

I remember driving your car 'cause I never had one

And if I did I probably would’ve crashed it

And if I died who would’ve cared?

Maybe you would cry sometimes

Maybe you would just be fine

Because I know we weren’t in love

You just wanted to pass the time

(And that was alright)

the first line of this is pretty black and white. neil driving andrew’s car <3333 that’s it that’s the tweet. when he’s saying he’d crash one if he had his own its because he has to destroy a lot and leave stuff behind because of his past. he constantly is working to hide his past from the FBI. furthermore, he thought he was going to die for the majority of the books, and when he died, who was supposed to care? he had no one. it was this ‘me, myself, and i’ mentality because that was what kept him alive. he was constantly in danger, and when he was with andrew that’s why he made him take away the promise; he didn’t want andrew hurt because of his actions. by saying ‘maybe you would cry sometimes, maybe you would be just fine’ shows how he doesn’t think andrew actually cares ab him because 1. neil is an oblivious fuck and 2. andrew is a raging tsundere. andrew is always like ‘i dont like u’ blah blah, explaining the line ‘because i know we weren’t in love you just wanted to pass the time’ but neil was okay w it; ‘and that was alright’

I got it bad and I feel so lonely

Thought I wanted love I just wanted you

Now we’re together but you don’t even know me

But I’m stuck, what am I gonna do?

uhhh, like, poor fuckin neil man. he really had it bad for this man i really dunno how he survived when andrew was in the mental hospital HAHA. but fr he must have been so lonely, never allowing himself to make attachments, and then he makes this really skewed one with some midget maniac and then that same man goes to a hospital. that can’t have been a fun time (and it wasn’t).

‘thought i wanted love i just wanted you’, god, i love this line. remember when he looks at nicky and matt to see if he feels anything different? sees if he feels attracted to them, but he doesnt? he thinks he’s just craving affection after all this time, but no, its andrew he craves, it’s andrew he wants and chooses.

‘now we’re together but you dont even know me’ this motherfucker is living behind this silly ‘neil’ persona for a time when he’s with andrew and andrew only has this red headed man built of half truths. ‘now im stuck, what am i gonna do?’ he can’t run away like he’s used to because now he cares about andrew and he’s promised to stay.

Guess I’ll stick around

Being with you is only making me feel

Like I’m further from you then I’ve ever been

But I’m right there when you call me 'cause I’m so lonely

I don’t wanna bring it to an end

now, neil stays because he promised andrew he would, and andrew makes him feel so different and special and happy. but also while he’s with andrew he feels so far away because he isn’t being himself and andrew keeps denying whatever this,,, scuffed relationship is. but whenever andrew initiates contact, asks him yes or no, tells him to meet him somewhere or do something, neil is THERE in a heartbeat because he’s so caught up with the idea of andrew and he doesn’t want what they have to ever end even tho he’s convinced it will, one day, come to that point.

I remember feeling so young

Nothing's gonna bring me down

And if you jumped I would’ve followed

All the way down to the bottom

Better days are over now

Everything is slowing down

And you still won’t say it’s love

You just wanna pass the time

Fine

being with andrew brings him up, makes him happy, makes him FEEL something. nothing was gonna take him away from that. he would have followed andrew anywhere because he quite literally trusted andrew with his life. but the good days are over, (cut to baltimore) he’s being fucked up by his dad’s men and he thinks he’s gonna die then (cut to post baltimore) andrew does all this shit for him but STILL says he doesnt care ab neil and he just wants to pass the time. and neil is like, fine, what the fuck ever. if this is just a cheap fuck then by god im going to enjoy it while it lasts. and he’s starting to think andrew might feel *something*, but there’s no confirmation that can be seen by our lovely oblivious lil man.

Don’t stop, I know that it’s not what

I want but I need somebody to be mine

Oh god, I can’t tell you what’s up

I’m so deep in punch drunk, dumb love

I don’t ever wanna wake up

he doesnt want to be tied down. trusting someone and staying in one place for a long time? no. no way. that’s not something that neil abram josten does. he does not stay, he does not trust anyone, and by god he does NOT fall in love. but he gets to a point where he needs andrew. all he can think of in the hospital is the foxes and andrew, god, ANDREW, the prick he’s fallen in love with and can’t get out of love with. and he begs andrew to let him stay (post baltimore, hotel scene) because he NEEDS to stay, he NEEDS the foxes but more importantly he NEEDS andrew. but he’ll leave if he has to. he’ll leave if andrew asks him to because he cares more about andrew than he does himself, but he can’t explain any of this to andrew, because he’s never felt this before and he doesnt know what he’s even feeling. he just knows that somewhere along the line he fell head over heels into this situation for andrew and god he doesnt think he’ll ever be ready for it to end.

Got me brainwashed, everything is hazy

Am I killing time? Are you killin' me?

Mind games daily, why do I let you play me?

Do you get high watching me bleed?

(Now I’m bleeding out)

this part, for me, is more so a cut to the first book when andrew is just fuckin manic 24/7 because of his drugs. he drugs neil (brainwashed, hazy) and kidnaps him. neil is so stressed out by this situation that he doesn’t know who is winning in this stupid war he has with this psycho midget (am i killing time? are you killing me?). we all know andrew joseph minyard LOVES to torment neil even when shit is chill so he plays mind games with him constantly, and neil just lets it happen, because that’s who neil *is*. nathaniel wouldn’t stand for this shit, but that’s not the personality he’s portrayed and he isn’t eager to break character; not yet. and andrew always is so damn HAPPY, no matter what, bc of the drugs (again, first book for this verse). so the ‘do you get high watching me bleed?’ is like neil being like, do u really enjoy watching everyone around you hurt?? are you actually happy with all of this?

Running in circles while you hurt me, guess I deserve it

'Cause I just keep on worshiping you again and again

And I’m there when you call me 'cause I’m so– *beep*

I don’t want the misery to end

this part is a little tricky to explain canonically, i guess, but i attribute it once more to andrew denying his feelings. nora never explains it in the books, but i know from experience that this is SUCH a confusing scenario to be in. to have someone acting like they care and speaking differently. and neil must have been so confused (running in circles) but he feels he deserves it because it isnt like he’s trying to leave or anything, and he’s always there when andrew asks because like it or not, he’s attached. even tho this confusion sucks sometimes, and the whole hearted belief he has that andrew really does not care hurts beyond belief inside, he buries those feelings because he isnt ready to let andrew go.

that’s pretty much all of it; can you tell i’m obsessed with andreil?? i just love them so much. they’re so special to me. like, i dont think either of them ever saw a relationship coming; it just happened, and that’s what is so inherently beautiful to me about them. it started with a kiss, a ‘yes or no?’ and escalated from there. neil expected one day andrew was going to get bored of him, just like andrew always said he was. but he never did. he never will. 

so yeah!! hope u enjoyed xoxo see y’all soon <3

[themuzzleofnemesis]

5–Memory of Flames; Scene 2

The Muzzle of Nemesis, pages 178-193

“What—is the meaning of this!?” I demanded of Gammon, with the burning mansion in my sights. “Didn’t I ask you to wait until I arrived?”

“That’s what we were planning, but…Some of the militia men went against orders. It was hard even for me to hold them back.”

“Even so…”

--I had headed for the Dark Star Bureau after killing Tony, but it had already fallen to the militia.

Apparently they had captured Bruno. He had been brought to the militia’s main headquarters, and so was no longer at the Dark Star Bureau.

Also not at the bureau…was Gallerian. From the looks of things he had abandoned Bruno and escaped via a secret passageway.

They told me Gammon and some of the soldiers had followed after him, and so I had immediately left the building to rendezvous with them.

What I ultimately arrived at was here…Gallerian’s home—

I had asked Gammon ahead of time not to lay a hand on Gallerian.

And yet, they had already set fire to the mansion.

…According to Gammon, it was our opponent who attacked first.

“One of the soldiers suddenly caught fire. His body was consumed by blue flames.”

“Was he fired at by some fire arrow or bottle bomb?”

“…I don’t know. It didn’t look that way, at least. It was as though he’d had some spell put on him—”

…A spell, huh.

Thinking on the people Gallerian had known—my mother, and Nikolay, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if he knew how to use magic.

Mr. Ziz, currently my mask, spoke up.

<Blue flames…In the past I have seen a sorceress who could use those>

“Who?”

<Irina Clockworker. The red cat sorceress, who lived an eternity manipulating other people. As far as I know she’s the only one who can use blue fire. I don’t know how Gallerian can do it>

“Is there…a chance that this red cat lady taught it to him?”

<She’s gone now. She died long ago>

“…”

<Perhaps Gallerian has also contracted with a demon>

“Just like…me?”

<Though even if he has—you can still kill him. As long as you use that golden bullet, there’s no way you’ll lose>

Appearing to believe I was muttering to myself, Gammon peered at my face with a doubtful expression.

“—Nemesis? You alright?”

“Huh? Yeah…I was just thinking aloud. –Gallerian is inside. You’re certain of that?”

“He can’t get outside with these flames. If we leave the mansion be, eventually—”

“…That’s not good enough.”

I couldn’t just let him die without having ever confronted him.

I slowly started to walk towards the mansion.

“Hey, Nemesis! It’s too rash to go in there! Stop!”

Gammon cried out to me from behind, but I ignored him and pushed on ahead.

--As I got closer to the mansion, I could feel the temperature around me rising.

When I reached the entrance the flames were almost touching my skin.

<…Hey hey, don’t do anything excessive, Nemesis>

The moment Mr. Ziz spoke, the fire suddenly parted around me.

“Woah…So a demon can do that too.”

<You won’t die even if you’re fried to a crisp, but it’ll still take a while for you to heal, and more importantly your clothes will burn off. You don’t want to reunite with your Papa naked and charred black, do you?>

“Thanks for your concern towards my being a lady.”

Then I stepped foot in the mansion. Unlike the outside, the fire had yet to really reach the interior of the house.

I could hear someone talking from further in.

I advanced in that direction.

.

From what I could glean from the doorway, this room was the study.

Inside a single man was sitting at a desk, talking to a doll clutched in his arms.

“—The bat’s gone now.”

“…”

“Don’t worry, Papa isn’t going anywhere.”

“…”

“I wonder what kind of place hell will be.”

“…”

Is this…

So this man was my father?

This man with such girlish interests as to talk to dolls?

…The doll he was holding looked familiar.

It was that doll Mr. Ziz had taken from the ocean. They must have handed it off to him after it was recovered by PN.

“Mr. Ziz—now that I think about it, there’s something I’ve always meant to ask you.”

<What is it?>

“Why you went to such lengths to collect that doll.”

<Because that is…another “Vessel of Deadly Sin”, like Grim the End>

“Then there is…a demon inside it after all.”

<--Maybe>

Then did that mean that the “Will of the Forest” I had spoken to—was the voice of a demon?

I emptied out the cylinder of my revolver.

And in place of the regular bullets, I loaded in the golden one from my ammo case.

<Oh, you’re finally using it! That’s good. If he has a Vessel of Deadly Sin then it’s most likely that Gallerian is himself a contractor>

While listening to Mr. Ziz speak, I entered the room—gun at the ready.

“Dark Star Bureau Director Gallerian Marlon.”

When I spoke to him he finally noticed me.

“And you are…Ah yes, you’re finally here. The one who will kill me.”

Gallerian stood from his chair, boldly smiling.

While still clutching the doll.

“You’re alone. What happened to the others? Did they not come inside?”

“…I’m perfectly able to kill you on my own.”

I aimed the gun at his forehead.

Despite that, his faint smile didn’t waver.

“That’s a good gun. It smells a bit like gunpowder smoke—and blood.”

“I’ve recently used it to kill someone. Tony Ausdin…Your friend.”

“I see. So you’re the one who killed Tony. And now you’re going to put me down with that gun—”

“It’s the gun you sent to me—‘Master’.”

When I said that name to him, finally Gallerian’s expression wavered.

“…That you know that form of address—Heheh, so that’s it. You’re—‘Number 8’.”

“Yes, exactly. Nice to meet you—Though we’ll soon be parting forever.”

“I don’t understand. You were my ally, so why are you threatening me now?”

“Because you…are evil. You’ve ruined so many people just to fill your own pockets. This gun that will soon shoot you is the face of everyone’s anger—Come, repent!”

The Dark Star Bureau—the organization that managed the USE’s judicial system.

Gallerian who was the director at its top had used his position to commit evil deeds, time and time again.

His goal was to accumulate money. As long as he received a bribe he would reduce the sentencing of any sort of villain, and conversely would charge those who went against his will with false crimes to bring them down.

That wasn’t all. He would also secretly erase those who might get in his way using assassins like I had once been.

And I guess he plays with dolls at home…

I couldn’t find with a single redeeming quality.

He didn’t deserve to live.

Even if—he was my father.

“…I have one thing I want to ask you. Why did you have me made into an assassin?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Don’t try to bullshit me. I know that you run PN’s shadow organization—Pere Noel. The man Bruno always called ‘Master’…That is you, isn’t it?”

“You are correct on that. I am ‘Master’. I don’t mean to try to deceive you on that point now. But—the last member that I hired personally was ‘Number 7’, Eater.”

“…Huh?”

“To tell the truth, the only things I know about you are your codename of ‘Number 8’ and that you’re an assassin. Until just now, I mean. You were inducted as a member through Bruno’s discretion alone. He has always worked very well on my behalf, you see. I had no reason to object.  I was just grateful to him that he had obtained another asset for me.”

Gallerian hadn’t known anything?

Not even that I…was his daughter?

--So what if he didn’t. That didn’t change the fact that this man was a villain.

I didn’t come here out of a personal grudge. I was here as a mouthpiece for the world’s righteous fury.

I moved yet closer to Gallerian.

“…Select either path. Whether your brow will be shot through, or burned up in this hellfire.”

“Let me give you some advice as a judge. Don’t leave your choice of verdict up to the defendant. If you want to kill me, then you select the method yourself.”

If he had wailed and begged for his life I would have still shot him without hesitation.

But as I was growing irate at his arrogant behavior, at the same time I was beginning to have some unwelcome doubts.

Gallerian showed no sign of reflection. Even if he fell down to hell, he likely wouldn’t regret any of what he had done.

--Was I really satisfied with that?

Maybe I had wanted him to apologize to me.

For throwing away his own daughter. For making her unhappy.

But…Gallerian hadn’t known that “Number 8” was his daughter.

On the contrary, there was a possibility that he hadn’t even been told that my mother—Kayo Sudou, had given birth to a child at all.

I thought about asking him. About whether or not he knew about me…About the daughter named Nemesis.

…What would happen if I learned the answer?

We weren’t eating at some refined restaurant right now. This was a warzone, and I was pointing a gun at him.

Even if I went as his daughter in this situation—it wouldn’t gain either of us anything.

If he didn’t know, that was fine with me.

I would have Gallerian die without knowing of Nemesis.

I pulled back the firing hammer of my gun.

All I had left to do was pull the trigger.

…

But no matter how I tried I couldn’t carry out that last act.

<My my, are you hesitating at the last moment, Nemesis?> Mr. Ziz said mockingly, but I ignored him.

Yet even so he continued to speak to me.

<So then…How about this? You give him a chance for “atonement”>

Atonement?

<If he sincerely regrets his sins, then save his life>

He couldn’t seriously be suggesting that at this stage—

<Naturally, that comes with the condition that you do so right here. As long as you have my power, you will be able to slip through the flames with him. After that you should hand him over to Gammon. Even after everything’s said and done, the Tasan Party is a proper political organization. If Gallerian surrenders himself they aren’t likely to kill him then and there—the fact that they captured Bruno alive is proof enough of that>

“…”

<Whatever the case, Gallerian will be ruined…But if you want him to feel any remorse for his deeds, this option would probably be better than killing him>

In a sense, that suggestion was very appropriate for a demon to give.

It wasn’t based off of any benevolence, but rather a simple desire to see Gallerian suffer more.

But—perhaps it would be good to give him a chance, in order to make my decision.

“Gallerian—if you have any thoughts of repentance…Relinquish your fortune.”

“Oh?”

It wouldn’t be enough for him to just turn himself in. Even if the Tasan Party pardoned him, the world would most certainly still wish for his death.

In order to weaken the pressure of society against him even a little bit he would need to show some self-reflection with a tangible act.

“You stole a great deal of money and goods from people…If you promise to give it back, then I will spare your life at least.”

Gammon seemed to also want back the sword that had been stolen from him. Maybe if he learned it was in this mansion he would even move to stop it from burning down.

Gallerian had run away too readily from the Dark Star Bureau. His fortune probably wasn’t there.

Then the only other place I could think of—was his home.

“You would…spare my life?”

“Yes, Gallerian. You must have something you’ve still yet to do. If you live then maybe you’ll be able to obtain the chance to achieve it. If you die then that’s it for you!”

I tried to persuade Gallerian now in much the same way as Mr. Ziz and Gammon had done for me.

In response to their arguments, I had chosen to live.

Even Gallerian would surely—

“…My fortune—”

Yes, as long as you let it go, I will save you.

“—I won’t ever hand it over to the likes of you!” he…replied without a trace of doubt on his face.

“Everything…All of it, it’s mine! Why would I need to give anyone what I worked so hard to obtain? You lot…don’t even know why I gathered all of it in the first place!”

“…”

“And let me say up front, my fortunate isn’t even in this mansion! My precious money and items, they’re all hidden somewhere else! Somewhere you’ll never find! And if living means giving it to others, then let it sleep there for all eternity!”

“…You’re trash that can’t be helped.”

I had known it well. This man had no notion of “atonement”.

Even if he were to survive and go to prison, he would go the rest of his days without renouncing his acts.

So it’s as I thought—I had to end him here, by my own hands.

I thrust the muzzle of my gun at Gallerian’s forehead.

“Let mine and the people’s hatred wash over your body…and then sleep.”

“Oh? So, it seems you’ve chosen to kill me with the gun. …If you’re going to do it, then hurry up. You’re scaring my daughter.”

“—Your daughter?”

“Can you not see her? She’s right here.”

He looked at the doll that he was carrying.

“It’s alright, don’t be afraid.”

He patted the doll’s head.

“This young lady here only has business with your Papa. You have nothing to worry about.”

Gallerian spoke to the doll with kind eyes that he had most certainly never directed at me.

.

Could he honestly think this doll was his daughter--?

Did he think it was me?

Then…he really did know about me.

He'd thought I died.

And then went insa--

.

"--Don't worry, it'll be over soon…Michelle."

.

…

…Heh.

……Ha ha ha.

That's right.

Of course not.

Gallerian had had a daughter with his proper wife.

Her name was Michelle.

She--had been aboard the ship that I sank.

She was already gone.

.

…And yet.

You don't look at me.

Just at the doll.

You just keep looking at that dead girl.

Even though--I'm still alive, right here.

.

Hey, Father.

Look at me.

.

Look at me too.

.

--With this it's truly over.

Let's make everything end.

At some point Gallerian had quit speaking to the doll, and was gazing at my face in utter stillness.

In his eyes there was neither the affection he had directed at the doll.

Nor any fear of death.

Nor anger at me.

There was none of that.

Merely—the empty eyes of a madman.

.

"--Farewell."

You sinful “evil”.

My father.

.

I pulled the heavy trigger.

And then—the golden bullet was fired from the muzzle.

.

Ordinarily this would kill instantly, with no time for words.

But as he collapsed backwards--

He murmured in the end:

"I'm fine with this…Thank you--Nemesis."

.

………Huh?

<<prev------directory------next>>

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Spider-Gwen: Ghost Spider #4 Thoughts

 The very, very, very end of Spider-Geddon and...a surprisingly great issue!

Covering this comic is very strange for me because I’m coming at it from two places mentally speaking.

Firstly I’m jumping into the fourth and final tie in issue to an event comic having not read the prior three issues.

Secondly I’m jumping into Spider-Gwen, a series I abandoned long ago, back in volume 2 issue #10 to be precise, which was published over 2 years before this issue was. It also had an entirely different writer/artist team back then.

Frankly I picked this up purely because I knew Mayday and some RYV characters were going to be in it. In that regard the issue was rather pointless, they cameo and do little else.

However I’m actually glad I bothered with the comic all the same. I was expecting this to be fluff and filler at best. An insufferable worshipping of Gwen Stacy, as so many comics (including Spider-Gwen itself) was when Spider-Gwen got big back in 2014-2016.

To my delight that wasn’t the case.

I admit to being rather lost with some plot points such as Gwen having a symbiote (this was brought up in Spider-Geddon #2 but it was unexplained there too) and how exactly Gwen can transverse dimensions.

However the rest of the issue was mostly good. Now I read Secret Wars: Spider-Verse, Web Warriors and Spider-Geddon #0-5 but I didn’t read any other Spider-Gwen or Ghost Spider issues so to me Gwen’s sense of loss over Noir and Spidey-UK felt rather unearned and cheap. It wasn’t that I didn’t think she’s be upset over losing a comrade but the deep sense of loss and words towards little habits within their respective relationships didn’t ring true to me. However that may have come up in issues I didn’t read so I’m willing to be corrected on that.

But based upon my reading Gwen feeling as sad as she did was a bit of a stretch. I also felt the milking of Spidey-UK’s death from a reader point of view was questionable because...did anyone honestly love that character? Spider-Man Noir I can understand, he has a fanbase (and this issue hammered home how asinine a decision it was to kill him back at the start of this event) but Billy Braddock? Who cares really? He was used for some cheap pathos in Web Warriors and that was about it. Now that being said I did love the idea behind him being buried in Lady Spider’s dimension as she was English (although if memory serves that was never confirmed outright, she may have simply lived in 1800s New York). I did wonder where the Hell Lady Spider was throughout this event though.

The addressing of Noir’s death though was much more necessary and as stupid as it was to kill him I do give Marvel credit for having an issue which addresses that. His fans deserved at least that much, particularly I think the Noir/Felicia shippers who are undoubtedly out there. I also very much appreciated how May, MJ and Felicia had different reactions to his death respectively.

Another great thing was that the general addressing of grief, sadness and death in the issue felt respectful. It felt real even though as I said the specifics of Gwen’s relationship with Noir and Spidey-UK didn’t quite ring true. It’s like it would’ve been perfect dialogue and execution if used for another character’s death.  A small detail I especially  liked in this regard was Gwen’s drumming as a coping mechanism. One of my major complaints in Latour’s issues was how Gwen’s hobbies and passions were underused and underdeveloped. She was a drummer but that didn’t factor that much into the stories I read. So to see McGuire embrace that is as welcome as Miles’ artistic talents in ITSV.

Now I admit, those of you who recall my thoughts on Latour’s Spider-Gwen book might be calling me a hypocrite here. Because another of my frequent complaints was how doom and gloom and glum Gwen typically was in that series from the outset, yet here I’m praising that.

I think the distinction is this. Latour came out the gate defining Gwen as grieving and guilt ridden, reeling from a tragedy that happened an undisclosed amount of time ago (but still making with the yuks and gags). Not only was this tonal whiplash but it also was a shitty way to set up a new ongoing series. It began world building for Gwen in media-res of extenuating circumstances and circumstances which were incredibly derivative of Peter Parker.

Where McGuire succeeds in this issue is by having not only a distinctly different tragedy but also the benefit of this occurring both after Gwen’s world has been built up and in the aftermath of a huge event. It’s totally realistic and earned that there would be a mourning for fallen warriors after a war. It’d be disrespectful for that not to be the case; in fact it’s kind of disrespectful that that mourning happens in a tie-in issue not the main book!

By having this issue actually deal with the aftermath it re-contextualizes the prior issues of the event. Spider-Geddon as a whole was definitely a bloated poorly written inconsistent mess. But this issue as a coda treats it with the weight the main book never had. There is an emotional realism to the story even though we are dealing with something as wacky as inter-dimensional travel and totem vampires.

This emotional realism is pulled off so well you even feel a little something for Karn’s death, you even feel bad he died alone and so violently even though again, no one is a fan of that character. No one gives a shit about him.

Part of this realism comes from McGuire from this one issue apparently being an inherently better writer than Latour ever was, at least for Spider-Gwen. Latour in all this works I’ve read emphasises style, and wants you to ‘watch’ the story unfold rather than feel like you are right there with the characters. You can ‘see’ Spider-gwen is upset but McGuire takes you inside her head and writes her grief from the inside out. Latour might’ve used internal narration but he rarely pulled this off, probably because he was too busy making a clown show on the side with stupid ass Spider-Ham cameos, wacky humour about the Bodega Bandit or building up Evil Daredevil instead of you know, the ACTUAL main character.

His Spider-Gwen work felt a lot like watching things sort of just happened rather than experiencing things unfolding like in this issue.

What further enhances this story is the deliberate or accidental metatext behind the story. No I am not talking about how Stan Lee had recently died when the issue came out, though that did make me tear up thinking about it.

Gwen has been rebranded Ghost Spider (though her recap page doesn’t quite admit that weirdly) and this is an issue about Gwen dealing with ghosts, dealing with death, spreading the grim news as a reluctant messenger of death. That angle just works in this issue and if embraced would work brilliantly as a new element to the character to latch onto. In no small part because, as the issue itself acknowledges, Gwen Stacy’s legacy is inherently linked to death.

That might be admittedly a radical departure from the punk rock youth vibe the series began with, but not only was that rather squandered by Latour (with bullshit like Hipster Electro and Hipster Kraven the Hunter, go fuck yourself seriously!) but at the end of the day that vibe is perhaps rather...shallow...for an ongoing character...??????

Other elements of the issue I liked was the artwork. It’s not much like what Rodriguez was going, which was I admit very distinct and gave Spider-Gwen’s series a unique identity. But this art is still lovely and works very well for the subject matter. What is particularly nice was the different period outfits Gwen adopted as she made her travels through the multiverse. Also, though this isn’t strictly ‘art’ per se, the word balloons at Karn’s funeral have a cool moment where everyone speaks a salute to Karn and the combined word balloons look like a spider. That was just a cool touch.

My final note is that McGuire has one of the best Peter Parker moments I’ve seen in a long time, and considering the quality of Spencer’s run that is not damning with faint praise (as it would’ve been just over a year ago). In the scene Spider-Gwen and 616 Peter discuss Gwen needing some time off and Gwen asks if that is selfish. On the one hand this is a little bit derivative of Peter Parker, King of Guilt and Responsibility. On the other hand I guess most heroes would ask this of themselves. Peter Parker surprisingly gives a very mature answer.

Now this answer is very much in character and logical for Peter, but it’s also something too often writers neglect in favour of writing Peter in a repetitive manner that renders him a caricature. Peter acknowledges it is selfish but that that is not wrong, He says the world will always need saving but the heroes get to pick their battles and have to sometimes rest, that indeed they deserve it.

Though a mere moment in a story not about him McGuire writes a Peter Parker who truly feels like a mature adult, that feels like the Peter who is truly the sum of his experiences.

Were this teenage or college aged Peter he wouldn’t have been likely to say that. If it was friggin Slott’s Peter Parker definitely not (even though he’d have still gone to play with Miles in the park rather than do his actual job). But a Peter Parker who’s insanely experienced and knows his limits? Yes absolutely he’d know he’s entitled to down time and more importantly needs it. It’s demonstrative of how guilt is present in his character and yet is not the defining trait. Responsibility is, and there is a responsibility to himself. Spidey-UK even echoes such a sentiment earlier in the story.

So with all that said I must admit this issue was a tremendous triumph from where I’m standing, I’d recommend you read it and would go so far as to call it the best issue of Spider-Gwen I’ve ever read sans her debut.

Does it change my feelings for Spider-Geddon as a whole?

No, it still sucked and was still pointless beyond resurrecting MC2 Peter (which in my book makes it worth it, sorry Spidey Noir fans, I’m sure he’ll be back eventually) but this last issue took it out on an unquestionable high note.

[elijah-hwcng]

𝒾'𝓂 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ｃｌｅａｒｅｒ/𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝓂𝓎 𝐻𝒜𝒩𝒟𝒮 ɴᴏᴡ

╰ ☀ ✧ ˖ jeon jungkook. cismale. he/him ‖ 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕦𝕝𝕥 (ɪᴛ ɪꜱ) ‖ have you seen elijah hwang at the beach recently? i remember them being so free-spirited, but they seemed a little neglectful today. it must be tough going through such hard times at only 22. even then, they still remind me of aerosol paint, over-sized hoodies, lipsticks stains on coffee mugs, and open upright pianos.

basics

name: elijah hwang

nicknames: ellie, lijah, el

age: 22

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: he prefers not to label it, but pansexual and demiromantic is probably the best description

tldr

he’s a sweet boy, doesn’t hurt people’s feelings intentionally, but he’s a little flirty, a bit of a heartbreaker. he’s great at turning on the charm but gets flustered very easily when it’s turned back on him.

has a twin brother, daniel. his bio (and their family background!) can be found here

growing up in the shadow of his twin, elijah often acts out rebelliously for attention (and maybe just to spite his perfect police officer brother a little bit)

despite that, he does care very deeply for daniel - after all, they came from the same egg or whatever - and isn’t great at expressing it, but daniel is probably the most important person in his life

tw: drug abuse, gang violence, death

got involved with the wrong crowd shortly after high school - the whole gang, drugs, ‘bad guy, duh’ kinda shebang. he was with this gang for years, getting quite the reputation and a lot of illegal money, tangled with the wrong kind of people and relationships

he traveled a lot, but when he heard daniel and his boyfriend had been jumped, it was a little too coincidental with the gang initiation he knew was happening in the same area - the very initiation he, himself, had approved of

he has never told daniel that he feels responsible for justin’s passing, but he was so filled with guilt that he has since left the gang, lost all his assets, and now works as a stripper to pay off his debts. he has never told daniel about the gang, but he says the debts are from drugs - which isn’t a total lie

(also he’s in a band and plays the keyboard)

bio

alright buckle up lads here comes the details

like i said, family history can be found in daniel’s bio (bc i’m lazy) but - since daniel was obviously their mother, stephanie’s, favourite, elijah often felt inferior and would act out for attention. i’m talking graffiti, being noisy in class, the whole shebang

his other mother, michelle, was obviously his favourite. equally doting to both her sons, elijah adores her and was often glued to her side as a kid. the only time he would obey the rules was when she asked him to listen - if stephanie asked, he would only rebel further

growing up, he and daniel were quite close, even if he did resent his brother for being - well - perfect - but how could he begrudge him for being successful?

elijah didn’t work hard in school - it wasn’t that he couldn’t get good grades, but more that he chose not to, getting grades only good enough that he could stay on the cheerleading squad

NOW LET’S LAY DOWN THE LAW. my mans might be cismale, but he LOVES pretty things. skirts, red lipstick, DANGLY EARRINGS? fam u got it. he loves that pretty shit. cheerleading squad made him wear pants for competitions n stuff but by senior year you know my boy is strutting the hallways in that little cheerleader skirt and pretty pink lipstick. call him a girl tho? he’ll punch u. or his twin will punch u. he’s a boy, thank you very much, and he doesn’t see why boys can’t enjoy pretty skirts and make up too without having to identify as a different gender.

he loves music and art - can play many instruments, and has played the piano since he was little. music and visual arts were the only subjects in school that he excelled in because he enjoyed it so much. he wanted to go to college and study them further, but his grades just weren’t high enough

so, fresh out of high school and not really knowing what to do with his life, elijah could see his brother figuring things out and heading off to the police academy while he... still didn’t know what to do

tw: drug abuse, gang violence, death

had a party phase, hitting up every club he could with his fake ID. it was only inevitable that soon enough he’d get into drugs and - well - with drugs and beautiful men and women, it wasn’t long before elijah found himself involved in a gang with heart eyes for a woman named melanie who showed him the ropes

his role was pretty standard - using his looks and charisma, he quickly became one of their best drug dealers, did a great job swindling thousands of dollars out of other gang leaders and sugar daddies and mommies alike

elijah wasn’t big in the violence side of things, more on the deception and drugs side of it, but he knew that the gang he was in had a lot of that going on. melanie assured him he wouldn’t have to ever kill anyone and she kept to that - although whether or not she did something like that wasn’t something he ever knew. the two of them traveled a lot together with the money he’d gain from their deals, and while they were never exclusive, it was potentially the closest thing to a real relationship he’d ever had

he was in italy when he got the news from daniel, and the timing was too coincidental with the report he’d received from the newest members of the gang. melanie told him he was overreacting - “that’s life, baby boy. your brother is just fine.” - and, seeing her so flippant about it, barely caring that his own brother had been attacked, it finally clicked that his rebellious thing had gone too far, and that this life wasn’t the one for him.

elijah took the first plane back to new york because he knew daniel needed him. the guilt was driving him insane - he knew it was his fault

cradling his broken brother to his chest, elijah made a vow to himself that he could never indirectly cause this to anybody else, but more importantly, that daniel could never, ever find out his involvement with the gang that took so much from him

for the sake of his brother, who he loves so much despite his struggles to show it, he decided to drop the gang, drop the drugs, and do his best to turn it all around

falling for melanie was both a blessing and a curse - if he hadn’t fallen, he probably wouldn’t have been so heavily involved in the gang, but because she had a soft spot for him, she managed to pull some strings and let him leave the gang alive

it cost him all of the illegal fortune he’d made over the years, however, and plunged him into a heavy debt to melanie, which is now why....

𝒴𝒜 𝐵𝒪𝐼 𝐼𝒮 𝐼𝒩 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒮𝒯𝑅𝐼𝒫𝒫𝐸𝑅 𝒮𝒬𝒰𝒜𝒟

since college still wasn’t an option, and now he had experience with using his looks and charisma to swindle money, elijah figured stripping wasn’t all too different

he knows his twin would give him the money if he told him he was in debt and in need of it, but to tell him, he’d have to admit of all the illegal activity he’d been involved in and admit to his role in justin’s passing - not to mention he knows daniel would have to throw him in jail if he knew that he’d been doing more a lot more than just drug dealing

instead, he tells his brother he strips because it’s fun and to get enough money to do an entrance exam and try out the whole college thing one day and that he has a slight debt from the drugs but he’s “almost done paying it”

as well as this, elijah is the keyboardist in the band killer nuns, and is happy to at least still be doing music

he still likes to wear pretty things, although he tends to prefer jeans these days, but will still wear pretty crop tops, dangly jewelery, and make up. if he feels like dressing up, out comes the silky skirts and dresses!

(and he still graffitis his art all over buildings illegally, but he knows his twin will bail him out every time)

wanted connections

first of all, if you made it this far, congrats! let’s get to business B)

roommate; ya boy is ,, broke . he can’t always meet the rent but he doesn’t mind paying your character back in less conventional ways. he would ask his twin for money, but he doesn’t want daniel to know he’s struggling financially (taken: isaac lee)

good influence; your character knows elijah is only rebellious because he feels attention-starved - with patience and affirmation, they remind him of his favourite mother and can often convince him to tone things down

partner-in-crime; this person is a free spirit, and the two of them get into all kinds of mischief, whether it’s spray painting a building or dabbling in those drugs he decided to leave behind (taken: isaac lee) (but -- would be open to ONE more partner in crime if u rly liked the sound of it uwu)

regular client; your character knows elijah is only flirty for the money, yet finds themselves coming back every time for another taste

tutor; look... my mans out here tryna get into college. he won’t admit it but he wants to make his brother proud. help a brutha out. tutor him so he doesn’t fail his entrance exams. pls. (taken: yeri song)

gym buddy; lmao a stripper gotta stay in shape somehow man

dress up buddy/platonic wifey; note: this is a connection specifically for a female character! there is ZERO sexual desire here despite the constant “when we’re 30, we’re gonna get married and make some babies” jokes and ocassional ass-grabbing. they’re comfortable af w each other. she helps him with his make up and they go shopping together and give each other cute little fashion shows in their new pretty clothes. she’s affectionately named ‘wifey’ in his contacts list and it’s not uncommon for elijah to give her a chaste kiss in greeting and say ‘honey, i’m home’. they’ve probaly considered hooking up before but figured things would be weird and that they’re better off as friends.

hook-ups; he’s demiromantic, so he’s not gonna get a crush easily, but  he likes sex and he likes pretty people so . have at him ;)

[imaginedanganronpa]

Yandere Shuichi x Kaede continuation. Shuichi manages to find who the mastermind is and frames Kaito’s murder on them somehow. Thanks to a small motivation of Monokuma offering the killer the blackened on leaving with of another student of their choice on not getting executed with the rest. He also gets more physically affectionate with Kaede. Kaede still gives some responses. You can two different endings if Shuichi succeeds Kaede’s trapped or fails and faces his punishment while Kaede is safe.

Part 1 HERE | Part 2 HERE

Yandere!Saihara Shuichi x Kaede Akamatsu Part 3 (With Two Alternate Endings!)

Saihara panicked a bit after realizing what he had done.Now, he’s killed two people and kidnapped a girl – it seems like he’s in somedeep water now.

He managed to remain calm, still. Kaede was now unresponsive and apparently givenup.

As time passed and he was able to manipulate Kaito’s body, he’d picked up onsome suspicious behavior coming from one of his classmates in particular. 

An alarm had been going off in his head about Tsumugi Shirogane for a while now. Itwasn’t until he saw her enter the secret room Kaede had found at the start ofthis whole ordeal that he got confirmation that she had to be the Mastermind.

That’s when his plan was set into motion. 

Saihara, being a Detective that everyone trusted, was able to set up a crimescene and pin it on Tsumugi. He’d stolen strands of her hair from her pillowand other items out of her Lab that would point to her being the culprit.

Recently, Monokuma had offered a new Motive for the students – one thatcertainly intrigued Saihara.

If the Blackened got away with it, they would get to escape from this prisonwith one other student of their choice.

This seemed like the perfect opportunity for he and Kaede to have a happilyever after moment. All of the obsessing and work put into mentally breaking her would finally be pay off after all.

He’d grown more physically affectionate towards her and she finally stoppedfighting back against his advances. He no longer had to use weapons or otherthreatening means for her to reciprocate.

Saihara was able to finally hold her and grow closer, just like he wanted.Though her spirit was broken, he still received some responses here and thereregardless of how small they seemed.

Kaede would grab onto his shirt and tug on it slightly or give verbal cues backin the form if small grunts or moans. He rarely heard her beautiful voiceanymore.

But at least he had her right where he wanted her.

As the Trial creeps closer, he puts some extra restraints on the poor girl just to make sure she’ll never leave him or reveal his plans. “You don’t want anything bad to happen to you… do you?”

Kaede shakes her head and Saihara strokes her hair. “Good~” he coos methodically. When he leans in to kiss her forehead, she no longer flinches or retreats back, and simply sits there with a dead look in her eyes.

It seemed like the perfect case - there’s no way he could go wrong!

And Saihara would get to finally have the girl he was so infatuated with to himself, forever. No restrictions, and he’s already forced her into submission so that life after this Game would be easy.

It’s not like he wanted to harm her, but he couldn’t allow anyone else to have her either. He simply did what he had to do in the name of love. He wasn’t crazy, it’s just that no one had ever stolen his heart like Kaede did.

He was so beyond in love with her that he’d devote his life to proving that to the pianist and do whatever it took to keep her here, even if it meant killing Kaito and Rantaro.

And he’d continue to turn his knife on anyone that tried to take her away.

That’s why he needed to trick the others into voting for the Mastermind and finally end this Killing Game - but more importantly, live out the rest of his days with Kaede as his lover.

During the Trial, he was able to put on his mask and further convince their classmates that he was the charming Detective that they all came to trust.

After hours of debates, Monokuma finally brought the gavel down into the big, red button and announced. “It’s Voting Time!~”

Alternate Ending 1

He couldn’t believe it… Saihara watched in horror as hisname lights up on the screen above Monokuma. They had seen through his lies.

Meaning that he was going to die and leave Kaede behind. 

In the end, he wasn’t going to be able to murder whoever he pleased and treather that way, of course he’d get caught. 

“Any last words?” Monokuma giggled from his podium, glaring at the Detective. 

Saihara was unable to say anything at all. He just watched Kaede’s face as thechain wrapped around his neck. She was unresponsive, unnerved. She seemed to not befazed at all.

Maybe he had killed her soul and damaged her far worse than he originally thought. But even now, she shows no signs of loving him back.

Was it all for nothing?

He thinks he sees the slightest bit of movement come from her as she stares athim silently. While the others had a twisted look of either disappointment orhorror, her expression was blank.

Saihara was forced into facing the Punishment he likely deserved, and Kaede Akamatsu would finally be safe, but at what cost?

She was broken beyond repair. Someone she wanted to trust killed two people, one right in front of her, and kidnapped her to hold her hostage until she loved him back.

This isn’t the Saihara she knew, or thought she knew: this was a monster.

The monster that was going to finally see the justice he deserves and get put down right before their eyes. A bit of relief washed over Kaede as his terror was put to an end.

Still, she felt empathy for Saihara. Maybe it’s because he had broken her and she had become do dependent on him, she’s not sure. But at least this torment was over.

As Monokuma drags the Detective down the hall and towards his Execution, he reaches out for her. “Kaede!” he calls whilst choking, gripping the chain around his throat, “I’ll love you forever, more than anyone else ever could-”

He gets cut off as the doors slam shut forever.

Alternate Ending 2

He couldn’t believe it… the others had foolishly fallen forhis trap and blamed Tsumugi for the murder.

The court room was dead silent for a moment as they stared at the results; evenMonokuma was silent since up until now, they’d solved every case with ease.

A long, twisted grin forms on Saihara’s lips as a maniacal laugh erupts fromwithin him – he can’t help it, he was so thankful that those idiots had givenhim what he wanted. He won.

“Uh-Oh!” Monokuma cheered whilst still perched at his podium, placing his pawin front of his mouth as he giggled. “This is interesting… it seems that… youall have failed to discover the Blackened.”

Still dead silent, their faces were priceless. Saihara continued to laugh asall eyes shifted onto him. He didn’t care how angry they were because he won,and now he’d get to keep Kaede all to himself.

“How could you?!” Miu Iruma screamed, almost leaping from her spot but a chainemerged from the shadows and clamped around her neck, twisting her back. Similarchains shot out from all sides of the room, grabbing hold of all those exceptfor the Detective.

“It’s simple, really…” Saihara’s voice is dark and intimidating, “I love Kaede.I had to do it for her. You did this to yourselves!”

The girls’ expression was blank and emotionless; it seems like the reality oftheir situation was finally weighing in on her. “Monokuma?” Saihara asks whileturning towards the Bear, “Is that Motive still available?”

As if reading his mind, the chains around Kaede’s neck release her and shecollapses to the ground in defeat. 

It didn’t matter if their friends were about to die as long as he got what hewanted and can keep her to himself.

And now she was going to be trapped forever. Only God knows what Saihara is truly capable of and what he plans on doing with her after they finally escape.

On the bright side, the Killing Game was over, but is it worth it? Her friends are about to be executed and she was stuck with her captor forever. With the man who claimed he did this out of love.

Saihara was insane and unveiled his true colors before the rest of the group. He gingerly walks towards Kaede’s stand and wraps his arms around her. 

What’s the use in fighting back anymore? It was over. Her fate was sealed.

- Mod Rantaro

[pianopadawan]

Descent, A Poe x Hux Fanfiction Chapter 1

A/N: Decided to post the actual chapters on Tumblr for more convenient reading. This story is also posted on AO3.

Plot Synopsis: The collapse of the Empire brought not peace but chaos. The New Republic has given way to power lust and corruption. War wages on with rekindled desperation between the Resistance and the First Order, the spawn of the Empire turned disenchanted military branch of the Republic. A new generation must enter the battle, bound to one side or the other.

Amidst the inferno, the teenage corporal Armitage Hux is faced with unstable authority over a doomed mission. Meanwhile, the Resistance fleet’s most promising young pilot, Poe Dameron, finds himself climbing enemy ranks for the sake of a tenuous “greater cause”. In the most fortunate of cases, chance meetings in troubled times strengthen both parties. At other times, one man’s rise to fame will mark the other’s descent into madness.

Rating: Mature

Chapter 1: Miscalculations

11 ABY, Mineral Fields of Eadu

The boy’s hands tremble as his line of vision lurches forward. For a moment, he thinks the transport will surely give way, that the whole team will go crashing down, buried in a heap of scalding metal. But the moment passes, and he’s allowed another hurried breath, another heartbeat.

His console has fallen to the floor again. He feels the glare of the Commander heavy upon him as he bends over to pick up the device, mutters a quick apology and retreats back to the corner of the cockpit. The walls quake again. The commander barks out something about defending the western reaches, an order to which the rest of the crew can only respond with a few worried murmurs and snide remarks. It’s only a question of how it’ll end, how many more blows the transport will take before the legs give way.

No one dares to speak of evacuation. Better to die now than be blown to bits fleeing the battlefield or executed for desertion. This wordless resolution predated all understanding of the war and whatever trivial conclusions one drew from it.

Another blast makes the transport reel to the left before the pilot can regain balance. The boy fixes his eyes on his console, refusing to look up from the screen of expanding red. He knows his task – report back on the remaining transports and support ships, those in distress and those destroyed, whenever prompted by the Commander. It’s a simple task and one that’s become all but redundant. The commander stopped caring about the losses hours ago.

But the boy remains attentive, hoping to feel useful, hoping that surely, surely he can offer something before…

“Then, it’s hopeless!”

The entire team turns to the source of the outburst –a pallid youth with his index finger pointed accusingly at the Commander.

“Get back to your post, Ensign,” the Commander’s tone is stern as ever, but the Ensign is undeterred.

“We know it’s a lost cause without the shields,” the ensign persists. “More importantly, the Resistance knows. Why else would they target the generator?”

“The main generator went up in flames,” says the Commander. “There’s no use discussing it further. What we need now is reinforcements on the western reaches and your order is to shut your trap and get us there. Understood?”

“We aren’t going to make it there, Commander.” The transport dips forward again as if to prove the Ensign’s point. “We won’t make it much longer, but as far as the Resistance is concerned, none of that matters.”

“I don’t give a damn what matters to the Resistance scum! What matters is our task!”

“Our task is to counter the Resistance attack. They’re not after the western reaches. They’re after the weapons lab. Without the shields, the lab is an easy target.”

The boy watches the confrontation, wondering what could have kindled such impertinence. His father had been sure to instill in him a loathing for impudence (thinking about it made him wince), but that wasn’t the only lesson he’d learned. Above all, there was no excuse for accepting defeat when there was still fighting left to be done.

A heavy breath of silence passes before the transport pilot says in a quavering voice:

“If you would pardon my interruption, sir. There is a secondary shield generator that is not too far from our current position. I suspect it has already taken damage but may be salvageable with some mechanical work.”

The Commander frowns, giving the pilot a brief, impassive glance before asking:

“How far?”

“Roughly a mile,” the pilot replies. “In the Eastern Outpost. The work would have to be done manually, but the outpost’s transmission systems are down. We have no way of making contact with the technical squadron stationed there, even if they’ve managed to survive, but it is possible to get there on foot from our current coordinates.” He hesitates. “Though it would be… hazardous.”

Hazardous is an understatement. Such a task would be a suicide mission. The chances of success are too high to risk the lives of the expert crew members. Yet, the stakes are too high to discard the proposition. The boy knows this all too well. He shows no surprise when the Commander turns to him.

“Boy!” the Commander barks. “Come here. I have a job for you!”

“Take this,” the Ensign says, handing the boy a transmitter. “We’ll use it to communicate as you make your way to the outpost. Once you’re inside, the generator will be on the second floor. You’ve worked with similar generators in the past from my understanding. This should be much the same. Get there, and we’ll give you further instructions on activating the emergency shields. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a tracker built in,” the Ensign explains, indicating the transmitter. “So, we’ll be able to track your coordinates once you’ve activated the shields and give you directions back to the transport. Are we clear?”

The boy wants to scoff at the idea of a return trip. The odds of him reaching to the outpost alive, much less return to the transport in one piece, are miniscule. It’s a hopeless task and he is but a token, cast away to settle the Commander’s doubts that they’ve exhausted all options.

Pushing these thoughts aside, he responds with another sterile, “Yes, sir.”

The Ensign nods. The transport comes to a halt, and the exit ramp unfolds. A moment later, the boy finds himself standing on the slate ground, watching the transport’s towering legs stalk past him, a metallic skeleton returning to the grave.

He can see the battle unfolding above, the shadows of the TIE Fighters engaging the enemy fleet. A mile away, a squad of troopers are manning the ground artillery. A minute later, an enemy ship swoops down, blowing another cannon and its crew to pieces. The Eastern Outpost is a mile away, or so the transport pilot claimed. The boy can see its figure, peaking out on the horizon what feels like another fifty miles away.

He starts towards it.

A crash echoes across the field and out of the corner of his eye, the boy glimpses the crumpled remains of an AT-AT. Presumably it was shot down by one of the enemy ships.

He wonders about the precision of an X-Wing. He’s seen TIE Fighter models with enough precision to shoot down a single ground trooper. An eleven-year-old boy, armed with nothing but a blaster, making his way across the battlefield alone must look suspicious. Maybe that’ll be enough for the enemy fighters to target him. He orders himself not to speculate.

Soon after, he encounters another group of Stormtroopers manning an anti-aircraft cannon. A few of them turn to stare at him, before quickly returning to their work. The boy fears at first that they’ll mistake him for a deserter, but the worry soon subsides. Any deserter who would attempt to escape by running into a live warzone would be too foolish to pose a threat.

A shadow passes over him. He dives under an overturned transport seconds before the explosion, which leaves his ears ringing.

A cloud of debris rises a few feet away from where he’s crouched under the rubble. A stinging pain crawls up his leg, and he looks down to see a few streaks of blood running down his torn uniform. He tries to reorient himself, silently rehearsing his task.

Reach the Eastern Outpost.

Locate the backup generator on the second floor.

Send a transmission back to the crew on the transport…

The transmitter. He must have lost it during the explosion.

He leaves the cover of the fallen transport. After a panicked search, he glimpses a red light blinking a few paces away. He seizes the transmitter from the ground and barely has time to check whether it’s broken before he hears the whirring of a starfighter engine.

He expects another bomb. He expects this to be the one that kills him, but by some strange fate, the enemy ship passes by. Next time, he suspects he won’t be so fortunate. He’s already running out of luck. The lab, his team in the transport, the First Order is already running out of time.

He sets his gaze on the outpost and makes a mad dash towards it. He doesn’t dare to believe he’ll make it, but while he’s still alive he’s damn well going to try.

There’s more wreckage up ahead. Smoke billows from the heap of metal which appears to be the remains of a starfighter. It’s hard to tell what kind, whether it’s an enemy ship or one of the TIE Fighters, and there isn’t time to check. The unmistakable stench of burning flesh rises from the crash site.

The boy is all too familiar with the smell. He remembers long hours spent salvaging whatever was left of the fallen the morning after the battle. It was a task frequently assigned to the juvenile recruits. His father had always believed in teaching his cadets the barbarism of the enemy early on.

The boy had learned well. He thought now of the cadavers. Some of them lay scattered across the battlefield, unidentifiable limbs to fuel the crematorium’s flames. Others were left much as they’d been in life, glossy eyes half-opened, the head leering to the side as if they hadn’t had time to realize their death before it came. Those were the worst ones…

Another shadow. This time, the enemy starfighter is ablaze. It swoops above him, reeling sideways. After another heartbeat aloft, the ship plummets to the ground. Another wreckage, more smoke, more burning…

The outpost is closer now. Almost there. Slowly, the building comes into clearer focus. The vague outline of the entrance solidifies. Part of him still refuses to believe he can make it.

Just a little further. He tightens his grip on the transmitter and pushes himself to keep running.

The bomb falls between the boy and the outpost. There isn’t even time for him to lift his head to see the enemy ship race overhead before the blast flings him backwards.

The world goes black upon impact.

His eyes snap open. His ears ring worse than ever. His head feels as if it’ll burst pressing against his skull.

An excruciating jolt of pain shoots up his left arm. He turns his head towards the source.  The limb has snapped at a crooked angle above the elbow. Blood blooms from the crux of the injury, where the pale form of shattered bone juts from the skin.

At first, he can do nothing but stare, morbidly entranced by the fracture. Then, the tears blur his vision. He tells himself they’re only physical in nature, a reflex beyond his control, but that can only hold off the shame for so long.

The outpost, the generator lies twenty paces away. He’s so close.

He’d been reminded of his weakness more times than he can count. He recalls listening from behind closed doors as the High Command questioned his father.

I understand you have a son. Not of your wife – an illegitimate child? Will he be the best the Empire has to offer?

Even then, he had recognized his father’s doubts. Now, it seems the doubts were justified. Unless…

The boy leverages himself with his good arm into a sitting position. He stays like that for a few more breaths, shaking. A coughing fit racks his skinny frame. The transmitter is lying a foot away. The red light indicates that miraculously, the device is still working. The boy inches towards it, nearly falling down again as he grasps it with his right hand.

By the unknown grace that’s kept him alive thus far, he’s able to stand.

His arm shrieks as he limps towards the outpost. He’s moving slowly. Too slowly. But he’s still moving, still fighting…

He reaches the entrance to the outpost. The door is half-open, presumably jammed. The boy slips through and collapses on the floor. His broken arm jerks to the side and he bites back a cry. The tears slip down his face again. He brushes them away with a furious hand.

The building has not gone unscathed from the attack. The interior is dark, the few remaining lights flickering, dangling precariously from the ceiling. There’s no sign of the technician or security team.

Outside, the battle rages on. The ground shakes as another bomb lands. All it’ll take is for the next one to land on the outpost, and everything will be for nothing.

The boy can’t afford to think of that now. The elevator is straight ahead, its keypad still alight. He stumbles towards it, praying that it’ll work. After a few clicks on the keypad, the door opens and the boy limps inside.

The elevators opens on the second floor, revealing a long hallway. At the end is a long console with an array of glaring alarm lights. A trail of sickly white smoke rises from the corner. Collapsed over the console lies the body of a technician, her hand draped over a lever protruding from the floor. The boy feels his stomach sink.

He steps over to the console, coughing from the smoke. He fumbles for the power switch, prays that whatever damage the machine has taken isn’t irrevocable. To his relief, the lights of the main console flicker on.

“AT-AT Squadron 2406, come in,” he chokes out the words into the transmitter.

No reply.

“AT-AT Squadron 2406, come in,” he repeats.

He hears static on the other end of the line followed by muffled discourse. Then, at last, he hears the pilot’s voice come through:

“Go ahead.”

“I have located the generator,” the boy says. His arm throbs with every step. He thinks for a moment to mention his injury but dismisses the idea.

A shudder runs through the outpost. The boy glances upwards, half-expecting the roof to cave in.

“There is a K9 Reactive Switch near the base of the console,” the pilot says. “Do you see it?”

Leaning one hand on the console for support, the boy searches for the reactive switch, praying that he’ll remember his previous work on the generators at the academy. Another rush of pain ripples from his wound. It takes all his willpower to keep from screaming.

The corpse’s hand is resting on the reactive switch. The sight of it is enough to make his blood freeze. Before he can deliberate the spectacle further, the boy reaches out and moves the hand aside. The corpse’s arm falls back and the rest of the body rolls onto the floor with a hollow thud.

Don’t look at it, a voice inside him snaps. Focus. You’re burning time.

“Affirmative,” the boy speaks into the transmitter. “I see it.”

“Power it on,” the pilot directs him. “This will begin the reset sequence which will deauthorize the main generator and begin activation of the shields from the secondary generator. Once the shields are up…”

The pilot’s voice trails off. Someone is shouting in the background. The dreadful creaking sound of two hundred tons of steel plummeting to the ground blurs into static, and the boy is left alone.

He’s learned to suppress grief before. He’s watched the best officers usurp grief with cold acceptance. Efficiency, some would call it.

You’re burning time, the voice berates him. Wasteful. Wasteful…

He turns back to the reactive switch. It looks more like a misshapen bar than a switch and only twitches when he presses it.

Wasteful and weak.

The boy tries again, pushing harder this time. The switch shifts almost imperceptibly.

Weak. Always weak. I see my faith was misplaced.

His right arm trembles as he forces the toggle again, pushing all his weight downward. The ground rumbles again and he knows time is running thin. Drops of blood fall onto the console, mingling with his sweat. His head is throbbing, pleading for him to rest. He clenches the switch again and channels the last of his strength into the motion.

The switch clicks as it moves down to the active position. The console blinks and the monitor buzzes to life. A message appears on the screen: Beginning generator reset sequence. Transferring shield source to secondary generator.

Armitage Hux reads the notices of his achievement and manages a thin smile. Then, agony obscures his vision and he crumples to the floor.

Medical Bay of the Star Destroyer, The Herald

Commandant Brendol Hux strides into the medical bay. One hand rests on the grip of his blaster. The other is clenched into a fist.

The reports are still not entirely clear, but he’s heard enough to draw his own bitter conclusions.

At 11:26 on Eadu, AT-AT Squadron 2406 was hit by a T-85 Resistance X-Wing starfighter. The transport subsequently collapsed.

At 21:40, following the battle, AT-AT 2406 was located. The coordinates of the wreckage were recorded along with a body count of 21, accounting for the entire crew with the exception of the crew’s junior technician, Armitage Hux.

At 1:00 the following day, Search and Rescue Squad R86 located Armitage Hux on the second floor of the Eastern Outpost. On-site medics reported multiple tertiary blast injuries, including an open fracture in the boy’s left arm. He was transferred to the emergency medical bay aboard the Star Destroyer “The Herald” for treatment.

From what he’s heard, the boy’s condition is still precarious. Brendol doesn’t have time to dwell on uncertainties. What he does know for certain is that there are limited reasons why a cadet should be found nearly a mile away from his crew.

He’s dealt with deserters before. The punishment for desertion is clear in the First Order legal code. Still, Brendol has never been one to believe in drawn-out court procedures culminating months later in a death sentence. He values efficiency too dearly.

“Commandant Hux,” an older woman in a white uniform greets him at the door. “We’ve been expecting you, sir. I’ve been charged with overseeing your son’s treatment.”

“Where is he?” Brendol demands.

“Right this way,” the doctor replies.

She leads him into a long room lined with rows of cots. A medical droid zips past them carrying a basin, the contents of which lets off a foul odor. Several of the cots are obscured by curtains, through which the silhouettes of the doctors are vaguely discernable.

“He has an open fracture in his left arm, slightly above the elbow,” says the doctor. “We suspect it’s from a blast injury, judging from the shrapnel cuts. The cuts have been sanitized and bound with a bacta patch. As for the arm, we’ve completed our initial evaluation and bound the wound with antibiotic bacta beads. Since Armitage is not yet of consenting age, we’ll need your authorization for further surgery.”

Brendol says nothing in reply. He’s never been fond of too much chatter. He makes a mental note to comment on unprofessional behavior to the medical bay’s supervisor.

“Regarding his injuries,” the doctor continues, undeterred by the Commandant’s glower. “The footage is even more unbelievable. It’s a miracle alone that he survived the journey from the transport to the outpost, much less do what he did. I could hardly believe it until I saw the footage my…”

“What footage?” the Commandant interjects.

“Oh.” The doctor furrows her brow. “My apologies, sir. I thought you had heard. They recovered footage from the security tapes in the outpost. Apparently, some of the cameras were undamaged during the attack.”

“No,” Brendol says through gritted teeth. “I was not notified.”

As if the rumors alone wouldn’t be bad enough, there was now footage of the boy’s escape. At least, he can deal with the boy now before the situation escalates further. He tightens his grip on his blaster.

“There’s been talk around the Herald about your son,” Zan continues. “He’s younger than the typical age for any position of authority, but some of the officers here have taken interest in him. They saw the footage of him resetting the system to regenerate the shields and were rightfully impressed.”

“He did what?”

The Commandant stops dead in his tracks. The doctor stares at him worriedly.

“Is everything alright, sir?” she asks.

“I was not aware that my son was responsible for reactivating the shields,” Brendol says at length.

“Oh, my apologies again, sir,” the doctor replies hurriedly. “I… I had thought you’d seen the footage.”

“I will be sure to speak with the transmission team on the frequency of their reports,” is all Brendol can think to say. He lets his hand fall from his blaster.

They continue ahead. The doctor pauses next to one of the cots and draws back the curtain. Armitage is lying on the bed, his breathing shallow but steady. He appears to be unconscious. His head is turned to the side, revealing the ghost of a bruise which the doctors wrote off as “light tertiary blast trauma”.

Brendol gives a quick glance at the fracture and frowns at the grotesque angle the boy’s arm forms against the binding. Looking at the skinny child before him, Brendol still has his doubts about the footage. Yet, he can’t help but wonder if, for the past eleven years, he’s miscalculated the boy’s potential.

There are few things Brendol Hux despises more than miscalculations.

“Take care of him.” The indifference in the commandant’s voice strikes discord with the words. “Take care of him. I’ll be back.”

He turns to leave, but the doctor raises a hand to stop him.

“Excuse me, sir,” she says. “We need your authorization for the surgery. If you would like a detailed overview of the procedure, I would be happy to…”

“Have the required forms sent to my office,” Brendol says. “I will sign them by tonight.”

With that, the Commandant turns the corner and stalks off towards the exit. Hearing his father’s retreating footsteps, Armitage stirs. The doctor nearly calls the Commandant back before she thinks better of it.

The boy rolls his head to the other side and winces as his broken arm shifts. He’s wide awake. He’s been awake the entire time, and they both know it.

The doctor considers asking how he’s feeling, but figures the question is rhetorical. Besides, Armitage has not proven particularly fond of conversation thus far in his stay, not that anyone can blame him.

“Your father was just here,” the doctor remarks.

The boy gives no reply. The doctor purses her lips and decides not to pursue the subject further.

“It’s getting late,” she says. “We’d like you to try to get some sleep. I can give you one more dose of painkillers for the night. Would you prefer I give it to you now?”

Armitage nods. After administering the injection, the doctor leaves. The lights go out shortly afterwards.

The painkillers’ effects are swift. Soon, the agonizing pulses around the fracture are numbed to a dull ache. Armitage exhales heavily and gazes at the ceiling. The spectral hands of the battlefield reach back at him, claiming his thoughts with the cacophony of falling bombs and screeching engines.

He lays like that, haunted in silence for the rest of the night.

Next Chapter

[narcissuslies--archive-blog]

NAME: "Rhys Chase” AGE: 26 ( Month Day, 1991 ) GENDER + SEXUALITY: Cis Male ( he/him/his ) + Pansexual AFFILIATION: Old Olympus OCCUPATION: Con Artist FACECLAIM: Sean O’Pry

BIOGRAPHY:

His life began at thirteen in a 7/11 restroom. A stolen razor held to his scalp, he ignores every dark lock of his past falling unceremoniously into the sink. The new face in the mirror is longer recognizable, but more importantly it’s still handsome. Within minutes, he’s killed the runaway boy on the missing child posters. Paranoid and careful, he leaves the gas station void of any trace of him, looking cleaner than it was when he arrived. His head feels lighter and his pockets heavy, though they carry nothing more than a few bus tokens and a stack of fake IDs. For now, this is more than enough.

His life began at thirteen, and anything that happened prior is irrelevant. It’s a story he’s erased from history, because it’s a tale that isn’t worth telling. Besides, there are so many better, more interesting legends he’s created himself. There’s Ashley Montgomery, the southern socialite who was disowned from his family after having an illicit affair with a Senator’s son. There’s Keir Ashwood, the illegitimate child of a 27 Club member who is haunted by his father’s tragic legacy. There’s Jay Amory, whose origins were ripped straight out of two F. Scott Fitzgerald novels, but no one’s been smart enough to catch on yet.

The first story is about Cecil Alister, a fresh faced fortune teller who made himself a home out of a traveling circus. His mother was the North Star, his father was the Man In The Moon, and every night they would show him the future in his dreams. Wide-eyed chumps willingly handed the boy their cash just to get a glimpse of those visions, and even skeptics couldn’t help but be enchanted by the mystic aura he was cloaked in. Never mind that he bought his tarot cards from Barnes & Noble or that his predictions were more fantastical than accurate, because how could someone with such a pretty face have anything less than good intentions?

Like the rest of the troupe, he was a performer getting paid to entertain, though it was not the money that kept him around, but the attention. People were literally paying to hear him speak, and it was inside that candle-lit tent where he mastered the art of telling stories - a much prettier word for his nicely-worded lies. Even though the crystal ball he peered into wasn’t made of real crystal, even though he could not read the tarot cards in his hands, people still believed everything that came out of his mouth. His looks drew them in, but his words were what made them draw out their wallets.

Outside the tent, he learned a handful of other useful skills in every city they passed through. In Milwaukee, he’d aptly watch every single one the escape artist’s performances until he learned how to pick locks himself. In Taos, the contortionist taught him how to quickly break into any car in under ten minutes. In San Jose, he finally nicked the magician’s wallet after suffering months of her sleight-of-hand pickpocketing. It was after he learned every secret behind their tricks did he become disillusioned by the manufactured magic of the circus. In his boredom, he killed Cecil Alister, and abandoned the life he’d spent two years creating.

The lifespans grew shorter with each persona, though the ending was usually the same. His attention was always set on the next interesting subject, resulting in him quickly shedding his old skin and adopting a new one. He created and destroyed these characters so quickly there was hardly anytime to mourn them. After several years and several aliases, he became more comfortable behind a carefully constructed mask than he ever did when he showed his true colors. He became a doctor, a scientist, an entrepreneur, a professor, and made a profit off of every fib he told. It’s much easier to be dishonest, to weave tales of deceit, to bury the truth beneath a pile of lies. It gives him control over the story, grants him the upper hand, and leave him with a clean escape.

He likes to think that even without his sharp tongue, he could get by just as far with a smile. It was almost unfair how many advantages he was given in life, but he wasn’t complaining. His looks are a weapon to be utilized, as well as something to take pride in. He can count on one hand the number of people who haven’t fallen for his glamour, but why would he bother? He doesn’t care for those who don’t care for him. A seductive tale and clever lines can take a man far, but an attractive face can take him even further.

There is only one other person in the world who is his equal in beauty and charm, though he will never admit it out loud. Not many people know about the six-year-old girl in New Mexico, who possesses his smile and his eyes but not his last name. She is nothing more than an accident, her mother is nothing more than a past dalliance, and he is nothing more than a ghost. And yet, he’s completely enamored, and has thrown out every rule just for her. He begs her mother for visitation rights, for a phone call, for a picture of a girl he has no right to call his own. He sends her letters and birthday cards, from various addresses and names across the globe. She’s the only person he’s ever cared for, and ironically she’s the only person who wants nothing to do with him. The child has spoken to him only once, her voice so enchanting and not unlike his own, and he can never forget her words no matter how hard he tries: “Leave me alone. I don’t like you. You are not my dad.”

His last creation was Silas Hale, a lawyer who flew into New York in order to offer Mount Olympus his legal services (and snag a few nights in the Presidential Suite). He didn’t think anything of it when he pick-pocketed that old man’s wallet, only later realizing who Harvey Johnson was when he got caught trying to flee his empire. But he did not fear the titan, and was instead confounded by how one man managed to see through his multiple façade. Cronus also saw the potential he held, and sought to utilize those lies and that pretty face for his own gains. So an offer was made: join Old Olympus, and obtain all the power and money he’s desired in exchange for his loyalty.

Rhys Chase was born from this pact, after Cronus asked him for his real name. For a moment, he’d forgotten the title he’d been granted at birth; it was so many lives ago, and that thirteen year old boy died with his name. So he fished out a new one and presented it on a silver platter, his accompanied handshake so confident and firm that he had to be telling the truth. If Harvey had any doubts about believing him, he didn’t show it. After all, he was good at what he did, and in the end greed always won out.

[my-mystic-messenger]

Can you write a NSFW fic about MC being married to saeyoung but has an affair with saeran ? Like she loves them both and they also loves her too. How would saeran react when she kiss him for the first time when saeyoung wasn't around ? You can just ignore this if you're not comfortable writing this ^^

Are you kidding me? I am the type ofperson who’d happily ditch Saeyoung for his brother. Let’s dothis!

Fandom: Mystic MessengerRating: ExplicitWarnings: Cheating (?)Categories: F/MRelationships: MC x Saeyoun & MC x Seven (kinda)Word count: 3800

Despite having been the first one to lay my eyes on her,I never really saw her. Back then I’d been under Rika’sleadership, following her every word, obeying to her every command.There had been nothing in the world but her. She’d been my savour,the one that had shown me the light in all the darkness I’d falleninto. So when she’d send me out to find her another pawn to use forher big game of chess, I’d happily obliged. As long as it brought hera step closer to fulfilling her life wish, I would have done anythingfor her. I really thought I loved her, back then. That was, untilsomeone stepped into my life that taught me what love evenmeant.When I’d picked MC it hadn’t been because of any kindof personal preference. She’d been family-less, which meant that noone would miss her, between jobs and most importantly she’d shownkindness in different sorts of situations, which was necessary forwhat Rika had planned. In that moment, she’d been nothing but afaceless pawn to me. She just made it so easy, walking right into thetrap that I’d constructed for her. I watched her answer the messagesas I wrote them, following her through the streets and to Rika’s oldapartment. I knew it had surveillance cameras in it, which meant Icouldn’t just break in and steal the documents myself. A kind littlegirl, however, merely returning a phone would not pose athreat.What I hadn’t expected, over the course of spying onher, tormenting my brother and his little friends group, was that I’dgrow attached. Rika had given me a time limit to retrieve theinformation she needed, told me to blow the building up, if it tooktoo long. After all, she didn’t actually want the girl to use thatinformation for herself an the RFA. I wanted to obey, but anotherpart of me simply refused. I was torn, painfully so. It was agony andI found myself letting it out on her. I threatened her, came toattack her, texted her when I knew she was most vulnerable; all byherself in an unfamiliar apartment in the middle of the night. All ofit just to get a reaction out of her, make her suffer like she wasmaking me suffer.

Nothing worked. It was infuriating. Shemerely texted back before returning to the bed. MC didn’t seemdistressed nor scared. Even when I tried to kidnap her she’d merelybitten me and run off. Later on she’d been the one to help my brothersave me, despite everything I’d done to her, and even went as far asto tend to my wounds immediately and without hesitation. She didn’tflinch away from my touch and when I’d broken down MC hadn’thesitated to hug me, reassure me that all of this wasn’t my fault,that I wasn’t crazy nor broken. I hadn’t been hugged like that inyears and with every touch of hers, I felt myself giving in to thosenew feelings bubbling inside of me. I dare say it was that moment Istarted loving her.

Once my brother had forced me to live withhim after said incident things quickly started to change. It wasn’teasy to begin with; my nightmares were keeping me awake and Saeyoungdidn’t really know how to help me. He knew all that was electronicbut lacked in the human department. It was fine though, for thebetter part, as I’d finally been freed from the dark clutches of adevilish mistress only to reunite with my brother. I was happy to bealive, to be able to dream and have nightmares at all. Saeyoungdidn’t seem satisfied though and that is when things becamecomplicated. As it turned out, my brothers solution to everythingcompassion and emotion related was her. That day, she moved in withus.

I kept my distance for a long time. Notbecause I wanted to give them and their new, blossoming relationshipspace, but because I didn’t like having her around back then. I toldmyself it was jealousy, making me feel that way. I didn’t want toshare the brother I’d only just gotten back. In reality, I didn’ttrust myself enough not to betray that very same brother. I hatedseeing them together, catching glimpses of shared laughter and stolenkisses in the morning. My heart would ache in ways I’d never uteexperienced before and my entire day would feel just a little darker.Those feelings made me feel sick, for more than one reason. Notadmitting the truth to a friend, can be painfully hard. Not wantingto admit the truth to yourself, however, was simply excruciating. 

Weeks passed like that; me watching mybrother fall more and more in love with the first woman I’ve everfelt a connection to. The one that every night would sit beside meand hold me as a shook with the nightmare still ringing within me. MCnever spoke during those, as it was not necessary. In fact, we didn’texchange many words over the weeks in general, which is not to say wedidn’t connect on a deeper level. I am a firm believer that actionsspeak louder than words and her actions spoke only for her. MC’skindness and compassion allowed me to finally come out of my shell.She never pushed, allowed me to take things one step at a time andjust like that I fell in love with a woman – the first woman I everfelt connected to – and I was not even allowed to pursue her. Oneweek later Saeyound asker for her hand in marriage. She said yes. Anhour later he asked me to be his best man. I said yes. One and thesame word spoken from two mouths and it had shattered my entire worldin minutes.

The next months passed in a blur. Somuch so I recall very little of them. There was a lot of planninginvolved, cheerful people congratulating the happy couple and a lotof swallowed down bitterness on my part. Luckily, since I was stillconsidered traumatized, people hadn’t expected me to smile or cheertoo much, which had been a blessing in disguise. When I stood besidemy brother at the altar and saw MC walk down the isle she took mybreath away. That is one of the most vivid memories I can recall. Iremember a tear rolling down my cheek as they’d said their finalsvows and how people had later on told me I was such a sweet andloving brother to be so happy for Saeyoung that I myself cried. Ihadn’t bothered to correct them.

People always tell you that time healsall wounds, that you move on and leave the pain behind eventually,right? Well, that is a lie. I never moved on and my wounds neverhealed. No matter how much I tried, I found myself falling deeperinto a pit of resentment. Myself, for having been to slow. Her, forhaving made me fall in love. My brother, because he’d taken the onething I ever desired before me. For a long time I forced myself toendure. I’d missed out on more than half a decade worth of ‘specialmoments’ with my brother and I wanted those back. Reality doesn’twork like that though. You can’t catch up with time and you can’toutrun it either. What’s past is past and there is no getting itback. It took me a long time of suffering through shared breakfastsand cuddling on the couch to understand that. 

The brother I’donce known was gone. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t the brother heonce knew either and yet he took me in. Still, I found myself achingfor freedom. I’d been locked inside and unhappy for long enough. Icouldn’t watch them any longer as it killed a little more with everyinstance. One night, I decided to sneak out. I still had the code toRika’s old apartment and since the party was months away, MC rarelyused it. I didn’t have many belongings, so packing my stuff andleaving wasn’t hard nor dramatic. It was silent and unnoticed. Muchlike me, I suppose. What I hadn’t expected was a knock on the door ofRika’s apartment mere two hours later. I’d just taken care of thecamera, reprogramming it so it would show an old image of an emptyroom, as turning it off completely would raise suspicion.

I’d sighed then, already preparing forSaeyoung to give me a long, big brother and protector speech and dragme bag home. Instead I was met with big, teary eyes and a quiveringlip before a pair of gentle arms wrapped around my neck, holding meclose. I froze, surprised to see MC standing in front of me. However,I couldn’t resists the warmth for long, hesitantly wrapping my armsaround her slender frame, burying my face in her soft hair. Shesmelled so good, I never wanted to let go of her. Sadly, thatdecision was taken from me as she untangled herself from me, takingmy wrist and pulling me along as she began taking steps back, tellingme to come back home. I’d closed my eyes with a long sigh, pullingback my arm and letting it fall to my side.

“I can’t…”, I’d merely said asexplaining further would only worsen things. “I’ll be staying here,if that is alright with you.” I leaned against the open door,resting my forehead against the cold surface to calm my nerves. Sheneeded to leave or I’d find myself doing something I’d regret for therest of my life soon, I’d known even back then. I’d been tired, sadand vulnerable and she’d been my salvation. Self control had neverbeen my strong suit and she’d been testing it in that particularmoment. “It’s not alright with me”, she’d replied, voice highpitched and obviously upset. I’d never quite seen her like thatbefore. “You belong home with Seven. And me.”

Now that had gotten my attention. Whyhad she sounded so upset, so lonely as she’d spoken those words?She’d stepped closer again, reached out for grip the front of myshirt before closing the distance between us once more to bury herface in my chest, still holding onto me so delicately. “Pleasedon’t leave”, she’d sobbed and it had broken my heart and yet Icouldn’t help but be greedy with her, be selfish. “Why?” What didI want to hear? The truth that would hurt or a lie that would make mehappy?

“Because you always wake up aroundthree in the morning, so I usually get up earlier so I can wait foryou. That way you don’t have to be alone after yournightmares. That wayI can instantly wrap you in a blanket and keep you warm and safe buttonight…tonight you weren’t there and you weren’t in your room andMint Eye doesn’t exist anymore so I figured you were here and ohSaeran, I was so scared something had happened to you. How can you dothis to me?”

How indeed? In that moment I hadn’tbeen so sure myself. How had I gathered the strength to go, do theright thing, when the forbidden fruit was the sweetest. I wanted herso much my body was tearing from the inside out not to crave intothose desires. She was my brothers wife. Even without the rules ofMint Eye to guide me, I knew very well that desiring her, let aloneacting out on such thoughts, was great sin. I could not do that. Notbecause of myself, I would have gladly burned in hell for the chanceto give myself fully to MC, but because of her. She was an angel thatwalked earth and had to return to heaven some day, I was sure ofit.

“Why aren’t you answering me”, she cried, the firsttear running down her cheek. It made me want to kneel before her, begfor forgiveness. I couldn’t though. I knew it would be more hurtfulto admit to my shameful feelings than to let her cry it out. “Don’twe matter to you at all?” I found myself stepping forward, cuppingher face and brushing over her rosy, wet cheeks to wipe away thetears. “You’re all that matters to me.” The words had beenout of my mouth before I’d even registered them and it was too lateto take them back.

I’d sighed, shoulders slumping as Istepped away from her again, eyes closed as if it would make this allgo away somehow. “Please, MC, just go and -”, the rest of thesentence was silenced by her warm lips pressing against mine. Thekiss had come as such a shock, for the first couple of seconds Ihadn’t been able to return it. Once my brain had caught up though,all resistance inside of me had melted away and my arms had foundtheir way around the MC’s body. We held onto each other like ourlives depended on it and yet as if the other was the most delicatething in the entire world.

We hadn’t had sex that night. Insteadwe’d found our way to the bed, lying beside one another as we kissedand touched and explored without fully crossing the line that couldnever be uncrossed once passed. We’d both been aware that there wouldbe no going back from that moment on. This thing between us, whateverit might have been at the time, it was too intense and all consumingto ignore. It was merely a matter of time until we would give inentirely. That night marked the beginning of our intimaterelationship, which, despite all odds, was still going strong in thisvery moment, almost a year after our first kiss.

I hold her inmy arms, a peaceful, undisturbed and unrushed moment between just thetwo of us. Over the past couple of weeks those have become rare, asmy brother seems to be circling her like a hawk would his pray. Idon’t think he suspects anything, but we both know that in asituation like ours, it is much better to be safe than sorry. Ournaked bodies are interlaced below the warm covers. Her head isresting on my bare chest, listening to my heartbeat as she alwaysdoes after we make love. When I asked her once, what it was thatfascinated her so much about it, she’d replied with telling me thather power over my heart made her happy. It beat faster when sheexcited me and slowed to blissful relaxation whenever we held ontoone another like this. My heart truly was hers.With an armwrapped around her I held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead,smiling to myself. “What is on your mind, love”, she asked,looking up at me with those innocent eyes. “You.” A simple yetfully honest answer. It was always her. It always would be. MCchuckled at my words, the sound that moved my heart to this day.“Other than me, silly. It’s always me when I ask.” I smirk downat her, brighter even. “Us. You and me”, I reply then. “Really?What is it that you think about then, when you think about us? Is itsomething nice? Something happy?” I nod. “I think about usrunning away. Far, far away where no one can find us ever again. Justyou and me. I think about asking you to marry me and how you’d sayyes. How we’d start a life together somewhere, maybe a family.”It’snot the first time we indulge in such fantasies. In a relationshiplike ours, fantasies are all we’ll ever have. What if’s are probablythe worst thing to ever cross a humans mind, and yet they were all wehad, so we made the best out of it, as we dreamed about those thingstogether. It wasn’t like we didn’t love each other enough to gothrough with it. We’d both agreed that it was an option. But MC lovedmy brother and I both and so did I. I could not betray him like that,steal away his loving bride and she could not abandon her best friendand husband. It was complicated, messy and hurtful, but we made itwork.

Suddenly she’s moving under the covers,climbing on top of me. Her hands are resting on my chest now as MClooks down at me, eyes shining with something so intense, love is notsufficient to describe  it. Her hips begin to roll against mine oncemore and I can feel that she’s wet still, hungry still. Sometimes shecan be insatiable, seducing me many times a night. This isn’t one ofthose nights, however, not just about physical satisfaction. It’sabout being connected in the most intimate way human possible, beingone for even just a couple of minutes. 

She reaches down between us, holds myerection between her tender fingers and sits down on it. No matterhow often we do this, the feeling of being able to sink into her wetwarmth overwhelms me every single time. Especially with such anintense chemistry in the room. I gasp quietly once I’m buried insideher fully. She smiles down at me, reaching out to caress my cheek asshe begins to roll her hips against mine. I turn my head to the side,press a kiss to her palm before looking back up at her. The view ismesmerizing and yet again I find myself incapable of lookingaway.

Her eyes are closed, head slightly thrown back with herhair cascading down her shoulders and back. She is almost entirelyquiet, other than the short, breathy pants and the occasional gasp. Idon’t mind. Sex doesn’t have to be loud to be passionate and good. Ifanything the way her cheeks redden and her lips are ever parted showsme just how much she is enjoying herself. I let my hands roam overher body, grips her by the hips and caress them before travelinghigher. Up her sides I move my hands to her breasts, holding them inmy hands and playing with her nipples. They instantly harden under myattention and MC bites down on her bottom lip to muffle any furthernoise.

I like having her on top of me likethat, her entire body bared to me to feast on its beauty. Her paleskin looks beautiful when it starts to flush with the strain of sexand orgasm, glistening with small pearls of sweat that formed in themoments of passion. I sit up from my lying position, craving thecloseness. We are eye to eye now, one of my arms wrapped around herwhile I cup her face with the other hand. She opens her eyes and theylock with my. Our pupils are blows, eyes half lidded with our facesso close our lips are always brushing together.

I beginthrusting into her then, slow but deliberate. We moan in unison,moving together in tandem to find out peak together. As we kiss,licking into each others mouth, tongues dancing together, mymovements become more desperate. I can feel myself growing closerwith every rock of my hips, her walls tightening around me onlyincreasing my pleasure. She knows how to pleasure me, how to havecontrol even when it is seemingly me. Mc break the kiss, a load moanfalling from her hips as I hit jus the right spot inside of her. Iwant to make her come before me, trailing kisses down her neck,nibbling at the sensitive skin the way I know she likes. 

I can never leave marks and as much asthat thought pains me, I am glad to have her in my arms at all. Shecomes soon after, face buried in the crock of my neck, nails digginginto my back as her body shakes with orgasm, her walls tighteningaround my cock it takes me a mere handful of thrusts to follow herover the edge and spill inside of her. Once we’re both spent we fallback onto bed together, still slightly out of breath but happy andsated. Yet again my hand is brushing through her hair and her head isresting above my heart to listen to it slow down. I would have neverthought that I would enjoy routines. I wanted adventure when I wasyoung, constant adrenaline. Now I’m grown up and realize just howsilly those dreams were compared to what I want now.

Now I dream about settling down,leaving my former ‘adventurous’ life behind. I dream about settlingdown somewhere with a family home, a white picket fence and a littleharder. I dream about putting a ring on the finger of the woman Ilove, about building a family and maybe buying a dog. I dream abouthaving a job boring enough to be safe and safe enough to provide formy family and a routine that begins with waking up to one another andends with putting the kids to sleep. No matter how mundane my dreams,however, how seemingly reachable, they are still as unrealistic as medreaming about being a pirate or an astronaut.

When I was a kid, I wanted oneadrenaline rush after the other. Now I would do anything to be ableto give it up, because the adrenaline rush you get from fucking yourbrothers wife is not an adrenaline rush you will ever be able toenjoy. Especially when the punishment you get for such a sin is notsomething that awaits you in hell, but happens on earth. Every day Ihave to let her go and watch her walk back into his arms. I watch hersmile at him the way she smiled at me the night before. I watch themcook together in the afternoon and cuddle together in the evening.

My punishment is watching my twinbrother live the domestic bliss with the love of my life that I willnever ever have…and it kills me more with every day in ways thatnot even Rika did.

A/N:   I do not condone cheating and you are a piece of shit if you ever do it in real life. No excuses. If you don’t like your partner anymore at least have the courtesy to break up with them before sleeping with someone else. Be polite.