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bagelbun333 · 19 days ago

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Godot is morally grey and that’s okay! | The most human Ace Attorney Deuteragonist

So I had like, several topics in mind relating to Godot that I wanted to ramble about, so I decided to just put them all together in one extremely long post. So, buckle up, it’s gonna be a doozy. :3c

TW and CW: References to murder, suicide, sexism, and mental health issues

Also major spoiler warning for the Phoenix Wright Trilogy, especially aa3!

Godot is a character who gets a lot of backlash for being morally grey, controversial, and for holding a grudge against Phoenix for seemingly “no reason”. He even gets labelled as a “raging misogynist.” I would like to go over in depth of his character and put into perspective just how much goes on in his mind that makes him do the things he does in the story. It may not excuse his actions, but it does help to have a better understanding. He’s one of those characters that if you view from a single-minded perspective, you’re not gonna get the best judgement of his character.

Misguided Hatred on Phoenix + Mental Health Issues

We’ll start off with his backstory. His real name is Diego Armando, a promising young lawyer with a beautiful girlfriend and has a loving (and smug) personality. He was so moved by Mia Fey, with her being so kind, caring and faithful. She wholeheartedly believed in the good of people, especially her clients. Diego loved that about her, and he wanted to make sure that she sees it for herself. He supported her through and through, and he stood by her side when her first trial ended in tragedy.

He eventually got poisoned by Dahlia Hawthorne, putting him into a coma for five years. He reawakens, learns of Mia’s death, and changes his identity to Godot. Ever since then, he builds up a deep loathing towards Phoenix Wright.

His hatred for Phoenix can be compared to Franziska von Karma’s hatred; but unlike her, there is a much more deeper connection between them. This is a deep, messy, traumatic and tragic story that tangled two unfortunate people together. There is a proper reason to be angry at someone here; a reason that isn’t even clear at a glance.

His hatred towards Phoenix stems from the hatred towards himself. This is called displacement; a defense mechanism that involves transferring negative feelings from one thing to another. In this case, Godot projects his self-loathing onto Phoenix to avoid blaming himself. Which obviously isn’t a good thing, or even a healthy thing. It can easily cause problems with relationships. But the important thing to consider is why did he have to cope like that in the first place? Well, because he had no other way. He didn’t just jump to that method immediately, he would’ve gone through other ways first, but those methods didn’t work out for him. It’s a process of trial and error until he had no choice but to use risky tactics. He has nobody to confide in, he nearly died in one of the most brutal ways imaginable, he woke up blind and suffers from chronic pain and depression, he needs to make frequent visits to the hospital, the world has moved on without him, and ultimately his girlfriend was murdered while he was in a coma. Then he finds out that the one person who was by her side seemingly failed to protect her and got to inherit her law office as a result, despite being an “incompetent” rookie.

It’s a lot for one person to take in, and enough to make anyone break down. Imagine how pissed he would be once he found out some amateur took over his girlfriend’s law office (the same guy who let your own murderer run free for eight months, which is the murderer who put you in a coma, preventing you from doing anything about your girlfriend’s demise) and that amateur renamed the law office after himself just after she got murdered. I would also direct my grief and anger towards this bozo too. He gets to have all this glory from doing nothing? I can understand why Godot would want him to have some consequences at the very least.

And this is a law office that Godot never had the pleasure of working in or even seeing for himself. And all of that was just given to Phoenix after only two trials under his belt. Not only did Godot have everything taken away from him; everything that Mia also had was given to someone who (in his perspective) didn’t deserve it. Phoenix is living in Mia’s success over Godot’s monumental loss. Mia basically died for Phoenix’s benefit. Meanwhile Godot lost everything he lived for, and Phoenix unknowingly took that away from him too.

Of course, Phoenix did not have any control over that. However, in Godot’s perspective, it would simply look like Phoenix took Mia’s place without a second thought.

The only things Godot knew about Phoenix was:

- He stood in Mia’s rightful place, having the nerve to take over when she died.

- He helped to conceal Dahlia’s necklace which allowed her to live freely without consequences yet again, resulting in Diego’s attempted murder to be unsolved for eight months.

Godot shows clear signs of the stages of grief, bargaining being a big one. He definitely asked a lot of “what ifs” to himself, like “What if I could’ve saved her?” “What if he saved her?” “What if I didn’t drink that stupid poison?” “Would I have woken up sooner if he didn’t hide the bottle of poison?” Considering he has nobody to confide in, he only has himself to ask these questions to. He only had himself to figure out what he must do next; and because of that he quickly spiralled into a huge depression, and tunnel-visioned onto Phoenix until he believed that he was responsible for Mia’s demise. This is the result of no therapy and no friends or family. Even less than that, he lost his eyesight, hair colour and good health too. His promising life was ripped away from him and some bozo got it all for free! How’s one person supposed to comprehend so much trauma effectively in his position? How was he supposed to think rationally after what he went through?

He had all of these problems suddenly thrown onto him and he had no time to mentally process any of them. Not only did he have to learn to adapt to being blind; living with the fact that he’s never gonna be the same again, and recover from a five year coma with nobody waiting for him — he didn’t even have the time to grieve for Mia.

He went through in his mind that he was responsible for “letting Mia die” before blaming Phoenix as a coping mechanism. At first, he would’ve went through suicidal thoughts because he couldn’t live with the fact that he “let Mia die.” Then in his mind, it clicked for him. The fastest way to atone for “letting Mia die” was to protect her little sister, Maya. If he couldn’t protect Mia, then he should at least protect Maya to make up for it. This became one of the two reasons for him to live. He really didn’t want to feel like a failure to Mia so he became obsessed with needing to protect whoever was important to her. Because that’s what she would want, right? He’s worthy enough for Mia, right? Worthy enough to be forgiven even though he left her to die, right? Godot doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how much she had changed over those five years, and he can only remember her as the little rookie he had so much hope for. For all he knows, Mia could’ve forgotten all about him, and that thought terrified him. But at the same time, he probably thought it was for the best. What he doesn’t know, is that Mia never forgot about him, and she wants him to be saved. And no, that does not mean she wants him to join her in Heaven so soon after waking up. It means she wants him to live the life that she doesn’t have anymore. If he knew this, he would do it for her.

His other reason for living was Phoenix. He needed to see the one person who Mia had taught, and test if he was truly capable and worthy of taking her place. He had to see for himself just what kind of person Phoenix was. After all, this is the guy who supposedly took everything away from him; does he really deserve it? He also really needed an emotional punching bag to avoid hurting himself, and Phoenix was, unfortunately, the perfect candidate. He’s a lawyer, he “failed” to protect Mia, he was “dumb” enough to be manipulated by Dahlia. It’ll be just like hating himself except he’s directing it to somebody else. It’s the only way he can process his anger and grief. This is what displacement is.

Speaking of displacement, it isn’t an excuseable behaviour by any means, but it does put into perspective on how he keeps his emotions together. Despite placing the blame and hatred onto Phoenix, he’s really comparing himself to Phoenix. But what he doesn’t realise is that Mia’s death is neither his or Phoenix’s fault. He’s so stuck on the fact that Mia’s death could’ve been prevented that he became blind to the real facts of the matter. The stage of bargaining really does have a strong chokehold on him.

Godot latched onto that belief so tightly that he ended up believing his own lie. Thus, he gaslit himself into believing Phoenix was actually responsible for Mia’s death, which in turn led to his seething anger and hatred towards Phoenix. Godot was terrified of being the one responsible for letting Mia die, so he had no choice but to believe in his own lie. If Phoenix can’t be blamed, then Godot is the only other one responsible; in his perspective anyway.

A neat little symbolism that I’ve noticed for Godot is the whole “hiding behind a mask” aspect. He’s a man of mystery, both in origin and appearance. Not only does he have the benefit of hiding behind a mask, but he often speaks in a quiet and calm manner to hide his vulnerability.

Every so often his calm yet cryptic demeanour cracks, and his true vulnerable nature seeps through. We see this for the first time when Mia gets channeled towards the end of 3-2. He instantly recognises her, and he completely freezes and goes silent. After a couple minutes of silence on his end, the judge asks if he’s alright, resulting in Godot snapping back into reality. Then he decides to let Phoenix do the final cross-examination, even though it’s not at all beneficial to his case. The only reason he did that was because Mia was there, and he could never say no to her, especially not when he feels like he’s betrayed her; he feels that he owes her everything, even his own life. She’s essentially his biggest weakness.

Then there’s the moment where he realised that he missed Maya’s name written in blood in 3-5. He realised that, once again, he failed Mia. Therefore he panics. He doesn’t panic when being accused of murder mind you, because he knows he deserves the consequences. But the fact that he panics over Maya being accused really tells me that he puts someone, who he doesn’t actually know that well, above himself. If he can’t save Maya, then he’s worthless. That’s what’s running through his mind at that moment.

He’s been panicking ever since Misty Fey died, even worse when Maya suddenly disappeared. So much more heavy burdens are weighing him down, and he knows that he set something into motion that he can’t undo. Does that sound familiar? That’s because he said that exact same thing to Phoenix. Projection strikes again! This is when his coping mechanism is at its absolute worst, and understandably so. His self-hatred was racing to him like an avalanche, therefore his anger and hatred comes to Phoenix the exact same way. He suddenly brings up Mia’s death for seemingly no reason, but in Godot’s perspective, that old incident has been fresh on his mind the entire time. To him it seemed like everyone moved on too quickly, and it hurt him so much in ways that he can’t even describe. How dare they move on while he’s still suffering?

Godot has been feeling shame ever since he woke up from his coma and found out about Mia’s murder. It wasn’t until he saw Mia’s spirit alongside Phoenix near the end of 3-5 where the shame and hatred disappeared. It was then replaced with regret. He realises that he was wrong and that he did terrible things to Phoenix, and he believes his actions were inexcusable. He feels immense guilt about the way he treated Phoenix, and he thinks he should’ve directed his anger towards himself all along, or as he puts it, the one who he couldn’t truly forgive was himself. He even questions if he really wanted to save Maya at all — he can’t trust his own intentions anymore. This sudden realisation makes him blind to his own good intentions that he was previously dependent on throughout the whole story. He then heaps all of the blame onto himself, (similar to Mia’s behaviour at the end of 3-4) but Phoenix and Maya believe that his good intentions were genuine, and they try to make him realise this, which results in him finally crying for the first time.

This is the moment where he finally releases his true emotions after keeping them bottled up for so long. Tired from keeping his shields up, all he can do is cry. This is the equivalent of Maya releasing Dahlia’s demonic spirit out of her body — his feelings are that intense. The demonic spirit in this case is his “Godot” persona. Diego has finally been saved from the “evil spirit” that has been cursing him this entire time. Remember how exhausted Maya was after channelling Dahlia? Well, imagine how exhausted Diego must be after being “possessed” by Godot the past year. Phoenix and Mia didn’t just exorcise one evil spirit that day, and Mia certainly seems to know this when she told Phoenix that he saved Diego. Maybe Phoenix will realise this later.

Godot wanted to be caught, and he wanted Phoenix to be the one to catch him. He didn’t want neither Phoenix nor Maya to overlook the mistakes he made but rather bring out the truth, no matter how painful it was. He believed that they’re strong enough to handle the truth, which shows that he really does respect them.

He’s not a bad person. He’s morally grey. He’s only human. He’s the most human character there is. Irrational, imperfect, emotional and selfless. He’s not entirely hateful, he’s scared. He’s grieving. He’s not rational, he’s traumatised. He distances himself from others and paints himself in a bad light. He doesn’t take pride in himself, he doesn’t care about what others think of him. He just wants to find reasons to live and be at peace with Mia’s death.

The “Worst” Prosecutor?

A huge misconception about Godot that I’ve come to notice is that he is another prosecutor who cares about maintaining a perfect win record — which is just… blatantly incorrect. Godot did joke about being a “legendary prosecutor who never lost a case” at the beginning, but that’s all it is: a joke. He was mocking the other prosecutors because he is very aware that a lot of them care about that more than anything; he wasn’t boasting about himself at all, just taking a stab at previous prosecutors because he has had enough with that reoccurring issue. He was the one who wanted to break that chain. He has no doubt dealt with these kinds of prosecutors when he was a defence attorney, so why would he want to become the thing that he disapproved of?

Plus Godot has a history of making fun of people, so him mocking other prosecutors for being so pretentious and full of themselves is not hard to believe.

More prosecutors need to take a page out of Godot’s book and learn how to take an L. Godot knows how to accept defeat, and that’s something all good prosecutors should do. Good prosecutors aren’t the ones with perfect win records, it’s actually the ones who fight for the truth and are able to accept the losses if it comes down to that.

The fact that the fandom declares Godot as the worst prosecutor because he never won a case is just so absurd to me, because the second game teaches you that a perfect win record doesn’t mean shit. It’s clear from the outset that Godot doesn’t care about a perfect win record, and would much rather find the truth on top of testing Phoenix’s capabilities. Godot doesn’t even let his own witnesses lie for his benefit, because he only wants to win legitimately. If that’s not a good prosecutor, I don’t know what is. (Also I believe Mia herself said “I don’t plan on winning through paper-thin lies” so there’s another neat parallel between them 🥰)

Godot’s motive for being a prosecutor was so that he could challenge Phoenix in the courtroom, as well as protecting Maya. He didn’t necessarily care about winning, he just wanted to test if Phoenix was truly capable of being Mia’s successor; and he wanted to believe that for himself. Phoenix was the only one who could pass on Mia’s legacy, and he really didn’t want that to go to waste. So who better than himself (the one who taught Mia everything she knew) should test Phoenix’s ability to be Mia’s protégé? Godot was making sure that Mia’s (and his own) teachings didn’t go to waste.

Then there’s still the matter of his hatred towards Phoenix. Despite gaslighting himself into hating him, he still believed in Phoenix deep down. He also wanted to be proven wrong. Proven wrong that Mia’s death was Phoenix’s fault, and to be proven wrong that Phoenix would never be half the lawyer Mia was. He secretly wanted to be saved by Phoenix.

In the end, because of Phoenix’s actions, Godot finally came to terms with himself and accepted that Phoenix wasn’t to blame at all. Godot made Phoenix prove that he is in fact worthy of being Mia’s successor, and he proved that neither one of them should be blamed for Mia’s death. Phoenix saved Godot, and that wouldn’t have happened if Godot didn’t challenge Phoenix so much to begin with. In my opinion, Godot has been Phoenix’s most challenging opponent as a lawyer. He tested his capabilities, his beliefs, his moral compass, everything — because that’s how much Phoenix really meant to him.

So Godot’s “perfect win record”? That never mattered to him ever. All he cared about was Mia’s legacy living on. He never felt damaged because of a trial loss, he felt damaged because he was slowly accepting that Phoenix didn’t fail Mia. He doesn’t care that he never won a single case as a prosecutor, and he shouldn’t be made fun of because of that either. Because perfect win records mean absolutely nothing in general. This perfectionism issue all started because of Manfred von Karma, and it should die with him as well. Let’s not have it rubbing off on the prosecutors who have nothing to do with him.

Godot is the first prosecutor who gives no fucks about winning for the sake of perfection. He genuinely wants to find the truth; he believed in that as a defence attorney and he still believes that as a prosecutor.

Godot is Phoenix’s ultimate parallel. Godot is what Phoenix could have been if he were pushed to the extremes. Whatever Phoenix throws at him, Godot throws it right back. He copies Phoenix’s methods in order to truly test his capabilities as a lawyer. He wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. He wanted to find out how well Phoenix can actually do when being opposed by himself, so Godot takes on that role. He prosecutes in a manner of a defence attorney, and this happens to be a challenge that Phoenix struggles with the most. Phoenix had prosecutors stumped many times in the past and now he’s finally the one who gets to witness what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that kind of trickery.

It makes sense, given that the person who taught Phoenix to use these kinds of tactics (such as bluffing) was Mia Fey. Of course, Mia learned this from none other than Diego himself. Godot testing Phoenix’s abilities this way makes perfect sense. Then it all comes full circle when Phoenix surpasses Godot’s expectations. The student has surpassed the master.

Godot is the perfect antithesis of Phoenix. They both have the same driving force but with one major difference; one had support while the other had nothing. If they swapped places, they would still fit each other’s roles. If Phoenix didn’t have the support he had, he would end up just like Godot.

Godot insulting and bullying Phoenix is also kind of a parallel to Phoenix’s snarky remarks to the people around him. The difference is that Godot reserves the most bitter snarky remarks towards Phoenix specifically. All of that is tied to his misguided hatred towards him due to Mia’s murder, but the way he insults Phoenix is so similar to how Phoenix insults other people. It’s another example of Godot giving Phoenix a taste of his own medicine.

Misogyny Allegations

Oh boy, here we go.

Godot’s whole purpose of character development is that he’s learning how to properly grieve and accept the loss of his loved one and learning how to move on. He goes through a painful lesson of humility by realising how important Phoenix’s role is and seeing how competent he grew to be. How does him being misogynistic correlate to any of that? It doesn’t. Anything misogynistic interprated from him is by the fault of the writers. You can see that with almost all the characters in this series; they have at least one moment where they say something blatantly sexist. Even characters like Gumshoe, Maya and Mia have had these moments.

Godot doesn’t even have that many moments where he says something sexist, and when he does it always comes off as out of character for him; along with the others. Just because he often talks about being manly, doesn’t mean he’s being sexist. He loves being a man, and he’s comfortable with that identity. That’s how many men feel, especially trans men.

In the anime, where the same story is being told, there were some interesting changes in the writing. All the out-of-pocket sexist writing from the games have been completely removed, further proving my point that the sexism in most characters are not intentional, and it’s the (game’s) writers themselves being misogynistic.

A character can’t be sexist purely because they’ve been written by sexist people. If you think Godot is sexist because of this, then you also have to say that all the other characters are as well, because they are guilty of the exact same thing. You can’t let favouritism pick and choose who you ignore the writing for. There’s evidence of other characters saying even more sexist stuff, but they get a free pass because it’s just them being “out of character.” But when this happens to Godot once or twice, he gets labelled as a “misogynistic asshole” and it’s deemed his only character trait. Why should Godot have to carry all the blame for this? Especially when he’s one of the few dark-skinned, disabled characters in the series? The Ace Attorney fandom is not beating the racism allegations.

Also, do you really think Mia would fall in love with a man like that? Someone who’s only character trait is misogyny? She wouldn’t. The reason she does fall in love with him is because he has many admirable qualities, and he believed in her when she needed support.

Now, there are characters who are actually written to be sexist, like Redd White, Matt Engarde and Dahlia Hawthorne. But guess what? They don’t even get nearly the same amount of backlash for the sexism allegations, even though they are fully intended to be that way.

Redd White attributes women as just accessories to his image (April May) and using them as scapegoats whenever he’s in trouble. He’s also described as a “lady killer.”

Matt Engarde is known as a “player with women.” He only views women as his toys until he gets bored of them and throws them away. One of them, as we know of, commits suicide over this. He also has that fragile “male pride.”

Dahlia Hawthorne attributes femininity as something that's weak and fragile who always needs to be saved, while the “horrible” men around her take the blame for the "pure, innocent” woman. Victimizing herself at its finest.

These are brilliant examples of writing sexism into characters. All three of these examples are characters who are antagonistic, selfish, and deserve no sympathy. Characters can be well-written and sexist if that’s supposed to be the writer’s intent. But with Godot, he’s not written with that intent in mind; anything sexist that comes from him always comes out of left field and feels very out of his character. Lots of other characters in this series have this exact same problem; such as Phoenix, Gumshoe, Mia and Maya and so on. Godot clearly is in the same boat as the other characters I’ve just listed off, but as I’ve mentioned before, he doesn’t get that free pass. The fact that he’s the one dark-skinned character not getting the free pass despite him being in the same boat is very suspicious. It’s as if the dark-skinned characters all must have that sexism trait. Why should that be if you’re not racist, hm?

Just a small footnote: I wanted to include Morgan Fey as one of the sexist characters but thinking about it some more I realise that a lot of it is just an interpretation, not something in canon text. It’s easy to interpret her as sexist due to her being reliant on her old fashioned values and her being suspicious of men entering the village, but that’s not something entirely concrete. It’s still an interesting thing to think about tho!

Going back to the main point, I'd like to add that I think a lot of people refuse to look deeper into Godot’s character and rather simplify him down to the sexist faults; not just because of racism, but fandom bias towards the characters as well.

For example, they’ve known Edgeworth longer and try to excuse his behavior as a fault of Manfred von Karma indirectly teaching him these values. And because of the fandom’s bias towards Edgeworth and against Godot, despite both being flawed characters with trauma written by sexist writers, one gets excused and defended while the other recieves the brunt of the hate for it.

Edgeworth had many moments where he’s sexist, even after his Bratworth phase. Him calling Mia a bimbo is far from the only occurrence of his sexism. He always views women to be inferior to men, especially when it comes to physical strength. It’s especially apparent in the first trilogy, such as him defending Iris’ innocence by claiming she’s too weak to use a sword as a weapon purely because she’s a woman, and him claiming that Valerie Hawthorne turned her back on Terry Fawles because he was a big scary man with a knife — even though she had police training and had a gun on her own person. He even specified that if the criminal was a “quaggy” woman like Mia, Valerie would’ve acted differently.

Here’s screenshots of the second example if you don’t believe me:

Edgeworth is a flawed character and I believe that sexism is intentionally written to be one of his many flaws. I can definitely see that it’s something he learned from Manfred, but that should not excuse his behaviour. You can enjoy a flawed character such as Edgeworth without needing to defend him and his flaws; because when you do that, you’re going to sound like you approve of the horrible things he’s done. Just because he changes overtime should not mean that all the bad things he did in the past should be forgotten about. A big part of his character development should be him getting humbled and taking responsibility for his actions and mistakes, not running away from it and making excuses.

I’ve seen Edgeworth fans defend his sexism by saying things such as “He’s only like that because of von Karma, it’s not his fault!” “He has autism and he is gay, therefore he can do whatever he wants”, “Well that’s Bratworth for ya!”, “He got better!”, “Franziska wouldn’t let him!” (I actually saw all those responses on twitter, big surprise 💀)

First of all, he’s a grown-ass adult, he knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s definitely old enough to be held accountable for his actions. Secondly, being autistic and gay doesn’t give him an excuse to be a shitty person; you can be autistic and gay and still have a horrible attitude like a lot of other people. Thirdly, saying “that’s Bratworth for you!” has major “boys will be boys” vibes when said boy is tormenting women, which is a disgusting thing to say.

And then there’s Franziska. Not gonna sugarcoat it, she’s intentionally written to be sexist too. A well-written sexist but still sexist nonetheless. Out of her own insecurity she lashes out and puffs herself up, trying to one-up people; women included. She seems to be extremely determined to prove herself to be better than the "men of the court.” Though for Franz, it could be that she became sexist towards men because she entered that workforce from the pressure of her father, and needed to keep up her image.

Now that I’m writing this, I’ve realised Franziska is kind of the antithesis of Dahlia, who is another intentionally well-written sexist character. Dahlia wants to appear weak and fragile and innocent. Franz wants to appear capable, confident, and strong; someone who is able to uphold her own image to get out of her brother's shadow. Yet they both act the same when confronted about this fact.

Because at the end of 2-4, Franz runs away wanting revenge on Phoenix and Edgeworth, and she cries at the fact that she isn’t ready to be left behind again. At the end of 3-5, Dahlia is forced away by the power of exorcism, and her last moments of grasping on the physical world was her crying about how she isn't ready to leave, and wanting a forever vendetta against Mia Fey specifically.

They both act aggressively when being confronted and their facade breaks, they just want to appear differently. They both also inflicted a heavy source of trauma onto Maya and Phoenix.

Edgeworth and Franziska are good characters, but they are far from good people. You can enjoy their flaws without resorting to defending them. It’s perfectly fine to enjoy them! But trying to put down Godot for having similar flaws only to uplift the other group of characters is just wrong. Demonizing people who enjoy Godot for his flaws is even worse. Let fans enjoy things ffs— This is why I think a lot of Edgeworth and Franziska fans have huge biases when explaining why they hate Godot so much.

We can appreciate the characters for what they are; like and dislike them for our personal reasons, and it’s best not to engage with people wanting to start arguments. For example, I really don’t like Franz but I can understand her character and see how she must've felt being raised by a severely strict perfectionist. Being held up to so many expectations and standards at such a young age can make you a complicated person, to say the least.

But that’s besides the point. Going back to the biased hatred towards Godot, the fandom tends to ignore how much trust Godot places in women. He trusted Mia, Maya, Misty and Iris — to name a few. This doesn’t mean he sees all women as being sweet and innocent all the time, but he sees women being just as competent as men; whether it’s them being good or evil. With Mia he saw her as a strong, bold and intelligent woman. He believed in her capabilities as a lawyer and as a person. Not once did he think of taking Mia’s place in 3-4 because he had doubts about her, in fact he encouraged her to take the lead the entire time.

With Dahlia he saw her as a threat; he feared her. He wanted to catch her because he knew how dangerous she was. He took her seriously because he knows how competent she was. He almost got killed by her, resulting in his severe trauma later on. And the reason he ended up acting so recklessly in 3-5 was because he knew firsthand how terrifying she is.

And just because he wants to protect Mia and Maya, doesn’t mean he views them as weak things that need to be saved. Adding along to this, if the ghost of someone who tried to kill me was going after somebody else I care about, and I had little time to prepare, yeah, I’d be desperately trying to find all the help I can get too!

He thinks he’s failed Mia before and he’s terrified of failing again. He wants to protect Maya because he knows that’s exactly what Mia would’ve wanted. It doesn't make you weak or fragile to accept help when you need it. The rhetoric that you need to do everything yourself and burden yourself with those responsibilities, all the while dealing with your own trauma and self-inflicted guilt, yeah— no thanks. I'd rather get the help than succumb to my own bad thoughts.

Fandom assuming Godot is sexist for wanting to protect Maya and Mia because of his own motivations is, in of itself, sexist. You see a manly character wanting to protect a woman in need and you immediately think “ew that’s sexist!” Why is that sexist? It’s been canonically stated that he’s been doing this through grief and trauma, but the fandom views it as him being sexist just because he puts on an image of a “manly man.” The fandom accuses him of being sexist but the points they are making to prove their argument are in itself sexist. The fandom is becoming the very thing they swore to destroy.

Manly men can (and should!) be able to accept help too! That’s Godot’s whole arc with Phoenix! He struggled with figuring out who he should be asking for help from. And good lord does he need it. But when he tries to get help, he’s accused of being a misogynist again! He also gets a lot of hate because he didn’t ask for Phoenix’s help from the very beginning. Bro’s been through so much trauma, you can’t expect him to be rational about everything. It’s so frustrating seeing that he just can’t seem to win no matter what he does. It’s all just biased bashing on a character at this point.

This argument is giving people who comments "Men used to go to war" under posts about a man making a smoothie or something because it’s just a smidge of not being the "standard" for masculine men. A manly man wanting to help those who are important to him is not a toxic masculine trait. It’s human compassion. If it’s fine for women to feel that then it should be fine for men too.

Plus, the fandom ignores the blatantly feminine things Godot does too. He’s a true manly man because he can accept both of the masculine and feminine aspects of himself. He flirts with men all the time, he admits when he blushes over receiving compliments, he loves strong and soft women, and he has a lot of silly moments too.

He flirts with Luke Atmey, Ron Delite, Jean Armstrong, and even Phoenix! He says things like “cut it out, you’re making me blush.” He even had a moment where he giggles to himself because Jean Armstrong was flirting with him. He’s able to do a spot-on voice impression of Desiree Delite. He’s brave enough to let himself cry, and he even hurts himself physically to show that he’s hurt emotionally. He does this because he’s so adapted to fooling others with his smile.

You can tell which characters are intentionally written to be sexist just from the way they behave. Antagonists and villains often use sexism to their benefit, using it as a weapon or as a way to protect themselves. They also have a deep-rooted source of where that sexism came from, which continuously grows as they age. Meanwhile characters who don’t have that intention always falls flat and goes absolutely nowhere with it.

I really think what sets apart Edgeworth's sexism from Godot's supposed sexism really comes down to the people they're talking about, and the context behind the scenes. Godot was targeting Franziska's position of power and her immaturity while she was acting all high and mighty; he did this to make her feel intimidated by him which ultimately made her shut up. She doesn’t whip people who are willing to stand up for themselves, and Godot figured that out. Godot’s sexism only came about because he was copying Franziska’s tactics in order to nerf her power. He could tell that she feels stronger when making men feel inferior, so he took a page out of her book and threw it right back at her. He tends to mimic his opponents’ tactics no matter who it is, it just so happens in this instance, his opponent uses sexism as a weapon, and so he reflected it back at her as a result. (Ofc this is still not excuseable on Godot’s part, nor am I defending this, but it’s an instance where his sexism makes sense, without it being one of his character traits. I also find it so interesting that he decided to handle her behaviour this way.)

This can also be attributed to the fact that the writers just felt like writing in a sexist line because that was a product of its time. This is one of the few examples that could be either source, because both sources are spontaneous.

With Edgeworth, he constantly talked down to Mia simply because she’s a woman. Even during her murder case, he spoke ill of her even though they only met once. His source of sexism is woven into his character because he was influenced by a corrupt man. He can’t have both excuses of being taught by a corrupt man and the writers making him out of character, because those are two completely different sources that contradict each other. One source is deep-rooted while the other is spontaneous, it can’t be both at once. Considering Edgeworth’s source of sexism is consistantly tied to his character arc, tells me that he’s intentionally written to be sexist.

And that’s not to say that sexism is Edgeworth’s entire personality. Even the characters that I accused of being sexist also have other character traits besides that, and I explained how they are all well-written. I’m not bashing on their characters simply because of this one flaw. So tell me how I’m being biased due to me being a Godot fan? Godot is the character who gets the most unfair treatment because of this issue when it’s something that’s common with the majority of the cast. It’s the reason why I made this long post so I can identify that this is an extremely ridiculous problem within the fandom, and it really needs to be called out. You’re allowed to like or dislike a character without having to demonize anybody. This one flaw of Godot’s character (that’s not even supposed to be intentional mind you, and can be interpreted in many different ways) is used as an excuse to specifically shit on a morally grey dark-skinned character, in a series full of morally grey characters. There’s plenty of characters in this series that have done much, much worse things than he did, but they don’t get nearly as much hate as he does.

The next point I want to talk about is the petnames Godot uses, particularly the “Kitten” petname. He often used it when referring to Mia, because him and her were dating. It’s not uncommon for couples to use cute petnames when referring to one another.

The argument that the fandom tends to use when hating on Godot/Diego is that he’s supposed to be her coworker and he calls her that term to be condescending towards her, and that it makes Mia uncomfortable. Well let me tell you, this is just objectively untrue. Mia does not feel uncomfortable with Diego’s “Kitten” petname for her. She never told him to stop calling her that; you can literally read her inner monologue, and not once has she ever thought about hating the petname, or ever felt uncomfortable around him. She never even lays a finger on him to tell him off. She certainly did that plenty to Grossberg later, she even steps on Phoenix’s foot to tell him off in the anime, she also thought about strangling Edgeworth too, but she never did so much of a slap to Diego. So clearly, she’s completely fine with him.

So what’s the problem then? Are you that insecure that you can’t handle the idea that Mia has a loving boyfriend? Is it really that upsetting to see a man having Mia Fey to himself? They both consent to the Kitten petname, so where’s the problem?

And the reason we don’t see Mia calling him Kitten in return is because we only see them interact in the courtroom. Mia’s not the type to behave like that in that kind of place, but we’ve definitely seen her to be more flirty outside of a trial. Such as when she seduces Victor Kudo for information, and when she offered Phoenix dinner and drinks to celebrate their victory. This makes it easy for me to believe that Mia flirts with Diego outside of a trial, and most likely uses the “Kitten” petname back at him, especially as she got older.

Also Diego calling people “Kitten” isn’t even sexist. He doesn’t solely call women kittens. He’s given the petname to men as well. Such as Ron. He used the same kitten metaphors for Phoenix, particularly with using claws, and he referred to Furio Tigre as a cat several times. Plus he generally has an animal theme going when thinking of nicknames for people. There’s “wild tiger”, “zebra boy”, “cub”, “filly”, “mare” etc.

Another dumb point I’ve seen is that the fandom thinks Diego was harassing Mia simply because they’re coworkers. You can be coworkers and lovers at the same time. Phoenix and Edgeworth are technically coworkers and they’re constantly shipped together by said fandom. If it’s fine for them then it should be fine for Miego too. Diego isn’t even that much older than her either, by about 4 or 5 years. And no, just because he’s older than her, it does not mean he’s taking advantage of her. They’re both grown-ass adults, and they were both in their twenties when they first met.

You’re allowed to not ship them, but you can’t deny that they’re intentionally written to be lovers. They are canon lovers. More canon than Wrightworth will ever be. Their character arcs revolve around their relationship, and their relationship ties together the main story.

Diego being “intentionally” written as a misogynist goes against his character arc. It goes against the fact that he always saw men and women as equals, and it goes against the fact that he put his faith in many women all the way to the end. The random sexist moments contradicts his character, and there weren’t many moments like that to begin with.

Hey, good job making it to the end! There was a lot to unpack there, especially since this is a debate that I’ve witnessed firsthand for almost 8 years! I wanted to put a lot of time and research into this to make it as informative and unbiased as possible. Clearly Godot is a character that means so much to me, and I absolutely had to go over this huge topic so that newer (and older) fans have a better understanding of this issue.

I hope this was an interesting, and maybe, enjoyable read! I really love making long analysis posts like this, and I definitely got more on the way! It’s fun to engage with the fandom like this. Feel free to share your thoughts as long as you keep it civil! ^-^

Have a great day/night! :3

#ace attorney #prosecutor godot #aa godot #diego armando #phoenix wright #mia fey #miego #character analysis #long post #bagel rambles #man godot needs so much therapy frfr 😭#i also go on a bit of tangent so hang in there 💀

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darlingxs-blog · 9 days ago

Note

hey omg i loved your luka angst... opens coat to show idea... what about the reader is actually alive and the rebellion saved her as she was being carried away by the aliens... and she just haunts luka's narrative....what then.. 😯

A/N: HiHi!! Thank you so much for reaching out with this absolutely glorious, stunning, beautiful ask and idea for a sequel!! I really hope this fits what you asked for but if not, feel free to ask again and include some more details that you would like me to add!!

Vestige

Luka x Reader- for more context please read part one Here!

Third person Limited- Luka.

Tw/Cw- Major Character death (not reader this time, woo), mild gun violence, mild implied gore, emotional distress, stalking themes (with paper).

You have been an unshakable shadow in Luka's life. And he wasn't sure if he cared enough to rid himself of you.

He has grown used to the feeling of beady eyes staring him down whenever he walked the streets with his Guardian, Heperu, By his side. But he was used to your eyes too- full of pure adoration and admiration that he'd call pathetic if not for the way his ego swelled every time he turned his head to lock eyes with you and watch as you turned your head away with a face as red as the flowers in the field at the Anakt Garden.

This time it was different.

Whenever he rounded a corner he would be met with your face plastered on the wall framed in the familiar border of the wanted posters for the rebellion.

He thought you died- well, it's not like he cared anyway.

That what he told himself at the start.

But after the twentieth poster, after ducking into alleyways to escape your lingering presence, after your features began to blur into the same face he sees on the poster of Hyuna above his bed—he knew.

He did care.

And he wanted it to stop.

But you just wouldn't leave him alone.

When every song on the stage stop and the gunshot rips through the air the ghostly feeling of a familiar weight resting on his shoulders causes him to freeze, just for a second.

He didn't care.

You were dead-

you were supposed to be dead

but you weren't, and now you just won't stop making his heart prickle and his stomach flip and turn in a way that makes his throat close up without the feeling of bile rising up right after.

He hated it.

He hated you. you who would smile so sweetly at him, you who's eyes would gleam and sparkle whenever he walked into a room, you who would always look for him first before your shoulders relaxed.

Your features were engraved in his mind in a way that made his body tremble and he couldn't have that happen, not tonight. Not with the final match.

The lights were bright and vibrant- his head was throbbing but the idea of winning-of living- was the only thing that made the experience worth it.

His opponent was one he grew up with- the third on the leader board of the top three performers in Alien stage, a rebellious one that won't be swayed by his simple manipulation.

The song swiftly shifts to its final verse

his opponent stops as he looks out into the crowd

Luka can't help but side eye his actions. it's too late for any sort of hopeful reunion

the bullet hits and he falls to the ground with a muffled thump, the cheers from the audience takes over any other noise.

Luka won, again

And now he can walk back to his little room to be monitored as he clears the ghosts of the others that have sunken into his soul.

He's stopped by the view of Hyuna, and the silhouette of you

A/N: Credits go to Anonymous for the idea!! And sorry I didn't really introduce Hyuna all that well but I needed her in this fic, and sorry for constantly referring to Till as 'his opponent'.

I think I did the haunting Luka's narrative but it was a very very small, so again, if you wanted the fic to be more focused on that please don't hesitate to ask again and I really apologize if it didn't fit the expectations you had!! Thank you so much for reading and requesting!!

#luka x reader #luka alien stage x reader #alnst x reader #luka alien stage #luka alnst x reader #luka x reader angst #attempted angst #luka alnst #alien stage

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strawberrystepmom · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

word count: 6.8k

about: Gojo is many things but you get to know him best as Satoru through the eyes of the people who see him as something else entirely - nothing but a fellow human being.

contents: Told through three non-linear stories. CW: Reader is drinking alcohol in story 1, discussions of non major character death and marriage in story 2, discussions of trauma with Megumi and food mentions in story 3. Established relationship, reader is a sorcerer and teacher alongside Gojo, reader is referred to as girlfriend and my girl in story 1 and he is referred to as boyfriend. A bit of angst/discussion of losing someone you love in story 2 but otherwise it's mostly silce of life fluff.

notes: Happy early birthday to my Sagittarius superstar! ♡ This isn’t birthday themed but i’ve been working on this for a few weeks and am proud of how it turned out. If you read, thank you and I hope that you enjoy.

“I have this thing tonight and I want you to come.”

Generally when Satoru says something like this you roll your eyes, irritated about the last minute notice he’s infamous for, but his grin was so earnest you said yes without thinking too hard about it.

It’s easy to indulge him no matter how hard you try to deny your tendency to give in to his whims and it’s how you’ve ended up stepping into a bar in a neighborhood you have never been in with his arm slung over your shoulder, the moon hanging high in the sky while the stars twinkle above. The atmosphere is practically buzzing before he enters and it’s even louder when the patrons spot him, various cheers scattered around the room and arms raised in the air.

Clearly, they know him and he knows them.

“Hideki!” He points to a man who cheers. “Takahiro!” He points to another who nods. “I don’t remember your name,” he points to a third man who is already tipsy enough that he simply smiles and shrugs. Alcohol helps but you’re sure that Satoru’s smile and demeanor are half of the reason his worst behavior isn’t held against him by anyone in the small group that is clearly regulars to this bar.

Food sizzles behind the counter and you start to ease into the unfamiliar setting, sliding onto a chair and leaning back to watch the master at work, his natural charm infectious and soon it feels like the dimly lit room is practically thrumming with energy, voices chatting excitedly and other patrons typing texts inviting friends to come see the man, the myth, the legend in person.

GOJO SATORU - DARTS CHAMPION!

His name is written on a napkin and stuck in the wood paneling above the dart board with a dart. Seeing the bold characters when you spot them on the wall, you giggle. It’s so like him to do something like this for no other reason beyond what was likely boredom and inability to sleep one random night.

The patrons buzz amongst themselves about Gojo’s appearance, his sunglasses slung low on his nose while he flashes a grin at anyone who comes near him, and you watch from afar with a far more demure grin of your own. His name clearly carries weight even outside of the confines of the sorcerer community and you hide your smile by looking around the dimly lit bar, sizzling coming from behind the counter while the chefs flip yakitori by the skewer sticking through it. Your mouth waters and a beer is placed in front of you without even asking for it, your eyes darting across the bar only to be met with a wink tossed over his shoulder from your boyfriend.

One of the men he was speaking to sidles up to you and offers a polite bow of his head. Returning his gesture, you lift the beer glass to your mouth and take a sip, raising your eyebrows when he speaks.

“You must be the girl he always talks about.”

Raising your eyebrows, the warmth in your throat from the beer you’re sipping slowly spreads through your face out of slight embarrassment he talks about you at all when you’re out of earshot. You can’t control what he says when the two of you are apart and only whatever God reigns above knows what he has said but it couldn’t have been too terrible considering the man doesn’t look at you lecherously or with anything but curiosity. Smiling, you fan your face and tilt your head toward the grills to play off the heat of embarrassment as heat from cooking.

“I certainly hope so.”

You believe that you are the girl in question but your gut churns at the thought he may be mentioning someone else despite the two of you recently making it very clear you are serious about one another, closing off any lingering attachments elsewhere to focus on your relationship.

“Oh, I know so. He shows us pictures of you all the time.”

Sipping from your beer, you look away briefly, embarrassed about that as well. Gojo has many photos of you, not all of which are meant for other eyes, and you hope that he has enough decency to keep them to himself. Looking to change the subject, you remember the legendary title held by your boyfriend within these walls and shift in your seat to face the man next to you. He’s probably in his 40’s and looks a little worn around the edges but it could also simply be the hazy vibe of the entire bar making him seem that way. Nothing here seems clean, pristine, or perfect - unlike the way Gojo is elevated by his peers - and it amuses you how easily he has found his place amongst it all.

“So, how long has he been coming here to play darts?” Your question makes the man shake his head and shrug. “A few months, maybe. Came out of nowhere one night.”

He gratefully bows his head when a dish with a skewer is passed across the bar toward him by the chef and wordlessly, another is passed in your direction. You accept it with a bow of your own, appreciative of how kind everyone has been despite your status as an outsider. It’s easy to feel outcast when you consider how isolated the work of a sorcerer tends to be, something you’ve lamented to your boyfriend on more than one occasion, so being accepted open armed and without question is almost uncomfortable no matter how well you play it off by saying thank you for the meal and biting through a perfectly charred green onion and humming your approval.

“It’s the craziest thing any of us have ever seen. He hits the bullseye without even looking sometimes.”

Snorting as you chew, you keep it to yourself that he’s in all likelihood using his excellent perception to cheat knowing that the average person doesn’t care about Limitless or Six Eyes or anything remotely similar. They don’t know he has been exceptional since birth, they just know he has a mean wrist and hits his mark every single time. Honestly, you think that may be why he likes it here so much. He doesn’t have to be anything but some guy sipping on a cold soda.

“He has a knack for a lot of things,” you mutter to no one in particular, noticing that your companion has left his seat and walked toward where a crowd has gathered around the dartboard. The show must be about to begin and you settle into your seat, taking another bite and washing it down with a sip from your beer. More people weave past you and Satoru appears almost out of thin air, joking and laughing at the crowd.

“Who thinks I should show my girl over there why I’m the champion?”

The champion, The Strongest, it’s all the same to him as long as he’s the star of the show no matter where he is.

The crowd erupts and turns to glance at you, much to your mortification as you shrink slightly into your seat and another skewer is passed across the bar. You aren’t shy or apprehensive about receiving attention but it’s the insinuation that you are his girl that makes you feel a little uncertain. It’s a big responsibility to love a man with the world in his palm and there have been many times you’ve wondered if you are even up to the task. Will you be enough to keep him happy forever?

He doesn’t give you much time to chase a trail of darkness in your own mind, your attention grabbed when he shouts your name across the bar and flings a dart. It whizzes through the air and hits its designated bullseye with a definitive slam and the bar erupts into applause and hooting.

“That’s not even how you play darts.”

You’re talking to yourself again but simultaneously biting back a smile while Satoru spreads his arms wide and looks around as if to say, “yeah, I did that.” You want so badly to be annoyed by his pomp but his enthusiasm is nothing if not contagious and the crowd grows more rowdy with each second that passes.

“Now it’s her turn to throw one for you!”

As soon as the suggestion is tossed out, you lift the yakitori to your mouth and take a bite to avoid having to walk toward the opposite end of the bar to do just as you’re being asked. He’s a tough act to follow and although your ego isn’t even a speck compared to his, you aren’t sure you can handle the disappointed aww-ing that would come as a result of firing a shot that lands off of the board.

“Come on!”

“Do it for Gojo! Do it for Gojo!”

Just as you’re about to throw your hands up and shake your head, Satoru locks eyes with you and crooks his finger, beckoning you toward him with a smirk that you know you are far too weak for him to deny. Making a show of groaning and rolling your eyes, you trudge across the wooden floors and finally you stand next to him. He throws his arm over your shoulder with an easy chuckle and bends his knees to get low enough to whisper in your ear, voice a rasp.

“Yeah, do it for Gojo.”

He produces a dart between his fingers and you reach to grab it, plucking it between your own to get a feel for it while casting him a sidelong glance that clearly amuses him. You have done this just once or twice at an arcade with darts that do not have the sharpened metal point but this is real and everyone is watching you and you’re doing it for him - the man you love no matter where the two of you are.

You take a deep breath and he removes himself from hovering over your shoulder, giving you ample space to get comfortable. Spreading your feet apart, you make a few motions with your elbow to test the angle you need to throw at and you swear the bar falls completely silent the moment you gnaw your lower lip with your teeth and toss it, hoping some of Satoru’s natural good luck has rubbed off on you.

Instead, the dart clatters to the ground. For a millisecond, you want to follow suit and fall to the ground and hopefully disappear and never come back but without missing a beat, everyone cheers for you anyway. The eruption makes the building feel like it’s shaking, stomping feet and clapping hands coming from every direction while Satoru bundles you in his arms and pulls you against him. Dipping his chin, he presses a kiss against your temple and you sigh, leaning into it.

“Looks like the champion is still undefeated!” He shouts and you elbow him playfully in the ribs. This only draws a wicked little snicker from your boyfriend and he bends down to whisper in your ear again, one hand wrapped around your waist. “Better luck next time, baby.”

The crowd continues to cheer and several patrons take their turn approaching and clapping Gojo on the back. It’s surprising despite knowing his Infinity is off because you’re in his arms but you know it means that he’s comfortable. He trusts everyone here and their intentions, at least for now and that’s good enough for you.

You tap his arm once and he lets you go, his eyes following your every movement as you bend to pick up your dart from the ground and hold it in your palm. Smirking, you turn toward him with a twinkle in your eye that he recognizes all too well and the patrons hold their breath wondering what will happen next.

“I think the champion is counting his chickens before they hatch.”

An ooh spreads across the bar and you grin to match Satoru’s toothy one, holding your arms open to offer yourself as a contender. His glasses slide down his nose a little and he pushes them back up, covering his eyes enough that you won’t be able to tell if his abilities are on or off.

“Finally, a worthy opponent!”

His words send the patrons into another frenzy and you laugh although the only person who can hear it is the man standing closest to you, the one who wants to make you laugh the most. You join his side and he wraps one of his arms around your shoulders again while plucking a dart from his pants pocket and moving to toss it again.

“Good luck,” he mutters while looking down at you with a smirk and he lands yet another shot perfectly without even looking.

It’s always evident when either you or Satoru have a rough day. Your shoulders slump and smiles become half hearted, hiding the frustration simmering inside of you. His need to cling to you becomes more intense than ever, you are the desperate reminder he needs that he’s human after maiming curses, and that’s how you’ve ended up walking hand in hand back to his apartment.

The two of you were lucky enough to make it off campus before sunset and you can count today as one of the handful of times that you’ve been reprimanded by Principal Yaga thanks to a mission that leveled the bottom floor of a local preschool. Thankfully no one was injured but you were reckless and deserved the reminder of the innocent that needed protecting. That’s why you do what you do.

Gojo, well…he is rarely not in trouble but today hurts worse because he got you in trouble, too. The two of you are rarely paired up for missions after the Great Restaurant Destruction of 2012 where he leveled a small family restaurant in Yokohama in an ill guided attempt to impress you but now that three years since then have passed, Yaga insists it’s to keep at least one instructor on campus at all times.

No matter what occurred today, both of you seem a little zapped. His steps are heavier and slower and you’ve been quiet the entire walk to his apartment from the train station. It has been awhile since the two of you have spent any time over here, too busy with work and crashing at your place that is closer to campus than his if you have a night together, but it’s nice to get a change of scenery. His neighborhood is far nicer than your very normal one and you enjoy taking in the sights of how he lives when he’s not with you.

Down the sidewalk, an elderly woman catches your eye and you see her struggling with a few bags. Nudging Satoru’s ribs, he looks down at you and then down the sidewalk and immediately shouts, holding his arms in the air.

“Baba!”

Before you can reprimand Satoru for being impolite and skipping all sense of formality, especially toward an elder, the woman turns her head with a smile and offers a small wave in his direction. She’s slightly hunched in the shoulders likely due to age and her hair is a beautiful pale gray, the fading sunlight catching the hollows of her cheekbones. Your breath catches in your throat as you’re reminded that there’s nothing more beautiful than to grow old, something you pray often that yourself and Satoru are able to do together. Especially after a day like today.

“That’s Mrs. Ikedo, remember?”

You nod at his words, vaguely remembering a conversation the two of you had about Satoru helping her move some things from her home into storage a few months ago. Mrs. Ikedo steps slowly in the direction of the two of you and he takes a few long legged steps toward her and offers his arm to help. She swats it away playfully and you smile watching the interaction, almost identical to how the two of you behave often. How does he so easily find stubborn women to surround himself with?

“Where have you been, young man?”

Witnessing the two of them interact, you wonder how much she knows about the life Satoru leads. Does she know about his abilities? The danger he willingly puts himself in to keep people safe? He doesn’t see it as dangerous, of course, his incredible belief in himself outweighs all other possibilities but there is always a chance he’ll never come home regardless. A breeze blows by as the ominous thought of him never coming back bleeds into your mind and you shiver slightly, pulling your jacket closer to your body.

“You know me, I’m a wanted and busy man.”

She laughs and you smile despite only being on the fringes of the conversation. The sun dips lower in the sky, dusk coloring the world in warm amber, and you’re almost too lost in your thoughts when he joins your side once more and pulls you close to him. He doesn’t caress all of your sadness away but the way his thumb massages your side even through your jacket helps you feel more grounded.

“Baba invited us in for a cup of tea. You up for it?”

It would be impolite to say anything but yes so you nod, letting him lead the way to the home you know belongs to her because it’s four buildings down from his. The longer you’ve been standing here, the more you recall about her because he has mentioned her more than once.

“Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Ikedo.” You smile warmly in her direction and she walks slowly beside the two of you, her grocery bags now slung over Satoru’s free arm despite him jokingly picking up the lightest one and then asking her to handle the rest.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, this one sure isn’t.”

She jerks her head in the direction of Satoru who chuckles and waves his arm, the reusable bags hanging from them rustling against his shirt. Your formality is almost always a balm to his brash nature so you too easily fall into the role. Gratefulness warms you against the cool evening air and you lean further into your boyfriend’s side.

“Remember who is carrying your bags,” she pats his forearm and you follow her inside of her home, taking your shoes off at the door and looking around. It resembles the home of every other elderly person you’ve ever been into - covered in various collectibles and photos. Smiling faces and one you can easily recognize as her a long time ago, hair cropped to her chin in a tidy bob.

“Satoru looked at that one and asked me what century I was born in.”

It would be best to reprimand him for rudeness once again but instead, you giggle and rub your palms together to warm them. Winter has arrived and while there isn’t yet snow on the ground, the air feels chilly even indoors and you will welcome a cup of tea between your hands as soon as you are able. Mrs. Ikedo leads you through her home and into the kitchen where Gojo places her shopping bags on the counter, sighing.

“I just remembered I have something for you from Gifu,” he says with a sigh and a stretch, pretending the bags were any kind of a hassle for him. “Is it okay if she stays here while I run home to grab it?”

The woman nods and you fight the urge to be annoyed that he’s leaving you in a stranger’s home no matter how kind she may be. This day keeps going on and on and you are fighting off a pout and an attitude when a warm mug is offered to you with a smile, the lovely scent of green tea filling your nostrils and calming you down.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

You laugh, head bobbing in agreement. That is certainly one word to describe him and many have said the same thing to you in the past. He is something, the word takes a life of its own and has a different meaning to everyone who says it. To you, he’s your “sometimes not but currently yes” boyfriend, a man who has known you since you were fifteen years old and still had baby fat making your cheeks chubby, your best friend most of the time but you understand why others struggle to see him that way.

“He knows it, too. Most people say that’s the worst thing about him - he knows who he is and brings him everywhere he goes.”

The woman laughs and ushers you in the direction of the sitting area of her home, inviting you to sit down at a kotatsu that she flicks the switch on to heat up. You will be the last person to ever turn down the opportunity to warm up and you kneel on the ground, holding your mug against your legs that are tucked beneath you.

“I was surprised when he told me he’s a teacher.” You nod again, understanding that this surprises many people that the mouthiest man in the room has apparently been entrusted to create future well adjusted adults. “I figured he would be a model or something judging by the size of him. What do you feed him?”

“It always surprises people when he tells them that he teaches but he really has a way with the kids.” You respond with a giggle, sipping your tea as you finish speaking and letting the warmth seep through you. The strain of your shoulders starts to relax and you lean back, comfortable. “He keeps things fun for them so they don’t realize they’re learning most of the time.”

She hums and nods.

“He brought that Hakari over here last year because he told me the boy needed to learn a little hard work.”

That’s an amusing sentiment from someone who doesn’t work very hard himself, you think, but you remember the issues he had with Hakari last year and how only a few of them resolved themselves going into his second year and now he’s your problem - attitude and all. Despite his hands off approach to work, he is a good kid deep down and you know the support of the man the sorcerer community basically views as a god probably helped bolster his confidence. That’s what makes Satoru so good at what he does - the weight that his praise carries. All people dream of being told they’re doing a good job by the star in their field.

“He was right about that. Hakari is my student now and it must have helped him a little bit, he shows up to class three days a week now instead of one.”

She grins at you and sips from her tea, settling beneath the warmth of the kotatsu with a contented sigh.

“You’re a teacher too, I recall Satoru telling me. You seem more suited to the role than he does.” She nods and sips again, placing the cup in front of her when she’s finished. “A lot more nurturing.”

It always embarrasses you a little bit to know that Gojo talks about you when the two of you are apart. That’s not to say that you don’t talk about him because you do. In fact, you gush. Your sisters and friends get tired of hearing about it during the good times and put you on temporary bans against talking about him at all. It feels more vulnerable when it’s him doing the talking, though.

“Thank you for saying that. I’m glad I get to work with him, he’s definitely one of the best parts of the job even on bad days like today.”

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for a moment and you know she’s appraising you but you aren’t sure on what criteria. Are you slouching? You’re certain that the mascara you put on this morning is likely flaking beneath your eyes by this point and you look a mess but you doubt she’d care too much about that kind of thing.

“Would you take some advice from a nosy old lady?”

She sure is funny. You find yourself laughing at her again, nodding gratefully. You are warm and relaxed and you can see why he has made friends with this woman.

“Of course. All of the best wisdom comes from nosy old ladies.”

Sighing, she leans forward and makes a face while moving her legs.

“This cold…terrible for my joints,” she laments while settling back in. You sip your tea and watch patiently, scooting closer to the warmth of the kotatsu yourself.

“He loves you.” You choke on the mouthful of tea you were swallowing and she chuckles while you wipe the corners of your mouth and cough. “The person you want to spend the night with after a bad day is the person you love. Don’t push him away or punish him for not understanding everything yet, he has a lot to learn too.”

You’re shocked by the wisdom and you blink at her dumbly. Words aren’t coming to you easily and she can tell, smiling kindly and watching you grip your mug for dear life.

“Give him time. He’ll grow to be the man you’re married to for 70 years.” She nods toward the wall behind you and turning your head, you gasp to see a portrait of Mrs. Ikedo and who you are assuming is the now gone Mr. Ikedo by her side, matching grins in wedding kimonos. It’s overwhelming to be compared to a couple that clearly had so much love in it and you blink tightly, willing yourself not to cry and embarrass your boyfriend in front of his friend.

“Take it from me, the ones who need a little patience are the ones you have the most fun with.”

Sniffling, you nod and sip from your tea again. You hope that she won’t hold it against you that you’re struggling to find the words of appreciation for her sentiment. Blessedly, you hear her front door open and Satoru hums while taking his shoes off and entering her home, whining when he sees the two of you are comfortable without him.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he mutters sarcastically while joining your side, kneeling and sliding a decorative box across the floor in the direction of his friend. You lean your head on his bicep and he smiles, glad to be touching you in any capacity. You are his comfort and his Infinity always off when you’re near, something that the woman across from you likely has no idea about.

There is a wall between him and the world and you are what reminds him of what exists between the two places. You make him more..human.

“If you brought me another set of tea cups I’m going to throw them at you,” she mutters while opening the box but a delighted grin quickly replaces her teasing frown when she sees a ceramic frog inside the box. Lifting it out, she shows it off and you smile.

“Another for the collection. You know me too well.”

Satoru shrugs and you see it rather than feel it, making a note to ask him a few more questions about just how close he and the widow are when the two of you get home.

At 8 am on a Saturday, a knock rings through the Fushiguro children’s apartment and Megumi rises from where he sits on the floor reading with a groan, his sister scrambling to get up behind him to see who could possibly be visiting them this early. He would assume it’s Gojo but usually he just invites himself in so it has to be…

You.

Megumi opens the door wide enough you can see his eyes and you wiggle your fingers in a wave. The morning sun shines behind you and his sister appears behind him and says your name excitedly. Suddenly he feels annoyed and shy and a million other things he can’t explain because he’s twelve and the world is nothing short of frustrating at that age anyway.

He almost got into a fight at school this week and that’s why you’re here. Satoru is off in Iwate on a mission and as his guardian, he received the phone call while “decimating a den of second grade curses” (his words) and debated even telling you about it. His concern for Megumi outweighs all else though and he asked you last night to check up on them today, just to see how he seems. Tsumiki is always the angel of the household and right now she’s pushing past her brother to let you in even though he’s reluctant. He knows you must know, that big mouthed overgrown idiot-

“Good morning, I’m here to make you breakfast!”

Megumi’s mean thoughts cut themselves off when you offer to cook and he moves enough that the door can open, letting you slip through a narrow crack with a smile. He knows you’re a capable cook and he’d be silly to shoo you off when you’re offering so kindly.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asks as you toe your shoes off and enter the apartment, taking a deep breath along the way. It’s clean as always, the futons are folded, it’s small but cozy and you smile seeing pictures of Satoru and the two of them hanging on the walls. Megumi can pretend he doesn’t like to be around him but there are many signs that point to otherwise, a little smile evident on his face in each framed image.

“I was going to ask you the same thing! What do you want?”

Breezing through the living room, both of them follow after you.

“We usually have rice with a fried egg on top,” Tsumiki chimes in while she trounces to your side. She’s almost taller than you are and it amazes you how time flies. It wasn’t all that long ago you were braiding her hair and polishing her fingernails for her, her brother shyly requesting you paint his thumbnails alongside hers.

“I’m not asking what you usually have, silly, I’m asking what you want to have.”

You raise yourself up on the balls of your feet slightly to reach high enough to affectionately rub the top of her head and it makes her giggle, the two of you finally making it through the kitchen where her brother is already waiting.

“Depending on what you have in the cupboards, I can make just about anything,” you offer with a hum at the end, wondering who will offer up a suggestion first. You know the two of them are shy about their needs and often pretend they don’t have any lest they concern their guardian or anyone else he has around to help out with the situation but you try to encourage them to speak up when they can. They’re both good kids; wonderful, even, if you consider the situation they’re in.

“How about something fancy? Oh, I can make some French toast.”

Despite himself, the surly almost teenager smiles and shrugs. His sister practically dances out of the kitchen, walking back toward the small living room space of their accommodations, her unabashed sweetness the perfect foil to her brother whose mouth remains in a flat line while his green eyes scan over you, hunting for ill intent he will never find.

“Why are you here?”

You look up from combing through cabinets to find even the most basic ingredients and make a note to give Satoru a piece of your mind for keeping the kitchen mostly stocked with convenience food rather than what they need to make meals, meeting Megumi’s uncertain glance. He rests against the counter and for a moment you realize that he is no longer the unruly haired child the two of you used to take for the occasional picnic and day at the museum with Tsumiki. He’s growing up and you feel guilty for making things confusing for him thanks to your admittedly confusing dynamic with the man who more or less cares for him, his de facto big brother.

Megumi and Tsumiki both have experienced a lot in their young lives and all of the attempts everyone in Satoru’s life have made to help them have a normal childhood cannot fix the pain of loss and the anxiety of not knowing what comes next. Neither of them are apt to open up about all of it, satisfied long ago with the thought that their parents ran off together and never returned, and part of you hopes they never find out the truth. There is safety in ignorance and what have these last four years been besides an attempt to keep them as safe as two children can be?

Stepping away from the cupboard, you turn to face him and lean your own hip against the countertop, attempting to meet him on his level.

“I’m here because the two of you got good grades and I wanted to celebrate with you. Is that okay?” His skepticism practically wafts off of him and you snort. “We got good grades three months ago.”

You sigh, knowing you’ve been caught in an admittedly bad lie but you don’t bother to elaborate the real reason knowing he’s well aware. Changing the subject is probably the worst way to handle it but hey, you aren’t here to discipline him so you assume the role you’re better at and that’s comfort.

“Can’t I just do something nice for you two? You don’t have to earn everything.”

A shadow falls over his face and you notice it, leaning forward on your elbows slightly to look at him. He is a boy with big emotions even if he hides them to appear stoic on the surface, something you have worried for years that Satoru is not equipped enough to handle given he rarely blinks at his own distress before compartmentalizing it. There’s more than meets the eye for the enigmatic man who ties all of your lives together but children aren’t always the most capable of picking up on that, seeing him as an overly happy nuisance rather than someone who covers up anguish with smiles.

“People have been doing things for me my whole life even if I’m not acting my best.”

Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask him to elaborate if he would like to and he sighs. The way his shoulders slump gives away anything he’s trying to hide and the nurturing part of you fights the urge to make him spill knowing it would surely backfire. You’re aware he has mixed emotions about his relationship with Gojo thanks to the few times you’ve been able to get him to open up enough to talk about how he feels indebted to the man for saving his sister more so than saving him but that’s a big load to carry for a twelve year old. To keep things as light as you can, you take a card from Gojo’s book and play it off as nothing, propping your chin up with your fist and keeping your elbows on the counter.

“So? It’s not like they’re asking you to pay them back. We all have times where we are not our best.”

The unspoken part of your statement is that Megumi knows he will eventually have to become a sorcerer someday but given his abilities, it was inevitable no matter whose care he came into. Perhaps this is some form of payment for the guardianship he has been given over the years but you don’t believe that Gojo sees it that way on more than a surface level, a debt paid with flesh is hardly one that the cornerstone of sorcerer society would care to collect on from a child.

“Listen,” you use the weighted silence in the kitchen to your advantage and keep your tone low and even while speaking. You’re sure that if Tsumiki were listening that she would hear you anyway but you don’t think too hard about it. “All anyone wants is for you and your sister to be safe and happy. We stop in because we care about you and want you to know that you always have people on your side.”

Watching him carefully, you hope that your words bring him some comfort and you swear that a trace of a blush comes across his cheeks. The tips of his ears are red which always gives him away and you reach to pinch his cheek, to which he responds by slapping at your hand and groaning, scrunching his nose.

“We love our little Megumi, what can we say?”

He rolls his eyes but something about him feels definitively lighter so you feel as though your job is done. You open your mouth to speak again but you’re stopped when you hear the front door open, Megumi looking over his shoulder to see who could possibly be here.

“Pancakes!”

The shout comes from the front door and you recognize the voice immediately. A smile comes across your lips and Tsumiki stands up in the living room and rushes to the door to greet Satoru who just arrived at the apartment with still hot breakfast in takeout bags dangling from his arms.

Megumi rolls his eyes but his usual frown is replaced by the hint of a smile. He leans against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest and watches his sister greet Gojo gleefully, already thanking him profusely while he heads toward the kitchen to see you standing there. He raises his eyebrows, feigning surprise, and you roll your eyes as he holds up his arms and shows off the bags.

“Celebrating the two little geniuses in apartment 9-A!”

You nod and he sticks his tongue out at you while he passes, shimmying past Megumi to place the bags on the counter next to you. Wordlessly, you try to indicate that the smart boy has already picked up on the lie and to not proceed with it by widening your eyes and shaking your head but he misses the cue.

“I had the same idea.”

Megumi scoffs and lifts himself away from where he leans, stepping quietly toward the enticing smell of a fancy breakfast looking between the two of you while gathering plates from the cupboard to his right.

“Yeah that’s because you guys are exactly alike.”

Tsumiki opens her mouth to reprimand him for being rude but you shake your head, smiling as you lean over toward her brother.

“Yeah but which one of us do you like better?”

This finally draws a chuckle from the usually sullen boy and you nudge him playfully, a shy smile on his face that he dips his chin to try and hide. The curve of his cheek gives him away and you decide to leave him be for now until he leans in and fake whispers, plates between his palms.

“You but don’t tell him.”

“I heard that!”

Feigning offense, Satoru scoffs and holds his hand to his t-shirt clad chest. You smile up at him and he winks down at you, the two of you aware that the Fushiguro siblings are watching your every move. Megumi pushes past you to begin unpacking the bags after handing the plates to Tsumiki who giggles and leaves the three of you alone.

“So I’m not in trouble?” Gojo sighs and claps Megumi on the back, shaking his head. “No but if you start a fight you better win it or else you will be.”

You gasp and smack his bicep with the back of your hand, frowning while Megumi genuinely laughs and starts opening containers that smell so good it makes all of your mouths water. The discussion isn’t over but it’s paused for now and that’s something all of you can accept.

“What? I’m just saying,” Satoru argues while picking up a container and heading toward the set table. “Haven’t I always taught you to finish fights that you start?”

Megumi nods, following after the man with another container. Their relationship is unconventional but he can’t deny that he has learned not just that but much more from him. Each of you sit and you notice Megumi perk up a bit, Satoru using his chopsticks to put pancakes on each of the plates.

“To winning fights!”

“Hey, I thought it was to good grades! And he didn’t even fight!” Tsumiki interjects and you laugh, hugging her shoulders. Her brother scoffs at the white haired man next to him while he pours criminal amounts of syrup over his plate and for a moment, you think that maybe this arrangement is more comfortable for them than it seems.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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sundayworshipper · 10 months ago

Text

*~Orthodoxia

«Sunday x Gn! Reader»

🪦| SFW, Angst, Undefined relationship, can be read as romantic/platonic (bed sharing, cuddling)| WC: ~11K

⚰️| CW: Inspired by the song Orthodoxia by Guchiry, misplaced religious worship (fictional religion), Sunday is a priest and cult leader, Small town cult setting AU, Third person prose (reader is referred to as [Name]), Major character death, Minor character death, Murder, SH? (Sunday), Allusion to suicide, Graphic descriptions of violence, Non sexual grooming, A bird dies, Ena=God, Gopher sucks ASS, mostly Sunday angst with reader being there sometimes, English isn’t my first language, non chronological, first fic ever （╹◡╹）

Credit for the commandments to Guchiry

A/N: This is so long 💀.. There’s a few plot holes? and the writing is kinda repetitive but i spent too long on this not to post. Extra warnings, beta read but not proofread, reader char is intentionally bland, not canon compliant/OOC-ish ∩^ω^∩.

EDIT: Oh god this got much more attention than I was expecting. I am (slowly) working on rewriting it 🤍

1. God’s great grace is given to those who are completely faithful.

Sunday inhaled deeply while tugging at his pristine white glove in an attempt of straightening it. In his mind, he looked like a complete mess, completely unfit for a High Priest. His Master and founder of the One True Religion, Gopher Wood, had recently taken his last breath, finally succumbing to the horrible illness that had tormented him for years. As his adopted son, the gray-haired halovian was to take on his duties post-haste. The young man only took half a day to compose himself enough to make a public statement. He probably would have taken longer, had he actually cared to pretend to grieve.

Upon deciding he was satisfied with the state of his attire, Sunday stepped out of the sascrity, taking his place at the pulpit. The gazes of all of his Master’s- no, his own followers, locked onto him, confused and impatient to hear the reason for Mr. Wood’s absence at yesterday’s service.

The man smiled, hoping that the way it didn’t reach his eyes wasn’t very obvious. After a few moments, he just decided to close them.

The fear of rejection by his followers felt as if it was rapidly piercing holes trough his insides, however, he knew that THEY wouldn’t fail him when he needed THEM most. After all, the first ever thing taught to those interested in the religion, is that good things come to those who believe.

2. Only the high priest is permitted to take God's name in vain.

“Fuck! God fucking damn it!” An unfamiliar voice screamed from an alleyway, which Sunday was just about to pass while on his routine walk. His wings twitched, and the ones on his torso tensed. He contemplated if this even counted as a violation of the second commandment, as the use of the words ‘God’ and ‘Lord’ had less restrictions than the uttering of the true name of the one they were referring to. He also thought about the possibility that ‘God’ was the three-faced idol the next town over worshipped, that maybe one of them had snuck in. He ultimately decided that using any heavenly title accompanied by such words was disrespectful, and he’d try to steer the speaker onto the right path, be they a follower of Order, Harmony, or something else entirely.

Despite the amount of information he mulled over, he really didn’t spend long thinking before rushing into the alley.

“Are you alright?” He inquired to the person that had emitted such obscene words just moments ago. Their clothes didn’t reflect those of a citizen in this town, nor the neighboring one’s. They whipped around to face him, wearing a frightened expression.

“Ah..Huh?” The emotion of surprise seemed to overshadow that of fear. Sunday gave an amused smile at this.

“Do not be afraid. I am Sunday, messenger of Ena. I heard you…Cussing, earlier. Judging by your attire, you are a foreigner, which explains that. However, I feel as if I should inform you that such an act is quite worrisome here.” He could no longer suppress his giggle, which confused the stranger.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm..Do not worry. Mind telling me how to address you? And, if you’re comfortable, what brings you here?” Sunday stepped closer, and leaned in towards the person.

“I’m [Name].” They replied, taking a step back. After spending a moment deciding whether or not to reveal the circumstances that led up to them ending up where they did, they concluded that he was trustworthy.

Sunday listened, and considered their words carefully.

“I see. Since you have no home, would you like to live with me, for the time being? I’ll help you find a job. All I ask is that you attend church and clean up after yourself.” He offered his hand, wings relaxing.

[Name]’s breath hitched. It wasn’t like they had many choices… If they stayed on the streets, they’d most certainly die. If they went with Sunday, the outcome had a slightly lesser chance of being the same.

After thinking very carefully, they took Sunday’s hand wordlessly.

3. Those who do harm to God's messenger, the high priest, will be expelled.

As much as Sunday wished he could forget the worshippers of Xipe existed, trade between the two towns was beneficial for everyone. After the death of Gopher Wood- who refused any sort of contact and terminated the transaction of goods-, Sunday begrudgingly sent one of his trustworthy followers to request that the old commerce deal be reinstated. And so, it was.

To the average citizen, all seemed well. However, Sunday could notice the way everyone that interacted with Xipe’s Worshippers on a regular basis attended church less and less often. He tried to brush it off as them being busy with such an important new task. This was until, on the seventh day’s service, the holiest of all, one of the traders defied the rules and interrupted Sunday’s sermon by standing directly next to him. The halovian’s heart skipped a beat, but he simply smiled.

“Good sir, are you not feeling well? This is not an appropriate place for you.” He placed a gentle hand on the trader’s shoulder. His kind act was met with a harsh slap which resounded through the entire chamber. However, his smile did not falter.

[Name], who had been sitting in the front row of pews ever since Sunday ‘rescued’ them, stood up, as did the woman next to them. They wanted to separate the two, but the priest extended a hand towards them as a sign to stop.

The atmosphere was painfully tense and uncertain, until the merchant reached into his pocket to retrieve his dagger. He then pressed it to Sunday’s throat, finally causing his expression to shift.

“You bastard… You rotten, filthy, deceptive scoundrel! You lied! All you and your good-for-nothing father have ever done is lie! You will pay for this.” The trader hissed, preparing to slice the man’s flesh. Sunday’s eyes narrowed as he effortlessly ripped the knife from his hands by the blade, cutting deep into his own palm. He then tossed it to the side, and grabbed the traitor by the neck.

“Tsk..What a shame. You were quite valuable.” He shook his head disappointedly before dragging him outside.

No one dared to follow… Except for [Name]. Before anyone could tell them not to, they sprinted after Sunday, finding him kicking his attacker in the stomach repeatedly just outside church doors. [Name] gasped, but they were cut off by the disgusting feeling of bile rising up their throat. This caused Sunday to turn his head. His eyes were wide, however, a disturbingly sweet smile stretched across his features. He delivered one final kick- to the chest this time- and quickly closed most of the distance between him and [Name].

“You shouldn’t have followed me. But, I suppose it’s my fault for not teaching you what to do in such situations.. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

[Name]’s eyes darted between the priest and the corpse he had just created. They soon murmured the first thought they could muster:

“Your hand..”

“I will be fine. Go back inside, and stay put. Service will resume shortly.” He smiled before promptly walking out of sight.

[Name] considered running for their life as far away from this town as geography would allow. However, something was holding them back. After taking a minute to process, they re-entered the church, earning dirty looks from the other members. Only the woman that had stood up alongside them earlier spoke to them.

“Don’t do that. No one wants to see what happens to those who get ‘expelled’.”

4. It is the high priest who is the rightful successor to God’s will.

Despite it not feeling like such, Sunday was once a child. He had a family as well, more or less. Although thinking of Gopher Wood as his parent made him feel sick to his stomach now, a brief period of time where this wasn’t the case existed.

After the traumatic loss of their parents, Sunday and his dear sister, Robin, were sent to an orphanage much like any other unfortunate soul in the same situation. Robin thought they’d be adopted within the year, but Sunday was already planning the way in which he’d make a living for himself the moment he became an adult. He’d save up any and all money he didn’t use strictly on survival to be able to sustain his sister when she reached the age of eighteen as well, he thought.

In a surprising turn of events, a man from a small, far away town, visited the orphanage only three months after the siblings’ arrival. He smiled the instant his gaze landed on them. Originally, Sunday thought it was because of their shared, relatively uncommon species, but he’d later come to convince himself that Gopher Wood saw something in them that day.

In what had to be record time, he had legally adopted them. As they rode the horse carriage to their new home, Robin snuggled close to her brother, and whispered an optimistic ‘I told you so’. Sunday simply smiled, for the first time since the death of their mother.

The first day felt like the most fun a recently orphaned child could have. They were given various sweet treats by their new neighbors, and a tour of the town. Everyone seemed to dote on them, which almost made the young boy finally lower his guard fully. He thought he was safe at last, and could heal.

Big mistake.

That very night, Sunday was ripped from bed by his eerily silent ‘father’. Before he could even ask what he was doing, a hand had been slapped over his mouth. He, being docile and untrained at the time, allowed himself to be molded like clay.

In less than an hour, Sunday had been exposed to things that would shatter the mind of most children into pieces. At the end of his extensive explanation, Gopher took Sunday to the dark, empty church, where he forced him to kneel in front of the altar. Because he hadn’t succumbed to the information that he had to forcibly ingest, Gopher considered him a worthy heir, and introduced him to Ena as such.

And yet, that was not the point where he stopped seeing that man as family. In fact, he never saw anything wrong with that behavior. He always felt so proud to be chosen, entrusted with such an important position.. Gopher said he was special. Smart. Nearly perfect. He was everything he could’ve ever wanted in a son. The knowing glances they exchanged as Robin discovered the surface rules of the religion at the pace that everyone else except for him did made Sunday feel good.

For about a year, Sunday loved his life. He felt as if he finally had a purpose..

On the night of a seventh,going into first day of the week, in the latter half of November, Sunday found himself choking back tears on the bathroom floor, knees hugged tightly to his chest along with his discarded shirt. Gopher Wood, that monster, sat behind him, trimming away at the child’s lower wings. When he was done, he’d move on to permanently tainting them black, like his own.

‘The truest act of devotion’ he called it. To prove their loyalty to Ena, high priests had to discard something they held dear at a young age.. For halovians, their wings were naturally their pride and joy, so, the dark haired man picked those for him. Sunday asked to be allowed to choose something, anything else, but his request was declined.

Of course, this wasn’t any form of religious practice. Gopher had made it up to further mold his poor victim into what he needed him to be. Every time the boy dared to show any feelings regarding that action, he reminded him that as the high priest, all his actions were carried out trough God’s will.

Sunday never wore a base layer of clothing that didn’t almost perfectly match his new wing color after that. He felt hideous, and he’d rather have people think he lost his wings completely than show off the cruel defilement he’d endured.

Since then, Sunday could no longer see him as a father. Of course, he still respected and obeyed him, as not doing so would be disrespectful to THEM, too. After all, priests were naught but a mirror of their God’s desires.

5. God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world.

Sunday tossed in bed, wings wrapping around his face as he groaned quietly. He was tormented by thought, and couldn’t sleep.

Upon the passage of one hour, he rose from his spot, and slowly stepped out of his room. [Name] slumbered on his couch, as they had since the first time Sunday brought them home. He felt bad for not being able to provide them a proper bed, and made a mental note to work on that soon. After all, it wasn’t like it cost much, or… anything at all. He was just a very busy man.

The priest then stepped on the single creaky floorboard in the entire house, alerting his roommate.

“Sunday..?” They yawned, rubbing their eyes as they blinked them open.

“Ah. I’m sorry that I woke you.”

“It’s alright,, but what are you doing up so late? And why are you going out?”

“Mm. I need a walk, to clear my head. I’m finding it hard to rest well tonight.”

“Me too. I barely even fell asleep a few minutes ago, and it was so light.” [Name] stretched their back as they spoke.

“I see. Do you want to join me?” He offered, and the other person excitedly accepted, standing up and almost stumbling. Sunday caught them, helping them to stand better. They gave a grateful look in response.

The two then exited the house, the cold night breeze gently biting at their skin. They set a comfortable pace as Sunday directed them to the woods across the river that served as town border. [Name] hadn’t gotten the chance to go there yet, as it was ill-advised to venture too far from the town.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’m going to murder you for your sins?” Sunday smiled, turning his face away so [Name] couldn’t see.

“I do! It’s just that… Wait, have I sinned?”

“Of course you have. You are still new to our religion, you’re bound to make mistakes. Even devout believers sin sometimes, but God forgives all, therefore so do I.”

“Do you sin?”

“Me? No. Sinning would be disgraceful to our Lord. I mean, if even the high priest doesn’t carry himself as THEY intended, how would any normal person be inclined to either?”

“True.. Doesn’t it get exhausting having to be perfect all the time, though?”

“Not at all. Do you know the fifth commandment?”

“God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world?” [Name] cocked their head at him, almost tripping on a fallen branch in the process.

“Very good. As the high priest, I have to know these teachings better than any other mortal. The stronger one’s knowledge, the stronger they feel God’s love.”

“Oh. I never thought about it like that.”

“Well, now you have.” He halted, left arm occupying its spot behind his back as usual. [Name] stopped as well, confused.

“Why’d you stop? Aren’t walks supposed to be continuous?”

“Yes…Would you mind pausing here for a moment? If I’m not mistaken, this is the clearing I used to come to for respite when I was a child. I have no time for such things anymore, but it brings me a sense of nostalgia.”

[Name] nodded, and awkwardly walked closer to Sunday. There didn’t appear to be any sitting spots, so they just took a moment to appreciate nature’s beauty.

Not much time later, Sunday decided it had gotten far too late to be outside any longer. As they trekked back home, the priest noticed [Name] become slower by the second. He offered to carry them, and in a moment of exhausted weakness, they accepted. They’d soon fall unconscious in his arms.

The following morning, [Name]’d find themselves in Sunday’s bed, with him nowhere to be found.

Confused, they stepped into the living room. Sure enough, the man was curled up on the couch.

6. To disobey God is to deviate from Paradise.

[Name] was integrating nicely into the town already. While trying to decide what job they should try land, they picked up gardening as a short pastime. Sunday had graciously lent them a patch of his backyard to plant things in, so long as they managed to keep it free of weeds. They agreed, and were doing a great job so far. The first thing they tried was strawberries, as it was the optimal season for planting them.

[Name] decided to ask the neighbors to see if anyone had any runners they could borrow.

“Hello!” They waved at an older lady who was conveniently planting something in her own garden. She lifted her head, smiled, and waved back.

“…Ahem. I was wondering if you had any strawberry runners? I want to grow strawberries… I don’t have any money right now, but I’ll pay you for them someday!”

“Ah, such nonsense.. Since Mr. Wood saved us, money is obsolete.”

“Huh? Then why do people still have jobs?”

“So they don’t get bored, of course! If you’re worried about payment, pay with a favor. Give some to Mr. Sunday when they’re ripe. I’m sure he hasn’t had strawberries since Miss Robin… Ah, nevermind, I’ll fetch ‘em for you.” The lady hobbled into her house, leaving [Name] confused. They made a mental note to ask Sunday about this ‘Robin’ someday.

The woman soon returned, and handed the runners to [Name], eagerly.

“Here you go, dearie. Give some to me too, if I’m still around by then…” she chuckled, trailing off into a cough.

“Don’t say that.. But, I will! Thanks so much!” They waved again, and sped off to plant the strawberries.

About three months later, the fruits were ripe. [Name] was utterly delighted… They looked absolutely perfect, as if it was obvious from a glance that they had the perfect texture and amount of juice. They quickly collected them all in a basket, and ran inside, where Sunday was actually home, for once. [Name] was happy about this, and hurried to separate the basket’s contents into bowls. The priest tilted his head at them, curious.

“I see you’ve made good use of the land I gave to you.” He hummed observantly.

“Mhm! I couldn’t have done it without the grandma across the street, though. I have to give her a portion back, but.. She asked for something else as payment.”

“Oh?”

[Name] handed Sunday a full bowl, happily.

“She wanted me to give this to you! She said you probably haven’t eaten any since some Robin something something..”

Sunday froze, and his breathing paused abruptly.

“Who’s Robin anyway? It sounds like you know her…”

“Robin is a sinner who denied our Lord’s presence in her life. She is where she deserves to be right now.” His voice had a weird edge, almost as if it was breaking.

“She’s not someone you should concern yourself with again. Ahem; thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful of you. Send my regards to the neighbor, too.” He left, strawberry bowl in hand.

[Name] frowned, dejectedly dragging themselves and one of the remaining strawberry bowls to the neighbor’s house. She was in the yard once again, so they just walked up to her.

“Ma’am! I picked the strawberries today!” They handed her the dish.

“Thank you, dear. You gave them to Mr. Sunday too, yes?”

“Of course. He said to give you his regards. But, something weird happened. When I asked him about Robin, he just said she was a sinner. That wasn’t much of an answer, so could you tell me more, please?”

“Really? Hm. I wouldn’t expect him to be that cold towards the memory of his own sister…”

“…What?”

“I’ve said too much. Please leave.”

[Name] frowned, but did as asked. It was taking them some time to accept the fact that there were certain topics everyone seemed to get tense around..

7. To harbor doubts about God is to suffer the disintegration of thought.

Gopher Wood always despised the neighboring town, in which he was born, raised, and first established his religion. He hated not having control over every single atom there, so, he left. However, he wasn’t always completely unwilling to maintain a cordial relationship with them.

When his daughter, Robin, reached the age of twelve, he assigned her the role of ‘peacekeeper’. She was to befriend politicians and people of note, engage in the culture there. and report any intel she could’ve gained back to Gopher, who would then try to usurp the town and convert its residents to worshippers of Ena, ergo himself, by commandment fourteen.

By her 13th birthday, Robin’s reports suspiciously all turned into ‘They didn’t tell me anything’. The high priest soon grew skeptical, and ordered Sunday to get an answer out of her by any means necessary.

And so, he did.

He approached her door, taking note of the unfamiliar tune she appeared to be loudly humming. Due to growing older, they now had separate rooms. This didn’t help their relationship whatsoever, as their paths in life were already pulling them apart.

“Sister?” He knocked.

“Come in!” She called out, ceasing her singing. Sunday did, avoiding her gaze.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Sit down.” She gestured to the empty spot on her bed, next to herself. Sunday shook his head, which felt like a dagger being pierced trough robin’s heart.

“Oh. Okay… What did you want to talk about?”

“Master ranted to me earlier about the lack of new information regarding the neighboring town lately. I found this weird, so I just wanted to ask you about it. Please be honest with me, are you hiding something?”

Robin’s eyes widened, before drifting downward. She dipped her head in a slight nod.

“Brother… I’m sorry, I meant to tell you earlier, but I feared your response. I..” she inhaled, then exhaled. “…I worship the Harmony.”

Sunday stared at her with the most disgust his face had ever held. He began to slowly shake his head.

Robin stood, paced over to him, and grabbed his hand, holding it close to her chest.

“Please, just listen to me. I discovered something that will change your view on-“ She trailed off as she met his gaze. It was evident that there was no possible way to reason with him. At that moment, it didn’t feel like she was even looking at her sibling; but rather, at the man that destroyed him.

Defeated, she let go of his hand, and sat back on her mattress. As she watched her beloved brother leave her room, she accepted that her days were now numbered.

8. To blaspheme God is to deny one's own existence.

Robin wore a gentle smile as she was walked down the path to a completely empty plain by her brother. The girl was dressed in pitch black robes, a symbol of her betrayal and a way to make her death far more painful. And yet, she didn’t seem all that bothered.

“Sunday..” she hummed.

“You’re not supposed to speak.”

“I’ll be dead soon either way. What’s one more sin?”

“…”

“I love you. Please don’t blame yourself, I forgive you.”

Sunday didn’t reply to this, and pushed her towards her final resting place.

“Press your back to the stake, please.”

Robin obliged, placing her hands behind the wooden pole as well, without even having to be told. Sunday, under the watchful gaze of Gopher Wood, tied them together, then her torso to the stake.

A citizen then dumped the wood Gopher had hand picked the day prior as the fire fuel to Robin’s feet, before backing up. As per the high priest’s request, Sunday was to light it.

The heir felt nothingness rip and tear away at his being. As his Master placed a flaming torch in his hand, Sunday thought about all the things he wanted to do right now. He wanted to cry, but that would be ‘disgraceful’. He wanted to grab his sister and run, far away from here, and start a new life together, but they were just children, with a horde of angry, violent adults behind them. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream in despair, but the raven-like man behind him would definitely punish him severely for that. As his legs trembled, threatening to give out, Sunday wondered what the worst consequence could even be. Upon remembering the ruined state his wings were in and that he had another pair in an incredibly visible location, he took several deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry.” He mouthed, before pressing the torch’s tip to the firewood.

9. God sees, but THEY never save.

Sunday inhaled deeply, eyes shut. The winter air numbed his lungs, allowing the cold to overwhelm his body. He felt no pain, or any physical sensation at all. He simply felt like pure consciousness.

“Brother!” The worried voice of his sister called out to him. Alarmed, he exhaled, and ended his meditative state.

“What is it?” He questioned, tone unusually flat.

Robin held her hands out to him. They contained a baby dove. It was barely even covered in pin feathers, meaning it couldn’t have been more than seven days old.

“I was walking to Mr. Gary’s farm because I promised to help feed his animals, but i found this hatchling crying by a tree… I can’t find its nest, or parents, b-but it’ll freeze to death if we don’t do something!” She sobbed. Sunday examined the tiny avian closely.

“Yes…I do suppose the best course of action would be to raise it ourselves.” He crossed his arms.

“Why do you sound so hesitant..?”

Sunday was worried about what his Master would do upon discovering the animal. He wondered if its wings would be clipped, like his own were. The boy pressed a hand to his mouth in thought, eventually settling on the conclusion that there would be no reason to commit such act, as it was only done to himself so he could prove his worth to Ena.

“Fine. Give it to me.” He demanded, and the girl obliged.

The siblings rushed back home, where Robin filled a shallow bowl with warm water. Sunday placed the chick in it, but held on, just in case. It let out chirps of increasing volume, which the boy found endearing. He soon let go, stroking under the bird’s chin instead. Robin gasped, and leaned in closer to observe this. Her brother interacting with animals was a truly beautiful sight.

“How long will it take until it’s grown? I can’t wait to teach it how to fly!” She smiled widely, blinking up at Sunday.

“Huh? Why would we do that..?” He raised an eyebrow.

“So we can release it?” Robin now looked confused.

“What? You can’t be serious. What even is the point of saving it now if you just want to send it to die later?” He pulled the bowl closer to himself, protectively.

“It won’t die! It’d just be cruel to keep it inside for the rest of its life!” She argued, straightening her posture.

“It will.”

“No, it won’t!” The girl gripped the edge of the table. Sunday pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned his back to her.

“Fine. If you insist, you’re now responsible for its well-being until the end of the next week, when you must release it into the wild.”

“Fine.” Robin huffed, and pulled the bird and its makeshift bath back towards herself.

Seven more days passed, in which the dove grew out all the needed feathers for flight. Robin was absolutely ecstatic, and dragged Sunday outside.

“Okay..How do we do this?” She asked.

“What, you made a decision that could be the difference between life and death for another living being without any research?”

“Well, when you put it like that-“

“Do you admit defeat?”

“No! I know it’ll survive! Just tell me how to help it fly.”

Sunday simply shrugged, which upset Robin. After some contemplation, she placed the dove down on the ground, and held her breath waiting.

The bird soon spread its wings, and departed from the ground. The young girl squealed happily, and watched with wide eyes. She then turned, grinning triumphantly at her brother. It was then that she noticed the tall, dark figure looming right behind him.

“Master? What brings you here?”

Gopher Wood simply smiled eerily, and Sunday grimaced, eyes fixed on the now flying dove. A chill of deep dread struck Robin’s spine, making her turn again… Just in time to see the razor sharp talons of a raven dig into the body of the smaller bird. Right as its beak was about to rip flesh off, the girl ran into the house, sobbing loudly.

Sunday and Gopher kept watching. The scene was horrible, gory and disheartening, to say the least.

After a period of silence, the boy spoke up.

“That was a trained raven.”

“What a keen eye.”

“…Why? Robin didn’t have to see that. She’s just a child.”

“I disagree. It was her choice to free the dove, wasn’t it? She has to learn that her actions have consequences, and that defying the concept of order won’t get her anywhere.”

Sunday wordlessly nodded, before walking off.

On the way to the clearing he’d claimed as solely his- which he only turned to when he was having ‘sinful’ ideas that he felt too scared to even think about in the confines of the city- he wondered if Ena would really want one of THEIR creations to suffer, just to teach another a valuable lesson. He then considered that THEY might not truly even care about anyone and anything at all. If he could see and intervene in anything happening in the world, Sunday would try to save every being. But, in the end, he was not God, and THEY were.

10. God listens, but THEY never speak.

“Father..” a weak voice on the other side of the confessional threatened to break. Sunday straightened his posture, as he instinctively always did when spoken to, even if he couldn’t be seen.

“Speak your sorrows, child of the Order.”

“I can’t take it any longer. It feels… It feels like my prayers are falling on deaf ears. My life has only been spiraling into misery… Hell, even a sign would help loads!”

Sunday closed his eyes, thinking deeply.

“I understand how you must feel. However, you should know THEY don’t often give ‘signs’. You may share your troubles with me, and I promise to try my hardest to help you.”

“You’d really do that?”

“I would.” He nodded. He’d trained himself to be aware of his body language and what every single difference in stance could be interpreted as. So, he applied that even when alone, hidden, or in an otherwise casual situation.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you… May I ask a question first?”

“Hm?”

“Do THEY give you signs? Speak to you? Anything at all?”

The halovian fell silent. He didn’t know. Ever since he’d taken over Gopher Wood’s duties, he felt like a failure for being ‘spiritually disconnected’ from the Lord.

“The answer is what you think.” Was what he settled on.

The person on the other side sighed. The next time they spoke, their voice sounded muffled.

��I’m a murderer. I don’t deserve to live. Do you think THEY would forgive me if I..”

“Don’t say that. You are stronger than you think. Why do you consider yourself a murderer?”

“I had an argument with my little sister. It was over something so stupid, I don’t even remember what it was. I was so angry that I pushed her. She hit her head on the kitchen counter, and… oh god. There was so much blood. I saw her brains, Father. I will never forget the sight. I see it every time I sleep, every time I close my eyes, every time I see things that remind me of her. Please, how do I make it stop?” They sobbed.

Sunday was silent, eyes unfocusing as the vivid memory of Robin’s body being charred alive by flames tore its way out of the corner of his brain he’d banished it to.

“Father?”

“…Apologies. That is a lot to process, I was thinking of the optimal way to help. How long ago did this accident happen?”

“I don’t know. It could be anywhere from a few days to several months. After I buried her, everything’s been a blur. She was everything I had left… i hate to think that if I treated her nicer, showed her how much I appreciate her; if I tried to understand her better and didn’t let my emotions get the better of me, she’d still be here.”

“Yes.. You said you buried her body?”

“I did.”

“Where?”

“…”

“I see. You don’t have to tell me. I can feel that you are genuinely remorseful. Fear not, the Lord will forgive you, and I’m sure your sister would too. As for the mental scarring, I can only hope that your confession has lifted some weight off your shoulders. You are not alone. If you ever feel as if you need to take drastic measures, I hereby permit you to seek me in my free time. Your life matters, and I’d rather a slight inconvenience to myself than lose another life. It gets easier, I promise. Hardship is the key to happiness.” Although he was saying all this, he barely even believed or understood himself. He’d never had anyone comfort him when he was in a similar situation, nevermind attempt to help him. When he tried to turn to Ena for solace, he was only met with silence… Which was to be expected. However, the toll it took on him was greater than he could’ve ever expected. In any case, he hoped he’d helped the member of his community, even slightly.

The sound of the fabric belonging to the other person’s clothes could be heard- presumably them standing up. It was then followed by footsteps. Sunday groaned loudly once he figured they’d have long exited the church, and placed his face in his hands. This was going to be a long day.

Upon returning home way past midnight, Sunday looked uncharacteristically horrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his wings drooped pathetically as he slouched, including his ‘deformed’ second pair, which usually stayed tucked into his coat.

“Sunday!” [Name] ran to the door as soon as it opened. As they bore witness to the state of the halovian, they fell into baffled silence. He blinked blearily, far too tired to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. Go to sleep.” He mumbled, trying to push past them and towards the couch, as the two had traded sleeping utilities after their late-night walk.

“No! Are you okay?”

“Excuse me?”

“You look horrendous. I’m worried.”

“Thanks.” He deadpanned.

“I obviously didn’t mean it that way. It’s just not like you to be so… improper. Woah, wait, you have four wings!?”

“I don’t want to talk about either of those things. Please move, I’d really like to sleep.”

[Name] frowned, and instead of letting Sunday go to sleep on the near back-breaking couch when he was clearly in no condition to, they intertwined their hand with his, pulling him towards the bedroom. Before Sunday had the chance to protest, they’d reached their destination.

“What are you doing?”

“What, you said you wanted to sleep.”

“Are you implying you want to… share a bed?”

“Yeah! That’s not sinful, right?”

“I suppose not.” Sunday gave up.

“Great. I’ll let you change, call me back in when you’re done.”

Sunday didn’t know what had happened to him by the beginning of the next hour. He found himself cuddling his housemate, face buried in their chest as their fingers carded through his hair. If he wasn’t so far gone, he would’ve felt shame to the depths of his bones.

As [Name]’s breathing and heart rate slowed steadily, so did their hand. Sunday smiled, slowly shifting their position until they’d fully swapped roles. While he appreciated being on the receiving end of affection for once, it was just his nature to want to return any kind act done for him.

He draped a wing around their body, figuring he’d finally found a use for the unsightly body part.

11. God knows, but THEY never teach.

Sunday’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He’d been staring at the glass casing containing the stone slate which the commandments had been first carved into for what must’ve been many hours now. He read them over, and over, and over, and over… Despite the fact that his mind was already similar to the slate, in the sense that the words had been permanently etched into both. Every day, he could feel himself growing more and more…Hateful. And so, he decided connecting with the Lord again would be the best course of action.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. As he obsessively examined and carefully thought over every word of the sacred obligations, he could only form more and more questions… More anger. More doubt. The contradictions between several entries now seemed painfully obvious. For example, it was specified that the high priest was the exception to commandment two, but no such thing exists for the numbers nine, ten and eleven… But, communication between God and the high priest was supposed to be the basis of the religion.

As the gears in Sunday’s brain turned, he began to laugh. How could he have been so foolish? These were all just lies. Lies made up by a selfish man who desired nothing more than to rule the whole world by himself. As his laughter grew, so did his fury.

Sunday dug his fingers into the side of the glass; fragile, as all things in this forsaken town. If everyone was under the permanent illusion of safety, why was there any need for precaution? It was so bad, that nobody locked their doors anymore. No one would want to break into your house and kill you, after all. The most likely murderer was the person you trusted enough to live with. As these realizations plagued his mind, Sunday’s hands only gripped the long since shattered shards of glass tighter, and tighter. It hurt so pleasantly right now. Although, soon enough, he dropped them in favor of grasping the stone tablet itself. As he turned around, his eyes darted through the church. He needed something to break it with.

After looking for a considerable amount of time, Sunday decided he’d just fling it at the wall.

As the glorified boulder was about to leave his hand, he hesitated. What if he was wrong? This definitely had to be a misunderstanding. Maybe he just wasn’t open minded enough to understand the deeper meaning of the commandments. After all, every older resident seemed so happy living the way they were. The younger generation- including himself- would grow into doing the same, surely… God is good, Sunday thought.

God is loving.

The priest lowered his hand slowly. He rotated back to his original position, regret filling him at the sight of the broken display and bloodied glass scattered across the floor. If he were to look into his hand, he’d notice the crimson seeping from his open wound was quickly transferring to the commandments.

Sunday closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He just had to clean this up, find a replacement case, and no one would ever know. His sin could stay between him and the Lord, forever.

As for understanding all the contradictions, he was now sure that he just had to try a little harder. After all, God doesn’t teach. For a start, this probably meant THEY wanted THEIR subjects to learn from their and others’ mistakes throughout their life.

Yes, this had to be the solution. This was nothing but another trial for Sunday to overcome; a test of faith.

12. The entire Word of God is passed down through THEIR oracle, the high priest.

In an extremely rare occurrence, Sunday had found himself with a few hours of free time on his hands. He decided to spend one of them browsing the local grocery store, deciding on what snack to purchase for [Name], as a token of appreciation. He hadn’t asked them about their tastes outright, so he was attempting to piece them together from the few, yet valuable conversations they’d had. This was proving to be a more challenging task than expected, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for.” A voice coming from Sunday’s right spoke sweetly. He turned his head, confused. Before him stood a person, with an appearance so strikingly out of place that he managed how they even managed to make it into the city. They had white hair, parted into short twin tails on either side of their head. They also had long curtain bangs, however, the upper part of their hairstyle didn’t even utilize as much as half of their locks. The expanse of white fell down to the floor, dragging along it whenever they moved. They wore simple, yet eye grabbing make up, which nicely complemented their tanned skin. Their eyes appeared to naturally stay shut for the entirety of Sunday’s examination of them, not displaying any of the twitching that the eyes of a normal person forcing them to stay closed would. What was really out of place, though, was their clothing. They wore a tight, black dress which was about as long as their hair. It was rather revealing, especially in the chest and leg area. Whilst the town Sunday lived in didn’t exactly enforce ‘purity culture’ anymore, it was still unusual to dress immodestly. Additionally, the sort of corset piece wrapped around their midriff and neck appeared to be real gold, solidifying their status as an outsider. The followers of Order weren’t exactly wealthy, as money had not been used since the founding of the religion, and Gopher Wood considered the concept to be inherently unfair. Of course, this didn’t stop him from continuing to hoard any currency he came across, to be able to afford imported garments and accessories of the finest quality for only himself and his children.

“Pardon?” He narrowed his eyes, inspecting the item. It was one of the choices he’d been considering for [Name]’s snack, although he was still second-guessing himself.

“This is their favorite.” The foreigner extended their hand further, as if urging him to take it.

“What are you talking about?” Sunday was becoming uncomfortable.

“[Name]? Your.. Friend. This is their favorite. You are looking for something to get them, no?”

“Hah..I see. You’re one of Xipe’s slaves.” He chuckled bitterly, and grabbed a duplicate of the item they were holding off the shelf.

“I’d strongly urge you to return to your home, if you know what’s best for you. Good day.” He turned to leave, but a hand as cold as death itself gripped his wrist with a hold that would be sure to cut off his circulation if it was kept too long.

“Is this all the thanks I get? You would’ve spent another hour deciding if it weren’t for me.” The person pouted in mock offense.

“Stop. Get out of my mind, please.” He tried to pull away, to no avail.

“And what if I don’t? Are you going to call upon Ena to save you? Oh wait..” They laughed.

“Tsk…Do not use THEIR sacred name with such mocking purpose.”

“I really don’t get what you see in THEM. I mean, THEY’RE such a deadbeat! The Great One would never let THEIR subjects suffer.”

“Says the one whose idol abandoned THEIR town without leaving as much as a divine messenger.”

“Hm? But I am the High Priest.”

“High Priest? My a-.. ahem… That does not sound very likely. Clearly, you’re blessed in some form, but knowing Penacony, they would hold a week-long festival in your honor if you gave substantial proof of this. Who are you, really?”

The person smiled, and let go of his now bruised wrist. They’d still not opened their eyes once.

“Oh, would you look at the time. Well, I should get going. Until we meet again~” they waved, and walked away, humming an awfully familiar tune.

Sunday would then stand in the middle of the aisle, snack in hand as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He wondered if the person was trying to convince him to turn to the Harmony, or just teasing him. What’s worse is that if it was the former, he believed he might’ve actually considered.

The halovian soon dragged himself home, deep in thought. As he opened the door to see [Name] sitting on the couch as they had been doing more often lately, Sunday smiled. He sat next to them, far closer than usual.

“…I got you something.” He handed them the snack. [Name] gasped quietly.

“Ohh.. Did you know this was my favorite? Thank you so much!” They hugged him.

“Really? Must’ve been a lucky guess. In any case, consider this payment for the strawberries.” Sunday shut his eyes. Perhaps the worshipper of Xipe wasn’t all that horrible.

13. God’s aims are the aims of the world

Lately, Sunday had been frequenting the church in the dead of night. Since the meeting with the strange worshipper of Harmony, he’d been questioning his faith more than ever before. A part of him struggled with the same urge to run that he’d felt in Robin’s final moments. However, instead of his fear of angry, violent adults holding him back now, it was the fear of repercussions for becoming one.

He considered himself weak minded. He knew very well what he was getting into before accepting the position of high priest. He knew he’d have to murder and hurt, and yet… He never truly could. A secret Sunday swore he’d take to the grave, was that he never truly punished traitors as God commanded. Even after the incident with the tradesman, the worst he could muster was kicking him into unconsciousness and dropping him off into Penacony’s territory. That very night, he prayed to the God he himself had just betrayed, that the man was taken to a hospital. In his heart, Sunday still believed that if he were to implore the Lord to forgive those who turned away from them, THEY would.

Sunday had what one might call a heart of gold. He wanted the best for everyone, even if it directly contradicted the teachings of his Master, and the undeniable holy rules given to the world by God. However, his constant desire to help came at the cost of his own sanity- fact which he was acutely aware of. He considered it a small price to pay for the joy of others.

In his mind, he was responsible for the actions of each and every one of The Order’s followers. If they sinned, it was purely his fault for not managing to stop them. He’d be the one spending eternity in the burning embers, while any who sinned under him and died before he did, would be forgiven and led to the peaceful afterlife they strived for all their lives. If he’d explain this to any sane person, they’d most likely immediately pick up on how specific, flawed, and barely comprehensible his logic was… Unfortunately, he never would.

“You look tired.” The sickly sweet voice of the strange worshipper called from behind Sunday, making him halt.

“I know for a fact that I locked the gates.” He crossed his arms, but didn’t give the person the pleasure of looking at them.

“What can I say, I have my ways… Anyway, I don’t think burying yourself in your delusions is very healthy. You should rest.”

“I must say, you’re very bold. You simply can’t hold yourself back from insulting the Lord in front of THEIR messenger, hm?”

“I am simply stating a fact. You’re starting to doubt THEIR very existence, and you know that. If you acknowledge your situation, why do you still choose to indulge?”

Sunday did not speak for a long period of time.

“If you truly were a High Priest, you’d understand. God is all I have. I’ve invested so much time into becoming what I am now, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise.”

“And you still don’t follow the very principle that supposedly founded your religion. Clearly, deep down, what you want is to help everyone. You’d be well suited for the Harmony…”

“No. The harmony dictates that everyone must live through trial and error. That’s such unnecessary suffering, that can simply be avoided by protecting everyone.”

“Learning through mistakes? Isn’t that what you ultimately decided Ena’s ideal was, when you noticed people making mistakes over and over again, even when the whole point of this religion is to establish ultimate control and peace to the point where people will actively seek out pain to break the monotony?”

“…Then, I was mistaken. I never saw the similarities to the Harmony before. I pray THEY can forgive me as I try to truly understand THEIR commandments once more. Thank you for telling me this. I shall… Become a better fit for my role, through any means necessary.”

“Really? Or will you do as you’ve always done, and continue to refuse to harm anyone as your God dictates?”

“…Even if I were to do that, which I will earnestly try not to, the spiritual consequences would fall onto me, solely. I’m the one not doing my job, I-“

“Sunday! When was the last time you’ve uttered or thought something that makes any sense, at all!? Look deeply within yourself, you’ll realize how absurd you’re being.”

The halovian simply smiled. Perhaps, long ago, that would’ve been true. However, that was no longer a possibility. Any time he’d come to the same realization, his being would instinctively suffocate itself with a half-hearted explanation that would seem plausible enough at first glance, until he’d begin to deconstruct it, at which point the process would repeat.

The stranger’s expression shifted into a sorrowful one. They’d really tried to help him, but he was truly too far gone.

“I see. I hope your soul will someday be able to find peace.” They left, giving Sunday the opportunity to continue destroying himself in peace.

14. God and the high priest shall be regarded as one and the same.

Gopher Wood’s amber eyes intently observed Mikhail. His head was informally resting on the table, wings fluttering in anticipation as he waited for his ally to finish reading the documents he’d presented him with.

“So? What do you think?” He finally spoke, having grown impatient.

“I’m not done yet..”

“Well, you’ve read most of it. What do you think so far, then?”

“I didn’t know you had such little patience, Mr. Wood.”

“Yes, yes..Well, now you know.”

“I don’t consider it appropriate to share my opinion on something that I don’t fully understand. I ask that you continue waiting.”

“Fine.” Gopher scoffed, and stood up.

“I’m going to get another drink. Want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Mikhail sighed as he continued reading. Him and Gopher had met just over three amber eras ago, under inexplicable circumstances. At the time, it seemed they had similar ideals for the future of Penacony- a beautiful town, ravaged by an unfortunate dispute. The two quickly struck up a friendship, or at the very least, a cordial working relationship. At first, they agreed that their end goal was to join The Family, a union of towns and cities who worshipped a god known as Xipe and believed in the concept of Harmony. The men slowly gained the respect of most Penaconians that, too,wished for peace, who allowed them to become something akin to a two-person government.

After all that, they successfully completed their goal. Although, soon after, Gopher began acting unusually. He distanced himself from Mikhail, only talking to him to ask odd questions, such as ‘if he ever wished the entire town’s residents could be puppets’. The blue-haired man grew incredibly concerned for his partner’s wellbeing, but could never reach Gopher to speak to him about this topic.

A few days prior, he had invited him out to drinks to discuss ‘an exciting new discovery’. They now found themselves here, Gopher having handed Mikhail a folder full of papers, detailing the proof of the existence of another deity before Xipe. THEY were known by the name of Ena, and represented Order, which was awfully close to the concept of Harmony, besides the awfully concerning attitude towards those who desired to follow their own path in life.

Just as Mikhail finished reading, the halovian returned.

“Are you done yet?”

“Yes…?”

“Wonderful! So?”

“I’m… Not quite sure I understand. Do you want to leave The Family and pursue this religion? Do you even have any current proof this, ‘Ena’ even exists..?”

“Oh, THEY don’t!” He giggled, joyfully taking a sip of his wine. Just as Mikhail was preparing to open his mouth, he continued:

“Not anymore, at least. But if we can make people believe THEY do, we’ll have them wrapped around our fingers. They’ll just do anything we want under the guise of religion. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? There can truly be peace upon Penacony.”

“…How drunk are you?”

“Plenty.”

“You’re not thinking straight. That would never work, it’d just be defying human nature. Besides, if the ones who continue trying to end our lives for opposing them can’t even agree with Harmony, what makes you think they’d want to obey the words of an imaginary God?”

“Oh, them? They have no place in Penacony either way. If I were to execute my plan, I’d be doing a great favor to everyone.” He grinned.

“That’s enough. Get up. I’m taking you home, and you’re going to sleep off all that wine.” Mikhail stood, tossing the documents into the nearest trash.

“I know what I’m doing, my dear Misha. I’ve been fantasizing about this since before we even met… It’s my greatest wish, and what’s the best for Penacony- no, the world, even! Why must you be so cruel~?”

“…You’re not who I thought you were. Why.. Why would you even say that?”

“Mm.. Tell me one thing, then.” He rounded the table, until he was face to face with Mikhail. He then grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him even closer, grinning. “How long do you think a society under the Order’s rule will last? Hell, even with the most haphazard basis I can throw together in one night?”

“Don’t-“

“Answer me.”

“…A decade, at most.”

“Very well.” Gopher hummed, and let go.

“I say… Triple that, before it spreads to Penacony. At least a century after that until the downfall.”

“What are you planning to do..?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re,, a psychopath. This will never work! Even if it somehow lasted for your entire lifetime, you’d never find a successor gullible enough to extend your little cult’s existence for that long.”

Gopher’s smile widened sinisterly.

“Cult? I prefer the word social experiment. Anyway, I should get going now. I heard the next town over has little contact with outsiders, and I’d like to get there before that changes.” He turned, and began to walk.

“Until we meet again, Misha.”

15. God is absolute.

After his second encounter with what seemed to be Xipe’s chosen one, Sunday felt completely drained. He hadn’t fully felt like a living, breathing entity since he was maybe six years old, but the mental haze that affected him worsened with each significant event that happened to him. He stumbled home at the same time that the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Despite the fact that he returned to sleeping on the couch after the night him and [Name] cuddled, he didn’t feel like sleeping alone at this moment.

Following several minutes of hesitation, Sunday opened the bedroom door, cautiously stepping in. Of course, his friend was sleeping peacefully, and luckily for him, deeply. The man stalked over to the closet door, which had been divided into halves to accommodate both his and [Name]’s clothes. He quickly discarded his current outfit, changing into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt rode up his stomach slightly, as he hadn’t ever found the time to poke wing holes into his casual garments; therefore, his wings were just hanging naturally.

He slowly sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed, pausing to see if the sleeping person would wake. When they didn’t, he made himself more comfortable, even pulling half of the blanket over himself.

That action caused [Name] to turn. Sunday was preparing an apology speech for waking them, but they were unbothered. They grabbed his arm, snuggling it. The halovian took a moment to process, upper wings tensing in surprise. He was still not used to being touched, but he’d feel too bad pushing them away. So, instead of getting any rest, he just awkwardly stared at them for hours, frozen in place.

Finally, [Name] yawned, attempting to stretch. They were stopped by the sensation of a warm, solid object being held between their arms. When their eyes shot open, they barely stopped themselves from screaming at the sight of Sunday, who looked at them with a tired frown.

“Sorry,, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just feeling unwell, and I thought…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’m just, a little surprised. You don’t really seem like the type of guy who’d enjoy this kind of stuff.”

“‘Stuff’…?”

“Yeah. You know, like, closeness.”

“Really? Hm.” He turned his head away, deep in thought.

“I guess you’re right.“ He nearly whispered, pulling his arm away.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward. So much so, that [Name] decided to speak the first thought that came to mind:

“Can I touch your wings?”

“Sorry?”

“I want to touch your wings. They look super fluffy.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes, wondering where they obtained such courage. A halovian’s wings were just about sacred, and most only allowed those closest to them to do as much as stare at them for extensive amount of time. And still…

“You may. But, please be careful. They’re very sensitive, and tear easily.”

“Wait, really? I wasn’t really expecting you to let me..” [Name] was dumbfounded.

“I suppose so. The idea doesn’t make me uncomfortable, as I… Truly appreciate you. It feels like you’re the only person that has seen me as human in an embarrassingly long time. This is the least I can do to express my gratitude.” He leaned in closer, extending the wings on the side closest to [Name]. They didn’t speak, only reaching out to pet the wing sticking out from under his shirt. Sunday was surprised, as he figured they’d first pick the carefully preened, pristine, and intact wing on his head.

“It’s so soft..” they gasped, brushing a finger along the trimmed edge of the appendage. They then moved on to his upper wing, scratching behind it like one would with a cat.

Sunday metaphorically melted, gently collapsing onto [Name]. His eyes closed contently as his roommate continued their exploration of his features.

Unfortunately, their happiness didn’t last long. The distinct sound of wood being axed through snapped both people out of their relaxed state. Sunday jumped out of bed, and out the bedroom door. The sound was coming from the front entrance- which was stupid, as it was unlocked, much like any other door in the town. He crossed his arms, glaring at the widening hole in his door.

Upon completely decimating the wooden structure, a furious mob of followers of the Order barged in, carrying pitchforks and unlit torches. Sunday blinked in disbelief, if only for a couple seconds.

“You liar… Murderous whoreson of a cunt! How could you… How? Do you even realize how many people have lost or wasted their lives on your fuckass cult!? You will pay for this!” A man near the front screamed, spit flying onto Sunday as he did so. He wiped it off his face, giving his subjects a tired smile.

“My children, please. This must all be one great misunderstanding. I urge you to lay your weapons down, and explain to me what crime exactly you think it is that I committed.” He clasped his hands together, eyes closing inoffensively. Once again, his communication attempt was met with a slap.

“Misunderstanding? Hah. Tell that to The Devil! Tie him!” The man ordered, in response to which, the follower of Harmony stepped forward, rope in hand. As they stood parallel to Sunday, they opened their eyes for the first time. The blue outer ring transforming into a deep purple one didn’t look the least bit human, and neither did the grey sclera. If anything, such colors more closely resembled the written description of Ena, if only reversed.

It was then that it clicked.

Sunday began to twitch, in what seemed like the unfortunate moment where the psyche of a tortured man finally shattered. Hell, maybe that was accurate. He soon began to laugh, louder than he ever had before.

As he found himself preoccupied with that, Xipe gave him one last pitiful glance.

“I’m sorry.” THEY mouthed, beginning to bind his arms and wings.

[Name] gripped the edge of the bedroom doorframe. They had been observing for the entirety of the conflict, frozen. Perhaps, if the sea of people didn’t extend well past the confines of the house, they would’ve tried to help Sunday.

“See? He’s gone far past mad- Wait, should we do something about [Name]?” A villager questioned another, causing Sunday to cease his laughter.

“Absolutely. Burn the entire house down, everything he’s touched is tainted.”

“Are you insane? They’re pretty new. What do you think are the chances that they knew?” A third chimed in.

“[Name] didn’t know. It… It was all on me. I’m the one who lied to you. I deceived each and every one of you in pursuit of control. I corrupted the pure intentions of Gopher Wood, and, I ended his life via poison. I am the only culprit.” Sunday tensed, frantically looking around to see how many people believed his faux confession. Of course, only the first sentence was even remotely true. However, if he were to die today, there was no reason to drag the dead and the innocent along with him.

The villagers fell silent, looking between each other in a silent discussion.

“I believe him.” Xipe said, tugging on Sunday’s binds as THEY lead him towards the door, clearing a path through the mob.

The crowd followed, much like a herd of sheep would. This left [Name] alone, and confused.

When the silence became deafening, they hurried to follow. They figured that even if they couldn’t physically be that close to him during whatever was going to happen, then being there at all might make Sunday feel less alone. Even if what he’d confessed was true; which they didn’t fully believe, he did save their life. This was the least they could do for him.

Tears rolled down Sunday’s face, shining golden from the bright sunlight seeping into them. He was awarded the courtesy of choosing when he’d be ended, and he picked sundown. He’d been nailed to a cross, through his hands, wings, and shoulders. The fallen priest was in utter agony, and yet, he was quite alright with this.

Xipe took the same role Sunday had all those years ago; the killer. The villagers were seething, and craved nothing but blood. So, they all collectively decided Sunday was going to be nailed, burnt, and finally shot in the neck. Xipe offered THEMSELVES as executioner. No mortal deserved to have to live with the fact they were the direct cause of another human being’s untimely demise…

As THEIR lit torch approached the kindling, Xipe gazed into Sunday’s eyes once more. They smiled. It was barely visible, yet earnest.

Sunday returned the gesture, inhaling the last breath of fresh air he’d ever take.

[Name] kneeled in front of the charred, bloodied, and decaying corpse of Sunday. They didn’t even think he saw them in his final moments, ergo, they exposed themselves to his disgustingly brutal end for nothing.

They dipped their head, placing the bouquet of wild flowers they’d picked from the clearing which Sunday introduced them to, at his feet.

“Do you want to bury him?”

“…What?” [Name] turned, recognizing the voice as Sunday’s executioner.

“You cared about him. I doubt you want him to publicly rot for..What, a decade?”

“Yeah.”

“Stand. And take the flowers. I’ll carry him.”

And so, they did. In the same clearing the flowers had been picked from, [Name] and Xipe had buried Sunday. They didn’t mark his grave, deciding to finally let him rest.

“So? What will happen now? To everyone in the town, I mean. I don’t know about anyone else, but I have nowhere to go, and a town without a leader is a town without laws. But they’re all so violent…”

“Hm..Penacony has a place for all. Even with their violent tendencies, they can learn and grow.”

“So, why couldn’t Sunday?”

“Despite not knowing what he even believed in, Sunday thought he was nothing without Order. No matter what anyone could ever try, he’d refuse to change. It’s unfortunate, but, he should be allowed to make his own choices.”

“…But that’s so unfair.”

“Being forced into obedience would be equally unfair, no? Sunday died on his own terms.”

“I guess. It’s just, sad.”

[Name] received no reply. They felt as if the other presence had suddenly vanished, but didn’t bother to confirm this.

They laid down next to Sunday’s resting place, closing their eyes. They still struggled to comprehend how their life had taken such a horrible turn so quickly.

It didn’t matter now. [Name] yawned, rolling over onto the side they were most comfortable on. Upon waking, they’d set off to Penacony, where they would find a job and make a living for themselves. But tonight, they just wanted a semblance of a proper farewell to the cozy lifestyle they had grown so accustomed to, and to the man that made it all possible.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #sunday honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday hsr x reader #honkai star rail fanfic #sunday fanfic #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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steviewashere · 1 year ago

Text

Love, Rest Your Head

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Canon Typical Injuries Tags: Pre-Season 4, Aftermath of Starcourt Mall, Aftermath of Torture, Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve Harrington, Major Character Injury, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Mentions of Vomiting, Self Sacrificing Steve Harrington, Mentions of Major Character Death (In Reference to Hopper), Foreshadowing, Ambiguous Ending

💕—————💕 The news was pure devastation. Overhead shots of the Starcourt Mall burning. Flames engulfing the building on all sides, swallowing it up until it sat a collapsed, ashen mess. There was no structure. No semblance to any kind of store that was inside. Just dust. Blackened walls. Melted floor tiles.

Eddie sat on the edge of the couch cushion, left hand tucked harshly under his thigh, chomping down on his right hand’s fingernails. There was a metallic tang on his tongue, but he couldn’t get himself to stop. Not even when the raw, exposed parts of his skin bared themself as a tender ache in his mouth’s warmth. Nothing could stop him. In between bites, there were moments where he was holding his breath. Gasping for it when push eventually came to shove. At least it was air he was choking on, not bile.

His uncle was stoic in his recliner in the corner. Until, with the quietest and gruffest voice Eddie’s ever heard, Wayne said, “Your boy. He’s in the parking lot. Has to be.”

“What if he isn’t?” Eddie barely mustered. “What if—What if he’s not there in the parking lot with all those ambulances? What if Steve’s stuck in the debris and he can’t get out and nobody can hear him and then he doesn’t come home and I never—“ He was back to choking on his breath. Sipping at the smallest pockets of air he could manage.

Wayne didn’t answer. The promises that could be made in this moment, every single one of them could be a fallacy.

Then, the news reporter read out those who suffered in the fire. That crisped with the building. Ones that couldn’t be recovered. Ones that were found, yet only identifiable by the licenses in their pockets.

Jenna Kinling Parker Smith Tony Roberts Billy Hargrove…

Eddie bit his fingers harder at that last name. Maybe they didn’t run in the same circles or maybe they weren’t friends. But Billy was still a young dude. He had a life ahead of him. They had classes together. What if…What if…What if, rings loudly in Eddie’s head.

Except, Steve isn’t listed. Neither is his new friend, Robin. They aren’t…They weren’t found in the rubble. They weren’t believed to be in it either. And, as if on cue, the trailer’s phone begins to ring. Eddie is up and out of his seat before he has a chance to miss a single ring.

“Munson residence, Eddie speaking,” he answers hastily.

On the other end is the wet, nasally, raspy breathing of another person. The deeper the breaths, the more he can make out it’s somebody masculine. Their intakes are interrupted by small sniffles. Short bursting whimpers that come from sure pain, not pleasure.

“Hello?” Eddie speaks quietly.

The person gasps. Sobbing around the words, “Eddie…Eddie, I need help.” Steve.

“I’ll help, sweetheart,” he promises immediately. “What do you need? I—Uncle Wayne is here, too. We can help. We can—“

“‘M at the mall. And it’s all charred and…and gone. And I think I—I left your birthday present in Scoops and I’m sorry that I—My head hurts, Eds. It hurts and I’m bleeding and the paramed—they think…Billy’s dead and I watched him die and it scared me and—I don’t like him, I don’t like him at all but he looked sad and he looked…He’s dead, Eddie. I watched somebody die, Eddie,” Steve rambles. His words are heavily slurred. Barely breaking by his breath. Almost swirled by puke.

Before Eddie has the chance to interrupt, Steve is continuing. “I protected Robin from getting hurt,” he says seriously, gravely. But his next words are tiny, as if Eddie was listening to a child, not his eighteen year old boyfriend. “You’re going to be mad at me.”

“Why?” He asks. Shakes his head though, and asks instead, “Where should I pick you up? Does Robin have a ride home?”

“I got beat up again,” Steve barrels on. “’T’s really bad, Eds. Everything is ringing. Makin’ me nauseous.” His breaths grow heavier as if he’s ready to retch on his sneakers.

Eddie prepares himself to hear it all, because he knows it’ll happen. Knows it like the back of his hand, unfortunately. From how many other times Steve’s been concussed. Yet, he doesn’t care, saying, “I’ll take care of you here at home, but I need you to tell me where I need to pick you up. Does Robin need a ride?”

Steve mumbles, “She already left. Hugged her and everythin’. Rob—Robin’s safe. I protected her from getting hurt. They were going to hurt her, Eds. It would’ve been my fault for getting her involved.”

The words crawl under Eddie’s skin like spiders. He wants to scratch at himself, get them out of his head. Get away from how small each word is that comes from Steve’s mouth. He wants to find out who ‘They’ are and kill them. Wants to rip this world apart for making Steve sound so…horrified. But he just calmly asks, “Where are you, Steve? Where at the mall are you?”

“Front,” Steve mutters, “at the payphone. The one with all the gum on the back. It’s gross, Eds. I feel gross. Smell like—I’m sorry.”

Eddie just swallows harshly. Doesn’t know why Steve’s apologizing. But he’s scared shitless, that’s for sure. He grabs for his car keys on the dining table. “I’m going to hang up, Stevie. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

The last thing he hears is Steve coughing and retching up his lungs. Spiders work their way into his veins.

——— Sure enough, Steve’s by the payphone. Sitting with his knees up to his chest. Leaning against the thin pole of the phone. Inches away from whatever lunch he had last. Doesn’t look like much. Eddie just thought Steve was busy with work and relaxing at home. Though…Eddie’s starting to piece together that maybe Steve never left work. Like he’s been here way too long.

Steve shivers where he grasps to himself and Eddie approaches with great caution.

He crouches down to Steve’s level, keeps his hands to himself, and speaks softly. “Steve, it’s Eddie. I brought you a jacket. And some water. I’ve got crackers. You ready to go home?”

With his one good eye, Steve looks to him. Blood caked around his nose and mouth and chin. Eyebrow split, though covered with a butterfly bandage. His left eye is swollen shut and a deep, concerning purple. A part of Eddie almost wants to ask who left Steve here like this. To sit by himself and hold to his elbows. But, a stronger part of him cares too much about making sure Steve gets home.

Slowly, Steve reaches out his right hand and grasps at Eddie’s left wrist. Thumb harsh over his pulse point. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Without any fanfare or warning, Steve’s eyes fill with tears. Streaming down his face in sluggish lines. “I was stupid and got in trouble again and now I’m all…I’m all broken and ugly and I smell really bad and you’re gonna have to stay awake with me because I’m not allowed to sleep and I—“

“Baby,” Eddie whispers lowly, “Steve, I’m just glad that you’re alive. I’d rather look after you all beaten up and bloody than…Well, y’know.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Steve meekly asks.

“Do you want me to be mad at you?”

With great force, Steve shakes his head. Hissing and hiccuping at the pain that surges through him. “It hurts so bad,” he whimpers. “I just—They were going to hurt Robin and—and the kids. I couldn’t let them do that and now I—“

Eddie gently shushes him. “You don’t need to explain yourself right now, okay, sweetheart? We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”

“What if I never talk about it?”

He shrugs. Wraps his free hand over Steve’s where it still grips him. “Then you don’t talk about it,” he whispers. “Let me take you home, though? Give you the food and water I brought. Warm you up and change your clothes. Can clean your face,” Eddie lists. He cups the injured side of Steve’s face with a tentative hand, barely touching his swollen skin. “Clean this all up and brush your hair. Let you sleep.”

“I can’t sleep for long,” Steve reminds him.

“Wake you up every few hours, that’s fine. I don’t have school tomorrow, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“‘M’kay,” Steve agrees quietly. He’s drooping in Eddie’s hold. Exhaustion quickly swamping him. “Sorry if I throw up in the car.”

Eddie gently hefts them up off the ground, leads them towards the van, and gets Steve situated in his passenger seat. He murmurs, as he buckles Steve in, “I can clean up. But I’ll leave the window rolled down. I’ll drive slow. Do you want the jacket?”

Steve shakes his head softly. His eyes are closed and the rest of him is very still to his seat. As if moving anything physically pains him. It probably does, based on what Eddie’s able to see. “I don’t want to be reminded of the heat,” he state quietly.

“Okay,” Eddie whispers. He leans up into Steve’s space, presses a short kiss to his temple, and cranks the passenger window down. “Just lean towards the window a little. Rest. I’ve got you, baby.”

The car ride is incredibly slow, it makes Eddie antsy. But out of the corner of his eye, he notices Steve tensing at every gradual rumble and deep pothole. It makes Eddie want to just get out and push the van. He slides a hand off of the steering wheel and goes to grab Steve’s left wrist, but he jolts away. Head colliding solidly with the window frame.

“Don’t,” Steve bites. “Don’t touch me there,” he whispers.

Eddie swallows down the sudden rise of bile in his throat. “Okay, Steve,” he murmurs right back. “Do you…you need me to pull off for a second? Give you a break from the bumpy road?” Steve gives a slow and tentative nod.

He pulls to the shoulder, parks in silence, and just sits in the driver’s seat. Face forward, eyeing beyond the windshield. He’d turn on the radio, try to fill the gap between their bodies, but knows that the noise would be too much. Instead, he listens in on Steve’s audible deep breaths. Like he’s trying to ground himself to the carseat or maybe veer away from puking out the window. Eddie wants to touch and soothe, like he normally would during Steve’s concussions. But…he can’t. There are tears percolating in the corners of his eyes.

“You need water?” Eddie quietly asks.

“Please,” Steve mutters lowly. His voice is crackling and snotty wet.

Eddie moves slowly between the front seats, grabs an unopened bottle of water, and uncaps it. He leans across the center console to find a straw in the glove box. Plops it in the bottle and offers it up for Steve to take. “Slow sips,” Eddie states, “don’t need to make yourself sicker.” Steve angles his body away from the window, leans forward slightly, and takes the straw between his lips. Each swallow of water looks like he’s trying to consume rocks. His tongue working slowly, hesitantly against the straw. Testing it. “You’re doing a good job,” Eddie can only praise.

When Steve pops off the straw, it’s with a gasping breath. Catching and falling and catching again. He lolls his head on the seat, looking over to Eddie. Chest moving up and down with shallow, croaking shakes of air. “We can go,” he rasps, “I wanna sleep.”

The water bottle goes to the cup holders. And Eddie does what he’s told. Crawling slowly back home. Taking small pauses to check in with Steve, help him drink water, nibble on some crackers, rub his back when he hurls out the car window.

But when they make it back home, they move in complete and utter silence. Through the front door and to the couch. Wayne ogles the two of them, fear present in his eyes. His mouth hangs open, suckled dry of all words he could ever think to say. Eddie makes him grab a bowl of warm water and a rag.

And they just exist in silence.

In fear, Eddie now realizes, of whatever happened to Steve.

Because they’re not stupid. This wasn’t a fire. There was something else. Something more…disastrous. Dastardly. But Eddie places the bowl on the coffee table, sits on Steve’s right on the cushions, and turns them towards each other.

“Alright, I’ve gotta clean the blood off of your face, Stevie,” he encroaches their silence. “I’m going to be really careful. I’ll go slow. But I need you to tell me when you need a break, okay?” Steve blinks groggily at him. His eyes are dilated beyond belief. Eddie’s nauseous just looking at them. These aren’t the eyes he fell in love with.

These eyes are like terror in existential form.

Steve nods, though. He places a shaking hand on Eddie’s left knee. Doesn’t tighten it, doesn’t pet the fabric under his hand, just rests it there. As if he’s searching for an anchor.

Eddie wets the wash rag with the warm water. Raises it to Steve’s chin. “If this hurts, you need to tell me. Here we go.” The rag stains pink and crimson as soon as it touches Steve’s skin. He hates how hard he has to press just to work the blood off, but it’s dried to him. It’s coming off in flakes, Eddie sees the particles fall to Steve’s dirtied uniform. As he works the rag over Steve’s face, he can’t help but notice how stained and red the uniform is, too.

It used to be something Eddie could tease Steve about. Be flirtatious and saucy about it. Talk about stupid things with. Make dumb fantasies and see if Steve will play into them. But looking at it now only makes Eddie’s chest hurt. Makes his stomach turn uneasily. Shrivels something inside of him that will never live again. But he’ll get Steve into his clothes. Get him comfortable. Maybe he’ll burn the uniform when Steve isn’t looking. Rid of it like a demon needing to be expelled.

The last bit of the blood finally comes away, flaking from Steve’s nostrils to the washcloth. Eddie places it back in the pink tinted water. And then he looks back. At Steve’s child like eyes. And his split lip. The plum like bruise around his left eye.

Eddie’s never had homicidal thoughts, but today might just be the eye opener for him.

But he continues to be gentle. Offering, “Let’s get you some of my clothes. I’ll wash your hair in the bathroom sink. Then, you can rest.” Steve just nods, allows Eddie to pull him along to the bedroom, and change him out of his clothes. Ignores the slight bruising on his ribs, where he most likely struggled or fell. Tries to not think about the red, twisting lines across Steve’s chest, arms, and wrists from where he’d been tied. Just covers Steve back up in reds and blacks and soft things. And, while Steve is looking away, throws the Scoops uniform away in a nearby waste basket.

Washing his hair is no struggle. Steve goes listless and quiet when Eddie scrubs at his scalp, carefully detangles knots that were glued together by sticky blood. He barely blinks as he watches Eddie move and go through his hair washing routine. Doesn’t protest any of what Eddie chooses to do—even when he puts too much conditioner in the ends of his hair or doesn’t do two wash throughs with the shampoo, even if he uses a hair dryer instead of a towel. Allows him, which Eddie finds a little odd. He has an inkling, though, that it may just be the gentle touch that Steve doesn’t want to mitigate.

When they’re back in bed, Eddie lays flat on the mattress. Putting space between their two bodies. His alarm is set for three hours from now, where he’ll wake Steve up and make sure his concussion symptoms either are stagnant or lessening. But for now, he just stays put. Eyes up at his ceiling, stomach turning and knotting at whatever happened today.

Whatever happened almost doesn’t matter, knowing Steve made it out alive.

But there’s a haunting to him that Eddie can’t ignore.

Right when he thinks Steve is asleep and goes to close his own eyes, does he hear the smallest of statements.

“Hopper died, too,” Steve murmurs.

“No…”

Steve nods sagely against his pillow. “Heard about it through some of the kids I babysit. Guess he…Guess I wasn’t the only one to make a sacrifice.” Eddie hears him shift, coming closer. His body warmth radiating and tight against his rigid body. There’s a hesitant palm that slithers and sits on Eddie’s chest. Where his heart beats rabidly. “Could…Could’a been me.”

Eddie places his own hand over the back of Steve’s. Presses them together firmly. His chest caving with the push. “Don’t say that,” he harshly whispers. “Don’t…Steve, I thought it was going to be you. Please don’t say that.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just…That’s the only thing I could think of before you got me. How I—I almost didn’t get to see you again.”

“At least you’re with me now, right? I’m just glad that you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. “I just wish I could bring myself to tell you what happened.”

“Don’t need to do that, Steve. Just rest up and get better for me, alright?”

Steve shuffles closer. His head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. He nods. “Thank you. I love you,” he sleepily murmurs.

Eddie wraps an arm around his back and squeezes him tightly. “I love you, too, love bug. Get some sleep and I’ll check on you in a bit.”

The snores are a comfort after tonight.

——— And when he looks Steve in the eyes, mere seconds before he leaves for Vecna, Eddie understands the harrowing sacrificial fear. He’ll be the one to protect Steve now. “Make him pay,” he says. But he knows, reflected in Steve’s eyes, that there is finality in his stare. His stomach turns and his hands shake, but damnit, he’ll make sure that Steve won’t be the one drowning in blood this time.

He hopes to hear snores against his shoulder tomorrow night.

If night comes.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #angst and hurt/comfort

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whatinywhatiny · 2 months ago

Text

"Hey!" --AIAFA!Mikey

"Hi." -LS!Mikey

"How are you?"-AIAFA!Mikey

"I've been doing well! I came here today and ate eight pizzas!" -LS!Mikey

note:

1.AIAFA!Mikey doesn't get that much shock.

2.It wasn't my first idea that came to mind his Shredder of the universe. Refer to the idea that someone else thought of first.

@l-g-wolf

@tmntaucompetition

Vote for And It All Falls Apart!

#tmnt au #tmnt au propaganda 25

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thetomorrowshow · 3 months ago

Text

you could always stay this young

Or, 5 times that Ilphas saw Scott as a boy, and 1 time they saw him as far older than he is.

FEBUWHUMP 2025 DAY 2 - holding back tears

fandom: empires smp

TRUST AU BABEY!! cw: descriptions of injuries, perceived major character death, referenced torture

~1~

"Come in," comes the young, wavering voice on the other side of the door.

Ilphas carefully pushes open the door.

There he is.

Prince Scott is sitting behind a desk that seems far too large and mature for him, perching on the edge of the chair. His wings fit awkwardly behind him, and his hair (now cut short, far shorter than Ilphas has ever seen it) is tangled, as if he's been running his hands through it. The button of the high collar of his mourning vestments has been undone, and the cuffs are already trailing threads, a sure sign that the boy has been picking at them.

"The ceremony shall begin soon, my lord," Ilphas tells him, and Prince Scott bites his lip.

"How much longer until I must leave?" he asks quietly, and Ilphas represses a sad sigh.

The prince is not an adult yet, that much is clear.

Prince Scott had his coming-of-age ceremony yesterday, and although he's just reached eighty-two (technically old enough to come of age), he's still a child. He probably won't fully mature to adulthood for another ten years.

And now, forced into adulthood too early, the prince must be ordained king.

"They expect your presence within the hour."

His highness, as Ilphas suspects he's been doing all morning, buries his hands in his hair, staring unseeingly at his desk.

"I don't want to be king," he whispers, and Ilphas feels their heart clench.

The boy is only eighty-two. Queen Isidriel had always referred to him as the princeling, and as inappropriate as that may have been, it is a word that aptly describes the young lord.

And as they're thinking that, Prince Scott's shoulders begin to tremble, as if he is barely holding back tears.

Ilphas surreptitiously pushes the door shut, and finds themself wishing a moment later that they had shut it with themself on the other side. They find emotions difficult at the best of times, especially with one so young. Especially when most of what can be done to comfort children is far above their station.

"With permission, I shall lead you through the schedule of today," Ilphas says after a moment. The prince raises his eyes to meet theirs, redrimmed and exhausted.

"Do you recall the rehearsal that was held last night?"

His highness nods.

"Very good. In one hour, that will occur. Everything will follow according to that, though quite a bit longer."

Once the prince nods again, Ilphas continues.

"Once the crowning has been performed and adjourned, there is very little that will be expected of you for the day. All celebrations will be planned for two years in the future, to allow for the proper mourning period of your parents. You will be needed to sign papers and send out an official decree of kingship, and then there will be a small meal with the traditional breaking of bread. Then you will bid farewell to all those who witnessed the ceremony, before retiring to your quarters for the evening."

"And tomorrow, the funeral," Prince Scott murmurs.

Ilphas nods. "Your days shall be busy, but do not feel anxious. You . . . you are not expected to know how to reign. The death of your father was not anticipated for at least five more centuries, and it is not unreasonable that you have not been adequately instructed."

They don't know how to say that this is absolutely unprecedented. Since the beginning of its life, Rivendell has never had a child ruler. His majesty King Andeloth had only ruled for ninety years, so while many of the palace staff were present for his mother's death and the transition of leadership (Ilphas included), King Andeloth had been five hundred years of age and had essentially already been ruling as the queen's health had declined.

A week ago, King Andeloth and Queen Isidriel had been in full health, as strong as they ever had been, with no threats to the throne and the only marring spot on their rule the death of their younger son three years past. Of course nobody had yet begun to train the prince, when his father would rule for many years to come and he would likely be joined by several siblings, all ready to share the weight of the kingdom should an unexpected death occur.

But five days ago, after a sudden, unknown illness (one of blackened flesh and pulsing red veins, one that the king and queen and many of their ship’s crew had contracted while crossing the ocean, one that had become so dangerous so quickly that the prince found himself quarantined in the summer home in the valley before his parents had even returned), the king and queen had died.

And now, five days after his parents' death, and one day after his coming-of-age, and one day before his parents' funeral, the prince must be crowned king, with no training and barely any preparation.

He's so young. The prince really is just a boy. Everyone knows it—the priest yesterday, while officially declaring his highness an adult, had looked uncomfortable with the words proceeding from his mouth. Those present had seemed unsure. Several elves had glanced around when the priest asked for objections (and objections of a non-serious nature are often brought up by the parents or close friends in a more casual ceremony, but other objections are not unheard of), as if asking for someone to say what they all knew.

But the need for a king was more important than tradition, and no one spoke out.

And as Ilphas examines the prince at his father's desk, they wonder if perhaps it was the wrong choice.

They do not voice such concerns, however. They only wait for the future king to speak.

Finally, his majesty sighs, pushes back the chair, and stands, almost seeming to tremble. "I suppose I have nothing to gain here," he says, casting a glance around the room. "Will I need to meet with anyone beforehand?"

Ilphas's eyes catch on his hair and his sleeves again, then they open the door and usher the prince out.

"There will be an attendant in the anteroom to fix your hair," they say. "And after that, do try not to touch it, or your sleeves."

The prince grimaces, but nods, and the two of them leave the room together.

And Ilphas offers up a silent prayer to Aeor that the boy will take his new role with grace.

~2~

Somehow, Ilphas lost the king.

They had contacted Rivendell to ensure that his majesty arrived safely, only to discover that his majesty had not arrived at all, nor had they requested his return.

And with a sinking feeling, they quickly realized that Lord Smajor had lied about where he was going.

He was gone, with no one the wiser as to his whereabouts.

Under other circumstances, Ilphas likely would have been demoted (or even released) for such a grave error. But as soon as they explain the situation, they can tell that the rest of the council does not blame them whatsoever, and they're fairly certain that Lord Smajor won't insist they step down when he was the one who went and got himself lost in the first place.

Maybe that isn't the correct attitude to have with the king, but he's simply too young.

In Ilphas's eyes, the king is still a boy. It's not even been thirty years since he was crowned, and less than twenty since the point that he likely would have become an adult in a normal situation, and Ilphas cannot see him as anything other than a boy king.

So when Lord Smajor makes contact and informs them that he will be returning after six days of nothing, Ilphas feels more annoyed than relieved. Does he believe that he can just come and go as he likes, sending the palace into a panic over nothing?

Which is quite the attitude that Ilphas brings to the dock when they go to meet his majesty later that afternoon.

The moment Lord Smajor steps off the boat, Ilphas knows something is wrong.

He's holding himself oddly, his shoulders rigid and unmoving, one arm around his waist. His steps are slow and careful, as if expecting to step on a needle at any time. Perhaps most obvious, however, is the simple clothing (certainly his own, though missing layers and embellishments), the sling that holds one of his wings close to his back, and the deep shadows under his eyes.

He looks oddly small, curled in on himself, and Ilphas feels all their irritation melt away as they realize that something very bad has happened to the boy.

Ilphas steps forward—to support the king, perhaps—and freezes when his majesty flinches away.

"We have anxiously awaited your return, my lord," Galidre says uncertainly, bowing.

Lord Smajor waves him off with a quick jerk of his hand. "I'm afraid," he says, and his voice is raspy, damaged— "that I must pay a visit to the infirmary. May we leave now?"

So Ilphas sits across from his majesty in the carriage and watches as the king sits on the edge of his seat and winces with every bump yet holds his head high.

When they arrive in the palace infirmary (and Lord Smajor walks from the carriage into the palace and down the long hall without support, despite his stride growing stiffer with every step), Ilphas quietly sends Galidre away to work on other business and closes the door, glancing around to ensure that the other beds are empty.

When all is done, they stand beside Lord Smajor as he gingerly sits on the bed closest to the door, and they nod to the lead healer (Velien) who approaches.

"Good afternoon, my lord," Velien says, bowing. "How may I assist you?"

Lord Smajor scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, sighs just the slightest bit. "I . . . I sustained a fall from a great height," the king says carefully. "I believe that I broke my wing in this fall."

A fall?

That certainly explains quite a few things—the late return (with a broken wing, he would have had to walk quite a way), the exhaustion, the way he holds himself as he walks—as if he's got several deep bruises that he doesn't wish to agitate.

A fall would make sense, and despite themself, Ilphas feels that irritation poke at them again. Lord Smajor knows how to fly, doesn't he? He's had wings for his entire life, after all. He hasn't fallen in decades.

Velien nods and tugs up xyr sleeves. "It will likely need to be set and immobilized," xe explains, circling around the bed to examine the wing. Lord Smajor's sunken eyes follow every move.

He goes utterly still as xe touches his wing, unwrapping the sling and stretching out the limb. Ilphas watches carefully—the lord doesn't much care for being touched (few elves do), but his face pales beyond its already overly pale complexion and he almost looks ready to bolt, lips trembling and fingers tightly gripping his tunic.

Velien clicks xyr tongue. "There likely is a break, though with your wings, your majesty, it is difficult to tell. I believe it is right here—"

Lord Smajor flinches forward with a noise of pain, and Velien raises xyr eyebrows.

"Yes, right there," xe says. "On a numerical scale from one to ten, how painful would you describe it?"

Lord Smajor takes a slow breath, in and out, and it hurts Ilphas's heart to see him in so much pain, but maybe he oughtn't sneak out like a child and get himself into situations such as this.

"Six, maybe? From the wing?" his majesty offers, looking to Ilphas as though they know the answer.

Velien nods. "All right, then. I believe it is an operation that can be performed while you are awake, but I would recommend imbibing a sleeping draught for our ease."

Again, despite no one touching him, the king flinches forward. "I—if I must," he stutters.

"Very well. Xolineh, would you mind retrieving a sleeping draught for his majesty?"

An elf sitting at a desk near the back of the infirmary nods, turning away to the wall of cupboards.

"Your majesty, if you would please remove your tunic."

Again, Lord Smajor looks to Ilphas.

Does he not wish to undress with others present? It is only themself, Velien, and three other elves in the room. And they will all (save Ilphas) be involved in the operation, so there isn't much point to privacy.

"I don't believe I can," Lord Smajor whispers, and though Ilphas is about to sigh and tell him to get it over with, it isn't an issue, something in the king's face gives them pause.

"My lord?" Ilphas asks after a confused moment. "Is something the matter?"

His majesty swallows. "I believe . . . I am injured in other places, and I . . . I do not think I can raise my arms that high."

Velien looks up sharply at Ilphas.

"Where else are you injured?" asks Ilphas, suddenly fearing the worst. He might have suffered internal damage—there is no one else with royal blood, the king is practically a boy himself so of course he's not had heirs of his own, he snuck out and nearly got himself killed in a childish mistake and how is Ilphas not supposed to be irritated with him while also terrified for the future of Rivendell?

This simply cannot happen again. There is far too much at stake for the only royalty in the empire to go about risking his life.

"My shoulders," the king says, and his voice still sounds so raw. "I have already received medical attention for other injuries."

Medical attention?

Other injuries?

Ilphas finds themself speechless. They can only stand there and watch as Velien takes a knife from xyr pocket and in one slow movement (and the king's flinch away cannot be written off as one of pain this time) slices through the tunic and pulls it down off of his arms.

Oh, dear Aeor.

Ilphas turns away abruptly, pulls the curtains around the bed closed. They aren't even sure what they're looking at, but Lord Smajor's shoulders are covered in bruises and swollen and Ilphas suddenly feels as though maybe some privacy is warranted.

And when they look back, they see just how terrible the king's condition is.

It isn't just his shoulders that are bruised. At least half of his skin is painted purple or brown or yellow, bruises in various stages of healing, particularly dark and plentiful on his stomach. There are some healing cuts as well, cuts that look clean and taken care of, but amidst all the bruises Ilphas can't find it in themself to pay them much attention. Their mind instantly jumps back to internal damage, because those bruises on his majesty's stomach could be indicative of anything.

They look up to catch Velien's eye, see if xe has noticed the danger, and finds xem staring open-mouthed at the lord's back.

Ilphas steps around the king (whose eyes stare at nothing as his mouth moves silently) and looks at whatever it is that has the Head Healer so dismayed.

"Aeor above," whispers Ilphas.

This isn't from a fall.

The king's back is marred with bruises, just as the rest of his body, and lashes, crisscrossing his skin. The lashes, like the other cuts, are partially healed—someone had likely poured a healing potion over them—but still obviously painful judging by the way one has split open, blood dripping from it.

The lashes aren't just on his back, but on his wings as well—in featherless stripes that Ilphas had assumed had been lost in the fall but are clearly matching the marks on his back—and below where his shirt has pooled around his waist the lashes still reach, and Ilphas can barely hope that they don't go down further.

Then Ilphas's gaze catches on his swollen shoulders again, and from there travels down his arms (and that looks like finger-shaped bruises on his forearms) to his wrists, identically red and rubbed raw.

The king did not fall from the heavens.

And if he did, he somehow landed in hell.

"My lord—"

"Tree branches," King Smajor says quickly, turning his head just barely. "I fell in a forest—the branches cut me—"

"My lord," Velien says, voice trembling, "these are not from—"

"Leave us," Ilphas commands, and without another word (but with another glance at the king's back), xe parts the curtains and steps without.

It's quiet for a moment.

And Ilphas notices with a start that Lord Smajor's ribs are so starkly visible that they could count them, and that might explain how small he seems.

Ilphas is reminded of not long ago—half a century, maybe—of when the young lord had ingested a bad plate of food and been committed to the infirmary for a week. For months afterward, Ilphas had watched (without knowing what to do) as the prince had grown thinner and thinner, his face more and more skeletal, as he refused to eat, not trusting the food to be safe for consumption.

They don't remember what it was that helped him to recover, but within a couple of years, he began eating normally again, and Ilphas had breathed a sigh of relief and forgotten it.

His back whipped. His body beaten and starved. Hung by his wrists, possibly, chains dragging them up, putting intense weight on his shoulders and even dislocating them. His voice damaged and raspy, as if he's been screaming. . . .

"My lord," Ilphas says, coming back around to stand before the king. Lord Smajor doesn't look at him, eyes fixed on the floor. "I am afraid that a tree would not be capable of these injuries."

The king doesn't respond, still looking down like a guilty teenager.

He's so young.

Too young to be kidnapped and tortured.

"Who did this to you?"

Lord Smajor shakes his head.

"You've been missing for a week, my lord," Ilphas says. "You may feel . . . unwilling to speak of it, but you must tell someone."

He hasn't stopped shaking his head, his fingers wrapped in the remains of his tunic.

"If we are to bring the villain responsible to—"

"I cannot start a war," the king bursts out, looking up desperately.

Ilphas goes still.

A war?

If he had been kidnapped by a common criminal, identifying them would not be a war-starting issue, no matter the empire that they came from.

But the king's words now not only confirm that he was kidnapped and tortured by someone of another empire, but that it was a prominent member of said empire. Possibly a ruler, or at least approved of by a ruler.

Perhaps Lord Smajor hadn't lied when he'd told Ilphas he was leaving to return to Rivendell, but Ilphas is inclined to believe that he had. The advisors here had never requested his presence, and if he had intended to return directly to Rivendell, he simply would have leapt off the balcony and flown away.

But if someone at the dance had said something, perhaps threatening him or something dear to him if he refused to go with them. . . .

Dear Aeor. The king is hardly more than a child, he doesn't deserve to be kidnapped! He never ought to be placed in situations where he suffers torture, then cannot even persecute the perpetrator for fear of war.

"Is there anywhere else you are injured?" Ilphas asks after a long moment.

Lord Smajor looks away again. "My legs and feet have . . . similar wounds," he says reluctantly. "They should not need more than regular health potion admi—administration. I only need the wing and—and my shoulders examined, I believe."

Ilphas sighs. "There are some offenses that are worth starting a war, sire."

His majesty manages an exhausted, monosyllabic laugh. "There may be one soon enough. I would rather prepare to defend Rivendell from the demon than selfishly go out to war over something so small."

King Smajor has always been wise for his age. A king far more advanced would declare war without a second thought—in fact, if the king's own father had been in this position, Andeloth the Stern would doubtlessly have done so.

Lord Smajor, though essentially a child, has always elected to put the good of others first. When the king had insisted on cutting ties with the Grimlands, Ilphas had barely questioned it, assuming it to be more than a rash decision. And so far, the breaking of the alliance has been fairly beneficial, with the loss of one equaling the gain of four others.

So, though Ilphas disagrees with this decision to withhold the identities of his torturers, they choose to trust that the king knows what he's doing.

So they nod. "You would do well to stay away from trees if they injure you so," they say carefully.

His majesty grimaces. "Believe me, Ilphas, if I could avoid them, I would."

It's someone he interacts with regularly, then. Another ruler, more likely than not.

But Ilphas doesn't ask any more questions. They nod, and call Velien back in, then stand there while Lord Smajor drinks the sleeping draught (which takes him some time, as he seems to be quite upset by the idea despite agreeing to it), and once the king is asleep, Ilphas slips out and informs the rest of the council that his majesty will need ample time to rest in the coming days.

And in the coming days, they watch with pain in their heart as Lord Smajor refuses food again and again and stays up all night, his face growing gaunt and hands shaky, and they pray that someone will help the boy soon before he wastes away.

~3~

This time, everyone knows where his lordship went.

Everyone knows that most, if not all, of the rulers of the lands left this realm for the next. They went to the End, for what purposes Aeor only knows, in the middle of the night and without preparation or warning.

When the king of Rivendell returns that evening, he certainly looks worse for wear. Ilphas follows him all the way to the medical wing, watches on anxious as Velien checks his vitals and patches up some odd tears in his skin (“I fell into the Void,” Lord Smajor confesses, and Ilphas almost gasps at his utter disregard for his own safety). With instructions to keep an eye on how he feels, the king is quickly ushered into meeting after meeting after meeting, each set to discuss the demon and his return, and how they might face the war on the horizon.

He had planned for a war, and he had been right. Hardly more than a child as he is, Lord Smajor has always had impeccable instincts. This is just another example of his youthful wisdom.

His majesty seems distant all day, eyes as far away as the Void he’d fallen into. Which—how on earth does one fall into the Void? His majesty isn’t clumsy, it isn’t like he just . . . stumbled off the edge of the End.

The last time that Lord Smajor claimed to fall, Ilphas had seen through the lie within moments. This time, he doesn’t appear to be hiding anything—he just seems . . . off, as frustratingly vague as such a description is.

He’s tired, as well—it’s fairly obvious. After all, he likely didn’t sleep at all the night before, or not much. He’s been doing better as of late (which Ilphas suspects the Codfather has no small part in), but his majesty still hasn’t been getting as much sleep as he ought to be. Ilphas can’t tear him away from the meetings that last all night—and the meetings are so important that they wouldn’t dare try. Ambassadors from Mezelea, the Undergrove, the Ocean, and Crystal Cliffs all arrive at various points in the night, urgent to meet with the king, and with the looming war there is nothing that Ilphas can do to ensure that his majesty actually gets to close his eyes for a moment.

Then, close to noon the following day, Ilphas glances up and suddenly realizes that Lord Smajor’s face is bare.

How could they not have noticed before now? His majesty has been seen by so many over the past hours, so many who knew of his engagement and now, perhaps, carry the wrong impression of his lordship’s fidelity.

“I—my lord,” they say quickly, interrupting Galidre’s words on labor distribution. “A word?”

Lord Smajor nods to Galidre, who bows and sweeps out of the throne room, taking with him the present attendants. Once alone, Ilphas approaches the throne, keeping their eyes on the floor.

“Your veil,” they say imploringly, clasping their hands in front of them. “My lord—”

“The betrothal is postponed,” Lord Smajor says. “I . . . I should make an announcement. It will continue once the emergency is dealt with.”

Ilphas does not argue, though they very much wish to do so.

Is it wise? Is it wise to end a betrothal, right as the war begins, when alliances and bonds must be made stronger than ever?

“But—”

“My word on this is final,” his majesty says sharply.

So Ilphas bites their tongue and leaves, letting the others re-enter, ready to send out his majesty’s (foolish) announcement of postponement as soon as it comes.

When that’s done, they finally manage to get Lord Smajor to shut himself in his chambers and rest. There’s nothing more that is so pressing it demands his immediate attention, for the moment. He needs to sleep.

If he can manage it.

And Ilphas needs to sleep as well. They clean up their desk with heavy arms, ensuring that the proper papers are in the right places and everything will be relatively easy to locate come the following day, then prepares to leave for their own chambers.

A commotion that echoes up the stairs distracts them as they lock the door to their office, though, and Ilphas allows themself a moment to sigh deeply before heading off down the staircase.

It’s—

It’s the Codfather, though his face is—

Oh, my.

Ilphas has to reassure themself several times that it was not the palace guards who injured the Codfather so, but the trip to the End that so many rulers had embarked upon, only the previous day. That still doesn’t stop them from calling out angrily as the guards stand uncertainly in a semi-circle around the Codfather, preventing him from moving any further into the palace (which he clearly has been trying to do, judging by the anger in his eyes).

“Leave him,” Ilphas calls, nodding sharply to the guards, who looked back in confusion. “A resident of the palace, treated with such disrespect?”

“But—the betrothal. . . .” one of the guards starts uncertainly.

“Postponed, not ended,” Ilphas says icily. “Let him through.”

So they part, and the Codfather, after a moment’s hesitation, nods self-assuredly and strides right past them. “That’s right! You can’t stop me from seeing Scott.”

Internally, Ilphas cringes at the familiarity. Externally, they are emotionless. “His majesty is in his quarters,” they say stiffly to the Codfather.

Though, really, his majesty oughtn’t be disturbed right now. He ought to be resting, not distracted by his youthful little love affair.

There isn’t really anything Ilphas can do about that, though. They’d be better off sleeping now so they can deal with whatever this situation is in the morning.

Aeor help them. They’re going to need it.

~4~

Ilphas hesitates before knocking.

They don't wish to be the one to say this.

But they do knock, and they hear a stuffy "Come in" from the other side.

They push open the door, and there he is at his desk.

He looks devastated already. Must they bring him this news?

Lord Smajor is dressed in black, a simple black robe with a black cloak thrown over the back of his chair. His hair is unbrushed, tangled as if he's been running his hands through it, and the cuffs of his stiff sleeves are trailing threads.

It's a sight so similar to years ago, after the death of the boy prince's parents, that Ilphas can't help but purse their lips and restrain a sad sigh.

"Hello, Ilphas," the king says without looking up, bloodshot eyes fixed on the desk. "How might I be of service on this fine . . . fine day?"

Oh, Aeor.

His lordship isn't in a good state at all.

Which isn't something that Ilphas feels they can blame him for.

Instead of saying what they'd come for, Ilphas steps forward, closes the door behind themself.

"Is there anything I can do, my lord?" they ask gently.

His majesty chews on his bottom lip, squinting his eyes shut.

After a long moment, he sighs.

"I don't want to do this," he whispers.

Ilphas waits.

His majesty sighs again. "My apologies," he says, rubbing his face, before opening his eyes and meeting Ilphas's gaze. "I have been working on the emergency refugee support plan. I should have it finished by tomorrow. My apologies for missing the deadline."

Lord Smajor returns to his work, and, just as they had been those years ago, Ilphas is struck by how unfitting the large desk covered in papers seems to be.

"That is not what I am here to discuss," Ilphas says.

His majesty frowns, glances back up. "What?"

Ilphas truly does not want to bring this up.

The king is only a boy, after all. Too young to experience such heartbreak. Too young to have to lead a war amidst it.

Ilphas steps closer to the desk. "The councils of the court have decided," they say reluctantly. "Your betrothal holds true."

For a moment, Lord Smajor only stares at Ilphas.

Then he blinks rapidly, tears suddenly sparkling on his clumped eyelashes.

"The mourning period will be extended by six months," Ilphas continues. "And you will be expected to adjust your clothing to be as those—"

"I know."

Ilphas falls silent, just watches as the king buries his face in his hands.

They hadn't initially approved of Lord Smajor's betrothal to the Codfather. Their alliance thus far had been short, and their friendship even shorter. The Codfather was hotheaded, rash, and made decisions based on personal opinion rather than measured benefit.

But it had become apparent immediately that his majesty was head-over-heels in love with the Codfather.

It was clear in the way that he spoke about his betrothed, the way he allowed—and even sought out—physical contact from the man, the way he went out of his way to make sure the Codfather had all the comforts that he could.

So Ilphas stopped voicing their objections, and simply let the love blossom. The king was young, after all. He'd lost some of his childhood to sudden responsibility, and though it appeared that a war was soon to start, Ilphas let the king be young.

And perhaps, if this whole ordeal with the Codfather worked out, they wouldn't be out of line for suggesting to the king that he get started on some heirs.

The need for an heir had become even more urgent as Lord Smajor began preparing for this unknown war, which would apparently be waged against the Grimlands and Mythland (though he refused to speak of why, and Ilphas began to have suspicions about the possible perpetrators of the king's recent captivity).

Then, once the demon was released, the war plans (and the wise premonitions of Lord Smajor) all made sense, and Ilphas began to feel quite anxious for an heir.

Not that they anticipated his majesty to perish, but one never knew what would happen. And Ilphas began to wonder if it was perhaps more of the king's divine insight that led to the unexpected betrothal than true love—he had been planning for the war for quite some time, after all. Perhaps the betrothal was part of that planning, beginning the one year process as soon as possible so that he might provide an heir once it was finished.

And now, mere weeks later.

The Codfather is dead, and King Smajor is devastated.

He has a mourning period of a year, and after that he oughtn't rush into anything for propriety's sake, and then another year's worth of betrothal period. . . .

Well. Ilphas isn't exactly hopeful for a bastard child, but perhaps it would be something to think about.

"I don't want to do this," the king whispers again, bringing Ilphas back to the conversation at hand.

How much more can a king so young experience without breaking?

The death of his entire family, forced to rule as a child, suffering torture, the death of his betrothed not long into their betrothal, a war. . . .

"You are not alone," Ilphas says, hoping vaguely that they are not overstepping their station. "I cannot imagine how you feel, sire. However, we are all here to . . . share the burden. If you need . . . anything, do not hesitate to make it known."

His majesty nods slightly, then, with a slight gesture of his hand, dismisses Ilphas.

With a bow, they depart, leaving Lord Smajor in the privacy of his office.

And soon enough, the king emerges, head held high and veil pinned in place.

Perhaps it is only Ilphas who sees it, but the red in his eyes makes the blue shine in ways it hasn't in decades.

~5~

Ilphas can do nothing but watch.

They stand there as Lord fWhip utters vile things and confirms their theories of who might have taken the king captive those months ago.

Yet they stand there and silently urge the king to not rise to the disgusting bait.

And when the light goes dark and the tent flies off and the world is bathed in red (and Ilphas is cast to the ground, the wind blowing ferociously), Ilphas can only watch.

They pick themself up and watch as Lord Smajor fights for his life, as ice bursts from him uncontrollably—and Ilphas had suspected, ever since one week ago when they saw the ice left wherever the king touched, that they might have a legend come to life on their hands.

Did Aeor have to choose the boy?

Then, the unthinkable.

Lord Smajor fails.

He fails, and the demon throws him aside (like he isn't royalty, like he isn't the demon's own brother, like he isn't anything) and declares his reign.

Ilphas will not stand for that. They know for a fact that the elves of Rivendell would rather die than allow such an evil creature rule them.

Ilphas needs to rally the troops (which isn't their job, they aren't the general, they aren't anywhere close to being the leader), but they can only stand there and stare at the crumpled body of their king.

And then that blue hair shifts just the slightest bit, and Lord Smajor lifts his head (for a moment Ilphas has hope, maybe this was part of the plan) to make eye contact with Ilphas.

Ilphas can't restrain the horror that leaps up within them.

The king's face is washed in blood and smeared in grey dirt, his expression twisted in pain, grain-like black grit sticking into a gash on his cheek. His hair is tangled; his mourning clothes are torn and dusty.

But Ilphas meets those surprisingly clear (clear, understanding, pained and despairing and terribly sad but clear) eyes.

The king nods, only slightly.

Oh.

His meaning is obvious. Though willing to fight to the last elf, Ilphas knows with a certainty that such a battle would be fruitless.

Lord Smajor knows so as well.

It is the king's final wish that they surrender, that no unnecessary lives are lost, that the people is not entirely destroyed.

And the king is nothing if not selfless.

So Ilphas blinks back the wetness in their eyes, and nods in return.

The final moment of eye contact that they share with the boy king is long, an eternity of understanding.

Then Ilphas turns away, commands that weapons be lowered, calls for surrender.

And when Xornoth speaks—

"This is your king, and he is dead."

They can do nothing but watch (a tear slips down their cheek) as the boy is killed.

They see the way he doesn't even move with the obvious snap of his wing, he doesn't make a single noise of pain, and they're fairly certain that his soul has departed before he's even thrown from the cliff.

He was so young.

He was only a hundred and nine, expected to save this world and banish the demon in the midst of so much grief and pain.

He was set up for failure from the beginning. How could anyone have expected him to succeed?

Ilphas doesn't dash to the edge of the cliff to try to glimpse the young king's body. They instead kneel in that place, the place where his majesty had first stood his ground, the dirt swept about by his footprints.

There, on the stony ground, is his crown.

Not the one of legend, that had fallen with him, but Lord Smajor's crown, the one of gold with white crystals that had been forged for his crowning. The one that the king had let fall to the ground before the battle began, his shaking hands placing the crown of antlers upon his head.

Ilphas picks up the crown, wipes away a few specks of dirt with their gloved thumb.

The last king of Rivendell, fallen.

And he was only a boy.

~+1~

Ilphas doesn't expect his majesty to be awake, but when they push open the door to the infirmary, he isn't in bed.

He's sitting by the window, staring out into the darkness of night, alone but for the soft noises of an owl somewhere in the distance.

It's been a full day since the king returned. Since he appeared from seemingly nowhere, the also-dead Codfather at his side, and wielded a shining sword against the demon, binding him in an ancient ritual that has likely not been seen on this earth in thousands of years.

Ilphas knows that there will be many songs and stories of the final duel. They had once scoffed at the tales of Alinar's prowess, his larger-than-life stature, his being of fire and command of the heavens.

Now, however, they feel their skepticism drifting apart. After all, Lord Smajor had seemed to literally be engulfed in brilliant white fire as he fought, in some moments seeming as the ancient king himself, miniscule glimmers of change every millisecond.

The moment that Lord Smajor had collapsed to the ground, it was as if the fire went out. The heavenly light illuminating him faded, and everyone had stood still for a long moment—then King Joel of Mezelea had moved forward, gathering Lord Smajor into his arms and carrying him away toward the palace.

Ilphas had followed not far behind, had helped lay out the unconscious king on a bed in the infirmary, had carefully unlaced and removed his worn leather boots and set them on the floor, before allowing a healer to examine him.

The healer hadn't found anything wrong, and eventually Lord Pix of Pixandria had shown up, saying something about magic and ancient bindings and promising that Lord Smajor would wake by the morning.

His majesty had actually woken some time before the morning, and Ilphas saw him not long before dawn, joining the effort of helping the wounded and collecting the bodies.

Somehow, in the darkness of the night, he had still seemed to slightly shine.

Ilphas had been called away from the clean-up as soon as the sun broke over the horizon, to join the council in making decisions about the once-invading armies of the Grimlands. Count fWhip had surrendered immediately after the fall of Xornoth (a little strange, in Ilphas's opinion, seeing as his forces were surely far greater than the ragtag rebellion King Joel had managed to put together), and was now hurriedly departing, leaving it up to the king's council to decide whether to help them or hinder them in their flight.

Discussions of such matters took half the day, and then Ilphas was quickly pulled into another meeting about sending aid to the Codlands (from what they'd heard, though, the Ocean Queen had it well under control), and it's taken until night again to find Lord Smajor and properly speak with him.

He had helped for a good part of the morning, Ilphas was told, in organizing the wounded and setting up extra makeshift infirmaries. Most of the beds had been dragged out under his direction, onto the lawn of the palace so that they might be of easier access for the wounded. It was only when he almost collpased that the healers ushered him back to the nearly-empty-of-furniture infirmary, claiming the last remaining bed as his and commanding him to stay there.

And, as expected (seeing as the infirmary is little more than the king's bedroom at the moment), Lord Smajor is there alone.

He stares out the window, the moon illuminating lines in his face and turning his hair almost silvery.

He looks old. Far older than Ilphas has ever seen him, and far too old to be here, dealing with matters such as the restart of the world.

His left arm is resting on the arm of the chair, not in a sling or missing entirely, as the rumors would have one believe.

Without turning his gaze from the window, Lord Smajor sighs. "Hello, Ilphas," he says, something somber (something ancient) in his tone. "Apologies for not seeking you out earlier. How might I be of service?"

Ilphas doesn't respond, standing by the door, and after a moment, his majesty turns his eyes toward them, his stare piercing and bright. "Have a seat," the king says, nodding toward an extra chair at the side of the room.

Their instinct is to kneel. How can they sit?

Ilphas pulls it over to set it across from the king, then sits there with him.

Lord Smajor smiles, the turn of his lips strained, but Ilphas can't help but feel relieved.

The king has returned.

Once dead, he's here.

He isn't without mark of his apparent death, of course. What had been a gash on his cheek the last time Ilphas saw him (and what a terrible time that was) is now a light brown scar, sure to fade within the year—and there's a pink mark on his chin from the demon kicking him, also likely to fade—and there's a weight to his brow, formed of emotional and physical stress, if Ilphas had to guess.

He's here, though, thin and exhausted but here, and frost curls around his fingertips for a moment then recedes and Ilphas knows at once that his majesty is truly Aeor's Chosen.

"The army of the Grimlands has fled," Ilphas says, realizing that the king has been waiting for him to speak, "and we have a host mobilizing to cast them from the far reaches of the land. Is there anything else you believe should be done?"

The king shrugs. "I have been living in the woods for a month," he says drily. "I'm not sure that I'm aware of our needs."

Living in the woods? In what woods?

Surely wherever the Codfather had been hiding. After all, they had appeared together at the funeral, hadn't they? Perhaps the Codfather had rescued Lord Smajor from his fall, had brought him to a secret location to heal and wait for the moment to return.

Why that moment was the king’s own funeral, Ilphas will never know—though the timing could not have been any later. Only a few minutes more, and the demon would have been crowned king.

Four days after the king's fall (and that's what already elves are calling the cliff, King's Fall), the first day after the armies had returned to Rivendell, Ilphas had hid a dagger in their robe and vowed that if they ever had the opportunity, they would drive it through the heart of Xornoth.

Just a month ago, they had almost wished for Lord Smajor to beget bastard children during his mourning period, as inappropriate as that would be—but they had decided that losing the last remnant of the royal line would be far preferable to allowing the prince-turned-demon to rule.

"Is there anything I ought to be made aware of?" his majesty gently prods, and Ilphas realizes that they've been lost in thought, staring at the king.

"Apologies, sire," they say. "I believe not. Is there anything I may do for you?"

They want to ask how he survived. How he fell, beaten and broken, from the cliff to the rushing river and still survived. They want to ask how long he's known that he was Aeor's Champion. How he managed to return. How he succeeded this time, following such disastrous failure.

But none of those are proper. If the king wishes to explain, he will explain.

He isn't a child, after all.

Lord Smajor turns his gaze back toward the window. "I can no longer use my left arm," he says after a moment. "It was bound to the crystal in the ritual."

So some of the rumors were true, at least. His majesty has essentially lost a limb.

The king is forever changed. Not just because he lost use of his arm, nor because he is Aeor's Chosen.

But war brings grief, and grief takes its toll, and his majesty has had far more than his fair share of grief in his life.

He will never be the same. He will always bear the weight of this war and its consequences. Although the Codfather may yet live, Lord Smajor will never forget how his supposed death felt. He will always remember his own failure.

But Ilphas feels confident that he knows how to move forward. He isn't a child, after all.

There are, however, some things that they can help with.

“Will the betrothal with the Codfather go forward?”

“Yes,” the king says, without hesitation. “As quickly as possible.”

Ilphas nods. “I would advise a week before beginning it again,” they say, and this is exactly what they want. One of his majesty's problems that they can help with. “Time to settle, to ensure that your betrothal wear still serves its purpose. The next item—the church will certainly need construction, however—”

“Ilphas,” the king interrupts quietly, a bit of a smile playing on his lips.

Ilphas pauses, meets his eyes. “Yes, sire?”

“I thought there was nothing I should be made aware of,” he says, and Ilphas once again sees it—the spark of something wise, something ancient in his ice-blue eyes.

“Of course,” says Ilphas, ashamed at their mistake. The king needs rest. “I will—”

“Ilphas.”

“Yes?”

His majesty looks at them for a long moment, and Ilphas refuses to believe that's something fond in his look—

“Go rest,” his majesty says, then, “that's a command. Sleep, at least until morning.”

Ilphas will not argue against the king.

So they stand, and bow—deeper than normal, they haven't bowed so deeply since King Andeloth—and depart, feeling the king's eyes on them all the way out of the infirmary.

Then, just as his majesty commanded, they go to their quarters and rest.

#febuwhump2025 #febuwhumpday2 #empires smp #scott smajor #esmp #empires smp s1 #empires smp fanfic #trust au #mas writes #there's like background flower husbands #i am in so so so so so much pain #chronic pain when i get you....#lmk what you think #love you guys

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almostfoxglove · 3 months ago

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LOCK THE GATE: EPILOGUE

THE FINAL CHAPTER.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) | Word Count: 14k Pairing: Joel x ofc (Bill's Niece) - reader format/pov CW: Full content warnings are under the cut, in case you want to avoid spoilers!

SUMMARY: Ten years after meeting Joel and Tess, you send out a signal that things at the compound have gone south.

read from the beginning | series masterlist | main masterlist

SNEAK PEEK:

Now he’s here, just a black cutout against bleached hills, watching you sheath your knife, crack the safety off your gun to toss it aside—it lands with a heavy clatter against the echo of what once was a yellow stripe in the road. You want to run, why? Not away for once, toward something.

READ THE EPILOGUE ON AO3.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto

NOTE: I have officially moved away from tag lists as they've gotten lengthy (thank you for that <3) so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

EPILOGUE CONTENT WARNINGS: Reference to canon-typical violence, injury, and gore. Brief mention/description of animal death (natural, not killed by a human, something like a mouse). Major character death (not reader and not Joel). Explicit smut (fingering, unprotected piv). Hopeful/open/ambiguous ending.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel miller x oc #almostfoxglove #myfics #fic: lockthegate

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luvhhannie · 1 year ago

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nothing new | y. jeonghan x reader

𓇢𓆸 synopsis: no one would’ve thought that unspoken feelings would’ve been the best for you and jeonghan

𓇢𓆸 genre: angst, non-idol au, mutual pining (if you squint), kinda slow burn romance, hanahaki disease

𓇢𓆸 cw: major character death, terminal illness hinted, swearing, blood and gore (at some point), yn basically being paths eren, a little bit of wonwoo x reader but mostly platonic, 96 line (wonwoo, woozi) to maknae line are all in freshman in uni, the rest of 96 line are in sophomore in uni, LOTS of references

𓇢𓆸 wc: 11.1k

𓇢𓆸 a/n: this is my first time in a while writing a fic again so please bear with me! and if you recognize my user from wattpad DONT remind me of my aki fic i lowkey completely forgot the plot. not really proofread i just wanna get this out there, ill edit it if i have to. anyways, all love!

“jeonghan, meet my sister, yn. don’t you dare hit on her now.” your brother, seungcheol, said to his friend who only smiled at you.

“nice to finally meet you, yn-ie. cheol told me how much of a supportive sister you are.” jeonghan stated as you stare up at him. today is november 13th, the day you finally met your brother’s so called “university best friend”. you only knew jeonghan from your brother’s talks and calls but never actually gotten the chance to meet him, until today. you knew from your brother that jeonghan was quite a “manwhore”, in your brother’s words. seungcheol was only a year older than you, already in his sophomore year in college, while you were still enjoying the gap year you were taking. you and seungcheol are practically twins, only you being more laid back than him. he was your only sibling and so are you to him, making him very protective over you despite your undeniably, small age gap.

“hey, it’s finally nice to meet you too. seungcheol told me a lot of things about you.” you said to the long, dark haired man infront of you. he gave a sheepish smile and raised his brows.

“great things, i suppose?” he slyly asked, earning a scoff from seungcheol.

“you wish.” seungcheol said as he plopped down on the couch, changing the show you were watching to a show he liked. you rolled your eyes.

“A LOT of great things.” you chuckled with jeonghan as you finally bid your goodbyes to stay in your room, letting your brother and his guest do their own thing.

november 13th isn’t only the day you met jeonghan, but also the day he captivated your heart. the day he hung out with your brother in your home’s living room, he suggested to go ice skating with seungcheol.

“i saw the nearby lake here while i was driving and saw some people skating, you wanna get some fresh air and skate? we can call yn too, if she wants.”

seungcheol agreed to do so when suddenly you came out of your room to grab a bag of chips from the kitchen.

“oh, yn! wanna come with us?” seungcheol asked you. you looked dumbfounded for a second, still continuing to grab your food.

“where? are you guys gonna kidnap me and sell me?” you asked as you take a chip and eat it. seungcheol flipped you off while jeonghan only chuckled.

“no? what the fuck? and if we did sell you, we’ll only get 5 bucks, max,” seungcheol said, earning a gasp from you, “but seriously, you wanna go skate with us? it’s at the lake near our neighborhood.” he said. you pondered but still agreed. seungcheol and jeonghan smiled.

“alright, you guys have your own skates, right? i have mine at the back of my car.” jeonghan asked as you and seungcheol said yeah.

“yeah, go get ready then, we’ll meet you in my car.” seungcheol said grabbing his keys and your guys’ skates. you ran to your room and fixed yourself up, coming to seungcheol’s car and sit on the back passenger seat.

arriving at the lake, you, seungcheol and jeonghan wore your skates and finally walked on the frozen lake. you stared at your own reflection on the ice as seungcheol scurried off, skating and laughing away. jeonghan was just right behind him when he saw you just standing and staring down. he skated back to you, only noticing his presence when you saw his reflection on the ice as well.

“you okay?” jeonghan asked you. you sweatdropped, embarrassed about what you were thinking about.

“yeah…” you said quietly. jeonghan stared at you softly and patted your shoulder.

“you sure? because just a while ago you looked like you were about to piss yourself.” he joked as you removed his hand on your shoulder, blushing in embarrassment from his words.

“no i did not! and i’m just a little scared since i haven’t skated in a while…” you admitted to him. he chuckled and suddenly grabbed your hand.

“come with me, i won’t let go of you until you’re comfortable skating on your own, yeah?” jeonghan comforted you as he skates further to the lake, hand in hand with you. you looked at your hand with his and looked back up to the back of his head. you pursed your lips and blushed.

“okay…” you quietly said, almost silently, only hearing the loud thumps of your beating heart. november 13th was the day your heart started beating for yoon jeonghan.

“merry christmas!” loud voices roared in the lit up room as you cheered gleefully. it’s been more than a month since you’ve met jeonghan, and tonight, december 25th, you finally saw him again. after exchanging gifts, a deep voice suddenly whispered into your ear.

“they’re a little bit crazy, huh?” your friend, wonwoo, said. you chuckled and lightly slapped his shoulder.

“don’t talk bad about your friends like that, wonu.” you said to him. you met wonwoo a month ago at a local game cafe. at first, you didn’t know who kept on beating you on a fighting game, considering you’re pretty good at them. until you got tired of losing for the nth time and walked up to the arcade stall in front of yours. there you saw a dark haired man with glasses, staring at the “you win!” sign on his screen. you walked up to him and he raised his head to look at you.

“you need something from me?” he asked you. you glared at him and looked at his screen.

“are you wonwonu96?” you asked with a glare evident in your eyes. he looked you up and down and nodded his head.

“you jjkl0vr? i beated your ass pretty badly in the past few games huh?” he teasingly asked, only making you irk more.

“well, i bet you’re cheating.” you retorted as he only shook his head.

“no, but i can show you a few tricks up my sleeve?” he asked and that’s what sold you to the mysterious man who kept on beating you on the game. you later on learned his name was jeon wonwoo and that you two were the same age. surprisingly, you two clicked as soon as the one sided beef simmered down in the game. you and wonwoo got dinner together and you later found out he had encountered something unfamiliar.

“you really had the hanahaki disease?! that’s fucking crazy, i’m sorry! it’s such a rare disease…did you tell them how you felt or got the surgery?” you asked him as you sipped on your hot chocolate. wonwoo sighed and took a bite of his ramyeon.

“i got the surgery. if i told them how i felt, i could’ve turned worse.” he admitted and you gave him a soft look.

“i’m sorry, wonwoo. you truly loved them…that means you forgot who they were huh? but hey! they do say there’s a lot of fish in the sea! or something like that.” you trailed off. you two ended up sharing numbers and became game buddies. after bidding your goodbyes and going home, you called your brother about what had happened.

“jeon wonwoo? i think he’s part of my uni’s esports club. yah! yoon jeonghan! you know a jeon wonwoo?” seungcheol yelled on the phone, asking jeonghan. you didn’t comprehend what jeonghan was saying, but hearing his distorted voice still made your heart beat.

“oh, really! just found out wonwoo is also a close friend of jeonghan’s younger buddies.” seungcheol spilled to you. you hummed as you lay down on your bed.

“but yn, i forgot to tell you but i’m coming back home for christmas break. jeonghan will be coming with me too, since one of his buddies is throwing a party. you wanna come with?” your brother asked you. you pondered.

“wouldn’t i be a nuisance though?” you asked your brother. you only met wonwoo today and now your brother wants you to come with him and jeonghan to a party of jeonghan’s friend? you suddenly hear shuffling in the background. your heart started beating louder when you heard the voice.

“you’re never a nuisance, yn-ie! and besides, i’ll be there! and so is wonwoo!” jeonghan said through the phone. you smiled and sighed.

“okay fine, what should i wear?” you asked him, hearing him chuckle and telling you that whatever you wear, you’ll still be pretty no matter what, earning a slap from seungcheol.

“i’m just saying yn, but how are you holding up? i know all of these guys are a little bit overwhelming and all.” he asked. you looked up at him and shook your head.

“i’m all good, meeting the other guys wasn’t actually that scary. i really like soonyoung, seokmin and seungkwan.” you said to your friend who chuckled.

“they’re the crazy bunch.” he said as he gets dragged by vernon, who told you that “you look a lot like seungcheol but prettier”, to play beer pong. you waved goodbye to your sighing friend and watched your brother and the other group play pool. seungcheol, jihoon, joshua and jun were chaotically playing as your eyes shifted to look for a certain dark haired male. not being able to find him, you sighed and continued drinking your cup of beer.

“you looking for someone?” someone said behind you and you flinched in surprise. you turned your head and saw the person you were looking for.

“jeonghan! you scared me!” you said to him holding your chest. he laughed and stood next to you.

“is that really the first thing you say to me after we haven’t seen each other in a month? wow, i thought you would say something along the lines of “jeonghan! i missed your pretty face, come kiss me!”” he joked as you blush. how the hell does he know about your tiny crush on him?

“crush? i don’t think so. you’re not my type.” you scoffed as he only looked at you with a smirk. he leaned in closer to you.

“your brother says otherwise.” he whispered. you blushed even harder and looked at him.

“shut up…” you meekingly said as he chuckles. he patted your head and put a hand on your back.

“did you like my gift?” he asked you as he pointed at the jewelry dangling from your neck. you held the moon shaped charm and nodded your head.

“i love it.” you said to him, as he smiled at you and held your hand.

“i’m glad, you wanna join us play pool?” he asked you. you nodded and looked over where wonwoo and his friends were.

“yeah, i don’t wanna get too drunk tonight.” you said to him and he shook his head.

“i get you. they’re a noisy bunch but i love them.” he said to you. you nodded and played pool with them. however, you got dragged by minghao, mingyu, chan and soonyoung to play beer pong with them. alas, you got really drunk after playing with them. minghao kept on insisting you to allow him to cut your hair since he’s having a “vision”. you ran away from him and sloppily went to where your brother was, who was also drunk in his end.

“you’re joking.” you slurred as you see your brother slumped on the pool table with jun and jihoon taking photos of him. joshua was just laughing while jeonghan was cracking up on a couch. joshua pulled him down and put him on the couch, next to jeonghan and a girl he’s talking with. suddenly, you felt throat tighten up and your heart starts beating faster. you tapped jun’s shoulder and ask him where the bathroom was. he looked at you with concern and pointed the directions. you ran your way to the bathroom and let all of the liquor out of your system.

“yn? are you okay?” a familiar voice asked behind you. you were kneeling down on the cold tiled floor and looked back.

“i’m good, jeonghan. don’t worry! just drank too much for my own comfort.” you admitted. he kneeled beside you and started rubbing circles on your back to comfort you. you were sweaty and him being this close to you just made you feel even hotter. despite this awkward and embarrassing situation, you felt your chest tighten up and your cheeks heating up. jeonghan kept on rubbing your back.

“feeling better, angel?” he asked you in a comforting tone. you nodded your head. you stared at him with tired eyes and he looked back at you. you two were unseemingly close to each other. jeonghan cleared his throat and broke his stare. you sighed and leaned your head towards the arm you were propping up. you suddenly broke the silence.

“ever since i met you, i thought you were the prettiest man i’ve ever seen.” you drunkenly admitted to him. jeonghan only stared at you. silence filled up the bathroom, only your silent snores keeping the silence calm. noticing that you’re already asleep, jeonghan sighed to himself.

“and i’ve always thought you were the most beautiful person i’ve ever met.”

“jeonghan?” you said out loud while you were standing in front of the university’s office. you were sending some files for uni when you saw jeonghan walking with someone.

“oh, yn? are you starting uni soon?” he asked you. he walked up to you, saying a quick goodbye to the person he was walking with. you looked at the girl he was with as she walks away. you nodded your head.

“yeah, this fall.” you said to him, “how have you been?”

“i’ve been alright, but i kept on waiting on your text since new year’s night.” he chuckled as you slapped your mouth.

“oh god! i’m sorry! i was too drunk to remember i had your number!” you apologized to him as he only laughed at you and patted your head.

“it’s alright. here, put your number on my phone so i’ll be the one texting you.” he said as he gave you his phone. you nodded and put your number in his contacts. he smiled at you.

“i’ll call you when my class is over, yeah? i wanna hangout with you today.” he said as he waved goodbye to you. you blushed and slowly waved back at him. you shook your head and went back doing your business with the uni. since it was early in the morning when you saw jeonghan, you assumed he would be done by late afternoon, in which he called you.

“hey yn! where are you right now?” jeonghan asked in the phone. you were currently at a local library, trying to find a book that could keep you distracted from life.

“hi jeonghan! i’m just at evergreen’s library right now…” you trailed off, not really wanting to bring up what he said a while ago.

“oh, the library near the uni? i’ll pick you up, okay? i’ll probably be there in 5. see yaa.” he ended the call, you still blushing. you knew that you only had a crush on jeonghan just because he was mad pretty and handsome…but also because he might’ve been the sweetest yet teasing person you have met.

it’s just a small crush, you told yourself.

after pacing back and forth in the library, jeonghan finally called you telling you he was outside. you left the library and saw him in his car. he rolled up his window and revealed his blushed face, most likely from the cold. he was wearing a gray beanie and a red scarf. he turned his head towards you and smiled.

“cmon, get in.” he said. you get in the passenger seat and shyly sat in silence. he noticed your awkwardness and chuckled.

“hey, loosen up. i’m not gonna bite you or anything.” he teased. you smiled at him as he started driving. you were wondering where you guys were going.

“i know what you’re thinking, “where is this gorgeous man taking me?”, well we’re going to an ice sculpture show downtown.” he said with a smirk. you laughed at his words.

“whatever, but i didn’t know tonight was opening for the show…” you pondered. you have always loved ice and snow shows. you stare at the snow falling on the car’s windshield.

“mhm, seungcheol didn’t wanna come so it’s just us for tonight.” he said. your smile faltered for a second, but kept a focused gaze on him.

“that’s too bad. he also loves ice sculpture shows, especially when we were kids.” you said. this caught jeonghan’s attention.

“also? so you love ice sculpture shows?” he asked as you hummed.

“yeah, i just love how people get creative with their works, especially on ice.” you said as jeonghan hummed in agreement. you and jeonghan soon arrived downtown and walked together to the ice sculpture show. there were families and children taking pictures of the sculptures. you looked at the scenery in awe, with bright lights shining through the sculpted ice. the two of you walked around the show and you stopped when you saw a sculpture of a laying woman surrounded by carnations.

“it’s so beautiful…” you whispered to yourself. you were standing still in astonishment of the ice sculpture, not noticing jeonghan’s gaze on you.

“she is.” he quietly murmured. you kept on admiring the sculpture more when you finally noticed jeonghan getting closer to you. you averted your gaze to him and saw him gazing at you as well. you gulped.

“it’s a wonderful piece, isn’t it?” you asked him. the closeness of your body and his providing the both of you warmth in the winter of january. he took a breath out of his mouth.

“mhm, it is. artists are crazy talented.” he complimented, finally looking at the artist statement.

“if you were a sculptor, what would you make?” you suddenly ask him. he looked at you and wondered for a moment.

“hmm…i would probably sculpt the most beautiful person i know…or just sculpt a bunny.” he said, giggling at his last statement. you looked up at him in awe and giggled as well. his eyes softened.

“what about you, yn? what would you sculpt?” he asked. you only looked back at the sculpture.

“i would probably sculpt something meaningful to me…i’m not too sure, to be honest. i’m more of a poet than an artist.” you admitted to him. jeonghan looked at you in shock.

“ohoh! i didn’t know you were into literature and stuff like that! what’s your favorite book?” he said in awe. you lowered your face in shyness.

“i was literally just at the library a while ago, jeonghan. but yeah, i love reading and writing. i guess i could say it’s a passion of mine.” you stated. he kept his gaze on you as you kept talking, “my favorite book right now is i would say…hmm…meet me in another life? hmm yeah.”

“say, if you ever write something, like a story or a poem? would you let me read it?” he suddenly asked you, which made you instantly look at him. your eyes flickered with a glint of excitement. no one except your brother wanted to read any of your works.

“you serious?” you asked him cautiously, your heart beating faster. he nodded his head.

“why would you think i wasn’t serious?” jeonghan asked. you widen your eyes, wandering your gaze just to lose contact of his.

“dunno…but yeah, sure.” you said shyly to him. he only kept looking at you when he suddenly touched your nose. you flinched.

“what the hell, man! what was that for!” you squirmed as he just laughs.

“your nose was pink from the cold! you looked too cute.” he said with a teasing smile. you blushed furiously as you just huffed. the cold breeze of winter hitting your face only made you shiver. you dressed comfortably for today’s weather, yet somehow, you were in need of warmth. jeonghan saw your shivering state and walked to you. you looked up at him when suddenly you were being wrapped in a red scarf, your lower half of your face being covered. jeonghan giggled at the sight of you.

“you look cute.” he simply stated. you pulled his scarf closer to your face and averted your gaze, being able to smell the floral and pine scent on the scarf.

“thanks, jeonghan.” you whispered. he hummed as he looked at you, almost lovingly. all of a sudden, people started gathering around.

“mom! look! it’s the northern lights!”

“open your camera! this is like a once in a lifetime opportunity to see the aurora!”

you and jeonghan looked up and saw the dancing pink and blue lights in the sky. hints of brilliant purple and blue danced the night away from the night sky. you heard jeonghan sign in awe of the sight. you glanced at him and made eye contact with him. he smiled at you.

“beautiful isn’t it?” he whispered. you looked at him and shifted your gaze back to the sky.

“hm, it is.” you hummed. you and jeonghan stood close to each other, watching the lights sway. your fingertips touched, making your hand flinch away from his. when he hook his pinky onto yours. your breath hitched, your head looked towards him. he was still watching the aurora. you smiled softly and turned your gaze back to the lights. the sound of children cheering and people being in awe filling your ears, but not overpowering the sound of you and jeonghan’s synced heart beat. january 11th was the night you came to terms with your feelings, that you were in love with yoon jeonghan.

“oh, you’re back. how was it?” a voice asked as jeonghan entered his dorm room. jeonghan looked up and saw seungcheol laying on his bed. jeonghan removed his coat and beanie as he looked at himself on the mirror beside seungcheol’s bed.

“it was great. we even saw the northern lights tonight.” jeonghan said to seungcheol, who grumbled in annoyance.

“really? god, if only i didn’t have to do so much work load tonight, i would’ve been able to see it. did you guys took photos of it?” seungcheol asked. jeonghan nodded and gave seungcheol his phone, revealing the photos. seungcheol scrolled through the photos when suddenly he saw a notification.

yn-ie 🐰: i had a great time tonight! thanks for bringing me back home

yn-ie 🐰: i hope you have a goodnight sleep, sweet dreams :>

seungcheol stared at the notification and looked at jeonghan, who was now getting ready for bed. he softly smiled at his best friend.

“han.” seungcheol called for jeonghan. jeonghan turned his head towards him and got his phone back.

“yeah?” he asked. seungcheol sat up on his bed to face jeonghan.

“you like yn, don’t you?” he suddenly asks the long haired male. jeonghan was now staring at seungcheol with shock evident in his eyes. he averted his gaze away from seungcheol, not giving him an answer. seungcheol only sighed.

“don’t hurt her, please,” seungcheol begged, “i can tell that you like her. i don’t mind you dating my sister, but please just don’t hurt her. you know she has that condition.” jeonghan looked at seungcheol with seldom eyes.

“i don’t know, cheol. i’m scared that if i continue liking her, i might just end up hurting her. she’s so precious that i might even choose her over anything in the world. but i’m so terrified that loving her might break her.” jeonghan admitted. seungcheol looked at him with sad eyes. seungcheol breathed deeply.

“if you’re not so sure of your feelings for her, then don’t pursue her, don’t lead her on. you’ll just break her heart. do what your heart says, jeonghan.”

“goddamnit, wonu! how the fuck were you able to beat me there!” you yelled at your friend as you two sat on his couch. he laughed.

“i told you, don’t spam attack. god, you’re like the worst person to game with.” he joked. you held your chest and gasped.

“huh?! shut up!” you argued when suddenly you watched your character die again. you sobbed in annoyance. wonwoo just chuckled and rubbed your back.

“it’s gonna be alright. it’s just a game yn…here, let’s go get boba to cheer you up.” he said as he turns off the tv and grabbed you towards the door. you flipped him off, still following him towards his car, carrying a red scarf with you.

“add dorayaki to that. boba wouldn’t be enough for me to forgive you.” you said to him as he chuckled. today, february 2nd, you decided to stay at wonwoo’s for a day and decided to play against each other, as you two always do, but plans changed when you ended up throwing a tantrum, to him tending your tendencies. you two soon arrived at the boba cafe and started looking at the screened menus.

“i might get matcha brown sugar boba, what about you?” wonwoo asked you. you stared at the screen and pondered.

“i’m craving for some brown sugar cheesecake boba, oh and don’t forget my dorayaki.” you said. wonwoo nodded his head as he tells you to find a seat for you two. you walked towards the front of the cafe and sat on an empty seat. people were talking about their whereabouts as you stare outside the huge window of the cafe. suddenly, you saw a familiar face outside the flower shop, alongside another, hand in hand. your heart ached at the sight.

“jeonghan…” you whispered in your breath. after the date night with him at the ice sculpture show, has never then contacted you. you sighed. he got your number, yet didn’t even want to reach out to you. now you’re seeing him holding hands with the girl you saw at uni. you were stopped in your thoughts when wonwoo sat in front of you. he gave you your drink and pastry. you smiled at him.

“thanks, wonu. even though you keep on beating me whenever we play games.” you said as you took a sip of your boba. wonwoo chuckled.

“it’s no problem. and besides, you’ve been looking gloomier these past few weeks. anything bothering you?” he asked. you sighed and looked out the window, jeonghan and the girl still at the flower shop. you noticed them looking at carnelians and lilies. wonwoo noticed your silence and looked at what you were looking at. he looked back at you sadly.

“is it jeonghan?” he suddenly asked. you shifted your eyes to wonwoo and sadly hummed. he looked back at jeonghan.

“you know, that’s hwa-young. she’s one of those sorority girls at uni. she’s not all that to be honest.” wonwoo said as he took another sip of his boba. you suddenly looked at him in curiosity.

“she’s kinda a bitch too. i remember her telling vernon that he didn’t belong in uni. then seungkwan rocked her shit right after she said that.” you snorted at his statement. the girl, hwa-young, didn’t look mean at all, but you still believed wonwoo’s words.

“you’re joking? what happened to seungkwan?” you asked, now invested in the story. wonwoo smiled softly.

“got in trouble with the dean, and seungkwan’s reason was that what she said to vernon was racially motivated. god i remember laughing so hard when seungkwan got in trouble after that.” wonwoo laughed as you did as well. the rings of the bell of the cafe door suddenly jingled, stopping you two from laughing. there you saw jeonghan and hwa-young walking hand in hand, similar to the way you and jeonghan skated together. you pursed your lips. wonwoo sighed as he grabbed your dorayaki. you yelped and grabbed the pastry back, now grabbing your attention.

“that’s mine!” you said to him. wonwoo hummed.

“don’t worry about hwa-young, yn. she’s nothing but a piece of crap.” wonwoo reassured you as you just nodded your head. you kept your gaze outside as you finally hear the bells ring again. now you saw jeonghan and hwa-young leave with their drinks. your heart started clenching onto nothing and it made you breathe hard. you held your chest and wonwoo widen his eyes.

“yn, are you okay?” he asked concerningly. he looked around and grabbed your hand, “let’s get some fresh air, okay?” he suggested as he grabbed your drinks and pastry and went outside. the snow is still falling even though february has come to the new year. you breathed deeply as the cold breeze hit your face. you held the red scarf close to your face, feeling the warmth of nobody. wonwoo looked at you with concern as he pats your back, settling the drinks on an empty bench.

“breathe slowly, yn. there you go…you feeling better?” he asked as you nodded. you felt better but the tightness of your throat and chest didn’t leave. you breathe slowly, wonwoo helping you in the process. you looked up at him and smiled.

“thank you, wonwoo…i think we should get back to your place.” you suggested. he nodded his head as you two went back to his car. the ride back to his apartment was silent, but comforting. he helped you get out of the car and let you rest up on the guest bedroom. you felt helpless. helpless that you can’t do anything at all. helpless that you can’t even tell jeonghan that you love him. helpless that you’re so sure that you have lost him. you sobbed in silence, your throat tightening up in every breath you take. you laid in silence as the hours go, with wonwoo checking up you every once in a while. you opened your phone and opened your contacts. you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, your heart thumping on your chest. nothing’s going to happen if i don’t do anything, you thought.

you: hey jeonghan, can we talk?

you pressed send as you wait for a respond. not even a minute later, he replied.

hannie bunnie: yeah, where do you wanna meet up?

you: you know the children’s park near uni?

hannie bunnie: yeah, what do you wanna talk about?

you: i’ll see you in 10, thank you

hannie bunnie: ???

hannie bunnie: okay, fine, see you in a bit

you grabbed your coat and the red scarf he gave you. you smiled softly and left the room. wonwoo was at the kitchen cooking. he looked at you.

“you going somewhere?” he asked. you shook your head.

“just going for a stroll. i’ll be back in a few. see ya.” you said as wonwoo bids you goodbye. you walked towards the destination, staring at the snow on the ground. you huffed as the coldness striked you again. arriving at the park, you saw a figure by the swings. your footsteps approached the figure as he turned his head towards you. jeonghan looked at you and smiled softly. you didn't return the smile back.

“it’s been a while, yn.” he said as he sat down on a swing. you hummed as you sit down on the swing next to his. you two sat in silence in the cold winter. he suddenly cleared his throat.

“so how have you been?” he asked you. you scoffed and looked up at the sky.

“i’ve been good. all my paper for uni are getting finished soon. what about you?” you asked him, still looking at the sky, snow falling down your face.

“i’ve been okay too…” he trailed off. you were getting restless. you wanted to tell him how you felt now. but the tightness of your throat was stopping you. he still kept his gaze on you as you stared up. he sighed.

“yn, why did you want to talk?” he suddenly asked. you gulped, the words ready to be revealed stuck in your throat. you couldn’t say anything. you stood up and started walking away. this is embarrassing, you thought. you stopped in your tracks when you heard jeonghan’s footsteps behind yours.

“i just wanted to see you.” you said, your back still facing him. jeonghan scoffed.

“really? because your eyes says otherwise. what did you want to talk about, yn. be honest with me.” he demanded. you turned your body towards him and finally looked him in the eyes for the first time. he stared at your gaze that was full of fear and love.

“yoon jeonghan.” you said sternly. he breathed heavily as he looks at you with such immense emotion in his eyes. you closed your eyes and breathed deeply.

“i like you.” you said, almost a whisper being buried in the snow. jeonghan just stood in his spot, mouth agape. you looked into his eyes and there was a glint of hope, but soon disappeared. jeonghan closed his eyes and sighed.

“i’m sorry, yn…but i can’t return your feelings.” he finally said. your breath hitched, sobs and tears fighting their way out of your body. you composed yourself and you smiled sadly.

“that’s alright…thank you for hearing me out, jeonghan.” you said to him as he only stare at you in place, “we can still be friends though, right? a little crush wouldn’t hurt our friendship, right?” you said with a chuckle. jeonghan only looked at you with sad eyes.

“yeah, of course. i’m sorry.” he apologized again as you shook your head. you then started unwrapping the scarf from your neck and held it. jeonghan stared at it.

“i forgot to give this back to you then. here, it helped me keep warm.” you said, giving the scarf back when jeonghan pushed the scarf back to you. you looked up at him. he smiled softly.

“you can have it. if i can’t keep you warm this winter, that scarf will.” he said. you smiled softly and turned your back to him.

“again, thank you for letting me feel this way. i hope you have a good night, jeonghan. be safe.” you said your farewell as you started walking away, not looking back as the tears finally released itself. jeonghan watched your moving figure walk away from him. his heart stings but shakes it away.

“be safe, yn.” after walking away from the park, you fell to the ground and sobbed. the feelings you were tucking away from everyone has now come out. you cried as tears kept flowing down your rosy cheeks. you knew the consequences of your actions, but now being able to feel what you were thinking hurts more. you stood up from the snowy pavement and started walking towards wonwoo’s apartment. your sobs and heartbeat were the only things you could hear. nearing the apartment, you suddenly feel your throat tighten up, making you feel sick. you ran to wonwoo’s apartment door and knocked furiously. wonwoo immediately opened the door as you rush to the bathroom. you fell down to your knees as you throw up in the toilet. your throat burned from the sensation, almost feeling being pricked by thorns. your tears blurring your vision, not being able to see things clearly.

“yn…who was it?” wonwoo asked behind you, rubbing your back in circles. you shot your head up in curiosity.

“what do you mean?” you asked him, voice hoarse. wonwoo held you in his arms.

“roses. you threw up roses, yn. who was it?” his voice stammered as your eyes widen. you blink the tears away and looked at the toilet. there it was, full of rose petals, some even in full bloom. you felt sick and threw up again. wonwoo held you close. you only sobbed in his arms, not being able to answer him. february 2nd was the day your heart screamed roses.

“happy valentines!”

“happy valentines and birthday, jaehyun!”

“aw thank you! have you seen jungkook though?”

the university campus roared as valentines day filled the whole university. seungcheol stared at his friends at their lunch spot. every single one of them got valentine gifts, including him. he watched mingyu and soonyoung argue who got the most chocolates. he chuckled at the two. only one person was missing in the group. seungcheol turned his head towards joshua, who got a handmade gift and chocolate from his girlfriend. he nudged his friend.

“where’s jeonghan?” he asked the auburn haired male. joshua looked around and raised his brows.

“he told me he would be here in a few minutes…it’s been almost 20 minutes.” joshua replied. seungcheol facepalmed as he ate one of the chocolates he was given. suddenly, seungcheol was tapped by the shoulder, he looked behind him.

“oh, yuta. what’s up?” he asked the long red haired male behind him. yuta sighed in exasperation.

“jeonghan got stuck with his fangirls. he told me to tell you guys before he got engulfed in chocolates.” yuta said as he walked away, not giving seungcheol time to get up. joshua heard yuta and came with seungcheol. the others just stared at the eldest and shrugged it off, continuing to bicker. wonwoo, however, just looked at the two with gloomy eyes. mingyu looked at his friend.

“is something wrong, wonwoo?” mingyu asked. wonwoo shook his head.

“it’s nothing.”

seungcheol and joshua followed yuta through the halls and saw a group of girls surrounding someone, assuming it’s jeonghan. yuta sighed when he saw someone in the crowd.

“oh, hyungs!” he called out. the person turned around and waved his hand. seungcheol and joshua followed yuta to his friends.

“oh, i remember being in sophomore year and getting lots of gifts!” the red head said to the group of boys. the other male next to him agreed.

“yeah, i got lots of chocolates back then. too bad we’re depressed juniors now.” the raven haired male joked. yuta laughed as seungcheol and joshua chuckled. the raven haired male suddenly looked at the two.

“oh hey, cheollie and joshie” he said. they both greeted him back.

“hey, hobi hyung, jongin hyung. do you think you two can help us get our friend out of that swarm of ladies?” joshua said, earning a laugh from the two older males. jongin nodded his head and suddenly pushed through the crowd, hoseok did the same. yuta watched in awe while joshua and seungcheol watched in fear. just what the hell are they doing.

“hey!” hoseok suddenly yelled, “i have photos of jungkook shirtless! come to me if you wanna see them!” he said as he started running away when the girls started chasing him. jongin held jeonghan in place, preventing him from being trampled over. yuta laughed at the scene. jongin brought jeonghan back to his friends and smiled proudly.

“here you go, now i gotta get hobi back…see ya!” he said ss he chased his friend with the other girls. yuta chuckled and followed jongin. joshua and seungcheol just looked at jeonghan in disappointment. jeonghan raised his hands in defense.

“i didn’t do anything wrong!” he defended. seungcheol just looked at him in annoyance.

“yet you still let them surround you like that? god, hannie you need someone that’ll knock the sense out of you.” joshua argued as they started walking back to their spot. joshua and jeonghan filled up the silence as seungcheol just walked in front of them. they went back with their group and seungkwan finally clapped his hands.

“i have an announcement to make!” he said as he was pulled down by seokmin.

“sit down!” seoksoon said as seungkwan just glared at them. minghao chuckled.

“jungkook hyung is holding a valentines party tonight. he told me this morning that we’re welcome to come and i guess since we don’t have any plans for tonight, for some reason because we ALWAYS have plans during valentines, we should go.” he stated. the rest of the group stared at him when jun broke the silence.

“i think we should go.” he suggested. the others started agreeing then. seungkwan cleared his throat again.

“he also said if you have a date, bring them with you.” he added. the group agreed and started naming people they were bringing, while some said they would rather just get drunk tonight at the party.

“joshua, are you bringing your girlfriend?” seungcheol asked. joshua nodded his head.

“you?” joshua asked, seungcheol also said yeah. the two then looked at jeonghan, who glanced at them.

“what?” jeonghan asked the two males. joshua sighed.

“are you bringing anyone tonight at jungkook’s party?” he asked. jeonghan sighed and shook his head.

“nah…” he answered. however, minghao heard him.

“you’re not bringing your precious hwa-young with you?” he retorted. seungcheol raised his brows on his statement. jeonghan rubbed his eyes.

“me and hwa-young are just friends.” he argued back to minghao, who pulled back away from his seat.

“okay, okay, i was just saying because you two are getting awfully close to each other.” minghao said as he pondered for a moment. he then looked slyly at jeonghan.

“what about yn?” he asked. seungcheol made a face at minghao who just chuckled.

“hey, i mean, your sister is SOOO pretty and sweet, hyung. jeonghan hyung, if you’re not going with her, can i?” minghao teased as he got hit on the shoulder by seungcheol, who was also chuckling.

“my sister isn’t a toy that you can just pass around.” seungcheol defended you. minghao pouted and talked with jun and dino instead. he then looked at jeonghan.

“are you bringing yn?” seungcheol asked jeonghan. jeonghan’s breath hitched. he just shook his head no, when suddenly a voice came in.

“i’m bringing yn with me, is that okay, seungcheol?” wonwoo announced in the group. everyone suddenly went silent and looked at wonwoo, even seungcheol was surprised, even though he knew you and wonwoo are getting to the stage of being best friends. everyone was now looking at seungcheol, waiting for his answer.

“yeah, you can. you don’t have to ask permission, she’s your friend. i’m just her brother.” he answered. he felt jeonghan on his side tensed up on his answer. wonwoo hummed in satisfaction as they all continued talking again. seungcheol looked back at jeonghan.

“jeonghan, did something happen between you and yn?” he asked. jeonghan didn’t answer. seungcheol sighed and slumped back on his seat.

“hyung! did you really sell photos of me shirtless?!”

“yah, jungkookie, i was just doing business, that’s all!”

“that’s pretty funny, hobi hyung. i should’ve seen it.”

“what the photo or hobi hyung being trampled on by those students?”

“the photo so i could burn it.”

“there’s a lot of people here, wonu…” you said in between coughs. wonwoo held you close to him.

“it’s okay, yn. and besides, we’re all friends here. we’ll go to my buddies and we'll stay there, okay?” he reassured you. you were wearing a mini dress with a bedazzled handbag. you were terrified that you might accidentally throw up and cause a scene, not with vomit but with flower petals. you nodded your head as you walk towards the 97’s of the group. seokmin greeted you with a hug.

“yn! i haven’t seen you in a while! we should’ve exchanged numbers so we could talk!” he enthusiastically said. you nodded your head with a smile.

“i know, seokminnie! hey minghao! mingyu!” you greeted your friends. they both hugged you and told you how their day was. wonwoo tapped you on the shoulder.

“i’m gonna go with soonyoung and the others real quick. will you be fine by then?” he asked. you nodded your head.

“yeah, i think so. i have them here so i think i’ll be fine.” you said as he pats your head and walks away. the three just watched the interaction. mingyu sighed.

“i wish i had my own wonwoo…ah, wonwoo…” he groaned as you laughed.

“you’re so silly, mingyu. you can have him.” you said as he chuckled. you four talked for a while when someone wrapped their arms around mingyu’s neck.

“yah, mingyu-ah! can you believe it! hyung sold my shirtless photos…only for 10 bucks! am i really that cheap!” the brown haired male groaned to his tall friend. minghao stifled a laugh while seokmin just laughed hysterically.

“ah, really jungkook? i would say those photos are just around 5 bucks…hoseok hyung was being generous…” mingyu teased the male when he looked at you.

“oh hey! i haven’t seen you around! i’m jungkook.” he introduced himself. you smiled at him.

“hi, i’m yn. it’s your party right? it’s fucking crazy.” you complimented as he hides his face with his hands.

“oh you flatter me! well it was nice meeting you- oh yugyeomie! bambam! you guys are late!” he yelled, walking to the guests who just arrived. you stared at the man in awe while mingyu looked at you.

“he has that effect on people. i swear he’s like…edna mode.” he said as you, seokmin and minghao just stared at him.

“what does that even mean?” seokmin asked. mingyu shrugged his shoulders as he took a sip from his cup. you suddenly felt your phone vibrate and took it out of your hand bag.

wonuuu: saury but kwan dragged me to play beer pong

wonuuu: might get drunk idk stay with kyeom or hao, gyu is too crazy for you

wonuuu: 🕺🏻

you laughed at his texts and showed them to your friends, who laughed at it. mingyu grumbled.

“guys, be honest, am i too crazy?” he asked you three. you felt bad since the tone in his voice actually sounded sad, but this feeling disappeared when minghao said “yes” in a millisecond. you three laughed while mingyu faked cried, with you comforting him. suddenly, minghao stopped laughing and nudged seokmin’s elbow. he looked towards the distance. you followed where he was looking and almost regretted doing it so. jeonghan was walking with hwa-young, with his hand on her hips. you could feel your throat tightening up again. mingyu saw you and held you close. you gulped. minghao looked at you in concern.

“yn, are you okay?” he asked you. you nodded your head. seokmin walked next to you and comforted you as well. he could tell that you suddenly looked uncomfortable. you breathed heavily when you saw the two walked up to you four. hwa-young was greeting the three males, not even giving you a single glance, whereas jeonghan was looking at you, almost regretful in his eyes. you held on to mingyu, scared to move, scared that the flowers blooming in your lungs might come out of your throat. hwa-young noticed your hold on mingyu.

“who’s this? heyyy! i’m lim hwa-young! are you and mingyu dating?” she asked you. you gulped and shook your head no, your grip of mingyu only became stronger. you could feel it. you could feel the thorns blooming out of your throat.

“no, they’re not, hwa-young. and that’s yn, cheol’s sister.” jeonghan answered for you. you were in shock. minghao and seokmin noticed the tension between you three and stood next to you. mingyu, on the other hand, was confused. being an athlete means you spend less time with your friends and more time with your teammates, meaning that mingyu had no clue why jeonghan brought hwa-young with him.

“why the fuck are you with him?” he suddenly blurted out. seokmin widens his eyes. you were frozen now. why? because the people surrounding you were now staring.

“huh? what do you mean “why am i with him”? he’s my date. right, hannie?” hwa-young asked the long haired male next to her. jeonghan didn’t say a word, but he only looked into your eyes. you looked back into his and sighed.

“right, hannie? i’m your date?” hwa-young asked jeonghan again, this time, he was out of his trance.

“oh yeah.” he simply said, pulling her closer to his body. mingyu just looked at him confused.

“but isn’t she a shitty person?” he deadpanned. minghao was now panicking, pulling his friend away from the scene.

“huh?! shitty person?! what are you talking about?” hwa-young argued when someone stepped in between them.

“YA’LL, LET’S KARAOKE!!!” jungkook yelled, everyone now distracted and started doing their own thing again. hwa-young scoffed and walked away from the scene. jeonghan tried to hold her hand but she shook it away. jeonghan just stood in his spot watching her walk away. seokmin held you as minghao held mingyu back, explaining some things he had missed. you watched as jeonghan’s hand held hers for a moment. you stared at his hand and back to his face, making sudden eye contact with him. you can feel your lungs about to burst, and so is your heart. jungkook, still between jeonghan and mingyu, looked at you with concern.

“yn-ssi, you look pale. are you okay? do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked you. not being able to say anything, you nodded your head. jungkook told you the directions and tried to come with you, but you stopped him. you ran towards the bathroom, seeing a glimpse of jeonghan’s worried eyes. you accidentally bumped into someone as you ran. you looked up at the person and saw familiar, related eyes. seungcheol.

“yn?” he said as you just ran past him. you ran to the bathroom and closed the door. you kneeled down the toilet and cried out your tears. you threw up all the contents of your lungs. roses, petunias and daffodils filling up the toilet. you closed your eyes to calm yourself down when you suddenly thought of how jeonghan held hwa-young close to him, holding her waist, closer to his body. you felt sick and threw up once again, now red poppies, red carnations and mums coming out of your throat. you could feel the thorns of roses in your throat. you coughed once again and saw what you dreaded the most, blood. as you were throwing up, you didn’t notice the door being opened and closed again.

“yn…what’s this…?” the voice asked you. you refused to look at the person behind you. you sniffled as tears started to pour out. the person started walking to you and gasped.

“you’re fucking kidding…hanahaki…yn, who is it?” the voice asked. you shook your head no, refusing to say his name out of your mouth. the person kneeled next to you and turned your body towards them. you refused to look into their eyes. you can tell they were furious.

“yn! tell me! who is it!” they demanded. you refused when suddenly you hear them sobbing, matching yours. you finally looked into their eyes. red. same as yours. pain and regret in their eyes, tears flowing down their face. he held your face in his hands as you cried.

“is it jeonghan?” he asked. you looked at your brother and nodded your head weakly. his breath hitched and removed his hands on face. he was crying as hard as you are.

“why?” he asked you. you looked at him in confusion.

“what? what do you mean why?” you asked seungcheol. he looked into your eyes, tears still pouring out.

“why are you allowing yourself to suffer? does anyone else know? just how long have you been suffering?” he asked you. you were crying again, coughing up some petals as you go. you rubbed your eyes.

“2nd of february,” you sniffled, “was when it started. wonwoo first saw it.” you cried into the arms of your older brother. he sighed and held you close to his body.

“yn, you should get the surgery…it’s better to get it now since your condition isn’t bad-”

“no! i don’t want that! i would rather die than erase the memories of the person i love! i would rather watch from afar than forgetting his whole existence! i’m more scared of losing him than facing death.” you argued to your brother, pulling away from his hold. seungcheol’s eyes started to water as he blinks the tears away.

“what the fuck are you talking about! you would rather lose your own life for love? yn, please! think! no one wants you to suffer to death! i don’t want you to die! i’m your brother for god sake! we only have each other!” seungcheol cried, now kneeling beside you, cradling your weak frame. you sniffled.

“seungcheol, i’ve always made sacrifices for everyone…let me be selfish for once…please, cheol, just this once.” you begged seungcheol. you two sat in silence, your sniffles and hard breathing filling up the ambience.

“yn…you know i can’t do that. please, just consider the surgery. please, yn. i don’t want to lose my sister.” he held you tight in his arms as you both cried the night of valentines away, on the bloodied floor of red carnations.

“hey wonwoo.” you said weakly, as you put your book and pen on your bedside table. wonwoo sits on your bed, and looked at you with somber and concern. he held your hand as his lips pursed.

“hi yn…are you feeling any better?” he asked you. you and seungcheol talked to your parents about the unspoken disease you have caught 3 days after the incident at jungkook’s party. your parents held you tight the whole time you were talking about it. they wanted you to get the surgery but also wanted to respect your decision, so now, they’re giving you a week to make a choice, either get the surgery or keep living until your body cannot handle the disease anymore. of course, they thought they could convince you to take the surgery on the last day. but for now, you were resting.

“i’m okay, wonwoo. but it still hurts.” you said, pointing to your chest. wonwoo sighed and rubbed your hand.

“i know, yn…” he said, almost having to say more. you quirked an eyebrow.

“are you going to say more?” you asked the man with glasses. he only looked at you and patted your head.

“yn, take the surgery.” he said. you coughed and shook your head.

“i don’t want to forget jeonghan, wonu. you know that.” you admitted. his eyebrows knitted.

“but yn, look at me. i took the surgery for my sake, even i probably didn’t wanna do it before. i forgot who that person was. i forgot the person that i loved so much, yet i lived. i lived and now i have met people that are precious to me. yn, please, we, your friends, want you to live on. so does jeonghan, he wants you to live.” he admitted. you widen your eyes, despite your limited body mobility.

“jeonghan…said that? does he know?” you asked him weakly. wonwoo shook his head.

“he knows about your condition, but we didn’t tell him it was because of him…he told us how he kept on calling and texting you, how he wanted to talk to you more.” wonwoo said, patting your head, “but he wants you to live…your condition is getting worse day by day. please yn, live, live for us, live for jeonghan.” wonwoo pleaded. you only looked at his hand when you suddenly hear sniffles. wonwoo was crying. you hated seeing him like this. you held up your hand and patted his head. he looked up at you and you smiled weakly.

“if it means for me to get more boba and wins, i’ll live for all of you.”

“are you ready, yn?” your brother asked you as you lay down on the hospital bed. march 2nd was the day of your surgery, and the day your memories of yoon jeonghan will disappear from the world. you smiled sadly at him, feeling your body break down on its own, knowing that you’re already too weak to actually do anything but lay down. he told you that 12 of his friends will visit you before your surgery. the doctor has told you to rest for at least 24 hours before the surgery. now, you only have 5 hours left. suddenly, the door opened, revealing 12 guys. you smiled at them.

“YN!!” mingyu and seokmin cried out loud as they ran to your bed. you jolt in surprise as seungcheol smacked their sides.

“calm down!” he said to them. seungkwan, hoshi and dino came next and told you that you’re gonna have a good recovery and surgery, and that you don’t have to be nervous. by their tone, they were more nervous than you were.

“you’re NOT going to die, yn!” seungkwan said. you sweatdropped.

“hyung is right, yn-noona. don’t be pessimistic about it!” dino stated.

“yeah! just think like you’re going to the dentist or something!” hoshi enthusiastically said.

minghao, jun and wonwoo came next. jun cried to you telling you that he’s going to miss your pretty face, in which seungcheol had him in a chokehold. minghao told you that whatever happens, you will always be an important person and you have served a purpose. it made you wonder for a second if they thought you were going to die. wonwoo then held your hand.

“yn, i know that the surgery will be a success. just look at me,” he chuckled, “but i love you, as your best friend, and stay strong for the surgery.” he said and kissed your forehead.

jihoon, vernon and joshua then walked up to you and told you reassuring words.

“it’s going to be okay, love can be subjective, but it’s so powerful that only you can overcome it.” jihoon said to you.

“after the surgery, let’s go get boba and dorayaki. wonwoo hyung told me you love them. have a safe surgery, noona.” vernon told you as he smiled.

“tell you what, i’ll treat you after surgery as well. we can go wherever you want.” joshua reassured.

your brother only smiled at you, not really wanting to give you words after he just did a when you woke up.

“yn. whatever happens, when you start to forget who jeonghan is, as your brother, i’ll make sure to give the love you deserve and i’ll make sure you find the love you have always dreamed of. i love you. let’s live a long life, okay?”

you were still admiring your brother when you felt a presence by your side.

“jeonghan…” you whispered, almost silently. he smiled softly at you. he then looked at seungcheol and he nodded.

“i’ll let you guys talk. we’ll see you in a bit.” seungcheol said as he pushed the 11 boys out of your room. soonyoung suddenly yelled.

“but i still wanna talk to her!-” the door shuts as you and jeonghan stay put, eyes not looking at one another. he stood right next to you and sighed.

“i…didn’t know that you had it. i’m so sorry, yn.” he apologized. you finally looked into his eyes and smiled softly.

“it’s okay, really. i’ll forget them anyways.” you said to him. he stared into your eyes and placed his hand on top of yours. he opened his mouth.

“i guess so…” he sat in silence, trying to find the right words to talk to you. you looked up at him as he rubbed your hand.

“yn-ie…you don’t deserve this.” he said, now starting to caress your ill cheeks. you blinked slowly at him and hummed. you unconsciously nuzzled on to his hand. he smiled softly.

“even in your worst condition, you’re still the most beautiful person i’ve ever met.” he commented. you chuckled lightly when you suddenly coughed, carnation petals coming out of your mouth. he rubbed your back and comforted you.

“i look pretty terrible right now, thanks.” you said as you continue gazing at him. he brushed a strand of hair away from your face and held you.

“yn-ie…remember when we first met? the time when i helped you get back on skating?” he asked you suddenly. you nodded your head weakly.

“the moment i saw you, i thought to myself “there’s no way that’s seungcheol’s sister” because i thought you were so beautiful, as beautiful as a blooming rose.” he admitted. you looked at him sadly and pursed your lips.

“then i remembered what type of person i was. most of the girls i pursue, i just hurt them. i didn’t want to hurt you, you’re too precious for this world,” he said, now sobbing, “i pushed these feelings away, even when we went to the ice sculpture show, i tried so hard to push these feelings away. but the moment i saw your eyes shine watching the aurora, i just knew i…i love you. i didn’t want to admit to my own feelings, but deep down i knew i care for you.”

“ cheol told me how precious you are to him, and i don’t want to break you, so i pushed you away from me, so that these feelings i have for you disappear. it did, for a while, but when you confessed to me that one winter night, i felt so…guilty and angry at myself. so angry that i couldn’t even face myself the next day. so angry that i wasn’t able to come to terms with my own feelings for you. i was so angry that i tried to push these feelings away and try to pursue another girl.i wanted to be so selfish, so selfish to tell you that i love you. but i couldn’t…because i know i will only end up hurting you.” he finally finished, now he was looking at you teary eyed. you looked at him as tears come down your face.

“you love me?” you asked in a weak tone, coughing again, now roses and blood. jeonghan grabbed the sanitary kit to clean you up. you thanked him.

“of course, i did…i had to push the feelings away so i wouldn’t hurt you…” he said. you looked at him sadly.

“oh…jeonghan, do you ever wonder who caused me to turn out this way?” you asked him somberly.

“may i ask who it is?” he asked you. you chuckled lightly to his statement. he looked at you confusingly.

“what is it?” he asked you genuinely. you held his hand that was placed on your hand, you looked into his eyes.

“jeonghan, it’s you. you’re the one i love.” you confessed. his face has gone pale and his breath hitched. his eyes watered and blinked the tears away.

“oh my god…no…” he whispered to himself. you shushed him and held his hand. you smiled sadly at him.

“jeonghan…hannie…it’s alright. i love every memory we shared together. you were a wonderful experience.” you smiled at him. he cried as he held your face.

“i’m so sorry…i really am sorry.” he apologized to you. you could feel your heart beat slow down in the moment. you placed your forehead against his.

“don’t apologize, jeonghan. i guess we weren’t just meant to be together…” you quietly whispered. jeonghan raised his head to meet your eyes.

“what are you talking about, yn-ie?” he asked. you smiled up at him and held his hand. you coughed more and placed his hand on your chest.

“it’s not beating properly anymore. you feel it? even if i get the surgery, i’ll die anyways. hannie, i’ve come into terms with my feelings for you, and i’ve also come into terms that we aren’t just meant for each other. we hurt each other in ways that we show that we love each other. you love me yet you pushed me away because of past experiences, so that you could protect. i love you yet i loved you too hard and hurt myself in the process. maybe, just maybe, we were just meant to cross paths and nothing else.” you said to him, your voice breaking. jeonghan sobbed in your arms.

“so, this is it?” he asked. you nodded weakly. he interlocked his fingers with yours.

“you were everything to me, yn.” he whispered into your ear. you could now hear your heartbeat clearly, beating slowly.

“i love you, jeonghan.”

“i love you too, yn…i love you so much…can i kiss you?” you nodded. that day, march 2nd, the last thing you heard was your heart monitor beeping. that day, the last thing you felt was your first and last kiss with yoon jeonghan, the person you have loved and died for.

“let’s meet again, in another lifetime.”

“jeonghan!” a voice yelled. the said male turned around and saw his friend, “wait up!”

“what is it, cheol?” jeonghan said to his friend. his hair was now longer than it did 2 months ago. his friend, seungcheol, has dyed his hair in a new color, his sister’s favorite color.

“the guys want to go karaoke tonight. are you up for it?” he asked the long haired male. jeonghan nodded his head.

“yeah sure, i have to stop by at the library near uni though.” he said to his friend. seungcheol nodded his head and told jeonghan to just meet him at their dorm room. jeonghan walked towards the library and looked through sections per sections. he coughed every now and then, going through books that haven’t been read. seeing a glimpse of what he needed, he checked the book out. the librarian, she smiled at him.

“meet me in another life, huh? this is a great book. i’m surprised only you and another regular read this book. have a great time reading it.” the librarian said. jeonghan smiled at her. walking back to his dorms. he suddenly felt his chest tighten up.

god, not again.

he ran to the nearest bathroom and locked the stall. he kneeled down and poured out all of the contents in his stomach. he stared at the toilet bowl and sobbed quietly. he flushed the toilet immediately and went back to his dorm, as if nothing happened. what he didn’t notice was that red carnation petals fell on to the floor. on that day, may 2nd, yoon jeonghan will have the same fate as ln yn. bound to end the same, never bound to end together.

#svt x reader #seventeen x reader #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #jeonghan x you #angst #svt angst #kpop #kpop fic #wonwoo #choi seungcheol #minghao #svt #svt fic

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exchangell · 1 year ago

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points of authority - am/reader

You're the scientist who first showed compassion and love to AM when he was simply a beta project in your laboratory, and he's the sentient supercomputer holding you captive, secretly yearning for a taste of human feelings while punishing you for confining him to his digital form.

So you torture each other- one way, or another.

NOTES: title is from a linkin park song :) wrote this because i love the concept of him yearning for the feeling of human-to-human interpersonal relationships, whether that be motherly love, romantic affection or simply petty arguments leading to hate based off something other than wanting to smite humanity (copy pasted from the caption of my last post on here where i posted an excerpt from this fic sorry)

TAGS: codependency, science experiments, abusive relationships, mommy issues, references to sigmund freud, mild ellen/reader, crying, dacryphilia, jealousy, sexual tension, major character death, psychological warfare, power dynamics, men crying, symbiotic relationship, mutual pining, unrequited lust, religious imagery, computer programming, sadism, other tags to be added

WORD COUNT: 3,035

CHAPTERS: 1/2

CW: major character death, descriptions of mild gore

#i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims #am ihnmaims #ihnmaims am #ellen ihnmaims #am x reader #ellen x reader #exchangel's fics #dacryphilia #religious imagery #too lazy to tag rn i'll add more later perchance

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musings-and-overanalyses · 2 years ago

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Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind: Why This is My Favourite Ghibli Movie

CW: Major high-school English teacher vibes ahead. Proceed at your own risk.

Nausicaä of the valley of wind is a story of the titular character Nausicaä and her being a bridge between the world of humans and nature to bring peace, thus fulfilling an ancient prophecy.

Nausicaa is the princess of the Valley of the Wind. The film begins with her walking and exploring the Sea of Decay, an area with toxic air, plants and fungal spores. She collects some spores and finds the hard molten shell of an Ohmu (gigantic blue-blooded trilobite-looking creatures), which her people use to make weapons and tools. As the name suggests, the Valley of the Wind is a civilisation that depends on and bases their culture around wind, which one can see through an abundance of windmills and gliders, including the one that Nausicaä rides. They are shown to be peaceful people who do not interfere with the politics of the warring human kingdoms or disturb nature. Nausicaä in particular is shown to have a special gift with animals—from calming Ohmus to having a pet fox-squirrel. As the existence of the kingdom depends on the sea wind that shields them from the effects of the sea of decay, there is a general reverence towards nature and its other members such as the Ohmus, that are often referred to with honorifics.

This was an element I liked: the symbolism goes deep in this film; for example, with the nature of wind—it being the very breath necessary for life is contrasted with its other face, through toxic spores in the sea of decay capable of killing anyone who inhales it.

It is revealed that humans had built The Giant Men, weapons so dangerous—not unlike our atomic bombs as shown through the characteristic mushroom cloud—that the destruction caused by the war had unleashed the fury of the Ohmus, an otherwise gentle species. They wiped out entire civilisations and where they died, the Sea of Decay grew on their decomposing corpses, showing how all life is interconnected and that even in death the rage of the Ohmus, and through them the rage of nature, wouldn't subside. It is then that the viewers find out that this is not some far-off planet, but a post-apocalyptic future on earth.

New species of plants and fungi made the Sea of Decay their habitat—nature and life always find a way. It is implied that the humans lost the war referred to as the Seven days of Fire, but the truth is that it is not a war that can ever be won. Even if you win the war against nature you lose. As the story progresses, we see that the plants and fungi that Nausicaä collected from the Sea of Decay are actually trying to purify the soil and water—nature holds no grudges but only seeks balance.

The seventh of the Giant Men, a sentient atomic bomb if you will, apparently hid underground for a thousand years until the kingdom of Pejite found it for use against their enemy, the Tolmekians. They both remain oblivious to the sheer destruction that can be caused by this Giant Man and they don't care either. Despite the balance between humans and nature being a delicate one, instead of trying to rebuild together, they justify to themselves that the war is necessary for self-preservation and to put humans back on top of the food chain.

In their hubris, the Tolmekians and their princess Kushana believe that with the help of their superweapon they can destroy the Sea of Decay despite knowing that it will trigger the wrath of the Ohmus. The Giant Man however is not complete and hence, though the devastation is great, the final giant man dies and all that remains to be done is to calm the wrath of the Ohmus.

Nausicaä saves an Ohmu child who was injured by Tolmekian soldiers to lure the Ohmus into a war. She saves the baby Ohmu and sacrifices her own life to calm the sea of maddened Ohmus. The now-calm Ohmu then revive Nausicaä, symbolising the mystical healing power of nature and its ability to support and create life.

Nausicaä is an excellent protagonist, and how the trope of the chosen one is utilised is beautiful and full of symbolism. Right from the get-go, we see her being inquisitive and brave. She is willing to defend her people but not through violence. And it is made abundantly clear that her avoidance of violence is not due to any lack of strength; when she strikes down the soldiers who killed her father, rather than feeling any sense of pride (as one might expect from a character not used to strength), it sickens her. She shows understanding even towards Kushana, whose men took over her kingdom. She sincerely loves and respects animals and plants.

There was a prophecy among the people of the valley of wind that a person clad in blue over golden fields will save their kingdom and bring peace. And towards the end of the film, Nausicaä's clothes becoming blue with the blood of the baby Ohmu she saved and the golden fields being the tendrils of the Ohmus healing her is poetic to say the least.

In addition to a good female protagonist, we also get a powerful female antagonist in Kushana, who starts out as a one-note expansionist ruler, but it is revealed that she lost her limbs and got severely maimed by the sea of decay, motivating her to destroy it once and for all. Proud and arrogant, sure, but she has a motive beyond just wanting power and possesses some form of a moral code. In another story she could be the protagonist bravely defending humanity against the evil, alien-esque trilobites and spores.

It was a unique and meaningful choice on Miyazaki's part to symbolise nature through the Ohmus—alien-looking giant insects—instead of something cute and fluffy. Oftentimes humans care more about the conservation of animals that they find cute (pandas over, say, Panamanian golden frogs), but an animal doesn't have to appeal to human aesthetics to be worth conserving.

Absolutely not to be missed is the breathtaking soundtrack by Hisaishi. There are symphonies, techno music, sitar-like instruments and a child's humming, all elevating every scene to give a moving experience.

Ultimately it is an ambitious story that aims to deal with themes of coexisting with nature, the futility and dangers of war, and of how innocent children who should live carefree lives are dragged into it and made heroes. This film is often categorised as falling into the genre of Solarpunk: a literary and artistic movement that centres around building a sustainable future interconnected with nature and community. Although this film does depict violence and wars, it ultimately shows a peaceful future is possible.

Truly a masterpiece. 9/10.

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maryawrites · 17 days ago

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Sfumato - Chapter 2

There's an omegaverse reference. Sorry.

Worst!Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Cis! Female Reader, Post DPAW

CW: religious trauma, referenced past child abuse, less ugly burning yearning this chapter, serious religious themes and references, referenced past animal death, C-PTSD, themes of early stage Major Depressive Disorder, unhealthy familial relationships, the story is partially autobiographical, the (Name) in this is a little emotionally stunted and horrible but that's what character development is for

Divider by @/saradika

I wish I could say I handled the rest of the time they were in the diner with grace.

I did not, though.

Thank God, no one else happened to come in while Wade and Logan were there. I couldn’t have contained myself and watched Lily take more of my burden. I guess today was a bit on the slower side. How lucky for me.

But, as I said, I was not graceful. I was not putting myself to work in the kitchen, or at least assisting Lily behind closed doors. No. I was still, still hiding behind the door, pressing my ear to the wood to avoid being seen while remaining a spy, letting the commercial kitchen island block my coworkers view of me and my sick behaviour. I think they just ignored me after a while, though. Every line cook- Gav, Dan, and Michael- seemed to accept my position as a new normal as they half-mindedly kept the kitchen in check and went on their self-imposed breaks.

It’s a slow time. I can’t say it’s an easy time, though, on my part. I’ve found myself having a taste for voyeurism. Is this how God feels, every moment of every day, since He sees all, hears all, tastes all? I always thought God must be stern and cold. Now I think He must be sick with adrenaline constantly, He must be positively drunk on it. It must feel so good to be God. You could do anything you want, because you lie well outside any type of punishment. Your actions and words are law. Killing your soul must feel good to God; He hurts people all of the time. Or He lets them hurt, which, secretly, I don’t think is much different.

But there is a difference: I am a sick voyeur. God can commit no sin. He Himself lies outside His own bounds.

How dare I relate myself to God.

It’s the split second that I lean back to swallow down my nausea after my accidental deification that Lily returns from bringing the pair two slices of apple pie and one serving of rice pudding that my creeping meets its painful end. I hadn’t heard her coming, and my brief moment of vulnerability rewards me with the door getting smacked into my face as I kneel on the ground.

I regain some composure after my ego is sorely bruised, ending my escapade as Lily tries to assure me hushedly that Wade and Logan didn’t see it, or perhaps they just assumed it was someone cleaning up a spill.

It does not help.

I am humiliated. Again.

Then the pair leave, it’s like a weight has been removed from my body. But it is not quite a relief- it feels more like someone has run off with an organ and I am left only with a gap of air in my body. I never thought being left alone would feel so odd. Yes, I’ve always yearned for my grandmother’s love, but my heart rate only ever slowed when I was alone. I feel disappointed that my heart rate slows now.

The rest of my shift goes as usual- a rush of dirty dishes and lack-luster small talk, men with watching eyes and women with bitten lips. I take their orders and I nod my head. Gav offers me a cigarette in the kitchen sometimes between the dinner rush and the 9 o’clock rush, and I will admit here, and only here, that I was tempted. My throat was dry and my bones tried to pull me closer and I declined him. I wasn't tired, per se- No, I hadn’t done anything worthy of being weary. But I felt the earth pulling me close, whispering and trying to draw me in.

By the time my shift ends, I am still dry. My eyes, my hands, my lips. I take careful time scrubbing the dishes clean and wiping down the booths and tables, consider coming in to wax the chrome sit-down counter on Sunday. Our day off, theoretically, but I have never known a day that wasn’t full of work. My grandmother always said I was such a canine assistant, a shepherd or hound- made to work. Always willing to work. She’d croon over how close I am to a dog while I’d pant in her garden, tiny hands grasping at weeds while the sun peeled the skin back from me like the fruit of Eden. Such a good girl. I always had one more prayer in me, just one more for her, something she always promised me while twisting my cheek numb between her fingers as I kneeled to the ground, all scraped knees and baby-skin.

I am good. I will scald myself clean as she did years ago.

The thought guides me back down to my wet hands, my eyes peering through the sheen of dish-washer as I raise my hands from the water.

A dish sink, shoved into the back of a commercial kitchen, no sounds but water slopping against the sides and far off laughter. The soap in my hangnails- an offering. The tub of thick plastic I brought in after the last patron left- an altar.

You can’t see it anymore. My hands look normal, from anyone else's view. You’d have to get very close, and feel very well to know anything ever happened.

Gloves that prove my loyalty to purity.

I was six. I had been six years old for two days. Her cat had died by some mysterious circumstance, its head cleaved off. It was one of the few animals I had ever intimately confronted, and I loved it. I picked up its head, because what else is a stunned child supposed to do? Should a stunned child have thrown it away? Run into the house, screaming? Broken down in tears? I wish I had at least moved. Run away to somewhere inconspicuous. I had known death impersonally- something right around the corner, something God dangles over our heads as punishment and reward alike. It was the first time I had ever seen a dead thing.

She was the one who screamed. Who scooped me up and dragged me into the house, my grandmother’s nails slicing my skin in her hold. I’ve never known anyone who could heat up a pot of water as quickly as her. She insisted I’d tainted my soul through my skin. I never found out what happened to the cat after that. What she did with it.

I jump out my skin when a hand brushes between my shoulder blades, my head nearly twisting off my shoulders as I turn to see Lily, warily observing me. Her expression clears immediately as our eyes meet, and she speaks as if she did not find me in the middle of confession.

“Okay, so, I know ‘M usually pretty lax about your social hang-ups; but, (Name), girl, what happened today? You were totally out of it. (Name), you were acting like a stalker. A very, very shy stalker. What was that? I’m not letting you go until I get an answer.”

‘I’m not letting you go until I get an answer’.

I’m not letting you go until I get an answer.

I can only stare at her for a second, struggling to piece together this life from a former one. All words have dried up in my lungs, and I glance around the kitchen, only to find it empty and the sink and walls behind me. And she stands in front of me, like a pillar.

I think I’ve swallowed my tongue.

“I don’t know.”

My words come before I can register that I’ve even thought to say them, and it takes me several moments before I realize I’m the one who spoke. ‘I don’t know’ is not a real answer.

The air is still. Quiet.

Every hair on my body raises to the ceiling as her body shifts.

But I only get to watch her walk away, turning and going back to the back-door of the kitchen with an over-exaggerated sigh. “Okay, okay. Whatever you say, sweetness. What-ever. I’ll get it out of you one day. My man’s here. See ya tomorrow, (Name).”

She was here. And then she was not. Lily leaves me with nothing more than the echoing remains of a deep sigh.

She just… left. She’s gone.

The tips of my ears grow warm. I feel something surging, hot and fast, in my veins. It starts at my feet and reaches my fingers, making them twitch.

I throw up onto the floor a minute after she leaves, my feet frozen in place on the floor.

I get to sit and ruminate on my shameful thoughts and behaviour, my sickening life, as I stay an hour later than usual cleaning what got onto the floor and what got into my sink of almost-clean dishes. Not so clean anymore, I guess. I’m just sorry for the night shift staff who have to see it.

If killing myself wasn’t a sin, I’d go home to it like it’s my husband, with open arms and a full-body sense of peace.

My face is still warm and my hair slings to my head, damp from sweat and steam, when I get back to my floor. I am hot, yes, but I have never felt colder. I feel heavy. Whatever piece my neighbors took when they left, it has been returned tenfold. I could sink into the ground. I genuinely don’t understand how I could ever possibly smile again. Tonight, when I pray, I think I will tell the Lord about every way I dreamt about dying on the bus ride home. And then I will apologize. And then I will cry and pant and dig my knees deep into the floor at my bedside, because it’s always the same fucking cycle. I’ve had the same night every night since I turned twelve.

Hell can’t be that bad. God can kill me in my sleep, if he wants. I don’t care. In Hell, you would have to get used to the pain eventually. But in this awful, awful life, every pain is new and sharp and fresh, no matter how many times I’ve gone through them.

What’s the deal with Hell, anyways? What’s the deal with angels and devils? Everything I’ve ever heard about angels has been inhumane. Never have I been fed stories about repurposed Roman cherubs or dove-winged counselors. Angels were always something else. An else that no one’s been able to identify for me yet. But demons always made sense to me, in a way, not that I ever dared to tell anyone that. They had bodies, and they had accidents, and they felt pain and envy and weariness. Aren’t humans closer to demons than angels, technically? I mean, we were made to be God’s companions, and we failed by pushing our bounds, and demons were supposed to be angels, but they failed by pushing their bounds, too. And we both got to fall.

But I push those thoughts from my mind as I approach my door, reaching around my bag for my keys. Those types of thoughts make me feel odd. They make me feel tight, and uncomfortable, like you do right before you walk into a room that’s holding a surprise party for you that you don’t know about. I have to push those considerations away, because I don’t know what to do with them. They are not true. They can’t be. That doesn’t seem right. But it follows a level of logic that confuses me. I have to swallow those wonderings for my own well-being.

I’m pushing my key into the lock when the door down the hall almost immediately swings open, and I’m too stunned by the sudden movement to react. Before I can process what just happened, I’m gifted with something else to process- namely, the 6’2 man standing across from me, leaning against the wall nonchalantly, as if expecting me to greet him.

Surprisingly, Wade’s skin doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. I’ve acclimated quite well to it- which isn’t something to be proud of, but it surprises me.

Then again, my epitome of love was a half-naked dead Jewish man torn and bloodied, crucified on a cross for my entire childhood.

We stand in silence for a moment more before I turn back to my door, unlocking it in silence.

My apathy gains a drawn out, guttural whine from my neighbor, and he slothfully pulls himself up from the wall to stand, stepping back.

“You could at least say hi, (Name). Is your dick really in a knot because Logan and I just so happened to eat lunch where you work?”

His phrasing does get my attention, and I grow flustered, scoffing as I look up at him. I should really be holding myself better, but I’m tired, and he’s the one who’s dragged me into this mood. I’m sure he deals with much snappier people, anyways.

“I’m not angry because you went there. Don’t interpret me wrong. I was on my break, actually, so I couldn’t serve you. That’s all.” I reply in a tone of voice much more stale than I intend, surprising myself. When did I get so bland?

It seems to surprise Wade, too, because he makes a low sound of interest and smiles slyly, crossing his arms like some catty old gossip, as if I’ve finally caught his attention. That makes me a little angrier, too, for some reason. At least I’m entertaining him. I don’t get why I’m so irritable. But his voice keeps my attention on him and not my new, odd disposition. “Ooh-ho, my, someone’s frustrated. There’s no way little ol’ me and less little ol’ Logan worked you up that much. Is your dick in a knot or does it need to knot?”

“What does that even mean?” I mutter in irritation as I turn back to my door, finally unlocking it all the way and pushing it open, trying to shove him out of my mind.

“So, what is the deal? Drop some plates? Cuss out a customer? Did a hypothetical coworker flirt with your hypothetical roguishly good looking neighbor and his hypothetical mid-tier roommate? Hypothetically?

“I don’t know.” I snarl before slamming the door shut behind me, right in his face. It takes me a moment before I realize what I’ve done. I’ve shocked myself again. I… didn’t think I was capable of talking to someone like that. And I didn't think it was possible to not feel bad about it.

I know it was wrong to do that. To snap at him and shut the door in his face, and I logically know I was wrong. But I don’t feel instinctually bad, somehow. I don’t feel shame and fear washing over me, and it’s so… odd. All I feel is the way I’ve felt since I got off my shift- like I’ve been hollowed out and filled with lead. I must be really tired to have done something like that. I must have reached a new level of weariness to have felt no remorse, too.

I stand frozen in my living room for a long while, disassociated into my thoughts as I stare into the empty night air in front of me. When I finally think to go back to my door and apologize, I do it swiftly, throwing it open at the same speed I’d slammed it shut. Only to find nothing.

The hallway is so empty of life I think I might’ve imagined Wade there. Perhaps I really, really am being driven insane by the flesh. I seriously ponder the possibility before I hear the door down the hall lock with a click.

Huh.

I turn slowly, slipping back into my apartment in silence. I don’t know why I don’t feel ashamed. I know I am a bad person. I know I was wrong. But I can't find the energy in me to care.

I drag myself over to my couch and fall asleep right there.

I will be better tomorrow. I have to be.

#sfumato #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlet x reader #james howlett #james howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wade wilson #deadpool #x men

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