#feeling an immense dread and wish for death does not seem like a normal or healthy reaction to not getting an inside joke/reference

[nameforthemain]

long rant in the tags lol beware

(also if you do click on, tw for very brief suicidal thoughts, sorry)

[schrijverr]

A Phony Boyfriend

After moving into the dorms, class 1-A discovers that Bakugo is constantly on his phone. This leads to them discovering he has a boyfriend and going on a quest to find out as much as they can while Bakugo comes to terms with the fact that High School will be different than Middle School as well as his internalized homophobia.

On AO3.

Ships: Bakudeku

Warnings: mentions of past homophobia, internalized homophobia and fear of homophobia (no one is mean to them, dont worry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since moving into the dorms they had learned a lot about the others that they had not realized before.

Sato could bake really well, Iida had a really strict and strange work out routine, Jiro always had music in when she cooked, Momo liked tea, especially fancy tea, and Bakugo was completely glued to his phone after school.

The last one was very surprising, since Bakugo had never seemed like a phone person, usually ignoring texts and calls and never having his phone in class.

However, since they lived with him it became apparent that he was prone to typing away on his phone and ignoring everyone else in the room. He was still strict to himself about phone usage during school hours, but after school was out, it was fair game.

Naturally this made them curious to what their explosive classmate was doing on his phone, so after a few weeks Hagekure cracked. She fell on the couch next to Bakugo and asked: “What you doing?”

“Nothing,” Bakugo grumbled.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” she replied innocently.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and said: “Just messaging people and stuff,” before going back to ignoring her.

“Your parents?” she asked, she was gaining an audience and she wanted to deliver as the person who had been brave enough to ask what all had been wondering.

“No,” was Bakugo’s curt response.

Hagakure’s eyes lit up and she sat up in excitement and asked: “A girlfriend?”

Bakugo wrinkled his nose and again said: “No.”

At this point Mina joined the conversation, as a patented pansexual, she felt this shouldn’t be the end of the investigation. So she asked: “A boyfriend, maybe?”

The effect was instant. Bakugo’s stilled and he stopped typing as he avoided their gazes even more than before and a light blush spread across his cheeks. His scowl deepened and he growled: “Shut the fuck up.”

It didn’t work, because the two girls gasped as they exclaimed: “Oh my god!” and “You have a boyfriend?”

“I said shut up,” Bakugo yelled, blushing even harder.

“But that’s so cute,” Hagakure whined, “You have to tell us more.”

“Yeah, Bakugo, you can’t leave us hanging after a revelation like that,” Mina pouted.

“I can and I will, now leave me alone,” Bakugo said, getting up.

“You’re not even going to tell us his name?” she asked.

“No,” Bakugo stomped off, his fingers once again dancing over the keyboard.

The two pouted harder, but didn’t pester him more. They were beyond curious, but also weren’t about to pry in their classmate’s life if he was uncomfortable with it. Still that didn’t stop them from theorizing.

“What do you think is his type?” Mina asked first.

“Probably tough and mean,” Hagakure replied, “They probably do stuff like boxing together and yell at movies.”

“Yeah, or they throw rocks and stuff,” Mina added.

“First off, this is such a weird thing to talk about,” Kirishima interrupted, “Second off, you two have no clue what people do on dates.”

“Oh, and you do, Eijiro?” Mina asked, “Do tell what you think Bakugo and his mystery boyfriend do on their dates.”

“Probably normal stuff, like drinking coffee and talking,” Kirishima shrugged, “I never really thought about my friend’s dating life.”

“You’re not even a but curious?” Hagakure asked.

“Of course I am, I’m just not going to theorize about it,” Kirishima said.

“Boring,” Mina booed, “Kaminari, Sero, Jirowhat do you think?”

“I think Bakugo would be surprisingly romantic,” said Kaminari.

“And I think you finally lost the last of your brain cells, Kaminari,” Mina jeered.

“That does seem unlikely,” Hagakure agreed.

Sero thought about it, then said: “I think he’s more of grand and flashy stuff, like his quirk. Maybe he does the flowers and stuff.”

“Where are the explosions here!” Mina complained.

“I don’t think he’s exploding his boyfriend, Mina,” Jiro pointed out.

While downstairs they were arguing about whether or not Bakugo would use explosions to be romantic, Bakugo himself was in his bedroom, panicking and calling Izu. “It must suck that you didn’t get to tell them in your own time, Kacchan,” Izu said, “But they sound like they reacted well, right?”

“I mean, yes, but what if they think it’s gross?”

“Kacchan, don’t call us gross,” Izu said sternly, “I thought you were getting better with the internalized stuff.”

“I know, I know, just- Ugh!” Kacchan let out a cry of frustration.

“It’s okay, Kacchan, I love you.”

And wasn’t that a soothing balm on all the turmoil in his brain. He couldn't help, but smile as he returned the sentiment: “I love you too, Izu.” Apause. “I’m sorry about freaking out on you, I truly love you, but I just panicked, because the class has been really cool and it would suck if they turned out to- you know?”

“I know, Kacchan, I understand,” Izu said, “But they sounded like they were cool, don’t ruin it for yourself for the small chance that they do. You’re amazing, they just have to deal with it.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Kacchan sighed.

“Damn, I didn’t know my own boyfriend hated me all the time,” Izu teased.

“Shut up, you shitty nerd.”

“Never, Kacchan.”

“Good.” It was quiet for a moment, then Kacchan said: “I’m probably overreacting. I know that Kirishima is cool. He has two moms, loves them to death.”

“There you go,” Izu encouraged, “I like Kirishima from what you told me, he’ll be on your side if anyone’s a dick about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, he is, the idiot,” Kacchan said fondly.

“I’m so glad you made friends.”

“Oi, what��s that supposed to mean? I can make friends.”

“Everyone at kindergarten was afraid of you, Kacchan.”

“You weren’t and I bet it wasn’t everyone.”

“Okay, okay, but you can be an acquired taste,” Izu conceded, “What I meant to say is that I’m glad you have people in your corner, Kacchan. You know. Now that I can’t be there with you all the time. Or hardly any time.”

Kacchan nodded, he knew how worried Izu could get about stuff and he knew what the underlying message was. He replied: “I miss you too, Izu.”

There was a small little content huff from the other side of the line, then Izu said: “I have to go eat now, Kacchan. Update me on if it goes well, okay? I love you.”

“Love you,” Kacchan said right before the line went dead. He looked at the clock and groaned, he really should be going down for dinner as well.

On a logical level, he knew most – if not all – of class 1-A would be cool about him being gay and having a boyfriend, but a small part worried that his friends would fall away and turn on him, like they’d done in Middle School.

So with slight apprehension, he made his way downstairs.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with some bustling about to make everyone dinner and to set the table, where some were trying to quickly finish some homework. It was normal, peaceful and Bakugo was dreading its end.

Kirishima noticed him first and waved: “Oi, Bakubro, can you help me with this Math problem, Mina is being mean about it.”

“I’m not mean, he’s just stupid,” Mina protested.

All had decided to drop the subject of the mystery boyfriend for now. Especially after they’d gotten a lecture from Iida about prying into people’s business and when Fumikage had said: “Dark, the mind can be, when demons of the past have not yet been dismissed.”

It made them realize that maybe Bakugo wasn’t comfortable with the revelation and it had made them feel terrible.

So, they didn’t say a thing.

Cautiously Bakugo made his way over to Kirishima, trying to see if this was a set up or if they had really blessed him with silence.

Kirishima was really struggling with a Math problem. Bakugo knew it wasn’t a set up both because Kirishima would be too honest for it and because it was a problem he had struggled with in the past and could never seem to get.

Beside him Mina was painting her nails. Bakugo saw that her thumb and pinky were black, but the other fingers were painted in the pan flag colors. A bit of relief, loosened in his chest.

Mina saw him looking and smiled, before winking and going back to work on her other hand, while Bakugo explained to Kirishima again that if a full circle was 360 degree, half a circle would be 180 degrees, so the triangle corner couldn't be more than a 180 degrees.

During dinner it was as peaceful as it would get and Bakugo felt himself relaxing.

He didn’t stick around to figure out if the peace would last, instead fleeing to the patio out front and leaning against the wall as he watched the stars. Silently he wished Izu could be there with him and point out the constellations.

His peace was in the end broken by Kirishima, who lowered himself next to Bakugo. He was quiet for a moment, then asked: “Is he treating you right?”

“What?” Bakugo couldn't help but be slightly confused.

“The boyfriend, is he good to you?” Kirishima asked.

“Are you going to defend my honor otherwise or something,” Bakugo rolled his eyes, immensely surprised when Kirishima’s response was: “Yes, if I have to.”

It touched Bakugo’s heart in a way he wasn’t ready to deal with so he just softly said: “He is. Good, I mean. He’s very good. The best, actually. Maybe a bit better than the best.”

That made Kirishima smile. He liked that his friend had someone in his corner, who wasn’t in the middle of the chaos that was their life and could support him. He nodded: “That’s good to hear, Bakubro. I’m happy for you.”

After that it was quiet.

Then, in the softest voice, which was so vulnerable that it broke Kirishima’s heart in little pieces while simultaneously it made him want to punch someone, Bakugo asked: “You are?”

“Yeah, of course, what else should I be?”

“I- I don’t know, disappointed? Angry?” Bakugo sounded helpless in his own confusion.

“Why?”

“That it’s a he.”

Kirishima hated how quickly Bakugo had the answer to that question, so he pulled Bakugo into a side hug and said: “I will never be angry or disappointed because of that. I swear it. And no one else will be either, and if they are they’ll deal with my fists and then with the principle.”

“Thank you,” Bakugo whispered.

“No problem,” Kirishima said back.

They sat there for a moment, then Kirishima confessed: “I’ve been send by the others, because I was least likely to get blown to bits. Uhm, most wanted to say sorry for prying and also that they support you.”

Bakugo chuckled at that. In the silence he had come to terms with the fact that High School might be different and an elated feeling had loosened in his chest. He grinned: “That’s good. Did they also send you to spy?”

Kirishima blushed and quickly said: “I wasn’t going to.”

“So yes?”

“Yes.”

“Well, tell them thanks and also that it’s none of their business, but also that they will catch my hands if I hear them badmouthing him, because he’s an angel.”

“I will,” Kirishima rolled his eyes, then got up, “I’ll give you your time here. Don’t stay out too late.”

“Yes, mom,” Bakugo stuck out his tongue and got a similar gesture in return.

In the end no one saw Bakugo until the next morning, where he pretended nothing had ever happened. Though he did carry himself more lightly and Mina spotted a small rainbow key chain on his bag, which made her smile.

But since he wasn’t acknowledging it any further, neither were they. They would keep their silence until Bakugo was ready to talk about it.

However, they were also way too curious about the mysterious boy that had managed to captivate the most stand-off and anti-social person in their class. The one who had the hardest time befriending people.

He should be lucky they lasted two weeks.

After those two weeks they couldn't take it anymore. So, when Bakugo was once again typing away on his phone Mina exclaimed: “I can’t do this anymore, Bakugo you have to tell me more about your secret boyfriend. I demand to know as fellow queer in crime.”

“You demand to know as nosy asshole, raccoon,” Bakugo retorted.

“Then I demand to know as nosy asshole, just tell me something, anything,” she practically begged.

“Well, if you must know, we’re talking about All Might,” he told her.

“Is he a fan?” Mina would take any bit of information and she watched in wonder as something in Bakugo’s face turned gentle and a smile creeped up his face. He nodded: “The biggest one out there, the idiot.”

“Does he want to be a hero too?” she asked.

“Nah,” Bakugo said, “He wanted to, for a long time, but he’s actually on his way to become a nurse, specializing in hero incidents and support. Always talking about being my back up and making sure I don’t die from recklessness.”

Mina couldn't help but smile at the fond tone in Bakugo’s voice and she mentally adjusted the picture of rough-stone-throwing-hooligan to a softer yet strong teen, who carried an injured Bakugo through the streets.

“That’s so cute,” she squealed.

Bakugo rolled his eyes at her reaction, but secretly agreed. It was very cute how worked up Izu would get over his safety and how he fussed over every little injury while scolding him.

Still, he didn’t give her more information than that, because Izu had finally finished typing his half analysis, half rant over the latest All Might incident report. He was arguing that All Might was loosing power, which Bakugo thought was kinda stupid, so he had to go an tell him that.

With Mina not being completely shut down, the floodgates opened with Hagakure asking about Izu when they were sitting on the couch and Sero during lunch, while others also tried to get a bit of information out of him.

All curious about Izu.

Bakugo would never admit it to another breathing soul, except Izu, but he was touched that they cared so much. That they weren’t trying to ignore the gay part, but were actively trying to learn more about it.

“Then why don’t you say anything, Kacchan?” Izu asked after he had told him about it.

“Because I like having you for myself,” Kacchan pouted.

“Ahw, how sweet,” Izu smiled, he liked how Kacchan would say the most romantic things, just because he was honest at heart and meant it.

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, but Kacchan, it was super sweet, I like the idea of a secret romance, it’s very cute,” he smiled, “But I’m afraid you’ll have to do it by yourself, I showed my friends pictures of you and they follow me online.”

“So you do care about me,” Kacchan teased, knowing how much the other did.

“Of course, I do. You’re the greatest and I love you very much.”

“Love you too.”

“Did you manage to get permission to leave next weekend? Because I can make it home as well and mom promised she’ll make both curry and katsudon, if you come over,” Izu said.

“I still have to hear back from Aizawa-sensei,” he replied, “But I really want to. I need to ask auntie her recipe, mine hasn’t been turning out like hers.”

“You made curry?”

“Yeah, it was my turn to cook and I wanted curry,” Kacchan shrugged.

“That’s so funny to picture,” Izu giggled.

The sound of his boyfriend’s giggles made his heart lighter, but he still said: “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean, I’m a good cook!”

“I guess you’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I will, just you wait.”

“Looking forward to it.” There was a short lull in conversation, then Izu asked: “Have you been eating alright? Since you have to cook, are the others doing their part? A good diet is important, especially with all the physical stuff you have to do. We’re currently having a nutrition course and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m eating fine, Izu, promise,” Kacchan said, “There have been a few we had to ban from the kitchen, but we’re eating fine. I was about to grab a snack actually.”

“Good to hear. What are you grabbing?”

“I don’t know yet. And I’m not grabbing it just now, I’m still talking to you and that’s way more fun.”

“Why can’t you do both?”

“What?”

“I mean, I think I can survive it if you grab a snack while talking to me, Kacchan. I believe in your multitasking skills.”

“That’s not the concern, Izu,” Kacchan whined.

“Ahw, come on. Pretty please, Kacchan? I can help you pick a snack! I have my notes here, I know everything about ultimate snacking,” Izu was starting to get excited, “Just tell me what you’ve eaten and I’ll figure out what nutrients you missed today. They gave us charts.”

Kacchan knew the moment that hint of excitement crept into Izu’s voice, he would be sold. He just couldn't say no to that, so he relented: “Okay, okay,” before telling Izu what he wanted to know and going to the kitchen.

A few of his classmates that were still left at that hour looked up when he entered, some raising their brow at the phone squished between his shoulder and ear. To those he gave a middle finger, because he was too busy listening to Izu ramble to want to talk to them.

“So, what options do we have?” Izu’s voice rang in his ear.

“Got some leftover rice, pocky, umeboshi, some peaches and taiyaki,” he listed, “And like condiments and raw stuff, but I’m not cooking.”

As the only one of their friends here Kaminari was listening in and getting more confused by the second. Why would Bakugo be listing what they had in their kitchen of all things?

Kacchan waited as he listened, before saying: “Oh, really?”

His voice was genuine as if he was interested in the answer he received. He grabbed the rice and listened to whatever the person on the other side of the line was saying.

Then Kacchan said: “You’d do that for me?” a beat, “Wait, wait a second, idiot. I don’t have anything to write here. No, you don’t have to type it out, I can write,” then he hurried up the stairs with his bowl.

The next morning Kaminari asked what that was about and Bakugo shrugged: “Izu’s taking a course about nutrients, he made me an eating chart.”

“Izu?” Kaminari repeated, thinking it was a professional Bakugo went to to stay in shape. He didn’t think it improbably that Bakugo would call a professional idiot.

But then Bakugo blushed and cursed slightly and even Kaminari could put together who the name actually belonged to.

His eyes went wide with the realization.

Bakugo had been secretive about his boyfriend, telling everyone to stop being nosy dicks, which did not at all discourage anyone from trying to find out more, curiosity being fulled by mystery.

Kaminari did the smart thing and stopped talking, only mentioning it to the other during lunch, which surprisingly Bakugo did nothing with.

He didn’t mind that much, he was just scared that if ‘boyfriend’ actually became a person, people would freak out, but so far they all had been nice and Izu was encouraging him to get out of his shell and find confidence in who he was. He also felt like Izu deserved all the praise and not someone who he thought was ashamed of him.

Because he wasn’t.

Bakugo was incredibly proud of his boyfriend, who was not only a lovely and amazing person, but also very talented and deeply caring, while managing to be smart on top of it all.

So when during lunch Kaminari - albeit with an apologetic look - asked: “Izu pick that out for you?” he just sighed, before nodding.

Mina perked up immediately and looked between Bakugo and Kaminari, then back, before her eyes got big with excitement and she asked: “Izu is your boyfriend’s name?”

Deciding to just give in on that point, he explained: “Yeah, well, it’s- it’s a nickname, but it feels weird to say his full name.”

“And I’m guessing you’re not going to give us his full name so we can look him up,” she pouted, already scrolling through the location tag of Bakugo’s home to see if she could find a username with Izu in it.

“No,” Bakugo chuckled, “And you’re not finding him there either. He’s in Tokyo right now.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s becoming a nurse right?” Kirishima recalled.

“Isn’t there that really big nursing school in Tokyo?” Jiro commented, “I heard it’s very prestigious.”

“It is,” Bakugo bragged, “Izu got in top of his class.”

“That’s so cool,” Kaminari said, “Your eating schedule must be super good then.”

Bakugo nodded: “Yeah, he was already working on it. He picked me to focus on for the hero they would have to make a schedule for. He’s an idiot, but it’s sweet, I guess.”

“Ahww,” some of the others commented, before the conversation moved on from there.

He was in a good mood with his friends remembering stuff he’d told them and getting to brag about his boyfriend a bit. A boyfriend that he would probably see that weekend.

The very next day that was gone, he came into class with Aizawa, arguing with his teacher: “You have to let me go, sir. Why can’t I go? Please, you don’t understand.”

“I understand Bakugo, but whatever you have planned can wait another week,” Aizawa said.

“It can’t, it has to be this week.”

“Then I’m very sorry for you, but too many students are already leaving, there just isn’t a spot free. It happens,” Aizawa explained.

“But sir-”

“No, Bakugo, end of discussion,” Aizawa cut him off, leaving Bakugo frustrated and upset. He had his fist and jaw clenched and he was hunched in a fighting stand while simultaneously managing to look very small.

“Bakubro?” Kirishima asked tentatively, “What happened?”

He didn’t want to be this upset, but he had fucking missed Izu so much and he had been looking forwards to it and then it had been crushed right before his eyes. Much to his horror tears were beginning to gather in his eyes.

“Bro?” Kirishima asked again.

“I can’t go home this weekend,” he finally managed to get out, fighting off the tears, “Izu gets to go home too this weekend and we were going to spend it together. I- I just want to see him again, but the spots to go home for the weekend are already full.”

“Oh, Bakugo, that must suck so hard,” Mina sympathized.

Others had similar sentiments, no one had ever seen the explosive blond like that. Then help came from the most unlikely source, Todoroki. He said: “You can have my slot.”

“Really?” Bakugo asked, not even insulting the other boy.

Todorokithought of the awkward and painful family dinner he would have to attend, before nodding firmly: “Yeah, I have nothing important. It can be rescheduled easily.”

“Thank you, Icy-Hot,” Bakugo grinned, lighting up immediately.

Henodded back and that was the end of the conversation.

The weekend came and Bakugo practically ran out of the dorm Friday afternoon, yelling a quick goodbye and muttering something about train arrivals when he passed.

He was on time for the train, even managing to snatch up some flowers on his way to the station and before he knew it, he had an excited green haired boy in his arms again.

It all passed by much faster than Bakugo wanted and before he knew it he was walking back into UA with only memories of doing homework together, picnicking in the park they used to explore as kids, whispering till deep in the night and laughing together in the kitchen.

When he got back the others noticed how he carried himself slightly different and they tried to pry details out of during lunch. He told them nothing more besides: “It was fun.”

Until they were in the dorms and Bakugo walked up to Todoroki, obviously not wanting to, with something in his hands. He trusted out a little packed and said: “Izu would be mad if I didn’t give these to you. They’re a thank you for giving up your spot.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you…” Todoroki said, inspecting the packet.

“They’re cookies, dumbass. You’ve seen those before,” Bakugo snapped.

Mina jumped on his back and cooed: “Ahw, did Izu make cookies.”

“More, me and auntie,” Bakugo snorted, “Izu can do much, but he’s a disaster in the kitchen. He manged to burn water once, that was an experience.”

“I didn’t know you can bake,” Sero said.

“It’s not really I do often and auntie is better at it, I just know how not to burn stuff,” Bakugo shrugged.

“The opposite of your quirk,” Kaminari joked, getting some laughs.

“But you and Izu baked together?” Mina got them back on topic, “What else did you do?”

“None of your business, raccoon,” Bakugo informed her, finally getting her off his back.

She shrugged: “Worth a try.”

“Can I see the cookies, Todoroki?” Hagakure asked.

“Oh, sure,” Todoroki showed her the cookies and she giggled: “They’re All Might shaped.”

“Really?” other went to go see and the cookies were indeed in the shape of All Might’s head with pink icing on it.

“It was the only one we had,” Bakugo blushed, omitting that there had been heart shaped ones as well and he had a packet of those himself that Izu decorated, while he had decorated the ones Izu had taken with him to Tokyo.

After the others tricked Todoroki out of most of his cookies, they went to get started on all the homework they’d gotten today.

Everyone had been nothing but positive about his boyfriend, even his self appointed nemesis had given up his own weekend home for him to go see Izu. With all the nice reactions, Bakugo was pretty certain it wouldn’t be a repeat of Middle School and was commenting more and more about things related to Izu.

He commented that Izu would have loved seeing everyone training to upgrade their quirk, because he loved quirks in general, but especially weaknesses and how they could turn on the user and how to avoid that.

And he explained that katsudon was Izu’s favourite food when they asked him how he’d gotten so good at making it.

But all the good things couldn't stop the bad nights that still plagued him.

So when he had awoken from a nightmare, he called Izu awake, knowing that the other told him to not feel guilty about and to just do it.

In the end he found himself on the kitchen floor, feeling much calmer while Izu finished his story of what a classmate had done that day. When he was done it was quiet for a moment, then Kacchan softly said: “Thank you, Izu.”

“Of course, Kacchan. Try to sleep, okay?” Izu replied, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Kacchan returned, before hanging up.

After he’d hung up, he noticed a form in the doorway. He looked up and saw Kirishima standing in the doorway in his pajama pants. He looked like a deer in headlight and said: “I haven’t been listening in, I just got here.”

“It’s fine,” Bakugo sighed, “free world.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Kirishima noticed the state Bakugo was in.

“No, I just like calling my boyfriend in the middle of the night while he needs his rest as well for fun,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry, just tired,” Bakugo rubbed his eyes, regretting snapping at Kirishima, when the cheery boy was one of the last people to deserve it.

Kirishima sat down next to him and said: “It’s okay. I can’t imagine you’re here because you want to be.”

“Tell me about it,” Bakugo rolled his eyes, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Nah, I got thirsty,” Kirishima said, “Do you want to talk about what woke you up?”

“Not really, Izu already forced me to tell him that was enough for one night,” Bakugo told him, “I was gathering the energy to go back to sleep again.”

“Good that you’re at least talking to someone,” Kirishima said, “Here, I’m making us tea, then we’ll go back to bed together. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They didn’t speak of the meeting the next morning nor after that, but Kirishima did take up the habit of asking Bakugo if he’d slept well, earning him an eyeroll and Bakugo telling he already had one mother hen in his life.

Though he did answer every time.

It was just life in the dorms. Everyone had gotten used to living with the others and slowly they were becoming more comfortable with each other and turning into a slightly dysfunctional and highly chaotic family.

Which meant that by the time Bakugo was comfortable calling Izu in the common area the others had no qualms about interrupting him.

He had called Izu more often, but usually walked out of the room after a few minutes. However that time period had become longer and longer and he had been talking to Izu for nearly 45 minutes already, mostly telling him about his own day and listening to Izu talk about his.

Right now the conversation had wondered to a recent villain take-down by The Lurkers and the strategy team up of Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods.

So, Mina walked over and whined: “This is boring, Bakugo. Here, gimme the phone,” as she grabbed for his phone.

He ducked and shouted: “Oi, raccoon, leave me the fuck alone.”

“But Bakugo, I wanna talk to Izu,” Mina pouted, grabbing for the phone again, “You’re being boring and it’s not fun to listen in if you’re talking about heroes. We already hear about heroes constantly.”

“You’re not talking to him, piss off,” Bakugo danced away from Mina’s hand, but she was on his tail and they were running around the table.

As they ran Izu’s confused voice came over the speaker: “Kacchan?”

“Sorry, Izu, I’m being chased!” Bakugo yelled.

“Are you okay?” Izu asked concerned.

“Yeah, just a raccoon on my tale.”

“I’m not a raccoon!”

“You mean Mina?” Izu laughed.

“Yes!” Bakugo yelpedright as he tripped onto the couch. Mina immediate took the chance and jumped to wrestle the phone out of his hands.

Success.

She ran off with her prize, holding the phone to her ear as she greeted: “Hi, Izu! I don’t know your full name, but I’m Mina, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Mina, I’m Izuku,” a light and friendly voice greeted her.

“Bakugo only ever gives us grains about you,” Mina said, “So, tell me more.”

“Oh, uhm, I- I don’t really know. I- uh, I like heroes, you were really cool at the sports festival, I was really rooting for you,” Izu answered, voice getting more steady once he got talking about her quirk, “I do hope you’re immune to your own acid or that would be a problem.”

“It’s not a problem, but it’s fun that your brain jumps to that with you becoming a hero nurse,” Mina said.

“Oh, haha, didn’t even realize that,” Izuku chuckled awkwardly.

At this point Bakugo had freed himself from Sero and Kaminari, who had aided Mina in her quest to talk to Izuku and was going after her again, while having the two boys on his own trail, who in turn had Kirishima after them to stop them from stopping Bakugo.

Mina set off running again, panting into the phone: “Your boyfriend is chasing me, help. What do I say to calm him down? You’re the Bakugo whisperer.”

Izuku laughed at that, before telling her to put him on speaker. She did and he called out: “Kacchan, Kacchan!”

“Nerd,” Bakugo yelled back, “Are you okay.”

“I’m fine, Kacchan,” Izuku shouted back, “It’s fun, come on, it’s not the end of the world. Pinky promise I won’t tell them about the ant incident.”

Bakugo stopped chasing Mina, much to her delight and surprise. He just walked over to her, no more threatening steps, and just said: “You promise?”

“I promise,” Izuku said, “You can put me on speaker and I can say hi to people. I heard so much about them, but never even said hi. Pretty please?”

“Okay, okay.”

Sero coughed: “Whipped,” and subsequently got an elbow in the side from Mina, who didn’t want this opportunity to get taken from her.

Bakugo took the phone back and walked to the couch, where he sat down. Mina, Hagaure, Kaminari, Sero and Kirishima all crouched around the phone and Jiro also made her way over from where she had been ignoring most of the chaos.

Izuku greeted everyone first: “Hi, I’m Midoriya Izuku, it’s nice to meet you all, whoever is there with Kacchan right now.”

Kaminari giggled: “Kacchan.”

“Shut up,” Bakugo blushed.

“I’m Kaminari Denki,” Kaminari ignored Bakugo.

“I m Kirishima Eijiro.” Kirishima said cheerily, “Hi!”

“Sero Hanta, nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Hagakure Toru, I’m so excited to hear from you.”

“Oh, and I’m Jiro Kyoka,” Jiro added.

“And I’m still here as well!” Mina said.

“Hello everyone,” there was clearly a smile in Midoriya’s voice, “I’ll try to remember all your names, some are familiar, so I think I’ll manage, but sorry if I mess up.”

“Of course, no problem,” Hagakure said.

“Do you have anything embarrassing about Bakugo we could use against him?” Kaminari asked.

“Probably,” Midoriya said, “Though, I don’t know if he’ll like metelling you. He can be a bit grumpy when I turn on him and I would like to keep my cuddle privileges.”

“I doubt you can loose them with how Bakugo raves on about you,” Kirishima said, hardening his side for the elbow he knew was coming.

“Ahw, he talks about me?” Midoriya said.

“It’s adorable,” Hagakure told him.

“That’s so nice to hear. He was really scared of opening up, it’s good that he’s comfortable around you all. You’re really good friends, even if he isn’t the best at telling you all,” Midoriya was audibly relieved and the ones around the phone were strangely proud of making that tone appear.

“And we’re glad he has you to talk to,” Kirishima added, “You sound really manly and cool, bro.”

“You guys done with your circle jerk,” Bakugo grouched.

“Don’t be mean, Kacchan,” Midoriya admonished.

“How did you two meet?” Mina asked, not minding a topic change.

“We’ve always known each other,” Midoriya said, “We lived in the same neighborhood and played in the same playground since we were little. High School is the first time we’ve been apart for so long ever.”

“Ahw, a childhood friends to lovers trope,” Hagakure gushed.

“Kind of, yeah,” Midoriya laughed.

“We still didn’t get the embarrassing stories,” Kaminari whined as Sero loudly agreed, much to Bakugo’s displeasure.

“Well, there was that time with the cold,” Midoriya mused.

“Izu, no,” Bakugo said horrified.

“Midoriya, please tell us!” the others cheered.

“Sorry, Kacchan, majority rules,” Midoriya said, a bit of little shit shining through, “So, Kacchan had a cold, but he came to school anyway, because he’s an idiot.”

“I take offense to that.”

“Than take offense, babe, it was stupid,” Midoriya shot back, “He had no voice at all left, Little Mermaid style, and was carrying around a notebook to communicate. He had a bit of a croak left, but he definitely shouldn’t be talking.”

They were all listening closely, except for Bakugo who was pouting and leaning back, but he wasn’t interrupting. He liked listening to Izu talk even if it was to embarrass him in front of his friends.

“But then some kids came up to me during recess,” Midoriya went on, “And they were calling me names, just being mean, not important.”

“It is important, they were dicks,” Bakugo groused.

“Yeah, Kacchan, I know, but it’s not now the point, don’t deflect,” Midoriya said, “So, Kacchan comes to save me, very sweet of him, my own prince in shining armor.”

Hagakure, Mina and Kirishima cooed at that.

“However, while it was very sweet, Kacchan had forgotten that he didn’t have a voice,” there was a bit laughter, “So, when he came running, yelling, there was no yelling, just a soft little long croak like so.”

Midoriya imitated a frog like croak, causing more laughter and giggles.

“And that wasn’t even the end, because the little croak didn’t stop him. He pushed them away and told them they were dick bags, but all that came out was bags,” Midoriya finished, “He was Mr. Bagsfor weeks.”

There were peels of laughter and chocked off repeated of ‘Mr. Bags’ while Bakugo pushed them away with a ‘shut up.’

“Tells us more, tell us more,” was chanted, but then a sort of loud alarm went of in the background.

Bakugo seized the phone and asked: “Are you okay, Izu?”

“I’m fine, Kacchan,” Midoriya didn’t sound shaken or scared, which calmed everyone, “It’s a training exercise. Some second years told me about it, it’s because you can’t count on normal hours when supporting heroes and they can need you at any moment. I have to go respond to the call. Talk to you later. It was nice to meet you all. Love you, Kacchan.”

“Love you too. Good luck,” Bakugo was just in time before Midoriya hung up.

It was quiet for a moment, then Kaminari chocked: “Kacchan,” and everyone lost it again.

“Oh, shut up, he started calling me that when we were like three,” Bakugo rolled his eyes, but he couldn't mind the laughter that much after talking with Izu and his friends being nice to his boyfriend after all the shit he had meeting new people.

“Midoriya is such a sweetheart,” Hagakure told him, “He’s such a pleasant person.”

“Yeah, not at all Mr. Stone Thrower, I imagined him to be,” Mina agreed.

“Stone thrower?” Bakugo frowned.

“You don’t wanna know,” Kirishima told him and Bakugo decided it would be better not to ask, so he just said: “Alright. But Izu isn’t that sweet. Well, he is, of course, but he can be a little shit. Didn’t you just hear him, be mean to me?”

“Ahw, little Kacchan has a boo-boo on his ego,” Kaminari managed before Bakugo jumped him.

“Don’t call me Kacchan,” he yelled.

“What else should we call you then,” Sero grinned from the couch, “Mr. Bags.”

“I hate you all!”

“But we’re really good friends, Bakubro,” Kirishima teased.

“Not you too. I’ll kill you,” Bakugo screamed, but no one could take his threats seriously after the sweet and kind voice of Midoriya had just told them how much Bakugo secretly cares about them and called him ‘Kacchan.’

Later Mina would pout and tell him she couldn't find Midoriya Izuku anywhere online and Bakugo would grin and shrug, not sharing that his boyfriend’s username was @AllMightssuperfan everywhere. Izu had been religious about online safety and had never shared his name on any of his accounts.

And the next time he was calling with Izu, multiple people told him to say hi, with Sero grinning: “Tell your nice half hi from me.”

He was glad that the others liked Izu. His boyfriend had had enough trouble with people being mean to him for no reason, but his friends had taken a liking to him almost instantly.

Though they seem to have a mental picture of Izu in which he was a sweetheart. This in itself wasn’t a lie, Izu was one of the kindest people Kacchan knew, but it wasn’t just kindness. The other could be ruthless if he was angry and was a bigger trouble magnet than Kacchan with a dose of little shit built in permanently.

Still, Bakugo was trying to think of a way to introduce his friends to his boyfriend, but with the safety measures surrounding UA that was more difficult than expected.

Luckily it soon happened by chance.

Class 1-A would be going to a training exercise in Tokyo, where they would learn to be mindful of property destruction and building safety.

The training exercise would have taught them how to spot when a building was about to fall, how certain walls and pillars were integral to the structure staying upright and how they could see if there were important electric wires or water lines in the ground.

However, it was Class 1-A and things never really went the way they wanted and planned, so naturally the class was attacked while at the training facility that lay between multiple schools in the area.

Though, since it was also Class 1-A they had enough experience to fight off the attack without any life-threatening injuries. So, they were only mildly scraped up and injured by the time they defeated the villains.

They were barely catching their breath when a form of green was running towards them, multiple people on their trail. As the person got closer they heard them yell: “Kacchaaaaan!!”

Bakugo whipped his head up and Kirishima, Mina and Jiro dredged themselves up into a protective stance at this newcomer, until Momo commented: “Huh, that’s the uniform of the nursing school nearby.”

That comment and name tickled something in the back of their minds, but they were tired and the pieces wouldn’t yet click.

The person was nearby and they saw it was a green haired boy with freckles and a face that was more prone to laughter even if it was frowning now. He shouldered past Kirishima and Mina, who were in his way more prominently, before kneeling next to Bakugo and grabbing the first aid kit that hung around his shoulder.

“Hey,” Kirishima said, though he didn’t stop the boy, seeing that he was friendly.

“Izu?” Bakugo said, horridly confused.

At that everyone turned and looked at the boy, wide eyes as finally it all added up. He had called Bakugo Kacchan and wore the uniform of a Tokyo nursing school. With Bakugo identifying him, it was easy to see that this was his boyfriend.

However, before any of the could react, Midoriya was scolding Bakugo: “You absolute, idiot. Do you know how worried I was? We got a warning there was a villain attack ongoing and then I heard yourexplosions and when I looked out the window I saw you fall. You know better than to go that high.”

“I’m sorry, Izu, but-”

“You can save your sorry, Kacchan,” Izu huffed, “Let me check you over first. Are there any spots you landed on or that ache?”

“My ribs,” Kacchan decided it was better to let his boyfriend fuss, feeling bad about worrying the already natural anxious boy.

The rest of the class stood in shocked silence at the interaction. Then the people following Midoriya arrived, apologizing to Aizawa as one explained: “Midoriya ran out before we could stop him, I apologize on his behalf as class president. We’re Class 1-A of Tokyo School of Nursing, nearby. We also came to help if needed, but we’re only first years.”

They showed their first aid kits and Aizawa said: “It’s fine, I suppose. Don’t cause any trouble. I’ll see if we can get police on sight and medical professionals with a license.”

“I’m sure a few of our teachers will be here soon, but we’ll see what we can do,” the class president bowed along with the other four students that had run after Midoriya, before setting to work, checking everyone over and tending to their wounds when possible.

Kirishima and Mina were being looked over, while gawking at Bakugo and Midoriya. Midoriya had checked over Bakugo’s ribs and bandaged them and was now cleaning the cuts on his face, while saying: “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Sorry, Izu,” Kacchan replied, “I don’t mean to get caught up in these things.”

“I know and I’m going to have to get used to this, aren’t I?” Izu sniffled, “I just saw you fall and I reacted before I even knew.”

“Hey, I’ll be more careful, promise,” Kacchan said.

“You better, I’m telling on you to auntie next time I see her, maybe I’ll even call her tonight and next time you’re over we’re not eating curry,” Izu’s jaw set, “I’m pissed at you for throwing your life so easily in the balance. I thought your whole thing was to learn to save people, include yourself in the definition of people.”

“I do that!” Kacchan squawked indignantly.

“Sure, whatever you say, Kacchan,” Izu obviously didn’t believe him, “That’s why you always died a dramatic death every time we played hero.”

“You were just as dramatic, weeping over my death,” Kacchan protested.

“Of course, my knight in shining armor disappeared,” Izu laughed, “Now, you need to watch those wounds. I don’t think they need stitches, but I would advise against touching them and make sure they don’t start to get infected. The moment they show signs of swelling, discoloration or heating up, you go tell someone.”

Kacchan listened closely to the instructions and Izu finished: “Also try not to put any strain on your ribs. No sudden movements, no jumping, no twisting. Rest them. You hear me, Kacchan, rest.”

“Yeah,” Kacchan nodded, before smirking, “But you forgot something.”

“What?” Izu frowned, going over the steps mentally, trying to figure out what he skipped and how Kacchan would even know that.

“You still have to kiss it better,” Kacchan informed him with a grin.

Izu sighed, but there was a small smile playing around his lips as he said: “That’s not very professional, now is it, Mr. Bakugo?”

“I think you can hardly call that scolding you just gave me professional, angel,” Kacchan shot back.

“Touche,” Izu agreed, before leaning in and kissing the scrapes on Kacchans knuckles and cheek, before kissing him on his lips and whispering, “I’m not kissing your ribs in public.”

At that Kacchan blinked the dazed, sappy look out of his eyes and remembered his class was right there and he wasn’t alone with his boyfriend. With the elation of seeing Izu wearing off and making way for embarrassment, he blushed heavily.

“Ahw, blush-y Kacchan, so cute,” Izu commented, not at all feeling bad for his boyfriend’s embarrassment.

Mina practically skipped forward when the student tending to the gash in her arm finally let her go. She stuck out her hand: “I’m Ashido Mina, we met on the phone, I believe.”

“Midoriya Izuku, you’d be correct,” Midoriya smiled, shaking her hand, “Kacchan really told me so much about you all, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“And I’m Kirishima Eijiro,” Kirishima wanted to make contact, before either Bakugo or Aizawa dragged them away.

“Oh, hi!” Midoriya said, “Kacchan was right about the hair being dramatic, I like your costume. It fits really well.”

“Ah, thanks,” Kirishima blushed, “It’s Crimson Riot inspired.”

“You’re a fan?” Midoriya asked, “Good choice, he’s great. Him during All Mights Silver Age was unrivaled. Their team up was so cool.”

“I know right,” Kirishima was glad someone saw how right his opinion was.

“Enough boring bullshit,” Mina pushed him away, “I want to get your social media @ because I couldn't find you anywhere.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” Midoriya rubbed the back of his head, “It’s @AllMightssuperfan.”

She quickly typed something, before grinning: “Now I’m following you. I have to say it’s been a trip to meet you.”

“I can imagine thatno one thought this would be the meeting, yes,” Midoriya smiled.

Bakugo walked up behind him, not liking his boyfriend leaving him for his friends. He put his head on Midoriya’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Midoriya’s waist, not letting up his scowl as he said: “You’re also an idiot for running towards an active attack.”

“It was already ending by the time I arrived,” Midoriya waved it away.

“I can still be mad about that,” Bakugo pouted.

“Suppose you can,” Midoriya shrugged, leaning his head against Bakugo’s, “I will try to be more careful, but just as your job is going to become running into danger, mine is going to be running after you.”

“Ahww,” Hagakure gushed, finally having made her way over to the other.

Midoriya looked confused for a moment at the sound of a new voice before he spotted the gloves, then he greeted: “You must be Hagakure Toru.”

“I am!”

“You’re not injured are you?” Midoriya frowned, “It would be hard to see if you’re hit.”

“Ah, yes, it would,” Hagakure said, “But don’t worry, I’m fine!”

“That’s good to hear,” Midoriya smiled, before he mused to himself, “There isn’t really much training about what to do when you can’t see the patient, say that she ever gets knocked unconscious.”

“Stop mumbling, Izu,” Bakugo snapped him out of it.

“Oh, sorry, I get caught up in my head,” Midoriya apologized.

But before he could get back to talking with Bakugo’s classmates a severe looking lady sternly called out: “Midoriya Izuku, come here right now.”

Midoriya stiffened, before whispering: “That’s my homeroom teacher. Sorry, gotta go,” the he hurried over to the lady.

She put her hands on her hips, before scolding: “What on earth were you thinking, running off in the middle of class like that? Towards a fight, no less. That was very dangerous young man and you will be punished accordingly.”

“Sorry, sensei,” Midoriya said softly, then he looked up defiantly, “But I still stand by my decision to run.”

“What?” the teacher exclaimed, along with a few bystanders.

Kirishima hissed into Bakugo’s ear: “What is he doing? He’s already in trouble.”

Bakugo smiled, looking a bit proud, then answered: “He might be an idiot, but he is an idiot with a heart. If he thinks he did the right thing, he will stand by it.”

“If we’re just going of response,” Midoriya indeed defended himself, “I was here first. Actual licensed medical professionals had to be called after the fact. You always press how importance time is and how it can save or costs life, sensei. We got extra experience and ensured that if there had been serious injuries, we could hold down the fort until an ambulance got here.”

The teacher hesitated, then her shoulders sagged slightly. She smiled gently then said: “I appreciate your fire, Midoriya. Still we’re responsible for you and this was a very dangerous thing to do. You could have been hurt as well.”

“I wouldn’t, Kacchan would have protected me,” Midoriya stated as if it was a fact, “But I understand, sensei. I will accept any punishment you see fit and I will try not to do it again.”

“That’s all I can ask,” the teacher said, she understood a bit better, having heard the nickname ‘Kacchan’ many times when her students could talk during her classes.

“Kacchan?” Aizawa asked, having joined the teacher to also scold the boy, “You mean Bakugo Katsuki?”

“Yes, I’m his boyfriend,” Midoriya smiled sweetly, making Bakugo blush when Aizawa looked his way and as his friends jeered.

“Well, then I think you’re quite right in your assessment of the Problem Child,” Aizawa said, “But it was still dangerous.”

“I understand, Eraser Head,” Midoriya bowed again, “Still, thank you for keeping him safe and not turning away our help.”

“And thank you for your help, despite the illogical reason behind it,” Aizawa said, “Now, I want to speak to your teacher, so enjoy the time with Bakugo, please do not do anything more stupid and stay in sight.”

Midoriya blushed, but said nothing, just bowing before rushing back to Bakugo.

“I would have protected you, would I?” Bakugo teased when he returned.

“Shut up, you would,” Midoriya pouted.

“Yeah, I would,” Bakugo said proudly.

“You actually talked back to Aizawa,” Kirishima said and Hagakure asked: “Weren’t you scared? He’s so intimidating at first.”

“It was terrifying, I don’t know why I did that,” Midoriya’s face was anxiety filled.

“Because you knew you were right,” Bakugo said, kissing his forehead, “You did well standing up for yourself. Hope you won’t be in too much trouble.”

Midoriya smiled at Bakugo’s encouragement. He waved the concern away: “Sensei is more bark than bite. She looks sterner than she is, she was just concerned after I ran out of class.”

“I can understand that,” Hagakure said.

“So manly,” Kirishima commented.

At that Midoriya giggled: “You actually do say it. I thought Kacchan was being dramatic about it. Sorry that sounded rude, I think it’s fun actually.”

“He talks about us?” Mina asked.

“Of course,” Midoriya sounded surprised at the question, “He talks about everyone in your class. It’s sometimes like I know all of you already. I’m very impressed with how far all of you’ve come in comparison to the start of the year. Kacchan tells me how hard you all work.”

Mina pulled him into a hug and said: “You’re so cute, Midoriya. I am so messaging you online, we need to be friends.”

“I’d love that,” Midoriya smiled.

Bakugo pulled Midoriya back and scowled: “Stop pulling on my boyfriend. I haven’t seen him in weeks, piss off.”

“Sharing is caring, Bakubro,” Kirishima teased.

“Sharing can go fuck itself,” Bakugo grouched and Midoriya snorted, before saying: “Missed you too, babe.”

They continued talking until Midoriya was called back to go to class. Kacchan and Izu drew out their goodbye for as long as they could manage until Izu had to stop waving and Kacchan disappeared out of sight.

Class 1-A mentally adjusted the image they had both of Bakugo and Midoriya.

Seeing Bakugo be himself completely, taking a scolding with understanding and demanding kisses from his boyfriend, added a layer to the grumpy boy they usually saw.

Midoriya had already undergone an entire transformation in the minds of most. From the stone throwing boyfriend they had imagined to gentle giant to the defiant yet kind person they had met today, who would do what was right, but still only lost that last bit of anxiousness when he was with Bakugo.

They were excited for him to graduate and hoped to see him have their backs again in the future.

~

A/N:

Idk if my idea for Midoriya really came through, but I imagine that hero agencies have personal medical staff to ensure that there will be medical aid if hospitals have a crisis or if the injuries aren’t big enough for injuries. These will be educated for quirk related injuries and since Izu is becoming one to support Kacchan, he will try and focus his assignments on his boyfriend, which is allowed after the sports festival.

I’m not keeping to canon bc I want them to actually meet Izu and I really wanted it to go like this, so a weird extra attack thingy it is. At first, I wanted to do something with the provisional hero license exam, but I felt it wouldn’t go well with the fic.

One thing, I really like it imagining how Bakugo would be if he didn’t have a festering resentment that grew for years, but instead actual support. And how Midoriya would be if he had a chance to develop confidence.

[inkribbon796]

Brotherly Strife Ch. 2

Chapter 2: You’ve Been Given a Great Gift, Bim

Summary: Bim’s adventure continues and he learns that being Dark’s favorite isn’t all fun and games.

A/N: WARNING because Bim eats someone in this.

Chapters: 1, 2

Everything at the station was normal, fine. Well except for the fact his show was a full hour earlier than normal, but he tried to get over that, it was one day. It’d be fine.

Wil greeted him warmly and everyone stepped lightly around Wil’s ever-changing moods. But Bim was always aware of Dark’s aura lingering always in the background of any room Bim was in.

It was weird, but Bim felt something like pride about it. Dark never paid this much attention to him. He wondered if this was what Illinois got every day.

The show went okay, nothing went too wrong. But instead of Wil quickly sweeping him away, Dark’s portal physically moved him from the stage and dumped him into a cold office room, one that it took Bim a bit to recognize as Dark’s office in the Manor. Dark was standing there.

“A warning would have been nice,” Bim grumbled.

Dark was just staring, unblinking at him with a frigid expression on his face, “Normally I would let you go about your day, but your flagrant insistence about wasting your time has gotten on my last nerve.”

“Come on, you don’t force Illy to do this,” Bim muttered.

“I don’t keep track of what your insufferable friends do,” Dark dismissed in a terse, angry tone. “We’re continuing your lessons, now.”

“Okay,” Bim allowed, unsure what these “lessons” would be but if Illinois had ever done them then he could probably do it.

Dark seemed to lose a little bit of tension and he swept back the dark fringe of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Finally, some sense. That bastard glitch isn’t teaching you anything of merit.”

“Harsh,” Bim commented bravely.

Dark walked up and with absolutely gentleness he smoothed out Bim’s hair and suit with aura, not physically touching him but his hands moving through the motions. “You’re Wil’s heir, you deserve only the best.”

At first, Bim didn’t know what to start commenting on, but then Dark’s aura seemed to seep into his suit coat, turning it from its normal black to an inky black color.

“There,” Dark said, “that should help you start.”

Then the Entity took a step back and waited, for what Bim didn’t have the foggiest idea.

Dark just stared at him, unblinkingly.

Bim looked around, “What am I supposed to do again.”

“You are not doing this again,” Dark spat, suddenly furious. Bim flinched, feeling Dark’s aura coil around him, tightening just shy of going from uncomfortable to painful. “You are staying here until I get something out of you. You and Wil constantly insist I treat you like an adult, but the very instant I start, you complain incessantly.”

“I don’t know what you want!” Bim shouted back.

That got Dark even angrier, “You know what I want, so start taking this seriously!”

“No I don’t know,” Bim began to panic, he’d never seen Dark direct his anger towards him like this before.

It terrified him.

Dark glared at him, furious but the coiling loosened a bit. He swept his hair out of the way. “Bim I am doing this with your best interest in mind. Wil doesn’t teach, and that glitch doesn’t care. Other demons aren’t going to wait for you to gain an interest in learning magic.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Bim asked.

Something in Dark seemed to be merciful, the aura uncoiled from around Bim but lingered on his coat. Dark took a deep breath before holding up his hands and tore open a portal into the Void. “You have my aura inside you, just use it. You always go for huge holes in reality. Start small.”

Bim felt actual dread chilling his body. He’d never tried to use the Void, it always seemed like an untamed wild beast that wanted to swallow him whole. He’d only learned he had an aura after being in an aura-dampening environment.

But he held up his hand like Dark, unsure what to exactly do at first.

For the first five seconds there was nothing, Bim didn’t know what to do or say. But after a disappointed sigh from Dark, his aura creeped along Bim’s arms and he felt a tingling at his fingertips that had a weird burning effect on them.

It steadily got more painful until a deep purple, almost black, portal with flecks of pink and lavender color bleeding through.

Bim felt something in him twisting, almost hypnotizing him as he stared at it. Something trying to claw its way out of him.

But Dark closed the portal and Bim collapsed, feeling so unendingly hungry that he growled at the ground, his mind starting to cloud into the beginning stages of a frenzy. A chill starting to prickle in his chest.

Fortunately, for Bim at least, he was already hearing the choked screams of a human already bleeding and injured.

Unlike all the other times when Bim would stalk and study and enjoy himself with the thrill of the hunt he just lunged for whatever pitiful creature Dark had found for him.

Bim went for their throat, relishing in the choked screams and the blood around him.

Dark just watched calmly until Bim was done, what had once been a human being was now a mound of limbs, broken bones, and gore.

It was only once Bim was sated that he realized he was gasping for breath, as if he’d run a mile. He looked at himself in disgust as he realized his suit was ruined with blood.

“Ughh,” Bim complained.

Dark’s aura came back and Bim felt something in him that he hadn’t felt before — maybe that was his own aura — try and recoil away from Dark and lean into him at the same time.

Dark used his aura to force Bim to look up at him, “See, now was that so hard? A couple more lessons and you’ll have it.”

Run!

Bim felt like he’d been jolted by something, he was on edge, and felt like he’d been electrocuted by something. He was running and at first he didn’t know where his feet were taking him. But all too soon he ran into his bedroom and straight into the bathroom where he began throwing up into the toilet.

He felt disgusting and so different, like Dark had just uncorked some demonic genie inside of him and Bim wanted that feeling again, but it came with such an intense hunger he was afraid that he’d never be full again.

After a shower, Bim stared at himself in the fogged up mirror, glasses back on. He looked like a pale, death stricken mess. His eyes coal black.

He didn’t want to look like that, maybe if he went to bed this whole nightmare would be over. The Host said that—

Bim rushed to get dressed in his pajamas and raced for the balcony, but to his horror the house started to fold around him and he ran into the library instead. To his immediate and immense relief the Host was the room’s only occupant.

The blind seer looked in Bim’s direction as he threw the door open.

“How is Bim enjoying his time as being the Entity’s favorite?” Host had a huge smile on his face.

Bim was too worked up to realize that the Manor’s library was much bigger than he ever remembered it being and there were two whole shelves of Braille books.

“You win,” Bim told him. “You win. Just bring Illinois back.”

The Host arched an eyebrow, taking his hand off his book, Bim noticed that it was all just Braille and no words. “The Host does not recall an Illinois. Who is Bim referring to?”

“Don’t be an asshole, you know who I’m talking about, lesson learned,” Bim admitted, feeling anxious. “Just bring him back, and things can go back to normal.”

“Now why would the Host do that,” the Host chuckled darkly. “The Host had been looking for a way to get rid of Illinois for some time. Good riddance in his mind.”

“No, not funny asshole,” Bim stomped closer, panic starting to cloud up in his chest. “Bring him back, you said it wasn’t permanent.”

“Awww, you do love me,” Illinois said from directly behind Bim.

The Host broke out in laughter—

“Ha ha, shitbags,” Bim spat, Illinois was laughing too, walking over to bump his knuckles against the Host’s.

“That was so good,” Illinois laughed, the library suddenly just a bit smaller, the Braille books gone — safely back in the Host’s library in the Hero’s base. “You still got it.”

“You both are total assholes,” Bim told his older brothers.

“Consider it revenge for wishing me away,” Illinois reminded. “You’re lucky Dark won’t remember it.”

“If you want a thank you or an apology, you’re not getting it,” Bim spat, then he looked at the Host who was just watching them. Narrations under his breath and a smile in his face. “Hey Host what’s up with all the differences? Kay was still with us and he looked like a coffee addict.”

The Host stood up. “Illinois is responsible for a lot of things, the King of the Squirrels wouldn’t have a preference for tea nor would the Manor have such a big coffee mug collection if not for the Adventurer bringing them into the house.”

“Huh, he responsible for anything else?” Bim asked, his tone sour.

“With someone for the Entity to concentrate his attention on, everyone else in the Manor has less stress in their lives,” the Host explained. “And if something goes wrong Illinois has the personality to want to soften the blow for his siblings. King got to learn that there was a life outside of the Network, and Yancy was in a position to be an enforcer rather than a captain who never leaves the warehouses. Much is different, but yet some is still the same.”

“Okay, enough of stroking Ill’s ego off,” Bim rolled his eyes, pushing Illinois away from him when he tried to reach over and ruffle his hair.

Illinois chuckled, sticking his hands back into his pockets. “Hey Host, can yah do it? You didn’t answer me before Bimmy got back.”

Bim glared at Illinois when that nickname left his mouth.

“The Host is currently capable of maintaining an effect of that nature,” the Host answered.

“Yes!” Illinois cheered, moving his feet in excitement. “I owe you until the end of time, Host.”

“The Host will remember that,” Host smiled as Illinois raced out of the room in a full sprint.

“What was that about,” Bim motioned to Illinois with a thumb, his other hand on his hip.

“Illinois will tell Bim himself, probably in a day or two,” the Host evaded. “It is not the Host’s to tell.”

“Whatever,” Bim dismissed. “Cryptic fucker, don’t you have a forty-year-old man to fuck or something?”

“Bim should be careful not to insult the Host’s doctor,” the Host warned tersely.

“Hey, you’re the one sleeping with a manther not me,” Bim shrugged, checking his nails. “Not insulting him, just stating a fact that he’s old enough to be your dad.”

“Bim can either retire the topic of his own volition or he’ll find himself waking up the next day,” Host threatened.

“Okay, fine, fine,” Bim held up his hands placatingly, before realizing that the Host could see them and quickly lowered them to his side. “But can I ask you something else?”

“Bim can so long as he minds the Host’s threat,” the Host reminded.

Rolling his eyes, Bim braced a wrist on his hips, a thoughtful frown on his face that reminded the Host a fair bit of Dark. “Am I really Dark’s kid? Like physically, I mean. Obviously I’m dad’s, I look just like him, but what about the old man?”

“Bim Trimmer is the clone of Wilford Warfstache and the Entity known as Dark,” the Host answered.

“How?” Bim asked.

“The Host is this story’s narrator, not it’s writer,” the Host reminded sharply. “It is not his job to know.”

“Yeah but you have to know something,” Bim continued to inquire.

“Demons reproduce via aura, Bim Trimmer is a half to three-quarters juvenile demon,” the Host continued. “Otherwise he could not have inherited the Entity’s aura.”

“Okay, stop, ewww, if this is gonna turn into a demonic birds and the bees talk, we can stop,” Bim interrupted him. “I already got that talk, and I don’t want to know how dad and old man have sex.”

“The Host doesn’t want to have such a talk either,” the Host agreed. “The Host and Bim do not need to talk about their fathers in such a way.”

“The old man doesn’t let me call him “dad” in any language,” Bim frowned.

“That is between Bim and his father to work out,” the Host reminded. “But not tonight, Bim Trimmer is tired from his exploits and needs his rest for the next day.”

“Yeah,” Bim sighed, he was exhausted. But things were back to normal again and he needed five hundred hours of sleep. “Night Host, see you tomorrow.”

“No Bim Trimmer will not,” the Host called after him as Bim started to leave the library. “The Host does not live at the Manor anymore.”

“Right, whatever,” Bim dismissed with a wry chuckle from outside the library.

“Bim!” Host called out and fortunately he didn’t have to use his narrations to drag him back towards the door.

“Yeah? Penless Wonder?” Bim leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

“If Bim Trimmer wishes to get away with treating the Entity like a father, he should begin doing so when he is going to quickly leave and not return for a period of time. He should be quick and persistent. It took Illinois many, many years for Illinois to get to a point where the Entity no longer reacts negatively towards being called 아빠 and Bim should expect the same.”

“Oh,” Bim commented softly. “Thanks, night.”

“The Host wishes Bim goodnight,” the Host smiled warmly.

Using his narrations, Host made sure to keep an eye on Bim as he went to his bedroom and promptly went to sleep the second he was on his bed.

Narrowly missing Dark who was walking down the hall. Reality split off from its previous trajectory and to the Host the hallway echoed with a dangerously volatile argument that would start a domino effect for Dark.

But Dark just walked in, a calm expression as he checked his watch, unaware of what he had missed. “Are you certain I cannot keep you a bit longer?”

“The Host needs to return to the heroes, the Actor gets closer and the Host would appreciate it if he doesn’t sneak amongst their ranks,” the Host denied.

Dark went tense, “You are not to even be near him, I can’t lose you as well. I would kill the heroes before I let that happen.”

“The Host is fine, the Actor is not interested in him,” the Host demanded. “The Entity is what the Actor wants.”

“Then let him come, I am ready for him,” Dark dared. “I would tear him apart.”

No the Entity will not, the Host thought sadly, thousands of different variations of their future meeting playing across his mind, all with only one victor.

“The Entity must let the Host go,” the Host managed to reply.

Dark sighed, closing his eyes as he nodded. He looked away as he opened a portal, turning his back on the blind seer.

The Host looked at the portal before using his narrations and his aura to be able to reach Dark for a hug. Dark tensed as if he’d been electrocuted at the warmth that came from the Host’s body heat.

“The Host is thankful for everything that the Entity has done for him and the Author,” Host told him. “The Entity has been a good father, and the Host doubts the Author would have lasted as long as he did if not for the Entity looking after him.”

“Don’t,” Dark sounded strangled, pointedly not looking at him.

Letting go of his father, the Host stayed by his side. “The Host means it, he only wishes that he could say so more directly.”

Dark looked at him before capturing the Host into his arms, his aura curling around the Host with feather-like gentleness. “I’d keep you all here, forever if I could,” Dark told him.

“The Host knows,” the Host hugged him back. “Dark should be made aware that there will be a time when all of his children will live in the Manor again.”

Letting go, Dark let out a sad chuckle, “You will look after your brothers won’t you? Kay isn’t sleeping at the park in this cold of weather right?”

“The Host promises he will, and he stays at the base during the winter,” Host reported.

“Good,” Dark let out a long breath of relief. “I worry about him.”

Smiling, the Host turned, already putting one foot into the portal. “Oh and Illinois has a surprise for the Entity, he should meet him in his office.”

“Okay, goodnight Host,” Dark gave a small, fond smile as the Host went through the portal with an answering goodbye and stepped across the hero’s barrier that protected the front steps of their base.

The rip in reality winked closed and Dark looked after it for a bit before opening a small portal to check on Bim, who he saw sleeping peacefully in bed.

With a sad smile, Dark reached over with his aura to smooth over a part of Bim’s hair that had bunched up when he rolled over.

Bim grunted at the touch and his fingers twitched, but something reached out and gently nudged at Dark’s aura. It wasn’t anything enough to fully push Dark away but it was enough of a surprise for Dark to pull away. Bim had never displayed a hint of an aura to him.

Dark had taken . . . steps . . . to ensure that he wouldn’t. Bim was, by virtue of being Wil and Dark’s child, part demon. Infantile and juvenile demons without auras were ignored by other demons because they weren’t a threat. But now that Bim had enough an aura for it to manifest without him being conscious . . .

Closing up the portal Dark had to do something about this.

[enduringsea]

( rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the kind of music they listen to! put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then tag 10 people! no skipping! ) / tagged by @yellowcrumpet​ ╭( ･ㅂ･)و )))

Thanks for the tag! I LOVE these things-- I don’t rlly have a playlist either though, just a mess of music files on a device I haven’t updated so I’ll be checking my YouTube history too lol. There’s a uhhh.... pattern to be found, mainly relating to Code Vein or other OCs.... which isn’t surprising ._. ;; I made it a separate post bc I knew this was going to get long and rambly with lyric snippets and crying about fictional characters, sorry :D

1. Repeat Until Death - Novo Amor don’t go / you’re half of me now / but i’m hardly stood proud / i said it, almost oh i’ve been low / but damn it i bet it don’t show / it was heaven a moment ago oh i can’t seem to let myself leave you / but i can’t breathe anymore This one gives me Loubeth vibes ok, partially bad end route ;-; While Elizabeth is a very strong person, her friends are the most prominent reason she tries to do anything at all & isn’t living day-to-day in a monotonous grind to survive without a solid purpose other than ‘help random ppl bc it’s the right thing to do’. If she loses them, it’d ruin her & hammers into her head how everything she’s ever done has been a failure. She suffered a major betrayal by her boss before the Collapse, she was unable to fully participate in proj. queen despite her incredible test results, she failed to defeat Cruz and take her blood during Operation Queenslayer, and if she fails to protect the people she’s finally found meaning with? She’d break down completely & destroy herself to save them. She’s always had some level of abandonment issues, and without her family around it’s so much worse, even if it isn’t the most obvious because she’s generally seen as very well put together-- I really can’t express how much it would hurt her to lose Louis, Yakumo, and the others. She’s just not one to show just how bad it can truly get for her mentally and emotionally-- she’s resilient as hell, she’s been through hell repeatedly and survived it all, so it’s easy for others to assume she’s fine all things considered. It makes her feel weak and ashamed of herself if she shows any level of vulnerability, so she doesn’t; she swallows it down and is afraid of disappointing those who look up to her as a fighter and friend-- of course, no one at Home Base would blame her for being vulnerable, they all have their moments, Bethy just sets herself to such a high standard it’s difficult for her to talk about her own suffering in spite of how well-versed she is in getting her thoughts and feelings across otherwise. Louis is the one most keen to how deeply she’s hurting, but he doesn’t understand just how deeply until she finally does fall apart. The final swell of the song and its desperate lyrics really relays the pain they both feel-- Louis too would not fare well if something happened to Elizabeth, because he blames himself she was even involved in Operation Queenslayer for a long time, I honestly did so bad in explaining coherently, this song just has so much emotion and hurt behind it adklfjdfdff </3

2. Looking Out For You - Joy Again this is a love song for a girl who will never know it’s about her she's beaming that smile / all the while i’m all tripped up on my own throat i guess there is no hope This song reminds me of Elizabeth & my friend’s character Takashi Fujioka, who gets-- vERY...FRIENDZONED, for lack of a better word, by Elizabeth in his story, it’s really summed up best as tragic (;﹏;) Before the Collapse they were hitting it off, then the Collapse happened, they were separated, he lost his sisters, Mido happened, he was experimented on + became a revenant, etc, etc; years have passed since then & she’s gotten her life together as much as one can in a world like Vein, but for Takashi it’s like no time has passed at all. Elizabeth is subtly older in appearance, she’s been working w Lou & Co. for a long time; Loubeth blatantly have a connection, & rather than bringing up his feelings + making it awkward bc he values their friendships, he just kinda. chokes on them & does his best to help out the team. It doesn’t help he can’t even be jealous bc Louis is a really solid friend to him too, IT’S JUST A MESS OF A SITUATION & the death of what could have been if things were different.

3. Closer - Teagan And Sara ( no lengthy explanation for this one thank goodness, I’ve just been watching BoJack Horseman again and I really like some of the songs they add in, I like listening to this one on loop when mindlessly coloring something )

4. Brutal - Olivia Rodrigo  all I did was try my best / this the kind of thanks I get? they say these are the golden years / but I wish I could disappear ego crush is so severe / god, it's brutal out here I have it on a playlist for Elizabeth somewhere, not all of it applies to her but it reflects some of her struggles she has both before & after the collapse. She’s-- always kind of been a mess while under immense pressure + has serious self image issues, this song hits that side of her well. She’s been held to humanly impossible standards by both herself and her family bc frankly? She can reach them, she’s NOT exactly human. She was born into her position as a hunter & intends to keep it for as long as she lives (like revenants, her kind is very much ‘either gets killed or lives 5ever), even if some days she really feels how heavy the burden can be. She didn’t have a normal childhood and she’s fine with it for the most part, but it alienates her from most of her peers-- she never got to date anyone, never had a close group of friends, never went to parties that weren’t formals, etc., while she feels a little childish about it, she does envy ‘normal’ and understands the pressure she’s lived under her entire life has caused damage-- she has been exploited for her abilities, there’s just not much she can do about it but to keep going, rlly.

5. Freaks - Surf Curse  don't kill me / just help me run away from everyone  i need a place to stay / where i can cover up my face don't cry / i am just a freak / i am just a freak UhhhHHH this song really makes me think of Oliver Collins :D;; thank TikTok for showing it to me. It makes me think of how scared he was, of both the world and the revenants who captured him. The song’s use of the word ‘parasites’ really makes me think of Revenants and the BOR parasites XD I’m hoping when I poke my video editor again, I can record some Oliver footage to make a short video to this song. Oliver deserves so much better, I wish you could save him, but that’s what AUs are for, hahah.... The second half of the lyrics make me think of the AU I have where he lives and has to grapple with the guilt of surviving and the things he did to other revenants to get by too.

6. All Eyes On Me - Bo Burnham you say the ocean’s rising / like i give a shit you say the whole world’s ending / honey it already did you’re not gonna slow it / heaven knows you tried got it? good / now get inside I haven’t seen the Netflix special yet but I’ve had this song on repeat since my move started. The lyrics hit too hard & resonate with my existential dread, covid exhaustion, and extreme burnout in my 20s, but bc I have Damage I can also relate it to CV ._. ‘you’re not gonna slow it, heaven knows you tried. got it? good now get inside’ makes me think of--;; the bad end route again, and Elizabeth’s desperation to keep her found family together. It’s not like her to completely stop caring about an issue, but in the moment she realizes what’s being taken from her? She doesn’t want to save all of revenant-kind if it means she’s going to wind up alone all over again, her world is effectively over if she’s forced to be alone again. The MC frenzying means the only immediately identifiable hope she had of saving everyone else is gone, so why not just go home? If they’re all doomed, she wants to at least be together for a little while longer, it’s fine if they use her blood to survive & everyone else in the mist is out of luck, it’s soul-crushing bc I’ve never had her in a situation where she’s been this reckless, despondent/hopeless, and thinking irrationally where it’d impact more than herself-- especially when she’s normally goal-oriented, organized, meticulous, so on so forth: she’s not one to act without thinking something through first, but that last breath of light just got sucker-punched out of her. All she wants is home, comfort, and family, and ultimately in the bad end route she does manage to preserve their lives, maintain the mist, and supply blood beads, but her own condition leaves her on the throne-- it’s a mix of the bad, neutral, and true ending rlly ldkfjdf BUT YEAH enough rambling on that :D;; This song’s really good and touches a lot of different thoughts and ideas both in real life and my ocs, kind of embarrassing--;; thank u bo burnham for ruining me with this beautiful song

7. Yellow - Coldplay look at the stars / look how they shine for you / and everything you do your skin / oh yeah, your skin and bones / turn in to something beautiful do you know / for you I'd bleed myself dry Does this song make me think about JackEva? Yes. Yes it does. Star / night sky symbolism? Bam. Sappy lyrics about love and finding the person you’re with absolutely mesmerizing and worth dying for? BAM. If JackEva were capable of using their own blood to save each other, I can see it-- hJNGn they just care about each other so much, Jack cries for her even though they both knew that eventually one of them would succumb to their duty, and if the roles were reversed I can see Eva doing the same, I adore them beyond human language. On my CV RP blog, my Jack’s not shippable bc-- Eva, my friend even have them looking after his nephew (an oc--) at one point. I should seriously drop some headcanons down eventually....

8. Louder Than Thunder - The Devil Wears Prada  are we meant to be empty-handed? / i know i could, i could be better i don't think i deserve it / selflessness, find your way into my heart all stars could be brighter / all hearts could be warmer 

LMFAO throwback to my middle school playlist, I’m old-- I’ve applied this song to a lot of things back in the day, but I really connect it to Loubeth now, especially Louis. Lou & Bethy are both functional idiots who are too hard on themselves & have trouble recognizing their worth beyond what they can do for others. They’re trying to be better-- to make up for what they perceived wrongs they’ve done, but it’s hard, they don’t believe they’re worthy of the love and support the other gives, but they still yearn for that sense of security. After Louis’ memories are returned, he finally understands the guilt he’s felt since he became a revenant and it really skews his self-perception; he blames himself for so many things & Elizabeth, who has always been able to kill when necessary, sets it straight-- “It’s not your fault”, and it takes Louis some time to properly absorb that message. He thinks she’s just trying to comfort him, which she is tbh, but she’s not wrong: “It’s not your fault you couldn’t kill someone. It was never your job to kill anyone.” It’s up to people like her to do those sort of things-- Elizabeth may not have been present when Cruz frenzied, but if she had been? It would have been over before it started, that’s something she has regrets over, even if nothing could have been done since she was already on the field. Actually, she’s actually really quite angry that security failed to monitor Cruz properly and has a few select words for the ones there who could have actually done something before it got out of hand-- civilians and doctors are exempt from her shtlist bc they’re not meant to be killers (so don’t worry Artorias, she’s not ready to bite your head off!), but they had to have some kinda security detail rite o-q??? They’re probably hiding from her wrath-- BUT ANYWAY, she insists she’ll never blame Louis for not being able to do something as serious as killing another person. He was a normal human being who cared about his friend, not a failure, and he couldn’t have been expected to do something that shouldn’t have fallen on his shoulders in the first place. As many times as it takes, she’ll reaffirm that it wasn’t his fault, she’s not angry, he’s always done his best and her opinion of him hasn’t changed. He’s a good person and she loves him through all the hurt, though she doesn’t drop the word ‘love’ for a long time. It just-- takes Louis a while to accept she views him as someone worthy of the love and respect she has for him. It’s kind of ironic she’s so adamant on Louis not blaming himself considering she’s the one privately blaming herself for-- wow there’s too much to unpack, she feels guilty she was even born?? im so broken over these two. I love them and yet they SUFFER... 

9. What I’ve Done - Linkin Park i'll face myself / to cross out what i’ve become erase myself / and let go of what i’ve done today this ends / i'm forgiving what i’ve done

I have Louis Amamiya brainrot and I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thinks that this song fits him super well & it needs to become an AMV dsjfkldsfd. I’m a near life-long Linkin Park fan and this fits with Lou so well thematically. As much as I’ve gone on about Louis’ guilt, he does steel himself to keep going forward in spite of it and make things right, for everyone. Maybe it wasn’t really his fault, but at the end of the day his inability to kill Cruz in that moment left a disaster in its wake that got a countless number of people killed-- the MC included with Karen and Aurora. He doesn’t want to run away from the truth, doesn’t want to make excuses, he wants to take responsibility for it and he’ll work himself to death if it means things will be better-- it’s both admirable he’s got a strong resolve and VERY concerning with how willing he is to die for the cause, please don’t overdo it, Lou, you’ll break mine and Bethy’s hearts ._.;; It won’t always be easy, there are moments the grief gnaws at him, but in the end he does overcome it (and uh. as in the bad ending, we know he can actually do it this time). I know we can’t see everything, but I would have loved deeper character interactions, especially with Louis with an emphasis on grieving + forgiving himself properly-- but this song really is nice with the whole ‘I’m going to face my mistakes head on, forgive myself, and keep moving forward’. It’s what Louis deserves: self forgiveness and a damn break ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

10. Call of Silence - Hiroyuki Sawano you will know you're reborn tonight / must be rough but i’ll stay by your side even if my body's bleached to the bones / i don't want go through that ever again so cry no more / oh my beloved ngl idk if those are the correct lyrics, buuuuuuut....... im a weenie and am internally weeping abt loubeth after midnight, what else is new lmfao- i’ll at least try to be brief :D I also used to really like Attack on Titan when I was in high school, I dropped the anime years ago because I was waiting for s2 and never got back to it once it started airing again, I thought I’d finish it once the anime was complete since I eventually caught up with the manga, such a good series BUT ANYWAY-- I think it’s a really pretty song and Loubeth fit with the tender lyrics. IT’S LATE, idk what to say about them other than what I’ve said already dsklfjdslf im sorry I really ramble a LOT and I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t had the chance to >w>;;

[a-king-alone]

Ghostface (DBD) x gender neutral reader pt.2 | pt. 1

Your eyes flutter open, blurry dark vision greeting you. The branches far above you begin to come into focus. Crackling noise of fire eating wood fills you with a bit of the comfort of warmness and safety. Your face feels far warmer, but you knew it was because of a different reason.

As you sit up slowly, you see your fellow survivors are sitting around the source of light, trying to keep the dull warmth to stay in their bones. They can tell something is off with you, your prolonged silence and avoidant behavior was unusual.

They ask if you're feeling alright, you coin some bull about feeling overly guilty for messing up, that you felt horrible over the fact that it was a critical moment, but you had failed, resulting in your teammates deaths. It wasn't completely untrue, it just wasn't ate away at you.

Of course they went on, attempting to reassure you that fault didn't fall solely on your shoulders. Sometimes there were trials that killers dominated and there wasn't much anyone would be able to do once it reached that point. You said, yeah, sure, somehow irritated by the concern they offered, but it was because of your dirty little secret.

You felt like you didn't deserve their concern.

You breathe in deeply, turning away from the fire toward the thick of the woods. "Going for a walk," you said tiredly. No one questioned you, only their worried stares watching your back as it disappeared behind the foliage.

As you aimlessly wander, your mind keeps replaying your encounter with Ghostface, how he maliciously stabbed you and then held you captive in his lap as you were dying. You still felt it, the way his lips and tongue were all over you, every detail back to back inside of your brain. It played out behind your eyelids when you tried to close them.

Bile welled under your tongue, a tightness in your throat as you felt you were going to vomit when you remembered words he had said to you. Your throat closed itself for a moment, causing you to gag profusely into a series of dry heaves for a few seconds behind a tree before you could catch your breath.

You wiped your mouth weakly. Just... Why did he have to look so... normal? If he were  another grotesque creature, you could deal with it. But he wasn't. He was hot. Stupidly hot. Hotter than anyone you'd ever seen in your life, not that you could remember much from your past, but much more attractive than any of the survivors. The overwhelming shame you felt with your shallow perception seemed like it might consume you entirely.

You wanted to sleep for days, to let it all fade away, to escape from not only this horrible realm you loathed being trapped in, but from your memories that plagued you nonstop. As you returned to the campfire, your friends noticed you and smiled, but they left you alone and gave you space. You were thankful for that.

You eased yourself onto the ground, laying on your side and adjusting yourself until you found a sufficiently comfortable position. Your heavy lids drooped closed. Every time his face manifested, you tried really hard to think of anything else. But there was nothing else to think about.

Even in your dream, his image cursed your nonsensical visions. Cornering you, forcing his kiss on you, his hands all over you. You wake suddenly as you shot upright. Your hands covered your face with your frustration, how you wished so desperately that it'd go away.

But it doesn't.

You feel as if you -belong- to him and you -don't-. You belong to yourself and only yourself, no one else. Certainly not some pushy delusional psycho. A pushy delusional psycho with eyes for you. And apparently, for you only.

And every moment between, you felt nothing but dread. You dreaded seeing him again, him finding you again. What would he do? You didn't want to think about it. Would it be worse?... Your gut said yes.

He had no problem with forcibly holding you down and kissing you. Kissing was something long forgotten about in a world like this, for you. And you hated how your body had reacted to it against your will, because that's a normal thing that happens when you're stimulated after a long period of time of stagnancy. You hated that you admitted to yourself that it felt really, really good, to receive that kind of attention.

You felt utterly disgusted with yourself. You actually preferred it when he did nothing else but used you as a catalyst for his ugly sadistic desires, not this. Not this creepy obsession and possessiveness.

You couldn't say for sure if his obsession was new or a recent development or something that was there from the beginning. Physical contact wasn't something experienced here, in the Entity's world, as far as you knew. At least, not for you. It was scary and you hated it being forced upon you, even if you kinda shamefully liked it.

The only thing that was ever on your mind was trying to survive death and escape immense suffering. To find some way out. Not finding a fucking boyfriend. Who in their right mind would ever think of something as stupid as that in a place like this?

You were well aware that some survivors did find that type of comfort in each other. But you didn't participate. You found it to be a liability, favoring someone over everyone else over measly physical touch, therefore, making mistakes when the one you enjoy becomes the item of torment for a killer. You'd seen it happen.

But you didn't blame them, nor did you look down on them. That was just your own personal opinion on the matter. Survivors only had each other for comfort. It was natural that something may bloom into something further. Everyone respected each others privacy and never meddled. Consenting adults could do as they wished. If weird relationship problems arose, you ignored it and let them handle it.

You just stayed out of it. People were complicated and the last thing you needed were more complications. But you couldn't deny your envy that they were brave enough to be vulnerable.

All you wanted to do was forget everything. To maybe actually die next time and not return.

You found your next trials to be ultimately relieving, even when you were killed. Each time you were summoned, you were scared out of your mind until you knew who the killer was. And you breathed a sigh of relief when it wasn't him.

But you couldn't focus.

You were mangled in ways you never thought possible because of your mistakes. You were stabbed to death. Your skull was caved in and your fingers were sliced off as a stolen prize. A horrid creature devoured the entire upper half of your body, leaving the rest to decay. But you didn't care. The pain was nothing new. You didn't mind if you died over and over and over again, as long as you never had to see him again, nothing else mattered. You told yourself you could handle it all.

That paranoia never left you. He wanted you to look for him. And you hated that you did, every single time.

Your friends looked at you pitifully whenever you all finally returned to the soft glow of the campfire. They could tell that something was off with you, but they never pushed it. Existing in this place was hard enough sometimes. But they commented that they were glad that you were back in one piece. You could only give a hollow smile. You didn't feel like talking.  Being eaten half alive skull first was something you never thought you would prefer, despite how completely terrible of an experience it was.

It wasn't long before you felt the tug of your summoning, pulling you away from where you wished you could stay, to another unknown destination for the same old story with different flavors.

You recognized this place as you looked around you, the tall cement walls enclosed all around you. The Meat Plant, a place where you hadn't been to in such a long time that you struggled to find your way around. You started off alone and wandered as quietly as you could, dropping down through an open hole in the floor down into a dimly lit bathroom in the underground, a generator close to the only entrance.

You put your attention on fixing the machine in front of you, lost to your thoughts because of the stillness and near silence around you aside from your repairs. It felt eerie and a bad feeling sunk into your stomach as you were closer to completion.

A scream from your teammate startles you with a jolt, it was close to your position. You gulped and continued, frantic to get it going. Another horrid cry of pain came muffled further beneath the ground. The basement. The generator lights flashed on in your success, automated doors opening a new path way once rushed with power.

Out of the several lockers, you picked one closest to you and tried to hide inside without making too much noise, feeling no presence and that alone was making your fear spike considerably. The nausea surged when a black cloaked individual silently crept through the entryway and your breath caught inside of your throat.

He was slow in his steps as he passed each one, an upbeat tune lightly coming from behind that mask and you prayed you were hallucinating. The knife twirled between his fingers, the edge tapped playfully against some lockers he wasn't looking directly at as he approached nearer to yours.

You try to quell your escalating panic when you heard his his voice come out in a dangerously low tune, "Where are you~?"

You can't breathe, trying to rationalize by telling yourself that he definitely did not see you in this room and he does not know that you're here, at all. You hoped it would stay that way, your legs trembling. And then, in your limited view, you saw him standing there, only the doors between him and you.

A soft whimper catches in your throat. You couldn't think. You didn't know or care if it was audible enough for him to hear it. He was going to find you. He doesn't move at all when one of your teammates crosses the wrong wires, igniting an explosion loudly right up the stairs from you. He's completely still.

And suddenly, he turns and walks away from you, his pursuit now on the possible locations of your team and a shaking breath left you. All you had done was prove to yourself that you weren't prepared for the worst. You didn't even want to leave the locker, on the verge of hyperventilating.

If there was a chance that your presence was still unknown to him, you planned to escape the trial without being seen by him. You felt horrible giving into your cowardice, knowing that your team needed you if they wanted a better chance at success. But you don't want to know what he's going to do to you when he finds you. Because he will. That was the only thing you were certain of.

If he saw you, he would hunt you down.

You open the locker door cautiously, peeking out to get a clear view. It seemed you were alone, so you gathered your courage and went toward the hallway leading toward the basement. You could hear your friend Meg down there, groaning in the searing pain she was in, struggling for her life. You were the closest, you had to rescue her. It wouldn't be right to leave her.

You do your best to remain extremely quiet if not soundless while descending the stairs toward the darkness. When you reach her, you grunt as you free her from the claws of the Entity and she thanks you roughly, coughing from her exhaustion. You tell her to run as far as she can, to find someone to patch up her wounds. She nods, making her escape as you return to another locker, toward the back corner.

You hated the idea of using Meg for bloodtrail bait, but you couldn't handle it. You couldn't face him.

But to your horror, you heard Meg's shrill screams very close by, your hearts pace quickening, more and more. All you could hear was her trying her best to get away as it grew closer. A piercing cry from going right back onto the hook, instantly devoured by the starving Entity. And then silence.

That same upbeat tune is near you as he's whistling it this time. Your arms wrap around yourself in a fruitless attempt to calm your tremoring body. He couldn't possibly...

"I know you're here~"

You hear his voice through the slits of the locker right as the doors burst open, you, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights. He sharply inhales. Your mind goes blank. All you see is Ghostface standing there, blocking your only exit, and you're completely cornered. He's unnervingly still.

You can only imagine that awful grin beneath the mask.

He closes in on you immediately as you flattened yourself as far back as you can go, but it was no use. His body pressed against you, hearing his hoarse whisper when he invaded your space as his bloody glove caresses against your cheek, leaving a wet red streak from his touch, "What a surprise..."

Your face falls with disgust as you glare at the floor, visibly shaking in your fear, uncertainty and anger. Why won't this creepy fucker just leave you alone? This torment was more suffering on top of the base suffering of this hellish nightmare and you have to put up with being relentlessly harassed by this sicko.

"Mmm, you're trembling~ You want me that badly~?" he sighed lowly with his hands slowly roaming your body freely even as you recoil from it, gritting your teeth at his gross fucking words. It pushed you to your breaking point. With all your strength, you shoved into his chest enough to send him stumbling backward.

Enough room for you to dash past him and make a run for it, but all you hear is him laughing wildly at you. You're halfway up the stairs when your arms get locked to your sides as he grabs you from behind, clutching into you with excessive force when you started to kick and scream.

Gravity becomes your enemy as he threw you back down the staircase, laughing at you as you tumbled painfully until you smacked the flat below on your stomach. You moaned from the impact, feeling aches all over you, wincing from it as you leered to where he loomed above you. At the top of the portal, he's standing there with his head titled down.

"You really think that you can get away from me?"

He didn't sound amused, his tone heavy with the promise of fulfilling his threats if you kept being difficult. It was far worse than the stupid little cheerful act he paraded. Slowly he goes down each step toward you as you tried to get back to your feet, strained because of the pain you felt.

"You can't run. You can't hide," he said calmly, matter-of-fact like, when he reaches you as you managed to stand upright, your hand against the wooden boards to keep yourself steady. You're on the defensive, ready to make a reckless try once again, but his dark tone make you freeze.

"Don't make me hurt you."

You knew that he would. Less of what he'd done recently paled in comparison to the horribly disgusting things he did in the past to you. You didn't want to be on the receiving end of the extent of his full cruelty because he was more than willing, more than capable. And eager. So eager.

His hand rises directly in front of you and you flinch, only for him to softly touch your face. Tears sting your eyes as you glower with contempt.

"You want me to," he rasped as you furiously shake your head to deny it, your eyes wide with your fear of how unpredictable the situation had gotten. Ghostface responds with a drawn out guttural hum before he grabs your hair, yanking the back of your skull when he pushed you against the wall. Pleasured groans rumbled from him in response to your pained cries.

"Dangling yourself in front of me, whimpering for me," he whispered dangerously close, breathing heavy as you struggled against his grip. "Waiting just for me."

You felt utterly sick to your stomach over his detailed delusions, painting the picture perfectly clear for you. How could he possibly mistake you purposefully avoiding him as a ploy to get his attention?! What a fucking lunatic!

His knife is against your throat and you go still, glancing pleadingly with an emotionless mask tilting at you. You'd rather die than to be subject to his games. You hated pain, you hated how much pain you had to constantly endure and pretend that it doesn't affect you, but you'd rather be cut into ribbons. How could it get any worse? He was going to do whatever he wanted whether you liked it or not.

A generator came to life somewhere far away upstairs, but Ghostface doesn't pay any mind to it. You hadn't realized that at least one or two of your teammates could possibly be alive while the killer played around with you unbeknownst to them. You thought he would've gotten rid of them as soon as possible. The clatter of metal hitting the floor jarred you and before you could react, his hands were around your throat, choking off your airway.

You thrashed wildly against him to no avail, you were no match against his strength.  Your conscious began fading fast, unable to breathe against the force over your neck. Soon, you were enveloped in darkness.

When you woke sometime later, your head was pounding and you felt dizzy. There was a cloth stuffed into your mouth, covered with tape. You realized your hands and ankles were bound together as you grew more alert. You were inside of a locker again, sitting on the floor of it with your knees upright. That son of a bitch choked you out and tied you up. You were furious, thudding your shoulder against the doors to see if you could open them.

The door swung open to your surprise and you gathered that you were still in the basement, but now there was blood splattered all over every surface, fresh liquids and pieces of meat dripping off of the hooks in the center. It felt so much more dark now as you saw the aftermath of violent demise. Ghostface was crouched in the corner opposite of you, his jaw propped against his palm. His mask was gone. His face was covered in blood.

"That's a good look for you," he said softly, meeting your gaze with that dumb,  affectionate smile. Apparently he was in a much better mood.

Your muddled reply was incomprehensible through your gag, but you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. He merely chuckled at your struggle, rising before he came closer to you. Kneeling down, he cut your bonds with his knife, freeing you. That was unexpected. You took the liberty of ripping the tape too quickly off of your face with a hard gasp as you spit out the balled up fabric.

He looked pleased. A thoughtful look crossed his face before he opened his arms toward you, his fingers gesturing that he wanted you to come to him. You glared as you reeled back to spit at his face. It landed on his cheek, next to his mouth that spread with a grin. The tip of his tongue lapped some of it away with one motion and he beckoned you again.

"No second chances," he warned. He was giving you a silent ultimatum; go to him willingly or submit to his torture. You hesitated. You didn't want him to get psychotic, you wanted to just leave and it appeared that the quickest way to get to that was to play along with him. Again.

Your eyes fall to the ground as you inched toward him, settling against his chest as his arms closed around your shoulders, holding you lightly. His sigh of content grazed your bruised neck and you grimaced.

"You know what I want," Danny murmured into your ear as you tilted your head away from him, but he took it as an invitation to drag his tongue against the length of your exposed flesh. You made an audible 'ugh' and he chuckled.

He leaned back from you just enough to gaze at your unhappy expression, all the while he just smiled faintly while never breaking his gaze away from yours. "Kiss me."

Now you were watching him incredulously, but he just rose his brows as his grin deepened.

There wasn't any other way. You couldn't deny him of his demands because he would draw this out as long as possible. Your distaste and hatred burned inside of you, but you closed the distance between your lips and his, only a peck against them, but his gross smile told you everything you needed to know.

It was that fucking look. You loathed it, the fact that he had an expression of longing, looking so infatuated, desperate for your attention, any little bit of it. It was so hard for you to understand.

He hurt you. Physically, mentally, he damaged you over and over again without remorse, with every opportunity that he got. The memories you had of him apart from the recent all involved various degrees of sadistic torture.

You knew what it was. It was all intentionally thought out, to force you to come to him. He confirmed with his actions that he would use any means necessary.

Danny moved closer to you, invading your space until he was up against you, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. His lips were against your ear, whispering sweet nothings that a lover might say, disgustingly sweet words that you felt were more like poison, saying how much he dreamed of you calling his name every time you were apart. Moaning it. Screaming it.

Those hands eventually roamed over parts of your body that were sensitive to the touch, places that were long forgot. It stirred some kind of feelings within, but you tried to swallow them, to not show too much reaction to anything. You wanted to hate it. A part of you did, swelling into tears that poured from your eyes, a soft sob escaping from your tired grasp. You were tired of holding on. You were so tired of it all.

And he shushed you, gently wiping your tears away when he pulled back enough to do so. You hated that he looked so concerned for you when it was his diabolical plot that lead you both here.

"Please don't cry," he breathed, but it only made the downpour escalate in your cascade of horrible emotions. He continued to catch your tears onto his gloves with a gentle smile. "I need you."

All you can do is stare at him, at his face, the perfect portrait of an ideally beautiful person. A twisted perverted psychopath. That face of yearning for your touch, for you kiss. You could tell. The corners of his mouth rose just slightly as he leaned closer toward you, glancing from your eyes to your lips, eager to claim his prize but visibly forcing himself to go slow, to enjoy every single second of it.

His breath shook as his lips met yours, only brushing against them. He wants you so badly and you can feel it, his excitement for a moment he had waited so long for. His lips drew back barely an inch before you murmured, "Why me..?"

And he smiled with a huff, those dark eyes piercing into yours. No semblance of light reflected there. "I thought I told you that you were mine."

That didn't answer your question.

His lips captured yours again, more fervently although restrained, grasping your body tightly as a gloved hand found its way into your hair, pressing you into him harder. A sharp, sudden pain makes you gasp. He had bit into your lip, not with a lot of pressure, but your reaction appeared to rile him up even more, moaning unabashedly into you. Even the slightest of noise that you made seemed to electrify the blood in his veins.

You found yourself forcing yourself to get lost in your own head to ignore any pleasurable sensation while his needy tongue filled your mouth. You felt like you might have understood why he never molested you or at least you had a theory. He could have. He definitely could have sexually overpowered you long ago, but he never did. You guessed based on what you has observed that maybe he had an overwhelming desire for you to be the one to initiate it. And you knew he liked to have things his way.

Your arms hesitantly returned his embrace as your arms slithered around his torso, lightly pushing your body against his despite the nausea from touching the blood clinging to him. You felt him tremor with a slow groan reverberating deeply from his throat. You now knew of two things that made the Ghostface weak to you. He made it easy to see how badly he ached for you.

His kiss became rough against you, pushing into you until you were on your back in the pool of guts and blood all along the floor as he hovered above you. He broke away only to look down on you with his lustful gaze. You knew what he wanted.

You decided in the heat of the moment to indulged him, breathing his name just to see what his potential reaction might be out of your morbid curiosity but you regretted it as soon as it left you.

You failed to realize until it was a second too late to take it back that implying that you might want him of your own volition would become your biggest mistake. You had solidified his fantasy into his reality. The way you had said it, the tint of blood rushed in your cheeks, your voice low and hushed, showing just the very slightest of  acceptance. In that moment, you had appeared as if you visibly wanted him right in front of his face.

And Danny was laughing. Short, breathy huffs kept leaving him, seemingly torn between  confused but utterly overjoyed.

"I knew it," he uttered breathlessly and in the overwhelming horror that devoured you as your soul turned into an ouroboros swallowing its own tail, you couldn't understand what he meant for a split second.

"You love me."

His tone sounded almost hysterical, too overly excited even in just a whisper. Somehow his grin appeared entirely evil to you, euphoric and malignant.

It all came rushing back to you. Every instance. One single moment was all it took, because no matter how much you protested, no matter how much you rejected him, in his mind, he had only one thought and one thought alone. You -did- want him. And he only needed one thing to make it real. Anything that could be interpreted as a signal from you. In his perfect fantasy, he wanted you to be the one aching for him, to be the one craving his touch, begging for more, begging for him.

And you gave him a taste.

It felt time stopped around you and you were watching yourself from far away, watching yourself succumb to your permanent psycho boyfriend. You fucked up. Now he would never leave you alone. Never. He would never stop coming after you.

You were his world and he intended on making himself yours.

"Th.. That's not..." you began, but fell short as he leaned closer toward you.

"Not what?"

For some reason, fear constricted you. He was looking down at you, expecting an answer, but the one you wanted to give was stuck in your throat.

"Not true?"

He was smiling, but it looked wrong. You blinked rapidly, unsure of what to do or even say. So you closed your eyes tightly, pulling him by his neck into a kiss and it took all of two seconds for him to melt into you with a gratified hum. He really was easy...

It couldn't get any worse, you thought. Surely there was nothing you could do now to make it worse. But then he's shrugging himself out of his leather as you're frozen still as your face flooded red. His upper body is bare for you, lithe but muscular, which was nice to look at but you only had a strange thought that it looked weird how he wasn't caked in blood.

"I love it when you can't take your eyes off of me~" he purred with a low groan to your chagrin as you'd been staring pretty hard, your eyes casting to the side.

He's on his knees, straddled over your middle, bare fingers hovering over your lips before he pushed them between. Noises escaped you when he shoved his fingers further inside, filling around your tongue and gagging you slightly.

His other hand produced that familiar digital camera, which you recognized immediately and felt your fury simmering at the sight of it, but you didn't want to put up a fight anymore. He snapped memories of his fingers roaming over your tongue as the flash made stars float around your vision. You heard him making soft comments to himself about the details of certain ones, marked as favorites.

They were finally withdrawn once he was satisfied, only to be replaced with his thumb running over your bottom lip. You watch as he brings that hand to his own lips, licking you off of his fingers with a brief but a jubilated breathy laugh.

"You don't know how long I've waited," he sighed with bliss, bending closer to you to show you the photographs he had taken, pressing a button for one to go to the next before your eyes.

The slides went past the recent ones he had just taken, showing older photographs. You recognized each one, because you were the subject in every one that passed to the next. Images of your body, mangled and brutalized, your bloody meat, you tied up in uncomfortable positions, your crying face, your chest lined with several stab wounds, selfies with only your dead body, kissing your corpses lips.

And he didn't stop. He studied every shocked emotion that crossed your face with a criminal grin as you saw all of these various pictures that he had taken, many you couldn't even remember because they were just pictures of you doing random things in trials long before you were subjected to his torture rituals. It wasn't even close to a third of the way through the gallery.

What exactly did he meant by "how long he waited"? He pulled the camera away, smiling down at it lovingly before placing it safely on top of his bundle of meat soaked leather.

"How... long..?" you managed to utter out half of your thought, your mouth and throat dried in fear of the answer he may or may not give. Drawing his attention onto you, his elbows propped his body just above yours as he titled his head closer to your face to brush his lips over your own. Yours quiver.

"So, so long..." he whispered against you. "And now, you're finally all mine."

Horrifying. Terrifying. These were the only words that could come close to describing the intense trepidation and horror violently swirling within your mind coming to the realization that Danny was a truly insanely sadistic stalker, an obsessive mentally deranged freak, that was, for some reason, madly and hopelessly in love with you. So much so that he followed you around long before you even knew of his existence.

And his love was cruel, vicious and savage. He told you that you would learn to love the pain. Yet he was more than capable of being gentle, being tender, when he really, really missed you.

The new photographs in his private collection detailed that night, his favorite night, down in the Meat Plant basement, zoomed in shots of his hand around your throat to force your eyes to the camera lens when he was filling you, your open lips caught in a scream when his thrusts were erratic and violent, blurring the image. Your meshed bodies covered in sweat and blood. He wanted to keep every moment, hundreds of new additions that he'd look at when he was far away from you.

And he'd smile in his wait for the next time he could have you.

[baby-prince-oppa]

AU Where Daniel Dies and Sean Survives 

Because apparently I love to kick myself in the feels. Based on this post by @grantyort . This was also initially created by someone else from a LIS2 Discord server back in December, but they haven’t posted it on Tumblr or anywhere else outside of that. Thought I could share it here and maybe put my own little spin on it. Not meant to be a full-fledged fic just a headcanon drabble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So there it is. End of the road. They managed to achieve the impossible and forced past the border patrol and into Mexico. But there was no celebration. Instead, it was the complete opposite of victory. Sean had feared this might happen but he didn’t think it would really happen. It still came as an immense shock to him. Here he was, his little brother in his arms, bleeding out to death due to a stray bullet in his chest. Sean cried out to him, begging him to hold on, but he could feel that Daniel was fading away from him. His hands and arms were smeared with his brother’s blood, but he was too devastated to care. And finally at his final second....he stopped breathing. Sean let out a scream of agony before breaking down into uncontrollable sobs.  

At this point, he didn’t know whether or not he should move on. Keep moving forward to Puerto Lobos? For what? The point of this whole journey was so that they could escape together. And now that Daniel is no longer here, what was the point anymore?

Maybe this is what I get for being so fucking stupid, Sean thought in the midst of his grief. This is all my fucking fault. 

I'm so sorry Daniel.....

He sat in the truck, continuing to hold his brother as he bawled his heart out over him. After what felt like hours, he reluctantly let go of Daniel and slowly climbed out of the vehicle. He then turned to look at the broken border gates at about 90 feet away and saw that some of the police cars that were still standing from Daniel’s force were waiting close by, even spotted several cops peering over from the distance. 

A sorrowful wrenching feeling twisted in his gut. He knew what he had to do.

Sean walked over to the other side of the truck and carried Daniel’s limp body out of his seat. Then with a heavy heart as more tears continuously streamed down his face, he walked back towards the gates....    

......and willingly turned himself in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Months had passed since the incident. Sean was in a state of catatonic shock. The authorities eventually deemed him mentally unfit for trial or prison and so he was placed under indefinite house arrest at the Reynolds’ and was only allowed to leave if it was an extreme emergency. (Playing it very loosely with US laws here just go with it.)  A funeral was held for Daniel, but Sean couldn’t be there. He just didn’t have the strength to bear it. The immense guilt was already crushing him and it was pushing him over the edge and off into the abyss that no light can reach.

The people who did manage to attend were Claire and Stephen, Karen, Charles and Chris, and Lyla.

Claire wiping her tears with her handkerchief every 5 seconds while her husband comforted her, firmly squeezing her shoulders from behind, silently praying that their grandson’s soul will finally find peace. 

Karen gazed at Daniel's pale face in deep remorse, internally wishing with all her heart that things shouldn’t have to end this way. She shouldn’t have to live with the fact that she had lost her youngest son, whom she had only gotten to know for 2 months, along with her former husband. But the truth will always be there. 

Chris looked on at the boy laying in the casket, still couldn’t believe that his newfound friend was just....gone. For good this time. The team duo is no more, for Captain Spirit had lost his most trustful companion. A lump had risen in his throat as he was unable to hold back a sob. Charles glanced down at him and softly squeezed his son's small hand in reassuring comfort.   

Lyla was left with barely any words or thoughts other than facing the reality that the brother of his best friend has passed away. It was a reality she could not accept. She had known him just as long as she had known Sean, so the loss was still just as overwhelming. A thought did crawled its way across her mind however, of how deeply all of this was affecting Sean, the one who was taking the most brunt of it all, unable to say one final goodbye to his little brother and instead cooped up at his grandparents' house, his mind wandering to a very dark place. Her heart broke for both of the brothers as her internal anger grew against the injustice that let this happen, and her cheeks heated pink from crying. 

Daniel was eventually buried next to his father in the graveyard. It was the kind of reunion that was more sorrowful to the living than anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little by little, Sean did eventually start functioning normally again and fell into a routine. Eating, washing his own dishes, doing a couple of other chores when asked to, cleansing his left eye, sleeping at a certain time etc. Eventually, he was required to continue his education from home and homework was becoming part of his routine as well. He tried reading a few fiction books from time to time but felt nothing for the story or its characters.

And all the while, the numb empty feeling remained inside of him. He was only running on autopilot and his body just mindlessly going through the motions. Just living long enough to start another day again. Nothing more.

He slowly got back into drawing but only draws small simple things like plants and other objects around the house. A few times however, he caught himself subconsciously sketching out faint outlines of Daniel's facial features. His young face was looking up at him with eyes that had that child-like innocence before it was taken away, with perhaps, a hint of forgiveness.... 

Sean shook that thought from his mind and erased the lines. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Appointments with a therapist has been set up for Sean, because of course he had to see one since he was dealt with such trauma.

At most of those appointments, he would just sit there in silence until the time was up. But later down the road, it was discovered that he still talked about his brother in present tense. 

Therapist: “So I was told that you were drawing Power Bear on the living room wall before you cleaned it off. Do you want to explain that?” 

Sean: “Well....Daniel likes Power Bear. He'd play with that toy whenever he could and makes up wild stories about his adventures.”

Therapist: “It’s liked, Sean. He liked Power Bear.”

Sean: “No...he still does. Although I do think he’s getting a bit too old for that, huh?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sean wasn’t allowed visitors until he was mentally ready and could start speaking properly again. Lyla came by as soon as she was notified that the visitors ban has finally lifted. 

Claire: (knocking on his bedroom door) “Sean? Someone is here to see you.”

A sense of dread immediately overcame him as he thought it was probably Flores coming in to check in on him again, but his mind stopped in its tracks for a short moment when he saw another kind of familiar face; one that he hasn’t seen in what seemed like ages. 

Lyla: (greeted in a soft voice) “Hey, Sean.” 

Sean: (eye widen in disbelief as he whispers) “Lyla?”   

They came together and held each other in a long embrace. Nothing else was said between them. There was everything they wanted to say to each other all at once but not wanting to break this single moment of reunion. Lyla had been wanting to ask about his missing eye but had to remind herself that this wasn’t a good time for it. Even after they eventually came apart, they held each other’s hands as they both sat on Sean’s bed in continued silence. As Sean was given time to recollect himself, Lyla glanced a bit around the room. Everything was so neat and tidy...perhaps a bit too pristine. It was devoid of any personality. Nothing in that room uniquely screams “Sean” at all.

Finally, a small voice came out of her friend once more. “Lyla...?”

She redirected her full attention to him and gently rubbed her thumb across his palm. “Yeah, Sean?”

He lifted his eye to meet her gaze. “I.....” 

“I lost Daniel.”  

That sentence hung in the air like a rain cloud before it slowly sank down between them. Sean's breathing began to shake as it dawned on him again in full force and broke him down...just like that day when it happened. Lyla was the first person to hear him admitting that. 

“Oh God, Sean,” she whispered with empathy as she laid her friend's head on her shoulder and let his tears soak through her shirt. “I’m so, so sorry.”   

She was aware that he had probably heard those words so many times before but it was all she could offer in that very second. Seeing him cry made Lyla cried with him as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel's death has left him broken but not beyond repair. The road to healing and finding his inner peace will be a long and arduous one but he will not go through the grief alone.

Somewhere along the way, he could feel a slight touch of an invisible force holding around his middle as he was standing over the kitchen sink. Sean turned around, only to find that no one was there and wondered if he was really losing it. Little did he know, however, was that beyond the boundary of life and death, his sweet little wolf was patiently waiting for him, waiting for the day he could tell him that he has never stopped loving him to the moon and back. 

Because nothing can ever truly separate the Wolf Brothers.

[tarithenurse]

All is fair in Love & War - 16

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Probably a lot of spelling/writing errors as my brain doesn’t work, but I still wanted to post. And then the usual like pining, angsting, caring, scheming, wanting revenge, bad eating manners (nothing detailed), daring stunts, maybe cursing, death. Might have forgotten something. A/N: I’ve taken the liberty of tagging people who seem to follow, but if you do/don’t want a tag pls let me know. Tags at bottom of post.

16. In the dark of the night

As the columns loom above you, stretching toward a grey sky as they hold up a triangular façade decorated with scenes of the miracles attributed to that faith. It is not the religion that was practiced in the village you grew up. There, the focus was on very practical faith in the sense that prayers were sent to any deity willing to grant a good harvest or protect the miners from accidents. The temple in which darkness is shattered by candles and colourful fabrics is a place for big miracles which explains the steady stream of people coming and going. You recognize the tired expression on their faces, the desperate hunger in their eyes. It is not the first place you visit, and each holy sight held the same subdued sadness. Hopelessness.

“Lady [Y/N],” someone addresses you softly, “what brings you here?”

It is a temple priest, wrapped in the faded blue signaling his position within the order. The skin is lined as a result of caring for too many too long, and the hair on the part of his skull that has not been shaven is greying, making you think of plants withering in dead soil – too stubborn to die, yet malnourished. Most importantly, however, is the kindness radiating from him as if it could heat the air and welcoming anyone wishing to approach him like you do know.

Röskva is trailing behind you, keeping an appropriate distance to maintain the role as handmaid and mistress, but you know she is listening in on every word. Why should she not? No one in Midgard knows that she speaks their language.

“Father…?” You hesitate, feigning uncertainty in how to address the man, and he nods in approval. “What would a visit to a foreign culture be if the guest did not learn of every aspect.” Again, the slight not urges you on. “The holy houses of my homelands are of importance to us…yet I dare say not even the biggest temples see such a traffic as this.”

Sighing heavily, the father beckons you to follow. “Our people is…despite what you may hear at the palace…” As if tasting the words carefully before spitting them out, he chews on his tongue and lips for a moment. “The people suffers. War brings losses and casualty, that’s the nature of strife…but as oth-other problems are added and there’s no relief…where else can they turn to than the gods?”

“Hope, guidance and solidarity is food for the soul.” Take the hint.

He scans the corner of the temple aula where he has brought you. “What we need’s real food though. Clothes. Medicine to treat the illnesses that come with deprivation and poverty.” A fear flickers in his gentle eyes. “This war’s claimed to be for the people…the people win nothing, and the enemy’s false!”

“So…it is as I feared…” You do not have to act sad although it is a struggle to hide the victorious feeling surging through in the veins at the priest’s words. “If only someone could restore peace and care for the people…”

Leaning in conspiratorially, there is no hope in his face. “Several people have been deemed fit for the latter…the problem lies in the former part of the challenge.”

…

The tiny bottle gleams in the candlelight, the liquid within seemingly absorbing any light passing thorough the tinted glass which makes it appear like the Void itself. You have to handle it with care, never once removing the thin leather gloves that have been treated with wax. Just a few drops. The contents could kill everyone in the palace if mixed into the wine, but no…such a tactic is too risky because sometimes the servants enjoy a sip in secrecy. Thankfully, there are safer ways.

…   LOKI’s PoV   …

A new snowstorm rages, keeping the brothers inside the sheltering walls of Utgard. While Thor is enjoying the steamy bath facility and mulled wine while joking with all the servants, Loki has retreated to a painfully familiar room. This far from the kitchens, the keep is quiet. No voices or (because of the Asgardian brother) warbled singing is chasing away the winds’ howling or the echoes of memories, conversations spoken when the mood was bolder.

There is an uneasiness that has taken root in Loki’s heart the last hours, a restless worry that distracts his actions and guides every thought to the south where he knows he cannot go. Hands fold and unfold the grey shawl that used to hold the soothing scent of his little mortal but now smells of nothing else than wool. Maybe a bit of pine needles. Looking to the dresser, he sees that new twigs have been placed in a jug of water without his command – the servants have found their own ways of honouring [Y/N]’s memory and one of them is to not abandon the room as if it were out of use. This will not be her chambers when she returns. When. It is a small word that somehow has become incredibly powerful, causing Loki to cling to it because it is the only bastion against the dreaded “if”.

…   READER’s PoV   …

It has taken some planning and sweettalking to arrange for all of the Vanir in your company to be occupied elsewhere tonight. None of them are without at least three Midgardian witnesses. Although Röskva was visibly distressed at the knowledge of why it is necessary, she still went peacefully with a few of the maids under the pretence of teaching them how you want your meal the next day. Likewise, the men have gone to train in the barracks where it is certain that plenty of the castle’s soldiers will see them.

In other words: you are on your own.

Black clothing, soft leather shoes, the belt with tools of your new trade. All of it is fitting snuggly, giving you a sense of comfort as you sneak through the empty paths within the castle walls. Up and up you go, the directions memorized and tested several times to minimize the risk of mistakes, the time it takes to get from one place to the other…and to ensure you know how to hide from any possible pursuers. Crouching behind the shift in the wall, you fight down an eager to hurry. Take the time needed…wait for the snoring.

By the time you slip out from behind the pink and white panel to land silently on the marble floor, it once again makes sense to you why the king and queen of Midgard sleep in separate chambers: that woman is noisier than a rockslide! Still, the racket she produces now is nothing compared to her shrieks when she found out the servants took the discarded food and distributed it among the poor on their way home. Apparently, the queen would have preferred the waste to be burned or left to rot while the rats gorged themselves than see the hungry fed in the dead of the winter. The thought alone makes your fingers itch and shake with anger as you slip on the gloves.

There hinges on the door are perfectly oiled, granting you a silent entry to the bedroom where a single oil lamp is turned down low under the mother-of-pearl cap, illuminating the canopy. A cocoon of silk obscuring the target until you pull it aside slowly, carefully. And there lies the queen in her “peaceful” slumber. Ha! There lies the wicked witch…but even that analogy does little to steel your nerves as you pull out the vial and twist the cork out with shaking hands.

…   LOKI’s PoV   …

None of the food or drinks are tasteful to the host although Thor thoroughly is enjoying the feast. One would think that being a prince, raised in the Asgardian court, would provide a strict set of table manners…in fact Loki knows that it is not for the lack of Frigga’s patience that the older brother still eats as though he has starved for days. Normally it would bother the Jotun king immensely. Not tonight.

I should have left right away. Of course, the winter weather is not a deterrent for a Jotun, but it is for a mount. Traversing half the country (or what feels like it) on foot will take longer than waiting for the storm to pass and then ride. If only Heimdal…angrily pushing the thought aside, Loki drains his glass while considering half-heartedly what curses to cast upon the Keeper of the Bridge, his brother, his mother, anyone who has a hand in creating the distance between him and [Y/N].

Who would have thought that a simple mortal could gain such power over him? Hundreds of years have passed where he answered to no one and nothing but his own (sometimes questionable) conscience, where he did as he pleased without concern for the days to come. Much of that had already changed when Loki learned the truth of his origins, causing him to seek revenge on slights be they imagined or real, but that too is naught but a shadow compared to the responsibility and the connection he feels with this unassuming woman. The love and joy she has brought him is far too precious to lose.

Love is a wicked game. And still…Loki never plays a game that he does not intent to win.

…   READER’s PoV   …

The rattling sigh is still echoing in your ears as a ghost’s clamouring accusation when you reach a narrow window at the end of a darkened passage. The air is cold and crisp, caressing your face as you lean out to spot the balcony above that has been reduced to a black silhouette against a starry sky. Like icy crystals. For a few seconds, it is possible to imagine that you are watching the winter night from a different window, and it calms your thumping heart a fraction.

Rough rope skitters through your gloved hand. Upwards in a steep arch until the distant clink sounds, causing you to freeze with the stomach in a knot and pricking in down the back of the legs from fear that someone will have heard and come running. But nothing happens, and the delicate task of securing a grip with the tri-hook can commence.

It takes far too long, it seems, before you swing your legs over the balcony railing and allow yourself to lie flat on the cold stones. Sweat cools on contact, sending shivers through your leaden limbs. Or is the shaking from the exertion? It hardly matters right now, and either way it is a blessed distraction as your mind has somewhat quieted while you were dangling over an impenetrable darkness. Down below is the moat, dug to allow the nearby lake’s waters run around the castle’s perimeter as an extra fortification, but the water may as well have been a world away, invisible and only present in the mind. A sigh whispers by your years. Just the wind, nothing else.

It is time to focus on the task at hand and you push yourself onto your weak knees and from there to your feet although in a crouch. The metal of slender lockpicks tick against each other as you set to work, and a surge of pride warms you moments later when the lock clicks, allowing your access to king Gorm’s private chambers.

Hidden between the drapes, you take in the surroundings for the first time and are pleased to see how accurate the servants’ descriptions have been. A wardrobe with painted carvings and bigger than any single piece of furniture you have ever seen, the chaise lounge full of fluffy pillows all of which is standing next to an actual glass table with golden legs! And that is not even the half of it…but by then your eyes are glued to the shape partially visible through the velvet canopy’s crooked drapes. Already the little vial with the dark poison is resting in your palm.

There is no raging battle in your heart this time. Maybe there should be. Perhaps you have grown evil, becoming one of these individuals that you have taken upon yourself to rid the world of and shying no means to reach whichever goal you deem appropriate. This isn’t for my sake. It is a weak argument and you know it. Standing here is a direct result of the life you have lived and the sufferings you have seen. Of course, you could have decided to remain safe and sound in Utgard while pretending all is good…but then you would have had to live with a lie and a burdened conscience. If I was still here, I’d want someone to save us from the tyrant. So is that it? Are you a saviour?

Frustrated, you push the thoughts away. I’m pass the point of no return. Instead you call forth the hard memories of losses and pain, of hunger and suffering, of the carelessness with which Gorm and his noble fellows spend the lives of the people as if they are cattle for slaughter. And now there is no doubt. Stowing the tiny bottle in its padded pouch, your fingers curl around the handle of the long, slender knife. Dying in his sleep is far too kind for the man sleeping in the bed across the room.

The soft padding of feet is swallowed by a plush carpet. No reaction to the rustle of the curtains can be seen or heard as you study the king’s face with its content little smile and the speckle of drool at the corner of the mouth.

A leather-gloved hand clamps over his mouth the second you plunge the blade in between his ribs. Startled, bloodshot eyes meet yours. The exact moment realization hits the king is obvious, and now the little smile is on your lips, your face hot with rage and pride.

“Before you die,” you whisper to his face, causing him to pause his struggles at the difference in your voice, “know that I once fought for you – now I know better.”

...

[lizord-lord]

Splashing, Wading, Knee-Deep, Drowning

(Back once more with the next chapter! I’m still vaguely on schedule right? Counts if I wrote like 2 and a half pages today in a weird frenzy and now this page is a bit longer than the others but it’s ok because more is great? Wait I don’t even remember why I missed some days of writing why is my memory this bad ANYGAY! For once you have a chapter that @poisonedapples my shitbling and beta did not yell at me for, in fact, it actually has ROMAN!!! *cheering* I mean..My Virgil privileges got revoked...kinda had to..his dialogue is hilarious and I think my writing got more flower it’s great. Onwards!)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Five

Warnings: Um...some angst and shit, emotional numbness, death mentions ofc, talk of grief? But this is more of a lighthearted chapter compared to......everything else lmao.

Chapter Four

One month later and about three chapters earlier

Roman’s intention had been to slip into the castle, change, and escape to the woods with his crossbow as soon as the last guest had taken their leave.

But, as he stood beside his mother and watched Duchess Valerie’s carriage roll off into the distance over the green hills, it was made clear that that particular wish would not be granted, as the first thing his mother did when he turned to pick up the cloth-wrapped bow from where it lay on top of a stone bench was reach to tightly grip his shoulder.

“Roman. We still have things to do.”

The prince’s shoulders slumped, and his hand fell back to his side. He’d hoped otherwise..and yet past experience told him not to be surprised.

“..does it have to be now?” He heard a sigh from behind him before his mother turned him to face her.

“Yes, it does, because if you pick up that bow you’ll run off and I won’t see you until sunset, and by then your head will be so far up in the clouds you won’t be able to even see the ground to determine where to step next. Come inside.”

Roman knew what would come next. He’d step inside and be dragged off to some meeting or other. A meeting where they’d speak of the king’s death. The king’s, not his father’s. It’d be glossed over as his ascension was spoke of, as wills were discussed, and it would even be better if he could scream, if he could yell about how disrespectful that was, how he needed time. That’s how it was in every story he’d read, in every play he’d seen, the grieving protagonist would fall to their knees and sob, lament, bargain with the gods to bring their loved ones back.

And yet not a single tear had clouded his eyes since he found out of his father’s passing.

If the situation hadn’t been so extreme he likely would have tossed out a quip about turning into Logan. But that would just be cruel, no, he just..could feel nothing. It frightened him. The bow was like a lantern, a single spot of light he could clutch to give him some sort of understanding, of sight in the endless fog he walked through, and the depths of the forest was the only place where things seemed clear. They belonged together. He belongs there, where no person could protest or tell him he needed to be doing anything differently.

By all means he should protest, tell his mother he didn’t want to be walled in by white, lifeless marble and pale stone.

But when he opened his mouth, what came out was “Okay.” Because he could see two things in her eyes, one of which being determination, the other being sorrow.

She could feel it, even if he couldn’t.

He didn’t hurt. She did. If she needed them..it was his duty to be there.

So he let her take the bow, and followed through the gate.

The arching windows normally spilled the golden light of afternoon through to cast a glow on the perfectly polished floors. But now, the normally brilliant crimson curtains had been replaced with black velvet drapes, the light blocked out so the halls no longer felt bright and comforting, but grim and hopeless.

It only made his numb heart feel cold. At one point his mother turned down a hall to the room that used to be his father’s and now was only hers, and Roman kept walking, almost bumping into a pillar on the way to his own bedroom. When he pushed open the wooden door, he didn’t even take a moment to appreciate the way the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling window behind his four-poster, crimson and gold draped bed brightened the room, washing away the gloom that the halls had cast over his shoulders. Because it had already attached itself to him, and the dull listlessness Roman felt showed in his movements. They were stiff and automatic, close the door, draw the curtains shut, step to his immense wardrobe and change. Not into the forest-green attire he wore to go out and hunt as he longed to, or even to his typical style of white and crimson. No, from the fancy black suit covered in glittering buttons and silver embroidery into a no less dark and gloomy, but slightly comfier alternative. He took longer than usual too, staring at nothing as he laced up his boots. The solitude did nothing for his mind.

When Prince Roman stood up, clad head to toe in the black of mourning that was still so prettily designed that it felt like a show he for once did not wish to play a part in, he did not feel like the title suited him.

For the next three days, Roman’s mind remained in quiet turmoil. He was shuffled from room to room, kept from the outdoors where he longed to escape, weighted down by responsibility and the constant reminder of what had happened. Normally his mind would be his respite, but it had grown gray with grief, and with him unable to seek revival, his usual fantasies were unreachable. He’d half stop paying attention during the discussion of wills, of letters of sorrow sent by frauds nobles who hadn’t been able to make the funeral. The only discussions he really remembered were those of the dreaded wife, which he usually managed to shut down and escape from. One such incident had just occurred, with him offering a rather poorly put-together excuse of needing to polish his sword and fleeing to his room, where he sat on the bed, head bowed, golden circlet feeling like a mountain pushing it down towards his clasped hands.

He could have sat like that for minutes or hours, face totally blank, when someone knocked at his door.

His first thought was that his mother had pursued him to continue the dreaded conversation, and he began to make a beeline for the closet to hide (although to be honest that was the last place he needed to be at the moment) but the voice that came through was not his mother’s. Rather, the voice was younger and stiff. Formal. “Your highness, the Count Veritas is here to seek audience with you.”

Roman’s thoughts of burying himself in cloaks immediately halted, along with his feet. “Let him in.” The door opened, and the count stepped inside the shaded space, pushing aside the blue fabric of his half-cape to offer a slight bow.

“Good afternoon my prince, I hope you are doing decently.” Roman threw a nearby coat on his face.

The noble yelped indignantly as he pushed the offending garment off, while Roman only laughed.

“Come on, Scroll Under the Bridge, still being so formal?” He revoked that opinion after the coat was launched back in his face.

Once the red cloth was no longer obscuring his vision, he was able to look up and see Logan Veritas’s folded arms and smug grin. Huffing, he tossed the jacket on the ground.

“So, you wanted to talk to me?”

The certainty in Logan’s demeanor seemed to falter for a second, but was quickly masked as he pushed his spectacles up his nose and resumed his previous pose.

“Yes, I did. You know, to see if you were doing alright, converse and such..” he spotted the count’s gray eyes flicker around the room. To the drawn curtains, the slightly messy corners, the black clothes on both Roman’s person and the ones tossed carelessly on his bed, which meant he hadn’t let any servants in, and lingering for a noticeable moment on the mahogany surface of his writing desk-completely clean and clear.

“Listen if you needed to vent. That sort of thing.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Roman could see Logan clearly taking advantage of that to scrutinize his posture and facial expression (which was no doubt drawn up and tense) for any clues of his mood. Yet he wouldn’t have to do that for long.

The prince’s shoulders slumped, and he almost felt the title roll off of them. Finally. He knew Logan wasn’t really...the best person to go to when he was having emotional issues. But he was all he had, the only friend he really had around his own age. Who wasn’t, you know, ordered to agree with him on basically everything.

Plus, sometimes, in times of great distress, having a more objective viewpoint was good.

But for now, Roman just took five steps to his right and slumped on the end of his bed, the same position he had been in before Logan arrived. He heard a sigh from the door, and a moment later, he felt the bed dip. The count had sat beside him. More silence as Roman compiled his thoughts, rubbing his left palm with the thumb of his right, switching, rubbing his wrists..

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“...it doesn’t?” He’d expected that much confusion. “No! It doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it..” Roman trailed off, eyes darting across the floor as he searched for the words, just to make himself heard, he brought his hand up to rub his temples but ended up running it through his hair, gripping hard and tugging on his bangs. How could he explain? Dammit, why did poetry never come when you need it! He knew Logan would understand that! It was a language they both spoke, even when their own could not quite convey the thoughts!

Roman tossed his hands into the air, admitting defeat.

“It just doesn’t hurt!! It should, I know it should, I should be weeping, I should be bawling, he’s-he’s my father for goodness sake but I just..I just can’t! Everything is-everything’s just-” “Numb?” “.....yes.” Roman’s hands dropped. He buried his face in them, dammit the word had been on the tip of his tongue and it was just so simple! He was a mess.

Around the middle of a very long, very loud, very dramatic groan, the prince felt a hand move to rest in between his shoulder blades and slowly begin to rub circles into his back. The touch was light, hesitant, yet fluid.

And it felt nice.

It was a moment after his troubled mind had ebbed a bit when he heard Logan’s quiet voice again, slow and deliberate. He knew that tone; uncertainty that his words would be well received.

“...the grieving process is different for everyone. It seems, by your own description, that you are experiencing shock. You...you likely will fall into the depressive states later in the grieving process, but for now there isn’t much you can do to speed it up. Your mind needs time to fully work through and understand what has happened, and the only thing I know of that can help it do that is to spend some time clearing your head. Then it is a matter of if the other emotions—either rage or despair, hit you during a time of calm or a time of reflection. They commonly come suddenly. But they will come..and there’s nothing wrong with being unable to fully grasp the weight of losing a loved one in the immediate aftermath of it happening.”

A dry smile pulled at the prince’s lips.

“Did you learn that in a book, My dear scho-lord of the library?” He lifted his head up slightly from his hands, just in time to catch the look that flitted across Logan’s face, a twitch of his lips and unfocused eyes, just for the moment it took to let out a puff of air.

“My aunt, actually.”

“Ah.”

Roman remained in that position for a second to process. The physical contact, however small, did help. And so did the words, now that he let them sink in.

“I haven’t been out of the castle grounds since the day before..” he admitted with a sigh, trying to straighten his posture. Logan made a dissatisfied noise, pursing his lips.

“Did your mother not let you?” Roman nodded with a sigh. “No! She’s kept me here, with wills and letters and plans! It’s like-it’s like he wasn’t even a person..” his head fell back into his hands, words he had only felt in vague bursts of frustration spilling from his lips. “All anyone’s worried about is how to run the kingdom without him…he was my dad too! But no one cares about that, all I’ve gotten is those damn pitying glances! Not a single ‘I’m sorry’ since the funeral, not even from my own mother!! It’s like she’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen! It’s not-aaargh!” He threw his hands up into the air, feeling Logan’s hand fall off his back as he toppled backwards onto the soft mattress. “It’s not fair..”

“..hm. So it was the latter.” “...huh?” Roman peeked up from between his fingers that he had dramatically pressed over his eyes, confused. Logan explained. “The latter. Of my earlier statement, you were hit with anger at a time of self-reflection.” The curiosity vanished from Roman’s face like a child sneaking cake when the baker comes.

“That is literally one of the least helpful things you could have said.”

The count rolled his eyes. “It was only an observation..” “We were having a moment and you ruined it!” “I ruined it? I was only commenting on an earlier statement!” the count huffed, and Roman opened his mouth to come up with another (quite stinging and witty mind you!) retort..and then let it fall closed. He threw one hand over his eyes, sighing loudly. “Oh, it’s not worth it..”

“What, not in the mood to call me out for ‘having the emotional intelligence of a brick wall?’” The tone was tinging on playful, yes, but there was real worry and surprise there. Apparently, it was that statement that brought back Logan’s concern. Roman never yielded in an argument.

“No..what am I going to do Logan! I’m being locked away like a damsel in distress, I can’t just stay here for however many weeks it will take for everything to get sorted out..”

“..have you tried asking your mother? Telling her that this is taking a toll on you?” Logan offered, albeit lamely. He received a scoff in response.

“Of course! I very nearly begged her yesterday, and the witch refused me sanctuary! I am truly Rapunzel, locked away in stone, doomed to never let my face or magnificent locks see the sun! Clearly my only option is to run away from these dark cl-” Roman sat up suddenly, and Logan was filled with dread. That was a very bad place to stop that sentence.

“...how did I not think of that before! I’ll simply sneak out!”

Well, at least he could say he knew his friend..he also knew that his next words would be blatantly ignored.

“That is a very bad plan-”

But as predicted, the prince had already leapt off his bed and was racing to the closet, diving right to the bottom of his dresser and pulling out an ensemble much different from his usual color scheme of blinding white and scarlet. This was a tweed jacket in a shade of dull green, the trousers a dark brown. Brown leather boots-far less shiny than his usual polished black ones, were pulled out after-and Logan didn’t get to see what happened next, having to turn around due to the excited prince currently having no sense of decency and changing right there.

“It’s already evening, so I’ll just sneak out through the kitchens..maybe grab a snack too-” Logan heard the sound of fabric over skin and slight rustling, that must be Roman buttoning the jacket- “-and no one will even notice I’m gone! And I can finally test out that crossbow, eh Logan?”

The count blinked. Actually taken aback that the prince had remembered he was here.

“I suppose, is it safe to turn around now?” From the thud of a boot that he heard behind him and the offended gasp (he didn’t even need to look to know Roman had placed his hand to his chest as if wounded) Logan could infer that yes, it was. Though his lack of doing so brought out another comment.

“Are you saying you don’t want to ogle at my amazingly chiseled physique?” “Yes,” he replied in his flattest and most disinterested voice. “Logan, you wound me!”

“You didn’t answer my question.” “....yes, it’s safe to turn around..if my fabulous muscles sicken you that much,” the prince huffed, and Logan did finally turn around. The hunting outfit was rather tight-fitting—of course it was, as Roman had just proven, he would go to any end to show off his good looks even to bears in the forest. And just as predicted, he looked as deeply offended as if Logan had just told him he was descended from trolls.

When there was no retort from the count, Roman just crossed his arms, close to pouting like a petulant child.

“Well anyway, as I was saying, I can finally test out that crossbow you gave me, and no one should even notice I’m gone!”

“Not even the guards? Who should have been extra alert after having so many guests and with the usual structure of command gone?” The prince seemed to deflate slightly, a frown creasing his face—but almost immediately he perked up again. “Well then I’ll head through the garden, they don’t post too many guards there and even if I’m caught I can just say I was smelling the roses!”

“And if they question your outfit?” Logan challenged once more, folding his arms over the dark fabric of his shirt. But Roman was ready this time.

“I’ll tell them I didn’t want to get any dirt on my regular clothes. Plus, even if they don’t believe me, it’s not like I’m forbidden from leaving the grounds, just...highly discouraged by my mother and she hasn’t exactly told the guards to keep me inside! I am still the prince, I just don’t want her catching wind.”

Logan slowly nodded. For once, his friend seemed to have thought this out. Maybe it wouldn’t end in disaster.

The key word was maybe.

“I assume you’re going to run off right now?”

“Well that was the plan—not much sunlight left after all!” Roman bounced on his heels excitedly, glancing out the window, which, though mostly covered by curtains, had a line of golden light streaming through that easily indicated it was getting to be late evening.

Logan nodded, and then stood up. “Well, then either my efforts succeeded or failed horribly, I’ll have to see.”

Roman waved a hand dismissively, a cocky grin sliding easily onto his face. “Oh come on now Count Veri-blah, I’m feeling better already! Now get out of here and don’t tell anyone!” Said noble rolled his eyes to the heavens at the nickname, and the indication that he would rat on his friend about something that clearly meant a lot to him. He let Roman wave him towards the door, though opened it himself.

“Fine, but I’ll be back  soon and when I do you’d better be here, and without a squirrel hidden under your bed.” He grinned slightly as Roman huffed-a nerve he remembered. “That was one time okay? And it was injured!” “From what I remember hearing news of, it escaped and you decided to chase it around the castle for two hours.”

“Wha-well I had to protect the people who might be scared of rodents!!”

The grin was spreading now. “Perhaps, but I don’t think that was the message everyone else got, again, the rumor I heard was that you referred to the squirrel as ‘Mrs. Fluffybottom’ and were crying ‘don’t you love me’ as it attempted to escape down to the kitchens.”

“I, ugh—that...well that was a rumor!” Roman sputtered, “You would trust a rumor more than I, your dear friend?”

“Indubitably,” Logan deadpanned, and closed the door behind him.

“Well goodbye to you too,” the prince mumbled through the thick door, stalking back to his bed and sitting down on it with a pout. He’d have to wait a bit to go out, but honestly, the nerve of that know-it-all! You’d think a friend of such caliber would care a bit more about his friend’s dignity!

Though, the prince could admit...it had been kind of him to come by.

So there was that, but still!

When those petulant thoughts had calmed, and it felt like had enough time had passed, Roman stood. Pushing the curtains back slightly confirmed that he would have to act fast if he wanted to get maximum daylight—which he was already wasting! The prince straightened his shoulders. A grin formed on his face as he strode back to the closet, but this time to the corner where his weapons were stored.

First, he picked up the scabbard for his sword, buckling the black belt around his waist in a smooth, practiced motion, the familiar weight of the weapon settling easily against his left him. And then for a less familiar weapon-the crossbow. He’d used them before of course, but only to an extent, and of course, any new weapon would be strange to wield at first, no matter the type.

He carefully lifted up pale bow, then the sling he’d smuggled in from the armory the day before (what, he wanted to be prepared) making sure he would be able to easily remove the weapon before slinging the leather strap over his shoulder.

It was at this point he realized that he would not be able to pass off his venture as ‘smelling the roses’ when he was clearly armed.

Hm.

Well he wasn’t going to give up now, dammit! He’d just have to not get caught. And that would be easy!

Confidence restored as easily as a knife through butter, Roman turned and left the closet, removing the golden circlet on his head and placing it carefully by his bedside, before easing open the door and slipping out into the quiet hall.

Lady luck smiled upon Roman that day, for he managed to get to the kitchens without anyone seeing him. Of course once he arrived there wasn’t any hiding from the chefs preparing dinner, and what with there not having been a ‘family meal’ since the death of his father, they were not as focused on being perfectly on time as usual. But he was the prince. While guards might question him, all it took was a wink and a finger to his lips to keep questions from coating the air as he slipped out the door the cooks used as a shortcut to the piles of firewood outside.

Roman breathed in the fresh air gratefully, but his smile faded slightly as he passed under the arch that led to the garden. The numb cold settled in as his leather boots padded along the same marble tiles that the shoes of funeral goers had walked along only days earlier, as his eyes landed upon cut flowers that had dropped from bouquets and had found their way into blooming bushes, as he passed the marble table that a casket had laid on.

Roman stopped.

He grasped his wrist in his left hand, eyes dropping to the ground.

And then he frowned.

I am not going to linger on a lack of feeling.

That was the whole point of getting away. As hard as it was to lift up his chin and resume his path towards the opposite arch, he must do it. This was his escape! None of this existed out in the woods, he’d been numb and hopeless for days! No more. He was getting away.

Sorrow would come in time.

It took him a moment. Two. Three. And then Roman’s feet were moving again, down the path and to the archway that led him to the woods.

He strode out into the open-or would have, if he hadn’t noticed a guard passing by him at that very moment. He yanked himself back into the garden and ducked back behind the gently sloped wall of stones the obscured the garden from the outside, and he must have not been noticed, as the guard did not follow.

Another two minutes passed there, the prince with his back against the wall, until he dared another peek. Nothing. Sighing in relief, Roman adjusted the strap over his shoulder and was off, making sure his footsteps were quick and light against the grass. It was only thirty steps to the edge of the woods from the archway, and he cleared it without discovery, ducking his head below a branch and pushing into the forest.

This was home.

Roman breathed in the scents of the woods, the musty scent of mushrooms, the damp earth, the sweet scent of the few spring flowers that bloomed as well as the crisper grasses and young herbs that poked from under bushes and between the roots of trees. And he listened. His footsteps, near-silent with practice, were yet a steady pattern, one foot lightly placed down toe first, any rigid twig wormed under the arch of his foot where his weight would not snap it, and repeat. It was not the swiftest way of movement by any means, but with as much practice following the trails of these woods as he had, he made decent time. And the silence was important. As he was both less likely to draw attention from unsuspecting prey or predator, he could listen.

His ears caught the faint trickle of a nearby stream, the happy song of a few birds, a rustling-he paused. Something small, a rabbit perhaps, but it fell silent before he could pinpoint the sound. No matter.

Roman strode through the forest with a newfound joy, a proud grin on his face and determination in bright hazel eyes that swept the undergrowth for prey like a hawk. And yet, even as he strode deeper into the wood, and the brush beneath his feet began to thicken and his pace was forced to slow, he’d only drawn his crossbow on a rabbit that quickly scampered away.

Bad luck.

But Roman kept his thoughts optimistic, even as the light that filtered between the dark leaves overhead and scattered dappled patterns over the forest floor shifted from gold to orange, and continued on ever deeper, and just slightly quicker. He wanted to catch something before getting back! And he would, he certainly would. However, getting lost in positive thoughts is still getting lost in thought, and despite the good intentions..it led the prince’s mind to wander. Images of shooting down a deer or even some more dangerous beast, like a wild boar, or even something more fantastical, like a kelpie or a troll were playing in front of his eyes rather than reality, where the orange glow was fading slightly and rough bark brushed up against his broad shoulders.

At least until his searching right boot found a fallen tree rather than smooth footing, and he toppled forward with a very undignified yelp, throwing his hands forward to stop his face from smacking into the dirt but not in time to spare his knees from banging against the log.

Roman grunted loudly in pain, gritting his teeth. Okay. No more daydreaming in the woods...ow…

Groaning, the prince got to his feet, dusting dirt off his palms and grimacing at the scrape along the heel of his left hand, then wiping them on his trousers, which were luckily still intact. Dirty, but at least he wouldn’t have to get them sewn up.

When he took his next step, there were a few things brought to his immediate attention. One-he must have banged his right kneecap, because it was throbbing like a fresh bruise (likely) and while it wasn’t agonizing, it was very unpleasant, and even more so due to having been inflicted by a simple log. How embarrassing.

But wounded knees and pride was..not the most important at the moment. As when Roman looked up, and then around, he noticed that the canopy was so thick only the barest hints of sunlight peeked through, and that the trees around him were too thick to put his arms around, along with being set close and dense. The flowers had disappeared too, the wood he knew, green and lush and fragrant with springtime blossoms and filled with animals big and small, had been replaced with a dark, constricting forest that stretched what felt like miles above his head with not an animal or spot of color in sight-except for the minimal patches of fading sunlight.

Oh...dear.

For a moment, Roman’s chest clenched with fear, not only did was he unsure of where he’d come from, but the whole atmosphere of the wood sent a slight chill up his spine.

But no! This was not how a prince should behave when confronted with a foreboding forest.

They’re just trees. And if they happen to be hiding beasts, well that’s what I came to find some anyway! This is just a little change of plan.

No need to be afraid.

So he strode on, but noticeable kept his hand on the pommel of his sword. Bravery could not diverge into recklessness after all..he’d learned that many times the hard way. And he remembered to watch his step.

For another indefinite while, he stepped through the dark wood at a pace only a tad slower than his previous, the slight nervousness in his gut only serving to tune his reflexes (or so he liked to tell himself). But soon, he noticed just a tad more light filtering through the branches. Relief was unavoidable, along with the instinct to follow it. Roman’s steps came faster, harder, until he was almost running, and he breathed a large sigh when at last the shadows parted.

He stood at the edge of what he had assumed was a clearing-but no, this seemed to be the edge of the woods for at least some extent, as while the branches still stretched, intertwined fingers reaching for the sinking sun, the trunks either leaned out over the soft grass or stood as tall as ever, but with the exception of a few, none sprouted beyond this point.

That made sense, for as he had noticed, the undisturbed rass before him was not that of a simple hole in the woods, but the bank of a magnificent lake that gleamed with reds, oranges, and golds reflecting of its mirror-like surface, the reflections of dark trees unblurred on the water.

It was beautiful.

Roman stepped forward as if trapped in a trance, kneeling by the shore and carefully dipping his hand into the water. It was cool and almost clear, and he quickly scooped some into his hands for a drink.

He could have sat there, watching the sunset and gazing at the last rays of sunlight now dipping below the horizon for however long it took for the sky to fade to black, and likely would, if not for the shape that appeared around what he would call a corner for now—this section of the lake was further inland than the rest, like a pond attached to the main body, and there was must lake to the left and right of it he could not see.

It was a bird of some sort, silhouetted black against the last light of sunset, and a grin appeared on Roman’s face, so he might have a chance of catching something after all! Well, first he had to rush back to the cover of the shadows, but the bird had not seemed to notice his rush. Nor the slight sounds of the prince lifting the crossbow from his back and loading in a bolt.  It swam across the lake to step onto the shore, and it was then that he realized the bird was in fact a swan, and not silhouetted either, oh no, every feather on its body was black as the night about to fall.

Roman raised the bow-and then stopped. A second thought flitted across his mind, this animal was truly something else, would it be right to kill it for something like a trophy? It wasn’t like he needed the meat..he bit his lip, lowering the weapon ever so slightly, and the swan stood there, as if trapped in the moment just like he was, its face turned towards the faintest light still left on the lake, as it faded, darkened, and the water was left black.

But he’d been looking all evening and found nothing! Sure, it might feel a bit better to have found a more common animal in a moral sense, but at the same time what a glorious bird! And he might actually make a kill. Surely it was—no, it was worth it. So Roman raised the bow again, finger on the trigger-

And then he went so still you could have sworn he’d caught sight of a cockatrice.

For the bird..it wasn’t quite a bird anymore. Or if it was it must be magic, for as the darkness swallowed its black form and silver light replaced gold on its feathers, it grew.

And yet it didn’t grow into a larger bird. Its body slimmed and neck shrunk, and Roman watched with both awe and a veiled sense of apprehension as it shifted size and shape, he was sure it would become a fae of some sort, like those shape-changers he’d read about, faeries that lured in prey—be it animal or human—with the shape of creatures that drew them in, only to change to their true form of an eyeless figure that hung with moss and swallow them whole, but that was not what happened.

No.

Feathers did not fade into stringy black hair, the beak did not stretch into hundreds of needle-like teeth, instead, black plumage faded both to pale skin and dark cloth, wings shrung to arms and stick-like legs thickened.

Before him was a young man.

A young man dressed in a shabby black jacket that had been repeatedly patched with what looked to be some dull purple fabric, matching dark trousers that had thin rips over the knees, and with hair only a few shades darker than his own that hung over his eyes.

Roman gasped—and the man’s head whipped around—he didn’t know what he’d expected, but he did know it wasn’t black smudges under piercing brown eyes. Somehow, the stranger was as hauntingly beautiful as a human as he had been as a swan. And now he was staring straight into Roman’s eyes, and the prince was about to open his mouth to (to what, introduce himself? Ask what the stranger was?) when the man reached into his jacket, and he realized he was seeing this all in a slow, entranced vision.

The blade of a silver knife just barely missed Roman’s cheek, thrown with terrifying strength and precision that buried itself in the tree behind him.

“WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH THAT THING!?”

(Roman makes me write so many italics WHY MUST TUMBLR NOT READ ITALICS AAAAA! But anyway, they finally meet! And yes you two, pointing weapons at each other, great. First. impressions. *slow claps*. But I am proud of all the platonic Logince in this chapter because it’s my shit and just. Yes. Now I hope I can keep this up?)

Tags: @royallyanxious @whatwashernameagain  @sandersmarvel @the-incedible-sulk @supremestoverlord @hanramz-the-fander @childhood-wishes-and-dreams @thestoryoferissur @nepturanus-thy-planet @anony-phangirl @pleasebringmerlinback @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @applecannibal @super-magical-wizard @unicornlogan @annonymmm

[realmonstersrp]

❛ want to feel alive outside but i can’t fight my fear.

INTRODUCING AHN SUNGJIN, OUR NEWEST STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF PSIONIC ENERGY MANIPULATION.

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) kind, loyal, quick-witted (–) distant, low self-esteem, late

BACKGROUND

tw: abuse, death, hints of bullying, suicide

on the first page of a black, well-loved journal:

“to innie”

“if found, please immediately return to ahn sungjin”

//below is some of the important excerpts of said journal

mirror;

remember the monsters you were scared of innie? the monsters you swore lived inside our closet?

well, my eyes caught a glimpse of the reflection of a monster today.

a monster who was colored in hues of blues and purples, a monster who screeched in a deafening cry for help yet no sound was heard, a monster who was starting to fall apart in its seams beyond tired to try and put itself back together.

i wish you were here innie. who’s going to stop the punches dad throws? who’s going to tend to the cuts and bruises? who was going to put hyung back together now?

i’m scared innie. i’m scared because the more i look in the mirror, the more tell myself, the more i ask myself –

i’m not me, who are you?

hellevator;

have you seen mom innie? is she proud of me, just as much as you were of me?

i guess not, especially if she saw you. knowing what i’ve done to you.

i wish i could be with you guys instead, it would probably be much better there with both of you than here. at least there, may be i’d be met with laughter, hugs, and kisses – here it’s all just been curses, punches, and aches.

i don’t blame dad though, i deserve it. i deserve it all, all the stabbing words, all the fists thrown, all the pain that fills me up.

now that you’re gone

there’s nothing for me, nobody really cares about me.

m.i.a;

i miss you innie. i miss you so much.

i dreamt of you again, no, not a dream, it wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare – a nightmare of that day.

dad thinks of you fondly, aloud even. he tells me you were smart, you were good-looking, you were his true heir – you were just great in everything you did innie. he tells me that he loved you so much, tells me that you were his favorite, tells me that it should’ve been me instead.

i couldn’t agree more innie, i’m sorry for what i did, it was my fault it should’ve been the bad seed, it should have been the disappointment, it should’ve been me instead.

you had so much ahead of you but because of me that was all cut short.

ah i’m crying again, but really when have i not?

i miss the little squeak in your voice when you get excited, i miss your hugs that keep me warm when i couldn’t sleep, i miss you telling me:

“take it easy and try not to think of the useless stuff.”

insomnia;

i can’t seem to fall asleep, no matter how hard i tried. this will be one of those nights were i sneak into your bed innie. you’d open your arms immediately to hold me, without hesitation and any hint of anger for waking you up, then you’d sing me to sleep. those nights were just the best nights of sleep i ever could have.

funny how i’m 7 minutes older yet i am the baby between us haha should i start calling you hyung, innie?

i’m trying to sing that song now as i hug myself to sleep tonight but it’s not the same.

when the dark night makes everyone sleep, when the fall asleep i can’t sleep because of so many thoughts.

voices;

innie i’m starting to believe them.

what have i done?

i should just end it all, give in, just as they say i should.

i’m starting to believe that i really did that to you. that i’m a killer, that i’m a murderer, that i’m a monster. i’m starting to believe everyone around me. there’s so many voices, i promise i’ve been trying to shut them out. tonight, however, it’s not working.

i can’t hear your voice any more innie, your voice that tells me to break free from the others inside my head. these voices, they’re just so many…

at some point, i only started to hear these nagging sounds.

4419;

innie, i’m at the back of the bus we always ride to get home. we had so much memories on this bus, didn’t we? can you believe that after all this time, our names that we wrote with that cheap marker is still here crystal clear. i should really get one of those before the semester starts.

oh, you’re probably wondering where i’m off to huh?

remember that school? the school for people like me? you were so persistent that i go there once we graduate, so i could learn more about how to use my powers. i’m on my way there now to get settled. i didn’t really plan on it but then i was cleaning our room then i stumbled upon the application you neatly filled up for me – you’re really sneaky huh? well i sent them the application along with my portfolio. they seemed to like my work and i got accepted in their traditional arts program.

i’ve never seen dad so happy innie, that was a first ever since… ugh i shouldn’t be thinking about that…

anyway, dad was so happy innie ‘cause finally he can get rid of me. about time, he said. don’t worry innie, i’m not sad. i’ve long grown to live with it, just like you said “take it easy and try not to think of the useless stuff”.

so i am. i will be better, i promise to do my best for you innie. i promise with my whole heart, i will make you proud.

someday, again at the same place, i dream we will meet again.

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

psionic energy manipulation

sungjin is gifted with the ability to create, shape, and manipulate psionic energy produced by the mind with his hands. the boy being able to wield it in its most physical forms. sungjin’s powers manifest in a glowing red mist much like clouds of smoke.

applications:

psi-energy influence

by channeling and manipulating psi energy in any shape or form, he is able to gain influence and control over its physical form. some basic uses of it are psionic energy attacks in form of blasts, beams, bolts, and the like. also, not to forget his favorite, psychokinetic influence where he is able to shape psionic energy around matter and control its movement. this is where sungjin is most trained and experienced in.

psi-energy flyrogenesis

a defensive ability wherein he can generate a shield of psionic energy to protect him and others from external, physical harm.

psi-detect

everyone has their own personal psionic energy in them and sungjin has found that he is able to feel them – sometimes it’s a smell, sometimes it’s a color. they’re so individual, he, himself, can’t describe how they feel for certain, he just knows they’re there. weirdly however, he feels drawn to them, he feels attracted to them, like a shark smelling a hint of blood in the vast waters. when he knows the person very well and has been with them for long, he’ll be able to figure out who they are just by the feeling of their psionic energy.

psi-phoning

the boy is able to draw out psionic energy from his subject (as long as it is capable of thinking) and use it for his own. sungjin fears this ability and avoids using this ability the most because of the haunting memory he has of it. With the terror strung into it, his siphoning ability has wired itself to bring sungjin even more dread. more often than not, when he uses this ability it somehow transports him back to his nightmares so vividly, so clear that it would seem it was just happening inside his head. this realm is of his own making, his own personal hell – everything was in hues of red; dark, and grim.

psychic shield

due to the boy’s subconscious desires to be guarded and closed off from most, if not all people, his psionic energy was able to cocoon his mental self and become resistant to mental intrusion. this does not mean sungjin’s completely immune to intrusion of the mind, the intruder will just need to exert more effort than normal.

(before getting into gumi, sungjin had no knowledge of this ability whatsoever because he had not come in contact with anyone who had been gifted with powers, more so gifted on intruding the mental psyche. another interesting fact that the boy doesn’t know is that it is the first ability to ever manifest from his gift.)

WEAKNESSES

law of equivalent exchange

theorized by his brother (due to immense obsession with anime and immense smartass-ness), this is the most important limitation that circulates his ability. in his brother’s words, “to be given influence over psionic energy, something of equal value is sacrificed in return.”

at first sungjin had no idea what his brother meant, nor did he think it made any sense. however, as the boy’s understanding over his powers grew, he knew his brother was right.

basic examples:

compare him boosting a person of average weight up for 3 seconds and lifting the same for 10 seconds. he would certainly need to use more energy for the latter than the former.

barriers of smaller sizes are able to better to withstand forces acting upon them compared to a shield with a larger area.

to use other’s psionic energy for his own, the intensity of its use needs the same energy from its owner. if sungjin is not careful enough it could lead in leaving none left for the owner which could cause serious harm.

mental strength and mental state

sungjin’s powers greatly depends on his mental strength and mental state as well. if he pushes himself over the edge it could cause him physical and mental backlash (e.g. being knock back in result of impact, nose bleeds, headaches, and fainting). if the boy mental state isn’t in good condition he could easily lose control over it and not just harm himself but those around him as well.

peek-a-boo, i feel you

the psionic energies sungjin feels vary from person to person and not all the time linked to the owner. he can feel the color yellow but the owner may think nothing of it or could just correlate with how bright they are as a person. but for him to clearly be able to tell them a part he must know them well and/or have been with them for a significant amount of time. others just feel vague and unclear, sometimes he just senses that feeling of being drawn to them.

to hell with it

sungjin can only draw out psionic energy by letting his hand/s touch the subject or hover within a maximum distance of 5 inches, any farther and he won’t be able leech of off their psi-energy. though siphoning this type of energy empowers sungjin, he’s not able to hold on to it for long.  when latched too long onto psionic energy that is not of his own, his body rejects it and results in a very destructive backlash a psionic energy blast. the longer he tries to keep it in him, the more dangerous and destructive the backlash is to him and to those near him.

it’s in your hands

a very significant physical flaw in his power is that sungjin’s hands play a huge role in directing the flow of psionic energy. if his hands were bounded or restrained in a way that prohibits him from moving them at all, renders the boy useless and unable to use his powers.

range

sungjin can direct psionic energy as long as it is in his clear line of sight. sungjin needs to focus and know where he plans on directing his powers. his offensive attacks however are more potent the closer the opponent is. around the 500 ft mark, his attacks could still pack quite a punch but more than that it would noticeably be weaker. the farther the attack travels the lower the clout.

variables to remember

there are no distinguishable limits for time, weight, and intensity as it purely depends on how the variables act upon one another.  sungjin can hold a full glass of water with ease for a long period of time as long as he focuses, however trying to lifting a car for a mere few seconds can definitely make him crack from strain.

DID YOU KNOW?

sungjin sets an alarm for almost everything and all the alarm tones are various recordings of him shouting at himself.

[flammiferr]

The Hobbit Equation

Starting my reread, I questioned the workings of hobbits more deeply than before. I questioned what exactly the difference is between Bilbo (then later the four LOTR hobbits and to a lesser extent, Buckland) and the rest of the Shire that is so distasteful.

Here’s what I came up with. 

Most hobbits: simplicity + ignorance

The distasteful exceptions: simplicity + knowledge 

Ringbearers: knowledge - simplicity

Simplicity and ignorance is the rule of the Shire, at least near Hobbiton. You can see this in the culture, the dialogue, the narration, and the priorities. They value comfort and good food, party invitations and pipeweed. The entirety of the Shire gets caught up in Bilbo’s party. The post office is flooded and overwhelmed, food is essentially the central feature of any event and hobbit parents are willing to bend their rules if it means their children get a free meal. It’s only the Speech they dread.

Hobbits are simple. They want a simple speech. Before it even starts, the hobbits dread hearing Bilbo’s poetry, or his allusions “to the absurd adventures of his mysterious journey.” The hobbits don’t want knowledge of the outside world. They want to remain isolated for the sake of simplicity, but what they end up with is willful ignorance. They look down on Buckland, call its people strange, because they ride on boats like the outsiders and live unnaturally close to the Old Forest and the edge of the Shire. They live too near to danger, to knowledge that would change them. They don’t want to hear it, and they dismiss all who do as crazy and uncivilized. They blame Frodo’s parents for their own death because they tempted fate. They say Bilbo’s cracked and Frodo’s cracking. They make fun of Sam for learning from Bilbo and condemn Gandalf, an outsider, as a disturber of the peace. 

It is with Bilbo’s Speech that this silent battle comes to the forefront. This has been simmering the entire time Bilbo has been back, and now it is boiling over. The battle is Bilbo’s knowledge and complexity versus the Shire’s willful ignorance and simplicity.

After Bilbo greets the different families, the book reads, 

“Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today! ‘Hurray! Hurray! Many Happy Returns!’ they shouted, and they hammered joyously on the tables. Bilbo was doing splendidly. This was the sort of stuff they liked: short and obvious.”

But then the Speech starts to change. He says he has called them all here for a “Purpose,” with a capital P. This is when some of the Tooks begin to listen carefully. Because Bilbo is deviating from the norm. Something about how he says this implies something new. This is a sign of Bilbo’s Speech going off the rails, and a reference to the “Took-ish spirit” of Bilbo’s that leapt at the chance for adventure all those years before. The Tooks pick up on the change, and they are interested.

Bilbo then announces that he has Three Purposes, and each one is more unacceptable than the last. The First is well received at its beginning (flattery is easy to understand), but then it becomes too complex. The hobbits are confused and unsettled. Thrown off, and made to think.

“Indeed. for Three Purposes! First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. Tremendous outburst of approval. 

I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. This was unexpected and rather difficult. There was some scattered clapping, but most of them were trying to work it out and see if it came to a compliment.

Secondly, to celebrate my birthday. Cheers again. 

Bilbo returns to the simple, and receives a positive response. They are easy to forgive this short complexity, because they don’t want to think too hard about it. They are ready to move on and are still happy to be filled with good food.

“I should say: OUR birthday. For it is, of course, also the birthday of my heir and nephew, Frodo. He comes of age and into his inheritance today. Some perfunctory clapping by the elders; and some loud shouts of ‘Frodo! Frodo! Jolly old Frodo,’ from the juniors. The Sackville-Bagginses scowled, and wondered what was meant by ‘coming into his inheritance’.

Now he alludes to what is about to happen. He is not only celebrating Frodo; he is setting up his imminent inheritance of Bag End, which of course is noticed by the Sackville-Bagginses. This is a transition from Bilbo to Frodo narratively as well. We followed Bilbo in The Hobbit, and now we will follow Frodo through The Lord of the Rings. We see that Frodo is liked by his peers, just as Bilbo once was. But the hobbits are more suspicious of Frodo because of his upbringing with the changed Bilbo. But Frodo still has his simplicity. He can balance well the simplicity of the Shire and the complexity of Bilbo. He knows how to mediate between them. Bilbo has shared his knowledge with Frodo, and Frodo does not yet have the Ring (something that will take away childlike simplicity). But the Ring is part of his inheritance, both literally and narratively. He is bound to the same fate, and the hobbits notice this as the years pass. (I’m getting ahead of myself; more about the Ring later). Frodo is still in love with the Shire, and the Shire accepts him, because he still has simplicity. He is popular: smart, adaptable, and open.

“Together we score one hundred and forty-four. Your numbers were chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if I may use the expression. No cheers. This was ridiculous. Many of his guests, and especially the Sackville-Bagginses, were insulted, feeling sure they had only been asked to fill the required number, like goods in a package. ‘One Gross, indeed! Vulgar expression.”

Here, some of Bilbo’s feelings come through. He has been isolated so long from hobbit society that he no longer sees them the same way. One Gross: an expression not meant for describing people (as stated earlier in the chapter). These hobbits, his relatives, are no longer his people. Except for Frodo. He and Frodo are now the only people he knows. He is setting them aside from the general populace. And it is this populace, these people present, that he wants to send a message to. And these hobbits are now both unsettled and angered, now even most of the Tooks. Bilbo, no longer caring what they think of him, is committing social suicide before he leaves just so he can finally challenge their way of life.

“It is also, if I maybe allowed to refer to ancient history, the anniversary of my arrival by barrel at Esgaroth on the Long Lake; though the fact that it was my birthday slipped my memory on that occasion. I was only fifty-one then, and birthdays did not seem so important. The banquet was very splendid, however, though I had a bad cold at the time, I remember, and could only say ‘thag you very buch’. I now repeat it more correctly: Thank you very much for coming to my little party. Obstinate silence. They all feared that a song or some poetry was now imminent; and they were getting bored. Why couldn’t he stop talking and let them drink to his health? But Bilbo did not sing or recite. He paused for a moment. 

Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT. He spoke the last word so loudly and suddenly that everyone sat up who still could. I regret to announce that -- though, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you -- this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW, GOODBYE!

He stepped down and vanished.

Bilbo has felt since his adventure that he has been keeping a secret: the secret of culture, history, the Ring, adventure. Knowledge that he has been trying to share for years, but the hobbits have been willingly blind and deaf to it. This creates an unhappy dichotomy -- a tension that Bilbo releases in his Speech. He literally SHOUTS his differences at the hobbits, going through the list of what they think is unacceptable or what they don’t like. He has everything in this speech: complex words, references to adventure and foreign places, ‘One Gross.’ And when he does this, even though they’ve been insulted, they pass it off as just mad old Bilbo. Because that is easier than examining it. But there is unrest; the hobbits are upset that he made them think. For a brief moment, they are speechless. Frodo gives them a simple explanation they can accept, but for a while, they are still disturbed; even good food will not satisfy them. Bilbo has succeeded in briefly challenging their way of thinking. But then the hobbits blame Gandalf, an outsider, and decide that Bilbo must have fallen in a pool or river and died. A normal way of dying -- his adventure cut short with a realistic end, as a warning to any who might also get such silly ideas. They want things to be simple as they always were, but Bilbo is on a different level; all of his knowledge, his complexity, made him an outcast. One side has to give.

Bilbo has lost both his simplicity and his ignorance, and thus cannot stay in the Shire. He no longer belongs. There is no place for him. Frodo, as the years pass after the party, also begins to lose this belonging, and often regrets not going with Bilbo. He knows things about the world, he knows that great and terrible things are out there. That knowledge becomes a burden in the Shire, where no one else knows or cares; just like the simplicity and ignorance of Sam, Merry, and Pippin are initially an obstacle for them in navigating the world outside. But Frodo is different. Wheras Sam, Merry, and Pippin have a hard time because they still belong to the Shire, Frodo has a hard time in the Shire because he’s starting not to belong. What is different about him, then, that Sam, who was also taught by Bilbo, does not share? 

The Ring, the sinister part of Frodo’s inheritance. Part of Frodo’s dissatisfaction may also come from his personality, but the Ring is an instrument for the loss of simplicity. It creates dissatisfaction, the want for more. It twists who you are, and you lose your innocence. This is the thing that drove Gollum, another hobbit-like creature, away from his own people. The longer Frodo carries the Ring, the more he forgets about the simple things. As he gets closer to Mordor, and the Ring becomes stronger, we get this dialogue from Frodo: “I can't recall the taste of food, nor the sound of water, nor the touch of grass.” This is eerily similar to what Gollum experienced under the mountains, where the Ring had so long to corrupt him.

“And we wept, Precious, we wept to be so alone. And we only wish to catch fish so juicy sweet. And we forgot the taste of bread... the sound of trees... the softness of the wind.”

This quote is a close echo of Frodo’s (or rather, vice versa). The Ring works to separate you from comfort, to go against your nature. For the simple hobbits, this is good food, nature, and especially companionship. This is why Frodo would have failed without Sam and his loyalty. Sam not only reminded him of these simple things (with his yet intact simplicity); he refused to leave Frodo even when the Ring tried to drive Sam away.

Eventually, even Sam, who also bore the Ring however briefly, feels the need to leave the Shire and sail like Frodo and Bilbo did. Frodo and Sam are the only two that listened to Bilbo’s stories and poetry as children. They had that knowledge from early on, and the Ring took away their childlike simplicity.

Merry and Pippin are different. They retain their simplicity throughout the story and beyond. Their shared connection of simplicity with the Shire allows them to become excellent leaders with the knowledge and experience that they gained. This difference and growth is highlighted in the Scouring of the Shire, when the hobbits take charge and Merry blows the horn of Rohan in response to Sandyman. I’ll get into this when I get to the end of my reread.

Finally, we’ll look at the Grey Havens. This is where Merry and Pippin most show their difference from Frodo and Sam. After Frodo leaves, Sam is comtemplative, sorrowful, and silent (though he can still delight in his family). Merry and Pippin walk back to the Shire singing. They are still joyful, mature and yet childlike (as opposed to the childish ignorance of the Shire previously). They still have their simplicity and, after the Shire has been so rocked, can bring their knowledge to the changed Shire in a subtle way. Because it was by the hobbits’ ignorance that they were susceptible to Saruman.

Merry and Pippin have been built up by their adventures, they have grown (literally and figuratively) and give off an aura of competence but also an aura of joy. They adapted to the world beautifully. Frodo and Sam were torn down by their adventures, Frodo so much so that he can no longer find peace in Middle Earth, while Sam can still be rebuilt by his family and his own rebuilding of the Shire itself. By restoring the nature of the Shire, he restores a bit of that simplicity in himself, until his own time to sail.

To conclude (at last), the proper growth of a hobbit is from childish to childlike: something Frodo achieved before even leaving the Shire. He experienced negative growth with his loss of simplicity, and thus, like Bilbo, was no longer able to stay in the Shire. He did, however, go a bit more quietly than Bilbo, whose Speech was the manifestation of the dichotomy of ignorance vs. knowledge, and a measure of how the Shire needed to change. So this is the hobbit equation: simplicity and ignorance, or simplicity and knowledge. The Ring takes one away from their nature, and they become un-hobbitlike, like Gollum became un-hobbitlike. Theirs is a healing that can now only come from the peace of Valinor.

(This has gotten abhorrently long. I’ll continue building on this idea as I go through the books, along with my other thoughts and theories. Hope you enjoyed! )

[spn-imagines]

Connection Part 3

*It’s almost 2am but I didn’t want to wait to post this, so here is Part 3! Please do not hesitate to send feedback! Enjoy!*

Warnings: Mentions of murder/death, mourning.

Part 1

Part 2

“Here is the schedule that you will be following. Your first class of the day is English with Ms. Blake - lovely woman. Once you get the rest of your papers, I’ll show you where the classroom is,” the principal explained, straightening out his suit. He was a kind man with a very laid-back demeanor, and hadn’t stopped assuring you that you would be great in this school. “You’re lucky you moved here early in the school year; you’ll have barely any catching up to do.”

Sam was watching you with immense pride. He adored witnessing you in school, since it brought back personal memories from when he had been a student himself. It was obvious he still had a soft spot for learning, and you felt guilty for disliking school when it had always been a dream for Sam. You glanced at your brother to return the smile, knowing you’d appreciate this experience for his benefit more than your own.

A woman approached you with a map of the school and your locker code. While you began speaking with her, you noticed Sam straighten up and focus on something that was happening behind you, his smile gone. A knot formed in your stomach and you tried to politely end the conversation, taking the papers and quickly following Sam’s gaze.

It was the sheriff. He was standing in the office, several officers around him, his face clearly expressing his exhaustion. He spoke lowly to the woman at the front desk, and you watched in curiosity as she responded by quietly making a phone call. His eyes traveled up from her and locked onto the sight of you and Sam. He offered a faint smile, nodding to you in acknowledgement.

“I’ll be right back,” Sam told you, his eyes never leaving the sheriff.

“Is everything okay?” you asked the principal, trying to act innocent. He smiled at you.

“Of course. The sheriff is probably just here to visit his son, who goes to school here,” he responded calmly, though his hands were fidgeting. You saw right through the lie, knowing well that he was either here to make an arrest or question a suspect.

“I should bring you to class now that you have everything you need,” the principal said with a painfully cheerful tone.

“I just want to say goodbye to my brother first,” you told him, smiling and turning to walk towards Sam. You stopped a few feet away from him and smiled at the sheriff, who shifted Sam’s attention to you.

“I’m going to class now,” you stated, your eyes silently questioning if everything was alright. Sam smiled warmly and pulled you into a hug.

“Everything is fine. You’re going to do great. Me or Dean will pick you up later,” he said. You held onto him for an extra second, feeling him press a kiss onto the top of your head.“Have a good first day.”

“I will,” you said gently. You slowly let go and returned to the principal, who led you into the hallway. As you walked past the dull lockers, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You slipped it out, careful to hide it from the principal, and saw you had a message from Dean.

You’re gonna be great, kiddo. Kick some ass today.

A smile tugged at your lips. You always appreciated how much your brothers supported you, no matter what it was that you were doing. You pushed your phone back into your pocket, feeling more confident than you had before.

You were stopped in front of a classroom. The principal went in first, politely interrupting the teacher to inform her that the new student had arrived. You hesitantly stepped in after him, and you could feel everybody’s eyes on you. It was dreadful. You couldn’t find the nerve to look back at the class, so you focused your eyes on your shoes.

“Y/N, welcome. My name is Miss Blake. It’s a pleasure to have you in my class,” the teacher said to you. You looked up at her to shake her hand. She was young and thin, her dark hair falling in waves onto her chest. Her dim green eyes watched you politely, and her handshake very gentle. The principal dismissed himself, leaving you feeling completely alone in a room full of strangers.

“There’s an empty seat right over there,” Miss Blake told you, gesturing to a seat in front of a boy wearing a blue and white flannel. His clothing choice automatically reminded you of your brothers, the thought of them allowing you to relax slightly. You shuffled to your seat and sat down, keeping your eyes focused on your hands, trying to avoid any unnecessary attention.

You could feel people staring, and you hated it. You tried your best to focus on what the teacher was saying, looking at the blank notebook in front of you, your fingers clicking your pen. It only took a few minutes for your attention to be gone, your eyes wandering the classroom, taking in the new sights around you.

Your gaze landed on the windows, and you realized they were not normal. You had been so focused on avoiding eye contact when walking in that you didn’t realize some of the windows were cracked, as if something had been thrown at them, and others were taped up with cardboard.

“Birds went crazy,” the boy behind you whispered. You jumped, turning to see him leaning close to you. He smiled, and it was lopsided. “They just flew into the windows, it was crazy. It got us out of class, though.” You could only stare at him. You attempted to smile, and turned back towards the front, slipping your phone out to inform your brothers. You had only gotten through one sentence when someone cleared their throat above you.

Peeking up, you saw Miss Blake standing over you, her arms crossed. You nearly groaned at the look of disappointment on her face. You were only ten minutes into your first class and you had already upset your teacher. You knew that Sam would be upset if he found out, so you immediately put away your phone and apologized a few times, trying to suck up.

“I’m going to let it slide, since you’re just learning the rules today. Before you got here, I made it very clear I didn’t want any phones in this class. Don’t let it happen again,” she warned. Her voice was gentle while she spoke to you, but you knew she was serious, and the last thing you wanted was to have a bad reputation on the first day. You apologized again, and watched her walk back to the front of the class. Your cheeks felt hot from the regained attention on yourself, and your stomach was bundled with nerves. You didn’t dare look up from your notebook for the rest of the period.

****

It felt like your first class stretched on forever, but as soon as the bell rang, you sprang up and headed into the hallway, avoiding any conversation with people who felt the need to welcome you to the school. Your schedule showed that you had a free block, so you decided to take this time to search for your locker. Even though the hallway was pretty crowded with students moving to their next classes, it only took you a few minutes to find your locker. Much to your luck, it was right next to a locker that was turned into a memorial. People were passing by and leaving flowers, pictures, or other sentimental objects. Taking in the sight of this, you decided it was the right time to call Dean. He picked up after the first ring.

“Hey, kiddo, is everything okay?” he inquired.

“This place is weird,” you stated.

“Weird how?”

“First of all, I went into my first class and all of the windows were broken. Some were just cracked but others were actually boarded up. Some kid said birds went crazy and flew into them. How does that even happen? And how do they fly through the windows?”

“Beats me.”

“And to top off my morning, I’m at my locker now and it seems that a fellow student has died, since his memorial is right next to me. I can’t put my books away in peace,” You heard Dean chuckle.

“That sucks. We know that another student died, though. That’s why the sheriff was at the school this morning. Actually, I think he might still be there. Sam said he was going to question some students, and that might take a while.”

“Really? I have a free block now so I’ll head down there and check it out.”

“Hey - be careful. Make sure you stay one step ahead.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Alright. Call me if you find anything else,” he said. You hung up and opened your locker, putting away the book you received in your first class. When you shut the door, a girl was standing there, watching you.

“Jesus!” you exclaimed, jumping back. Was this school trying to test your personal space?

“I like the color of your shirt,” she stated, her fingers twirling a lock of her hair. It was long and strawberry blonde, curled perfectly, her lipstick matching the color. She wore a collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and it was tucked into a dark fitted skirt. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink color, and she was looking at you as if she knew everything about you. It made you extremely uncomfortable.

“Um, thank you?” you replied. You tried to walk away from her, but she held her hand out to stop you.

“I’m Lydia. I was in your english class this morning. Where did you move here from?”

“Kansas,” you murmured, trying to make it clear that you didn’t want to talk to her. She didn’t stop.

“And what brings Dorothy here to California?” she asked. You cringed at the nickname. You had heard that joke too many times.

“Family business.”

“What does that mean?”

“My brothers are FBI agents. They’re here to look into a case.” You noticed Lydia freeze for a second. Something flickered across her face, almost like fear, but it was gone in an instant.

“Well, hopefully they do their job, so we can avoid all of this from happening again,” she waved a finger at the scene behind you.

“Me too,” you said. The quicker a case went, the happier you were. Ever since you moved into the bunker, it felt like you had a home for once, and motels were much less exciting to be in. You found yourself wishing for cases to be solved within days so you could return to your own bedroom, your own bathroom, your own library. You liked having a coffee maker. You liked yelling at Dean for walking around in a robe - it was better than watching him sleep in jeans.

“Lydia!” a voice shouted from down the hall, bringing you back from your thoughts. You saw the plaid-shirt boy from first period running towards you and Lydia. When he approached you, he slowed down and smiled.

“Hey,” he greeted, looking excited to talk to you.

“I have to go,” you said quickly, not wanting to be stuck in another conversation. The boy looked stunned, the smile dropping from his lips. Lydia nearly rolled her eyes.

“Fine, but I’m going to find you later. We have to buy you some new clothes. I may like the color, but the plaid is a little too much,” Lydia told you, and you could tell it was more of a demand than a request. You certainly disagreed with her, but still mumbled in agreement to get her off your back. You began to walk away.

“Wait! What’s your name again?” the boy asked.

“Y/N,” you said over your shoulder. You were a few steps away from them now.

“I’m Stiles,” he said. Your feet stopped moving. You glanced back at him, your eyes wide. A girl walked past the memorial and broke into sobs. He looked from you to her, watching her walk by. He sighed in disappointment.

“Welcome to Beacon Hills,” he muttered with fake enthusiasm.

Tags: @the-amaranthine @fly-f0rever @joyfulinfluencermoon @milllionthingsihaventdone @dontstopxx @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @goldensal @music-and-books-save-lives

[josephleventhal]

My Soul To Keep

My Soul to Keep

The truth was inescapable. Every particle of my very being communicated this with such intensity that I had to face this horrifying fact: I was dying. To be sure, I was still fully conscious, with my faculties in full operation. Nonetheless, I was dying. And dreadful though I may think it, death was what I most truly desired. Why, if the notion of death so disturbed me, did I so desire death? Because I was a prisoner. I was being held captive within a useless, ineffectual body, and I had to get free from its suffocating hold on me. As well, I knew not when death would seize me, yet I knew that moment was fast approaching.

I was afflicted with a fatal disease, almost to the day, six years ago. Up to that time, I was extremely active and amazingly healthy. I was rarely ill, and was quite fond of exercise and adventurous outdoor activities. It was an exceptional occasion, indeed, in which I ever had need of a visit to my physician’s office.

My current condition began at first with very slight numbing of my left knee. This sensation left eight months later, but only for a brief period of time. When the numbness returned, it rapidly progressed to my left foot, causing that foot to flop, resulting in an annoying “slap” as I walked. This condition persisted for a full two years, with neither my doctor nor the “specialists’” being able to determine the cause or a cure.

The symptoms started increasing, with my physical condition deteriorating quite rapidly. About three years ago, my left leg became completely paralyzed, soon followed by my right. My entire body, head and face excluded, eventually became utterly paralyzed. No known cause, no known cure. Hence my desire to die and escape my tortuous imprisonment.

Interestingly, I had during both my youth and adulthood been extraordinarily fascinated with death. More accurately, my interest lie with what occurred following death; the so-called “after-life.” The questions ran continually through my mind, begging to be solved, pleading for resolution: Is there a soul or form of spirit that lives on after the body dies, or do we simply enter into a “state” of non-existence? Is the spirit, if it exists, eternal? Is reincarnation myth or reality? I have spent countless hours in deep, meaningful contemplation upon these questions and many other related uncertainties.

While seeking answers to my myriad questions concerning what occurs after death, I had come to a most definite conclusion: I did not want to cease existing! I had, for the most part, enjoyed life and cherished my existence; that is, of course, until the occurrence of my current predicament. Furthermore, while quite illogical, non-existence very much frightened me.

However, with all of my ramblings and confessions, I neglected to make known one important fact: I have never fully subscribed to a belief in life after death or the existence of an everlasting spirit or soul. Nonetheless, I maintained a hope that such was the case.

I was now ready, even eager, to move on and discover the answers to my life-long questions. I had become trapped within the prison of my useless body. Though I could not speak, I sensed that my daughter and friends, gathering around to witness my last living moments, understood the warmth and comfort their presence brought me. I felt no pain, aside from the mental anguish of being trapped within an ineffectual body. I as well took comfort in knowing that I would be buried next to my beloved wife, who died two years past.

Her death was the result of a car collision, which occurred when she was driving on her way to pick me up from a hospital visit. A mother was more concerned with her two children squabbling in the back seat, than she was with the road ahead of her, and her vehicle drifted into the opposing lane, and collided with that of my wife. Chance may be that we might unite in some possible afterlife, and I wanted that with all of my being.

My sight suddenly grew dim, and I found myself floating in darkness. A faint, but incredibly white light emerged and began gradually enveloping me (my consciousness) in a soft glow, like a shell shielding me from the foreboding blackness. From the darkness beyond my faint, soft white shell of light, emerged a presence, an aura almost shapeless in appearance, and darker even than my present realm.

Was this some sort of dream or nightmare, induced by the horrid stress of my abominable condition? No, I sensed somehow that it was not. Was I experiencing death? Yes, that seemed much more likely. Surely I must have passed from life, and I would finally be free from the torturous entrapment of my incompetent physical form. I anxiously awaited discovery as to what would now become of me, fear now starting to

overwhelm and suffocate me. Time passed. How much, I know not. Maybe minutes, maybe hours, maybe

days. For me, it seemed akin to the proverbial eternity. Then, from the shadowy presence emanated a voice that seemed to come not from any particular direction, but from all directions. Yet I by some means knew that the voice belonged to it.

“A choice,” declared the presence in a voice that was neither deep nor shrill, smooth nor gruff, but immensely chilling none-the-less, and seemed to reside in the deepest caverns of my consciousness. “You must now make a choice.” Moments passed, and I attempted to reflect on and comprehend the meaning of this increasingly unsettling experience. Then the voice broke the silence.

“You may choose eternal existence in the form of your soul, or you may choose to cease all existence, to become nothing.

“Before you decide, understand two facts,” continued my guide, as “guide” is what I had come to think of the indistinct, gloomy presence before me.

“Firstly, your decision is permanent. It binds your fate for all eternity.” I experienced what can only be described as a chill running through my consciousness (or possibly soul?) as I realized the immensity of the options placed before me.

“Secondly, just as does life, so eternal existence of the soul comes with a price. The nature of that price I will not reveal.”

I felt relief and a bit of excitement as I realized that my life-long questions were finally meeting with answers: Yes, the soul of man does exist! Yes, the soul lives eternally, or at least has the potential for eternal existence!

I had made my decision; admittedly in haste, borne from my desire for continued existence, but also with confidence. I would finally be free! Oh, how I hoped my wife had decided as I had. Together again, at longest last!!

I had somehow made my choice known to my “guide,” (for I could not speak or communicate in a any manner that I was aware of), for there came the reply, “This will be done.” My state abruptly faded, and I awoke, finding myself back in my room, still surrounded by family and friends.

A dream! It was all a damnable dream! An utterly ill-begotten delusion. Still no answers to my questions. Still the dread of uncertainty. I saw the beautiful face of my

daughter, her large, deep-blue, almond-shaped eyes gazing down at me, eyes full of love, caring and concern. How I wished I could tell her of my dream, and how real it had seemed. But, alas, the disease had robbed me of the act of speech, and I knew of no way of communicating my experience.

Whiteness! Suddenly, my vision was ablaze with intense whiteness and nothing else! Whiter than pure snow, whiter than anything I had ever seen or experienced. The whiteness then released its hold on my vision as quickly as it had seized it, and my sight abruptly returned to its normal state.

“ What was that?!” I silently screamed. My eyes quickly scanned, within their limits, each face of those near me, to discover if any but me had experienced the explosion of white light. Their expressions revealed they had not.

A deep sense of depression grew about me. Bad, life-like dreams and nonsensical illusions. My mind was becoming as useless as my body. My desire to depart this life grew to tremendously new heights!

I slept for an unknown amount of time, waking up with quite a start. My sight was again fading, and a feeling of what can only be described as “true nothingness” began to enshroud me. I instinctively knew this sensation not to be a trick of my mind. I knew my time had arrived. “Finally, one way or another, I will be set free!” was my last thought as I slipped into that aforementioned “nothingness.”

Nothingness gradually gave way to awareness. I was aware of only deep, dark blackness. I was confused, bewildered. Was I dead? Yes, I most certainly must be. Was I in some sort of transitional phase, like that of Purgatory? Yet, I was still aware of only that deep void of blackness.

I recalled my recent dream, of the choice I was given, and of my choosing to exist as an everlasting soul. To be free from the confines of the fragile body, and the boundaries of time and space.

A sound! I became cognizant of a very faint sound piercing the void. For an extraordinarily long time the sound remained faint. That sound slowly, ever so steadily, grew into a sound I recognized: I was hearing a scream! That frightening scream was soon joined by others, forming a cacophony of haunting, agonizing screams.

My bafflement suddenly transformed into understanding. I had been mysteriously infused with certain knowledge, with a horrifying comprehension. Dread arose within me. I now knew that the dream and vision of whiteness were real. That the shadowy figure and its words were existent. I had in fact made a choice, and the white flash I had experienced earlier, the flash that neither my daughter nor my friends attending my bedside had witnessed, confirmed my decision. My soul would indeed live on forever. I had, however, gained an absolutely terrifying, horrible insight: THE SOUL NEVER, EVER LEAVES THE BODY!

There was indeed a price to be paid. I was to be forever imprisoned in perpetual darkness in the tomb of my lifeless body, even as the flesh decayed from the bones, and even as the bones, through the eons of time, turned to dust. No non-existence, no Heaven, no free-spirited existence, not even reincarnation, but what I could only comprehend as ETERNAL HELL!

And those utterly horrendous, sickening screams? They are the voices of the many hundreds buried before me in this same cemetery, who had also come to the realization of their sentence of everlasting anguish! Panic, like an immense and terrifying wave, arose within me and swiftly enveloped my imprisoned soul.

That dreadfully haunting chorus of screams was now joined by another. 

(Unusual Happenings: Tales of Death, Dreams and Dimensions, 2016)

[writingcommons-blog1]

“The Moment” by Mattie F.

There are numerous moments that change your life. From the time we are born, a series of events are set into motion, and yet we never foresee which one is going to change our lives. Perhaps the change will be pleasant, or maybe it will be disruptive, but when the moment arrives, you know your ‘normal’ is going to change. Sometimes these moments are simple, such as graduating from high school or going on a date with someone you’re interested in. Sometimes we have the option to choose our moments, for example, deciding which college to attend, picking which car to spend your savings on, choosing someone to talk to in a room full of strangers. And then there are the bad moments. The ones that blindside you and leave your lungs gasping for air, and you’re left wondering why it had to happen.

My moment, the one that changed my ‘normal’, was filled with loss and regret. To this day, those wounds haven’t disappeared, though they have scarred over with time. My grandmother was one of the most important people in the world to me. Like me, she had a series of events leading to her death, starting with a diagnosis of cancer. Before the end of her life, she taught me numerous lessons, and I will always cherish my memories of her.

For as long as I can remember, I had been visiting my grandmother weekly. Nearly every Saturday, my mother would drive the twenty minute commute and drop me off at her modest home. A long row of trimmed, round bushes guided guests up her sidewalk and into the crystallized glass doorway. The entirety of her house was decorated with shades of brown, such as the plush rug underfoot whenever one entered her living room. Ever the lover of antiques, she had numerous vintage, exquisitely painted lamps and vases throughout the house. Even now, I can picture the warm lighting in her living room that welcomed visitors as soon as they entered her home. Her house adopted the scent she always wore, Imari by Avon. Now, I associate the soft scent of vanilla and crisp sandalwood with memories of her.

My grandmother never learned how to drive, and after the death of her husband twenty years before I was born, she relied on an income of social security and the support of her youngest son who lived with her. Her height had shrunk with her age, she donned a short, curly, gray hairstyle, and rarely wore makeup. The few times I saw her with lipstick were special occasions, and I knew I had to be on my best behavior whenever I saw the bright smear of red across her lips. Whenever we ate together, she minded her manners and was not afraid to gently correct my own. Her direct, focused gaze and the slight shake of her head never failed to chasten me.

During our visits, we talked about everything under the sun. From my scrawled drawings to my tests, from political scandal to local gossip, we spent many hours simply sitting on her worn, brown couch and chatting. She always spoke to me as though I was an adult, though I wasn’t even a teenager at the time. She listened to my opinions, and taught me that what I have to say does matter.

My grandmother had a drawer in her kitchen dedicated to numerous decks of cards. More often than not, I chose the Exotic Birds deck for us to play with. In that deck, the images of kings and queens were replaced with vibrant, detailed photographs of macaws. Those cards were my favorite because I could see every vivid hue of the rainbow and detail in their feathers, and their eyes seemed to twinkle with life. However, throughout our numerous games, it became apparent that I had a problem. I hated losing, so I resorted to making sure I always won — in short, I cheated. Even then, I didn’t always win; I had to make sure my grandmother never caught on. Eventually, I slipped up, and that was when I knew I had never truly managed to fool her. All she did was simply look at me over her cards and ask if I was cheating. I blushed and used my hand to hide my sneaky smile on my lips, and shook my head in denial. We never mentioned it again. Sure, I cheated from time to time, but over the course of our visits I learned to enjoy simply spending time with my grandmother, and not focus on winning the games.

With each visit and each game of cards, my grandmother became one of the most important people in my life. She loved me and treated me with respect, even though I was young and naïve. Between games of Go Fish and Old Maid, she taught me that my opinions and words are worth listening to. I am grateful to her for giving me confidence and her love, despite my numerous flaws.

The little details I remember about my grandmother are the most important to me. For example, the island in her kitchen was always full of platters filled with sweets for guests. Moving around grew more and more difficult for her in her old age, but she made certain she was always a courteous hostess. My grandmother always hugged me when I left, leaving the lingering scent of sandalwood on my clothes. Her nickname for me was “Peaches,” and she called me by that name ever since I was born. Looking back, I wish I would have had the foresight to ask her why.

My grandmother passed away on April 27th of 2013 at the age of 79. In the last year of her life, she was battling uterine cancer that had metastasized, spreading to her stomach and lungs. Although she had the option to go through chemotherapy, her cancer was terminal. She decided not to proceed even though the radiation could have extended her life by six months. She told me she had made peace with God and missed her husband, the grandfather I never knew. I understood why she was ready and agreed with whatever decision she wanted to make. I could not, however, prepare myself for the loss I felt when she was gone.

I had heard the phrase, “Funerals are for the living” before, but I never understood how true it was until my dear grandmother died. My mother soon became busy with my uncles preparing for the wake and the service. The planning soon turned into a feud, splitting my mother and my uncles into two sides. They couldn’t decide on anything: not the caterers, the priest, or the casket. Not even the food was a simple decision between five furious, grieving people. The days after my grandmother’s death turned into a huge, stressful battle, until arrangements were finalized. Too young and not qualified to have a say in the preparations, I waited for hours and listened to the heated arguments between the adults. Even then, while words of anger and pride settled into my mind, reality hadn’t sunk in. The weight of the loss of my grandmother hadn’t hit me until the moment came for her to be buried.

I remember that moment well, the moment that changed something inside me. The moment that changed the way I viewed life. After the service, it was time to drive to the cemetery in which she would be buried. The car ride seemed to take forever, though it must only have been ten minutes. Rain had started to fall during our trek to my grandmother’s final resting place, and by the time we arrived, it had turned into a downpour. Once our vehicle was parked, my mother and I walked over to the casket, taking small, measured steps so as not to slip in the mud. I remember noticing that every umbrella in the crowd near the casket was black. There weren’t any vibrant colors, and all of the sunlight was drowned out by the thick, black clouds above us.

To this day, I cannot remember a single word of the priest’s final blessings. I vividly remember my mother clutching my shoulders, burying her face in my neck as I held her. Her tears dampened my shirt, along with the rain for which we didn’t plan for. The sky seemed to open up and cry with us as we witnessed my grandmother’s casket slowly lower six feet into the earth. I blinked to clear my eyes of my tears, and let them drip down my cheeks to mingle with the rain. My eyes burned not only from tears, but also with the mascara I had stupidly chosen to wear that morning. No doubt about it, I looked like a drowned raccoon, but I could not tear my gaze away from the last piece of my grandmother I would ever see. It was the least I could do for the woman who had been such an integral part of who I’d become.

Until that moment, I had never felt such excruciating, heart-wrenching pain in my chest before. It seemed to burn through my entire body, and if it weren’t for my mother who I was supporting, I think I would have fallen down with the sudden feeling of dread and loss. Until that moment, it hadn’t clicked for me. I would never be able to drive her to a doctor’s appointment, because my driver’s license was still three years away. She wouldn’t be there to see me graduate from high school or college. She wouldn’t be able to see any more of her great-grandchildren. I wasn’t ever going to get a chance to play cards with her again. Not only were there moments I would never be able to experience with her, but I was suddenly filled with questions I still had yet to ask. An immense feeling of regret settled into the pit of my stomach. I would never see my mentor, my grandmother, ever again.