#his whole life purpose was gone in a flash and he was the cause of it--nobody to blame but himself

[engagemythrusters]

domino twins

[ksmline]

star [bang chan x reader]

you first catch sight of chan at an award show, and you just have to have him.

pairing: stray kids bang chan x female!reader

info/warnings: NSFW!!, reader is an actress but it kind of unintentionally ends up becoming irrelevant to the smut part. porn without plot, inconsistent writing style, kind of rushed, GENDERED TERMS (pretty girl, etc), unprotected sex

word count: 1.6k

it's my first time writing smut so if you're reading this you're just going to have to forgive me.

i only want ADULTS who are 18+ interacting with this post. any minors interacting with this post or following this blog WILL promptly be blocked.

never in your life have you drooled over a man like this. you’re used to people drooling over you— the super hot, super successful mega star actress with a face card so lethal it could kill a person. as such, you’ve never really had to do much of anything at all to get guys you’re interested in. they flock to you like moths to a flame.

this is why you’re in a dilemma now, standing next to this fucking hunk of a man at some award show you don’t even remember the purpose of. you’ve only been able to steal so many glances through your peripheral vision, at the risk of alerting your hyper vigilant fans, but it’s more than enough to send a heat rushing between your legs. the slope of his nose, his pretty pink lips, the expanse of his chest peeking through his loose silk shirt, the veins on his hands … he turns around to say something to his teammate (the blonde haired doe eyed pretty boy with the freckles), and you catch his accent. fucking hell. you want this man. you hunger for this man.

you hear the blonde guy say his name. chan. you don’t think you’ll get to use it tonight; as confident and extroverted as you usually are, chan has sent you into this helpless haze where even if somebody were to say hi to you it’d cause your entire system to malfunction and shut down. you want him to like you so bad. you want him to think you’re pretty and hot and sexy and tell you the things you hear all the time anyway but in a much more intimate way with that sexy accent of his. you want him to take you to bed and have you whichever way he pleases.

you can feel how red your ears are, and you couldn’t have been more glad that your hair is styled down right now. you don’t even know what’s more embarrassing, the fact that you are this horny for a stranger in public, or this girlish, childish crush on him that you developed in under the five minutes that you guys have been standing next to each other. at this point, all you really can do is wait for this whole thing to be over so you can go back home, search his name online, finger yourself to the first video of him you see, and then try to fall asleep and will him away from your thoughts. it’s not like you’ll see him again after tonight. right?

anywho, you somehow make it through the event. it’s mostly thanks to the management reseating the attendees for whatever reason, and chan being at a safer distance from you, but you give yourself a pat on the back regardless. for someone who’s only come to grapple with the concept of having a crush instead of being someone else’s for once just an hour ago, you’ve handled it quite well. as discreetly as you can with a million cameras flashing in your face, anyway.

the show’s over now, and nearly all the celebrities are gone. chan and his group fell back so they could say bye to their fans, but now security’s shooing the last of them out. your team makes to usher you out to your car, and you watch (more comfortably now that your fans are out of the picture) as the stray kids boys begin to file into their vans too. you stare at chan’s back as he hurries behind them, a regretful yearning oozing from your eyes.

your manager is quick to catch on, a devilish smile beginning to play on her lips. you turn around, about to disagree with whatever’s about to come out of her mouth, and— fuck, fuck, fuck.

chan’s coming back. he’s coming back and he’s headed towards you. you don’t even know if he’s going to approach you or walk past you, maybe to go get something he forgot, but you start panicking anyway, eyes darting all over the place to avoid meeting his. christ, you’ve never been such a mess before, especially for a guy. you don’t have time to ponder this now, because chan’s standing in front of you, leaving you to take him in in all his glory. 

you say a quick word to your manager, something about meeting up with her by the car later, and the team disperses. it then takes everything in you to pull yourself together and channel your collected, professional actress disposition before facing chan properly.

 “hi there.” you flash him your best smile. “can i help you?”

“fucking hell,” chan curses, pushing you against the hotel door as he holds your leg straddled around his waist. you keep your mouth on his, pulling your dress up and around your hips. your wet panties grind against his clothed bulge, and he lets out the horniest, most pornographic moan into your mouth. you take this as your cue to finally reach down between you and touch him, palming his bulge. you’re just about to unzip his fly, before he pulls away. 

you must look confused, hurt almost, because he reaches out to caress your cheek with a gentleness that contrasts literally everything you guys have been doing so far. “not like this, baby. properly.” and then he makes you straddle him tighter, carrying you to the bed and laying you down. then he kisses you again, all soft and wet. his hand disappears beneath your dress, stroking your pussy. you lean into him, mouth falling open in much awaited relief. he keeps talking. “need to make you feel good, too.”

and that he does. just as you feel like you could cum just from this, chan pulls his hand away, and proceeds to spread your legs out as much as he can. then he falls back over you, pulling your dress down just enough for your tits to pop out fully. his eyes glaze over. you look divine; baring your wet panties to him, breasts so round and soft and perfect. he licks his fingers before using them to play with your now hard nipple.

“you’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” chan fondles your boobs, patting them gently so they jiggle. you jerk, only being able to nod in your sex hungry state. “i tried so hard to keep from getting hard at the award show. could only think of you and these pretty, round tits.” 

you grab his wrist and shove it inside your panties, using it to get yourself off. “was so wet for you, chan.” your eyes roll back. “the entire award show. i was this wet for you. see? feel. i was— ah, fuck— so wet … almost— almost gave in and t-touched myself in front of everyone. i was— i was so embarrassed, channie.”

“oh my god. fucking hell, me too, baby.” he’s palming his bulge again, touching himself to your words. “kept thinking about what you were hiding under this slutty fucking dress. wanted to see all of you. wanted to see these big, fat tits, and this dripping wet pussy.”

you cum all over his hand, eyes glassy and mouth open. usually, you’d be embarrassed. but not with chan. you feel so naughty, this feels so wrong but you still feel more aroused than you’ve ever been with any man. you show him his hand, all wet with your slick. “look, channie.”

“i’m looking, honey.” he uses his wet hand, rubbing your cum onto your nipples. “can you show me more of you? if that’s okay?” you nod. “good girl.”

chan finally takes off your sopping wet panties, exposing your clit to him, shining with your juices. he pulls you to sit up, reaching over to rearrange you so you’re on all fours. “there we go, pretty girl.” he runs his index finger through your folds, marveling at how much you came. then he presses his tongue to your pussy, licking and sucking at it before adding his fingers to the mix.

“oh, fuck. chan, ah—” 

he brings you to your breaking point once more, before pulling away to unbuckle his pants. he uses the tip of cock and rubs it against your pussy as he strokes himself, both of you moaning like never before.

when he finally enters you, it feels like you’ve ascended. you’ve never taken a cock as big as chan’s before. fuck, you feel so full. he’s a fucking menace, reaching a hand in front to continue rubbing your clit throughout, the other hand fondling your bouncing breasts. this, plus the feeling of his balls slapping against your skin is more than enough to bring you over the edge. 

chan pulls out, pushing you back on to your back. he continues pumping himself with his hand, before cumming all over your pussy with a loud, relieved groan. then he collapses beside you, entire body flushed red as he pants audibly. 

he looks pretty like this, too, you think, and then marvel at how far gone you are. you lean into his warmth, and hesitate before finally reaching out to hold his hand. he’s still for a moment, and you’re about to shyly retract from him before he grabs your hand properly and kisses it with the biggest grin on his face. you’ll figure out your situation in the morning, but right now you’re more than happy to stay with him like this, even more so when he pulls you deeper into him and cradles you gently, letting you fall asleep as he rubs your back.

[spidrzfall]

Strings that bind soulmate ⤑ Peter Parker.

TWO FOR TWO BABY! Love you guys a shit ton, decided because I'm literally going to be gone until Monday that I'd double upload for now ;0 hope you guys enjoy this one - A.

☆° Peter Parker x Male Reader

  ☆°• FLUFF !

°•▪︎ Fem readers DNI ♡♡

♧ warnings: none ! ♧

NOTES : absolutely none

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How did any of this even start? Nobody is really sure, it’s not like there was this scientific explanation for why the world just functioned this way, it just did. The fact is nobody questioned it because there was no answer, there was never ever an answer anyways, The red string just magically appeared onto your finger by the time you turned 16 or 17 and that was that. You were forever binded. Binded to your soulmate, it was discovered that that little ruby red string that appeared on your pinky finger mid teen years was the one that binds you to your “forever” partner. To the person the universe thought was right for you, that was the soul purpose of the string, to find your other half.

Peter hated his string. Hatred was such a strong word, and in his words, it was a strong feeling, too. His whole life he’s been crushing on Gwen, not just crushing on her but dating her! They were quite literally dating, loving each other deeply, so the second that sweet 17 birthday came to Peter, they both realized they weren’t soulmate bound. It didn’t help when Gwen found her real soulmate after turning 17 at her intern job in OSCORP. The two came to a mutual agreement of cutting things off there and going to the true love of their lives. Even if it was a mutual agreement it didn’t lessen the blow on Peter Benjamin Parker who absolutely hated his string, going as far as wanting to cut it off his finger completely but he didn’t because anytime he did he saw it flash a red color probably alerting him 

It didn’t work

His soulmate now knew he was trying to get rid of it.

Eventually, he just stopped trying, having to embrace the fact that it was a part of him now. This was who he was, and this was his life forever. The best thing out of this whole thing is that it wasn’t someone from school, someone who didn’t know he was a total loser.

That all changed one morning as Peter woke up for work. Being 27 and having everybody basically find their soulmate whilst you’re completely alone was quite literally the worst feeling ever. Walking into work a yawn escaped his lips as he went to rub his eyes only for his string to tug his hand down causing him to double take, his strings never done that, it was always so loose. He didn’t want to pay much mind to it, deciding it was probably just some system fail or whatever tech or dumb thing controlled the string, probably a shortage. Being called into his bosses office the second he sat on his desk was not ideal, was he in trouble? Did he forget to submit anything? He was bound to find out soon. Going into the elevator being greeted by (M/N), probably a new guy, seeing as how Peter’s never seen him before. Excusing himself as he pressed the button to the top floor, he saw the man get off a few floors below before the elevator would continue to the top floor. As Peter went to hit the close doors button, he noticed something, suddenly that small string of red wasn’t to be found. As he examined his hand, double checking, triple checking. Nothing!

He saw the elevator shut as he shook his head. This wasn’t happening! Who was his soulmate?! He could’ve sworn it was there when he sat at his desk just as much as he was sure it was there. When he walked down the hallway, it wasn’t until…the guy in the elevator.

Peter groaned as he rubbed his eyes. He didn’t even get a good look at the guy, so what difference did it even make! He begged to the cosmos he’d magically find the guy somehow, that by some unknown miracle, he didn’t just blow up his only shot at finding true love. He made his way towards his boss's office as he checked in with Shane, his boss's assistant. “Hey, I’m here to see Steve” Peter spoke as he leaned against Shane’s desk. “In trouble again, Peter? Don’t tell me you forgot to submit your work again.” Shane lightly teased as he adjusted his glasses before calling Steve, letting him know Peter was out waiting for him, as Shane got the greenlight to let Peter know he could go inside, which Peter didn’t hesitate to do so quickly. Pushing open the brown door as he walked inside. His eyes met with his boss before glancing at the (H/C)’d man sitting on a chair, back facing him. 

“Peter, right on time. This is (M/N), he’s the hire for the cinematography team. I know you dabble in photography. I was hoping you could show him around the studio section of the building if it wasn’t much trouble.” Steve spoke to Peter, leaning against the white wooden top of his desk, the bottom half a fish tank. As Peter cleared his throat, nodding before replying, “yeah, I could do that.” Steve nodded as he whispered to (M/N), “You’re in good hands, Peter is our leading employee and knows the building like the back of his hand.”

As Peter saw (M/N) stood up, he finally got a good look at him, the guy from the elevator. Peter’s cheeks coated a soft red as he cleared his throat before signaling (M/N) to follow him as he made his way out catching a glimpse of Shane still working at the desk before the two men made their way out the lobby and towards the elevator, the awkward silence consuming them not sure if they should speak or not and even if they did what was there to talk about. The both of them stepping foot into the elevator that had a future-esque look to it, actually the whole building had that clean look to it, everything was white with a mix of a bright color, fish prints almost anywhere even though it had nothing to do with the company as a whole, plants covering up for space it was like mixing the future and high end technology to nature. “This place is very much screaming Frutiger Aero” (M/N) chimed as Peter glanced at him “...Right the future we were promised but never got. That’s this place for you, Steve, minored in interior design whilst majoring in business and technology. This place is to the brink of decor. We get confused for an environmentalist company most of the time” Peter informed the other. “Right, all the…”

“Fish and Plants”

The two said in unison as they laughed. “(M/N) (L/N), I was supposed to be interning here a couple of months ago and whilst filling out my application Steve saw my resume he thought I'd make a great leading candidate to your guy’s cinematography team.” (M/N) let the other know. “Yeah, same. I was meant to be an intern but got mixed up for an actual hire next thing I knew I got an acceptance call and hearing the yearly salary, didn’t have the balls to correct them” Peter laughed.

“Lying to get the job, tacky and immoral tsk tsk tsk.” (M/N) joked. “I didn’t lie. They messed up. There’s a difference, and I would hardly call it immoral. Money is money, and at the end of the day we’re all working to keep ourselves from drowning in debt.” Peter justified, feeding the man's teases and jokes. “Lyiiing” (M/N) spoke in a sing-songy voice. “Yeah yeah, you’re just mad. I won the game out of pure luck.” Peter quickly replied with a smirk on his face. “Pure luck, my ass, it was an assistant's mistake.” – “You call it a mistake, I call it Luck. two sides of the same coin” Peter chuckled before recalling. This man was his soulmate as Peter went back to being awkward. 

“Is blatantly ignoring the fact we’re soulbound also luck or a mistake?” (M/N) chimed once more, breaking the silence as Peter couldn’t help but laugh, so it was a set up, smartass bastard. “You’re quite the smart alec aren’t you?” Peter crossed his arms as the elevator doors opened, the both stepping out together. “So close! I'm actually really observant, brownie points for effort, though sweetie.” (M/N) laughed as they roamed the halls. “Har Har you’re so funny” – “i know i'm hilarious. Thank you for pointing out the best attribute about me.” – “Why? Is there more?”

The banter continued through the whole showing of the building as eventually the day settled down, the two of them getting along rather well, having a bit more input about the other. “Do you have anything planned this weekend?” Peter was the first to break the silence this time. “No, I'm actually so lonely that I have nothing going on. Why? Do you wanna ask me out?” (M/N) replied. “Yes, actually I do, we're soulbound so we might as well actually get to know each other more if we’re destined to be in each other's lives forever and ever until we both die” Peter answered as they walked to the parking lot, the warm breeze of the city engulfing them both. “Ah yes, i look forward to driving into the sunset with you and dying next to you, the both of us laying in our deathbed as we kiss and centuries from then they find our skeletons still in our warm embrace” (M/N) replied as Peter walked him to his car. “Is that a yes?” – “Of course it’s a yes.”

“Saturday, 6pm. I wrote my number in a slip of paper hours ago and slipped it into your pocket. Call me” (M/N) spoke as he got into his car, rolling down the windows as he began backing up. “Is that what i was feeling in my pocket the whole day?!” Peter exclaimed as he took out the slip of paper.

“Dude!”

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[humbledragon669]

S2E2 - The Clue Write Up P2 - London (Present Day) post credits up to the departure of Michael et al

I’ll jump straight in, seeing as that’s what happens in this episode as soon as the credits are finished, and I have a couple of things of note about this short scene in the record shop. Let’s have a little look at the background music first, shall we? Just in case you weren’t aware, it’s a Dusty Springfield song called “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me”, and it’s really the lyrics to the first verse that have my interest:

When I said I needed you You said you would always stay It wasn't me who changed but you and now you've gone away Don't you see that now you've gone And I'm left here on my own That I have to follow you and beg you to come home

There’s something desperately heartbreaking (to me anyway) about these lyrics if you take them as potential foreshadowing of the Final 15. I feel like that might be a bit of a reach, though that’s largely to do with where it’s been placed in the timeline, and that we don’t really hear those lyrics very well unless we’re really paying attention. I think it’s more likely a nod to the way Maggie is feeling at that point in time, though the lyrics for the second verse are perhaps more appropriate for that:

You don't have to say you love me, just be close at hand You don't have to stay forever, I will understand Believe me, believe me, I can't help but love you But believe me, I'll never tie you down Left alone with just a memory Life seems dead and so unreal All that's left is loneliness, there's nothing left to feel

It’s not just the lyrics that make me feel that this subtext isn’t (for once) driven towards the hero couple. This particular verse kicks in good and proper (with a tiny uplift in volume so that we can make those lyrics out) exactly when we get a close up shot of Nina across the road, as Maggie is explaining her reason for not crying. And whilst we’re on the subject of crying, we’ve heard a very similar version of a snippet of this conversation before:

There are quite a few similarities between these two conversations - a male character observing a female one crying on their own territory, both of whom openly acknowledge that they have been crying, and accepting the social taboo that holds, whilst the male character appears unaware that acknowledging tears can cause a breaching of that same social taboo. With all that said, I don’t know what purpose that mirroring serves. I was asked not so long ago if I have ever noticed parallels between episodes in this very fashion, but this particular parallel ends with the themes - the timing of both conversations are in different episodes of each season and at different times in each episode. Parallels aside, I feel like Aziraphale’s reaction to Maggie’s tears is an interesting one - I mean, has he really never seen a human crying in his 6000 years of existence on Earth? The realisation that dawns on his face when Maggie has to guide him through the etiquette of the situation suggests that this really is new territory for him:

His face just keeps giving his inner thoughts away, because there’s quite the look of surprise on his face when he hears that Maggie and Nina were locked in the coffee shop together the previous evening, so Crowley has clearly forgotten to mention that particular faux pas to him (or perhaps “forgotten” might be more appropriate). And look how delighted he is when he finds out Maggie is in love:

Slight plot hole here, and we’re going back to season 1 again to see it.

AZIRAPHALE: There’s a very peculiar feeling to this whole area. I’m astonished you can’t feel it. […] Love. Flashes of love.

It’s a long way back I’ll grant you, but there was a time (in the second episode of the first season) that we were made to believe that Aziraphale could feel love. So why can’t he feel Maggie’s love for Nina? Perhaps she hides it too well? Or maybe she’s not really in love, or if she is, it isn’t that strong? Alternatively, does it have something to do with Aziraphale’s angelic abilities? Happy with his personal circumstances as they are, has he become less attuned to them? Or maybe even less able to use them? I don’t really have a feeling about which of these theories (if any of them) is most likely, and I’d be happy to hear any others that people are harbouring.

I also find Aziraphale’s reaction to Maggie’s request for advice pretty interesting.

MAGGIE: What am I going to do? AZIRAPHALE: (stammering) Can I get back to you on that? I think, right now, I’m a bit out of miracles.

Chill out mate, the poor woman just asked you for some advice, not for you to interfere using your Heavenly abilities (that she knows nothing about). I mean, I get that he doesn’t want to perform any miracles because he doesn’t want to attract any attention. Perhaps it says something about the way he deals with problems, believing that performing miracles is the only way that he can offer a solution? And that wording isn’t exactly the most empathetic thing to say to someone asking for love advice is it? I mean, if you take away the fact that he is referring to miracles in a very literal sense, what you’re left with is a sentence that sounds an awful lot like “you’d need a miracle to sort all of this stuff out, you’re in a right mess”. At least he manages to sound like he wants to help I suppose.

The address we see for The Resurrectionist pub is an interesting one, particularly in the context of this particular episode:

So let me just point out - “Goat Gate” is a fictional address in Edinburgh. Not just that number on Goat Gate, that entire street doesn’t exist at all. Which makes the choice of it being Goat Gate interesting, given how important goats will become later in this episode. I feel like there might be another subtextual link given the goat as a symbol of Satan, making the “66” part of the address pretty significant. I think this might be a rabbit hole that would be all too easy to fall down, so if anyone wants to take that and disappear into the void, please be my guest - for this blog, let’s just say it’s something of interest and move on.

Last item of note for this scene - I find Aziraphale’s reaction to the announcement of the arrival of the angels on Earth uncomfortably out of character. Sort of. Not that he reacts that way as such; I find his panic pretty appropriate. It’s the fact that he openly tells Maggie “they’re here”, and then goes on to ask he if she can “feel them”. She’s human. Why would she be aware of their presence? And why would he involve her in his distress? It would have felt much more appropriate to me if he had just bumbled some excuse and left in a hurry, there’s just something about these couple of lines of dialogue that don’t sit right with me.

Quick little point - how much of the panic on Aziraphale’s face when Jim declares it time for the bookselling to begin is because of the Gabriel situation and how much because Jim is actually trying to sell books?

I’m sure narratively it’s all the former, I just love the idea of the latter because we all know just how much worse that would have made everything; first the archangels arrive and now somebody has SOLD A BOOK. We wouldn’t need Armageddon or a Second Coming, this would probably have been the end of Aziraphale’s world right there.

There are a couple of things to note about this exchange regarding the “plume”. Firstly, Aziraphale doesn’t seem to be aware that there is such a thing. It makes me wonder what methods he thought Heaven were employing to detect miracles in the first place (after all, we know he’s been reprimanded for being too frivolous with them from his comments in 1793), and clearly he’s never been privy to witnessing one of these plumes in the past. Secondly, he appears to be surprised at the strength of the miracle that was performed. This stands to reason if we take the story as read - that he and Crowley have performed a miracle together. It would certainly be a surprise to know that the two of them could perform a miracle of such strength when performing it together. And that little scoff shows Seraqael certainly doesn’t believe that Aziraphale is capable of casting such a miracle himself. These last two observations do mean my meta about Crowley not doing anything takes a bit of a knock. Unless you include the possibility that Gabriel’s power was somehow tapped into and used during that miracle casting (which I do still consider a possibility, given the colour of the plume matches Gabriel’s archangel eyes). What is absolutely clear about this interaction between the Heavenly entities is that none of the visitors believe Aziraphale had anything to do with the miracle - they believe Gabriel did it and that Aziraphale is hiding him.

Easter egg time! Feels like it’s been a long time since we had one of these.

Another one of Terry’s books making it into the show, this time it’s the first in his Discworld series. I’m going to put my hands up here and admit to never having read them. I have tried, more than once, reading The Colour of Magic, but for whatever reason I just can’t get into it. Don’t hate me.

I feel like there is a special layer of lying being employed by Aziraphale in his rebuttals here - he’s just been told that the miracle that was cast was of phenomenal power. His response? “Oh yeah, I did that so a couple of humans could fall in love”. And it’s so obvious that he knows he’s on really thin ice here - we have some really classic mannerisms that tell us Aziraphale is panicking HARD. The stuttering, the exaggerated hand gestures. I’m pretty sure that if he didn’t have a record in one of his hands, they would be wringing away like the clappers - you can actually see that he repeatedly tries to bring his hands together but that darn EP just keeps getting in the way. Quick note: I find it interesting that he feels the need to explain to his guests what love is - whether this relates to what I was pondering earlier and the abilities of angels to feel love, or whether it’s more an indication of his personal opinion of their abilities as compassionate beings I couldn’t say.

Another Easter egg (sort of):

Alright, so this is probably less of an Easter egg, more of an interesting morsel of information. “The Wicked Bible” is the book that Jim uses to try and kill the fly with. This is a real edition of the Bible, so called because of an unfortunate typo that states that the seventh commandment reads “Thou shalt commit adultery”. I don’t know that it has any subtextual meaning to the storyline, but it’s a cool little piece of religious trivia - shelve it away, it might come up in a pub quiz one day 😉

Whatever you believe about the miracle that was performed to hide Gabriel, it’s obvious that Aziraphale is far from convinced that it worked:

This is the face of an angel who is genuinely in fear of what’s about to happen. This expression actually got me to wondering how different Aziraphale’s reaction to the arrival of Michael et al is to Gabriel’s arrival. For a start, he tries to send Gabriel away, yet this three he invites in, without any sort of prompt or threat. He even has a very compelling reason for not allowing Michael, Uriel, and Seraqual into the bookshop at this point - Jim. I made the argument that Aziraphale didn’t really seem to be frightened of Gabriel when he arrived in episode one - I’m of a mind that his contrasting behaviour with the three visiting angels in this episode backs that up.

I’m going to end this part (and yes, this has been a little on the short side for me, but we have THAT pub scene coming up, and I just don’t think I can tag it on to the end of what I’ve already done in this section) with a little chapeau, and this one goes to the lovely Mickey Ralph, who I understand is responsible for the article we see Aziraphale reading. Here’s the original:

As I understand it, Mickey was responsible for the translation of that article into multiple different languages, using the translations to produce authentic-looking newspaper articles from other counties. There’s a little write up that you can read about it here. I don’t think I’ve talked about my love of the level of attention to detail specifically in this season just yet, but this tiny detail absolutely reminded me of it. These newspaper articles must have taken a fair amount of time and effort to produce, are only seen for a fraction of a second, and yet make the scene feel so much richer for their presence. Amazing work Mickey, thank you.

And on that positive note, I’ll wrap this part up. I had hoped to get to the next chunk of the minisode but I should know better than that by now, shouldn’t I? As always, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome. See you for the next one! 😊

[funky-fox-fics]

Prompt: soulmate

please note that this story takes place in my pc/bs au, so you might not understand this if you haven't read that yet!

So here is how it goes, the night after you've found your soulmate, with one utterly and unfamiliarly complete soul now burning in your chest:

Bdubs lays beside you, trying to fall asleep, his own one-and-a-half souls tucked close to his code. You wonder if he's in Hermitcraft right now. You know this is technically a dream; you know that if a Watcher tried to invade right now, Grian could force a wake-up and you'd all be safe on your respective servers.

You wonder if it goes both ways. If, each night in the Life Series, you go back to Hermitcraft for a bit. You know you dream of Hermitcraft, most nights, when you fall asleep here. You don't know if it changes anything. There's too much going on in this bloody half-world to remember a dream.

You cannot hear Skizz here, anyway. In the first game, Grian hadn't got it right; he'd left some gaps in the code accidentally, or maybe he'd left them there on purpose. He'd failed once at trying to separate you two. He hadn't known what you were capable of. He'd made sure not to modify your codes too dramatically in case his nightmares about what binaries "could do" came true.

In the second game, he'd altered it based on your suggestions. Tweaked some of the code, made sure not to attack any code that would damage the link, and it had been gone. A precaution against a new curse I've thrown into the game, he'd said, Watcher Eyes out and watching. It's a bit... well, dangerous, and I don't know how that'd work for a binary, so what I'm gonna do is I'm gonna shut down the connection and we'll see if that helps any. If there's any issues, come find me, tell me it's an emergency code thing and I'll pause the Game. Alright?

And neither of them had actually gotten the curse, thank the Void, but it had been... eerie. The code had patched over the abyss that had always held the promise of Skizz, and it had been gone, and. You'd kept on thinking Grian would try and fix you both again, maybe he'd already done it and you hadn't known, maybe this was how it would always be, maybe the Skizz here was only an illusion and you were completely alone--

But you'd rejoined each other, woken up from the dream--as you'd always done, as you always will--and you'd been together again. Whole, truly and beautifully whole.

The code is here again, walling off the part of your mind that's connected to Skizz and keeping you firmly in one body. And instead there's--

A new gimmick, Grian had proposed. Soulmates. People who shared your health with you. People who you were tied to. People who had been picked by a wonderful roll of the dice, the fairest god of all. People who you would live for and die for and--for one pair, whoever that pair turned out to be--win for.

You and Skizz had looked at each other when he'd announced that, fear-distrust-intrigue splashing into both your minds. Skizz is thinking: No, I'm not giving you up, Impy. Not letting him. If he does--

Skizz hasn't lived with him for a season shattered short and two (admittedly unreliable) seasons before that, so it's reasonable that their near-fixing pours into his mind, nearly causing the two of them to flinch beyond the barriers of their thoughts. Skizz remembers his own death, his own awakening, his own fear flashing through his blood and making his heart pound--

You'd told him you're sure it'll be fine.

You'd been wrong.

Bdubs is now against you in your head, his thoughts filling the place where Skizz should be. You can hear them buzzing around his skull--muddled and distant, but if you focus--

Stupid mobs. I hate darkness. It's too dark outside. Need to sleep. What's Impulse doing? Is he okay? It's too dark out. Make it be day, Bdubs. Make it be day.

--you can hear him.

You don't think he's heard you yet. You don't know if he's capable of it. If he's heard you, he hasn't even thought about it, which--considering you're 99% sure Bdubs isn't a binary--would be near impossible. Even a familiar, routine moment sends a glimmer through a mind, a ripple hidden beneath the workings of a mind and more interesting, louder thoughts.

If he has heard you, then he doesn't care about binaries, which you also highly doubt. Bdubs, you know, is highly opinionated on many things, and he is not scared to share those opinions very loudly to the nearest person. And any sane person would be firmly anti-binary, wouldn't they be?

Your hands are trembling.

You think about secrets. You think about hatred. You think about Bdubs and his stupidly loud opinions.

You think about what Grian had promised--a soulmate to live for, to die for. To win for.

(You think about a clock, and a castle, and a betrayal, and then you do your best to not think about those things any more than you need to.)

Anyway. Bdubs' mind, unlike Skizz, tends to think loudly. Ideas come in bursts, usually unprompted, and whenever he sees something an opinion mutters in his mind. Sometimes shouts. Lots of things are colorful, literally--unlike Skizz's soft blue mind, only sometimes flashing with cerulean or turquoise when he's particularly passionate, Bdubs' mind is full of color. Maroons and scarlets for anger; dark browns and silvery grays for sadness; bright sparks of green and blue for happiness; startling, spiky blacks for fear.

Right now, his mind's lapsed into a quiet, thoughtful lavender blue, a little like Skizz's if you try hard enough. Everything's still too bright, a few hot-pink flutters of irritation lingering still, and Bdubs doesn't know you're even poking through his mind right now, but--if you don't think about what Skizz is like, if you try to pretend like Bdubs isn't here, if you try and ignore his distant thoughts and distant irritations, well. This is a little like Skizz, is all.

A spark of curiosity--a sort of orangey-red, tainting the calm blue and mixing with the rest of it, streaks and splatters and then finally his thoughts are whirring again and goodness he's awake again, and you retreat from observation just as Bdubs asks you:

"Hey, what's up?"

(You could tell him about this, Grian would say. You could tell him you're mentally connected to him, tell him you know what's he's thinking. Tell him you're connected to Skizz like this, tell him you're not sure if this was a good idea, tell him that you're scared. Because, Grian would say, this is a soulmate to live for. Someone you've got to trust. It'd hurt the both of you not to say anything.)

(You think about binaries. You think about being fixed. You think about a lot of things, and your mind flows quicker and quicker and quicker.)

"Nothing," you lie badly.

Some new color you can't quite place blooms into existence, taking its place next to the orange-red curiosity. Mossy green--like his cloak, like leaves, like plants. You're too scared to try and poke deeper, try and investigate exactly what this might be, but this color... it's new. Different. Bdubs goes through a lot of emotions, a lot of colors in a loud and bright mind, but this is new. Soft, even.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Bdubs says, and his voice has changed, and his eyes are dark and wide in the night, reflecting the flickering torchlight. "What's bothering you?"

"Lack of sleep, probably," you mutter, and there's a pink ripple of irritation. The orange-red fades into that lavender-blue sleepiness, and the mossy green's still there, still an emotion you can't quite place.

It nags at you. You're good at identifying Bdubs' emotions, you think. What's this one supposed to be?

"Then get some sleep," Bdubs says with a yawn. "You'll need it. You don't--you don't want to not sleep in a death game, that's bad for you. Night, Impulse."

For a moment, the mossy green overwhelms the lavender blue, and it swells and sings. It is not bright, not like the curiosity, not like fear or anger or happiness. It's like a blanket of grass, spreading over Bdubs' mind, burying all the bright colors and flashy lights.

It is this color that finally bridges the gap, finally breaks into your own mind. It spills over, and for a moment your own thoughts are simply color and sensation, and the color is mossy green, and the sensation is warm, familiar. Threatening to be fierce, but now, in the soft dredges of night, it's soft, placid.

Oh. It's love.

As soon as you've realized this, the mossy green begins to retreat. It draws away meekly, pulls back into the corners of Bdubs' mind, and the lavender blue returns. The blue overwhelms the other colors. Bdubs' mind is a swamp of lavender blue now, and you almost want the mossy green back, if only because of what it symbolizes, what it is.

Bdubs breathes evenly beside you now, asleep, limp and vulnerable. Your own thoughts are beginning to slow and stutter under the weight of how late it is. Your own breath is evening out. The soft chirping crickets sing you a lullaby. Everyone is still Green, it whispers. No need to worry just yet.

The ghost of the mossy green still lingers in your chest.

Bdubs' love is... overwhelming, a little. Passionate. It had felt a little like pride, except also distinctly not in ways you can't really place. It wasn't... it wasn't something omni-present, not like Skizz's mind. But it was there. He'd shared it with you, whether he'd known it or not.

You think about Skizz. You think about Bdubs. You think about failed gimmicks, and you think about hiding codes. You think about a clock, and a castle, and the friendship before the betrayal. You think about Grian.

You think about mossy green. You think about love.

You think: Maybe this soulmate thing won't be so bad after all.

[onenakedfarmer]

REN “Hi Ren”

Hi there Ren, it's been a little while, did you miss me? You thought you'd buried me, didn't you? Risky 'Cause I always come back, deep down, you know that Deep down, you know I'm always in the periphery

Ren, aren't you pleased to see me? It's been weeks since we spoke bro, I know you need me You're the sheep, I'm the shepherd, not your place to lead me Not your place to be biting off the hand that feeds me

Hi Ren, I've been taking some time to be distant I've been taking some time to be still I've been taking some time to be by myself Since my therapist told me I'm ill

And I've been making some progress lately And I've learnt some new coping skills So I haven't really needed you much, man I think we need to just step back and chill

Ren, you sound more insane than I do You think that those doctors are really there to guide you? You've been through this a million times Your civilian mind is so perfect at always being lied to

Okay, take another pill boy Drown yourself in the sound of white noise Follow this ten-step program, rejoice All your problems will be gone! Fuckin' dumb boy

Nah, mate, this time it's different, man, trust me I feel like things might be falling in place And my music's been kinda doing bits too Like I actually might do something great

And when I'm gone, maybe I'll be remembered For doing something special with myself That's why I don't think that we should talk, man 'Cause when you're with me, it never seems to help

You think that you can amputate me? I am you, you are me, you are I, I am we We are one, split in two that makes one, so you see You got to kill you if you wanna kill me

I'm not left over dinner, I'm not scraps on the side Oh, your music is thriving? Delusional guy Where's your top ten hit? Where's your interview with Oprah? Where are your Grammies, Ren? Nowhere!

Yeah, but, my music's not commercial like that I never chased numbers, statistics or stats I never write hooks for the radio, they never even play me So why would I concern myself with that? But my music is really connecting And the people who find it, respect it And for me, that's enough 'cause this life's been tough So it gives me a purpose I can rest in

Man, you sound so pretentious Ren, your music is so self-centred No one wants to hear another song about How much you hate yourself, trust me You should be so lucky, having me inside you to guide you Remind you to manage expectations Provide you perspective, that thing you neglected, I get it You wanna be a big deal, next Jimi Hendrix? Forget it

Man, it's not like that Man it's just like that, I'm inside you, you twat No, it's not man, you're wrong, when I write, I belong Let me break the fourth wall by acknowledging this song

Ren sits down, has a stroke of genius He wants to write a song that was not done previous A battle with his subconscious, Eminem did it Played on guitar, Plan B did it

Man, you're not original, you criminal, rip-off artist The pinnacle of your success is stealing other people's material Ren, mate, we've heard it all before Uh, "she sells seashells on the sea shore"

Fuck you, I don't need you, I don't need to hear this 'Cause I'm fine by myself, I'ma genius And I will be great, and I will make waves And I'll shake up the whole world beneath us

That's right, speak your truth, your fuckin' God complex leaks out of you It's refreshing to actually hear you say it instead of downplay it "Ugh, music Is all about the creative process and if people can find Something to relate to within that, then that's just a bonus"

Fuck you, I'ma fuckin' kill you, Ren Well fuckin' kill me then, let's fuckin' have you Ren I'm a do it, watch me prove it, who are you to doubt my music? 'Cause I call the shots. I choose if you die Yeah, I call the shots, and so I who choose who survives I'll tie you up in knots when I'll lock you inside

News flash I was created at the dawn of creation I am temptation, I am the snake in Eden I am the reason for treason, beheading all Kings I am sin with no rhyme or reason Sun of the morning, Lucifer, antichrist Father of lies, Mephistopheles Truth in a blender, deceitful pretender The banished avenger, the righteous surrender

When standing in-front of my solar eclipse My name it is stitched to your lips, so, you see I won't bow to the will of a mortal, feeble and normal You wanna kill me? I'm enteral, immortal I live in every decision that catalysed chaos That causes division I live inside death, the beginning of ends I am you, you are me, I am you, Ren

Hi Ren, I've been taking some time to be distant I've been taking some time to be still I've been taking some time to be by myself And I've spent half my life ill

But just as sure as the tide starts turning Just as sure as the night has dawn Just as sure as rainfall soon runs dry When you stand in an eye of the storm

I was made to be tested and twisted I was made to be broken and beat I was made by His hand, it's all part of His plan That I stand on my own two feet And you know me, my will is eternal And you know me, you've met me before Face to with a beast, I will rise from the east And I'll settle on the ocean floor

And I go by many names also Some people know me as "hope" Some people know me as the voice that you hear When you loosen the noose on the rope And you know how I know how I know that I'll prosper? 'Cause I stand here beside you today I have stood in the flames that cremated my brain And I didn't once flinch or shake

So cower at the man I've become, when I sing from the top of my lungs That I won't retire, I'll stand in your fire, inspire the weak to be strong And when I am gone, I will rise, in the music that I left behind Ferocious persistent, immortal like you, we're a coin with two different sides

When I was 17 years old, I shouted out into an empty room Into a blank canvas, that I would defeat the forces of evil And for the next 10 years of my life, I suffered the consequences With autoimmunity, illness, and psychosis

As I got older, I realised that there were no real winners And there were no real losers in physiological warfare But there were victims and there were students It wasn't David versus Goliath, it was a pendulum Eternally swayin' from the dark to the light And the more intensely that the light shone, the darker the shadow it cast

It was never really a battle for me to win, it was an eternal dance And like a dance, the more rigid I became, the harder it got The more I cursed my clumsy footsteps, the more I struggled So I got older and I learned to relax And I learned to soften and that dance got easier

It is this eternal dance that separates human beings From angels, from demons, from gods And I must not forget, we must not forget That we are human beings

[thedragonscratch]

Hi there Ren, it's been a little while, did you miss me?

You thought you'd buried me, didn't you? Risky

'Cause I always come back, deep down, you know that

Deep down, you know I'm always in the periphery

Ren, aren't you pleased to see me?

It's been weeks since we spoke bro, I know you need me

You're the sheep, I'm the shepherd, not your place to lead me

Not your place to be biting off the hand that feeds me

Hi Ren, I've been taking some time to be distant

I've been taking some time to be still

I've been taking some time to be by myself

Since my therapist told me I'm ill

And I've been making some progress lately

And I've learnt some new coping skills

So I haven't really needed you much, man

I think we need to just step back and chill

Ren, you sound more insane than I do

You think that those doctors are really there to guide you?

You've been through this a million times

Your civilian mind is so perfect at always being lied to

Okay, take another pill boy

Drown yourself in the sound of white noise

Follow this ten-step program, rejoice

All your problems will be gone! Fuckin' dumb boy

Nah, mate, this time it's different, man, trust me

I feel like things might be falling in place

And my music's been kinda doing bits too

Like I actually might do something great

And when I'm gone, maybe I'll be remembered

For doing something special with myself

That's why I don't think that we should talk, man

'Cause when you're with me, it never seems to help

You think that you can amputate me?

I am you, you are me, you are I, I am we

We are one, split in two that makes one, so you see

You got to kill you if you wanna kill me

I'm not left over dinner, I'm not scraps on the side

Oh, your music is thriving? Delusional guy

Where's your top ten hit? Where's your interview with Oprah?

Where are your Grammies, Ren? Nowhere!

Yeah but, my music's not commercial like that

I never chased numbers, statistics or stats

I never write hooks for the radio, they never even play me

So why would I concern myself with that?

But my music is really connecting

And the people who find it, respect it

And for me, that's enough 'cause this life's been tough

So it gives me a purpose I can rest in

Man, you sound so pretentious

Ren, your music is so self-centred

No one wants to hear another song about

How much you hate yourself, trust me

You should be so lucky, having me inside you to guide you

Remind you to manage expectations

Provide you perspective, that thing you neglected, I get it

You wanna be a big deal, next Jimi Hendrix? Forget it

Man, it's not like that

Man it's just like that, I'm inside you, you twat

No, it's not man, you're wrong, when I write, I belong

Let me break the fourth wall by acknowledging this song

Ren sits down, has a stroke of genius

He wants to write a song that was not done previous

A battle with his subconscious, Eminem did it

Played on guitar, Plan B did it

Man, you're not original, you criminal, rip-off artist

The pinnacle of your success is stealing other people's material

Ren, mate, we've heard it all before

Uh, "she sells seashells on the sea shore"

Fuck you, I don't need you, I don't need to hear this

'Cause I'm fine by myself, I'ma genius

And I will be great, and I will make waves

And I'll shake up the whole world beneath us

That's right, speak your truth, your fuckin' God complex leaks out of you

It's refreshing to actually hear you say it instead of downplay it

"Ugh, music Is all about the creative process and if people can find

Something to relate to within that, then that's just a bonus"

Fuck you, I'ma fuckin' kill you, Ren

Well fuckin' kill me then, let's fuckin' have you Ren

I'm a do it, watch me prove it, who are you to doubt my music?

'Cause I call the shots. I choose if you die

Yeah, I call the shots, and so I who choose who survives

I'll tie you up in knots when I'll lock you inside

News flash

I was created at the dawn of creation

I am temptation, I am the snake in Eden

I am the reason for treason, beheading all Kings

I am sin with no rhyme or reason

Sun of the morning, Lucifer, antichrist

Father of lies, Mestophilies

Truth in a blender, deceitful pretender

The banished avenger, the righteous surrender

When standing in-front of my solar eclipse

My name it is stitched to your lips, so, you see

I won't bow to the will of a mortal, feeble and normal

You wanna kill me? I'm enteral, immortal

I live in every decision that catalysed chaos

That causes division

I live inside death, the beginning of ends

I am you, you are me, I am you, Ren

Hi Ren, I've been taking some time to be distant

I've been taking some time to be still

I've been taking some time to be by myself

And I've spent half my life ill

But just as sure as the tide starts turning

Just as sure as the night has dawn

Just as sure as rainfall soon runs dry

When you stand in an eye of the storm

I was made to be tested and twisted

I was made to be broken and beat

I was made by His hand, it's all part of His plan

That I stand on my own two feet

And you know me, my will is eternal

And you know me, you've met me before

Face to with a beast, I will rise from the east

And I'll settle on the ocean floor

And I go by many names also

Some people know me as "hope"

Some people know me as the voice that you hear

When you loosen the noose on the rope

And you know how I know how I know that I'll prosper?

'Cause I stand here beside you today

I have stood in the flames that cremated my brain

And I didn't once flinch or shake

So cower at the man I've become, when I sing from the top of my lungs

That I won't retire, I'll stand in your fire, inspire the weak to be strong

And when I am gone, I will rise, in the music that I left behind

Ferocious persistent, immortal like you, we're a coin with two different sides

When I was 17 years old, I shouted out into an empty room

Into a blank canvas, that I would defeat the forces of evil

And for the next 10 years of my life, I suffered the consequences

With autoimmunity, illness, and psychosis

As I got older, I realised that there were no real winners

And there were no real losers in physiological warfare

But there were victims and there were students

It wasn't David versus Goliath, it was a pendulum

Eternally swayin' from the dark to the light

And the more intensely that the light shone, the darker the shadow it cast

It was never really a battle for me to win, it was an eternal dance

And like a dance, the more rigid I became, the harder it got

The more I cursed my clumsy footsteps, the more I struggled

So I got older and I learned to relax

And I learned to soften and that dance got easier

It is this eternal dance that separates human beings

From angels, from demons, from gods

And I must not forget, we must not forget

That we are human beings

[notsostarvingartist]

My DRDT mastermind theories and thoughts

A few months ago I got super hyper fixated on DRDT and absorbed all the content on the internet I could find for it because I’m a huge geek. This includes all the hidden quotes, character page for Mai, etc… there’s a master post for all those on here somewhere. I’ve also been keeping up to date on all the episodes, bonus episodes, free time events, etc… (this theory was written at the time of Chapter 2 episode 11). I’m including this for some background on the information that’s available at the time of me writing this theory.

And for OBVIOUS reasons, spoiler warning if you aren’t up to date on DRDT!

Okay, time for my actual theories!

Firstly, I definitely think that the killing game was created with the purpose to “kill” Teruko, or at the least contain her from society since her bad luck causes so many catastrophes. At the very least, I don’t think it’s actually a TV show. In the chapter 2 trial, David said that he had Xander’s secret but it’s so obvious that he’s lying (especially now that we know his true personality). Xander’s hidden quote and bonus episode both HEAVILY hint towards his secret being the one about survivor guilt because of his dead family. And so, I think the mastermind secret that David has is Teruko’s. She’s constantly causing bad things to happen to people around her because of her luck, and I believe that the mastermind started the killing game to stop Teruko from harming society anymore. (Poor Teruko😭)

One of the other main reasons I think that the mastermind wants Teruko “dead” (since she allegedly can’t be killed, no matter what) is because Xander was ordered to kill her. Who else other than the mastermind would have a motivation to have Teruko assassinated? Since she “can’t be killed”, the mastermind’s best chance of killing her in the killing game would be to have someone strong, capable and determined *cough* Xander *cough* attack her. Perhaps they told him that if he kills Teruko, then they’ll let everyone else free (assuming the goal of the killing game was to eliminate Teruko). Xander would surely cooperate because his whole motivation is “protecting the innocent.” This plan wouldn’t have any drawbacks for the mastermind either; if he succeeded, Teruko would be gone, and if he failed, the killing game would start, creating a scenario where other people’s mistakes could cause her to die indirectly via the treachery of the killing game. I can’t think of another reason why Xander would try to kill Teruko, although I do have an idea of why the mastermind is so angry at her…

I believe Mai is very clearly tied to the origins of the killing game and mastermind, why else would her character and quotes be so cryptic? I think that Teruko accidentally killed Mai with her bad luck (possibly maybe even in a car accident, since she was standing on a curb in Teruko’s flash black) but she doesn’t remember her because of how chaotic her life has become. The mastermind could be someone close to Mai who wanted to punish Teruko for indirectly causing Mai’s death. That would explain why MonoTV’s quote is eerily just “Her name was Mai Akasaki.” Which I could totally see as a Chapter 6 reveal quote where MonoTV tells Teruko (or everyone else) the name of the girl who inspired the killing game they’re in.

And lastly, my theory on the mastermind who orchestrated the killing game…. I personally believe that the mastermind is Rose.

I know, that sounds farfetched because of how absentminded and kind she is. But in chapter 2, Teruko already explained why the mastermind is probably one of the kinder people, and as for the absentmindedness… when she says she can’t help it, I believe her. I think her absentmindedness is the only way she can cope with the fact that she caused the killing game and is causing all this suffering for everyone. The memories of death that she can’t forget are causing her MORE guilt, to the point where she can’t look at their bodies, because she’s at fault for them. As for the actual evidence, most of it comes from the hidden character page quotes and monologues I mentioned earlier. Firstly, it’s an established theme that Rose is bored with her life and isn’t happy with what it’s become, she talks about this with Teruko and it’s her hidden quote. Coincidentally, one of the monologues hidden on the web page was someone talking about how bored they were with their life, and no matter how long they were trapped “down there” or witnessed death, nothing broke their boredom. There is a lot more to this paragraph and it’s honestly quite unsettling. Yet, the whole time Rose sat in the back of my mind because of her constantly bringing up how bored she was with her life.

Then I got to the hidden Mai character quotes. I personally think that all these quotes could be how the characters view Mai, but moreso how Mai viewed them as people, because several of them seem to fit each individual character more than Mai herself. For example, many of the quotes seem to contradict eachother. Some call her mean while others say she’s kind. It doesn’t make too much sense if you assume they’re all talking about Mai, but I think it makes more sense if you interpret them as Mai describing THEM. on that note, Rose’s hidden Mai quote is “She remembers everything that’s important to others.” When I first read this, my mind IMMEDIATELY jumped to Whit and Hu discussing how well the mastermind seemed to know them, down to every. Little. Detail. Just like Rose, who has a photographic memory and can’t forget what she sees, no matter how hard she tries. Because she’s so kind and they’ve made an effort of emphasizing her memory, I think she’s most likely the mastermind.

Or, I could be totally off the mark, and it really could be about Mai and she’s the mastermind who knows them all very well. 🤷🏼‍♂️Who knows, this was only my theory that I’m writing for fun in my bed at 9 pm. If you read this far, thank you for your time and I hope you enjoyed my theory! :D

[blueeyesfilledwithpassion]

HI REN 🎶

By Artist Ren.

Hi there Ren  Its been a little while,  Did you miss me?  You thought you'd buried me, didn't you? Risky...  Because I always come back  Deep down you know that...  Deep down you know I'm always in periphery  Ren aren't you pleased to see me?  It's been weeks since we spoke bro, you know you need me  You're the sheep, I'm the shepherd  Not your place to lead me  Not your place to be biting off the hand that feeds me

Hi Ren  I've been taking some time to be distant  I've been taking some time to be still  I've been taking some time to be by myself  Since my therapist told me I'm ill  I've been making some progress lately,  And I've learnt some new coping skills  So I haven't really needed you much man  I think we need to just step back and chill

Ren, you sound more insane than I do  You think that those doctors are really there to guide you?  Been through this a million times  Your civilian mind is so perfect at always being lied to  Okay, take another pill boy  Drown yourself in the sound of white noise  Follow this 10 step program, rejoice!  All your problems will be gone! Fucking dumb boy

Nah mate, this time it's different man trust me  I feel like things might be falling in place  And my music's been kinda doing bits too  Like I actually might do something great  And when I'm gone maybe I'll be remembered  For doing something special with myself  That's why I don't think that we should talk man  Cause when your with me it never seems to help

You think that you can amputate me?  I am you, you are me, you are I, I am we  We are one, split in two that makes one so you see  You got to kill you if you wanna kill me.  I'm not left over dinner, I'm not scraps on the side,  Oh your music is thriving? Delusional guy!  Where's your top ten hit? Where's your interview with Oprah?  Where are your grammies Ren?  Nowhere!

Yeah but, my music's not commercial like that  I never chased numbers, statistics or stats  I Never write hooks for the radio, they never even play me  So why would I concern myself with that?  But my music is really connecting,  And the people who find it respect it,  And for me that's enough 'cause this life's been tough  So it gives me a purpose I can rest in

Man you sound so pretentious!  Ren your music is so self centred,  No one wants to hear another song about  How much you hate yourself... trust me  You should be so lucky having me inside you to guide you,  Remind you to manage expectations,  Provide you perspective, that thing you neglected, I get it  You wana be a big deal... Next jimi hendrix? forget it

Man it's not like that

Man it's just like that I'm inside you you twat

Nah it's not man your wrong, when I write I belong

Let me break the fourth wall by acknowledging this song  Ren sits down,  Has a stroke of genius,  He wants to write a song that was not done previous  A battle with his subconscious...  Eminem did it

Played on guitar

Plan B did it  Man your not original you criminal, rip off artist,  The pinnacle of your success is stealing other people's material  Ren mate we've heard it all before  Ohh "she sell sea shells on the sea shore"

Fuck you I don't need you, I don't need to hear this,  Cause I'm fine by myself, I'm a genius!  And I will be great, and I will make waves  And I'll shake up the whole world beneath us

That's right speak your truth,  Your fucking god complex leaks out of you  It's refreshing to actually hear you say it!  In stead of down play it...  "Oh the music Is all about the creative process  And if people can find something to relate to  Within that then that's just a bonus"

Fuck you ima fucking kill you Ren

Well fucking kill me then  Let's fucking have you Ren

I'm a do it, watch me prove it, who are you to doubt my music?  'Cause I call the shots I choose if you die  Yeah I call the shots and so i who choose who survives  I'll tie you up in knots then I'll lock you inside

News flash...  I was created at the dawn of creation,  I am temptation  I am the snake in Eden,  I am the reason for treason  Beheading all Kings,  I am sin with no rhyme or reason,  Sun of the morning, Lucifer,  Antichrist, father of lies,  Mestophilies,  Truth in a blender,  Deceitful pretender,  The Banished avenger,  The righteous surrender  When standing in-front of my solar eclipse,  My name it is stitched to your lips so see  I won't bow to the will of a mortal, feeble and normal  You wana kill me? I'm enteral, immortal  I live in every decision that catalysed chaos  That causes division  I live inside death, the beginning of ends  I am you, you are me, I am you Ren

Hi Ren... I've been taking some time to be distant,  I've been taking some time to be still  I've been taking some time to be by myself  And I've spent half my life ill  But just as sure as the tide start turning  Just as sure as the night has dawn  Just as sure as rain fall soon runs dry  When you stand in the eye of the storm

I was made to be tested and twisted  I was made to be broken and beat  And you know me my will is eternal  And you know me you've met Me before  Face to with a beast I will rise from the east  And I'll settle on the ocean floor  And I go by many names also  Some people know me as hope  Some people know me as the voice that you hear  When u loosen the noose on the rope  And you know how I know how I know that I'll prosper?  Because I stand here beside you today  I have stood in the flames that cremated my brain  And I didn't once flinch or shake  So cower at the man I've become  When I sing from the top of my lungs  That I won't retire I'll stand in your fire  Inspire the weak to be strong  And when I am gone I will rise  In the music that I left behind  Ferocious persistent, immortal like you  We're a coin with two different sides

[kheta]

The Life and Adventures of Severus Snape an Unwilling Isekai Protagonist

(TW: Death, suicide, mutilation, depression, torture.)

Basically just me putting Snape through Pain for about 5000 words.

Severus dies at 29 in his first life. Youngest Triple Master in all of Great Britain, right hand man to the Dark Lord himself, a legend to all but himself. They win the war, he kills Potter in their final skirmish against the Order, Dumbledore keeling over at Bella’s hyena-like screech and Lily laying in the dirt as she had for over five months now. The war is not the glory that had been touted through his school boy days. Instead Severus has the murder of an eight year old on his hands, a mercy kill perhaps, but one that has left him nauseous all the same.

Children were supposed to be protected, it was why he had followed Cyrus to this hellscape, why he had divested himself of his very soul, rotted to coal as it was. Death Eaters originally had a purpose, to protect the traditions of their ancestors, to protect all magical children from the uncouth Muggles who existed only to destabilise their communities.

But they had not protected anyone in their quest for glory. Cissy can no longer look at him, not when he stood there as their Lord, their Leader created a shell of her husband. Cissy refuses to look at him, Draco his godson, now forever cursed with scars from a bout of curiosity that laid him before the Dark Lord’s feet.

Indeed few had left the war unscathed. The turncoat Pettigrew dead in a fool-hardy Gryffindor act of courage, saving whatever remained of that infectious mutt. Avery and Evan, felled by some two-bit Auror. Andromeda the blood traitor, leaving behind an orphan child to be raised by Bella and her ilk. Nose-turned Tuney who used to make Severus and Lily cakes for their birthday each year until their fourteenth, dead only because her Brother-in-law had continued displeasing the Dark Lord. And him, morose and tainted and dark, alone at the shambles in Ends he called home.

There was no glory in bloodshed, no glory in the tainting of his soul. So it stands to reason that there is no glory in his death. He mumbles the killing curse as he has been doing since his sixteenth and greets death with the relief of a sorely missed friend.

This was not the end for Severus Snape.

He wakes warm, dark eyes flashing at him. To a crowd laughing at his humiliation.

Severus apologises to Lily in this lifetime. A whole flurry of nights spent looming outside her common room, waiting for a chance to see her whole. To see her alive. She does not accept, so he rids himself of her, falling back to Cyrus’ side.

He tries harder this time round, drops his DADA and Herbology Masteries so he can see the Death Eaters to their prosperous future. Reminds his friends of the true cause, to protect the future of magical Britain.

It works, for a while. Wilkes never betrays them, Cyrus lives on past Macdonald’s death. Bella never meets the Prewetts, does not lose herself to madness in the wake of Rastaban’s death and Rodolphus’ tightly-wound anger.

It is not enough. Evan dies, taking down as many Aurors as he can. Regulus disappears one day and the resulting snap of his lost magic against Black wards has Bellatrix seeking vengeance at every corner, honing her crucio into perfection.

Their cause crumbles once more, sooner this time around as Severus hears of a cursed prophecy that steers their forces towards children.

In this life, Severus reaches 38, almost ten years older than the last. The casualties in the first war is many and varied, Evan and Avery both still felled in battle. Tuney lives, as does Harry, the bitter reminder of fruitless glory. Lucius coos over his son as he grows, arrogant yet brilliant, a cocky head of blonde hair and soft questions at his godfather.

Bellatrix becomes a cackling madwoman, gone is the snide, rude friend-of-a-friend who would indulge him in battle and wine, leaving behind a cruel shade of the brilliant, loyal witch she was.

Seventeen years he spends protecting the life of a child who he has killed once already, just to sheperd him towards another death.

He knows not what happens to Harry Potter, only that the last thing he sees are eyes that glimmer in a harshly familiar way.

Again he is awakened, bereft of his clothing, a marionette strung up in the air.

He dies too young in his third life, all of twenty, wanting for too much. Playing hands too boldly.

Lily accepts his apologies in this lifetime, accepts him as he shoulders the blame for two lifetimes worth of mistakes. Accepts his humility even as he continues to scheme.

He loves Lily. But he loves Cyrus just as much. The cause for Death Eaters may well fall too soon, may be instead the reason for vitirol hate, but all the same these people who walk in the shadows are his friends. His family. While he knows now that he can never rid himself of the care he felt for Lily, he also knows he can never be free from the bonds he had made as a mouthy, ill-tempered, half-blooded Slytherin. Where Eileen had ignored his existence and Tobias had scorned it, the Slytherin's in his age group had relished in Severus and all of the anger he held. Had seen the abuse he suffered at the hands of people who had not cared for him correctly, yet stuck with him all the same.

But neutrality is only another word for cowardice in the blurry lines of war.

He slips a few times too many. Wants to save all the contained, fleeting moments of happiness he can for those he calls his.

The Order never come to offer him a place at their side, his friendship with Lily still too tenuous to guarantee his loyalty. This is fine with him because he has little loyalty to a side that fights with lofty goals. To a group of bullies and spectators and few truly kind, truly just people.

He denies the mark at every corner, always has an excuse at the ready even as he continues to support the side of Dark, continues to the soirées that mask their actual functions, funnelling information to Lily through thoughtless comments. His friend thinks herself a spy, looking at him with trepidation and guilt aplenty. He plays her as he does everyone else, each thought, each word carefully composed to his advantages. ‘I am not ready, I must complete my Masteries, I am not competent enough, there are potions and spells in need of patenting and an affiliation with the Death Eaters will surely ruin me politically.’ Perhaps he relies too much on the memories of companionship, for the pressure to join digs at each passing meeting.

Either way his lack of a mark, lack of a brand is what kills him. Voldemort is no longer the patient Master he had once been, he takes care to make an example of Severus and his reticence, his disloyalty. Regulus is green as he watches, hands unnaturally still. Lucius is as pale as he had been the second time around, freshly from Azkaban. Bellatrix keeps her lips pursed, eyes far away in the telltale sign of occlusion, she's not lost in the famed Black madness just yet, has toed the line of love, lust and power but not yet crossed it. Cyrus does not look at him at all. Rodulphus the smug bastard grins the whole time. Severus dies in a matter of hours, the pain sharp and slow and seemingly never ending.

A shout of Snivellous, a whip of air tight in his lungs.

Severus is once more cursed with life.

Something inside of him begins to give way, fractured and aching and lounging in the Dark. He has loved Cyrus for three lifetimes now, has wanted so badly for the Dark Lord's vision of an equal, singular world of shared magic to come to fruition. Instead he closes his eyes to visions, to shadows of his friends dying, tortured and lost. To a crumbling system that time and time again put the brutality of mercy-killing children to the forefront of their crusade. He has loved Cyrus three times over and three times over Cyrus has loved Macdonald, has signed himself over to The Dark Lord.

Severus has won the war once, seen the devastation left by it in another life and failed all those dear to him in a third.

For his fourth life he changes his allegiance. The Dark is enticing but he has studied it over three lifetimes, he knows not what the Light has to offer.

Lily accepts his apologies begrudgingly then with palpable relief when he distances himself from Cy– from Mulciber. Never one to do anything in halves, Severus makes a show of befriending her friends and finds himself genuinely shocked when the show becomes a reality. Him and McKinnon will likely never like each other, both too cold, distrustful and guarded, but Mary's hot temper and wicked tongue is less disdainful when he has seen her temper cool and felt the genuine weight of her apologies. Alice is still a raging bitch, but she's like that with everyone so he takes no offence to her burning glares, instead relishing in the hot blush consuming her entire being whenever Longbottom falls to her feet. It's almost a shame to see the not-yet-couple graduate before them.

The four foolish, arrogant, Gryffindor toe-rags are still a bitter fight between the two best friends from Cokeworth, but he learns to quiet his rage, even if he does not imagine ever liking them.

Considering some of the constants across lifetimes, he thinks it will be harder to keep Pettigrew in the Light. Instead the rat-bastard accepts a blithe invitation to the cinema and falls at Tuney's feet, love-struck and vying with a gentle attention that has Lily's cruel sister thoroughly enthralled. Considering her husband across two lifetimes used to beat her silly, he does not complain about the change in pace.

Come the end of Hogwarts he has a tentative peace with Potter, who now lives in genuine fear of what Severus will do to his bollocks if he were to hurt his best friend. He would still sell Black to the dementors for nary a knut, a shared opinion really. He still throws acidic barbs at Lupin, even as he brews Wolfsbane with gathered ingredients, hiding the sliver of kindness behind a Masteries project he has no claim to. Belby delighted in their shared correspondence however, happy to attach his name as a sponsor to Severus' endeavours.

After three lifetimes of Slytherins, its maddening being around so many Gryffindors. They do not hide their plans to overthrow the Dark Lord. They walk into every room with a swagger and run to their future with a bullheadedness he can scarcely understand. Black and Potter steadfast in their desires to be Aurors, taking their Junior positions under the newly married Longbottoms with surprising grace, not offended that the two year gap has already seen the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff couple into Seniority. Pettigrew happy to travel the world with his new girlfriend. Mary and Lily throwing their own weight into healer courses. Lupin is still red-taped and hesitant to find a proper job, McKinnon happy to stumble through life whimsically. Most surprisingly, they do not need to be swayed by his words and neither do they mind when he so obviously plays them to his advantage.

Lupin and McKinnon listen to his arguments against the segregation of Muggle or Magic and House Rivalries widening a divide with rapt attention. They don't offer unsolicited, baseless arguments against Muggle customs entrenched in the hatred of differences, instead researching their rebuttals carefully. The trio spend hours of their first year post Hogwarts trying to define a future shaped by somewhat optimistic Laws that could benefit both wizarding and non-wizarding kind alike. So many hours discussing this in fact, that when the invitation to live on the McKinnon grounds comes, he's not actually that surprised. Her manor is huge and old, but not the looming ancient quality of the Malfoy manor, instead there is life and kindness and love to the wooden structure, to the large, blooming fields.

He plays some bold hands when the trio end up living together, practically throwing a Mastery sponsorship at Lupin and making small, sly comments about Slughorn's impending retirement. The shock of a future has Lupin almost red-faced as he spouts idillic beliefs of a new generation of kindness, of equity coming to grace Hogwarts. McKinnon, no longer drinking herself blind, seems to toy with the idea of a Transfiguration apprenticeship when he brings Avery over for a quick catch up.

He is 19 and also over a hundred and this new world in the Light is so very different to what he thought it would be.

Of course 20 comes in dark and dreary as it wont to do.

Most of his Slytherin friends had seen his loyalty to Lucius and Mulciber wither and die and had left him with cruel sneers and harsh curses that he accepted. He has chosen the Light and left his friends to die. Again he is the youngest Triple Master in all of Great Britain, even younger than his first life. Nothing else is quite the same, not even the Light.

As attacks on Muggleborns get bolder, Dumbledore the paranoid war-general seeks to reap the loyalty he has sown in his ex-students. Again, he does not approach Severus and when the first meeting his friends were invited to finishes, Severus is sat with a full kettle of chai and sweets on the table, his research into blood-wards stretched wide. McKinnon storms in angry in a way that is surprising considering the last three months they have spent living together, even the usually mild look on Lupin's face is tight, lips quivering.

Behind them is the host of Gryffindors he hasn't seen since Yule. He raises a brow, flickering his hand to start on more tea and spelling some liquor to the table. Black wrenches the Firewhisky open, dribbles of alcohol spilling out of a few heavy handed shot glasses.

Through halted, tight breaths they tell him of an Order he was thoroughly aware of; tell him of a meeting he had not been invited to; tell him of an idiotic, hasty decision made by five teenagers who had been obviously throwing themselves to the tides of war. They tell him of loyalty to a bitter, sarcastic, cruel, ugly man who had been enthralled in the Dark and still chose the Light. Tuney and Pettigrew are still travelling across Asia, Pettigrew desperately trying to keep his beloved safe, but the rest of the foolish Gryffindor's had seen his lack of a presence at a meeting so perfectly tailored to their desire and instead, chose him.

Three lifetimes given and in the fourth, he is finally chosen but not by the man he had most wanted. It's a gratifying feeling.

None of them join the Order, though Frank will occasionally drop information at Potter and Black, careful to be wondering aloud and not to them. All of them, all now his to protect, create another option. He desists on his research, entrenching himself instead in the way of Magical Law, forces his knowledge down both Potter and Black's throats because the dunderheads are the future of Wizengamot whether they desire it or not. Vouches for Marley's Transfiguration apprenticeship at Beauxbaton. Assures Remus that there is no betrayal in accepting a job offer at the most prestigious Magic School in Great Britain. Asks for a hushed favour from Peter when Avery comes crashing into the McKinnon estate, cursed to a pale filth and crying for a mark he cannot refuse when his sister is still in school. Lily starts a crusade for an integrated Healer/Auror unit, Mary as her second, even as she retroactively starts researching a specialisation in mind-maladies. He escorts Marley down the aisle at Lily's wedding, brushes shoulders with Remus in drunken glee, shares light-hearted barbs with a pregnant Tuney across the dinner table, Peter's newly met 'cousins' awkwardly sat at the long table with them, Aid brushing their knees together.

It is a start of a future that leaves him all the more hopeful, all the more willing to put his life in the hands of Gryffindor's if they could produce such foolishly bright paths.

This future becomes more solid, a tentative, rocky truce across most of the year levels at Hogwarts, all silently reproachful and admiring of the stunningly fair, scarred Potion Apprentice signing up to take Slughorn's position. A St.Mungos healer makes a poor attempt at stitching up a half-dead Corbin Yaxley and Lily and Sirius sue for malpractice with the sort of indignant, reckless fury he's always known them to posses. Marley loses her parents and it becomes international news, a French Reporter railing for action against the Dark plaguing Britain, decrying the inaction of French Wizardingfolk marking it as cowardly as the inaction France had been met with during Grindelwald's reign, waxing about the small, misfit group that finally took that particular Dark Wizard down. Regulus meets Sirius for an awkward dinner, the two brothers watched carefully by both he and Cissa, the two unrelated Slytherin's in the room both masking their surprise at the protective detail sat in opposite sides of the bar. Cissa could have half this pub in a tangle of rumours and fights before he could draw his wand. He could have Reg sulking at his feet with only a fierce look. The Black brothers chose their overseers well.

Draco Malfoy meets his Uncle Sirius with graceless tugs at black curls and a wide gummy smile that has his once-Godfather cooing like a blithering idiot. His parents quiet and fearful as they tug the wards around them.

Harry James Potter is born and he has his mother's eyes and his father's hair and a bounding of curiosity that has all of his Aunties and Uncles roaring with laughter, parents more frazzled than ever.

Twenty one has never felt more harrowing, and Severus has spent six years in the company of Gryffindor's, so of course their brash stupidity rubs off on him. He knows not what shapes the Dark Lord's horcruxes takes, but he knows enough to distance himself from the future he is seeing, to bury himself in the Dark he has always sought.

Regulus lives past nineteen, dragged ashore by the bitter asshole he had enviously viewed as a traitor and an inspiration at once. The locket is blast with the darkest magic Severus can conjure, he knows his dark magic well and the locket screeches as the soul within it dies. Severus loses a hand to a ring that Dumbledore had sought out, two lifetimes ago, but it is a victorious loss that assures the future of those he calls his. He sprinkles his knowledge of dark magick across the information net that encompasses The Order of The Phoenix, allowing it to slip through his constructed cracks and into the ears of the wisened wizard he respects ardently and hates all the same. His death is a quiet, bitter thing, him and Bellatrix both burning in the tangle of dark, angrily shouted spells, the reclusive safe house of some old Pureblood decaying with him. The snap and crackle of his magic felt by his shrieking, six year old nephew in the Potter Manor and the hoarse, anguished shouts leaving Marley's mouth as the wards that once tethered him to the McKinnon estate released his magic to the world. There is no body to bury, the crips he knows it will be.

A snap, a marionette laying in the air and Severus, once more cursed with life.

He is old, he tries. Rewrites the history of the last two lifetimes, pulling his Slytherin friends ashore to the Light and tethering himself to the Gryffindor's he has come to love.

Twenty three, dead.

Four horcruxes found, destroyed. A patent for a Wolfsbane potion that renders the user of sound mind and turns their bones to jelly just long enough for the transformation to not hurt. No mastery. No nights spent crowded over a kitchen table with Marley and Remus. A crusade of peace and understanding underpinning his every move. Avery dead for abandonment of duty at seventeen, Mulciber sentenced to a kiss for murdering a minor, Bellatrix once more drowning in grief of her baby cousin's death.

Again.

Frank is a single father at twenty four, Neville not even one yet. Alice avenged by Moody, his anger taking down the stuttering Avery and the overtly powerful Lestrange brothers. Marley is finishing up a study in Magical Law and plays footsie with Meadows whenever they go pub-crawling. Sirius becomes Lord Black as soon as Regulus is of age, his younger brother relinquishing the title and fleeing to studies in Egypt. Peter dies at eighteen, a raid in Knockturn Alley turning violent by the presence of Death Eaters and too rough Aurors, Tuney survives and never steps foot in Magical Britain again. Harry is born and he and his parents are given warded necklaces, tokens to protect them from as much Dark Magic as is feasible. Voldemort is defeated, but not dead, the Potter family somehow safe in the aftermath of the attack. Remus takes on the role of DADA Professor and lives to carry that title on for more than 5 years. His connections to these people become tenuous the longer he passes through their lives. He has no godchildren and no one to come home to disappearing in the cloak of nightfall and spreading his magical research across the continent with broad strokes and badly maintained whispers in the right ears. All in all this is the only death not made in the throes of war, he dies at twenty nine, during the peace filled years in an unexpected car wreck.

Just once more.

Mary dies a week from graduation, taking Mulciber down in the scuffle. Lily disarms and arrests Bellatrix Lestrange two years into being an auror. James lives to name his son and can never again hold his frail form, never again ride a broom, not with the soft whisper of crucio creating tremors from his once steady grip. Out of pure spite, Severus throws tomes of wandless magic at the once auror, refusing to see the man who had run head first into war become a snivelling, regretful coward. Marley and Meadows hold hands as they walk down the street, both already making names for themselves in the Ministry, unafraid to use nepotism to their advantage if it meant fighting for their relationship to be open and honest. Regulus dies fresh from Hogwarts, and there are no apologies sincere enough, no rationalisation strong enough to salvage the friendship Sirius had with Lily. Sirius loves James and loves Harry and can never forgive Lily. Remus fights the war and loses a foot for it, but he finds a quiet cottage to call home in Ottery St.Catchpole and ends up in some odd, quasi threesome and marriage with the Lovegoods that he does not mention in any length. Peter and Tuney still live in Cokeworth, have two sons both glad to look over their baby cousin once he starts Hogwarts. Severus once again falls to the shadows, trying his damndest to kill the wizard he once admired, to finally put a damn end to this curse. He dies as the Dark Lord is once more resurrected, his flung protego protecting Diggory, but not even his strongest wards, his strongest tokens can stop Evan from drawing Harry's blood to the caldron. He spells the portkey to the foolish boys he had come to protect and hears Harry's shout of no in the same moment he sees the jet of dark green flying his way.

By his eighth life he is so tired of war. Does not care if Dumbledore wins or Voldemort wins or if his friends die. He has witnessed so many iterations of them fall before him.

Severus dangles in the air, falls against the ground and does not move.

His mind is a fracture of mazes and occlusion is the only peace he knows, burying what remains of his conscious beneath the icy depths of water.

Through a haze he sees faces. Genuine concern in cool, blue eyes, no twinkle in sight. Guilty, surly faces of enemies and friends and people he may yet love. Severus has played fate so many times, he is so tired, prefers to sit himself unmoving in a white hospital bed. Cyrus kisses him exactly once, the raging inferno of thousands dispelling the calm of his steady river. Severus sinks further, intent to never again see the light of day.

He does not know when he dies, notices a steady lack of visitors, meets a cherub faced Harry and loud hollering Draco and knows no more. Then a blank series of nurses and the old coot who was the most piss poor Headmaster to ever grace the earth. Seeing the ageing visage almost has him leaving the peace of his own mind, though he manages to wrangle those intentions far below the surface.

Snivellous.

Godric Almighty he's fucking sick of this shit. He breaks the spell he had created so many lifetimes ago with ease, lets the familiar weight of his wand rest to his hand, tilting the wooden conduit to his chin and traumatising more than fifty kids by just topping himself there and then.

ANOTHER ONE!

He doesn't care if he has to off himself a thousand more times. He. Will. Not. Stay.

A few Ravenclaws and Gryffindors misreads his intent and disarms him when his magical core begins to coarse with violent, deadly cracks in the ground. Dumbledore comes to speak to him, he does not care. A whole week spent planning his inevitable demise, waiting for Poppy's damned charms to free him from their horrifying, well-meaning grasp. When he's finally released he storms to the top of the Astronomy tower and just jumps.

Of course he had forgotten about the hedge magick surrounding Hogwarts. Another five days of sad useless interrogations and crying Lily and angry Cyrus. When he's at the Great Hall that night, he's so mad that two attempts had failed and just plunges a butter knife as violently as he can through his neck. Sod everyone else.

But no, no dying doesn't work. Death doesn't want him. Not in the tenth life, the fourteenth life, not in his seventeenth life will he finally stay down.

He's tried it all. Suicide by cop, mauled by animals, starvation. It does not stick. He runs away to the Muggle World, does his O-Levels and A-Levels, gets a degree in Chemical Engineering and a Muggle Husband and Son that he gets to see murdered before his very eyes. Very much not because of magic, no, but because apparently leaving your ex-wife for your son's primary Science teacher is a crime punishable by death. Apparently picking your wonderful, kind Da over your abusive, psycho Mum is all strangers need to kill you like mindless savages.

After that awfulness, he runs to East Asia, learning ancient branches of magic. Ignores his unfinished OWLs and the degree he does not have and the permits he most certainly lacked as he trudges through Mainland China, Taiwan, Bangkok, Singapore, India, through the Middle East. He learns enough magic to no longer need a wand, ever, though he shrinks his wand and attaches it to an earring, if only for the companionship it has given. Dies facing a particularly pissed dragon in this life.

Out of boredom he becomes an screen-writer and actor, just drops school and uses ancient Chinese rituals to spell his hair sleek and silky, uses colour correcting charms passed through Indian households to even out his skin tone. A Filipino potion has the bones of his teeth and nose evening out into something more normal looking. By the end of it he might have actually looked a bit fit. A few lifetimes having to lie his way to Helheim and back means he's something of a good actor with enough tragic stories to tell, that he's never in need of a role. He's been through enough pain, enough anger, enough betrayal to embody every character given to him smoothly, to give charming, dry smiles at his co-stars after performing monologues that leave them gasping in fear. This is a fun life, spent with magic oozing from his every move and addled by whatever drug seems to hit his fancy. Bellatrix hunts him down after he's nominated for an Oscar for his role as a naive General under Hilter's regime in love with a poor, captive Jewish mother. Not his own work, but it's his first Oscar nomination so he's a bit smug and really fucking trashed when she finds him at his unguarded apartment. She calls him a blood-traitor and fool and scorns the power she can feel radiating from him, unmasked and developing with him. She gives him a choice for glory. Severus has known glory and hated it all the same, so he sends her off with a kiss against her cheek and promises for dinner. Two days later Macnair, Rosier, Crouch and Scabior come to claim the dinner invite he had given and honestly, it's just easier letting them kill him then it is to fight back. Based on the sharp gleam in his eyes and the sudden raising of brows, Evan realises he had given up long before they got there.

He does manage to kill Voldemort, for good in his eighteenth life. Just follows his magical signature set on the ring to the rest of the bloody horcruxes and uses some refined Japanese spellwork to mutilate the damned things. But Voldemort's death makes no happy ending, creates instead a power vacuum that is still unstable when he steps into as the new Dark Lord. Cissa kills him in this lifetime, a poison in his drink that he could smell when he'd kissed her fingertips.

By the time his twentieth lifetime comes, Severus has knowledge of every form of magic known to wizarding kind, except the kind that will ensure he is never again reborn, has exactly no attachments to anyone and is only searching for a peaceful way to die.

Content to let things lie, he waits until Potter has placed him back on the ground. Spells his wand to a makeshift earring. Flies off to hunt horcruxes, but does not kill the Dark Lord because he can't be arsed looking for the paranoid man on top of everything else. Writes theses under psuedo-nyms, sends ideas where they can be cultivated, puts a very particular potion recipe in Lupin's room and goes searching through Ethiopia to Pakistan looking for a good and permanent death.

Why Potter nee Evans, McKinnon, Mulciber, Malfoy and Malfoy nee Black decide to interrupt this journey almost four years later, he hasn't the faintest idea.

Life would be so much better if he could just die.

(If ever I come back to this, the original idea is Lily, Marlene and Narcissa decide to investigate what the hell happened to Severus Snape and why their family magic seems to be honing in on the supernova that is his magical signature. Lucius is going so those damned Gryffs don't hurt his lovely wife and Cyrus just wants to know why the heck he keeps seeing Snape die. Along the way they decide to get attached to him and make sure he's just as attached to them and not spending all of his waking time trying to off himself. It's a particularly long journey.)

[monogatcri]

━━ ˟ ⊰🍁STRICKEN GRIEF PLAGUED HIM NOW , the agonizing breaths to cause heartrate to pick up pace as his mind takes in the information thrust at him. The shoves to his form are painful enough, but each admittance to the sins of his past break through his mind as though distant lightning used him as rod for its devastation. His purpose. His clan. His name. The Isshin Art. Tatarasuna. Gone... Had this situation been destined to allow it, his body wouldn't have remained standing, knees buckled beneath the weight of information thrown upon his shoulders like rocks upon his chest. Struggling to breathe, he can't find the strength to speak. Everything and everyone he'd ever loved now lay in ruin. He could spend millennia pointing the finger of blame upon the puppet, screaming at him as though he were some abomination created to destroy his life for singular purpose to commit these sins ; however, and this is the most surprising aspect of this moment, he doesn't raise a digit nor his voice nor his head as it bowed in the pain.

        ...perhaps...he's right...

        Maybe Niwa is truly just a weak man, but what is weakness to one who possesses power? They hear an infant cry for its mother and damn it for not already finding independence from her ; they watch a child stumble about and criticize its inabilities ; they listen to a young man struggling to comprehend a topic and scoff at his brain ; they watch a person learning the basics of battle and think to themselves how they'd mastered the art within moments... What is this weakness that they look upon? Had Niwa not spent countless hours those four hundred years ago teaching Kabukimono to read, write, cook, fight, and smith -- had he not watched him learn even the most basic fundamental codes of humanity? Arduous hours, nights spent awake as he thought over how best to consult the next lesson between them. The people of Tatarasuna were gone, but they were a large portion of reason he now stood so tall, were they not? If Niwa were truly as weak as he saw him, then what weak man would have come to face the wrath of someone deemed next to godliness?

        He feels the pause, a moment of peace between them as his head finally does begin to lift, droplets cascading down his features. Emotions exhibited by the human that the god-to-be despised and wished to rid the world of. For the briefest flash of lightning, the bladesmith thought he had finally chosen to relinquish this hold on anger, but the sharpest blade takes time to prepare and, with swiftness, does he swing it with intent to execute old friend, old family, but its mark does not aim for neck, it slices through heart, cleanly and confidently. He collapsed back, falling upon the dirt, his calloused palms digging into dirt. ❝ I don't care that you would have been fine, ❞ he retorted at long last, mahogany piercing back against it, hand pressed to chest to squeeze at his heart. ❝ I wanted you to live in Tatarasuna knowing that your life wasn't defined by some arbitrary concept of immortality ; I wanted you to know that when I died, you weren't seen by me as some tool to use! ❞ How could he protect him now...? If only he could have ; he wanted to, wished to shield him from the horrors of humanity's darkest depths, but Escher, the damnable bastard, wished to pretend that it was the whole of the human race -- to push him away... Though they tremble, he managed to push himself back up to his feet, shaky breaths taken in, eyelashes fluttering those tears from him.

        A short breath escaped him, head shaking slow in its misery. ❝ I care not what you call yourself now ; you're still...you. ❞ No, not the small puppet that looked upon the world in whimsy ; no, not the same individual who cared for the lives of humans ; no, not the same person who glanced upon Niwa to guide him and was cheered on by Katsuragi -- no...no, he could never return to that innocence. It didn't matter... No matter how much time had passed, he still was who Niwa knew -- changed or not... ❝ You're wrong: you still have someone waiting for you ; please, don't go with the Fatui -- don't go with the ones who pushed you to destroy everything you ever loved. ❞ Arm raised, palm facing up ; it's a pathetic sight against someone who proclaimed himself alone. Don't go with them, another silent plea...don't go with their plans, he wanted to scream to his face, but he doesn't, his voice instead offered one more, albeit softer, piece of sorrowful revelations: ❝ I know you're in pain and want it to stop, but...I can...protect you now... ❞ That arm fell, his pace once more to lead him toward the shorter, not pausing...even if he were threatened, harmed, he wouldn't stop until he was standing right before him -- weak body, fatal wound, he cared not what happened to him in this moment. ❝ Come back to me... ❞

        Thus does he hug him, embracing him like parent does a child. Fatally wound him. Deny him the passage of life. Spout more at him. If this is how Niwa Hisahide died, then he had failed the world and, in the end, deserved this fate for his own hubris.

❝  𝐡𝐞  𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬  𝐭𝐨  𝐦𝐞  𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲!  not  to  the  likes  of  you   . . .   to  you,  he  is  dead.    ❞    just  as  you  are  to  me ,  he  almost  adds  into  the  word  string  weaved  with  fury .   Scaramouche  is  now  growing  tiresome  of  the  meddling  between  him  &&  his  fate .   there  is  no  going  back  anymore  &&  his  frustrated  gaze  is  focused  solely  on  what  claims  to  be   ' Niwa ' .   ❝  Tatarasuna  is  long  abandoned . Isshin  art  is  gone!   Raiden  gokaden  is  no  more!  . . .  &&  it's  all  because  of  me!   ❞

a  confession  most  terrifying  to  consider :  a  one  eccentric  puppet  embracing  the  past ' s  cutting  embrace  &&  becoming  the  poison  lying  in  the  thorns .  he  has  long  accepted  not  being  fit  to  love. but  it  turned  out  he  is  particularly  skilled  at  breeding  hatred  &&  bearing  grudges,  scheming  &&  ruining  lives  . . .  it's,  oh,  so  easy  to  do  it!   mortals  like  mere  pawns  on  a  chessboard. the  king   —    Kabukimono    —   guarded  by  legions  of  pieces .   he  himself  became  the  sole  queen  protecting  &&  despising  the  useless  piece  . . .  Scaramouche  long  had  taken  on  the  demeanor  of  the  archon  &&  swore  to  devour  everything  on  his  path  to  glory .   Niwa  is  a  fool  if  he  thinks  this  is  a  setback  on  the  path  to  divinity .   ❝   I  have  made  sure  to  properly  pay  back  everyone  that  has  ever  hurt  me.   Raiden  Gokaden   —   so  priceless  &&  ancient   —   is  an  art  at  the  brink  of  extinction .   the  Thunder  Sakura ,   so  mighty  &&  sturdy ,   crumbles  underneath  the  weight  of  Tatarigami!    your  clan  is  no  more ,   your  name  is  no  more   &&  your  nation   will  not  last  long  either.   ❞   the  Harbinger  threatens ,   his  violet  vision  piercing  through  the  mortal  soul.

❝   there  is�� nothing  &&  no  one  waiting  for  me!  . . .   not  anymore.   ❞    a  rage  with  a  soft  finish  of  painful  nostalgia .   as  if  a  voice  of  the  past  joining  in,  relating  to  the  fury  of  Scaramouche  himself .   after  all ,   what  will  it  serve  them?  doubting  the  events  would  only  have  him  realize  everything  that  happened  was  because  of  him .   whether  intentionally  or  not ,   the  puppet  is  the  reason  for  suffering  of  countless  whilst   ' Niwa '   will  return  to  the  comfort  of  the  grave  &&  leave  him  alone  once  more  . . .   the  Thunder  Manifestation  will  never  regain  what  it  had  lost .   &&  so,  Scaramouche  finally  pushes  Niwa  away ,   physically.   ❝    a  fool  you  are,  Hisahide!  &&  a  liar!  I  would  had  worn  the  device  myself  to  protect  everyone!   but  now?  now  you  claim  to  have  known  of  Escher's  fraud  &&  confronted  him  on  your  own  . . .  you  had  your  suspicions  yet  decided  to  talk  to  him  alone!    ❞   a  step  forward  &&  followed  by  another  push,  now  stronger.  ❝   you  are  weak  &&  I  never  will  end  up  like  you!  everything—!   everything  was  crumbling  down  around  me!  if  I  wasn't  so  weak,  I  would  have  saved  everybody .  Tatarigami  was  always  a  part  of  me ,   sentient  or  not!   I  would  have  been  fine  . . . ❞

then ,   the  puppet  stops ,   his  gaze  to  the  ground  . . .   looking  at  his  hand  trembling  gives  him  a  clear  answer  to  his  mysterious  state .   just  why  was  he  letting  the  emotions  flow  like  this?  still  wasn't  Scaramouche  certain  about  the  man's  true  identity  &&  yet ,   all  the  frustrations  stacked  since  centuries  just  came  out  of  him .  was  he  losing  control  over  his  cool?  was  this  his  Kabukimono  life's  grievances?   no  matter  . . .   this  time ,   the  hand  follows  onto  the  chest  of  the  smith. he  was  intending  to  push  him  for  good ,   yet  even  the  material  feels  so  sickeningly  familiar .  it  made  his  fingers  straighten  &&  seek. then  clutch  onto   ' Niwa's '  kimono  in  an  odd  gesture  for  several  minutes.   ❝   you  couldn't  even  protect  yourself .   you  couldn't  protect  him  then.   ❞  Scaramouche  mutters  out.   ❝   what  makes  you  think  you  can  protect  him  now . . .?   ❞   he  hisses  &&  extends  the  distance  between  them. as  if  to  make  a  point   —   he  is  out  of  the  reach.

❝   you  can't  keep  him  safe .   only  I  am  capable  of  that .   I  am  everything  Kabukimono  wasn't . . .  my  name  is  now  Scaramouche  —  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘚𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘩  𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘪  𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳.  ❞

[whirlybirbs]

BIRBS I GOTTA STUDY FOR MY MOLECULAR BIOLOGY FINAL AND YOUR #thinking... thinking has distracted me. I have no choice but to forget my studies and binge read your Loki’s writing 🙏 love u

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE  |  home is the heart

summary: talk is had. magic is done.

pairing: loki / f!reader, slight sylvie / f!reader

a/n: ANON I HOPE YOU ACE THAT FINAL. for all your hard work and a little extra luck, here's some... emotions. yet again, this beautiful gif is by @malyeoretsev from this set here, one i have referenced twice now! it's just so good!

[   MASTERPOST   ]

The town has been abandoned.

Whole lives have been fled for the promise of safety — and as Sylvie shoulders her way through a locked door, barging into a closed bar, you can't help but feel the eerie creep of fear tingle your neck.

You scratch at the feeling as your expression drags your mouth down into a deep frown.

The watering hole was no doubt a source of life in this mining town — that much is apparent by the bustling, flickering wall of holo-photos at the far end of the bar. Every patron pictured is smiling; some in the embraces of friends, others rejoicing amidst kissed cheeks. There are photos of weathered miners, settled in after a long shift, and bright-eyed kids dreaming of better lives.

It's life. Frozen in time. Far from here.

In the dim quiet, you wander along the wall.

Loki watches the glow bathe your face in purples and blues and pinks. You amble along the wall, expression muddled with sorrow, pain and longing.

He's startled from his staring by his blonde counterpart.

"I'll be outside."

"Running off?"

"No," she shirks, burying her hands in her robes as she watches you, "Giving you two time to talk."

Loki opens his mouth to bite back — but, Sylvie has disappeared from his side with a swirl of black fabric. True to her word, she hikes up the front steps, lingers a moment longer with a contemplative breath, and then seeks refuge on the bar's front porch.

With that, Loki is left alone with his thoughts and you.

His lashes flutter as he watches you reach out to touch a hologram of a gaggle of young girls. Electricity kisses your fingertips as soft as a rose petal. In another life, they could easily be your friends. They're laughing.

Loki clears his throat.

Your hand falls.

He watches you square your posture as you sink into closest stool, gaze still rooted to the far wall. To your left, that wall glows on.

Loki is slow as he approaches the end of the bar.

To his surprise, you're the one who speaks first.

"They look... happy."

He inhales through his nose. His hands root themselves in his pockets. Long legs carry him in a tired swagger closer and closer. Green eyes flash critically over your worried hands — something you and him share. He's noticed that. He fiddles with his palm when he's worried; it seems you do the same. Worry, anxiety, fear... All of it.

You and him are not so different, he supposes.

You both say things you don't mean.

"I suppose they were."

"Now it's all gone," you say as you finally look at him, sadness settled deep in your eyes as they roam about the place, "Or, will be."

He isn't quite sure what to say to that. But, in an odd way, he relates. Perhaps you do, too, to never being able to go back to the life you'd had before — to the happiness you'd had before. His life will never be the same either.

His... glorious purpose.

What a joke.

And even still, Asgard will be gone. So, what does he have?

...You. He has you.

Bound by whatever cosmic happenstance decided this, between you two, was worth whatever trouble it caused. At that moment, Loki thinks about the heartbroken stare of the woman in the Stark Lobby, before he'd fled with the Tesseract and dragged you along. You loved him in that life of yours.

Perhaps he wasn't so insufferable then.

...Is he truly the inferior version of himself?

Quiet settles between you.

You deserve the better version of him.

Then, Loki speaks. He knocks his knuckles on the bar.

"I'm sorry."

You're fast to rush out your own words as you screw your eyes shut. and shake your head. "No — no, I... I am. I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asks, brows knotting as he leans back on his heels, "Really — at least you've been honest."

"I haven't been honest," you breathe, closing your eyes, "I've been mean. I didn't mean it. I don't hate you."

"You're exhausted."

"That shouldn't be an excuse. No matter how much I want to go home."

Loki inhales once more, and as he drops to the stool beside you, he exhales. He tries to muscle away the earnest ache of softness that bubbles at your words.

"No, perhaps not," he says slowly as he leans his back against the bar and extends on leg. His other is crooked, foot propped up on the stool's support, "But it's an explanation. After all, I betrayed your trust."

"You did," you say, turning to him with a somber expression, "It hurt my feelings."

"And you reacted in kind," Loki explains, mostly to himself, before his mouth runs dry at the look on your face, "I am sorry."

"...You'll do it again."

"I'm sure I will," he says, eyes roaming across your face, "I can almost promise it."

"Why?" you ask, shaking your head, "Doesn't it get old? The backstabbing, the double-crossing, the lying?"

Loki leans back on his elbows. He wets his lips. He's quiet for a moment or two, and you watch the God's eyes pick apart a far bulletin board by the door.

He doesn't exactly answer. But, you can gather enough clues by his clear diversion. You've struck some sort of nerve.

"Let me see it."

He's talking about your cheek. So, you present it with a slow turn in your stool. It's when his fingers, long and slender, gently grip your cheek that your eyes blow wide with a new sense of interest. He touches you gently, like you're made of porcelain, and like he's trying to fix what he may have broken.

His fingers thrum alive with magic, and your eyes glimmer with emerald light as his thumb passes along the gash — from nose to cheek, the magic follows the trail. It tickles.

His mother taught him this years ago, and though healing magic was a bit more exhausting than the other schools of practice, a part of him feels at peace offering up a part of himself to heal you. Be it energy, soul, or strength, it doesn't matter. It's an olive branch if only he truly knows the weight of it in his hand.

You seem entranced with the act; you watch with big eyes as his hands pull away — and in their wake your own fingers climb your cheeks with sudden confusion at the suddenly absent ache.

It's gone. In it's wake, a fine, thin line run across your skin.

"Did you just—"

"I suppose I should have asked first." His reply is nearly cheeky.

You snatch at his hand. Loki blinks.

He has the hands of a God. Long, dexterous, strong. Lithe and rather beautiful. It fits him — the sort of man who is more rogue than warrior. Daggers do little to callous the hands.

You like them.

"You... it's gone," you say, poking at your cheek again as you turn his hand over in your own — curiosity and amazement have swallowed you entirely, "How?"

"Magic," he says plainly, and his fingers spark with a haze of green once more, "Healing magic, more specifically."

"That's... unbelievable."

"Hardly," he mutters, suddenly overtaken with boyish bashfulness that spurs him to pluck his hand away and roll his eyes, "It was the first genre of magic my mother taught me. A child could do it."

"It's amazing."

"It's boring. Totally applicable. There's no showmanship involved."

Your lips quirk. "Right."

He steals a glance your way. You're smiling.

"Stop looking at me like that."

You laugh to yourself and continue feeling along the bridge of your nose. There's nothing there. No scab, no tenderness. Everything is gone. Your face feels warm, but not uncomfortably so.

It makes your eyes feel heavy.

Loki notices.

"You ought to rest."

He's standing before you can disagree.

Shrugging his jacket off, he is quick to drop it across your shoulders — an act that reminds you of that day in the library. His fingers squeeze gently. Brief enough that you're not entirely sure it happened. The tenderness is absolved by his humor.

"Try not to snore too loud, bug."

It lacks bite.

You smile into your arm as you rest your chin in your hand. You speak slowly, nestling in at the bar. You turn to watch the faces of the wall flicker in and out.

Your smile fades. Loki lingers in the doorway.

He needs to get you off this doomed rock.

Then, home.

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (4)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), voyeurism, exhibitionism, authority kink, praise kink, spanking, slight dom themes, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint, 

A/N: Slowing it down just a bit to move plot along. Freaking out on the reblogs and comments are encouraged and will be rewarded with cookies. Seriously though, I love hearing what you guys think and use some of it to make the next chapters better. I adore you all! Have at it!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:4 Apple Crumble

Steve Rogers had kindly offered for you and your team to stay at the Compound. For however long this mission would take, you were all going to start running straight at it early tomorrow. In terms of the mission, he was relieved to have your help. The sooner the serum was out of circulation the better and they truthfully did need your help. This underground world was more your scene now and you could better navigate it.

On a personal level, he was glad that you were sticking around even if it was on a contract. He would take whatever opportunity he can and make the best of it. That's how he's always been and he wasn't going to change that now.

He told himself that it was because he was the Captain that he was at your door this late after you all had agreed to part for the night. It was out of consideration that he carried with him some of his own clothes to offer you in case you needed something to change into. It was out of a need to clear the tension with you now that you were going to work as a team again that he was knocking on your door.

That was all.

You opened the door a moment later wrapped only in a short towel and with your hair still dripping wet from the shower. The smile that rose on your face was sly as you leaned on the doorframe with your arms crossed and your hip cocked to one side. He swallowed.

Maybe that wasn't all.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was far too distracted by the little droplet that rolled down from your temple to the valley of your breasts. He shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus only on your eyes and not the inappropriate answers that sprung to mind at your question.

"I brought you a change of clothes in case you need it," he managed to say. "And I wanted to talk to you if you're not too tired."

You opened the door wider and took the clothes from him without a word, turning into the room toward the bathroom. You casually dropped your towel to the floor and Steve choked at the sight of your bare back, a small set of black panties the only stitch you wore. The breath in his chest released only when you disappeared into the bathroom, the door cracked open offering him enticing glimpses as you moved around.

Steve hurriedly closed the door behind him and as he made his way further in, he caught sight of an open go bag beside your bed with clothes clearly visible. There was also a shirt and sweats beside it, the design he knew belonged to Pietro. He felt a little embarrassed. Of course Pietro would have already beaten him to it and that your team always came prepared. Still there was a satisfaction that bloomed in him when you stepped out clad in his shirt, the hem barely reaching mid thigh and bare feet soundlessly crossing the carpeted floor until you came to sit with him on the sofa. You tucked your legs under you and rested your head on your hand over the back of the seat.

"Gotta say I like this look, Steve," you grinned at him.

He chuckled, self-consciously rubbing at his beard and pulling at the hair at the back of his collar. The light dusting of red on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What? You don't like the all American apple pie look?"

You hummed and took a leisurely look at him from head to toe. Rugged and imposing as he appeared, the heat on his face intensified at your obvious appreciation and the way you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip. You were biting your lip when your eyes met his again, trying to stop yourself from laughing at how flustered he was getting and how much you were enjoying it. You've always found Steve handsome and he made apple pie look damn good, but this look on him was just so dangerously delicious.

You had a type.

"I'm more of an apple crumble kind of girl. I like the texture better," you winked. "And I don't mind a little beard burn."

"Will your team mind that I'm talking to you without one of them here?"

You raised an eyebrow and held his unsteady gaze, clearly understanding he meant more than just your professional relationship with the three men.

"You're curious."

"It's none of my business. That's not what I came to talk to you about," he stammered, unaccustomed to how forward you were.

"What did you want to talk about then?"

"I wanted to apologize properly and thank you for agreeing to help."

You groaned and threw your whole body back on the seat, causing Steve's shirt to ride up just shy of completely flashing him. You sat back up and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. It was only the fact that it was Steve that you were even entertaining this conversation.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Steve," you firmly dismissed.

"I do, Nem. We all do."

"Fine. List down what you're sorry about. Let's go through it one by one or we can draw lots to make it interesting."

"Nem," he said, low and clear with warning yet imploring you to listen. "Can you take this seriously for one second?"

The ever present smirk on your face dropped as you sighed heavily and ran a hand through your hair. For the first time since he's seen you, your expression softened a fraction and a shadow of the person he used to know passed across your features.

"Listen to me, Steve. I don't blame any of you. I'm not angry at any of you. I honestly have no room for more anger even if I wanted to be."

In the beginning you were. There were days while you were getting tortured that you hated them while you pleaded to the heavens for them to rescue you. It had taken a decade and three incredible men for that inferno of fury to turn into a manageable bitterness.

"Do you know how tiring it is to be so fucking angry all the time?" you chuckled darkly. "It took a while, but I learned to prioritize what I choose to be angry about."

"Salvacion," he muttered and you nodded, your eyes staring blankly forward.

"I've carried that name for a decade, Steve. That asshole has to die by my hands."

Steve saw now how selfish he was for forcing the conversation with the purpose of earning your forgiveness. It was for easing his own guilt that he was doing it when instead he should have just been thanking you for what you did and had to endure.

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"I tried, Steve. When I was recovered enough I tried to go back. Did you know my sister had a girlfriend?"

He shook his head, throat suddenly closing at the sight of absolute misery in your eyes. He regretted starting this conversation even more.

"Jill. She was amazing to Lily and she was like a sister to me too," you smiled a little, not in your usual sarcastic way but with a hint of gentle fondness before your expression hardened once more.

"I saw her and I just couldn't bring myself to face her. I'm the reason the love of her life is dead. I couldn't, Steve"

It started off with the fear that they might have killed Jill too. You told yourself you had to know, but truthfully you were trying desperately to find a connection to Lily. You found her visiting the graveyard, laying flowers on two stones and spending the afternoon sitting on the ground tearfully talking to the dead. The shame burned through you and from then on you made it your sole purpose to destroy the man who took Lily from you both. Until then you had no right to face her. You had no right to return to the life you once knew.

Steve noticed that you weren't crying although the look in your eyes was swimming with grief. He expected you to cry, but somehow seeing you with dry eyes only made you look more in pain. You only clenched your fists, your shoulders tense and your jaw stiff. Steve decided he would tell the others instead of having you go through this conversation again.

He would do that for you.

You woke up surprisingly refreshed the following morning, strangely lighter than you have felt in the past decade. You didn't expect for that talk with Steve to have such an impact on you. You smiled ruefully, remembering your many counseling sessions with Curtis before and that maybe you were finally seeing his point.

FRIDAY had directed you to the larger conference room for today's briefing session with the rest of the team. You were wearing another one of Steve's shirts paired with your usual cargo pants, a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smiles. Billy in particular was leaning in to whisper to Matt what was going on.

"You don't have to tell me. I can smell it," Matt chuckles, crinkles visible at the edges of his dark sunglasses. "His cologne is quite distinct."

You smacked Billy on the arm, but laughed with them as well before throwing a wink at Steve who proceeded to blush a deep red. As you took your seat, a cup of coffee suddenly materialized in front of you accompanied by Pietro's ever bright smile. You smiled gratefully and took a sip, eyes slightly rounding in surprise at the taste.

"You remembered how I took my coffee."

"I've forgotten nothing about you, little star."

You haven't taken your coffee that way in so long. It's been just strong plain black coffee lately, the lack of sugar and cream where you lived with the boys being a factor. It had seemed pointless to eat something sweet when there was a permanent sour taste in your mouth from life. Now though you couldn't seem to help taking one sip after another, licking your lips before going in for more.

Right now this tasted right.

You didn't notice that Billy was smiling adoringly at you and sharing a look of approval with Frank as the briefing began, happy that someone aside from him was spoiling you. You certainly didn't know that Matt was smirking because he heard your heart literally skip a beat at the sweet gesture.

It took hours for the meeting to wrap up, but there was still more to do before you could actually take action. A number of the Avengers were sent out to gather more intel while the rest would stay to make further preparations.

"I only really need to talk to Frank a bit more," Steve said as he approached your group. "Why don't we have Pietro show you guys around the Compound? There are some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Your tour guide for the afternoon appeared beside you, taking your hand in his and bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He was just too cute that you couldn't help but let out a small smile. The effect he had on you remained it seems.

"A tour would be really helpful for me," Matt easily agreed.

"And I go wherever the pretty girl goes," Billy added, slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"Great. Surrender your weapons and you should be good to go," Steve asked with a pointed look at both you and Billy who groaned in answer.

Billy was ready with a string of complaints and counter arguments when the clang of metal on the glass conference table stunned him into silence. He watched in complete disbelief as you removed every gun and blade attached to your body, efficiently dismantling them and lining them up on the table.

"Is she?" Matt murmured, leaning closer to Billy.

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

By the time you stepped back, there was practically a decent sized armory on the table. How and where you managed to fit all of it on your person was a mystery to them.

"You missed one," Billy said, snapping out of his daze.

He stepped in front of you and casually slipped his arm up the front of your shirt and under your sports bra. His fingers grazed unnecessarily close to your now hardened nipples and he simply winked when you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy pulled out two small throwing daggers soon after and placed them alongside your other weapons.

"Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about those," you chuckled.

"Do you always come armed to the teeth?" Bucky snapped, clearly bothered by the display.

"She doesn't want her team to carry extra ammo for her, Sergeant," Billy scowled at him, the obvious animosity surprising Bucky. When he turned back to Pietro, his expression was back to his usual playful one. "So how about that tour?"

Frank turned to Steve when you had exited the room. "You gotta teach me that trick, Cap."

"What trick?"

"First time in 10 years I've seen her take any kind of order without a knife fight first," he said, cracking a smile and shaking his head.

It turns out that coming back was doing some good for you and this made him more comfortable around the Avengers. He wasn't about to braid them friendship bracelets but he was less inclined to pop a cap in their ass. At least for the time being.

Walking around the Compound brought back some of that wonder you felt when you first stepped in, but it recalled everything you had lost. Sensing the sudden tension in you, Billy gripped you by the waist and pulled you into his side. He kissed your temple, a silent reminder of what you had gained.

Pietro had been an absolute sweetheart, specifically describing what was in the area for Matt's benefit and pointing out the changes to you. The training area was your last stop, the place you had spent the most time in during your short stint here. There were loud sounds coming from the area and walking in you saw fresh-faced recruits in paired off sparring sessions.

Your full attention was on Pietro as he happily listed off the new features and answered questions from Matt and Billy, the latter now in businessman mode as he thought of what he could implement for Anvil. You were having an unusually pleasant time until a familiar shrill voice demanded your attention.

"Well look what the street cat dragged in. Y/N?"

You knew that voice. A decade with torture and trauma included apparently couldn't change how much her voice grated at you. The cold smirk made a reappearance on your face as you slowly turned to face her, the three men with you were instantly alarmed at the change in your demeanor.

"Kim," you nodded.

"Thought you were dead."

"Thanks. Can't say I thought about you at all though."

"I see you're still pathetically clinging to Pietro."

"What can I say? He's really cute," you said with a wink at Pietro who seemed to enjoy the compliment.

She sneered at you, her irritation rising when you weren't backing down like you used to do. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed about you, but you seemed rougher around the edges and far too cocky for her liking. Luckily, she still remembered a sure-fire way to take you down a few pegs.

"I'm teaching a class on hand to hand combat. How about we show them a demonstration on what a real fight looks like?"

You giggled as your smile grew, a disturbing sight that made even Kim doubt herself for a moment. You nodded your head in easy acceptance and she looked like she was pleased at herself for getting this opportunity. Before you could step forward though, you found Matt's walking stick blocking your path.

"What? It's not assault if it's provoked," you grinned at the frown on his face.

He hated it when you found loopholes, but he relented with a heavy sigh. He was too used to this. He leaned toward Pietro and told him that he should inform the Captain.

"Get some snacks too, roadrunner," Billy chuckled, delightedly watching you strip off your shirt and walking confidently towards Kim on the sparring mats.

Pietro had returned a moment later after completing his task, actually handing Billy a bag of fresh popcorn. The smile on his face froze when he caught sight of your bare skin. So far all he had seen as evidence of your torture was what was visible on your neck and face. He had stupidly brushed that fact aside, too excited to have found you again. Now the vicious marring on your beautiful skin was a cruel reminder of their failure as your team. They had failed you.

He had failed you.

Back in the conference room, the same feelings were shared by two super soldiers. They had pulled up surveillance on the training area after Pietro's message, just in time to see you take off that shirt.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs at the horrific sight. He was alive and you had paid a heavy price for saving him. He could barely keep his eyes on you, the shame burning through him. He didn't want to imagine the amount of pain you had to endure to sustain those injuries.

"Don't you people dare look at her with pity," Frank warned. "Those scars are a testament to her strength. She's damn beautiful."

Steve agreed. He'd caught a glimpse of your scars last night and jarring as they were, your complete lack of self consciousness to them just made you more alluring. Looking back at the screen though he was concerned that you could hurt yourself. Kim was a top agent now, high enough in the ranks to be training recruits and leading missions. She had proven herself deadly in combat, but the way you were grinning was chilling in itself.

"One question before we start," you said.

"What?" Kim scoffed, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder.

"When's your next mission?"

"2 weeks. Why?" she answered, perfect brow raised in confusion.

"Just calculating your recovery time," you shrugged. "I'm nice that way."

Kim predictably charged at you then, growling and cursing at you under her breath. You smirked, standard SHIELD movements were easy to read for you. You stayed completely still and relaxed in your stance as she lunged at you with her fist. You timed your movement precisely, sidestepping at the absolute last moment. One hand grabbed at the back of her head, forcing it down to ram against your oncoming fist with a sickening crack.

Broken nose.

Kim shrieked in pain as the blood gushed from her nose and she tried to pull away from you. You didn't let her. You pulled her down by the shoulder to bend her over before driving your knee up her midsection. She wheezed at the impact, the mat below her smattered with her blood.

Bruised ribs. Maybe slightly broken.

You unceremoniously threw her aside, letting her fall groaning on her side. You clicked your tongue, watching her struggle and turning to the class she was supposed to be teaching.

"Lesson 1, kids," you waved your hands in Kim's general direction. "Don't end up like that."

Broken ego.

You turned to go back to your boys when the glint of metal caught your eye. You tilted your head just in time for the dagger to zip past your eye line, only thinly scratching at your cheek. Your hands reacted on instinct, reaching for the small hidden pocket along the waistband of you pants. You flicked the thin blade with deft fingers, embedding on the mat and landing it purposely close to Kim's eyes that it cut through her fake lashes.

"Nem!" Steve's unmistakable voice boomed through the speakers. You had forgotten that they had FRIDAY everywhere. "We said no weapons."

You rolled your eyes and smiled cheekily at the cameras. "It's just a nail file. I don't like keeping blood under my nails."

"You call that training?" Steve groaned rubbing his eyes and turning to Frank.

"I call that anger management," Frank said, amused at how unpredictable to handle they already found you when they've barely scratched the surface. He noticed how Bucky looked furious, his metal hand clutching a little too hard onto the table. "Don't like what you see, Sarge?"

Bucky didn't answer. He didn't tell them that he didn't like what he saw because he knew he was a major contributor in what caused it. If only he had been kinder, gentler, more honest. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

He walked down the hallways much later gripping a first aid kit in his metal hand and nervously running the other through his cropped hair. The cut on your face was barely anything, but he needed an excuse to talk to you. He was afraid you would turn him away, but he was terrified that you wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to you. He didn't know how to begin to apologize for everything he's done. His palm grew sweaty and beads were beginning to form on his brow.

He was only a few steps away from your bedroom door and he was sorely tempted to turn back around when he noticed that it was cracked open and he could hear voices from inside. He should have followed his instinct to keep his distance but a high whine that definitely came from you pushed him to peak through the small opening.

What he saw made his already thumping heartbeat grow quicker. His eyes grew wide and his throat went dry. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

You. Stark naked. Grinding your mound on someone's face.

You looked absolutely glorious as you wound your hips in your chase for release; head thrown, back arched, and lips in a dreamy smile. The view he had of you, facing him and deep into your pleasure, was enough to cause his pants to tighten. He couldn't see which one of your teammates was beneath you, the bedframe blocking his view. Whoever they were, Bucky was jealous. He wanted to taste you too.

He felt that stirring of longing again now as he watched you in the throes of passion with another man. He felt it the moment you stepped back into their lives. He felt it during the 10 years they thought you were dead. And he felt it when you were still in training as a recruit every time you smiled at Pietro and Steve.

You picked up your pace and he could see muscular arms reach up to grip your waist and pull you down harder. You were panting curses, your breathing turning erratic and Bucky could see your thighs begin to shake. The sight of you coming undone has to be the most entrancing thing he's ever seen.

Movement from you and your partner pulled him from the hypnosis caused by your erotic display. His face heated up, deeply embarrassed at having watched you for so long and finding enjoyment in basically violating your privacy. He was about to leave when the man whose face you had been riding, came up to kneel behind you.

He pulled your hips back against his own, sliding his hard length easily into your dripping cunt causing you to moan so deliciously that Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine. You reached your hand up to grip the back of his head, letting him bury his own in your neck as he set a languid pace with his thrusts.

Your head rolled to the side and your eyes opened, locking directly with Bucky's. You smirked and reached down to circle your swollen bud, pressing your back further against the hard body rutting behind you and purposely putting on a show. You winked at him.

He bolted out of there.

"That wasn't very nice, honey," the low voice was thick with lust in your ear. His breathing was growing labored too, finding your heat wrapping around him overwhelming.

"I don't see you stopping, Captain."

"How can I when you're gripping me so tight?" He snapped his hips earning a sharp moan from you. "Did you like that? Torturing my best pal with me balls deep inside you?"

You sighed and closed your eyes. Apple pie Steve wouldn't have whispered such sinful things to you, but this Steve could make you cum with just filthy words alone.

"Yeah, you did. Look at you clenching and soaking my cock from having Bucky watch you. You like being bad to him, honey?"

A sudden smack to your ass had you snapping your eyes open. He chuckled into your neck, biting down hard on the juncture as he felt you gripping him even tighter.

"Answer," he growled, landing a harsher smack to your bottom.

"Yes! Yes, Captain, I did."

"Good. Will you be good for me now, honey? You caused a bit of trouble today." His thrusting was still slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein with each stroke as he drove you into a stupor. "Will you be a good girl for your Captain now?"

"Yes, Captain."

He smirked against your skin, pleased at your compliance. He was reveling in the power he had over you. Frank had said that you never took orders without a fight, but here you were being so good for him. Pliable. Yielding. He was enjoying it.

He gathered your hair in one hand and pulled, your back arching beautifully and emphasizing where his cock was buried deep inside you. With each thrust his cock came out glistening with your slick. The image made him lose control, abruptly escalating his pace to rail feverishly into you.

He had you gasping and clutching at the sheets instantly, begging for him to go harder and push you over the edge. He bent over you and reached around to rub furiously at your throbbing clit.

"Cum like a good girl, honey. Cum around my cock," he commanded. "I wanna feel you fucking drown me."

You came, lights dancing in your eyes and your head empty of all thoughts aside from the pleasure that racked your body. He followed soon after with a loud grunt, the sensation of you fluttering around him too much to resist.

He fell on top of you, spent and satisfied. Your sweat and heavy breaths mingling together as you both tried to return back to the world. You liked the heavy feel of him on top of you, strangely finding comfort in the weight.

He dragged you with him when he rolled off you, spooning you and planting kisses on the back of your shoulders that had your skin tingling from his beard.

"When are you going to put him out of his misery?"

"When it stops being fun?" you chuckled.

Steve wasn't going to push the issue. He knew that it was up to you whether you forgave Bucky or not and when that would be. It would be on your own terms how things moved. Just like what happened between you two. He wasn't expecting it, but the heated argument about the injuries you inflicted on one of his best agents had somehow escalated into him spanking you and you growing wet from it.

Not that either of you were complaining.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a taunting smirk. "You sure your old heart can take being in a polyamorous relationship?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips before going back in for a much deeper kiss that had you swooning. When he pulled back, he was looking at you lovingly.

"I'm known for waiting too long about things like this. I lost my shot at you 10 years ago. I'm not missing out on you again."

His words were firm and genuine. He honestly thought that he would mind having to share you with several other men. He thought that he would feel jealous and possessive. Instead, he felt reassured. He knew that wherever and whenever he lacked, someone else would pick it up and he would be the same. There was a sense of relief knowing that you would always be taken cared of by people who felt the same for you as he did.

"Well then you have some making up to do for waiting so long," you said nibbling at his lower lip.

He groaned and grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg up on his hip. Your thighs and core were still sticky and slippery from both your releases. His tongue dove into your mouth and he could feel you moan against his lips as he ran the tip of his cock against your still sensitive core. Your nails dug into his back as he sunk in, fitting perfectly inside you.

"You're running with a super soldier now, honey," he said, eyes burning with want. "I can do this all day."

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

A/N: Some asked about Jill and Kim so here you go, lovelies. Come freak out with me in the comments and reblogs. Thank you all for the support! More coming soon. 

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[soulscursed]

to say that the whole professor affair has left a rather sour taste in Barok's mouth would be an understatement. But as of late, he has done his very best to think as little of it as possible. This cannot be healthy, he realises, but it is all he can do to compensate for days and weeks following the Reaper trial, when he had done nothing but think of it.

( Of his brother, Klint... of the lives that Klint had taken and the lives that Klint had destroyed, even in death. Barok among his victims. )

It's a task made difficult by Enoch Drebber's presence and by the reminder of recent events at the Great Exhibition, and of the decade old tragedy that those events had in turn unveiled. Barok has no fondness, either, for the way Drebber speaks his old friend's name.

❛ Well, ❜ says Barok curtly, though there is little reason to entertain the scientist. After all, Drebber is more than a simple graverobber and a criminal, despite the fact that he has few valid academic credentials to his name.

( ... though, in retrospect, that was a matter far beyond the man's control. Was he not, too, a victim of Klint's madness? )

Still, there is a slew of questions left unanswered. Barok straightens to his full height — though it's not much more, given the consistently near-perfect posture with which he conducts himself in all things — and fixes Drebber with a sharp, calculating stare.

( He pointedly does not think of the night in the graveyard. Of that wretched wax sculpture, or of Genshin Asogi's hand splayed out towards the man who had unearthed him from his grave — reaching out not with malice, but in hopes of long-awaited salvation. And of hope stolen away in a flash by the hand of his own fellow countryman... all of it puppeted by a mentor that Barok was foolish enough to have trusted with his life. )

❛ You will have to forgive me the discourtesy of being so blunt, Mr Drebber — but last I remember, you were being held and awaiting trial for murder. ❜ Spoken brusquely, perhaps even more than usual for a man ruthless enough to be christened Grim Reaper of the Old Bailey.

What plays on his mind now is the safety of his old friend. Abroad, he had believed Albert safe there from the influences of the real Reaper — though, of course, Mael Stronghart hadn't any real interest in Harebrayne. But Barok could not guarantee Albert's safety in Germany when it came to a man who had stopped at nothing to avenge himself, and to avenge a career and a life ruined.

His purpose fulfilled, Drebber would have ordinarily been little cause for concern... but there was the matter of failing to get away with it. It was Albert that Drebber had intended to pin for his crime. There's no immediate sign that Drebber holds a grudge of any sort, but Barok finds it difficult to trust a man who has been so nonchalant in taking and endangering others' lives for the sake of his vendetta.

The fact that Drebber stands before him now should be of some comfort. Better than having slipped away without a trace to board a train to Germany. But it wasn't Albert alone who could be in danger, was it?

After all — it was Ryunosuke Naruhodo who had gotten in Drebber's way. Naruhodo who had upturned the trial in his typically absurd manner. Naruhodo who had saved an innocent life that Drebber had so cleverly offered up in place of his own. Naruhodo, to whom Barok owed his eternal gratitude for defending his dear friend... and Naruhodo, who had gone on to save Barok's life.

It was only natural, then: to desire to guard Ryunosuke Naruhodo's life in any way that he could.

Barok van Zieks is an intriguing man.

Enoch has heard the news. The truth of the professor case, finally revealed to the world... it makes him want to laugh, to think about how it's all come out now - too late for Enoch, who nobody ever had ever believed; who had had his future taken away cruelly and abruptly as a result, because if there's one thing that this world is - it's unfair.

It does strike him as ironic, how they've both had their lives ruined by the same incident - though for very different reasons. If he were to try, maybe he could even muster up some sympathy for the man... as someone who's also been exposed to the unfair judgement of society, and who sees the world for what it is - a farce.

But instead, van Zieks... irritates him somehow. Maybe it's because he still seems to care about justice in this world so devoid of it. Though it's not like Enoch knows the man at all, so it might be that deep down, Barok is just as selfish as the rest of them, and he doesn't truly believe in justice at all. Who can say?

What the prosecutor is here for now, Enoch has no idea. But there's one thing he has to ask - even if it makes him feel sick to think of it, and he hates the feelings that stir inside him as a result.

"That mockery of a scientist... Albert Harebrayne. Tell me. How does he fare?" That's what he asks, but... looking at Enoch's face, it's difficult to tell whether or not he truly cares about the answer.

@soulscursed ( starter! )

[moved2usagiiboo]

Chapter 8

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⚠️ Warning ⚠️ There are descriptive mentions of abuse, please refrain from reading if triggered by this topic. 18+

It was hard enough to leave the apartment without getting spotted by the men outside, it was proven more difficult to sneak back in. Your back rested up against the beige wall with your body leaning to peek past the corner of the wall. Two men guarding by the door – seems as if the other one had gone on a break due to his absence. You could just throw a punch or two but that would cause more problems. Going through the window isn’t an option either, Mikey’s apartment is too high up. Even if it wasn’t, the windows don’t open. Perhaps you should’ve thought this through rather than focusing on the overpowering urge to smoke, something you picked up in your younger years.

You thought the urge – the addiction to tobacco was beaten out of you.

“Smoking is unattractive.” Your late husband told you as he puffed out a thick air of smoke into your face expecting you to hold your breath. Instead, you would inhale the smoke, greedy and frantic. Feeling his secondary smoke fill your lungs was always pleasurable and worth the risk. The punishments. His cigarette would burn into your skin, pushing and twisting into your delicate flesh. Scars are also unattractive to him; he made sure to burn the same spot repeatedly. Allowing it to heal before searing your skin again.

That wasn’t the worse part; he would purposely leave cigarettes out and hide. Acting as if you were alone and safe. Permitting you to fall into a false sense of safety you would indulge in one of your pleasures, you refused to think back on your last punishment or the one awaiting you if caught. Tears that whelmed in his eyes as he could hurt you. You would light the butt of the cigarette and relish in the first inhale �� you felt whole again. Only for him to catch you mid-puff. The more you think back on it the more you’re glad he’s dead, glad his luck ran out, glad karma caught up to him, and you’re glad you burned down that damned estate.

Your head leaned back against the wall and your neck stretched out as you chuckle breathlessly. Damn, it’s just one thing after another. How much longer will your life be dictated by some male with power, you don’t remember living for anyone else but you. Yet, what can you do? Nothing.

Naoto flashes in your mind for a quick second like a lightbulb moment. Just his worrisome face as he gripped your arm – you’d be an idiot to help him, it’s a death sentence. You know this and yet you haven’t thrown away that phone.

You were a fool to believe you had any power, any control over your life. You were born to be used. Not once have you ever done anything that benefits you. Even if you think it was for yourself, it wasn’t – it’s always for someone else’s advantages. When you ran away from your mother’s thinking you would be able to live a better life, one without misery or pain, you simply made it easier for your husband to get you.

You think back on your beaten body. Arched over as you take a bite of your sandwich, your reward for winning the match. You were sore, you could barely move a muscle. You winced as you pushed your body up-right. That dickhead didn’t pull any punches and he played dirty. Who pokes eyes during a boxing match?

You had to provide for yourself after running away and this was how you did it. An underground boxing ring. Binding your chest with bandages and multiple layers of clothes to hide your breasts and curves from the other opponents so you could both fight without hesitation. If you knew this was where you’d find your husband, you would’ve never run away. You would’ve suffered with your mother a little bit longer, gotten an honorable job, and saved up. Your head throbbed, fuck – you could cry right now if only you had the ability to. It stung when you licked your dry lips, tongue running over the swollen part as blood tried to drip down your chin. Your hand touched the eye bandage that covered your left eye, asshat.

“That was a good match.” A boy around your age spoke up as he stood over you. You ignored him, some rich and pretentious asshat who thinks he can speak down to you. At least you assume that’s who he is - A lot of those types show up here, thinking they can bribe the fighters into losing a match or allowing them to “sponsor” the fighters. Nothing more than a scam.

“Do they not teach people manners here?” He chuckled as he watched you bite your sandwich without acknowledging him. Not even looking up to meet eyes with him. “Or maybe you’re just stupid?”

“Look here, unless you want me to ruin that pretty face of yours, I suggest you leave me the hell alone.” You growled out a threat without looking at him.

“Your voice is awfully feminine for a male. Maybe your balls haven’t dropped yet?” You’ll never forget the smirk on his face when you rose to your feet despite the immense pain, you gripped onto his expensive suit twisting and holding it tightly in your clutches. Anyone in their right mind would be fearful of you but he just laughed it off.

“You’re pretty aggressive, aren’t you?”

If only you ran away then.

“Did you find what you were looking for, sir?” You peeked the corner hearing one of the men speak up. You had to swallow an audible gasp when you saw a familiar pink mullet.

He was there? Fuck.

“Found something better.” A toothy grin as his razor-sharp eyes lock with your own. You turned your head way hiding behind the corner again. You slid down the wall with a long and drawn-out puff. A curse word left your mouth softly. Great. Just play it off, it’s not like Sanzu can hurt you anyway. You’re his boss’s “girl” might as well use that to your advantage. Your kneeled body was ready to stand tall, both hands on the ground along with one knee. Pushing yourself off the ground only for your head to be pushed back down – an ice-cold metal harshly pushed against the center of your forehead.

“Trying to run?” Sanzu’s voice is quiet and curt. Your gaze paneled upwards, and your blank face never faltered even at the face of a gun pointed directly at your head.

“You realized Mikey will kill you, right?” You matched his intense gaze wile staring up at him. You tilted your head to the side with a soft smile.

“Not so sure about that, especially if I show him – this.” The pause in his sentence gave him enough time to pull out a zip-lock bag you know all too well. Holding it by the tip allowing it to dangle in the air the translucent bag leaning to the left where the heavy flip-phone rested.

“Sanzu, I can explain-“ Another harsh push to the center of your head a prominent click as his finger flicked down – the safety is off.

“Shut up. I should shoot you right now.” The barrel is right under your chin pushing your head up further into the sky. He leans down, his lips near your ear “But I think Mikey would rather deal with you.”

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I am so slow with writing this story 💀

[fairlyabookie]

Growth

Author's Note: The following has been inspired by Sebastian Yatra's "Dos Orguitas". Enjoy!

Epel’s aspirations to be a young, dependable man can be noted as a lofty goal, a value many saw as impossible due to his short stature and effeminate features. However, these limitations didn’t quell the fire burning in Epel’s little body; rather, it fueled more motivation to prove everyone wrong. He’ll do everything in his power to work hard and have everyone acknowledge him as capable as a student and as a man.

The day when Epel would prove his worth was when a Magishift club skirmish had gone wrong. [Reader] and Grim were helping the club members practice maneuvers and stratagems when a disc had toppled [Reader] from their perch. The creature barely held on to the groom, but the Ramshackle prefect was not as unfortunate, falling from a high height.

With quick reflexes, Epel ascends to the skies, his small body providing extra benefit to the increasing velocity of the broom. He hopes he’ll make it to [Reader]. “Just a little more.” He prays, extending his arms out to catch them. Suddenly, a heavy weight nearly topples him off-balance. “Whoa!” [Reader] exclaims in his arms. Epel could barely make a grunt when he asks, “[reader], are you alright?!”

“I’m fine!” They respond, tightening their grip onto Epel as he tries to descend to the pasture below. Most of the Magishift team had gone down to check for injuries, while Leona and Ruggie watched for Epel as he made his descent. “Quite the catch there, herbivore.” Leona growls in greeting as Ruggie snickers. “Didn’t know you’ve had the strength to carry someone in midair, but nice catch!”

A red blush tinges Epel’s cheeks at the banter, but he quickly apologizes to [Reader] who then dismantles from him. For a moment, Epel was grateful for those days helping his family with the farm, years and years of strength befitting of this moment. Had he become a man after this? Not yet, he stipulates. Yet, he spares a quick glance to [Reader], their unscathed form flashing smiles to the other club members.

Just as the young man was about to go help his superiors, a gentle tap on his shoulder startles him. “Thank you, Epel, for saving me from a scary fall.” [Reader] smiles sweetly at him, a grateful smile that almost outshines Kalim’s smile for a brief moment. “O-o-oh no, it’s no big deal.” The first year flusters, his cheeks scarlet from the gratitude. “No, really. I was terrified. I honestly thought I was going to die at this moment. But, thanks to you, I’m here in one piece. Thank you, Epel.”

A smile from [Reader] was enough to cause a stir within the young man - He could only fathom a shy smile to them. “Not a problem, [reader].. I just saved you, that’s all..”

“Come on, you practically caught me mid-fall there, give yourself some credit! You even carried me down here too!” [reader] chuckles lightly. “Hey, pipsqueak. Just take the compliment. You’ve proven yourself out there, and I’m sure your superiors in Pomefiore would be more than happy to hear your little story when you return to your dorm tonight.” Leona grumbles, gesturing the first year to Ruggie for injuries.

“No! Don’t tell Vil or Rook about this!” Epel panics. “Oh, they’ll find out, alright.” The third year scoffs, leaving the first year scrambling to his senses as he follows the second year to the infirmary.

Riddle was always a stickler for rules, even if it affected his daily life. The Red Queen always enforced the rules, all in the matter of order, and it was Riddle’s responsibility to enforce them. One had to ensure that all rules were followed as the Dorm Head, lest the whole dormitory would be in chaos. The responsibility was heavy, but he could manage..

The day when these rules were challenged had been the day Riddle feared the most - this meant that he had no way of controlling the situation as a Dorm Leader or as a student. The chaos that unfolded was a pandemonium of Heartslabyul residents questioning the purpose of the dorm’s numerous rules. Sure, a few students had forgotten a few rules here and there, even Trey had his fair share of forgetting, but to outright question such rules were treason.. With more students questioning the very foundation of the dormitory, it became clear that the students were losing sight of their own sense of “order”. The second-year tried to lend his aid to the students struggling for their sense of “order”; however, it became evident that this was beyond his control.

“Burnout” was perhaps the more appropriate element to label this phenomenon, an aspect Riddle wasn’t too familiar with but had encountered at least once or twice in his lifetime. With the advice of others (mainly Cater and Trey), Riddle consented to allow a break for the Heartslabyul residents, a day when they can follow the rules of the dorm whenever they wished. This proposal came from Cater, an idea Riddle thought preposterous out of all the suggestions he had consented to from the two in the past. However, this meant for the good of the dorm and as a means to aid the students’ in their journey of reason. Yet, he would be one of the few who would still continue the numerous regiments.

Maybe I was too harsh on them, the second year fretted as he continued his day, following all the rules imposed in the dorm. Had he said something that offended them? An inquiry worth pondering… “Oh, excuse me!” A familiar voice anchors him back to reality when he had bumped into someone. “Oh, my apologies!” He frets once more, quickly picking up fallen books and pages from the floor. “I should’ve paid more attention to where I was going.” “Oh no, oh no! I was carrying more than usual. Don’t worry about it!” [Reader] counters, gathering their materials in their end. The pair tidy up, eventually splitting half of the burden. Was there a rule concerning this? Riddle noted as he helped his fellow student.

Perhaps there was since the rules were meant to be followed anyway. “Thanks for the help, Riddle. I appreciate it.” [Reader] bids as they place the materials in the library. “Not a problem. Are these study materials for Trein’s upcoming exam?” [Reader] nods. “If there is anything I could help you with, let me know.” What the dorm leader had proposed was a tutoring service, a tangible notion to compensate for his clumsiness earlier. Rule no. 239: ‘If one were to bump to someone, one must compensate their action by acting more formerly.”

The thin line between acting formerly in front of [Reader] seemed odd, in fact, the Ramshackle student was knowledgeable about Riddle, and it would be strange if he were to engage in a more formal, stiff manner. Yet, if he were a different Heartslabyul student instead of a Dorm Leader, punishment would be immediately imposed with no question. Riddle considered [Reader] a good friend, but would he be willing to break out from the norms of Heartslabyul just to ensure their friendship?

Needless to say, the response [Reader] gave him was a gentle smile that fluttered his heart. “Thank you, Riddle!” Just when did he foster feelings for [Reader]? What an unexpected turn of events.

Trey has had his fair share of moments when he invests more time baking goods than watching over the Heartslabyul students, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he was being negligent. On the contrary, Riddle and Cater would have the students under control while he just watched him proceed to the rules. He didn’t mind students coming to him for help or as a proxy between them and Riddle - in fact, he didn’t mind the unofficial job anyway. As a third-year, being an advisor or a trustworthy figure was associated based on seniority.

The third-year was quite used to the numerous students coming to him, yet he was not the type to get thoroughly annoyed by this. There were a few times when his advice didn’t exactly click with the students, mostly due to the fact that his analogies of cake and reality were a bit off base. These analogies weren’t exactly wrong, but it was how he managed to learn and ascertain logic to some degree. Whenever the student couldn’t understand, Trey could refer them to Cater or Riddle for a brief explanation of the topic at hand. It was easier to have someone else to talk to them rather than having to clarify what he meant.

The others didn’t mean this at all, since each person would compensate their weaknesses with their counterpart’s strengths, quite befitting and complementary for the trio as the Heartslabyul superiors and leader.

Yet, with significant relationships and friendships, it would seem that Trey’s understanding of such would not easily translate to baking analogies and anecdotes. On the contrary, this meant he’d have to take different approaches to these moments and act accordingly. Things were not meant to be simple in the first place, huh? He grumbles to himself. Patience is key, a notion he heard too much. Alas, what could that possibly mean when dealing with people?

Upon a thought, Trey pursued a significant endeavor: invest more time in his relationships. He had been meaning to get along with [reader], but he didn’t know what else he could do with them in terms of forwarding the relationship.. Maybe baking more cakes? No, he probably overbaked a lot.. What else could he do?

Such a question prompted the summoning of Cater and Riddle who were more than willing to help him with this predicament. The both of them suggested he should ask [Reader] for time away, perhaps a stroll around the courtyard after classes for a little hangout. The third-year hoped he was doing this right with the hangout - nothing too fancy or anything, but the time between friends was a luxury after all. It was the least he could do with [reader] - besides, he couldn’t fight the yearning to see them again every time he saw them.

On the day of their hangout, Trey found himself enjoying their time together, a rarity since he preferred to be in the kitchen working and refining recipes for his family bakery. He genuinely showed interest to [Reader]’s conversations and often bantered with them.. How long ago since he had done the sort of thing? As Cater had put it, Trey just needed that fine “balance” between school, baking, and social life in general - as a third year, it was very important to have that balance, especially when he’d have more opportunities out there in the future.

With that in mind, Trey cherished his time with [reader], smiling in a carefree manner and eventually fostering more friendships and relationships.