#just remembered this exists. i constantly question how this boy survives on a day to day basis esp when hes roped into smash

[nicorobinphd]

Thinking about Sabo again & just… Sabo being framed as the most thoughtful of the trio makes a lot of sense when considering the fact that he is near-constantly in pursuit of ideas- ideas of what freedom, morality, understanding, & family look like. Of how & where he fits into those things. Of who he is in the aftermath of waking up a person he previously could not remember, and of how much of that person he can really get back. Sabo comes across as if everything that could & cannot be are constantly swirling in his mind, fuelling his iteration of the indignant recklessness at the core of the trio’s characters. & this all feels as though it’s reinforced by the way that, upon his reintroduction into the story proper, Sabo needs to wear Luffy (literally, though it is worth noting that this was still done through a false-identity that Luffy invented) & Ace’s (narratively) identities- seemingly in part because he no longer knows where his own fits in with theirs.

In addition, the multiple ironies existent in Sabo’s story as a result of how these traits manifest are absolutely heartbreaking. Sabo wanted to go to sea to understand the world, & he got the chance to, but without the context of from where in it he came. He wanted to write about the world, and he got that context of his person back as the result of a news article. He wanted a family who accepted him and allowed him to be free, and he got it, but only at the expense of the predecessor he’d tried everything he could to save. He wanted freedom, but only gained the ability to fight for it after the loss of his identity. He lost his identity in desperate chase of what he felt he needed to survive. It is arguable whether the boy that set sail that day really did survive. He sent a letter with the promise to find each other again to the brother who died before they ever got the chance to. Sabo is still chasing the ghost, though, or arguably multiple. He is trying to take on the will of a man he did not get the chance to see a boy grow into, perhaps also the man he didn’t get to grow into himself. He is trying to live a single life on behalf of a pair. And the real sick thing is that I think Sabo knows it. He is written to be much more introspective than either Luffy or Ace, & we’re shown in Dressrosa that he’s discussed the matter with Koala, even that he’s semi-comfortable doing so while actively in tears. We’re told that he has nightmares, & that he thought Luffy would hit him at the colosseum. When Koala comforts him, it’s through telling him that for all he could question how things may have gone, they can’t know any speculatory outcome for certain. It isn’t entirely out of left field to say that Sabo’s grief is informed both by the loss of Ace, & the loss of who he used to be. That doesn’t mean he cares any less for the revolutionary army- just that there was a personhood, as well as a person, that was taken from him and that I think he’s aware of it. All of which plays into where his story goes during & after the Revery quite well. I don’t know, all this to say that I’m deeply excited to see where his story goes.

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Cowboy AU

Prologue

Introduction to my fic set within the cowboy AU created by @ghouljams for our dear boy Nikto. This is just a quick starter piece to set the scene for the fic so to say. Also decided to include Sputnik since I don't see many fics including the precious baby!

A/N: Obligatory note that I do not condone the owning of dangerous or wild exotic animals as pets regardless of a country or state's laws. Exotic animals require a large amount of knowledge in their husbandry and specific requirements to ensure the highest standard of welfare is maintained. They should never be treated like domestic animals, they do not make good pets.

Warnings: Discussion of Serious Injury, Limb Amputation.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next Part

Nikto had been waiting for death to greet him throughout the entirety of his career. It was simply an inevitable fact of life both in the military and working as a mercenary for hire. People died constantly at his sides, and it quickly became a question of “when” and not “if” the final string would be cut and his body would fail him for the last time. 

There were days when he almost wished for the reaper to claim whatever remained of his empty heart. Torture was tolerable, an old friend at this point, but the months and years of recovery afterwards were what really felt like suffering.  

Alive, and yet completely useless. A fractured mind trapped within an equally ruined body.  

The only thing he could look forward to was getting back to work once his body was finally strong enough to pass medical approval. Tedious as the waiting game could be, he wasn’t stupid enough to push himself beyond his limits like some honour-hungry rookie. No, he waited and saved his strength for when it would one day be needed, for the days when nothing but sheer willpower can save his pitiful soul.  

And yet despite his many brushes with death, he had still yet to be taken by it, even when by all rights he should have been. Death yet remained a stranger.  

But why? Was his mind too corrupt and darkened for even the devil to want to touch? He had never believed in any God, but surely there was one looking down on him and mocking his pathetic existence. How else could he have survived an injury that should have killed him?  

He could remember little of the mission, only the sounds of people shouting orders, the potent scent of smoke and chemicals in the air, and pain. Certainly not the worst pain he’d experienced in his life, a blade to the gut still had the honour of that, but close to it. He was fortunate that the concussion he’d received had left him drifting in and out of unconsciousness for most of the trip back to base.  

His arm was fucked. According to the doctor and the reports from various other operators present on the mission, his elbow was bent in a way it definitely shouldn’t have been, and there was enough shrapnel in the remaining flesh that he might as well have lopped the whole thing off entirely.  

Which is exactly what the doctors ended up doing.  

It was their last resort, but with the complete lack of feeling in the limb coupled with an infection that just couldn’t be stamped out no matter how many antibiotics they pumped into his IV, it was necessary. They tried as hard as possible to save it, but necrosis had set in, and the safest course of action was to remove all damaged and dead tissue.  

He still wasn’t sure what would have been worse, being taken out by sepsis, or dealing with his current existence.  

And what a miserable existence it is.  

KorTac wanted to keep him on – surely, they couldn’t just let a wild beast like him roam free without a firm hand on his leash – but there was very little they could offer for him. Stay with the PMC and become a glorified guard dog? Train bratty little recruits? Sit behind a desk pushing papers nine to five? No, that would destroy what little grasp he still had on his sanity.  

That was how he ended up standing on the rundown porch of a house that could be described in a single word as dilapidated. It was cheap but came with enough land for him to not need to worry about nosy neighbours. He’s so far lacked the motivation to do anything to try and restore the building, but it has four walls and a roof, which is more than can be said for some of the “safe” houses he’s utilised over the years.  

He’d been lucky to discover the place at all with how small the town is. A passing comment from a fellow soldier about the region had caught his attention and, considering the impossibility of returning to Russia, he’d decided to look into it. America was a massive continent, and in the US he wouldn’t be questioned for owning weapons. Even better? This particular state allowed him to continue to keep Sputnik without suspicion.  

The old man who had been selling the house had been sympathetic after he’d played the whole “injured veteran” card and had even offered him a reduced price for the property. It still sickens him to think about how weak he must have looked in that moment, but needs must, and what he needed was a place to call home, even if only for a little while.  

One terrible accident and he’s reduced to begging for help like a stray dog wanting scraps.  

His irritation has the hand of his prosthetic curling gently into the fur of Sputnik’s pelt. All it can do is open and close around things to allow him some form of grip, but it works, and he supposes that’s all that matters. His girl doesn’t seem to care that it’s not a flesh and blood hand petting her, leaning into him regardless.  

She’s the centre of his current predicament and the reason he’s been forced to reach out for help. No amount of puppy dog eyes and wide grins sent his way are enough to save her from a trip to the vet. Or rather, a visit from one.  

He waits patiently as a large car rolls down the gravel road that leads to the small house from the property’s front gate. Sputnik whines as it draws closer, before beginning to laugh with nervous excitement. The moment the vehicle pulls to a stop she moves to investigate, but is quickly stopped with a barked, “МЕСТО!” command from Nikto.  

Sputnik huffs, unimpressed with not being allowed to greet their visitor, but settles for sitting at the top of the stairs while her master approaches.  

In all honesty, Nikto had been expecting a grizzled old man or woman with decades of experience under the belt when the receptionist had promised to send someone with knowledge of exotics. What he wasn’t expecting was... you.  

[7r0773r]

My Rock'n'Roll Friend by Tracey Thorn

And suddenly there is Lindy, who is unlike the English girls I have met, who is older than me, who talks and listens and shouts and smokes and shakes me out of my stupidity. As much as I'm drawn to her outrageousness and loudness, I'm drawn to her positivity. She is constantly upbeat, which is also in my nature. We are both full of a curious, almost gauche enthusiasm about the world. We are cheerer-uppers, bounce-backers, irrepressible, determined — me in a quiet way, her in a noisy way.

Within the world of The Go-Betweens she finds Robert and Grant endlessly depressing, describing them in an interview as 'the most boring and sad people ... That's why they write the most boring and sad songs. They're moody and sad. That's our day-to-day existence and it comes out in our songs.'

She understands and appreciates the beauty that also comes out in the songs, but living and working with their introspection and angst is draining, exasperating, she thinks it is very self-indulgent boy behaviour. A woman wouldn't get away with it. A woman has to try harder socially. Has to placate, keep things running smoothly, not make unnecessary demands. There is no room for her bad moods, which will be called hormonal. Men experience existential despair while women have periods. Lindy and I both take the view that you can be existential some of the time, while also concentrating on having the time of your life. When The Smiths' The Queen Is Dead album comes out, Robert listens incessantly to 'I Know It's Over', and Lindy hears those dismal lyrics about soil falling over someone's head all day long until she is driven mad by it. In defiance, she puts on at full volume 'Shout to the Top' by The Style Council. (pp. 113-14)

***

I start questioning how relationships work, how they can survive so long. When I find a diary from 1988 I realise I have thought about these things for a long time. This is what I wrote, thirty years ago, and once again, Lindy is part of it.

Monday, 4 January 1988

I'm reading Simone de Beauvoir's The Prime of Life, the second part of her autobiography, which Lindy gave me. It's very interesting to read about her relationship with Sartre — at one point she says that they decided to sign a two-year lease:

'I could arrange to live in Paris during these two years, and we would spend them in the closest possible intimacy. Afterwards, Sartre suggested, I ought to take a job abroad too. We would live apart for two or three years, and then rejoin one another somewhere — Athens, maybe — where we could, for a longer or shorter period, live more or less together. We could never become strangers to one another, and neither would appeal for the other's help in vain; nothing would prevail against this alliance of ours. But it must not be allowed to degenerate into mere duty or habit; we had at all costs to preserve it from decay of this sort.'

Is that what I had wanted for myself? Could it have worked? It's a fantasy, isn't it? A crazy dream, a mad idea of how love can be, almost certainly impossible. Definitely idealistic, and romantic in its own way. But did I want to try? I don't remember.

I feel a strong need for solitude and independence, a reaction to the child-rearing years. All that self-sacrifice, all that self-effacement. The children have been at the centre of my life, but who, or what, should it be now?

I feel claustrophobic, and at the same time I have lost the ability to compromise. I am less malleable. My clay has set hard, and I have become more myself, or a new version of myself, one with sharper edges. But I don't like these feelings, and I fear that indulging them will lead only to loneliness. Is the choice between being lonely or annoyed? Do I want comfort or excitement? The uncertainty churns, until all I am aware of is an unspecified rage.

I talk to other women friends who report feeling the same. Now that we are no longer just mothers, who are we? What is our role? Who needs us now? And what do WE need? Or want?

I keep noting down quotes that speak to me.

From Agnès Varda: 'In all women there is something in revolt that is not expressed.'

From Anita Brookner: 'I feel quite deeply, I think. If I am not very careful, I shall grow into the most awful old battle-axe.'

The uncertainty feels like it is connected with my age, and yet reminds me more than anything of my adolescence and young adulthood. It is like an uncomfortable return to youth, with all of its vexing questions about how to become a person, a whole person, the person you most want to be. Or the person you have to be.

I turn these thoughts upon myself, cursing my indecision, my passivity. I read Kim Addonizio's poem 'Good Girl', and I think it is talking about me.

Look at you, sitting there being good. After two years you're still dying for a cigarette. And not drinking on weekdays, who thought that one up? ... don't you want to mess it all up, to roll around like a dog in his flower beds? Aren't you a dog anyway, always groveling for love and begging to be petted?

Late at night, when I've had drinks, I feel loose and like my wheels are coming off, and I'm not sure if it's a good or a bad thing. I go out in the evening, dressed up, talking, getting drunk, dancing, feeling a bit wild and young, feeling alive. I miss euphoria, and am euphoric when I find it again. I have to ration myself, and not do it too often. It's an escape, not a solution.

I see planes overhead and I want to get on them.

In the midst of feeling like this, I book a flight to Australia. What better test of our boat than to swim away from it as far as possible and see if it pulls me back. (pp. 195-98)

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 81

The Monster at the End of This Book/Utopia

"The Monster at the End of This Book"

Plot Description: Sam and Dean discover "Supernatural," a series of books that accurately detail their lives as demon hunters

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: Going to a comic book store? Sure.

I'm sure there will be an actual mystery to solve and shit, but I'm very excited for the boys to tackle on of the most horrifying things to possibly exist and one of my favorite things of all time: fandom spaces.

This woman is just saying out loud everything I type here. (Well, she's made zero mha references, but in fairness to her, mha didn't exist yet) "The best parts are when they cry" YOU ARE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE, GIRL!!

Who WROTE THIS SEASON??? I'm fucking DYING. It's so good. I mean, it's also extremely stupid sometimes but completely self aware. (And all the while, the apocalypse is still nigh)

I know too much...I know who Chuck really is, but I remember when there was just the speculation. And I'm actually excited to see how it all unfolds.

Sam's...Sam and Lilith?? Omg, Dean, "fiery demonic...whatever" when "fiery demonic passions" was just used not once but twice by the room's other two occupants. I love you so much

Jared really is such a bad actor so many times. "Lilith? and me? in bed?" The delivery was COMICALLY awful

Of COURSE they can't actually leave town. Oh...oh, poor Dean...he's just not a veggie tofu burger kind of guy. (They're trying to do everything the opposite of what Chuck has written them to do)

Look, I know the boys and Cas eventually get the nickname Team Free Will, but it's a little frustrating seeing all of their free will taken away this episode. Every decision they make gets turned so what happens is what Chuck wrote.

Yeah, man! Of course drinking demon blood is gonna make you unsympathetic

CAS!!!! (I wonder how many more of these I have to go til I just expect him to show up instead of being surprised every time)

I love how many people Cas can just reference from any moment in history. Dean questions Chuck being a prophet and Cas just shrugs and says "you should have seen Luke." Everything about this show is absurd.

THE WINCHESTER GOSPEL. I CANNOT

SCREAMING!!!!! I know they eventually use prayer as just a way to communicate to Castiel that they need angelic help...but Dean didn't know he'd show up this time, this first time he tries praying. He feels ridiculous, he's not even sure it'll work, but then CAS. SHOWS. UP. Everyone here is so lucky I wasn't able to keep up with this show as it came out.

I love Cas helping when he can't help...that was VERY carefully put to sound like he was abiding by heaven's orders instead of helping Dean. Bravo, my boy

Good, Dean got Chuck there. I didn't believe Lilith's deal anyway.

Ew, Zachariah

"Been On My Mind...":

"Utopia"

Plot Description: Captain Harkness makes a dramatic return as the TARDIS hurtles through the vortex, transporting the Doctor to the ver end of the Universe itself.

Thing is...I can't remember if it's THIS episode or the beginning of the next where my other evil, disaster man waltzes in.

Doctor, you're so not funny. "I was a different man back then" Hardy har har.

Is this the thing that gives Jack the, like, REAL REAL near-immortality?

Ohhhhhhh, Chantho!! I love the connection she makes with Martha <3

OMG THAT DRUM BEAT!! THAT DRUM BEAT!!!!!!!! I AM INCAPABLE OF COMPOSING MYSELF OVER A FUCKING DRUM BEAT

God, for all your ranting about humans going where they have no business being, you keep repeating in a scared voice that you two should go. You should really leave, and then flash that smile to show you mean leave the TARDIS to see what's out there. Hypocrite. I love you, but....doesn't make me wrong

Mmmmmmmm, Marthaaaaaaaaa. I know it's not easy to know you're constantly being compared to Rose or feeling like you're being constantly being compared to her, but these two haven't seen each other since the world almost fell to the Daleks and Cybermen and Jack doesn't know Rose is actually alive. Let them have this moment

The...sky having no stars whatsoever. Terrfying...

Jack's not allowed to say hi to anyone, is he?? I......forgot that that's an actual line he has IN this episode, not just in general.

Love Martha being so stuck on the Doctor growing another hand. Amazing that Jack, flirts with anything and everything, is the most...socially aware person in the TARDIS crew. Martha can't drag her mind from that, and the Doctor is marveling at himself for coming up with the word "conglomeration" to refer to Chantho's people after hearing she's the last of her kind too to offer condolences to her. Jack has to remind him.

I cannot. Every time those drums start playing I go a little crazier

I was about to say Jack's going the Dabi way of going into dangerous, life and death situations....stripping for some reason. Except Jack did it first...and "I look good" is as good as any other reason to start taking your clothes off to go into a room where everyone but you would die if they entered, I GUESS

(I need to stop pausing or I won't get this out before midnight)

I know no one here could possibly know that all these words are the EXACT wrong ones to say around the professor...but...they just. keep. saying. them.

Okay...I thought it couldn't be that...because it WAS the whole Bad Wolf thing back in season one (it's been a while)

He's HEEEEEEEEEERE. No the regeneration I love, but that's coming soon.

rip Chantho. You deserved better. You did nothing wrong

FUCK. I'm going to be SO GODDAMN NORMAL THESE NEXT COUPLE EPISODES (she lied).

I will miss the flowy sleeves on him. They were a good touch. He should have kept them.

God. He's so evil and chaotic. What a wonderful combination of traits

Episodes Since the Doctor's Last Attempted Genocide: is it 7 now??

[hamliet]

Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls and It Dies...

Or, why I am pretty optimistic about the fates of Jean, Connie, Gabi, and all titanized people this chapter, which is also an excuse for me to talk about SnK’s allusions to Russian literature. 

There are strikingly parallel ideas The Brothers Karamazov and Attack on Titan, as well as parallel plot points and imagery to the point where if it isn’t deliberate, it’s uncanny. (NB: before people yell at me about comparing a Japanese and Russian work, Isayama has used Russian names since the start of SnK--Shiganshina is a Russian name.) In particular, there are narrative allusions to a portion of the novel known as “The Grand Inquisitor,” which is a short story within a novel. The central thesis of “The Grand Inquisitor” is as follows: 

nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom. 

This parable is told within the story by Ivan Karamazov, a character whose intellectuality is his gift and his curse. He tells his brother Alyosha that the motivation for creating this parable is precisely the evils done to children (oh look, a major SnK theme) and specifically cites an example which was unfortunately taken from real life in Russia and which Isayama has an uncanny parallel:

I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when every one suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer... If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? ... if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers' crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old...

... How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? ... What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? ... I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. ... too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it... It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket.”

The actual parable of “The Grand Inquisitor” is Ivan’s answer to Alyosha’s question about Ivan’s lines above. Ivan tells a story about how freedom is actually what dooms humanity: it is the curse. (Alyosha does not believe this.) Jesus comes back to earth and is promptly arrested, because his existence and return threaten the wellbeing of society. To be happy, one cannot be free, but one or two strong people in society should be free and bear the burden for everyone else (you can see the parallels to King Fritz/the Reisses). 

Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience, but nothing is a greater cause of suffering... all his life he loved humanity, and suddenly his eyes were opened, and he saw that it is no great moral blessedness to attain perfection and freedom, if at the same time one gains the conviction that millions of God's creatures have been created as a mockery, that they will never be capable of using their freedom...

This is SnK’s thesis: to be free, there will be suffering. It is part of human nature, and yet to not have it is to be lost. But SnK, despite its explorations of human darkness and monstrosity, has a higher view of humanity than does Ivan. SnK’s view is more alongside Alyosha’s, who says what is honestly the truth about not just the Reisses, but Eren now:

"Who are these keepers of the mystery who have taken some curse upon themselves for the happiness of mankind? .... It's simple lust of power, of filthy earthly gain, of domination—something like a universal serfdom with them as masters—that's all they stand for.”

Mikasa is akin to the Christ figure in the story, akin to Alyosha: Christ is constantly asked to speak, asked to act, and he does not until the very last moment, when he kisses the Grand Inquisitor on the lips. After the story is over, Alyosha then does likewise to Ivan. 

Not to mention when Alyosha worries about Ivan’s mental state, he then answers with this:

“Listen, Alyosha,” Ivan began in a resolute voice, “if I am really able to care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't lose my desire for life yet.”

A simple leaf can save a life. A leaf can save the world. A leaf, grown from a tree that started as a seed falling to the ground, dead, only to grow life from that death. Alyosha himself notes SnK’s central thesis of chapter 137 in the (very long) novel’s final pages:

...some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

There’s a lot more to this, but this is the epigraph to The Brothers Karamazov, the central thesis of the entire novel:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." -John 12:24

Suffering can grow great fruit in an individual life, and by giving something up, by even death, something beautiful can come. Through cruelty, you can find life. 

This is not just a long-running theme in SnK, but a pattern in its plot. Often those who surrender then receive exactly what they had surrendered (but admittedly, not always, like Erwin). 

Mikasa accepted Eren’s loss, and got him back.

Mikasa let Armin go, and got him back.

Falco gave up hope of survival, and got another chance: 

Hange was going to die alone, feeling guilty for having failed her comrades, but saw everyone again, and they told her well done: 

Historia gave up being free, but now we know she will be.

Levi gave up on his revenge, and then got it. Annie thought she would never see her dad again, but she did. For Mikasa, accepting that she has to kill the boy she loves coincides not just with her acceptance of her love, but with the acceptance and knowledge that he loves her:

It always comes with sacrifice, increasingly hard sacrifice, but usually the seeds that are dropped grow and bloom. 

This chapter, everyone surrendered their hearts. They let their dreams fall to the ground, and I honestly think the story will allow it to plant life. Yes, the world as a whole is saved and that is enough to make thematic sense, but it works even better if the very people who were titanized this chapter also bloom again. They chose to trust Mikasa, Levi, Falco, and Pieck to finish the task.

The characters giving up their lives only to get them back make sense, and give Mikasa’s sacrifice of Eren. For Mikasa, Eren was her world, and she gave it up when she had lost everyone else. She had nothing left, and she still did it. I would hope she’d be narratively rewarded beyond just the world being saved, because Mikasa has always been motivated by her personal relationships.

Moving on from Mikasa: Connie’s mom has been kept alive and the concept of turning mindless titans back to humans was already brought up specifically in relation to her:

Connie giving up on his mother a dozenish chapters ago only to get her back now--not through sacrificing a child, but through saving the entire world--would fit the themes and patterns of SnK.

Thirdly, Gabi should not die. She’s Eren with positive development, and cannot meet the same end. Even people who are skeptical of every titan being saved seem to agree that she’ll be fine. It’s possible she’s the only one saved, but imo, not likely. 

See, the only shifter characters who are going to have the option of self-sacrifice are Falco and maaaaaybe Armin. The others look like they’re about to die right here and now, never mind choosing someone to save: the mindless titans are ripping at their napes. Armin also looks to be in bad shape. 

Yet Armin cannot narratively commit suicide; two chapters ago he was still screaming at himself for being useless and thinking he would be better off dead. He’s already tried the heroic sacrifice, too, so why would it work this time around? It does not work for his arc. Falco dying for Gabi was the plan without any freedom from the titan curse; it’s more powerful if ending the curse changes things, rather than forcing him to make the same choice that Reiner has always been trying to make: a heroic suicide. It could happen; it’s just not as narratively strong.

As for whether the worldbuilding rules, we know that mindless titans are not truly dead nor entirely mindless; they just don’t have freedom. Ymir’s case of getting herself back after decades shows that they aren’t quite dead or absorbed. They still have consciousness that can be awoken; Ymir described it as being in a long “nightmare.” Dina still went looking for Grisha. Connie’s mom remembered and recognized Connie, telling him “welcome home.” There is plenty of evidence that there are parts of these people that are still in there even if they are forced to become monsters (oh hey, it’s an Eren parallel; he was conscious of it and had choices while mindless titans do not, but the parallel remains).

[kingfritzhater]

If they lived...

AOT headcanons of how different ships would live if they were still alive.

Manga Spoilers!!!

Eruri:

They move outside of Paradis, Erwin always wanted to know if there were humans outside the walls and now he wants to know how different their lives are from what he knows.

Once they settle down and Levi opens his teashop, Erwin offers to help but Levi won’t allow him as he thinks the tea he makes is horrendous, in the end, Erwin manages the money and Levi takes care of the rest. 

They still spend a lot of time with Gabi and Falco, Gabi always insists in moving Levi’s wheelchair (since Erwin is still missing an arm), and Falco adores listening to Erwin’s stories about the survey corps and life inside the walls.

Eremika:

They live hidden in Paradis, they built a little cottage in one of the giant tree forests outside of where the walls were and are very careful to stay hidden, Eren feels guilty that Mikasa has to live hiding like she was when her family was prosecuted by the government, but she doesn’t care, she still has him and their friends.

The remaining members of the alliance visit them pretty often, bringing them gifts from all around the world, Armin sends them books and pictures of the places they visit by mail every time he can. 

Many years go by, and Eren still can’t believe that this is his life, the day he notices some grey hairs and wrinkles in Mikasa’s face he starts crying from just the realisation of how happy he is to grow old together.

Levihan:

Hange is pretty sad when titans stop existing, so to make them happy Levi helps them get their hands on any scientific information that the outside world has developed, no matter how much it costs.

Hange switched their passion for titans to the works of the human body (and they almost fainted once they found out about germ theory), so Levi became their test subject for any time she wanted to test something that they read in some book.

Hange makes it their life purpose to find a way to make Levi be able to walk again, and after coming up with a pretty good prototipe some previous members of the military come asking for help for their missing limbs, so now they make prosthesis for free to anyone who needs it.

Nicosasha:

They open a restaurant in the countryside, Sasha plants a garden to get fruits and vegetables and hunts for the meat and Niccolo does the cooking.

When Niccolo decided to propose, he asked her father for his approval, what he did not expect was having to get the approval of Jean, Connie, Mikasa, Historia and Levi, the old captain was just as terrifying in a wheelchair as he was before.

They usually babysit Historia’s child since they live pretty close and they get along pretty well, the first name she learned how to say was hers, though it sounded more like “asha”, Sasha will always brag that she is the best aunt in the world.

Yumihisu/Yumikuri:

The baby still exists, but the farmer is just a way to keep Historia safe, yet Ymir still finds similarities between them and jokes about if Historia isn’t sure that she isn’t hers.

Ymir always remembers how she didn’t even have a name as a child, so now every achievement of their daughter is recorded, in fact, she asked Historia to get her a camera from the outside world to be more efficient in this task.

They both are the kind of parent that likes to show off their child to anyone who will listen, no matter how ashamed she gets.

Mobuhan:

They never settle down, both travel the world discovering new places and wonders, it started when Onyankopon invited them to his homeland and now they can’t stop, unintentionally they’ve done more for Paradis’s international relationships than anyone else just by making friends wherever they go.

Moblit proposes out of the blue, even taking Hange by surprise, they were visiting some place and Hange looked the happiest they’ve ever been and with the excuse of looking for something he left, Moblit ran to the nearest jewelry store and bought a ring, asking the question that night, Hange said yes in tears.

Their wedding is the biggest event Paradis has seen in recent years, even when the current military does not like them they can’t do anything without risking a major international conflict, specially with so many important figures present.

Reibert:

They move away from Libero, Bertholdt’s father had died, and Reiner’s mother being there hurt him too much, so they go back to Paradis, enjoying their lives away from the city.

As a way to silently pay back to the people of the island, and also due to Reiner’s love for children, they often volunteer in orphanages or help local schools and families, it does not take them long to adopt a boy and a girl.

Gabi and Falco visit them constantly, Gabi is the only way Reiner keeps contact with the rest of his family and she adores their children, Falco almost fainted when one of them called him uncle.

Jeanmarco:

Marco lost an eye in Trost, even then, they both join the survey corps as a way to honor their lost comrades, any time he sees Marco during a mission Jean worries that he won’t be as lucky this time, and that Marco might die that day.

They were horrified when he discovered how deep the corruption in the military police went, more Marco than Jean, so once Historia becomes the queen they offer all the advice they can give about reforms to the military.

Post rumbling, they both settle down in a nice house where once was wall Sina, now tired from the battle, the only missions they do are negotiations between Paradis and the rest of the world, they are the first to retire.

Kenuri:

Uri punches Kenny in the face when he discovered that he hid the fact that he had a nephew and abandoned him, it took a week of Kenny begging for Uri to talk to him again, now he adores Levi and finds it amusing how similar he is to Kenny.

They both love Historia and try to help her in any way they can with her labours as queen, Uri gives her advice and helps her to gain the trust of many important figures in Paradis and Kenny takes a more aggressive approach, threatening to kill anyone who questions her authority.

When Historia’s baby is born they go in full grandfather mode, once they met her they could not stop crying and at one point Uri had to try to take her away from Kennys arms, a pretty difficult task due to their height difference

Petruo/Auretra:

They've been together for years, but only told their families after the female titan arc, Petra’s father felt pretty embarrassed about his earlier conversation with Levi, but didn’t tell their comrades as they felt pretty shy about it.

After the battle of Shiganshina Auruo proposed to her in front of everyone, holding a ring that belonged to his mother and had been holding on to for months now, the only one that wasn’t surprised with this was Levi.

Petra asked Levi to make a small speech at their wedding, which he surprisingly agreed to do, when he did he talked about how he knew Auruo liked Petra from the moment he saw them and how jealous he would get, and would intentionally assign them to the same tasks together by themselves so one of them finally dared to confess, by the time he returned to his table, both of their faces were completely red.

Mikenana:

While Mike managed to hide from the best titan and come out unscarred, Nanaba was not so lucky, losing one of her legs at Utgard Castle and having to retire from the military.

During the uprising arc, Mike joined the new Levi squad and went into hiding, Nanaba became essential to collecting information behind the scenes, as she could easily go under the radar, so she stayed with Hange and Moblit.

When Mike returned from the battle of Shiganshina, Nanaba ran to him in her crutches and jumped into his arms as soon as she was close enough, and didn’t let go until she could convince herself that he really survived.

Hilow/Hitchmaru:

Seeing as her efforts to convince him to not join the survey corps were failing, Hitch just directly confessed her feelings to him as a last effort to save him, Marlowe told her he felt the same way, but he knew his destiny was with the scouts.

Both Marlowe and Floch survived the battle of Shiganshina, when Floch starts talking very sharply to the families of the deceased Marlowe shuts him up, when Hitch asks him why he is so determined to stop him he says “Imagine if I died and he said those things to you”.

Marlowe is captured by the jaegerists and couldn’t join the alliance, once Hitch manages to free him he expresses his frustration with not being able to go to battle, yet he is still happy that he does not have to leave Hitch one more time.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (16)

     jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst

words: 6.6k

     chapter sixteen

Despite deciding not to make your already uncomfortable situation even more awkward by discussing your kiss, Jungkook could not stop thinking about it the entire drive back to your dormitory. Actually, he’d been thinking about the kiss nearly every moment since it happened, but with you in the car next to him, his thoughts became clearer. More defined. More vibrant.

If he’d have closed his eyes – not a good idea for someone who was behind the wheel of a car; but it wasn’t like Jungkook was above entertaining bad ideas – he swore he could return to that moment when he had you underneath him on his bed, your mouth against his, right before his mother knocked on the door and interrupted you.

What would have happened if she hadn’t knocked?

“You okay?” you asked suddenly, the question startling him.

“Hmm?” he nearly swerved off the road, answering you in a high-pitched voice, “yeah. Why?”

“You just inhaled really—nevermind,” you changed your mind – it was better to stay quiet all the way home. But, aware how weird your question seemed without any explanations, you mumbled under your breath, “thought you were suffocating or something.”

Jungkook hadn’t realized his breath got caught in his throat every time he remembered kissing you, but it made sense; his body needed to give up every other activity—no matter how crucial for his survival it was—in order to make enough space in his mind to fully immerse itself into the memory.

The memory was so important to him because, based on the way you shifted closer to the door and further away from him in his car, he could tell that even the lingering possibility of bringing the kiss up made you close off. So the chance of it happening again – him, getting you to lower your guards down enough to allow another kiss – was so slim, it was incredible he hadn’t given up yet.

“So, I take it you won’t make it to my gig this Friday, then,” Jungkook said when he entered the campus, nodding at the barrier guard through his window before turning to look at you to show you that, no, he wasn’t going to try to get you to talk about last weekend, but also, no, he wasn’t going to completely let this go, either.

“No,” you said with a quick glance his way, the barbecue at his father’s company written in red letters in your mental itinerary. “Not this Friday. Sorry.”

He thought this over – “this” Friday meant that next Friday still had an opening. He liked these odds.

“Text me if my dad gets too crazy, yeah?” Jungkook asked as he pulled into the parking lot of your dormitory. “I’ll make sure to reply with tips on how to get him to leave you alone.”

“No, you’ll be in the middle of your performance,” you said – expressing your appreciation for his concern by giving him a warm smile – and then dismissed him with a wave of your hand, “I’ll find a way to handle it.”

Stopping the car right in front of the entrance – but not shutting the engine off which was, both, terrible for the environment and also not a very smart idea socially, considering that people were already watching your every step, and they were absolutely going to hear Jungkook’s car – he turned to look at you with a very determined expression on his face.

“If you don’t think I can find a way to include answering texts in my set list, I have news for you,” he said and you thought he was joking – just being reassuring – but the look in his eyes told a different story.

Your smile widened despite your protests. “Alright, noted. But don’t worry about me. Just let me know when you’re done with your gig.”

Jungkook – who’d never had to report his whereabouts to anyone before – found himself nodding eagerly.

“You too,” he said. “I mean, text me when that whole social gathering is over. I can drive over there to take you home.”

“No,” you protested again, “you have an after-party to get to. I’ll make my own way home. Don’t worry—”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he countered, using your own argument against you, “I will come get you out of there early if you’ll need me to. No matter what I’m doing.”

The look on his face was resolute and, for a moment, you considered that perhaps this was his way of showing you that he didn’t want you to go to the company barbecue at all – especially not when he couldn’t be there to supervise and make sure the real story of your relationship remained well hidden behind the tale you’d created for his parents – but then, Jungkook looked down and refuted these thoughts.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said. “My dad already had that look on his face – the scowl he saved for me only – because he’d been expecting me to refuse to come all along, but then you… well, you softened the blow.”

“I didn’t soften it much if he still looked at you like that,” you said, lowering your eyes just as Jungkook raised his.

“No, you did. I’d have gone home, thinking—no, knowing—that I’d let him down yet again,” he said, “and that often has interesting consequences—”

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Right. But now I get to go home and worry about you being there alone with my family and their colleagues, so that gives me something else to occupy myself with.”

You could have insisted that you weren’t a damsel in distress and could figure out your own way out of a tricky situation if you had to, but you chose to let him have this one. If thinking about this kept him out of trouble while you were out of campus and, possibly, unable to reach him in time, then so be it.

“That’s hardly a better way to spend your time, but if that’s what you’re into these days…” you replied with humor and Jungkook – who could tell that you were only saying this so you’d stop going back and forth with him – forced himself to smile.

“You’re rubbing off on me,” he said. “I’m starting to develop this need to constantly be in control of everything.”

Your mouth opened in genuine surprise and then – almost comically – opened wider still, when you decided to add a more dramatic effect to your reaction, so you could conceal the fact that the portrayal of you, as a control freak, had honestly upset you. 

But you couldn’t express your feelings out loud because, admittedly, he was right, you did like to be in control of your surroundings. Shamelessly so, too, because you didn’t think it was wrong to know about everything that involved you.

“That’s not good,” you said. “We can’t both be in control. We’ll clash.”

“If we do, I hope it will be as epic as Harry versus Voldemort.”

You snickered at this, the tension in your shoulders lightening. “I take it you’re Voldemort?”

Jungkook looked positively outraged by this assumption. “Of course not! I’m The Chosen One.”

Now you were full-on laughing. And The Chosen One – who, technically, could have actually been called The Boy Who Lived after all the life-threatening stunts he’d pulled since starting puberty – smiled, beyond proud of himself.

Smiling at each other for several seconds – that could have been minutes or even hours for all you cared; it only felt like one blink of an eye to you anyway – you felt your chest fill with affection. That tended to happen sometimes, especially when you’d been dreading a situation – The Talk About the Sunday Night Kiss – and then managed to successfully make it out alive – by using a method, commonly referred to as, Staying Quiet and Changing the Topic.

“I meant what I said, though,” you spoke and the relief that you didn’t have to endure the awkward ‘so… what do we do now?’ question washed over you with a warm wave. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

You had leaned closer him as you said this – it was a natural instinct: reaching out to touch someone’s hand (or, uh-oh, cheek!) for more effect – but you froze mid-way, hanging awkwardly over the console of his car and regretting your very existence because you’d noticed how Jungkook stopped breathing when you moved closer, and how quickly his breathing returned to him – in the form of a disappointed huff – when you suddenly stopped.

“Thank you for taking me to the meeting today,” you ended up blurting as you pulled back, your eyes now firmly locked on the handle of the door.

“Yeah. It’s nothing,” he replied and, somehow, that was it.

The eternity you always spent in his car when he dropped you off in front of your dormitory had suddenly come to an end and, because of how weird it was to leave without saying goodbye – but, then again, were you supposed to hug? Kiss? – your hand lingered on the handle numbly, only pushing the door open a minute later.

Paradoxically, relief and concern both flooded your brain as soon as you stepped one foot outside but then, before you could exit his car, you felt him take hold of your wrist – not pulling you back per se, but holding onto you firmly enough to stop you from moving.

“Hey,” Jungkook said. You were mid-step, so you had to fully exit the car and lean down to look at him.

“Hmm?” you asked, your wrist still in his grip even though he had successfully captured your attention.

“D-don’t…” he tried to say, mumbling the rest of the words under his breath. You frowned, not hearing him, and were about to lean forward to ask what he’d said, when he cleared his throat and tried again, “let’s not be weird around each other, okay? We know each other far too long for that.”

Your plan to keep your mouth shut and divert his attention to different topics had, clearly, only succeeded in part, because Jungkook was addressing last Sunday night, after all, but he didn’t dare to bring the kiss up directly. And his acknowledgement of the fact that you were too stuck in your own head to let him talk to you about the kiss specifically, made it all worse.

“Yeah,” you said then. “I wouldn’t want things to suddenly be weird between us.”

“So, let’s not make it weird,” he said, nodding and reluctantly letting go of your hand. “Don’t forget to text me tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you pulled your hand back and, with one last smile – that looked forced, uncomfortable and weird; all the things you didn’t want it to look like – you walked away from his car and back to your dorm, ready for Inna’s tirade of questions. Questions that you had no answers to.

What surprised you about the company barbecue on Friday afternoon wasn’t the fact that Inna hadn’t demanded to know all the details of the event when you told her where you’d be going, or the fact that all of the people you’d seen at the bi-yearly meeting on Thursday, were now dressed in red aprons like your friendly neighborhood dads.

It was the fact that Namjoon, of all people, was dressed like one of those dads, too.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, evidently shocked to run into him here. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, hi!” Namjoon seemed just as surprised but he shook your hand – which was his go-to way of saying hello to people, as you’ve learned – and smiled, explaining, “I’m interning here, actually. What about you?”

You were thrown off balance by your surprise – the two of you had talked about your plans for the future before, sharing your ambitions with each other, and yet you didn’t know that he was an intern here – but recovered a moment later to explain yourself.

“Oh, I’m—the CEO is an old family friend, so I’m here as a courtesy of sorts,” you said, feeling self-conscious when you saw Namjoon raise his eyebrows after he learned about this connection. “I was supposed to come earlier to help you set up but my roommate was leaving for the weekend, and she—well, anyway. I’m only here to get acquainted with the company, really.”

Contrary to what you’d expected him to ask you next, Namjoon wondered, “do you see yourself here in the future?”

Even though he didn’t inquire about your biography outright – “were your parents powerful and influential businessmen as well?” – his question did seem to insinuate that you may start working here purely because of your relationship to the head of the company.

“Maybe,” you replied, realizing how privileged you were to be here when you weren’t even a part of the company yet. “What has it been like, interning here?”

“Oh, it’s been okay. It’s the only company that took me in,” he spoke and you felt yourself exhale in relief after you lost the spotlight. “The others weren’t looking for interns. Or they needed interns with a job experience that spanned more than my college career.”

You scoffed, understanding what he meant very well because you’d been there, too. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Namjoon said with a sigh. “And that’s why I’m here.”

“So, this wasn’t your first choice?” you asked.

“No, but I don’t regret coming here,” he replied. “It’s a nice work environment. The people are very welcoming and helpful, which isn’t something you see a lot of in corporate businesses.”

Sadly, some of the people here weren’t very welcoming in their personal lives, you thought bitterly, remembering Jungkook and his father’s tense relationship. You chose not to mention that, however, because it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

“I hope you’re not here for work, though,” you said instead, smiling as you watched Namjoon laugh awkwardly and nod at the beef patties on a plate next to the grill.

“No,” he said. “But they did put me on grilling duty – which wasn’t very smart of them, considering how terrible I am around things that can burst into flames – so I do have some hefty responsibilities today.”

You chuckled. “I could help you. I’ve done my fair share of barbecuing when I was growing up. Let me just leave my handbag somewhere—”

“The gazebo over there,” Namjoon pointed at the far end of the camping grounds, “they’ve turned it into a coat room. You could leave it there,” he looked at you and, catching his own eagerness, explained, “I would really appreciate your help. I don’t want my internship to end prematurely because I’d poisoned everyone with my poor cooking.”

Giving him a sympathetic grin, you assured him, “that won’t happen. At least, not on my watch. I’ll be right back!”

As you’d learned once you got back to the grill and started to assist Namjoon – or, allowed him to assist you – Jungkook’s father hadn’t even arrived yet. Him and his wife – according to a very chatty woman who was Namjoon’s supervisor – were supposed to come a little while later and then, following tradition, they would take a picture with the rest of the employees, sit down for a meal, and leave within an hour.

This barbecue may have been a nice social gathering for the employees of his company, but it was strictly a formality for Jungkook’s father.

“Still, it’s nice,” Namjoon said once the woman left you two to finish grilling the sausages and the patties alone, “not many CEOs bother to interact with the lower-rank employees at company events. At least, not in my experience. My dad didn’t even know what his boss looked like and he’d worked for the same company for twenty years.”

“It sounds impossible in today’s day and age, though, with everyone being on social media,” you pointed out.

“Of course. But you don’t always recognize people from social media in real life. So, it’s nice that even I, an intern, have a chance to see the CEO of the company with my own eyes. And maybe even meet him.”

“Hmm, sure,” you nodded with an unconcerned shrug. “It is nice of him, I suppose.”

Namjoon noticed your nonchalance and he knew that the reason why you couldn’t relate to him in this particular situation was because you had nothing to get excited about – you had already met the CEO.

“You said he was a family friend?” Namjoon asked you. “So, you know him quite well, then?”

You paused grilling for a second to look at him but he was watching the food to make sure it didn’t burn. And that was even better, since it gave you more time to come up with an abridged version of your relationship with Jungkook’s father.

“Yeah, uh… my mom and his wife had been best friends growing up,” you said, “and they’re still very close to this day. Now that they’re both married, their families got involved in the friendship, too. He’s always been kind to me but my knowledge of him comes from Jungkook’s point of view, so I’m probably—”

Namjoon finally looked away from the sizzling grill to get you to back up. “Wait, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, we—” you paused, realizing that he wasn’t confused about your friendship with Jungkook but, rather, about Jungkook, being the son – and the heir apparent – of the CEO. “The company—i-it belongs to Jungkook’s father.”

“Oh,” Namjoon mumbled, looking away as this revelation rendered him speechless for a quick minute. “Oh.”

You didn’t know what to make of this “oh”, so you tried to clear the air with a chuckle.

“I, uh—I had thought that was common knowledge on campus,” you said.

“I—maybe it is, I don’t really keep up w-with that,” he admitted. “I just assumed he was popular because of Parental Advisory.”

“He is,” you nodded, “but coming from a rich family probably didn’t hinder his way to the top very much.”

“No,” he snickered, “it probably didn’t. So, uh, is he coming here, too?”

You had picked up a pair of tongs from the folding table nearby and used them to flip the patties before you answered. That was why you didn’t notice how much Namjoon struggled to process this new information. You couldn’t ask him what was it about Jungkook that caused Namjoon to have such a hard time dealing with this news.

“No,” you said, still not looking at him as you focused on the grill. “He’s got a show tonight.”

“Ah, so his band comes first,” Namjoon said in a voice that would have been humorous—in a sarcastic way—if it wasn’t so acidic.

You stopped what you were doing to give the boy next to you a surprised look.

“Well—not necessarily,” you said and then tried to find a way to explain why Jungkook was the way he was without getting into too many unnecessary and overly-complicated details, “he cares about both, but he’s not—he’s got, uh, some issues with—”

“With being civil in front of his father’s employees?” Namjoon interjected sharply.

You blinked. “He—”

“God, sorry,” he blurted suddenly, putting the metal spatula down on the grill before realizing that this wasn’t a good idea and picking it back up again. He sounded exasperated as he tried to take his previous question back, “I don’t know why I’m coming off so angry about this. I was just surprised. I did hear that the CEO had a son who was presumably going to take over the company one day, but I didn’t think it was… you know.”

You didn’t know, but you could guess that Jungkook’s bad reputation preceded him and even people, who claimed not to judge others without getting to know them first, couldn’t help but judge first.

Namjoon sounded disappointed when he talked about him. Worse, he sounded displeased and even choked as he spoke, trying to cover up his own frustration so he could remain impeccably respectful like he always was – or tried to be.

He tried to avoid stereotypes but you’d gotten glimpses of his real attitude at the library when he’d revealed his assumptions about the members of Parental Advisory, guessing – and getting it right – that the members were a “troubled bunch”.

You’d admired his restraint from any further assumptions that could have shown his prejudice. But now his respectfulness irked you because it hid his real feelings and made it almost impossible for you to defend Jungkook without sounding like you were overreacting.

“There’s still a long way before Jungkook can take over,” you said, focusing on the tongs in your hands and the way they clapped with a metallic yelp each time you clicked them together. “He’s working on it and his father definitely isn’t cutting him any slack just because he’s his son.”

“Right, I wasn’t—”

“But you probably know that if you work here,” you continued, yours words coming out in a batch of agitation that Namjoon could not interrupt, “there aren’t any exclusive employees here. Everyone is being treated the same, regardless of their connection to the staff higher up.”

“No, of course!” he exclaimed before you could continue. “I didn’t mean to imply—although, I guess I did imply that he had certain guarantees that other people didn’t, which is true, of course, with him being the son of the CEO. But I didn’t mean to make it sound like he wouldn’t deserve the chief executive position. I’m sure his father wouldn’t give it to him if he didn’t think Jungkook was worth it.”

“Yeah,” you said, swallowing hard. “He wouldn’t.”

Namjoon wasn’t going to say anything else about this – he’d already said too much – but the way you went straight for his throat when he misspoke about Jungkook, shed a new light on your relationship with him. It intrigued Namjoon even if he wasn’t fascinated by you in a romantic sense.

His interest in your relationship with Jungkook was mostly understandable, though – the two of you were so different on the surface, one could only wonder what was it that attracted you to each other.

Well, apparently, there were depths to the reckless lead vocalist of the campus band that Namjoon didn’t know about.

“I’ve heard he treats everyone here like family,” Namjoon said, trying to make his voice sound light as he shifted the topic from the son to the father.

“I’ve heard that, too,” you agreed, your voice still on edge. “The man has a great reputation around here.”

“He’s sort of living up to it, too,” Namjoon said and you saw him nod in the direction of the road that ran along the north side of the camping grounds.

You turned your head to see Jungkook’s father step out of his car, with his wife following after, from the other side. He shook hands with the few people who came to greet him. 

He had a wide smile on his face – a smile that you couldn’t remember seeing in a very long time, but now that you did, you realized how similar him and Jungkook were: both of them seemed to lose ten years of their age when they smiled.

“He kind of looks like he’s running a presidential campaign,” you said, observing the scene as Jungkook’s father greeted his employees – some with a good-natured hug, others with a wave.

Namjoon glanced at you and, relieved to see that your mind was no longer lingering on your previous conversation, laughed. “Maybe a bit, yeah.”

Within moments of Jungkook’s father’s arrival, the campgrounds were in an uproar: everyone was busy grilling their last bits of food and arranging it in a way that would look the most appetizing.

The plate of food you and Namjoon had grilled definitely wasn’t the easiest on the eyes, but none of the food seemed under-cooked or burned, so both of you were content with that. 

Then, just as you were about to pick the food up and carry it over to the structure tent in the center of the grounds, you were reminded that time for dinner hadn’t arrived yet.

The traditional picture had to come first.

You felt a lot like you did on picture day back at school – with one of the employees ordering everyone around, demanding they squat, scooch closer, smile wider, turn their heads, and move to the back because their clothing is too flashy – and that was what you told Namjoon when the two of you found yourselves standing side-by-side in front of the camera, very close to Jungkook’s father himself.

“I think it’s worse than it was at school,” Namjoon whispered back, glancing at the other employees and their wide smiles, “but, at least, we don’t have to wear uniforms.”

You scoffed. “Yes. Wearing dark red aprons is better.”

“This awful color makes us all more united,” he said, looking over your shoulder and accidentally meeting the eye of his CEO, who was making sure you weren’t standing too far from him, because he considered you to be his guest and, therefore, he had to make sure you received the best treatment. Namjoon figured as much, as he cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

Finally, the photographer – or, actually, the Head of Human Resources with his new Samsung – took the picture, making sure the flash blinded each and every single person posing for him. And then he took another picture. And then another one. And then a few more for good measure.

You thought you’d blinked in all of them but you hoped to never see those pictures anyway. They probably hung them up in the lobby to remind everyone who went into the building that this was a very friendly environment to work in, but the actual employees never really looked at the pictures.

It was almost funny how wrong you were about that.

“Such a pleasure to see you here,” Jungkook’s father said, approaching you as soon as the people broke apart from their designated positions and pretended to mingle while, really, they waited for the director to finish talking and lead them to the main tent for dinner.

“Thank you very much for inviting me,” you said, aware of everyone’s eyes on you as you exchanged a polite and obligatory hug. “It’s a very nice place here.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” he nodded and then, much to your relief, pointed at the tent. “Let’s go have some food, shall we? I’d been saving up my stomach the whole day for this.”

You chuckled and walked next to him towards the plastic table, filled to the brim with various plates of food. There was far too much grilled meat here – it was impossible for everyone to eat it all, no matter how many people were here – but that only seemed to please the CEO.

“Would you like to take a look at the pictures, sir?” the Head of HR approached Jungkook’s father after he noticed that your conversation had ceased.

Based on how carefully he held the treasured Samsung in his hands, you figured that, either the phone had cost several million dollars, or the man was genuinely terrified of Jungkook’s father – which wasn’t unlikely, as you very well knew.

“Oh, of course, of course,” Jungkook’s father said, always so pleasant, and then stopped to take a look at the phone. You weren’t sure if you should have kept walking or stopped as well. And then he solved the dilemma for you by addressing you, “I’m going to forward the picture to Jungkook so he knows what he’s missing.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea,” you said, smiling, even though you knew Jungkook probably wasn’t even going to open the picture.

Funnily enough, you were wrong about that, too.

While you and Jungkook’s father joined the rest of his employees for the barbecue, Jungkook was finishing soundcheck with his bandmates. He checked his phone – like he did after each song – and rolled his eyes when he saw a text from his father instead of from you.

He opened it, though.

He didn’t care much for what his father said – but he had to admit, he’d never seen his father use the winky face emoji before, so that threw him off – but his eyes caught the picture he’d attached and Jungkook pressed on it without a moment’s hesitation.

Skimming over the bright smiles of his father’s employees, he scanned the picture, looking for you.

And he found you.

But not before he found Namjoon standing right next to you.

Much to your surprise, talking to the other employees – even despite the age gap – proved to be a lot of fun. Some of the older ones actually remembered you from when you were little; they recalled you and Jungkook holding onto Jungkook’s mother’s dress as she brought you two along when she came to visit her husband at the company. And the younger employees curiously absorbed everything you told them about your experience at university, sharing their own life stories with you in return.

Because you found yourself having a good time here, you only remembered that you’d left your phone in your handbag – which was across the camping grounds, tucked away in the lonely wooden gazebo – when Jungkook’s father – who was still here, much to everyone’s surprise – decided it was time to pop the champagne.

You excused yourself from the table, promising to return soon because you only meant to retrieve your phone so you could check the time and maybe check in with Jungkook in case his show was over by now.

That was not what ended up happening when you located your handbag under the various expensive jackets that were haphazardly thrown on the bench in the gazebo.

You pulled your phone out to see several missed calls.

None of those missed calls were from Jungkook. In fact, the majority of them came from Inna, which was already weird enough since she’d left campus again this weekend and she never called you. You always texted.

But what truly confused you were the last two missed calls because they were from Yoongi, Jungkook’s bandmate. You’d only talked to Yoongi on the phone once, when you were attempting to get in touch with Jungkook after he missed dinner at his parents’ place, but Yoongi was high back then so you didn’t think he even remembered.

But he did remember, apparently, because, while you stood there, puzzled and a little alarmed, his number lit up on your screen again.

Clearing your throat, you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, fuck, thank God, you’re here,” Yoongi spoke and, judging from the relief in his voice, he knew very well whom he was talking to. “Is Jungkook with you?”

“Jungkook?” you repeated stupidly. “W-why would he be with me? Don’t you have a show?”

Yoongi laughed, loudly and completely humorlessly. “We do have a show. He was wasted for the most of it.”

A painful bolt of electricity shot through you. “He performed drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. At least, he performed,” Yoongi said, “that’s before the encore, though. We couldn’t find him. The fucking asshole completely missed the three final songs. We thought he went to see you.”

You felt a pang of guilt even though you had nothing to feel guilty about because Jungkook was most definitely not with you, and he didn’t have a single reason to come see you before he finished the show anyway.

“I-I’m not on campus right now,” you said, running your hand through your hair as you considered what could have happened in the span of the few hours since you left your dorm this morning, after having talked to Jungkook on the phone. “Did you try calling him?”

“Obviously. He’s not picking up. I’m pretty sure he tossed his phone into a fucking lake,” Yoongi said and then, even though he didn’t mean it, he added angrily, “he better be in the lake, too, or else I’ll kill him myself.”

Knowing that the scenario of Jungkook accidentally driving into a lake wasn’t one to be dismissed, you felt your skin shiver.

“I’ll look for him,” you promised, looking back at the celebration in the tent across the field.

“You said you weren’t on campus,” Yoongi said. “Your roommate said she was out, too.”

You weren’t aware that Yoongi had talked to Inna tonight, but that explained the avalanche of missed calls from her. You made a mental note to send her a quick explanatory text message on your way to your dorm.

“I’m coming back,” you told Yoongi, grabbing your bag and making your way back to the rest of the company. “Let me know if he gets in touch with you, though, okay?”

The boy on the other end scoffed. “He won’t. Chances are, he won’t talk to the rest of us for a week after he eventually shows up back home. As if it’s us who fucked up, and not him.”

“Did anything happen?” you asked, still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. That wasn’t easy when each piece looked drastically different from the next and you had no idea what the full picture was supposed to look like. “Did someone say something to him? Did he get into a fight? Did he—”

“No. Nothing happened. We were—ah, shit, wait, his dad texted him, didn’t he?” Yoongi said but it didn’t sound like he was addressing you. He wasn’t; a moment later, a muffled, “yeah” sounded in the background of the call. Then, Yoongi continued, “yeah, we were finishing up with the soundcheck when he got a text from his dad. He read it and just fucking dipped. When he came back to do the show, he was already struggling on his feet.”

You cursed under your breath before thinking aloud, “his dad is here. I did see him text Jungkook but he was just sending him a picture—could it have been the picture that triggered him?”

“A picture of what?”

“There’s this barbecue that the company organized. His dad invited us both but he stayed back to do the show, so I came alone. We took a picture, everyone who’s here. And his dad sent it to him. Could that be the reason why he—”

“No,” Yoongi said right away, “company dinners—or barbecues, or whatever—doesn’t sound like Jungkook’s thing. He wouldn’t give a fuck about the picture. Unless you took someone there as your plus one?”

“Of course I didn’t. I was supposed to come with him but—oh, fuck.”

You stopped walking, the realization hitting you first, and the absurdity of it following right after.

Namjoon was in the picture next to you. He was just standing there, not even touching you, but was it possible that his appearance in the picture was enough for Jungkook to lose touch with reality?

“Fuck, of course, that’s possible,” you said out loud, almost stomping your feet in frustration like a kid, throwing a tantrum. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll text you if I find him.”

You didn’t hear Yoongi’s response because you were already pulling the phone away from your ear as you returned to the tent. You needed to find a way to leave without raising any suspicions with Jungkook’s father – whom you ran past in a wide semicircle like he was the plague itself – and you figured that the best way to do that would be faking a health emergency.

But for that, you needed to spend another few inconspicuous minutes by the table, looking colorless and uncomfortable. That wasn’t going to be difficult since you did feel light-headed already.

As you waited for the right amount of time to pass before you could leave, you tried texting Jungkook. You even tried calling – thinking you’d have enough time to walk far enough from the table so that’d no one would hear you – but the beeping signal never ceased and you didn’t get to hear Jungkook’s voice.

Right when you bit your lip, trying his number for the fifth time in a row as if the previous four times were just glitches in the system, someone noticed your distress.

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice sounded by your ear, startling you because he was across the table from you just a second ago. “You okay? You came back to the table, looking very out of it.”

“Namjoon,” you said, your voice so grave, he thought you were about to tell him that the entire campus had burned down while the two of you weren’t there and you were the only suspects. “I need to leave.”

“Did something happen?” he asked, the concern in his voice genuine.

You nodded. “Jungkook got in trouble. I have to go back, b-but I can’t tell his father about any of this.”

You spoke without thinking about your last conversation with Namjoon or how this news could have confirmed Jungkook as a useless waste of space in his eyes. Frankly, in that moment, you couldn’t have cared less about Namjoon’s opinion of Jungkook. 

You could have used his help, even if he was going to judge you for it.

“I’m going to call myself a cab,” you said, “but could you please do me a favor, and tell his dad that I’d left because I wasn’t feeling well?”

Namjoon pulled back from your chair and looked across the table to his own seat – his leather jacket resting on the back of the chair – before giving you a nod.

“Let’s go,” he said. You were already standing up but then paused and sat back down, confused.

“What?”

“I’ll drive you back to campus,” he said, “we can leave without saying anything – no one will even notice. And then, when I’m back, I can tell everyone that you weren’t feeling well and that’s why I took you home early.”

“T-that’s very kind, but I can really just—”

“No, let me take you home,” Namjoon insisted as gently as he could, afraid that his forceful tone might remind you of his previous slip-up when you were talking about Jungkook. “It’ll be my way of apologizing for stepping over the line earlier today.”

You considered telling him that he had nothing to apologize for – he didn’t know Jungkook personally and everyone was entitled to their own opinion; you’d just gotten annoyed that he was so quick to hide this opinion under the curtain of fake politeness – but, eventually, the realization that you really didn’t have the time to debate if he should have felt apologetic or not won over, and you nodded.

You needed to get back to campus quickly, even if there was a risk of Jungkook seeing you and Namjoon together again – if that really was the reason why he got drunk and missed the encore of his own show.

“Okay. Let’s go,” you said, finally standing up. “Thank you.”

keep reading | masterlist

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Marvel What If’s Women Problem

Welcome back to the feminist rant!

I really didn’t intend to spend three weeks in a row writing about the Marvel animated series What If…? But I wanted to see this through.

Last week we talked about this show’s abundant use of the “fridged woman” trope. However, a show doesn’t need to kill its female characters in order to fail them.

Remember that time I made up a feminist movie test? I call it the “Want Test.” You can read the full explanation here, but here’s the summary:

This test requires that a film (or, in this case, an episode of a TV show) has at least one named female character. After watching the show, ask, “Does what the named female character want matter to the plot?” Then, score the movie based on the answer to this question.

If the answer is “Yes, what the named female character wants matters to the plot,” then give the movie a checkmark!”

If the answer is “Yes, AND this is true of multiple named female characters,” then the movie gets a check-plus. If these characters help each other get what they want, the movie gets a check-double-plus!

If the answer is “Yes, BUT her wants are an obstacle to a male character’s goal,” then the movie gets a check-minus. The woman may matter to the plot, but her importance is centered on her relationship to a male character and how much he matters to the plot. Often movies with a check-minus involve a male protagonist actively trying to stop a female character from getting what she wants; while she has an impact on the world around her, the movie isn’t rooting for the woman.

If the answer is “No, what she wants doesn’t matter,” then the movie fails the test. Give it a minus.

Okay, now let’s talk about Marvel What If. Once again, there are spoilers for the first seven episodes of this show below the cut, and some discussion of the plot points in the movies these episodes are based on.

When I compare the first seven episodes of What If to the Want Test, they each barely scrape their way to a check-minus (though after my rant last week, I’m tempted to edit my test so that a show that fridges a female character automatically fails). In summary, it does not matter what most of the named female characters want. Each episode has a single woman whose wants do affect the plot, but what she wants is always some kind of obstacle to a male character’s goal. Even when the women of What If survive the episode, the male characters’ feelings are the primary engine of the show.

As I neared the end of Episode Six, “What If… Killmonger Rescued Tony Stark?” I said to myself, “Well, at least Pepper and Shuri aren’t dead.” But then, in the last minute of the episode, Shuri and Pepper meet and state their intent to take down Killmonger. And I said to myself, “Okay, so why didn’t we get THAT episode?”

Sure, it’s cool to see two smart girls teaming up, but they don’t get to do anything! This episode repeatedly puts Pepper and Shuri down. Every time they express suspicion of Killmonger, someone contradicts them. What they want does not matter. They are obstacles to the men, and they are easily pushed aside, and so all they can do is stand in the background and watch while the boys run around and play war games.

If your named female characters only matter in the last scene of the show, then they don’t really matter. This episode wasn’t about the women at all. It was about the men killing each other and making each other sad.

*

I really don’t want to say much about the seventh episode, “What If… Thor Were an Only Child?”

What I will say is, “Why, why, WHY is Dr. Jane Foster more concerned about hurting the hot guy’s feelings than she is about how the hot guy is about to cause the end of the world?”

And I will also say, “Why does Captain Marvel need to be nice to Thor at the end of the episode after he spent the entire episode being a jackass to her?”

And I will end this section of the blog post by saying, “Frigga deserves so much better than any man in her family has ever given her.”

*

The second episode of this show, “What If… T’Challa Became a Star-Lord?” might be my favorite episode. Mainly because it’s the only one I genuinely liked while I was watching it. It was fun, and I was happy to hear Chadwick Boseman’s voice one more time. Overall, it’s a lovely tribute to both the actor and his character.

But, for me, liking this episode required ignoring a big problem: Nebula and Thanos’s relationship.

We don’t know exactly when in this timeline T’Challa met Thanos and convinced him to give up on the “murder half the universe” plan. But we do know that even before Thanos collected the Infinity Stones, he was roaming the universe slaughtering millions. We know he committed genocide against Gamora’s people the day he “adopted” her, and it’s safe to assume he did the same to Nebula’s. We know that he raised Gamora and Nebula to fight each other, and every time Nebula lost a fight, he replaced a part of her body with cybernetics, constantly torturing her.

What If never tells us that that Thanos did not abuse his daughters. It never tells us that he did not slaughter millions, including his daughters’ birth families. But it does tell us that Thanos is Nebula’s father. And he wouldn’t be her father if he hadn’t been roaming the universe killing people.

In this episode, we see an adult Nebula who seems to think her dad is annoying, but any feelings she might have about how genuinely terrible he is – feelings she was freely willing to admit in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies – go completely unmentioned.

Thanos and Nebula’s relationship is played for laughs, like they just need to get over their past and hug it out. That bothers me a lot. It’s like the show is saying that Nebula’s pain doesn’t matter. What matters is that Thanos is sad she doesn’t want to hang out with him.

I should also point out that in Avengers: Infinity War, Gamora gets fridged. Her feelings are unimportant to the plot; her stated desire to die before she can be used as a part of Thanos’s plot is mocked and discarded. When she is murdered, the moment of her death is all about how it would hurt Thanos to kill her. Gamora’s death also serves as motivation for Peter Quill to sabotage the other heroes’ efforts to stop Thanos.

Gamora is nowhere to be seen in this episode of What If. The women that Thanos abused really don’t matter here at all.

*

I’ve been putting off talking about this show’s pilot episode, “What If… Captain Carter Were the First Avenger?” This episode was… You know, it was fun, in a very similar way to how the Star Lord T’Challa episode was fun. I can’t lie and say I didn’t like seeing super buff Peggy Carter beat the crap out of Nazis. That was a lot of fun.

But the thing I couldn’t stop thinking while watching was, “This isn’t Peggy’s story. It’s Steve’s!”

Peggy Carter may have gotten the super serum in this reality, but Steve Rogers is still the main driving force of the plot. Peggy goes to Germany to save Steve’s best friend. She works with Steve’s allies, the Howling Commandoes, instead of finding her own. Steve’s issues and emotions are central to everything Peggy does; she may say in dialogue that she wants to end the war, but what we see is that Steve is her motivation. In fact, he’s everyone’s motivation – in the scene where Peggy, Bucky, Howard, and the Howling Commandoes decide to go take down Red Skull, they all go around the table and say that they’re doing it “for Steve.” Not because ending the war is the right thing to do, not because they care about the millions of people murdered and tortured by the Nazis – but because they care about Steve.

When I first heard about this show, I thought that Steve was going to die, and that would be why Captain Carter would exist. The interesting/ironic thing here is that the episode pokes at the idea of fridging Steve, but it doesn’t quite have the guts to go through with it. Everyone thinks that Steve died on the train, but then they find him in Red Skull’s castle, and he’s totally fine! Killing off Captain America would have been an interesting, powerful new direction to take the story. But this episode doesn’t seem interested in taking new directions. It seems more interested in showing how things would stay the same even if Steve didn’t get the serum, even if Peggy switched careers from secret agent to superhero, even if Bucky never became the Winter Soldier, even if Red Skull decided to open a portal to tentacle hell. Things just stay the same.

And I don’t get the point of presenting us with a show where there are “endless possibilities” if things are just going to stay the same. If Peggy Carter will still be a side character in Steve Roger’s story. If Hank Pym’s grief still matters more than Janet and Hope Van Dyne’s lives. If Thanos will still never be held accountable for abusing Gamora and Nebula. If Doctor Strange is still an arrogant jackass. If the only realities we see are ones where men get to act and feel, and women get to be plot devices.

The truth is that the Watcher just isn’t interested in showing us realities where women live and thrive in their own right. For all its emphasis on how different decisions can cause dramatic changes to reality, the creators of What If have no real investment in making different decisions in how they portray female characters. It’s just more of the same.

I’m done thinking about this show. Let’s talk about something else next week, okay?

Be good to yourself, be kind to each other, and you’ll hear from me again soon!

[passivenovember]

@coffeeandchemicals (aka the sweetest angel bb) asked:  For the drabbles, 55 or 60 or 72 with harringrove! Please and thank you!! 💙

55. “Our first date is a picnic. On a beach..under the stars? Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?

Paper Angels.

The things is. Steve’s always had a sixth sense when it comes to falling in love. Can smell that shit from a mile away, the reeking infatuation that turns his already liquified brain into something like sludge. Mashed potatoes with too much milk, or something. 

And it used to be that Robin would point it out in that usual way of hers, before Steve became a pro at monitoring his own downfall. Pick your tongue up off the floor, dingus. 

And it used to be that Steve would take it like. A basketball to the back of the head, the realization that he was bleeding out in an open field for fucking whoever. Nancy Wheeler or Mark Lewinski or Brittani Clark. Robin could always sense it when Steve’s feelings started leaking out of his ears, but.

Billy Hargrove was something else entirely.

Neither of them saw it coming. The pushes and snarky comments that morphed into butterflies and concealed smiles under the light of the full moon, it was like.

Crossing a deserted road only to be fuckin’. T-boned by a cyclist who doesn’t have their lights on, or something. 

One day they were enemies. Avoiding each other like the plague--Billy actually gagged when Steve passed by him at parties. Called him Steve “Sloppy Seconds” Harrington, and. Yeah. The feeling was fuckin’ mutual, alright?

Because Hargrove always wore too much cologne and Steve had the sneaking suspicion, after that night at the Byers’ when contact sports took on a whole new meaning with the sound of ceramic against his skull, that Billy perfumed his dick.

Sometimes guys did that, he’d heard. And if Steve had to bet, like, cold hard cash on it, Billy Hargrove was definitely one of those guys. And not that Steve really. Thought about it much or anything but kissing Billy was probably like licking the inside of an ash tray. 

Just the thought of made him gag.

So, yeah. The feeling was mutual. The queasiness in Steve’s tummy was, like, disgust or something. Every time he saw that curly top above a sea of drunk high schoolers, he would start sweating a shit.

Bullets. Like he was going to face the electric chair, and. Steve had never thought for even a second that that feeling was mutual. 

That Billy would be anxious to see him. Would escape the moment he heard Steve rounding the corner into whatever lame party was on the ducat this week, so. When they eventually became friends. Best Friends, close as a couple of girls, it felt like Steve had solved the most difficult puzzle in the universe. 

They were shitfaced. Drunk enough to forget ceramic plates and nervous feelings, and Billy had tried to high-five him. Steve, on his way out for a smoke. Passed by with a little, well if it isn’t the leftover turkey, and. It would’ve been cool, but. They missed. 

By a lot. Two guys who never sat on the bench during a game, they. Fuckin’ couldn’t land a high five from less than a foot away and that was it. Billy’s walls crumbled around them like so much graham cracker dust, and. 

His eyes were pretty. Had they always been that pretty? Steve couldn’t remember but then Billy was leaning in, cheeks pink from laughter and whispering, You ain’t half bad, Harrington, into the shell of Steve’s ear. 

Like it was a secret only the two of them could remedy, and. Billy pulled away. Winked, waggled his stupid, ridiculous tongue, and. When he passed by he smelled like summer rain. Black pepper and grapefruit.

Steve closed his eyes and felt the love leaking from his ears.

Shit.

--

After that it was like surviving a forest fire. Billy would show up at Steve’s just before midnight with a six pack of Budweiser and a half smoked joint. On bad day’s he acted like coming to Steve’s house was a chore, like. Steve was holding him at gunpoint, preaching about commitments like Steve had even asked for his company in the first place, and.

On those nights it almost wasn’t worth it. The feeling of being close to Billy, it was. Hard to talk to him. 

And it wasn’t like falling slowly. Through syrup or stacks of blankets, like his usual style, it was like. 

Getting in the car and driving way, into the night, with no map and no funds and no clue of what the end would look like. Steve fell hard and fast and slammed into the ground until he was one with the molten earth, on the good nights, too. When Billy grinned and cracked jokes and fuckin’. Winked. 

So. The good outweighed the bad. For months, for millennia, it seemed. Until Steve couldn’t remember a time when midnight didn’t signal the arrival of love. And he would take it, anything, everything, for just a peak at the person he knew was hidden under all that hairspray and chiseled skin, so.

When Billy showed up one night with his car packed full of shit, Steve grabbed his coat without a word.

What are you doin’, Harrington.

I’m coming with you.

No you aren’t, that’s not. Look. I just came to say goodbye, so.

Not that easy to get rid of. 

Billy tried to fight him, tried to. Hold him off, or something. Like any force in the fucking universe would be strong enough to keep them apart. 

Steve made a face.

And Billy knew what that face meant so he cleaned out the passenger side of the Camaro. Stupid shit like lamps and folded quilts, shuffling it all to the back seat where there was clearly enough space. 

It was almost like. He had known what Steve would do. 

It was like he’d been preparing to say no, baby. I don’t have enough room, see? I’m saddled with more than I can take already, and I just--

Almost like he was hoping Steve would insist, anyway, and.

“Go pack a bag, pretty boy.”

Steve would follow him anywhere.

--

Billy came alive in California. The bad nights stopped existing out in the open air, they hid instead. Under the blanket of nightfall, under the sling of Steve’s arm. They paid extra for a two bedroom apartment on the beach, because.

I’m not expecting you to. Sleep in my bed, Steve.

Right. They were still pretending. 

The second bedroom sat collecting dust. Steve emptied his trash bag of essentials into the dresser in Billy’s room, because. The love was constantly ruining his shirts, these days. 

Steve bled blue and gold. Blatantly. Because he never felt it before, this. Feeling. Like the sand is being washed from his skin. Like he’s curling up in bed after a long day of hard work.

Billy makes him feel that way, so.

Steve can’t hide it. And he doesn’t try to. Not when they watch cartoons together on the couch, not when Billy sucks a hole into his neck under their blanket in their bed and asks, we goin’ steady? Like it’s even a fucking question, or something, but.

Steve realizes they went backwards. Won the game before actually learning the rules. 

Do you wanna go on a date with me? He asks one morning. It’s raining, so Billy isn’t surfing and Steve isn’t sketching out on the porch, and. 

It seems as good a time as any.

Billy has milk running down his chin when he looks up, eyes so blue and wide like he never expected it to fucking happen. Isn’t this a date?

What?

Right now, Billy says through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. We’re eating. Alone. Making eyes at each other over our meal--

Steve snorts. This isn’t a date.

And Billy’s face, fucking. Falls. He rinses his plate in the sink and kinda, doesn’t turn back around. Steve doesn’t know how he fucked it up already. 

Bills?

What’s a date look like then? And that. Makes Steve laugh. 

You’ve been on, like. So many dates, baby. 

Not with you. Billy says flatly. When he turns around again his cheeks are pink. Not from laughter, but. From something else. I never went on any dates with you, so. How would I identify one in a crowd.

And Steve knows. Instantly, knows he’s not going to get out of this one. 

Perfect first date shit, alright, I can. I can do that.  He leans back in the hideous avocado green chair Billy picked out and. Sucks on his bottom lip. We have the day free. Because, um. It’s the off season. Right after labor day and, uh. The shop’s getting ready to shift into winter. 

Billy grins. So in your perfect scenario we’re broke?

Listen, asshole wouldja just--

Alright, baby. Billy sits in the chair across from him and looks, fucking. So pretty in Avocado Green. I’m listening. 

So Steve tells him. Their perfect date begins and ends with ease, it’s as simple as breathing. The way it’s always been for them. Natural. Steve packs a basket with a goddamn. Charcuterie board and like, fresh fruit and shit. The sun sets and Steve gets down on one knee and--

Our first date is a picnic. On a beach..under the stars? Billy doesn’t look even a little bit like laughing, not. Not when his nose goes all bunchy. Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?

Steve isn’t really in the mood for jokes. 

He covers his face with his hands, because. They went backwards. Never even put labels on it, or second guessed anything because Steve won the lottery. That night when the high fives went up in smoke, he. 

Got everything he ever wanted.

Billy tugs at his wrists. Yanks and soothes and rearranges Steve’s skin until they’re chest to chest against avocado green. His eyes are teary. Fuck.

I didn’t mean to make you cry, baby. Steve says. ‘S a bad idea anyhow, too much pressure. You mean a lot and I fuckin’. Made you cry. Tears were never a part of the deal.

Billy lets Steve wipe his cheeks and then he’s smiling. 

Not grinning or smirking or teasing, but. Happy. We could make this a date.

Steve shrugs. Yeah, I guess we could.

Pack some sandwiches, sit on the patio. Billy winks. Just like all those nights when neither boy could give their emotions a name. Take away some of the pressure. 

I kinda dig the pressure, though.

Were you really gonna get down on one knee? Billy whispers. At the end of our first date? You know the statistics on divorce are--

Against his will, Steve’s chucking. 

And on the first date? Billy tuts, cheeks pink again. You know I don’t put out for any ol’ pair of brown eyes, Harrington. I wait until at least the fourth date.

It’s been five years. 

So marry me. Billy says. On Tuesday or something, we can. Go to the beach or whatever. Elope. 

And. 

Just like that night. With the Camaro stuffed to the brim, and Billy gripping his fingers like a lifeline in a storm, Steve has no choice. He never did, because. Yeah.

He kisses Billy, each cheek, both eyelids, before carrying him to their bedroom and wonders. If they’ll ever start at the beginning.

[soukokuwu]

angsty angst with atsushi discovering his s/o’s dead body 🥴

NO GOODBYES.      genre; pairing; word count. angst; atsushi x pm!reader; 1,750 words      warnings. death, mentions of abuse, gaslighting, toxic relationship      synopsis. the one thing you did right, and it came a little too late.      author notes. hi there (sorry for the super long wait too), but i combined it with this as requested by another(?) anony, i hope you like this! let me know what y’all think <3

What you tolerate, you encourage.

What you permit, you promote.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so caught up in who you used to be, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. Perhaps if he hadn’t been in love with the idea of who you could be, then he would have had the strength to let you go. But love makes people stupid sometimes.

And Atsushi is no exception.

No matter how many times Kunikida or the others tried to interfere, to warn him that you were no good, Atsushi wouldn’t listen. Why? Because he’s inherently kind, and sometimes to a fault. This time, it would be considered a fault. The weretiger is so blinded by you that he believes everything you do is out of love; because you can’t bear losing him. He uses love to justify your actions.

But nobody questioned this: Atsushi doesn’t understand what love is.

At least, not fully, and not yet. Especially when he acts as stubborn as a mule when it comes to you. Whatever heinous thing you did to him, he makes an excuse for it, hides it from everyone he works with every single day. And the worst part is, everyone in the agency can tell why.

A young boy, growing up in an orphanage with an abusive headmaster and nearly killed what, how many times? Once? Twice? A young boy, who grew up scared yet with a heart of gold. Starving, but wouldn’t steal. Lost, yet wouldn’t ask for help. He has never known proper care, proper love. So how could he be so sure you really loved him as he claimed you did?

The ones who could think more objectively — Dazai, Ranpo — they knew. Kunikida still let his personal feelings get in the way, he and the others didn’t give you the time of day. But back to the other two, they knew the answer. Why does Atsushi make up so many excuses for you time and time again? Why does he firmly believe that your feelings for him are true?

Because once upon a time, you really did love him.

In the beginning, before things took a wrong turn. Before his passiveness led to you taking advantage of him. Who was at fault? Maybe if he wasn’t so meek you wouldn’t have had that much control over him. But then again, you could’ve been a good person with a decent moral compass and not sucked him dry. Although, no one is surprised you behaved that way.

You are a member of the Port Mafia after all.

Atsushi remembers every single horrible thing you did. He’s blinded by love to stay with you, yes. But he isn’t totally lacking in common sense. He knows the things you do are wrong. He just hopes that each time you do it, there is a good enough reason behind your motivations. Besides, they always say it’s the thought that counts, right? And he thinks no differently.

One can only learn so much apart from experience.

He thinks back to everything now, while he slugs forward, slowly walking back to the dorms. He thinks about everything his coworkers have confronted him with. Atsushi doesn’t know what he plans on doing with the information, but with everyone pressuring him to at least reconsider the relationship, maybe he should think on it.

The first thing they told him: he is way too lenient with you. More often than not, they pointed out your jealousy to be irrational and unfounded. You’ve been with the Port Mafia longer than Atsushi’s been with the ADA, so you know of the existence of Yosano and Naomi, and now you’re aware that Kyouka’s part of them too. And somehow, without rhyme or reason, you always accuse Atsushi of having the hots for one of them. On occasion it’s Yosano, sometimes Naomi, but mostly Kyouka, which the weretiger is frankly very appalled by. Taking the age difference and her age itself, she has always been more of a sister to him, of course he’d take care of her.

But you didn’t buy that. You always manage to hang it over his head, always needs him to assure you countless times over and over again that he loves you and only you. Even then you doubted his words.

His colleagues’ take on this? It’ll never end. It’s an endless cycle. Because he let it go on for far too long. And now it’s too hard to pry that habit away from you.

Two. Ranpo was kind enough to put his two cents in the situation when bribed with snacks. He knows how abusive you are — you’re just lucky that Atsushi has the healing powers of the tiger, lucky that no bruises every stay on his skin for all to see. But Ranpo knows, and Dazai, because it’s just like that. They just do. And nobody else in the office doubts their word. Atsushi doesn’t fight back against you, because he knows he’s that much stronger than you. He’s afraid he’ll hurt you if he even grips your hands.

And it’s exactly because he doesn’t resist that he ends up getting hurt instead. Most of the times he just blames himself though — why did he have to go and do that? He knows that will make you mad, why did he still do it? He’s the utter failure here. He should be punished. And there you have it, he takes whatever you throw at him (pots, pans, coat rack, everything, basically); gets blue and black, sometimes gashes and cuts that all heal almost instantly anyway. Funny thing is, he hates it, because he thinks it’s some sort of cheat code, that he isn’t properly punished.

“How can anything like that be healthy?” Tanizaki’s words ring in his head.

Three. When asked why he’s even with you in the first place — he hesitates. Why is it that “I love her” doesn’t come to his mind straight away? Everyone knows he’s in denial and always has been. They all know that he’s hoping for the old you to come back. The one he blames himself for coaxing out of you in the first place when in reality it isn’t on him in the slightest.

That was the last straw — that was what made him storm out of the office. Because he knows that no reason he gives now will satisfy them enough to get them off his back. And perhaps… it is for good reason. Because honest to god? He’s tired. Tired of feeling wronged every time you accuse him of having an affair when he barely bats an eye in any of their direction (not since the last time you threatened to hurt them if he even dared to talk to them). Tired of being beaten up for something he never did, when it should be your colleagues who should be taking the heat of your anger. They were the ones who made you mad, not him. And he’s tired of constantly having to dread going to work because he has to make up a thousand more excuses for you, to defend you when he knows very well you wouldn’t do the same courtesy to him.

The ring of his cellphone makes him sigh. That’s probably you again, checking up on him to make sure he’s not up to no good.

Atsushi breathes in, throwing his head back, eyes closed as the faint light of the setting sun hits his face. His fingers fumble in his pocket for his phone, and he answers it. Another deep breath.

“Look, I don’t think—”

“Weretiger?”

His eyes snap open and he checks the caller ID. Unknown. He hears a familiar voice on the other end, it’s the one who’s always with that devil incarnate, the one they called the rabid dog. What’s her name?

“It’s Higuchi.”

Oh, right.

What do they want with him now? To surrender himself, maybe? But like hell you’d let that happen.

But what the blonde says next makes the whole world around him cease to exist. Every complicated feeling, any positivity, they’re all gone and he feels like he’s in a void. Black; everything is black. His fingers are twitching, palms shaking as Higuchi finishes what she says, but she doesn’t hang up without telling him one more important thing:

“It’s all your fault!”

Not an hour later and he’s kneeling down next to your bullet-riddled body, fingers ghosting over your now blue, chapped lips. The blood pooled on the concrete stains his pants, but he doesn’t care. Because despite wanting to break up with you, he didn’t want you to die.

And especially not for him.

You did a lot of wrong in the relationship. Abusing, gaslighting, and many more. The other detectives always put it upon themselves to show Atsushi who you really are, and how unhealthy every aspect of your relationship is. They always argued about which facet of your relationship is the worst. But now, they all know they’ve come to the same conclusion. No discussion needed.

It’s in how the black circles under his eyes have grown darker. It’s in how he’s so dejected, so forlorn every single day — at least before he could still deceive himself that you were there at the end of the day to possibly make him feel better. It’s in how he’s tried too hard before, and now not trying at all.

The conclusion? The worst thing you’ve done to him? Ironically, laughably, is to have loved him right just before you ceased to see the light. Sacrificing yourself just because you didn’t want to give his location away to the enemy, even if you knew Atsushi had a high chance of surviving? Honestly, the only thing you did that everyone else agreed was done out of actual love.

But you left behind a weretiger that now blames himself for your death. Whenever anyone asked he’d say that he killed you.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Atsushi used to be able to see beauty in the world; he practices it by striving to always see the good in you, in what you could be. Even if it is partial deception on his own end. But now… now he barely sees any good in any thing. Self-pity is a dangerous thing.

And somehow, by loving him right in the last moments of your life, you’ve sentenced him to an eternity of being a prisoner to his misery.

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

Ok, here's how I'd set up an actual BNHA Elder Scrolls crossover in case I ever get around to write it:

1) While he's, like, 4 years old in his living room watching TV, Izuku's Quirk activates. It will not get an actual official name but we can call it Planeswalker Spark ala MTG. Basically kid can tear a hole through reality and launch himself into a different plane of existence, which is what Izuku accidentally does here.

2) It's a slow process tho, which gives Inko plenty of time to rush in from where she was to tackle her son away from the sudden green glow brightly shining around him, a impulse decision based on her Instinct to protect him at all costs, which only ends up with both of them getting sent to Skyrim.

3) Izuku incidentally also happens to be a Shezzarine. His quirk is a mutation from her mom's side, whose Quirks usually affect space in some way, and is completely unrelated to this. Anyway, he and Inko are on the cart to Helgen now, usual shit, The plot of Modded Skyrim takes places, with Inko taking on the brunt of the adventure and trying to shelter Dragonborn Izuku from his destiny.

4) After many trials and tribulations, 2 DLCs, 4 guilds, 1 Dragon War, several adopted orphans as well as so many quest mods it's unreal, Lucien Flavius and several members of the College of Winterhold manages to reverse engineer Izuku's quirk, and gives him an enchanted ring to better control it. Kid can now safely use it without risking ending up somewhere completely different from his planned location. Izuku is now 14 years old. He also had to do terrible things no matter how much his mother tried to shelter him and take the brunt of the war crimes. This leads to PTSD obviously, but also to a now blue and orange morality system, chief among them his general disregard with killing or not killing someone.

5) Getting back to 10 years prior, Izuku's Quirk causes a ripple in the Tachion Field surrounding earth, which is felt on I-Island. David Shield spends the remaining 10 years monitoring and trying to better understand the phenomena, since it could be revolutionary in the till then hypothetical field of time and space travel. When Izuku activates his quirk back 10 years later, I-Island has by then built a teleportation device, hijacking Izuku's trip and sending him to I-Island.

6) Meanwhile on a familiar junkyard, Hatsume Mei's scrappy device built via salvaged parts, spit and lots of duct tape comes to life on her back, individuating a sudden tear in the now constantly decaying Tachion Field. It's happening in the middle of the ocean tho, so she can't really deal with it now.

7) Anyway, David Shield needs Izuku at hand for his Quirk, but Izuku and his mom came back to Japan trying to live a double life since by then most of their friends and family are in Tamriel. Except, both of them have been declared dead for years, and Hisashi, the bitch, ran away with the insurance money, so they don't have a life to return to. David Shield can't let them get back to Tamriel tho, again, he needs Izuku on planet for his new research, bit also realizes that if he actually wants to leave he can't really stop him, except Izuku, you know, still wants to become a hero, just like his mom is in Skyrim. So they reach a compromise, he will try to get into UA, and will take a new identity as Mikumo Akatani, usual excuses to have Izuku get into 1-A you know?

8) Izuku can't really make his Quirk public tho. So, after forging his and his mother identities as a foreign dignitary from the states and her son, and his Quirk is listed as "Cataclysm" (The last perk in the destruction skill tree for a Fire (and Earth) mage in the Ordinator Mod). He is after all a member of the college of Winterhold, trained under the Great and Powerful Destruction Magician Uncle J'Zargo the Magnificent himself, of course he knows plenty of spells. However, he can't really explain all of them as one Quirk, or better yet, he can, it would just get really complicated, so he just goes "My mom can move things with her mind, my... Father, ugh, can blow fire from his mouth, obviously my Quirk is being able to control flames with my mind, usually from my hands but some times also via vocalisation."

9) Which means Izuku has to really contain what shit he can do. It's a very superman like situation, since he needs to remain in control at all times and also not slip up and pull spells he couldn't explain as his "fire" quirk, least people start asking questions. Some people however notice.

10) Tsuyu and Todoroki start an unofficial conspiracy theorist fan club over it.

Tsuyu was there with him at the USJ, where in his sudden hyperfocused competence over the crisis situation made her realize A) This is not the first time this boy has almost died in his life and B) Back in the water at the USJ, she could swear she saw his hands shining as some strange light washed over him, and she could swear he could swim as fast as her back then, and for such long periods of time she could swear he could breath underwater. That makes it really suspicious.

Todoroki sees another kid with a powerful fire quirk but also the signs of a hard life and who seems to not like his father, and instantly goes "Oh... same hat." So his conspiracy is that Izuku is actually Endeavour Bastard Son he had after a premarital affair during a visit to the states 14 years prior, and he has a corkboard to prove it. He also realizes that he's trying to contain his power just like he is, which makes him believe he too must have done a pledge just like him.

11) Shinso beats Bakugou on the first match of the tournament. Doesn't really matter to the overall crossover I just wanted to point this out.

12) Anyway, this explodes during the Sports Festival. It's Todoroki Vs Midoriya, and 1) everyone is comparing the two due to similar Quirks, which Izuku finds really unfair to both of them, 2) Todoroki is being a stubborn ass with his quirk and 3) Izuku can't really talk now l, can't he? That would make him an hypocrite, and he might be a Mage, an Honorary member of the Explorer Guild, a Dragonborn and also a Bard College Student for some reason, but he's not a hypocrite, so he just up and SNAPS because hey, maybe Todoroki will actually unleash his full potential if someone else does it first too.

13) So, Izuku Midoriya, on national television, starts blasting. Armour Spells, Ice Spells, Lightning Spells, Mind Spells, Water, Wind, Air, Poison, turns himself invisible, summons a Dremora Champion, shouts with the power of the souls of the Dragons his mother slew, Todoroki actually has to start using his fire but is mostly out of sheer survival now ("There is always a bigger fish out there, and one day you deciding not to use your full power just because of a stupid pledge will get someone killed. Trust me, I know. You better start realizing that now Todoroki"), and is still a close match because Izukus spells all start from his hands or mouth after all, and Todoroki has now something to prove more than ever.

14) Without his robes on tho, Izuku Magicka is depleted in the end, ending up in a tie as the two collapse from exhaustion. Rather than an arm wrestling match this time, Izuku is disqualified due to the sudden mutation of his Quirk. He's fine with it and probably expected it, bit this still bums Todoroki out, as well as all of his classmates and friends.

15) After the Festival there are 4 leading theories on Izuku now:

A) All Might, discovering via Tsukuachi that Izuku's identity is fake, as well that he looks a bit like a missing case kid from 10 years ago, AND knowing that AFO is back due to the USJ... Believes Izuku is a mole, and is working, willingly or unwillingly, for AFO after he was implanted with all those Quirks. He is now incredibly suspicious of him, and it kind of shows. Nighteye is on the same page despite not having talked to the man in years, and is subtly trying to have Mirio scout out the kid to see if he's a threat. Mirio is too much of a Golden Retriever to even realize what has been asked of him tho, and just think Nighteye wants him to befriend another kid with a promising Quirk.

B) Todoroki now knows the truth. Izuku is Monoma's long lost twin brother. His Quirk allows him to copy the Quirks of those around him (Iron Skin and Stone Skin would be Tetsu Tetsu and Kirishima Quirks after all, Invisibility is Hakagure, Fire and Ice are either his or Bakugou's, Lightning is Kirishima, and Tsuyu mentioned how he could swim and breath underwater while near her, meaning he was using her Quirk). He has connected the dots.

C) AFO still remembers his brother's lover, the stories she came up with, the long periods of times she was gone, only to return with a haunted look in her eyes... The powers she hid from him, thinking he wouldn't notice, the way she fled right after his brother lay lifeless on the ground, almost disappearing into thin air with his broken body... The family his brother hid so well from him, as if they were in another world all together... They never told him, but he knew, he knew she had some sort of Quirk, one that had been then inherited by this new Mikumo Akatani, so similar to HIM yet so different, back from the other world in revenge for his ancestor.

He has to capture that kid. He's family after all, and his quirk belongs to him, it's his by right as his brother's keeper. And with it, he will be able to extend his reach to worlds beyond his own.

D) the official version, the one David Shield puts out, is that Izuku's Quirk evolved unexpectedly due to the new environment he was in, mentioning it as a precursor of Quirk Singularity.

E) The only one who actually got it is Hatsume. She can tell Izuku is the source of the Tachion Spikes and subsequent decays as he "returns home" in Skyrim when leaving school, so she perfectly understands that he's a powerful warlock from across dimension who had come here with the power of science and unholy magic to infiltrate society posing as a hero. Obviously, she's going to help him do it becoming his evil vizier and grand artificer of course. Worst case scenario, she can now market the shit out of him as a hero using her babies, best one, he succeeds and she gets to rule Australia out of their "Deal." I say "Deal" because Izuku isn't even sure he got half of what she was saying, but she seems nice and if Skyrim taught him anything is that you should treasure everyone willing to be your friend, so they hang out together, scheming and plotting without even realising it.

Tsuyu however pretty much got the gist of what Hatsume was saying (it was a crowded lunch break after all) and while she does know Izuku doesn't seem the type of the interdimensional conqueror, she still decides to call dibs on North America in exchange of becoming his Grand Admiral.

And Who knows, maybe he'll end up starting an actual line of Dragonborn Emperors there too.

Anyway that's the rough draft.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Lifeline - aka Ahsoka reaching out for Anakin post Malachor Oneshot

There was a sudden flicker.

So distant, so weak and wavering a gleam that she just might have thought it to be a fallacy, a trick of the mind. Her imagination willing it into existence. If that had been all, she might have ignored it. Might have denied it, might have told herself it was only an illusion. That it was only her weary state conjuring hope into her aimless life.

Until it sparked again.

Persistent, as it traced the periphery of her senses like the appearance of an unexpected, old friend. Not calling out to her in particular, but rather to anyone. To anything familiar, perhaps even unknowing of the fact that its was writhing in despair. Screaming for recognition, for comfort, for notice. Stumbling in the dark for a lifeline to cling to.

Ahsoka's chest felt inexplicably tight, as she allowed herself to taste the presence, so size it up. From afar, it seemed so much more like the man she'd once known. The man she remembered, the man she no longer recognized.

Anakin.

She hesitated, knowing that to invite him meant danger. Meant he may be able to locate or pinpoint her, however well she'd conceal her tracks. Opening up to the Force these days, with the Empire's shadow looming over the Galaxy, always came with horrible repercussions. Yet, even with that in mind, she couldn't deny him. She had promised him she’d stay.

Ever since Malachor, ever since she'd lost touch with the Rebellion, she'd found herself restless. Unable to stay in one place for too long, constantly glancing over her shoulder. On alert, highly strung. Barely able to sleep, for fear of Inquisitors finding her in the night. At the same time, she had expected to die that day. Had been set on staying beside him til the bitter end, even if it may be by his hand.

His hands were drenched in figurative blood. His conscience black and charred with sin, bearing the weight of countless innocent lives snuffed out. All for what?

She couldn't understand how the gentle, sensible, nurturing man she'd once known could have fallen so far from grace. But, as the tainted yet distinct Force signature she'd once felt such a kinship with reached out blindly for aid; she responded. What else was there to live for, if not him? He was the last link to her past; their shared past. As if reaching out her hand, she grasped at his unseen, extended conscience. When a cold, sodden weight settled at the pit of her belly she was convinced she had made contact.

"Anakin."

She breathed the name, trepidation colouring her tone as the words carried over the established bond. She felt the tremor as the connection wavered, as if the man himself was now hesitant. Or perhaps her initial assumption that the cry for solace hadn't been intentional had been right all along. Still, she shut her eyes as she latched firmly onto his signature, to his aura.

It was so much colder than she remembered it, so much darker. All harsh edges, and prickling tendrils of agony sinking deep into her core like grappling hooks. Daggers, greedily burrowing into whatever they could find. None of the warmth he had radiated in the past persisted. The only thing remaining a constant was the uncertainty, the bottomless anguish.

'I’m not good enough, I will never be good enough'; he had once said in a moment of emotional overload. His entire Force signature seemed to be vibrating with that unspoken sentiment now. As if his entire psyche was made only of suffering and pain and doubt, as if that was all there was to him. All that was left of him.

"Anakin," she attempted again, firmer this time - demanding.

She refused to let him slip away.

She knew he wouldn't want her to call him by his real name, so few of those who knew his secret left alive. She should be proud that she had lived to see another day, if only by the help of a friend. Had Ezra not found a miraculous way out, she too would pile onto the heap of his victims.

Her shoulders slumped in near relief, as some of her tension wore off when she was greeted more openly by the presence. So he was intending to stick around. She allowed him to pry into her mind, channeled distinct happy memories towards him. Albeit buried deep beneath the surface, she knew he too must be able to recall the moments when presented with them. Memories of them together, fighting side by side or throwing teasing quips at each other. All while she was still under his tutelage. While she would still look upon him as her older brother, as her guardian, as her master.

"I no longer respond to that name."

That stung.

Ahsoka had known he would reject it, but she'd hoped he would accept it for what it was just this once. They both knew his new name was nothing but a title, nothing but a mask to hide behind. Nothing but a facade. It helped make him anonymous, helped in washing away all his crimes. He had been a hero once, before donning the suit and mask. Before the Dark Side sunk its claws into him. Before he was twisted into but a shadow of himself.

Even worse, was the fact that his voice came out clear now.

Without the use of actual sounds and syllables, without the vocoder translating his words for him. Without the forced diction, much less monotone. Even with the different speech pattern he’d picked up, the differing pronunciation - the voice was human.

Distant, icy, dismissive. But it was not the mechanical baritone - it was the voice of the terrified, insecure young man she'd once known. The same voice that had spoken to her on Malachor, as one blood shot, golden Sith eye peered through the cracked face plate of his mask.

"It's the name your mother gave you."

There was no response to that, only a wave of pure rage accompanied by the undercurrents of hurt and distrust. Indignation, as if he was questioning how she dared bring up Shmi Skywalker so casually. She had said that with the intent of wounding him, of reopening his scars. She had succeeded, but she took no pleasure in that knowledge. She wasn't out to harm him, although she probably should.

"What do you want?"

Now, it was Ahsoka's turn to squirm. She wasn't sure what she wanted per se. She had responded to the cry, perhaps expecting him to deny her. Perhaps expecting him to turn her down, to turn away, to shut her out. Now that he was acknowledging her, she found herself lost. She had so many questions, but none seemed reasonable to ask. She didn't imagine he would reply to them even if she tried.

"You knew I survived," she found herself blurting out, an overpowering melancholy clouding her judgment before she could reign herself in.

A pause, as if he was contemplating. Or perhaps, it was a silent admission of guilt.

"I could not be entirely certain."

He was lying.

She knew he was, she knew him too well. She could feel it, could sense the dishonesty behind the careless statement. He was dismissing it as a lapse of faith on his part, but she knew better. She shook her head into the emptiness, he must know she wouldn't believe him.

"Why? I know who you are. Both who you were before, and who you are now. It's not like you to keep those aware of your identity alive."

“A simple oversight on my part. It shall not be repeated, take that into consideration. Be grateful.”

“You’re lying. I know you are,” she pressed.

"You are mistaken. You have never known me."

"That's not true. You know it's not true, you're only denying it to yourself," snapped Ahsoka sharply, her frustration slipping through the cracks.

She'd known he would behave this way, known he would be stuck in denial. Why had she hoped for anything else? She suspected he dreaded what might happen if he did admit to who he was, if he did admit to the fact that even now, he was the same man. That there was no phantom of malice possessing him to commit atrocities.

That it was all on him.

Ahsoka herself had wanted to ignore the truth for so long, had been desperate to accept his proclamation of having killed her old master, had longed to stay blissfully unaware. Had tricked herself into believing he was right, that there was nothing left of the Anakin she'd loved.

But she knew better, she'd stared into his uncovered eye. Into his bared soul. She'd looked into his mind, peered behind the fortified walls of torment and turmoil - and there hid the same, frightened boy who'd grown up as a slave on Tatooine. She feared he denied because admitting the truth would destroy what was left of his sanity, as much as it had crushed hers when she'd allowed herself to take in reality.

There was no Darth Vader.

There never had been. There was only the pitiful being Palpatine had twisted Anakin Skywalker into, more machine than man. Less than human, so much less than he had been.

There was only Anakin. And he must sense her stubborn wish to force the same epiphany onto him.

"Still as foolish, and naïve. You cannot appease me with your affections towards a dead man. Skywalker was weak, indeed his apprentice appears to be no better off."

In another lifetime, such a degrading statement would have insulted Ahsoka. When she was still quick to anger, following the whim of her rebellious emotions before reason. Now, all the words inspired was sorrow. The fact that he was referring to himself as weak, as feeble, as insufficient. The jab at her meant nothing; the one aimed at himself not as easily overlooked.

"You weren't weak. You never were. I may not know or understand why you've become... this, but whatever the case, I refuse to believe it was a choice you made out of your own volition. I refuse to believe you could commit to such evil without a good cause, without sensible justification. You always had a way out of trouble, Palpatine must have manipulated you beyond comprehension. He must have backed you into a corner, and extorted you!"

"You know nothing."

It was a warning Ahsoka didn’t heed to.

“What did he say, Anakin? What did he do to put you of all people on a leash?”

“Silence.”

Another tremor through their bond, and this time she feared he would block her out. That she had crossed the line too far; that she had been too bold, too daring. That she would once more appear only as a dot on his hit list, as an enemy of the state. Up for elimination, standing to be eradicated. The command was no longer an insinuation, as much as a promise. The one word urged her to recuperate, and try again coming at him from a different angle.

Still, he hadn't rejected her use of his real name this time. The importance of that wasn't lost on her.

“I just don’t understand. You were always so kind, so caring. You were invaluable. To me, to Rex, to the entire 501st, to Obi Wan...” she paused before adding, “to Padmé--"

"Do not speak her name, you do not deserve to take it in your mouth!"

Ahsoka shuddered and recoiled as if slapped when he raised his voice.

“You know nothing of her, or of me. Learn your place and watch your step closely. You have crossed the line more than once, you do not wish to press me any further.”

The delivery was so vile, so full of livid fury and loathing that it made her stomach reel. Made her feel dizzy, nauseous, faint. Her forehead clammy, her chest tight. The fact that the mere mention of Padmé's name could conjure up such unbridled rage was both shocking, confounding, and heartbreaking.

Ahsoka had been outright aware of the involvement between senator Amidala and her former master, had caught hints at their intimacy. She'd liked the senator, viewed her much as an older sister and a good friend. Her master's high opinions of her had been enough for Ahsoka to accept and appreciate the woman. She wasn't stupid, she'd understood there was more than a friendship between the two. Even when the senator tragically passed, the event made public to the Galaxy after the fall of the Republic, she had mourned a friend and a fellow candidate of democratic justice. She suspected the sudden death had more to do with what Anakin had become than would ever be revealed.

"What happened?" she finally softly inquired when she spoke again.

"It is beyond your concern, and shall remain that way."

His arrogant, uninterested approach was back. Dismissing her offer of comfort, of consolation, of someone to listen to his side of events. Of forgiveness. Ahsoka couldn't say she'd be unbiased, but she longed to understand. Longed for that final puzzle piece that would put it all together. That would explain his descent into what could only be described as madness.

"Please," she pleaded, aware of the disappointment and forlorn sadness she was radiating into the ether, pouring into their Force bond.

"Please, Anakin."

Just for a moment, something shifted. The change so vague, it would have been undetectable if she didn't know him so well. So closely, so thoroughly. His carefully composed facade cracking, just enough for her to glimpse what lay inside.

“I can’t.”

The bitter, freezing cold of darkness that had pierced every fiber of her being throughout their conversation abated with those words. Left was only a void; so vast and deep and harrowing that it would haunt her nightmares for the remainder of her life. A loneliness so stifling, a guilt so crippling, it left an excruciating, hollowing ache in its wake. She blinked rapidly against the involuntary tears welling up to blur her vision, choked up and speechless. This torment wasn't hers, it had only been lent to her, extended into her psyche. Laid bare for her, as a truce. As a silent plea not to ask any more.

The searing wound left behind, however; that was her cross to bear. She had wanted him to share, and this was the price to pay.

"You cannot save me, Ahsoka," he begged with such regret, that she could almost see his pained expression.

Before Ahsoka could protest or properly process it, before she could cling to him and keep their connection up - he was gone. Those steadfast, blue eyes of her memory etched into the back of her head. Along with the fading touch of his Force signature. Trembling, she heaved an unsteady sigh before covering her face to weep, grieving the man who would not mourn for himself. There was no one else to put the blame on.

There was no Darth Vader.

Only Anakin Skywalker, who suffered in constant anguish.

And that was the worst part.

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

This was intended as another chapter for Mask of Death, but I believe it works better as its own standalone piece. I wanted to write something for Anakin/Vader and Ahsoka, and Ahsoka’s POV is always fun to play around with - especially since she’s the only one besides Luke to really accept that Anakin is still Anakin, even while he calls himself Vader.

So, I hope you enjoy my spin on the idea of them conversing post Malachor!

Link to Ao3 version below, and subsequently my account:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578304

Lose Companion to Ablaze:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636756

https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/634786811339816960/ablaze-aka-obi-wan-learns-the-truth-about-what

[muertawrites]

Hey! I absolutely loved your Zuko x reader one host you wrote, and I was wondering if you could do one where Zuko and the reader barely talk, but she’s part of Azula’s friend group. At the beach some stuff happens, and Zuko finds out she’s not as crazy as he thought she was. Kind of angst. I totally understand if you can’t, or don’t feel like it! I hope you’re safe and healthy, and everything is going well. Thank you!

From Eden (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 1,776 (FUHREEDOM MOTHERFUCKERS 🎆🦅🦅🦅 🎆 )

Author’s Note: Ok this request is P E R F E C T. I don’t think I need to tell anyone I love the psychology of this show, but I love the psychology of this show - especially with Zuko and his relationship with himself and others. And this episode??? Ohhhhhh I have some THINGS. TO. SAY. about this episode. I have been in this boy’s place and I feel 👏🏻 for 👏🏻 him 👏🏻 he 👏🏻 deserves 👏🏻 better 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻. I went in a sliiiiiiightly different direction, but I didn’t drastically change it (it turned out cute I think). Also, I named this “From Eden” because as I was writing it reminded me of the Hozier song. I’m such a sucker for a Broken Babe™, especially when the babe in question has a lot of personal growth and learns to love because of it. Thank you so much for this, anon, you’re absolutely gorgeous and I hope you’re keeping safe and healthy as well ❤ 

~ Muerta 

(Also, if you’d like to request something, I have a list of prompts tagged! Feel free to ask for anything from fics to headcanons to imagines - I’m also open to new character suggestions!) 

“Hey.”

Zuko sat on the porch of his family’s old vacation home, his mind miles away. Your greeting made him snap his head towards you, glowering down at where you stood at the base of the front steps. You crossed your arms, responding to his gaze with a defiant glare. 

“What do you want?” he growled. 

“To have normal friends,” you spat in reply. “Seems I’m stuck with you instead.” 

A few hours ago, Zuko almost made a crater in the beach from the campfire you, his sister Azula, and your friends Mai and Ty Lee had started a screaming match around. Insults were flung, tears were shed, and skeletons were evicted from closets, all resulting in your realization that maybe political survival wasn’t worth the dysfunction of constantly being surrounded by a sociopath and her cronies. Pretending to have a super fun sleepover with them back at the guest house was proving to be too much for your fragile sense of self-containment, and you weren’t quite friendly enough with your newfound death wish to tell Azula how you really felt about her, so you went where you knew it would be quiet. You didn’t expect to find Zuko and his anger issues there a second time, but he honestly didn’t scare you - you’d take his obvious rage over Azula’s subtle calculations any day. 

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Zuko jeered. “You’re just as emotionally fucked as the rest of them.” 

“Ty Lee’s got herself pretty much under control, despite her gullibility,” you answered cooly. “Also, if you really wanna talk about emotionally fucked, I’m not the one who almost roasted my ex-girlfriend alive earlier.” 

Zuko furrowed his brow at you, leaning forward as if to challenge you. You stayed exactly as you were, regarding him with a hard, unimpressed expression that revealed just how little he intimidated you. You couldn’t bend and weren’t a trained fighter - you knew he knew this, and that he wouldn’t actually attack you, despite how convincing he tried to make his empty threat appear. After a long, intense moment of wrinkled foreheads and competitive frowning, he backed off with a sigh, leaning back against the pillar behind him. 

“So, what, you want to come and make peace? Talk it out or something?” 

You shook your head, climbing the steps and lowering yourself onto the second highest; just below him, with a few feet between you as a courtesy. 

“The last thing I want to do is talk about that dumpster fire on the beach,” you told him. “I just needed some time alone. But, since I found you, I guess it’s a good time to ask if you’re okay.”  

Zuko looked you up and down, a confused and partially concerned look on his face. You half expected him to raise the back of his hand to your forehead to check for fever. 

“What do you care if I’m okay or not?” he asked bitterly. “We’re not friends.” 

“Zuko, I’ve known you since I was a toddler,” you said. “I’d say we’re friends. It’s not like anyone else really is.” 

“Mai is my girlfriend,” Zuko snapped at you. “She’s the best friend I have!” 

“Mai dumped you for being a possessive asshole,” you deadpanned, “then she let her best friend convince you to commit arson. Friends don’t let their friends’ sisters manipulate them into felonies.” 

Zuko huffed, slumping back defeatedly. 

“You can’t act like Azula’s never made you do anything you didn’t want to,” he grumbled. 

“I don’t,” you replied shortly. “I’ve just stopped caring about making her like me, since she really doesn’t like anyone. She doesn't get under my skin like she used to when we were kids.” 

You noticed Zuko’s lips curl upwards into the ghost of a smile. You mirrored him, leaning your arms atop your upright knees. 

“What?” you asked. 

Zuko chuckled faintly, shaking his head. 

“Nothing,” he responded. “You just… Do you remember when you were eight, and Azula teased Ty Lee about being too slow climbing the trees in our courtyard?” 

Your eyes widened in realization, your mouth parting into a wide smile as you let out a gasp of hysterical laughter. 

“Oh, that was awful!” you cried, though the memory only brought more fits of giggles to your gut. “I was such a little brat!” 

Zuko was laughing with you too now, arms wrapped over his stomach as he tried to speak between breaths. 

“It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed. “Watching her fall out of the tree like that, the shock on her face, and then I caught you with the knife and saw where you cut the branch... She deserved it. You should give her a taste of her own medicine like that more often.” 

You blushed, looking away from him as your laughter died down. 

“Now she could kill me if she wanted,” you said. “I try not to say or do anything around her if I can help it.” 

“... Is that why you’ve been so quiet since then?” 

You nodded. 

“She beat me up when she found out what I did,” you explained. 

You stood, pulling down the waist of your sarong to reveal the burn scar on your right hip. Zuko’s eyes burst with shock at first, wondering exactly why you’d be disrobing in front of him, his expression softening when he saw the mark Azula left. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Most brothers feel like they should protect their little sisters. I always felt like I should’ve protected all of you from her.” 

“You did,” you assured him. You sat back down beside him, closer this time, so that your hips almost touched. “I remember you jumped in front of her once when she threatened us. And that time…” 

Your voice faded, the memory almost bringing tears to your eyes. You couldn’t figure out why. 

“You hid from her,” Zuko finished your thought. 

You nodded. 

“You let me hide in your room,” you recalled. “Remember? Azula punched me. I ran to the first quiet place I could find and accidentally went to your room.” 

Zuko hummed. 

“You were crying,” he added, “and your eye was all red and swollen.” 

“You held me.” 

Zuko’s eyes fixed on you. He didn’t say anything, though he remembered; you burst through his half open door, sniffling, tears and spittle running down your cheeks and chin. It was the first time Azula had actually, physically hurt you, and you were terrified and confused. He asked if you were okay, and you shook your head. Being so young, the only thing he could think to do was hug you, since that’s what his mother did to make him feel better, and you clung to him, sobbing into his shirt and using his much bigger body for protection. After that day, he let you use his bedroom as a hiding place whenever Azula got to be too much - until she found out about it and started teasing you about wedding dresses and baby names. 

“We were friends,” you breathed. “I wish we still were.” 

There was a long silence in which the two of you stared out at the horizon, down the steep hill leading to the vacation house and into the ocean. The moon hung in a small sliver, barely flickering across the calm waters that rocked below; you could hear the gentle rush of waves as they crawled over the sand and shrunk back into themselves, creating a calming din that echoed up to where you sat. 

“... I still remember your favorite game to play with me,” Zuko said into the warm air between you. “Those times you hid in my room. You used to pretend to be a Kyoshi warrior. My mom gave you one of her old fans and we’d jump on and off my bed, trying to catch each other.” 

You grinned. 

“I would wrap myself around your legs to keep you from walking,” you recalled. 

Zuko laughed. 

“I loved that,” he admitted. “It used to make me laugh so hard when we were kids.” 

He looked over to you, and you turned to face him as well. The anger in his eyes was gone completely, in its place a warm, steady sadness that made you ache. 

“I miss you,” he whispered. 

You reached cautiously for his hand, relieved when he slid his fingers between yours and gripped your palm tightly. 

“I miss you, too,” you replied. “I’m sorry I let Azula drive me away from you.” 

Zuko wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tender embrace. Your hands latched together on either side of his back, gripping into his shirt a little bit as you buried your face in his shoulder. He felt and smelled the same as he did when you were little; hard like the walls of a sturdy house and sweet like the last embers in a fireplace.

You didn’t know how long you held each other, but when you broke apart, you sat together for ages, existing in silence on the steps of his childhood house and beside one another. You felt small again, but in the best way - you felt like the girl who was brave enough to cut through the branches of a maple tree so your tormenter would fall out of them. 

“I want to run away,” you blurted. “I could be someone totally different if I weren’t stuck here.” 

“If you do, I’ll go with you,” Zuko said. “We can be different people together.” 

You grinned, leaning your shoulder against his. 

“We could move to Kyoshi Island,” you suggested. “I’m too old to start warrior training now, but we could start a business. Open an inn or something.” 

Zuko chuckled at the thought. 

“I’ll call myself Lee,” he mused, “and you can go by Izumi.” 

“Maybe we could be married. And we could adopt orphan children and cats.” 

“Just cats. You can’t emotionally destroy a cat like you can with a kid.” 

You glanced over at him, noticing the hard gleam in his eye. You wrapped your arms around his bicep, holding him close to you. 

“You’re not your father, Zuko,” you whispered. “You don’t want to be.” 

Zuko nodded. He reached for one of your hands, curling his own around it. 

“... I feel like I am going to leave,” he said, “at some point. When I do… will you stay? So that I have at least one friendly face to come home to someday?” 

You nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I will,” you promised. “And when you do, I’ll give you Azula’s severed head as a homecoming present.” 

Zuko laughed at that. 

{ epilogue }

[nomnomsik]

Omelas

Summary: Everyone knows about Omelas, the beautiful utopic city with perfect skies and the smiles of thousands. But even if some knew the ‘how’ of the creation of Omelas, not everyone knew ‘where’. Would you believe me if I told you that boy lived his whole life in the basement of your house?

Pairing: Jungkook x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Trigger warnings: isolation, yandere themes, kidnapping, physical violence, and blood. 

»»————-　★　————-««

The first time you disobeyed, it was at 3 am. It was early enough to not warrant any suspicion in the house you lived in, and the perfect time when everything stood still, motionless, even as you crept around the dark hallway, making your way downstairs to the cellar. 

Although some of the people in the metropolis city of Omelas knew of the supposed rumor of its prosperity, it was still mainly mysterious. Was it some kind of ritual? Well, that description wasn’t entirely wrong, you thought. 

But you knew all your life. It wasn’t some grand revelation. It began with odd behaviors carried out by your father, your only parent. You understood at a young age that your father or brother would go downstairs to the cellar with food and water. That there had to be something there. 

But with your bright smile, you greeted your neighbors. Nobody would imagine that the boy was beneath your feet, that he was living under your roof, trapped in the darkest and deepest part of the house. 

And it was within that dark cellar in the utopian city of Omelas, where the unfortunate boy lived for the many. If you believed in a superior being, then maybe that boy was what you would call a god. 

He made these beautiful skies, perfect weather, and the smiles on everyone’s faces. It was thanks to him. 

The city, known for its infectious happiness, carried this secret. Those who discovered the truth about the boy took value in the happiness within the city of Omelas, living each day with gratitude. 

If that boy lived underneath your home, did that make you a bad person for letting him rot captive, or did that make you as powerful as this god? 

However, it was a puzzling scenario for you to envision when you were younger. So spoiled rotten that the only thing you could ask your father was why the boy didn't just get up and leave.

Your father chuckled, stroking your head and sighing.

“Because something bad would happen to all of us, ___.”

It was enough to scare you at the time and make sure that you never asked again. But looking back, the memory made you embarrassed. After years of growing up and learning more about the world around you, about what it means to be mature and making sacrifices, maybe you could understand a bit more now. 

“Father, why did you decide to keep the boy in our house?” 

Your father didn’t answer this time. In fact, this was probably the first time he hesitated to answer you at all. 

You seemed to own everything you could imagine in the world, but for some reason, withholding this information made all of those possessions worthless. What was the point of having everything when something so small seemed impossible to possess? He smiled instead, ushering you back upstairs to take care of your brother. 

But why? What was so important that he needed to hide?

A sigh escaped from your lips as you managed your way through the dark, aimlessly touching around to figure out your surroundings. At least he was the honest type who hesitated when it came to lying. 

But the question about the existence of that boy would end today. You finally gathered the courage needed to find out for yourself. Survive, even if it means breaking the rules. Because in the end, if the boy had even just a few of the answers you wanted about this city of Omelas, that was enough. 

»»————-　★　————-««

The boy could barely remember the glimmering light from the sun outside within his dark prison. With his hair rugged and its length reaching to his ankles, he curled up in a ball within the darkness. 

His skin was littered with dirt that had practically become part of him, crawling with insect companions. His arms and legs were thin and there was always something in his eyes. But even still, the boy lived on, repeating each mundane day in his own hell.

He sat still in the silence of the isolated room he had spent most of his life in, staring at the door in front of him. The cadence of droplets falling from the leaky room ceiling and toward the ground floor was the only sound that could entertain him for hours as the darkness of his home submerged his form, hiding only his face. The entire room was pitch black with not one window stuck into the walls for clean air or bright light.

No matter how many times the boy stood up, wobbling over to the door and testing the doorknob, it was always locked. All he had on was a white cloth that had now taken a murky gray. Yet, he wrapped his small frame around with it, hugging it for warmth. As his eyes fluttered shut, he could make out the sounds of voices in the distance. 

“Make sure to feed him while I’m out today.” 

“Ughhh, I don’t wanna… Fine, fine, ugh, I’ll do it.”  

Jungkook listened intently to their conversation that intruded his silence through the grubby walls. He could understand them and he shuddered, slouching his shoulders even more. His head sat inbetween his knees as his crumby hands covered his ears, eyes squinting shut to fend off their crawling voices. 

The door then suddenly opened as an older boy stepped in, hastily filling up a bowl of water and dropping a tray near the door. Jungkook didn’t dare to look at him. He kept his head down, his blurry eyes focused on his crooked feet until the door slammed shut, with the sound of the lock following right after. 

Before he was thrown in here, he could barely remember the face of his mother. All he had was one fundamental concept the people who threw him in here taught him: language. 

Even if it was basic language, he learned rejection first-handedly from the people who refused to accept him in the first place. He knew the sting of words and the snide remarks in his face. He knew the sensation of tears rolling down his chin as he initially screamed for days, begging to be let out. 

But he had stopped that years ago. He had accepted that nobody would come to save him.

Back then, whenever someone had come to give him the grool they called “food”, he would run up to them, pulling at their clothes. Tears would run down his face as he continuously apologized and pleaded to be let out. 

“Please, I will be good. Please let me out, I will be good!” 

But, he was always pushed roughly to the ground by a taller man, given a look of disgust, and a door slammed in his face. Afterward, the sound of the lock went off, and then came the stomping up the stairs. 

Jungkook wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as the tray now lay empty, the bowl of water still full. He noticed it was much darker in his room than before and he crawled back to his corner, preparing to lay down on the rough and moldy wooden floors to get some sleep. 

But before he could get comfortable, he heard the sound of someone coming back down the stairs. All of his limbs seemed to freeze as he ducked his head into his chest. 

What now?

Normally, nobody visited him more than once a week, not that he fully understood the concept of time. For him, every second felt like an eternity of suffering and misery. But the footsteps got louder and louder. Perhaps, it was one of those people that just stared at him from the door. From time to time, he would see strange people visit him, standing by the door and looking at him with an unusual expression. 

It was a mixture of anger, pity, and frustration. Even though Jungkook didn’t understand what those exact feelings were, those people were the ones that usually walked away from Omelas. Knowing the existence of the boy and seeing him with their very own eyes was something that filled them much more than guilt. 

And maybe they realized that peace and happiness built upon the sacrifice of one person was nothing but fragile. 

Jungkook showed his back to the door as he laid in the darkest corner of his room. The door clicked open and a pair of footsteps entered. The silence after made his heart race. He wanted to turn around, but his body wouldn’t budge. 

He had enough rough experiences of turning around and getting his hopes up.

“Hello there.” 

He expected the rough voice of one of the two people that constantly watched over him, but instead, it was soft and echoed in his dark abyss. For once, his ears didn’t sting at the sound of another person's voice. All he was used to was the sensation of his eardrums ringing and the disgusting sound of hearing his own cries.

“Hey, what’s your name?” 

He finally turned around, his long hair falling over his entire face. Jungkook adjusted himself in the dark until a match was ignited and a candle illuminated his room. He cautiously took in the appearance of his peculiar guest, moving some of his hair out of the way.

It was a girl, dressed modestly in white, yet she took a seat on the dirty ground like it was nothing, just waiting for him. 

“What’s your name?” She asked again, setting the candlestick onto the floor.

“J-J…” Jungkook started, mouth dry as he cringed, clawing at his ears at his own voice. “Eh-haa…” He whined, feeling the festering sores on his body begin to sting.

“I’m ____ .” You extended your hand to him as you watched the boy tilt his head to the side. 

“Jungk…ook.” He mumbled, extending his index finger at poking at your hand. “What’s this?” 

“It’s a handshake.” You beckoned him closer, grabbing hold of his hand and shaking it. But Jungkook froze, suddenly slapping your hand and backing away.

“I’m… dirty.” He grumbled, retreating back into the shadows. 

“I wouldn’t have come here if I was worried about that kind of thing.” You smiled, trying to get a look at the boy’s face. 

“Why are you… here? Are you going to... yell too?” He asked nervously.  

“Well, I live here with my family. We’re not really a typical family. I don’t know my mother— But that doesn’t really matter. I came to see you, personally. Oh, but don’t tell anyone that I was here, okay?” You instructed to the confused boy who stared at you overwhelmed. 

For his first interaction in so many years, he couldn’t function. You seemed to notice his expression, pushing your questions to the back of your mind. You’ll just have to see him at another time. 

“Will you let me visit you again?” 

“You want… to see me, again?” He mumbled, again self-conscious of the dust and dirt that covered him. 

“Mhm! Please tell me you’ll say yes.” You pleaded, clasping his hands together in yours. 

It was as if his eyes glimmered in the smally lit room as your warm hands embraced his cold ones. His heart was thumping loudly and he felt breathless. This feeling was different. 

It wasn’t like when that scary man first threw him in here or when he refused to be pried off his mother’s arms. It wasn’t the type of feeling where his blood was rushing to every part of his body, desperate for an escape. His body felt warm for once and he didn’t want to let go.

“Then, yes… Yes, please visit… me, again… please.” 

 »»————-　★　————-««

The terms of Omelas’s utopic society are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child. But here you came— 

“Jungkook!”

The next day, regardless of those rules. 

“Hi…” He whispered in the dark, cheeks flushed as he reached out for your hand, melting against your gentle touch. “How are you?” 

“Hmm,” You hummed, tapping your chin. “I’ve been good for the most part. Though, the weather’s been strange lately.” 

“I can’t see anything outside from here.” Jungkook shyly confessed the obvious. “But if you say it’s been strange lately, then the weather’s strange!”  

“Yup! So, actually, I wanted to ask you something, Jungkook.”

“Okay.” He nodded obediently. 

“Do you know where you are right now?” 

“I’m here with you. In the dark.” He answered innocently, still holding onto your hand. 

“That’s… Yes, well, that’s technically not wrong I guess, but not what I meant.” You chuckled. “Do you know the city you live in?” 

“Oh,” Jungkook started, looking down as he began to think. “Omel—” He stopped, tilting his head to the side. “Omel...ette…? It was something similar… Omeless? Hmm...” 

You felt somewhat guilty at the laugh you failed to hold in, but Jungkook heard it, looking worriedly, as if you were choking on something.

“A-are you alright? W-Was I wrong…? Ahh…” He panicked, shaking your shoulder. “I’m sorry…” He began to apologize, bowing his head multiple times until his forehead collided against your shoulder. “Ow! O-oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt? Wait, are you choking?! ___?!” 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You sighed happily, taking a deep breath. “But you were close. It’s Omelas. We’re in Omelas, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook’s lips pulled into a partial smile as his eyes seemed to reflect the light from the candle. Then, his expression broke into an uncontainable smile as he began to sniffle, with tears welling in his eyes that he let calmly slide down his face. 

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, cradling Jungkook’s crying face with your hands. 

“I-I’m so, so, happy…” He choked out. “I feel so happy right now. Thank you… You’re the first person to ever praise me… to ever care for me… Thank you, ___.”

 Your expression morphed into a frown as you let the boy embrace you, unaware that your grip had tightened.   

“Of course, Jungkook.” You smiled after several minutes of silence. When you let go, you stood up, walking back over to the door. 

“See you tomorrow,” Jungkook whispered, waving in the dark. 

You gave him a smile, softly closing the door. Then, you jammed the key in, locking it shut, your expression still in a deep frown. Jungkook hummed, listening to your footsteps as you climbed up the stairs and until they faded off. 

I’m sorry, Jungkook.

»»————-　★　————-««

"Are you satisfied?"

You dropped the key into your brother's hand, giving a small nod.

"I guess you can say that."

It was the morning, with the smell of coffee floating in the air. You snuck into your brother's room right after breakfast, handing him back the key as per the agreement. He wouldn't say a thing to father as long as you gave it back. It would be foolish to try to argue your way to keep it so you simply watched him tuck it back into his wardrobe drawer.

"I trust you, sis."

You were on your way walking out of the room until you turned around, confused.

A pair of serious eyes looked back at you, almost glaring.

"I said, I trust you."

"Right..." You gulped, softly closing the door.

When you stepped outside, you saw the happy mothers and fathers cheerfully cooing at their children, encouraging them. There wasn't any hostility between siblings, parents, or peers in Omelas. It was always warm whenever you watched them.

But it was so cold in your own home.

Maybe it was because the boy lived with you. It was as if he was trying to pull at least someone down with him. 

Your family. 

And you probably deserved it too. Nobody wants to believe they're doing something terrible, let alone a terrible person.

In one scenario, you're the hero, the savior, the protector of peace and happiness. But in another, you're the villain, you're the antagonist in the story, tormenting a young boy.

But what about the boy himself? Where did he want to fit?

You scoffed at yourself. Of course he would want someplace other than there. Any other location was one million times better, right? Nobody would ever want to stay there. But, wasn't that only because you knew of a much better place?

When nightfall came, you slept. You didn't bother to ask just once more for the key again. You closed your eyes, prayed for a good dream that wouldn't come, and slept. A part of you wondered what Jungkook was doing, what he was thinking.

Was he upset? Would he still be hopefully waiting for you?

It filled you with guilt, but you shifted in your soft bed, throwing the blankets overtop your head.

Forget it. Forget him.

Each day when you woke up and stepped outside to see the smiling faces on the people of Omelas, it reaffirmed your choices, your decisions.

This is the right thing to do. These are the people you are protecting.

But it was always when night came that those thoughts came rushing in.

"How dare you say that you're protecting these people when you're using someone for your own good. How dare you say you can protect these people when you can't protect the one person who matters."

It was then that your feet found the cold floor, pulling a stuffed bag from out your closet and tiptoeing into your brother's room, secretly grabbing the key from the drawer.

»»————-　★　————-««

At the sound of the door creaking open, Jungkook swiftly turned around. His eyes sparkled in the darkness as he saw your familiar figure slip in through the door.

“___!” He whispered. “Where have you been? I missed you…” Jungkook mumbled, shyly looking over at your motionless figure. 

“I see.” You replied, silence quickly filling up the room. Jungkook looked worriedly at you, fidgeting with his grimy hands.

Jungkook sat silently for a second, biting at his lip as his voice quivered. 

“Aren’t you going to make an excuse… ____?” 

“Huh?” You asked, looking back at him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to make up a reason why you didn’t visit me? Can’t you just lie to me, instead? This feeling… It hurts.” 

You stood motionless as you stared at his figure, almost analyzing the boy. He was naive, but not stupid. And if it was based on how you felt, you’d say he was quite clever. He knew his position strangely well for someone who seemed to be unaware of everything on the surface.  Jungkook understood how to read someone. It seemed pointless to lie to him.

“No, I just… I felt guilty about leaving you all alone again. So that’s why I came, today. To tell you I can’t see you anymore.” You sighed, looking away from his slouched shoulders and hanging head. 

“Hey, ___. Can I ask you a question? Do you choose the people up above on the surface, or do you choose me?” 

You were broken away from your thoughts as you turned to stare at him. It was dead silent and your lips had gotten dry as you pondered exactly what you wanted to say to the boy. This was your fault. “I can’t choose you, Jungkook.” 

“H-huh? W-what do you mean you can’t…” 

“I can’t choose you, Jungkook.” You repeated in a dead, monotone voice.

“W-what are you saying?” Jungkook grew quiet for a second. “....Why are you saying... things like that?”

“Because...” You started, sliding over to him and cupping his cheeks. “You created this city, Jungkook. You’re the very source of everything that happens. I can’t bring you up. I can’t do that when I know thousands are going to suffer. Because of you, we understand the splendor of our lives. We know that we are not free just like you, but yet, we understand the full extent of compassion.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened as his lips parted. 

“W-what are you…” 

You gave Jungkook a sympathetic smile as he quivered in his corner, staring at his hands, so filthy, so dirty.

“So...Is… Omelas more important than me? Are the people up there more important than me?” He asked once again, almost in disbelief.

“...Yes, they’re much more important, Jungkook.” You sighed. “How many times do I need to repeat—” 

“What…” He choked out in a cry, making you jump. “No… I… I… don’t… like that… at all…” 

He grew quiet again, his nails scratching marks down his arm.

“That’s honestly… un...acceptable…” He whispered. “We were so happy, just the two of us down here!” He yelled, hands gripping and clawing at his hair. “I didn’t need anything! I just needed YOU!” 

“Jungkook, stop-” 

He tumbled over you, holding you down on the infested floor as a chill split down your spine. Even though his arms were so thin, he was pressing hard against your wrists and his sharp and uncut nails were piercing your skin, drawing blood. An irrational thought flashed in your mind: Was he going to kill you? What if he actually killed you?

“WHY? Why are you trying to leave me? Why do you want me to be all alone again? What is it about the people up there that’s more important than me?! I don’t…I don’t understand!” 

"Who's up there that you care about more than me?” He spat coldly, his eyes going blank. “I let you continue to visit me all this time because I had faith in you! Because I trusted you!” He sobbed, once again feeling the sensation of his tears slide down his face. 

“How could you trust someone you barely even know?” You whispered under your breath. “How stupid.” 

“Why do you keep saying things like that?!” Jungkook yelled as you began to resist and push back. 

“What do you want me to say then? That I’ll stay with you here forever, Jungkook?!” You yelled, giving him a hard shove. “Do you seriously think you’ll be able to live up on the surface if you even had the chance?” 

“O-of course!” Jungkook shouted, his hands trembling as they clutched against the cloth that covered him, right over his heart. “Of course I could! If you’re with me, of course I could!”

“Knowing that someone else would have to take your place?” You argued. “What if I took your place, huh? You would be driven insane by your inability to do anything! You’d have to bitterly accept reality, how cruel and unfair it is. And most of all, you’d blame yourself for causing another to suffer. Because you know that it should’ve been you. Because you know that two people have to carry heavy burdens instead of one now!” 

“But even so, I want to go outside! I want to see the sun! I want to see the stars! Is it so selfish of me to think that way? I’ve given everyone in this city all they could ever want, right?! You said so, right?! So why can’t I just wish for something even once?!” He sobbed, curling up on the floor. 

“Am I wrong…? I didn’t have entertainment, friends, happiness, or loved ones while I numbly sat here every day of my life. You’re telling me it’s wrong to be let out onto the surface after doing so much for the people here? Do I have to stay here all alone by myself and have no one ever commend me for all the hard work I’ve done? Will nobody praise me even though I never wanted to do this? Why do I have to be all alone?”

Jungkook felt tears roll down his cheeks as he laid motionless on the dirty floor. 

“I can’t praise you for such a thing though, Jungkook.” You looked away from him, knowing he would only glare at you. “It’s wrong and it would insult you. I can’t praise the obligations you were set on by others. I can’t praise something when you never had a say in it. I can’t praise it, I can’t...”

“So you’ve come here to mock me?” Jungkook whispered with growing venom. 

“No, I-I…” You stumbled through your words. “I started to wonder if I was assuming what you wished for. I thought it was obvious you would want to go outside, but I realized that you had never said those words yourself. It’s foolish to think now, but what if you were scared of how to carry a proper conversation? Of how you looked? What if you somehow got more scared of how people would react to you on the surface instead of being here? What if nobody would ever help you again?” 

Jungkook sat silent, his body relaxing only a tad bit. 

“It’s wrong for me to do in perspective of everyone who lives here in Omelas. But… why do we deserve to live in happiness? What did we ever do? We’re not noble nor self-sacrificing. And I personally don’t owe anyone in Omelas anything. So... I brought a bag full of things. I want you to go outside, Jungkook. I want you to leave and explore. I want you… to live…” 

“I won’t tell you what Omelas will turn into. Honestly, I don’t know what will happen and I don’t want to flood you with negative thoughts for my well being. All I ask is you make your decision tonight. The bag’s here, the door’s unlocked.” 

“So… you were testing me?” Jungkook asked incredulously. 

“I was a bit too mean, wasn’t I?” You turned away. “Well, you said you could live on the surface and I believe you. Go see the sky. Go see the stars. And tell me all about them all one day.” 

“But, what if—” Jungkook started, until he found your index finger against his lips, silencing him. 

“Don’t ask me to come with you. I won’t.”

“But—Omelas will…”

“I know. I know, Jungkook.” You sighed. “I know I’m stubborn, but I can’t leave this city behind. Omelas was everything I’ve ever known. I’m not brave, I honestly don’t even think I'm a good person. I’m scared of what’s going to happen, but that’s all the more reason to smile through it. After all, that’s what we’ve been good at here in Omelas.”  

"I don't understand. I want you to come with me. I want to be with you. Why must I have to make more sacrifices?

"I'm sorry, Jungkook." That’s all you could say until he accepted it.

He held onto you, his dirty hands holding on your arms, his hair brushing up against your shoulders. You looked fondly down at him, patting him on the head.

"Now quickly. You have to leave before the sun comes up."

Helping him up to his feet, you pulled the door open, your fingers intertwined with his. When you led him up the stairs and down the hallway, you brought him to the entrance door and into the outside world.

The sky was slowly getting brighter, its orange hues slowly growing. Jungkook stopped for a second, taking everything in. His past memories were so blurry, but they were slowly piecing back his home together, Omelas, together.

He breathed in the air greedily as if he could taste it too. You looked over your shoulder to see him paused, smiling. When Jungkook looked back at you, he stared at your outstretched hand, taking it.

"I'll tell you all about the stars, sun, and sky," Jungkook promised. "So wait for me." 

»»————-　★　————-««

"What have you done?" A seething voice came from the hallway as you reentered your house, closing the entrance door.

"Good morning, father."

"Do you understand the weight of your actions? Do you?!" He shook your shoulders violently until you slapped him off. "Do you know how hard I worked to make Omelas the city it is today?"

“How hard you worked...? Did I hear you correctly? What exactly did you work hard for? Everyone here was content with sticking their hands out ready to receive and receive. You didn’t work hard for anything. You didn’t try to accomplish anything yourself. All you did was rely on the one boy who gave you everything.” 

“Just you watch Omelas crumble then. It’s all over…” He groaned, holding onto his head like his life was over.

"Then maybe you should've asked to become a god."

»»————-　★　————-««

A/N: I was inspired by many things for this work. First and foremost was The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, which references a lot like how the boy lived in the cellar of the largest house, what his whining sounded like, and the strangers that came to visit him. I definitely kept the descriptions much tamer, but nevertheless hoped to convey the rules of Omelas. I was also inspired by parts of Dororo and Tower of God, the former with the inability to stand his own voice and the latter with Jungkook’s explosive anger and possessiveness. Hope you enjoyed!

[littlestarlost]

what happened.

All this hunger is Always following us Out where we survive under poisonous skies They’re dreaming, but nobody’s sleeping Just coked hearts speeding See all the gold teeth gleaming See all the young, healthy free men Just move into nothing

(CW: discussion of mental health, trauma, PTSD)

A version of this post has been sitting in my drafts folder for ten months. I know this, because I originally began to write it around late January, just in time for the one-year mark to have passed since I’d last updated Setting Sun. When I posted that most recent update, I had just turned 30 years old, and I promised that it would not be another year before the next update. I wanted, so badly, for that to be true. In hindsight, it’s honestly better that I failed to keep that promise; I fear it might have exacerbated the damage that’s already been done, and made the healing process that much harder.

It’s been nearly two years. I want to talk about what happened.

I first began to write about Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov because I recognized myself so keenly in them; Yuuri’s high-achieving anxiety and imposter syndrome, and Victor’s quietly functional depression. When I found YOI, I was in grad school; I was winning awards, the top of my class, and utterly terrified that it was all a sham. Being able to channel those emotions through these characters helped me realize my own greatness, to embody it and walk with confidence and bravado. It allowed me to go into my post-degree job search with my head held high, trusting that all the lessons I had learned would lead me to professional success. Yuuri and Victor walked through life with me, two shadows of my own psyche, two people who helped me understand myself.

The first few months of the job were fine. Then things became less than fine, and then continued to descend into the kind of mundane nightmare that only multinational corporate legal firms could manifest. Setting Sun, a story about love and self-acceptance and joy, began to twist around in on itself. I don’t want to go into detail, but suffice to say that I spent nearly two years being gaslit and abused, told I was worthless, constantly having panic attacks as I desperately tried to exert control over things that were way over my head. My body betrayed me; I was in so much pain I couldn’t walk, so stressed I couldn’t bring myself to eat unless I’d smoked weed to calm the nausea. I began to believe that I had peaked in grad school, that I was fooling myself, that I was going to be trapped in that cubicle for the rest of my life, doing grunt work without challenge or interest, in the kind of workplace where you get reported to HR for sighing too loudly. That is a thing that actually fucking happened to me; nobody asked why I might be sighing, and nobody stopped by to check in when I spent most days in tears. This was a place where less than half the people in the room put up their hands when asked if they had ever been creative as kids. This was a place where I almost never got to see the sun.

Because I was massively overqualified and even more massively underworked, I spent a lot of 2018 writing fanfic--my zine pieces, my zutara pieces, all sorts of creative things. I also began to write horror AUs; two stories, in particular, gained a fair amount of traction on this particular platform. When I look back now, I see them for the coping mechanisms that they were; in the case of the crossroads AU, where Yuuri is willing to sell his soul to the devil just to escape his commute, it wasn’t even particularly subtle. I poured all my energy into creative pursuits; it’s been my outlet my whole life, and for a while it helped. By the time I hit the SCP-9874 AU, I burned out so profoundly and utterly that it destroyed my relationship to YOI and cauterized the pieces. SCP-9874 was one of the most creative things I’ve ever done, but it also involved what is, in hindsight, a shocking level of violence and horror inflicted on these characters who were such a close part of me. I was doing this to them because I was hurting, all the time. I now recognize it as the cry for help that it was, and to this day I fantasize about taking down all the SCP-9874 posts and excising that portion of my legacy as much as possible.

I wrote Setting Sun’s 21st chapter in honour of my 30th birthday, in late January of 2019. Somehow, at the time, I didn’t realize how rough it was. How much it implied about me and how I was doing. How much it reflected the true extent of the damage I was suffering. I left Victor and Yuuri in an abandoned apartment with more questions than answers and more regrets than they or I had ever thought possible, and I thought, somehow, that this was a good turning point. Little did I know at the time that the worst was still to come.

I was able to finally escape that toxic office last October, when I found a new job that paid nearly double and was everything I wanted to do in life and more. But  Yuri on Ice hurt too much to think about, even as time marched forward and I began to heal. I had PTSD flashbacks to the old office; I dealt with echo upon echo of terror that everything would fall away to reveal I was trapped in the same old nightmare again. In January 2020, I actually took a few days off for my birthday and reread Setting Sun from the beginning, and I’d somehow forgotten how funny it is, how sweet it is, how hopeful. I had completely forgotten; it had been burned away by twenty months of agony. That realization hurt more than all the other ones put together, I think. I had a good long cry over that.

Fast forward to now, and people have started to find Setting Sun again. They’ve found it on and off in the months since I updated, and for a very long time I would read the truly lovely comments people wrote--thanking me for writing it, hoping I’d come back someday, wishing me well wherever I was--and I would dissolve into tears because I just...couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to go back to this story that I could no longer recognize myself in. And nowadays, when new commenters come, I will warn them about that last chapter I wrote, because I can recognize it as the outlier it is.

But something has very recently changed.

I couldn’t necessarily tell you exactly what. Maybe it’s that I passed the one-year mark at my new job, and the last of the poison has finally been excised. Maybe it’s because I’m looking at all my writing with new eyes as I prepare to try doing this for a living. Maybe it’s because it’s 2020, and the rules aren’t really relevant anymore. I don’t know. But I can say that, two weekends ago, I opened Setting Sun, and realized that it didn’t seem impossible anymore. I realized that the boys had been through more than enough. We’ve been through more than enough. We deserve the happy ending I always planned to give them, going back four whole years when I first planned out this massive weird tale.

It’s been a very long time. It’s been exactly long enough.

I can’t promise exactly when the final chapter of Setting Sun will arrive. I’m walking back onto previously thin ice, and my footsteps are more than a little hesitant, so as not to cause any undue cracks. But I can remember the joy and humour and fun again; I can conceive of jokes and silliness and sweetness again. My playlist is filling up again, with songs of hope and love instead of anguish and sorrow. The Yuuri and Victor who sit inside my heart are skating; the music is carrying them, the wind is rushing past their ears, their feet feel light again and they want to jump and take flight and make beautiful things.

I have bookended this post with lyrics from a song that’s been on the maybe list for Setting Sun for nearly as long as Setting Sun has existed. It’s a song I love quite profoundly, a song that means a lot to me personally, but I could never manage to make it fit. It’s a song about running away to the big bright city, about being broken on the world’s wheel, and about realizing you just want to go home. It’s a song that’s ostensibly about the tragedy of this process, but right now I’m sitting at my desk, listening to the line I, I, I wanna go back, back, back, back, with grateful tears running down my face, and I’m realizing that it’s not part of Yuuri’s story, nor Victor’s; it’s part of mine. Home may never be the same as when you left, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t waiting for you with open arms.

So that’s what happened.

Put my body on a wagon And carry me off to the ocean Let me float on into the eastern sun Out where tomorrow has just begun Where I used to be wild, back in my time Now I just fight to sleep at night So render me up into the elements Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I come from...

(Gold Teeth, by Hey Rosetta!)

[paladin-lynx]

SquipJere Week 2020, Day 6: Sexy Anime Cat Girl With a Tail

@squipjerebmc’s SquipJere Week 2020 Day 6: Sexy Anime Cat Girl With a Tail

Ships Involved: The SQUIP x Jeremy Heere (Technical Difficulties/Squipemy/Squeremy/JereSquip/SquipJere)

Setting: Canonverse, set in the time interval between “Loser Geek Whatever” and “Halloween”.

Trigger/Content Warnings: non-graphic mentions of masturbation; sexual situations and implications but no graphic depictions of sex; anthropomorphic/furry characters; tail kink; kissing; grinding; groping

Author’s Notes: Am I posting this weeks after the event already ended? Maybe. I ended up starting this piece when SquipJere Week was still happening before I fell out of my groove, so hopefully I managed to pick up where I left off well enough. This one’s a little spicier than the others, as you can probably tell from the warnings, hehe. Enjoy!

The SQUIP had been working long and hard to condition Jeremy to not think about sex nearly as often as he used to, and the fact that it seemed to be successful thus far in its efforts was nothing short of amazing. Jeremy had gone from feeling the need to jerk off every morning like clockwork to actually being able to get through an entire day without thinking about something lewd. The only time he ever got a pass was when he was with Brooke, but he hadn’t been seeing her much outside of school lately. She was just a stepping stone to get to Christine anyway, and while she was attractive and sweet, Jeremy wasn’t really all that into her. And that made him feel bad about using her as some kind of practice dummy.

“She’s used to it,” the SQUIP would say while squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “She’ll move on to someone else quickly enough. You don’t have to be concerned about hurting her.”

That didn’t really make Jeremy feel much better, but he had always been someone who worried constantly about what others thought of him or how they felt about things he’d done. It was a big part of why he’d gotten the SQUIP in the first place – no one would ever see him as anything more than the awkward cardigan-wearing loser who spent all his time playing video games and getting high in his only friend’s basement. Michael had always been perfectly content to march to the beat of his own drum and didn’t seem to really care about anyone’s opinions of him, and he seemed to just assume Jeremy felt the same.

But Jeremy yearned to be somebody. He didn’t want to just survive every day and wait for the next day to be exactly the same. He wanted to live and have a life.

And so the SQUIP helped him to thrive in all areas. He dressed better, he walked more confidently, he was doing well in school and in the drama club. He was getting closer every day to all the cool kids and Brooke seemed completely enamored with him.

Of course, he was still a teenage boy. And teenage boys had urges. And while Jeremy could rein in those urges when he was awake and alert, that most definitely wasn’t the case when he was asleep.

He hadn’t been thinking about anything particularly sexy in nature before going to bed – at least, he was pretty sure he hadn’t, or else the SQUIP definitely would’ve had something to say about it – but that didn’t seem to matter. The dream had started out simple enough. It was almost boring, really. He was lounging on his bed, playing around on his phone, with the SQUIP laying beside him and watching quietly. The SQUIP as of late had been indulging itself more in the simple pleasures of human life and seemed content to observe Jeremy just existing rather than criticizing his every thought and action. Ever since it had realized it may be able to feel and Jeremy had assured it that he did really like having it around, it had taken to merely being near him when things were calm.

But all too quickly, the dream shifted away from the PG. The SQUIP smirked and reached over to take his phone – something that dream logic apparently decided was a thing that the SQUIP could actually do – to set it aside, and then didn’t hesitate to climb on top of him and straddle his waist. The SQUIP felt surprisingly more solid than normal, and while it was normally a bit cold to the touch, it actually felt rather warm now, like it was flesh and blood and not just a projection from Jeremy’s mind.

There was soon a hungry mouth on his and they were kissing, Jeremy wrapping his arms around the SQUIP and curling his fingers into the back of its cloak. However, when he pulled back, he realized the face looking at him was not that of Keanu Reeves, but instead a rather well-endowed girl with big, unmistakably anime-styled eyes, shining an ever familiar bright blue. She had long flowing black hair and atop her head proudly sat a pair of cat ears, and the cloak Jeremy had been holding onto was replaced with a rather short dress covered in a circuitry pattern. And Jeremy was pretty sure he could see a long black tail waving behind her.

Jeremy gawked for a moment but he did seem to have enough brain power to comprehend that this was still his SQUIP – he remembered way back when it had said one of its potential forms for him was that ‘sexy anime cat girl with a tail’ – and that seemed to be all the go-ahead the SQUIP needed to dive back in and kiss him again. Jeremy felt like there was fire under his skin as he kissed back, one hand shifting down to toy with the SQUIP’s new tail, causing it to mewl into his mouth. And of course that only spurred Jeremy on more.

The dream only escalated from there. Clothes disappeared at some point and the SQUIP’s mouth was everywhere on him, skilled and teasing. Given that the SQUIP was in Jeremy’s mind, it of course knew all the right ways to get him to writhe and moan. It could have only been a few seconds or it could have very well been hours when the SQUIP finally climbed back into his lap, a grin on those feline lips, and sank down onto him.

Jeremy woke up choking out a gasp, gripping his sheets and realizing rather quickly that both them and he were drenched in sweat. He had to take a moment to catch his breath, feeling as though he had just run a mile, and when he noticed that his pajama pants were feeling rather sticky, he quickly realized what had happened.

“Oh my God…” he mumbled, rubbing his hands over his face before pushing back the hair slicked to his forehead.

“I see you had quite the dream.”

Jeremy yelped at the sudden voice, scrambling to sit up and ending up tangled in the blankets for a moment. He stared with wide eyes at the SQUIP – in its usual form, thankfully – sitting in his desk chair, glowing that gentle blue against the darkness of the room. It was the middle of the night, judging by the fact that it was still dark outside, as well. The SQUIP was grinning slightly at him, looking thoroughly amused.

Jeremy just blinked dumbly at it for a moment, his mouth dry. “D…did you do that?”

“Oh goodness, no, Jeremy. I may be inside your brain, but the subconscious is not a realm that I can delve into. It’s much too complex and I wouldn’t want to potentially damage your mind by interfering with it.”

“But…you still saw it?”

The SQUIP hummed. “Bits and pieces. And, well, clearly you have a pretty vivid memory of it, so…” Its grin widened a fraction. “I can see it all now as you think about it.”

Jeremy’s entire face burned and he quickly tried to put the dream out of his mind, although he knew how this worked – now that he was actively trying not to think about it, it would result in him just thinking about it more whether he wanted to or not.

“Are you gonna shock me or make me do push-ups?” he asked warily.

The SQUIP tilted its head to one side, gaze sweeping up and down Jeremy’s body in a way that made him swallow a lump in his throat.

“…I’ll let it slide this time,” it murmured, chuckling. It smiled at him again, waving a hand dismissively. “Change out of those clothes. You’ve soiled them.”

Face still feeling hot, Jeremy slid out of bed and went to grab a fresh pair of pajamas, trying to ignore how he could feel the SQUIP’s eyes still on him. He did take a moment to grab some tissues and clean himself up and soon enough he was changed, although he frowned as he looked back at the bed and realized his sheets were still soaked. He didn’t like making the bed on a normal day, let alone in the dead of night. He could probably just deal with it, or sleep on the couch, although the latter option would raise some questions from his dad in the morning – if he cared enough to be inquisitive, anyway.

“Whatever,” he sighed, pulling the blankets up so they covered the dampened sheets and he could lay on top of them. He shifted so he could flip his pillow over, as well, humming contently at the cooler side pressed against his cheek and closing his eyes. Everything was peaceful.

“Jeremy…”

His eyes shot back open when the SQUIP’s voice came out much higher-pitched and sing-songy than normal. He was about to sit up when he felt himself pressed back onto the bed, weight pushing against his shoulders and waist. The SQUIP suddenly appeared atop him, grinning wickedly as it took the form of the very same cat girl he’d seen in his dream. The only difference now was that its touch was cool against his skin rather than warm.

“L-Ly?” he managed, blinking up at his SQUIP with wide eyes. “Wh…what are you doing?”

It chuckled – more like purred, honestly – and leaned in close. “You keep telling me to find things that I enjoy,” it murmured, tail flicking in amusement. “And I’ve come to conclude that I do very much enjoy seeing you all flustered like this. Do you like this form of mine, Jeremy? We both know about your attraction to anthropomorphic characters and…well, I believe you also have an affinity for tails, right?”

Jeremy tried to say something, to retort, but he just ended up letting out a rather pathetic squeak because of course the SQUIP was right. Michael teased him all the time – lovingly, of course – for being a furry, and he was never going to let Jeremy live down that one time he’d accidentally admitted that he thought Thalia would look cute with a tail.

But the SQUIP had worked so tirelessly to keep Jeremy from doing anything that would incite sexual thoughts, and yet here it was, seducing him. Was it seducing him? Jeremy wasn’t completely sure he was actually awake yet, to be honest.

But even if the SQUIP wasn’t nearly as warm as it’d felt in Jeremy’s dream, this did feel much more real in a way he couldn’t quite figure out. Maybe it was simply because he was, in fact, no longer dreaming and his brain could better process the situation – although he definitely still felt like he was at a loss.

“I…” was all that fell from his lips when he tried to speak again.

The SQUIP grinned, eyes bright with amusement and mischief, and it closed the gap between them. The feeling of the SQUIP kissing him was tingly and, dare he say, electrifying. It wasn’t like kissing Brooke, which was all warm and wet and messy. Even while insistent, every move the SQUIP made was precisely calculated and its lips were still cool against his, firing off all the right nerves to make it feel like there was something actually there.

It was so obvious to Jeremy that he was kissing nothing more than a glorified figment of his imagination, like this was just another fantasy. But he didn’t care. He liked it. His chest bloomed with warmth and his stomach was doing somersaults, and he couldn’t help letting out a soft whine against the SQUIP’s mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure why the SQUIP was doing this or if this was all some elaborate trick, but he threw caution to the wind and gripped onto the back of that dress like he had in his dream, pulling the SQUIP more against him. Their chests brushed and the SQUIP’s hips slid against his in a way that made Jeremy arch up with a gasp, and the SQUIP didn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to slide its tongue into Jeremy’s mouth. It was a little weird since it wasn’t wet and gross like a human tongue would be – Frenching was still something Jeremy was getting used to when it came to Brooke – but he could taste the SQUIP all the same.

It eventually pulled back and Jeremy sucked in a breath, having apparently forgotten that oxygen was a thing that he needed. The SQUIP looked entirely unfazed, still sitting triumphantly atop him with that wide grin. Jeremy’s chest heaved, his body growing warmer, and while he still wasn’t sure if this was some weird test, he gave in to his desire and tugged the SQUIP down again, kissing it once more. He felt the vibration of a chuckle against his mouth and for a moment Jeremy thought the SQUIP might just stop and leave him yearning, but then it was kissing back with just as much hunger.

Whining again, Jeremy let his hands drift down. He could feel the soft, silky fabric of the SQUIP’s dress as if it were really there, although there was a slight buzz at his fingertips, as if he was touching active wires. No one else would ever feel like the SQUIP, and that sent an odd sort of thrill through Jeremy. He couldn’t help wondering, in the back of his mind, if some people got SQUIPs for things like this. After all, if something was inside your brain, it knew exactly how to make you feel good, right? Although he supposed there were probably some drawbacks to SQUIPs only being able to project a holographic form. It wasn’t an actual, physical body like an android or something would have.

But those thoughts were hardly present in Jeremy’s mind as he lost himself in the moment. The SQUIP’s hips gave another teasing little roll that had Jeremy whimpering and on a whim he let his hands slip down to the SQUIP’s ass, wanting to pull on its tail.

So he had a kink. Sue him.

However, as he felt around, kneading at the soft skin, his brow furrowed when his fingers never found a tail. He pulled out of the kiss and opened his eyes, squeaking and turning bright red when he realized he was no longer looking that cute cat girl in the face, but instead a familiar Keanu Reeves lookalike.

The SQUIP, naturally, was still smirking like it was having the time of its life. “Problem, dear?”

“Y-you…” Jeremy tried, but he had no retort. He would’ve thought that the want – the need, nearly – to have the SQUIP close, kissing and touching it, would instantly fade away upon seeing the SQUIP’s usual form. After all, Jeremy saw it all the time and while it was an attractive face, it wasn’t one that Jeremy had thought about kissing – okay, well, maybe a couple of times, but that was just because his mind liked to imagine most things in a sexual way, horny teenage boy that he was. The cat girl had made him feel so many things and he hadn’t been able to help himself.

However, to his surprise, he found that even looking at this face he’d been seeing every day, 24/7, for the past few months, the urge to be close wasn’t going away.

“I…” he mumbled, suddenly feeling very small, his hands hurriedly falling from the SQUIP’s back where they’d been lingering. He shouldn’t be feeling this. He shouldn’t have felt it before even with the SQUIP’s rather sexy new form, but he definitely shouldn’t be feeling it now.

The SQUIP definitely sensed his hesitation and seemed to soften up a bit. Jeremy swallowed the lump in his throat as he felt a wave of calm wash over his mind and he sighed quietly, his muscles relaxing against the bed beneath him.

“There you go, love,” it cooed and, after giving Jeremy a moment to process, it leaned down to press their lips together again. This time it was gentler, more a brush against his mouth than a kiss proper, and Jeremy felt the weight against his waist lift slightly. Jeremy just lay there for a moment as the SQUIP kissed him before his eyes fluttered shut and he almost shyly kissed back, like it was his first time.

It only lasted a few seconds and then the SQUIP pulled back, shifting to move off of Jeremy and lay beside him on the bed. It gently ran a hand up Jeremy’s arm, and Jeremy felt the hairs there rise up at the cool, slightly static-y touch. “Are you alright?” it asked.

Jeremy blinked and ended up coughing out a laugh. “You’re asking that now?”

It frowned, eyebrows furrowing. It tilted its head slightly – analyzing, calculating, predicting. “…I apologize,” it murmured, still tracing along Jeremy’s arm. Jeremy almost wondered if it was fidgeting like that. “I suppose I got an…impulse and I got carried away with it. I shouldn’t have pinned you down. And I shouldn’t have kissed you or moved against you like that. It was highly inappropriate.”

Jeremy just stared. The SQUIP had definitely been acting more and more like a human lately as it explored what it wanted outside of just being Jeremy’s coach, but never had it sounded so ashamed, like it truly thought it had done something wrong. Jeremy’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise and he scrambled for something to say.

“I…I mean…” he started. “You…would’ve known if I didn’t want it, right? You’re in my brain. You…knew I was enjoying it.”

“I believe most would call that ‘taking advantage’ of you, Jeremy.”

“I could’ve told you to stop. Even if my mouth was, er, preoccupied, I could’ve thought at you.”

“Would you have done that, though?”

That had Jeremy faltering and he had to consider it. And he realized he wasn’t sure. Even if he had been uncomfortable, he’d been so overwhelmed by all the sensations the SQUIP was making him feel that he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to properly convey that he didn’t want it. And even if he could’ve, he might’ve ended up being too afraid of the SQUIP’s disapproval that he wouldn’t have said anything at all and just let it happen.

The SQUIP, of course, could hear all of his thoughts on the matter and huffed softly. “Exactly.”

Jeremy’s brow creased. “You’re acting like I’m mad at you.”

“You should be.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m…confused, really, more than anything else.”

The SQUIP sighed. “I would imagine so.” It paused, processing once again. “…I’m honestly not…entirely sure why I did that. Like I said, it was an impulse.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “But you always run predictions and stuff. You had to of seen what would come after if you acted like that. Was this…all because of my dream? Did it like, mess with your code or something because I dreamed about you?”

“You’ve dreamt about me before, Jeremy, that isn’t how this works,” the SQUIP scoffed, and Jeremy was glad that it was at least well enough to criticize his lack of knowledge about supercomputer pills. “…I suppose I wanted to tease you a little, as it were, about this particular dream, but that was all. I had only planned on changing my form for a brief moment, but once I was on top of you…” It trailed off and Jeremy felt a buzz at the back of his head that he was already learning to recognize as the SQUIP’s version of being flustered.

“…Yeah?” he prompted.

Its form flickered for a moment. “…Nothing else mattered,” it murmured. “Of course I saw the plausible futures. Of course I knew what a bad idea it was. But…I didn’t care.” Its expression twisted in frustration. “Why didn’t I care…? Am I defective?”

Jeremy wished he could answer, but he truly didn’t know. However, he’d learned a fair bit about the SQUIP in these last few weeks. Maybe he still didn’t completely understand how its programming worked, but he knew what he saw and he could sometimes feel things through their connection, even if it was difficult to discern exactly what it was he was feeling. And while Jeremy had never been the best at puzzles, he could still recognize patterns when he saw them. There were sensations he’d feel when the SQUIP seemed happier than usual, and on the opposite end of the spectrum there were things he’d feel when it was particularly agitated.

So, he had a theory. “Maybe you wanted it.”

The SQUIP blinked at him before tutting. “I’m a mach—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a machine, you don’t feel, you don’t ‘experience emotions’ like I do. You’ve told me that a gazillion times, but I’m starting to think it’s just bullshit.”

Jeremy almost laughed at how scandalized the SQUIP looked. “Excuse me?”

He sighed. “You obviously feel things, Ly. You sing because you think it’s fun. You get annoyed when you find stupid bugs in the video games you run around in. You like to poke fun at me and call me things like ‘love’ and ‘dear’ because you think my reactions are funny. So…so maybe you wanted to kiss me because, I don’t know, you thought you’d like it?”

The SQUIP’s gaze swiveled back down and Jeremy once again felt that buzz as it considered his words.

“…Did you like it?” Jeremy asked after he didn’t get an answer for a bit. It had definitely seemed like the SQUIP had enjoyed itself, acting like it owned him, but then again, the SQUIP also did things to experiment and test results, so it could have just continued on to see what would happen.

“…I did,” it finally said, whispering so quietly Jeremy almost swore he misheard it.

The buzzing at the back of his head was growing more insistent and Jeremy could tell that the SQUIP was trying to make sense of this entire situation. It was strange, because Jeremy figured that by now the SQUIP would’ve come to accept that its A.I. had evolved to the point where it could actually experience things similar to how a human could, since they’d had so many conversations like this before, but it seemed that it still had its limits on what it deemed acceptable. And while his SQUIP definitely had its quirks, Jeremy doubted that there was anything inherently wrong with it. After all, it scanned itself regularly for problems in its software, so it wasn’t that – unless something had slipped under the radar, but Jeremy doubted that, too.

Deciding to take initiative for once in his life – although he supposed he had the SQUIP to thank for that, with all its work to boost his confidence – he gently put a hand on the SQUIP’s cheek, turning its face to him. He was a little surprised that it actually worked, considering that he had no real control over the projection, but the SQUIP still blinked at him.

“Remember what you said, that you just acted without thinking about the consequences?” he asked. “We’ll worry about all this later, just…for now, go back to that. Do what you want to. Don’t think about what it all means.”

The SQUIP looked like it wanted to protest for a heartbeat but then its expression softened and it nodded, leaning in and kissing Jeremy again.

Jeremy, of course, gently pulled the SQUIP closer against him, glad when he could feel the press of its form against his chest. They both knew that this probably wasn’t wise of them and they’d have to really look more into it when they had the chance, but for now, Jeremy was content to focus on how nice the SQUIP’s lips felt on his and how good it felt to have those cool, strong hands on him.

And from the static against his mouth and the warmth in the back of his mind, he was pretty sure the SQUIP was okay with that, too.