#like. what if I explode! what if I wither and die and explode

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

The turas realta artist is carefully crafting images that will make me go insane

[riacte]

"It's rotten work," Ren says. His tail swishes nervously. He has the demeanor of a sad scolded puppy even though no one's scolding him.

False looks up from where she's placing down mud blocks in accordance to the roads that Ren lined out. Ren's theatre kid behaviour must be kicking in now, because to call her work rotten is dramatic and almost insulting.

"It's not rotten to me. There's stuff I would call rotten work, but this is no where near it."

False places down another block. Ren obediently shuffles out of the way.

"Rotten work is when I'm at a tourney and no one's listening to my strategy so I'm left all alone, but then they use my strategy and we actually win while everyone ignores me. Rotten work is when someone sabotages me and I'm the one left to sweep away the pieces. Rotten work is when someone attacks me on purpose and I'm the one who has to apologise for being mad and pacify everyone else. This?" False pulls out another mud block, "is building. And building is not rotten work."

Ren cautiously observes what False is doing, then also pulls out his mud blocks. He moves a few steps forward so he's placing blocks, but out of her way. "It's still work," he admits. "A lot of work, in fact."

False is nonplussed. "But that's what builders do, don't they? And I am the Minister of Transport."

Ren laughs, but it's a quiet laugh. He pauses like he's hesitating, then he mumbles,

"I'm a lot of work."

Now it's False's turn to pause. Her hands continue with placing the blocks, because that's what she does. Building. Grinding. Helping friends out. So on and so forth.

"It's peculiar work for sure," False says, her tone light. "Picking up your stuff when you spontaneously explode. Bugging you about MCC. Teaching you basic colour theory. You can't get orange from blue, Ren. It sadly doesn't work that way."

Ren chuckles at the jab. "Worth a shot, eh?"

False coughs. "Yeah, like I said, peculiar work. But it's fine. I like doing peculiar work because I'm a peculiar person and you're a peculiar person. But together we are normal. Very normal indeed."

Ren considers it. "What if I don't want to be normal?"

"Then we won't be normal."

"What if I want to be normal?"

"Then we'll be normal. Or at least pretend to be."

Ren laughs. "That doesn't make any sense."

False smiles wryly. "Come on now, Ren, when have I ever made any sense?"

He shoots her a grin. "But you're like the most sensible person in the Neighbourhood!"

False lets the silence hang between them for comedic effect. "... No."

"No?"

"If I were sensible, I would've left the Neighourhood long ago."

"Hey!"

"Just kidding. That's why I'm not sensible. That's why I like not being sensible. Besides, I'm not the one who organised the ministry or planned the roads. You did. You're the one with the vision. I'm just following it."

Ren looks around the paths and his tail wags in excitement. "But you're contributing to the vision! I saw the bits and pieces you added! It looks great, by the way!"

False nonchalantly continues placing. "Yeah, you see, that's part of the peculiar work. You draw up the canvas and I edit in the details. It's like how we did the raceway last time."

"Yeah, but I haven't grinded as hard this time around. Too busy with my permit, my dude."

False giggles. "Would you call getting the beacon permit drawing a short straw?"

"I mean, I was the second to die in Demise, but you won and everything worked out in the end, so I don't mind." A pause. "Also gives me a chance to kill those dastardly withers as revenge for all the times they defeated me."

"Right, it's a lot of work to kill them, never mind farm them."

Ren sighs deeply. "There's definitely a lot going on. Especially those buttons, man."

False glances up. They're both still doing the roads. She watches Ren shift up a step and place down a mud brick slab.

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it. I'll buy your beacons. Actually, you can go do your buttons. You can kill some withers. I'll take care of this."

She can almost hear his apologies— sorry that she's doing the roads that he was supposed to do, sorry that he didn't reply to her messages, sorry that he's the way he is.

(And maybe he picks it up too— the way she actually means "I'll take care of you". He always seems to instinctively know what she means under her contradictory and confusing words. In the same way she instinctively knows what he means.)

Ren softly chuckles. "It's peculiar work."

"It's peculiar work especially if it's me, and especially if it's you—"

False sets down a mud brick slab right next to the one Ren placed. Just one slight push, and the pattern of the bricks align like they'd been inseparable from the get go. The corner of her lips quirk up.

"— but that's why I do it."

[bonknigirlinthehood]

your dad!blade fic is so cuuuttte 😔 what if it was yingxing!dad and his baby just born (angst angst angst-)

I honestly don't know what emoji you put there, so I'm guessing it's a "stillborn"?, if not then please correct me lol, usually apple's emoji can't show up on android/windows and vice versa.

TW: death, blood, body being split open, emergency operation, infant death. It’s just pure angst so read with discretion.

A/N: You ask me to write angst, well, then I shall deliver.

Time is cruel. Time rots everything without mercy, taking away moments, youth, and memories of every being in this world.

For short-life species, time is like a ticking bomb, but instead of making them explode, it makes them wither. Nothing can escape time, not even fate itself. If time decides your life is ending right there, right then, then so be it. If time decides you will live for another hundred years, then so be it.

And Yingxing curses time with every fiber of his being. He curses time for toying with his life, his friend's life, his family, his wife, and his child.

He remembers it very clearly, the moment war broke out and everyone in the Luofu was dying. No matter how hard the Cloud Knight was fighting, victims are unavoidable.

What he didn't expect was, that his wife would be one of them.

Specifically, his heavily pregnant wife.

He thought that she was safe in the shelter, protected by the Cloud Knights.

He thought that he would be able to see her again.

He thought that he could finally see his baby.

Yingxing lets out an anguished scream when he sees the shelter where his wife resides is being torn into oblivion. He desperately searches for her among the rubbles and corpses, occasionally wiping his eyes off of his tears. And when he finally sees her, his heart flutter for a moment before dropping again at her condition.

Blood, blood is pooling on her legs. No, this can't be happening.

It must be blood from another person, he thought to himself. If isn't then it's probably just from her injured leg, right?.

She looks at him, eyes on the verge of blanking out. She reaches out to him, and Yingxing holds her hand tight.

"Yi..ngxing..." she says in a weak voice,

"Please...the baby...take the baby...please..." Yingxing's mouth drops as he hears the absurd request. He looks at her belly, and back to her again. She can't be asking him...to actually perform surgery here, right..?, He might have a dexty hand, yes, but performing a medical surgery?, it's totally out of the question. He shakes his head, tears flowing out of his eyes again.

"No...no...i can't...you'll..you'll die if I do that!"

A tight grip on his hand wakes him up again. His wife is looking at him with determination as if telling him she is ready.

She is ready.

Yingxing gulped, he took his sword, the only sharp thing he had right now, and pointed it toward the belly of his wife. She nodded.

With trembling hands, the furnace master sliced open the stomach, , layer by layer, cringed at every slicing sound his blade made, before finally able to pull his baby out.

Yet he does not let out a sigh of relief.

He stays still, with a bloody infant in his hand, the umbilical cord still connecting to the mother's body.

It's cold.

Yingxing takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. He tried to feel around the baby's skin, trying to wake them up. Anything, anything to feel life in it.

Yet it doesn't move.

The blood in his hands is still warm, yet the piercing cold he feels from the baby's body freezes him to the bone.

"No..." he murmurs, eyes unfocused. He averts his gaze for a second, to see his wife already long gone. He feels his heart crushed into pieces.

The man starts to do everything he can to wake his baby up. He shakes them, pinch them, pat their back, everything. Yingxing tears flow even harder, blurring his sight of the painful sight before him. It hurts.

It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts.

He feels like his chest would explode as he starts to lose his composure. He hugs his baby tight to his chest, and without even realizing it he is already screaming his lungs out. 

Yingxing could feel his body being torn to shreds from the inside. It feels like every fiber of his being is bleeding, and the only thing he could feel at the moment is tears dropping from his face and the coldness of his baby’s body. 

He wants to die, right there, right now, as he wants to immediately go to see his family again in the afterlife.

And it really feels like he’s about to blank out until someone pulls him out from the void.

“Yingxing!!!” 

The familiar voice pierced his ears, a black haired man with horns appeared before his eyesight. 

“Yingxing, hang in there!” he shouted out to him. Worry adorned his face, a familiar warm hands cupping his tears stricken face.

“Dan���Feng…” Yingxing's voice broke out, energy being drained from his whole being as he slumps to the ground. Dan Feng grimaces seeing the condition, and as much as he wanted to help his friend bury his deceased wife’s body, he has more important matters to do right now.

“Dan Feng…I…I..failed…” The white haired man speaks, “I..can’t..save them.., not even…” He doesn’t continue, yet Dan Feng immediately catches up on what his friend meant. The high elder can only stay silent for a while, seeing Yingxing carefully caressing his baby’s head, occasionally kissing its head, hoping they would wake up and greet him.

The Vidyadhara gulped, an idea popped in his head.

“No, Yingxing. It’s okay” Dan Feng grabs Yingxing’s shoulder and shakes it. “We can…we can save them” he said with determination in his voice.

Yingxing’s face lights up, a newfound hope appears in his dead looking eyes. Deep down, he knows whatever Dan Feng is about to do is probably illegal, yet at this point, all he wants to do is to be able to meet his baby, even for once.

Seeing Yingxing’s expression changed, Dan Feng grabs his hand and pulls him so he can stand. “Good, but I need you to fetch some things for me. In the meantime, I’ll help you with your wife and baby” 

Yingxing nodded, and as much as he was reluctant to let go of his child, he gave them to Dan Feng, fully believing the high elder to take care of them while he was gone.

As a father, he’ll do anything to save his child, even if it means he needs to fight against time nor fate.

[mcytshipsandmore]

Hi, it's me, the sole Ariana Griande x Cleo shipper (what would their ship name be? Songrot? Sure that works 👍)

This is the crackship hill im willing to die on, have some headcanons (:

Ari randomly showed up in season 6 of hermitcraft a few months after Grian, she was never invited, doesn't show up on the tabs menu, and never gives any explanation of how she got there, she just shows up, puts on a gay little music concert, and leaves without ever elaborating on her motives.

She also realizes her ex is there while she's visiting and kind of just, explodes, peole expected them to have some sort of anger towards eachother but then they're actually just still super in love and refuse to acknoledge it to eachother despite all the flirting

They do eachother's makeup but like, in an extremely gay way.

I also think that there's a possibility of Ari popping back up through the rift in season 9, once again, she just shows up, with a little bit of an explanation of how she got here this time, flirts with her not-quite-girlfriend-yet-but-kinda, and dips through the interdimensional portal in Grian's basement

They have cute petnames for eachother like songbird and wither rose and whisper them to eachother as they say goodnight while they're all cuddled up right before they go to sleep as the moon rises right outside their window (I swear I'm fine)

I dont think they ever properly start dating again, Ari proposes and then they both realize they're technically still ex girlfriends, even though they've accepted that they're comepltetely in love with eachother, so they just have to backtrack like "ok, ok, will you be my girlfriend, again and also will you marry me immediately after?"

This is my crackship and I'm hoping these silly headcanons can drag into this weird rabbit hole I've dug, because god do I need company down here

Byeeeeeee, have a good day, or night, or whatever, have a good life 😎

AAWWWWWW THATS SO SWEETTTTT

Also yes, Songrot sounds like a good name for them.

-🍫

[kaiso-woo]

Just Stay.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

-> Masterlist

PART 1 of my ‘Stay Series’ - a long hypothesised journey of a relationship between Bang Chan and Reader.

WC: 6.8k | Overall ‘Stay Series’ Synopsis: Bang Chan experiences the suic!des of Stays, so when you lot choose to die, he dies right along with you. Reader is the “antidote” to this condition.

Notes: Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, CaféOwner!Reader, Fem!Reader, Idol!Chan, Barista!Chan, Suic!de (Strong Descriptions), ANGST (LITERALLY EVERYWHERE, NO NEED TO SQUINT), Fluff (At the End)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

PART 1

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

-

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

If this were the case, could you then be compared to a lonely garden gnome, fated to ponder life’s every aspect through a single perspective? Would you shrivel away from the light, choose to accept the pitiful concept of simply existing and allow your garden to wither; green to grey, flesh to bones, petals to stems? Perhaps your coping mechanism is to simply scream. Shut the doors. Close your blinds. Block your ears. Scream. Dry your eyes. Breathe…

Scream.

He does none of those. Instead, his eyes flutter closed momentarily, chest heaving, hands shaking, before he pulls himself away and picks up the computer mouse again. They’re becoming more frequent, or maybe he’s becoming more attune to them.

He doesn’t witness these deaths, exactly. He feels them; what it’s like to have the frigid wind tug at your hair, howling in your ears, the moment of impact with the blistering ground causing him to flinch violently, hand clamped over his mouth in a desperation to quell any yell; what it’s like to have your vision swim, blotting in and out of darkness, your throat constrict as though a pressure is forcing its way from inside out, desperate, erratic gulps for sweet sweet oxygen achieving nothing; what it feels like to stand there, shivering, your heart rate increasing tenfold, breaths quickening to mere pants, as you will every instinct in your body to remain still – ‘do not move’, you think, ‘it’ll be over soon’, you remind yourself, ‘the lights are closer now, and they’re fast, they won’t stop’.

How dearly he wishes for them to stop. 

He’s better at dealing with them now, definitely more subtle. The panic that envelopes him every time he realises something is about to happen however, will never leave him. He’ll drop what he’s holding, frantically disappear into one of the empty rooms in the company building, lock the door and rake a hand through his hair. The number of times the stylists have grumbled at him for messing up his styled hair is limitless, but he doesn’t care, why should he?

The studio door clicks open, and his head snaps to the sound. Immediately, he attempts to steady his breath, and pulls his expression into his signature straight smile :] as Jisung enters the room, a plastic bag filled with takeaway containers in his hand.

“Eh? What’re you doing here…?” Chan grins, his eyes widening dramatically. Swiftly, he swipes his computer mouse to the top of the screen to check the time.

2.23am

“It’s so late Jisung, were you practicing choreo?” he continues, hitting save on his keyboard so he doesn’t accidentally delete his work while distracted. “I brought you food,” Jisung mumbles, lowering it onto the coffee table and carefully unpacking it all. Chan’s mouth begins to salivate excessively as the smell of chicken wafts towards him, but he rubs his face and resists the urge to sit down with Jisung and eat to his heart’s content.

Jisung plucks a drumstick from the box, “Why are you working here alone?” he questions, a sad pout on his chubby cheeks as he wanders over to the computer, careful not to drop any crumbs. Chan shrugs, hoping it’ll satiate Jisung’s concern. 

It doesn’t, of course, and his pout morphs into a small frown. Jisung tries to shove the chicken into Chan’s mouth, offering it to him demandingly. “You eat, you eat,” Chan waves it away and turns back to his computer, “You wanna listen? I think it’s almost finished, something’s just not right with the auto tune… I think. It sounds off,” he picks the headphones off the desk and holds them out for Jisung, who has taken a bite of the chicken happily and is munching away. Again, he tries to give Chan the chicken drumstick, and refuses to take the headphones until Chan is eating the chicken.

As Jisung listens to the song, Chan’s mind drifts back to the corners of his thoughts, the shadows that have been swirling there for a long while now. He doesn’t know when it first began, doesn’t want to remember it to be honest. He was in his room, dozing off into a comfortable sleep, the purple LEDS providing a soft glow to the darkness. 

-

It was abrupt, swinging into him out of nowhere, but he sat bolt upright, hands grappling with the sheets desperately. His vision swam, and he retched on dry air. He groaned and keeled forwards, hands suddenly clutching his chest as it tightened painfully – corkscrewing into his heart, but at the same time it was as though someone was trying to pry it open. He retched again, and he regretted in that moment that he had chosen purple to light his room earlier. The colour was making his head pound, his belongings swimming in and out of his vision, worsened by his unstable swaying.

In a panic, he crawled over to the side of his bed. Then with a last hacking cough, he vomited onto the floor, the acrid taste on his tongue causing him to recoil, the stinging burn in his throat making his eyes water. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t see shit anymore. A dry sob escaped his lips, as he desperately tried to fumble for something to ground him back to reality. He saw speckles – grainy, fuzzy, surreal. 

The world tilts, and maybe he falls off the bed too. And he’s gone.

-

“It’s not the auto tune effect – it’s the timing of the bridge,” Jisung drags Chan back to reality, his head bopping slightly to the music. Chan blinks and scoots aside to allow the younger to fiddle with the computer mouse, rewinding the audio so he can listen again. Chan is finishing off the chicken drumstick, so he hums in acknowledgement instead to Jisung’s feedback. “Yeah, it’s the bridge. The vocals need to be delayed a little,” Jisung concludes, “Want me to fix it up?”

In the silence of the room, Jisung pulls over another chair and gets to work. Chan watches him contentedly for a while, happy to absorb himself in the clicking and tapping of his first child’s proceedings - watching him edit and perfect the track they’ve been working on for the past few months. Jisung glances at Chan, his concentration breaking, “You’re unusually quiet.”

Chan reaches over and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, “Just thinking.” “Right... well, eat more. And then go to bed,” Jisung insists, briefly squeezing the hand on his shoulder in return. Chan sighs and hoists himself out of his chair, sinking back onto the couch so he can easily dig into the food. “Thanks mate,” he mumbles, and when the man makes no move of acknowledgement, Chan smiles softly and nibbles on some more chicken.

-

He woke that time, on the floor of his bedroom, dangerously close to the stinking heap that was his vomit. His head pounded, a dull ache ringing in his skull as he mustered all his strength to simply stand up and pull over the blinds.

“What the fuck was that?” He groaned, resting his head on the window and basking in the warmth of the early morning sun, so comforting, so full of life – a steady presence. After he spent the next ten minutes gathering his wits and cleaning up the mess, he brushed it off as food poisoning; maybe something in the food Hannah cooked last night (he’d never tell her that, of course).

On another day, in another place, maybe a few weeks from then, he had returned to Korea, jumping straight back into his busy schedule. They were in the middle of an interview, not the first, and certainly not the last. In hindsight, he was thankful he had chosen to stand in the back row. At first he thought he merely needed to cough, a ticklish sensation wrapping around his throat, a ghost of a hand caressing his neck. He swayed dangerously when he felt it tighten harshly, so suddenly, and his heartbeat escalated, his legs becoming jelly. 

His head snapped back as his whole body teetered over the edge of the platform he was standing on. A searing pain blazed across his neck for a second, causing him to grapple with it in shock. Changbin grabbed his arm at that point, preventing him from completely falling over backwards.

“You okay?” he whispered, careful not to draw too much attention to the pair, professional as always. Chan corrected himself and tried to control his breathing, forcibly inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. He pulled a face, his eyes wide, and waved his arms a little, “Thanks. Almost lost my balance there.”

Throughout the rest of the interview, he remained silent, thinking hard. What just happened? And why did it feel like… he had just been… hung?

It took him months to string two and two together, months of spontaneous moments of death, in which he remained alive. He’d be drowned countless times, be stabbed infinitely, shot in the head, electrocuted, run over by train… after train… after train, until he fully accepts that these were all connected.

As time wore on, he began to hear things too, inner monologues he supposed, of their voices. He figured if this condition, whatever it was, lasted long enough, he’d soon be able to see it too.

-

Stay. Just stay. Stay’s. It’s you. You’re not staying. He was burning in the middle of a fire. That much was obvious by the scorching pain on his skin, brutal enough that he just wished he couldn’t feel. He screamed into the couch pillows, knowing full well that the studio was soundproof, but paranoid all the same that any of his members would hear him. 

‘Thank you Stray Kids, for everything.’ 

Stay. He couldn’t tell at this point whether the pain was his or from the person who was dying. Both, perhaps. All this time, the people who were dying, the people who were killing themselves, were Stay’s. Or maybe this time was a coincidence, maybe this person just happened to be a part of the fandom.

It wasn’t though. 

More and more often, in the midst of some version of death, he heard thoughts, whispers:

“You got me this far Stray Kids.” “Skz you’re my everything.” “Keep fighting Stray Kids.”

“Chan, I love you.” “Thank you Chan.” “Life was good thanks to you, Chan.”

Fuck. This. Shit.

Stay.

-

His members were either dense, playing dumb or he was an incredible actor and the sneakiest being on all of planet earth. He had no idea how he had managed to hide this, for so long, and not hear a peep out of any of them.

Sure, he attributed his puffy eyes (from tears) to a lack of sleep, or too much time in front of a computer screen. Maybe his lack of sleep could be contributed to insomnia, not that he genuinely didn’t want to sleep with the fear that he might wake abruptly to a strangling death. Again.

More recently, in an attempt to be more cautious, when that panic settles in - a familiar feeling of fear, 'I can do this. I'm going to do it. I want to die. Do I want to die?' - he'd excuse himself to the bathroom.

“Chan hyung’s gone to the bathroom.” – posts Hyunjin.

Yeah. To die.

-

He yawns, stretching as he returns to the studio from a genuine bathroom break. He’s excited to return to his work; a sample he’d stumbled across waiting to be incorporated into a new song. After he shuts the door, he checks the time on his phone.

There’s an hour and a half until 12am– he needs to do Chan’s Room soon too, it’s Sunday. He was comforted by Chan’s Room, to see so many Stay’s on his lives, thankful to have them there, rather than at the top of a building, or sinking at the bottom of a river. He decides that the sample can wait – it’s saved anyway.

He flipped his black hood over the top of his cap, carefully adjusting it so it was presentable, and began to set up the live. He had a few songs in mind that he’d play for you all but was really hoping you’d contribute to the song suggestions too. He smiled, and he laughed, and he danced along to the songs, joyously reading your comments and responding with enthusiasm despite it getting later into the night.

Then the mood shifted when his eyes skimmed over a particular comment. He froze, and his bubble of security popped. He wasn’t sure if he had managed to blot you out, or if the fear had only crossed through after you had sent that message, but he was positive that the person who typed the question, was the person currently pressing a knife to his heart – a small, sharp prick on his chest.

Chan inhaled sharply and swivelled in his chair, “Yeah don’t… don’t hurt yourself, yeah?” The chat exploded with questions and comments, wondering why he was bringing it up and offering words of comfort. The sharp pain on his chest receded slightly, but the fear was still there, the emotional pain ever present. “Just because you have a lot of stress, it doesn’t mean that you have to relieve it by hurting yourself.”

There. Same user. New comment. ‘Your future isn’t worth living for’? Bullshit.

“If you think about the future… it’s best to just keep away from that and find different ways of relieving stress.” Self-consciously, he fiddles with his hoodie drawstrings and swivels in his chair again, desperate to hide the panic flicker across his features briefly. The knife was back.

“You never know what’s going to happen in the future. Something might go wrong, then there might be a turning point and then- from then on you feel really, really regretful,” he’s rambling at this point, thoughts unhinged, spluttering and mixing like mush in his brain. He just needs to get you to stay. 

He takes a deep breath, and drills his eyes into the camera, pleading with what little he could offer, “If you really, really can’t help it or if you really just don’t know what to do or you’re really- really lost, as I’ve always said,” he smiles, eyes shimmering, “come here; look for me, ask me, talk with me.” He waits, praying, fiddling his thumbs below the desk.

And the agonising feeling fades, leaving him deflated, relieved.

“I’ll try my best to relieve your stress,” he concludes, then spreads his arms wide. He knows Stay didn’t ask for it, but he was offering one of his hugs more for himself than them.

-

His relief would be short-lived. He can’t save everyone.

-

I guess, it’s about time I introduce you. You, not as one of those who have given up. Not as one of those who have caused Chan’s suffering. I introduce you, as simply you. You, who carefully pulls your keys out of the café door. You, who draws down some of the shutters with a soft smile. You, as wonderful, loving, bubbly you.

You make your rounds around your haven, your café. It’s a combination of everything you could possibly imagine to be creative. It’s been your dream to create a safe hub for the public that incorporates a library, a café, study area, art studio, computer labs, rehearsal room and even a recording studio.

Pets were welcome, of all kinds, as long as they wouldn’t fight with each other, and you were open from 7.30am in the morning until 1am the following day.

If anyone fell asleep studying, working on music or reading, you’d leave them where they were and pull out the blankets you kept in storage. The policy for this was simply a bond of trust. Customers could stay working for the night as long as they didn’t mind watching you drift around in the morning in your bedhead and PJ’s, slowly beginning to set up for a new day.

You would always offer them a morning hot chocolate, coffee or tea, free of charge, but more often than not, they’d leave their money on the counter when you turned away, refusing to let you best them in a game of generosity.

Books could be borrowed, studios and study rooms booked, pets left in the backyard day/night day care. Equipment was supplied in all the rooms, instruments for loan, computers to log into, art tools for perusal. The rule for these? Don’t break them. If customers break them, they pay for them.

If something run’s out, let you know. You only offered the basic necessities anyways, so you restocked them yourself. Anything else customers bring for themselves. It was safe. It was cosy. It was yours. Yours to give. Admittedly, you still had to pay off the loan you took out to set up the place, and if time grew short you were considering shutting down the recording studio – it was the least used area. 

You pushed the last few stray chairs in as you considered whether to make yourself a final cup of tea before settling down in your apartment upstairs. There were two people currently dozing in various locations of Café Studio, one of whom was a regular. A third customer was sipping the last dregs of his coffee, watching your humble movements out of the corner of his eye. 

“Mind if I call it a night on one of your couches?” he asks, scraping back his chair to place his mug on the counter by the coffee machine. That’s James. James fucking Jamison. Always here for whatever reason, never not here, where you wanted him to be. You withhold a sigh and the temptation to pinch the bridge of your nose, “Yeah, go for it. You know the drill.”

You welcome all customers, all are valuable guests. Except for him. He just won’t take a hint.

He saunters idly over to you, hands in his pockets, and clears his throat, “So… are you sure you won’t be free any time this week?” You can feel his eyes drilling into your back and scrunch your nose distastefully, pulling out your phone as if to check something, “I can’t, I run this place.”

He’s still staring at you, so you whisk your earphones out from a pocket in your apron and plug them into your ears. It doesn’t take you long to press shuffle on your playlist, and immediately your current favourite song begins to play, as if it knows exactly what would help you through this situation, or maybe they knew. 

“What if you just shut the place down for the day?” he asks with an awkward laugh, running his hand through his hair dramatically. So cool. You roll your eyes and turn around to face him, internally dancing to the song in your ears. You give him a once over, genuinely considering him, “I can’t shut down my only source of income for a day.” “Even for-”

“Especially not for you.” The two of you stare at each other and you can sense that somewhere in those blue eyes of his, you’ve angered him. He’s not pleased, and he never has been with your constant rejections, but so far he hasn’t tried anything. He would be stupid to do so, with surveillance cameras set up everywhere and two customers sleeping not far away.

Go kill yourself.

You wince as sharp pain crackles across your forehead, “Sorry what?”  James blinks at you quizzically, his sizzling demeanour vanishing at your confusing outburst. “I didn’t say anything.”

Go. Kill yourself.

You hiss, hand clutching your forehead, and stumble into the nearest table. James is onto you in a second (“Woah there”) trying to support you, when the table was doing just fine. “Back off,” you snap, pushing him away, which causes you to stumble back into the window, the last one without its shutter pulled down, “and shut up.” Again, he blinks at you, ever the stupid dolt he is.

‘Heh… funny.’ Why’d I say that?

Desperately, you swivel and press your forehead to the cool of the glass window, groaning in agony. The music playing in your earphones becomes too much, so you tug them out of your ears, your phone lighting up on the paused song of “Silent Cry”, by Stray Kids.

I wonder if it’ll still be funny after- if I-

You crack your eyes open and peer outside, dimly trying to discern whether this was a voice in your head, or a voice in real life. It spoke with a pained clarity, exhaustion numbing what could have been a voice of laughter and passion. How you knew this, you had no idea. 

“Hey, are you good? Are you on your period or something?” James piped up helpfully, and if you weren’t so heavily concentrated on scanning your surroundings outside you might have kicked him out of your store right then and there.

Then you spotted someone. A lone figure, shrouded in the hazy glow of a streetlight, leaning over the bridge railing. Café Studio was located on the banks of the local river, wide enough for boats to barge through, deep enough to be terrified of the unknown creatures writhing within.

You watched, the incessant pounding in your head diminishing the longer you stared at the figure. If he wasn’t standing in the middle of the light, you wouldn’t have spotted him in his completely black outfit. Someone certainly wasn’t one for colour. He leaned further over the railing, clutching his beanie to his head as though afraid it would fall off in the wind.

In seconds, you had ripped your phone and headphones from your apron, leaving it on one of the tables, and fumbled with the key to unlock the café door. It was chilly out, but you ignored the goosebumps speckling your skin, and James’ confused fucking shouts – like would the guy stitch his mouth shut please. 

That was him. The idiot leaning too far over the railing was the one whispering nonsense in your brain. How you came to this conclusion was to anyone’s guess, but it was him. In the seconds it had taken you to sprint over to him, he had clambered on top of the railing, balancing precariously, his hands in his hoodie pockets, gazing into the depths of the water.

Maybe in another life, if you weren’t out of breath trying to stop him from ending it all, you might have been enamoured by his features. As you drew closer, you could make out the defined cut of his jaw, his wide shoulders, plush lips tinged with pink from the cold, dark eyes alluringly intimidating. This wasn’t that life though, and you paid no attention to any of it really. 

A dawning realisation settled on your features however, after a brief assessment of his face caused you to realise that you knew him, perhaps not personally, but still knew him. “Bang Chan?” you whisper, the name falling from your lips in a panicked whisper, “Chan no…” your legs work harder, and you pray almost deliriously that he doesn’t do it. Don’t do it. He can’t.

“Bang Chan!” you yell, losing all sense of discipline as he sways gently, contemplating, “Chan!!” he doesn’t appear to hear you, absorbed in his own mind. You’re there, you’re right there, and this time, when you call desperately, “Christopher!” his eyes snap up to meet yours.

It’s this particular moment, that will be ingrained in your mind in the following years. The way his eyes spark in shock at the sight of you, then relax, as though he understands, and has complete control over everything in his life.

Without hesitating, you snatch at his clothes and tug him backwards. His heavy body crashes into yours, but you don’t care. You wrap your arms safely around his waist as you tumble to the paved path in a heaped mess of clothes and limbs. 

He wriggles around in your grasp, trying to position himself more comfortably, and eventually wind up staring each other dead in the face, blinking through your lashes up at him, his palms on either side of your head.

An uncomfortable silence settles between you, fizzing in the limited space between your faces. Then without warning, you roughly shove your hand behind his head and pull him down into a hug, tears beginning to stain your cheeks.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” you croak, needlessly shoving your hand underneath his beanie so you can tangle it into his curled hair, “What the actual fuck, were you doing?!” you cling to him tighter, and your breath escapes in garbled gasps that quieten to silence when you feel the trickle of wet tears on your neck.

Gently, you remove your hand from his head and relax your body, allowing him to remove himself from you if he so wished. He burrows his face further however, his arms collapsing onto his elbows, and suddenly you can hear him sobbing.

The tears on your neck weren’t your own. He sounds so broken, crying his heart out as though he were a lost little child who dropped his ice cream. The raw emotion and lack of restraint in his sobbing scrapes at the threads of your heart, and again, you’re crying. Crying with him, for him – understanding everything, and nothing at the same time.

Eventually, you wipe the tears from your face, trying to figure out what to do next. You need to comfort him, talk to him, remind him that he’s worth this world, and the world doesn’t deserve him because by god- if anyone knew even a scrap of what this man meant- he’s laughing. Why is he laughing?

His warm breath tickles your neck as he chuckles, his sobs magically morphed into an amused laughter, which is the most concerning thing by far. Chan pulls away from you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs and hastily dries the tears on his face.

“Sorry. I am so sorry you had to see that,” he grins, and you frown at him. “Sorry I had to see what? You almost jump off a fucking bridge, or your tears? It better not be the latter Christopher, or I’ll gladly rewind time and push you over myself.” Almost immediately, you regret the words tumbling out of your mouth when his face crumbles again, “Would you really?” he whispers, sitting up beside you.

“No. No I was kidding. I was just- you’re allowed to cry, Chan,” you sit up too, and then it’s just the both of you, sitting alone, a strange pair, by the railing of a bridge. “So you know who I am then?” he dutifully asks, gingerly fixing his beanie and offering a small smile.

“Yeah,” you take note of the way his posture deflates, and add quickly, “But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. What matters is that you tried to…” your words die in your throat at the reproachful glint in his eyes, shimmering eerily in the lamplight. Instead, you stand up and offer him a hand. He cautiously accepts it, allowing you to help him stand with you. “Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you,” you smile, giving his hand a shake. He stares at you, bemused, and shakes your hand back. “Christopher Bahng. And… thanks.” You’re not sure if he’s thanking you for stopping his plummet to death, or for helping him sit up, or for letting him cry… he could be thanking you for a lot of things, so instead, you do the next best option.

“Want to head over to my café? I’ll make you a cup of coffee,” you offer, flicking your head to the still lit building, where fucking James is standing outside, ogling you from afar, his hands on his hips. “Sure… only… I assumed you’d know I don’t drink coffee,” he shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets again, and as your eyes slide from James and then back to the man in front of you, you suddenly struggle to process everything that’s just happened.

“Why would I? We just met,” you flash him a coy smile and lead the way. You stroll into the café, holding the door open for Chris so he can step through, his hands still in his pockets. James makes to follow, but you slam the door shut in his face and lock the door swiftly.

“Uh…” Chris begins, his eyes wide, asking for an explanation. “No questions. He won’t leave me alone, and that’s that,” you grin brightly, then rush to disappear behind the café bar and begin to prepare him a drink. He seats himself on a stool and tries to watch as you work. You grow uncomfortable in the silence, especially with him watching you so closely, so you instinctively begin to ramble.

“This is Café Studio. You might have noticed by the sign out front.”  He nods, indicating he’s paying attention. “I run this place entirely myself, and I live above…” You tell him everything you can think of, from the studios attached to the café, to your favourite pets that frequently get dropped off for day care or overnight stays. His eyes light up when you mention the recording studio, and you have a feeling he’ll go back to the topic after.

In no time, you have two hazelnut croissants prepared, a steaming mug of white hot chocolate for yourself, and a mug of caramel hot chocolate with a dusting of cinnamon for him (you refuse to tell him what’s in his drink, which makes him pout sadly because he loves it). You lapse into silence as you eat and drink, and you know you need to breach the topic again, somehow, you can’t just leave it unattended.

“Can I ask…” you begin, but he interrupts you smoothly. “I just wanted to see what it would look like.”

Chan knew he could never tell you that he’d experienced death a hundred times over in the past months. You’d think him insane.

You knew you could never tell him you heard his voice, loud and clear in your head. He’d think you delusional.

“About that… recording studio… does anyone use it?” he inquisitively asks, and you shake your head sadly in response, wiping croissant crumbs off your face. “Not really… I’m considering selling it. I need to repay the loan I took out, and if the recording room is just dead weight then I don’t see why-” “Don’t. It won’t be dead weight,” he hurries, and is about to say more before he reconsiders, “Mind if I check it out?”

Of course you don’t.

--

Chris returns to his hotel later that morning. It’s 4am by the time you crawl into bed, recounting the events of the day in a sluggish fashion. Only 2 and a half hours ago you had pulled him away from certain death.

A shiver disturbs your spine as you replay the memory, and you curl tighter into your blankets. What if you hadn’t? His inner monologue certainly didn’t sound like he simply just “wanted to see what it looked like.”

-

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself through the rest of the morning, living off a few hours’ sleep at most. Thankfully, there aren’t many customers to begin with, giving you a chance to get organised a little later than usual. Chris had left with a small smile and a wave, and you watched him disappear down the street, a part of you worried he’d decide to try the bridge again.

He returns in the afternoon with the same small smile and wave, shocking you to the core. He’s got a cap pulled low over his eyes, hood pulled neatly up, and a black mask obscuring most of his face.

The only reason you recognise him this time is because of those actions, and the particular way his eyes crinkle, disappearing when he genuinely smiles. Quietly, he asks for the same drink you made him earlier that morning and asks to borrow the recording studio – “change of scenery,” he explains casually.

As the days go by, he visits as often as he can, always with those same twinkling eyes, and always still carefully covered up. You have no idea how he’s managed to convince his company to continuously let him out in public without staff, nor how long he’s staying here for.

He must be on vacation or something because this was certainly not Korea. You frequently check up on him too, never hesitating to ask whether he needs any support. He shakes his head every time and stares at you unblinkingly, trying to convey a message through only his eyes.

You’re already helping him. This haven, your haven, is helping him already. You don’t know this of course. Nor do you know that his odd connection to suicidal Stay’s has ceased. He hasn’t felt them in ages, and in a twisted way, he’s relieved – hasn’t felt this light in a while.

“Mind if I book the whole café out for a day?” he mumbles to you from your side, his hands nimbly working with the coffee machine to produce an order for a customer. One day he had asked if you could teach him a few things on the machine. Before long he knew how to make every drink, and happily watched underneath his mask as customers sipped his creations.

Every drink that is, except for the special one you made for him – it was actually your Mum’s recipe. You refused to teach him, but he could easily figure out the ingredients and method to make it for himself by now, if he really wanted to, which perplexed you every time he asked you to teach him.

Truthfully, he didn’t really want to know. He just liked seeing the tiny crease on your forehead and adorable smile whenever you refused. And now… he had even more reason to come back. For the hot chocolate. Definitely.

“The whole-? Library and everything?” you inquire, as you refill the jar of chai powder. “Mhm,” he hums, nodding to a regular as they float by, “Staff want us to film a Skz-Code Episode while we’re here, and they left it up to us to decide where.” “Oh. Sure. What do you need, for me to close up for the day?”

“I want you to stay though. Don’t disappear upstairs to your apartment… please. Can you stay and… watch?” he innocently asks, and you stare at him in surprise, clipping the jar in your hands shut with a snap, “Am I allowed to?”

-

It turns out that would be their last day. They returned to Korea on the following. In hindsight, you wish you had hugged Chris tighter when he tackled you with one before they left after filming, raising the eyes of several staff members and causing the Skz Members to chuckle with one another.

Chris was hugging you because he would miss you, and he was afraid that if he left, the traumatic episodes would return.

You were hugging him because you were full to the brim with Stray Kids’ warmth and happiness, but also because an unfamiliar safety nestled into your stomach as he hugged you, burying his face into your neck – the same place he had where he first met you.

“See ya soon, mate!” Felix called, carrying a box of your brownies. He had given you his recipe, and you eagerly followed its instructions while you watched them record their episode, smiling contentedly at their tinkering laughter, “These taste better than mine!” 

“No one can beat Felix’s brownies,” Hyunjin muttered through a smile, but he’s happily munching on one of yours all the same. Jisung also has his mouth stuffed, his chubby cheeks wobbling as he nods his head. Seungmin offered you a polite handshake, and Jeongin an energetic round of high fives.

Somewhere in the distance, Changbin calls out your name, and performs a half heart above his head. You complete it, sticking your tongue out playfully. Not surprisingly, you and Chris have to duck back inside the café to hunt down Minho, who’s been playing with the cats left in your care for the day.

You didn’t find out that Stray Kids were leaving until that night when you spotted a live of them on your YouTube at the airport, and your heart plummeted with a sadness you couldn’t explain.

-

What… a strange… dream. 

Everything become’s more surreal when you discover an envelope by the coffee machine the next morning, tucked neatly under the corner where Chris would usually stand to make his coffee’s. You pull it out carefully; there’s no name penned on the front. Curiously you pull out two sheets of paper. The first you open is in Chris’ handwriting (he had been leaving random notes and scribbling his signature wherever he could during his visits, so you were relatively familiar with it now), 

A B C D E F G I wanna send my code to you Eight letters is all it takes And I’m gonna let you know

Lyrics. You flip over the paper and stare in a daze at the phone number scribbled there. Further down the page, there’s more lyrics, but from a different song.

Together, I feel time has flown so fast In my time, memories are crowded I didn’t know the sky was so clear like this until I met you I thought the sun was only scorching Thank you for coming to me And becoming the same shadow as mine before approaching the light

“Chris you cheesy ass,” you laugh, heartbeat thumping loudly in your chest. 

You can STAY.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you almost forget about the second piece of paper. It’s a receipt. And on the bottom, are more words written in his handwriting.

The loan for Café Studio has been paid off, and the rent on your apartment. It’s all yours now. You can thank me when I come back.

Your eyes widen, and a small gasp leaves your lips. You fumble for your phone and add his number to your contacts. Then sparing no second, type out a message.

-

(A/N: When dialogue is in script format, it's meant to represent text messages)

You: “No you did not”

In the few seconds that you stare at your message, that you sent to Chris, disbelief written across your features, your phone buzzes with a response.

Chris: “Oh but I did”

You laugh, the sound gradually increasing as you throw your head back, giddy, a delicate pink tinge warming your cheeks.

“Something good happen?” James interrupts, rapping his knuckles on the counter to get your attention, “No side barista with you today? Who was he anyways, and what was with that mask?” “He’s… a good friend. Care for some tea?” “But I don’t like-” “Perfect.”

-

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe that time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

If this were the case, could you then be compared to a lonely garden gnome, fated to ponder life’s every aspect through a single perspective? Would you shrivel away from the light, choose to accept the pitiful concept of simply existing and allow your garden to wither; green to grey, flesh to bones, petals to stems? Perhaps your coping mechanism is to simply scream. Shut the doors. Close your blinds. Block your ears. Scream. Dry your eyes. Breathe…

-

Chris: “Are you awake?” You: “I am now” Chris: “Sorry go back to sleep” You: “I was kidding Christopher” You: “Of course I’m awake” Chris: “That’s not a good thing” You: “Look who’s talking” You: “Are you all good? Can’t sleep?” Chris: “Just felt like a chat”

-

They only visited him in nightmares, he discovered, which was still an improvement from before. 

-

You: “Sure” You: “Care to explain your latest Insta post?” Chris: “No haha” You: “You burnt Stayville to the ground” You: “I think that deserves an explanation”

-

Chris smiles and flops back into his pillow. It certainly was an improvement from before. His mind was working over the possibilities, the many different choices he could make from here on out. Did you have something to do with this condition? Were you the solution to it all? What was it about you, exactly, that drew him to you?

You can thank me when I come back, he had written.

He thinks… he’ll be back for sure.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> PART 2 -> Masterlist

Yay! Milestone Event 1, Check!

Feedback is always appreciated, negative and positive alike. I apologise for any editing or formatting errors, I’m forever learning.

Until next read! - Kaisowoo

[blueishspace]

Last Life with divine domains

Part 5: Session 7 and 8.

Fandom:

Well, for starters the suggestions from part 3...

@shortystack75, I loved all of them especially the idea of parallels between Hades and Persephone and Scott and Pearl...though I feel knowing the fandom only the Watcher/Listener connections are popular.

As for @easily-distracted-by-fandom I do agree that Bdubs causing Grian death not once but twice is...fascinating... Also, even though Jimmy wasn't red for long I love the idea of him going feral and I desperately need that fanart.

Now, for the ideas from last session:

Thank you @easily-distracted-by-fandom for the quotes "crying over burned flowers in the burning rain" "your tears fall from the sky", and yes everyone is freaking out because of Listener Martyn.

Exciting news, we have someone new to suggest stuff! @imnotthepersonyouseek! I love the idea of a Tango "look what u made me do" animatic, it sounds like something the fandom would come up with... I love even more the idea of a Magical Mountain found family. Especially with Jimmy starting out as an enemy, being kicked out from his team and being welcomed in by Scar...

Also, you say Justice blinds...but "Justice is blind" is like the perfect quote when it comes to the Martyn vs Grian situation.

Session 7

Pearl is chosen as the boogeyman, Grian sighs in relief at there only being one boogey.

Since Scar wasn't in this session because of being sick he doesn't get to link anyone for the session.

Martyn once again is given 3 rules to choose from: One more boogeyman is added to the session. (Two sessions in a row? That's ...unlikely) Every boogeyman must have 2 kills to be cured. Nobody is allowed to use armor. As a red all of these can help with taking out greens, I think the armor is eliminated because of it also hurting him so... Let's say he chooses two kills just because It's new.

Let's focus on the ex team BEST... while Skizz is a red and teams with the other reds Etho and Tango are split up and need allies. As they are all enemies of Magical Mountain none of them attempt an alliance with it... This leaves the shadow alliance on one side and the Scottage on the other... I feel like Etho gravitates towards The Shadow Alliance leaving Tango to go with the Scottage. I do think Tango and Cleo can understand eachother a bit as they have very similiar situations...

Lizzie as a red life definitely goes after Joel, it definitely doesn't go well for her with Joel being part of a pretty op team but she definitely tries.

At this point Pearls electricity cut offs like in our world causing another boogeyman to be needed... In our world Martyn was chosen but this can't happen since he's red so the boogeyman is *randomizer* Grian who panics as he realizes he has to get double the kills in half the time.

Mumbo and Jimmy don't die as they aren't anywhere near Grian and Grian doesn't die as he is nowhere near Martyn... BigB still dies though as he's still hunted down by Lizzie... And then opens Pearl's chest trap and explodes going straight to red.

Skizz doesn't die...yet... as he isn't working with Impulse to get a kill and he's probably with Lizzie and the other reds.

As for Grian's boogie kills... Well, he definitely goes after Jimmy and Mumbo considering not only is Magic Mountain his biggest enemy but because of both of them choosing Magic Mountain over him in some way... ....As for the wither he still spawns it as it was his objective since the start but BEST is no more and so he doesn't do it near their base... He probably does it near Magical Mountain as again they are his biggest enemies and he does it probably soon after getting his kills because of the timing of the session so...

A red life Jimmy with almost nothing on him would find himself face to face with a wither and Secret Life shows us what Jimmy does in that scenario... Die.

Jimmy is, despite everything, the first player out of Last Life. Considering he also died in Third Life...the canary curse is born... 2 of his lives were taken by Grian in some way.

Etho makes a similiar deal with Bdubs, offering a life for a death so Lizzie still dies and Bdubs is killed by the other reds for his betrayal.

The session ends with a lot less deaths then canon.

Lives

Scar and Joel have 4 lives.

Etho, Mumbo, Ren, Pearl and Scott have 3 lives.

Cleo, Tango, Impulse and Grian have 2 lives.

BigB, Skizz and Martyn have 1 life.

Jimmy, Lizzie and Bdubs are out.

Session 8

Scott becomes the boogey at the start of the session...since he's a green life he actually does something about it or at least plans on it.

Scar already had it out for the southlanders but now Grian went and killed Mumbo and permakilled Jimmy... Grian is getting linked to Impulse.

Martyn gets 3 rules to chose from (just to clear things up... Yes, being red life gives Martyn more chaotic rules to add, I use a different wheel): Nobody is allowed to use names for the whole session, All (current) yellow lives become boogeymen and All red lives must kill another red life... As a red life the second one is a fun one because it adds four Boogeymen to the mix.

Grian got confused when an extra boogeyman popped up, then he was disconcerted when as a Boogeyman he was told to get two kills... And, now suddenly he becomes a boogeyman out of nowere?!? Funny thing Martyn has no idea Grian doesn't understand what's going on anymore because of him.

A while later Etho runs into a creeper and goes boom... If Pearl still tries to use Scar's enchanter then she is also killed by either him or the skeleton.

Grian still gets Ren, just for another reason: The boogeyman curse... Meanwhile Tango doesn't explode himself as he's not in the snow castle anymore... Joel also doesn't get Pearl this time.

Cleo still kills BigB but Ren doesn't get to kill Scar...

As for Scott, well, Joel and Scar are the perfect target if we consider they have 4 lives and Scar did kill him a while ago so It's only fair.

Tango... well, he can get Etho or Ren at this point in time and Etho betrayed him as much as Bdubs did choosing Bdubs' side so... Etho goes red.

As for Impulse he could go after either Magical Mountain or Scottage... I think Magical Mountain is the better option at this point in time, maybe Mumbo of Scar? Maybe Scar can offer the bonus life for not getting killed? After all he likely still has it... Now Martyn and Skizz are both very anti-Scar by now so I think Scar still ends up dying during the session. As for Impulses boogey kill is likely Scott.

Lives

Scar, Joel, Mumbo, Ren and Impulse have 3 lives.

Scott, Pearl, Grian and Tango have 2 lives.

Skizz, Etho and Martyn have 1 life.

Jimmy, Lizzie, Bdubs and BigB are out.

Fandom

You know the drill people, I know I'm going to love what you guys are going to say.

Previous part

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First part

[greenrazberrysoda]

I Will Go To You Like The First Snow

pairing : annabeth chase x percy jackson

word count : 765

tags : angst, dead percy jackson, grief/mourning, no dialogue, post-tartarus, post-house of hades annabeth chase-centric

!! notice !! : this fic was written on november 1st, 2023; it was originally posted on what's now my main but i have no idea if you can transfer posts from a primary to an alt,,,, sooo,,,,

cross posted from ao3

Before she had him, she didn’t realize the world she was in was this bright. Now he was gone.  

She stared out the window, cheek resting against the icy glass, her breath turning to fog and clouding the transparency of the pane. It had been such a long time—years—since she stayed at Camp Half-Blood year-round. With her being the only occupant of Cabin #6, and with the absence of Percy, everything was so, so quiet. Deafeningly quiet.  

She studied shrubs that patterned the forest outside of the Athena cabin. The pretty flowers had withered, though she knew that they would soon flourish beneath the gentle touch of the spring’s sun, blooming once more. The season of him would never come again.  

Annabeth recalled everybody’s pitiful gaze, unwilling to look her in the eye as if she were an active grenade, ready to explode and wreak havoc at any given moment. She remembered the way Grover clung to her like she was going to disappear next, the way he sobbed into her shoulder and left stains of his tears on her sleeve. She missed being able to cry into Percy’s shirt like that.  

She remembered the way Piper had pulled her into the tightest, most loving hug and told her that she was there for her. Annabeth remembered how warm she felt. It warmed every part of her but her hollowed chest. She appreciated the gesture when Piper told her that she knew how loving Percy was, but she didn’t know. Not like Annabeth did, never like Annabeth did.  

She remembered the way Thalia kissed her cheek and told her how strong she was. Annabeth didn’t want to feel strong, though. She wanted to come home after a long, exhausting day and be able to fall limp into Percy’s arms like a ragdoll, melting into his touch knowing that he would never take advantage of her vulnerability. Thalia embraced her tightly and called her strong. Annabeth wasn’t strong. She was a husk of the woman she once was.  

She remembered the way she saw Nico cry for the first time. It was like watching him slowly regress back into his 10-year-old self, sobbing into the sleeve of his sweater, saying it was his own fault. She held his hands and told him it would be okay, but she knew it wouldn’t and he knew it wouldn’t. Later that day, she watched Will cradle Nico in his arms gingerly. Annabeth bitterly wondered if they would be able to get the happy ending that she was promised.  

Promise.  

Annabeth remembered when she was dangling at the mouth of Tartarus, darkness dragging her down into the hollow. The way she clung onto his hand, trembling and weak, but clinging. “We’re staying together,” he said, with such sincerity that she wondered if he had ascended from Elysium, pure love wrapped in blue ribbon for her. “You’re not getting away from me. Never again.”  

Percy promised her. He swore to her. And it had been shattered into trillions of pieces, enamorment reduced to nothingness. Utter, complete, nothingness.  

Annabeth remembered all the anger she felt towards Percy. Every dumb, life-risking stunt he pulled in favor of saving her life, every time a girl tried to flirt with him, every little thing that irked her. She took all the better moments for granted, never savoring how lucky she was, how perfect her situation was before it was torn from her hands no matter how hard she tried to hold on.  

Before she let go of him, she didn’t realize that the world she was in was this lonely.  

The snow descended from the sky still. Annabeth fluttered her eyes shut and tried to envision where she would go once she would die. All she saw behind shut eyelids was him. The tousled sable hair, the sun-kissed freckles that flit across his blushed cheeks, the tanned skin patterned with scars that silently spoke of his strength and devotion, the hypnotizing smile with those dimples that poked into the sides of his face, the sparkling sea-green eyes that spoke of a million years' worth of love. Annabeth wondered when she would be able to cup his cheeks in her hands like she did before and brush the hair out of his face and admire how much she absolutely adored him, when she would be able to wrap her arms around his warm body and feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating against her chest.  

Some day, they’ll meet again.  

And she will go to him like the first snow.  

She will go to him.  

a/n : hope you enjoyed ^_^ i love ailee's music sm and her voice always makes me tear up </33 im gonna be real honest i wrote this for a hot minute thinking i was cooking and then i put it through a word counter and was like ಠ_ಠ... but im still proud of it and i hope u like reading this as much as i liked writing it !!! :P

[weirdozjunkary]

Golden heart (a SATBK AU fic) chapter 1

ive been rewatching playthroughs of SATBK and it made me kind of inspired to make a wholesome, but also kind of bittersweet au. Sonic is written so well in the game, but I wonder what would happen if sonic lived in that world and meeting merlina was a coincidence. What would happen in the aftermath of the story? And what if a different blue hero somehow made his way in?

Idk if ill continue this fic, but it was fun to do. Enjoy

Chapter 2

Chapter 1(?)- blue blood of a hero

It was morning, early in the morning. The golden light of the sun shone upon the cold castle, it’s rays bouncing off of every reflective surface. It was quiet, as it was the norm. After merlina’s defeat, things have usually been quiet. Though she had accepted that things would eventually wither and die, Merlina left in search for a new life, not tainted by any shadow. Any sound in the castle now was of rattling drapes near a gusty window, or footsteps from someone who was awake doing their duties.

A book feel from the library shelf, from the echo of the room it’s thud increased tenfold, alerting to whomever was nearby. The book jostled, jerked and writhed. It opened itself and not a moment later, exploded out a portal of bright light, outshining the suns golden rays. Through the light of the book came… screaming? A famous blue hedgehog rocketed out of the book and into the air, his face collided with the cold wooden floor, it took him out for a moment. The bright portal that released him had dissolved away, leaving no evidence of how he got here.

Sonic sat up on his hands and knees and groaned, his face hurt from the harsh fall, but it wasn’t the hardest he’s been hit. He rubbed his sore nose and cheeks, making sure his face wasn't broken or bleeding. Good, it wasn't. A figure with a slightly  familiar voice came up to him. 

He extended his hand to the blue hedgehog. “Um, are you alright?”

Sonic took the figures hand and stood up. “Heh, yeah. Not the worst that’s happened to…” he looked at the figures hand. A metal gauntlet was in its place, it was cold and sleek, decorated with gold trimmings, but somehow it didn’t feel unfriendly. 

“… Are you just gonna stand there and stare at my hand or what?” The figure said.

Sonic finally looked up at the figure. It was… him? Or we’ll, a version of him? He certainly looked like him, but a few years older. He was taller, about as tall as vanilla was. His quills were unkempt and greying. Bags accompanied his tired eyes, and a few scars adorned his body. A crown laid gently on his head. He also had a cape which was cool as hell.

Sonic’s eyes widened at him, it was him. A version of him, but still. And he looked so badass with those scars and that cool cape. Perhaps he starred a bit to long though as his older duplicate spoke again.

“…. I think you can let go of my hand now, buddy…”

“Ah! Sorry!” Sonic said as he released his grip from the other hedgehogs metal hand. “You just look really cool!”

His other self chuckled “didn’t expect to see another version of yourself, ey?”

“Wait you know that I’m a version of you?”

“Well it’s not every day you see your younger self in front of you, now is it?”

“Fair point” Sonic chuckled “you look great though! Like you’ve been in so many adrenaline making adventures!” Sonic replayed a few of his action poses to his other self, who weakly chuckled in response.

“Man, was I really like this as a kid?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m glad you think I’m ‘cool’.” His older self smiled at him.

Sonic grinned in response. Though it was kind of weird, it was definitely cool to see himself from the future- well, A future. He didn’t exactly know where he was.

“So, uh, I’m guessing from the crown you’re some kind of ruler, huh?” Sonic smirked “Didn’t take myself to be the kind of guy when I was older. What? You married some kind of princess chipmunk or something?”

The older hedgehog laughed “no, nothing of the sort. I’m not really into the dating pool like that.”

Sonic raised a brow “really? So why are you standing there with a dope ass crown and cape?”

“Well, I sort of pulled a sword out of a stone and defeated an evil king. Honestly the sword is the more important thing out of that”

“ ‘pulled a sword out of a stone’?” Sonic repeated like a question. What did he mean by that? Okay, yeah he defeated an evil king, but that doesn’t usually mean you were allowed to be crowned a ruler. Plus he said that ‘pulling a sword out of a stone’ was the more important part…. Wait… 

“YOU'RE KING ARTHUR?!” Sonic exclaimed

His older self laughed at his bewilderment, a loud and guttural laugh, one that sonic himself honestly rarely ever really used. For his older self, it was amusing to see himself be so surprised by who he has become. Once a hero as free as the wind, now a king interested in taking it easy from his many years of adventures. He was King Arthur… that name never really sat well with him.

“Yep. Surprising, I know.” 

“To be honest, not really?”

The older hedgehog gave a doubletake “Wait what?”

“I mean, I know I’m awesome as heck!” Sonic stood proudly “so I’m not to surprised that I’d become king! I AM surprised that you seem to be, well, retired from the hero biz”

The king glanced away from him. He was retired, so to speak. He hasn’t had an adventure in a long time, other than the usual stoping of a runaway wagon, he hasn’t slain a dragon or stopped another evil king. Not that he’d want to do that stuff again. His drive for adventure was still there, but sealed away by a layer of taint from the years before.

But he can’t lament over it. He sighed and turned back to the short blue hero. “If you’re anything like myself, you probably have an appetite by now, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess I could eat” sonic responded 

The king walked past him, waving him over to the door. “Then come on. Maybe I can get you something that would suit your taste.”

“Got any chillidogs?” Sonic bounced over.

“What’s a chillidog?” 

Sonic blinked in surprise. “Uh… I’ll tell you later”

The royal blue hedgehog raised a brow, but decided to leave the blue hedgehogs comment. The kitchen wasn’t far from the library so it wasn’t really worth smalltalk, he wasn’t the one for smalltalk anyways. The main hall they had to traverse through felt large and hollow, despite being decorated with various tapestries and suits of armor that held the most delicate and pretty weaponry. 

Sonic looked at the armory that adorned the halls, more amazed by each one. He turned to his older self to express his admiration, but the hedgehog seemed agitated by the presence of the suits of armor. His brow furrowed as he looked straight to the end of the hall, not even glancing at the shiny sheets of metal that would catch anyone's eyes.

Sonic shut his lips, preventing any unwanted words to come out. This other older version of himself wasn’t much of a talker, huh? It was strange, he was always up to talking, why wasn’t he? The silence in Sonic's ears was deafening. He could barely hear his steps on the carpeted wood. It was, honestly, sort of awkward, to not chit chat or give small proads at someone. 

But Sonic always respected boundaries. Even if someone never explicitly said anything to him, he could tell when someone was uncomfortable. He continued to walk with his other self in silence.

To ease his mind, he continued to look around, soaking in all of the pretty decorations along with the stone walls and the wooden doors and pillars that kept this castle standing. The wood, though looked worn for wear, never was rotting, like it was being taken care of by, um, whatever they use in this timeline. 

Sonic’s eyes drifted, and he slowly came to a stop in front of two large open doors. It was the throne room, empty, despite it to, being as decorated as the hall connected to it. The throne had a cold look to it, like it hadn’t been sat upon in years. And If any had, it came with a bitter feeling. 

Sonic tilted his head up above the cold throne to a beautiful case for a blade rested atop it, empty. A sword belonged up there, but there wasn’t one.

“I thought you were hungry?” The king hedgehog said with aggression in his throat

“Oh! Uh, sorry! I’m coming!” Sonic quickly paced his way to him. “You just have, uh, a lot of cool things in here.”

His other self grunted, or maybe scoffed in response. Continuing the silence all the way to the kitchen. Sonic glanced up at himself. His face so tired and cold, like he had been fighting an eternal battle for years of his life.

“… I’ll talk to him later” sonic thought to himself. “After all, I just got here” the corners of his mouth rose slightly as he looked in front of himself. “Plus, I really want something to eat right now”

[gladumfdoodles]

wrote a quick warmup based off of Grian and Scar's secret life episode 6 :]

word count: 495

characters: Scar, Grian, Pearl, and Etho

It's chasing him. It's chasing him and it's screaming at him and he is barely dodging its attacks.

Scar leapt over a crater in the ground, not daring to slow down as he ran his third circuit around the secret keeper, heart pounding, breath coming in short bursts. He couldn't stop. He couldn't stop, because it would catch him and he would die.

The wither let out another ear piercing shriek, launching another volley of missiles around him. He ducked around three of them, then skidded around a fence post, heading back around the mounders base.

“Help!!” He shouted, running past Mumbo and Pearl's tower. “It won't stop chasing me!!”

“You’re on your own, Scar!” Pearl hollered back, dragging one of her wolves by the collar into her home.

Scar hurled himself over the small pond, just missing the bank, landing with a splash. He hauled himself out as quickly as he could, racing for the gate and throwing it open.

He sprinted back towards the secret keeper statue, stumbling over the divots in the landscape, nearly falling over one of them as he did so.

“Etho! I'm back, got any ideas?” He yelped as he saw the other man come into view. He had something to do with this, right? He could help.

“The warden is down there, if you can lead it to him!” Etho called back, running in front of him.

As he did so, Scar's communicator exploded with messages, and he managed to pull it out long enough to see that it was Grian, repeating the same thing over and over again.

[Grian]: scar ill log you out

“What does that mean?” He panted, dropping his communicator back in his pocket. “Grian?”

“Follow me, follow me, right here.” Etho pulled him over to Joel's MLG tower, up against the wall. “We'll log out here!”

“What is–” Scar started, but he was unable to finish as the world disappeared from around him. The breath in his lungs was sucked out, leaving him gaping for air that didn't exist. He felt like he had fallen into the void, except that even the void had some detail, some amount of life. This was nothing. He was nothing. It was tearing at his arms, his legs, his face, threatening to consume him, and then–

Purple threads wrapped around his wrists and ankles, pulling taut and dragging him up through the nothingness. The world rushed back in a burst of color and light, and he looked up to see Grian standing in front of him, glowing purple strings twisted around his fingers. Eyes floated around his head, seemingly made of the same material. As he watched, the eyes closed and the threads vanished, leaving them both breathing heavily, the sound of a wither screaming in the background.

“What was that?” Scar whispered, eyes wide.

“Logging out.” Grian patted him on the shoulder, and Scar could feel his hand shaking. “Come on, let's go kill this wither.”

--

listen this is pretty canon divergent but I thought it would be super cool if logging out isn't a normal thing that people do, they just live on the server until the game ends, but grian has the power to boot someone off the server for a short time and bring them back

[whataboutsimple]

Details, details, details.

Some details about my AU, but it doesn't have a name yet! Yep, it's strongly connected to "Complex MC:SM" and using the concepts I've been posting there.

Enjoy reading it and leave a comment, if you wish!

——

It's a twin Jesse AU, where Male green suspenders Jesse is called Jason and female red clip Jesse called Jessica.

It's contains a lot of shipping and "found family" thingies. Basically every characters we've met in the game is now somehow a part of one, big, crazy family.

There are two main characters: Gabriel, who's gonna interact mostly with older people, and Jason, who's gonna interact mostly with younger people.

Main focus of the story is Command Block. To be exact: Command Blocks, defeating the Wither Storm is not the end of Command Blocks arc.

Some people gonna be less evil, more charisma-smart, examples: Hadrian, Mevia, Romeo, Aiden.

Each character of the game will participate A LOT, no one's gonna be forgotten.

Such people, like: Magnus/Ellegaard, Fred, Vos going to be alive or brought back to life.

Admins are not the Gods, there is someone, who created them. Since the idea of keeping power in Command Blocks didn't work out, Mr. Complex, aka the god, decided to give a bunch of people god-like powers and see, what's gonna happen. Do I need to say it didn't work out either? Mr. Complex, you're doing horrible job here.

Alex and Steve gonna participate in story, as Keepers Of two Command Blocks.

Notch and Hero aka Herobrine will be mentioned as close to Mr. Complex.

There are not one, but many "villians", who are gonna try and destroy our main characters.

Besides Portal Network, there are other whole universes, each represents different Command Block (Jason's universe represents Beige Command Block.), so our characters going to travel there.

The "Mainland", aka everything that is inside Far Lands is NOT the only land there. Funny thing: there are hella lots of others islands, each represents different version of Minecraft. Our Mainland is the version, where Far Lands still existed, but there will be a way out, so they can finally interact with other lands and discover new features.

Lots of references to popular YouTubers, such as Mumbo Jumbo being most known engineer between lands or Technoblade being most dangerous human. They won't participate in the story, but will be mentioned.

Characters gonna have lots and lots of therapy. A LOT of therapy.

Besides Command Blocks arc there will be an End arc. EnderMen and EnderDragon are not the only ones who lives in the End Dimension..

Lots of new races and different features from different mods.

Not gonna lie, someone probably will die without being brought back.

Guess that's all I can say for now! Please, if someone is interested in this thing, comment and my heart gonna explode with appreciation🙏

[bleachbleachbleach]

[Bleach 080]

I'll be honest, I forgot that the walls were made out of a special stone. I always get distracted by the part where the walls live in the sky and only slam down to ground-level sometimes. Though... post-ryoka invasion, do they ever go back up? I feel like they're down in all the bird's eye shots we get, but what do I know. They're down in all the diagrams various shinigami use to describe the Seireitei, but maybe that's more indicative of a shinigami worldview than the literal fact of the walls normally existing on the ground. I'm sure the Ruth Wilson Gilmore of the Seireitei is thrilled about every part of that sentence!

4 Questions I have:

1. Who mines the sekki-seki?

Similar to I guess... all mining... it seems like it would be deleterious to your health to be around sekki-seki, if you had any spiritual energy to speak of, given that touching it (bare-handed) would wither you and it also emits deleterious waves. When Kuukaku talks about "spiritual energy" she uses the term reiryoku. If reiatsu is the outward, exerted spiritual pressure, reiryoku is, like, the in you version--the you version, which makes it seem to me like it's not just, oh I can't attack this thing. I feel like the wall should have a Surgeon General warning sticker on it.

Option 1: Rukongai souls mine the sekki-seki. Imagine showing up in the afterlife and not even getting to die of boredom in some crappy village. You have to go TO THE MINES.

Option 2: Maggot's Nest folks mine the sekki-seki. If they get weird and warped due to exposure (despite their protective gear, which I assume the Seireitei surely invested R&D into at some point), or explode, well... Did it really happen if no one saw it? Maybe sekki-seki exposure gives you cute horns.

2. Where is the mine?

Certainly, wherever they mine this stuff would have to be an incredibly controlled area, given that in the right hands (the wrong hands?) it would be a potent weapon. Luckily not one either Quincy or Hollows would be able to use easily, but 1) if you don't mind also dying I'm sure it would become very usable, and 2) I'm sure there's other beings out there.

I assume this stuff is also used in the Aizen Prison, and perhaps the Aizen Prison is just part of the mine, which would make it nice and easy, logistically.

3. Is there...radiation protection?

So... the walls... emit reiryoku-dissolving waves... That descend into the ground and dome over the city. Is there a reason the waves don't also just radiate through the middle of the whole city? I assume there's probably some additional spellwork that bounces those waves in some other pattern, or I perhaps some fancy doodad that lives in the middle of the Seireitei and emanates different, cancelling waves that extend exactly to the limits of the walls. But this all seems very tenuous and quite dangerous.

If you live near the places where this wall comes down, is there risk of residual sekki-seki radiation?

Is there an Erin Brockovich of the Seireitei?

How robust are these mirrors or anti-waves or whatever they're using to keep the center sfw? Like we're sure this works, and a natural disaster or a thousand-year blood war or something wouldn't compromise this?

Is the thousand-year blood war actually reiryoku leukemia =_=

Or does sekki-seki have...poles? Does only one side of the rock have wave emitting properties, and you just have to point that side outward? But then the dome thing would be hard, I guess... Actually, I guess if it's a dome over the city, the central point from which these waves are radiating is not the middle of each slab of rock. So the rocks, arranged in a ring around the city, are "speaking" to each other somehow via these waves, and the path of least resistance is in a dome shape over and under the city. I feel like I could buy that; like, cryptogeologically, why not?

Do I trust that enough to want to LIVE there lol, is a different question.

Boy, this just all seems wildly dangerous!!! Surely I can't be alone in this? And it amazes me daily that the Seireitei hasn't wiped itself off the face of the afterlife. But I also feel like this tracks, and is very true to life, and I wonder this about the human species all the time, too.

Last question:

4. How much does it cost to take a tour of the mine

[bestworstcase]

thinking about summer’s epitaph again. thus kindly i scatter—it’s like

summer rose was the perfect huntress. supermom. special, qrow tells ruby. the best of us. in the poem, the speaker finds the last rose of summer still in bloom, still alive, and because it’s the only one left, plucks it—kills it—and scatters the petals. thus kindly i scatter/thy leaves o’er the bed/where thy mates of the garden/lie scentless and dead.

odd thing to put on a gravestone, isn’t it? if summer rose were really dead, i’d take it as an insinuation that raven mercy-killed her, but… summer rose is clearly not dead, and ‘the rose of summer’ means ‘summer’s rose,’ i.e. there’s a stealth pun logic for interpreting ruby as the rose, and:

i didn’t have a choice, i did what i had to do i made a sacrifice, but forced a bigger sacrifice on you i know you’ve lived a nightmare i’ve caused you so much pain but baby, please don’t do what i did i don’t want you to waste your life in vain

the speaker plucks the rose to symbolize his own despair: soon may i follow/when friendships decay/and from love’s shining circle/the gems drop away/when true hearts lie withered/and fondness is flown/oh! who would inhabit/this bleak world alone?

summer rose is a mirror—ruby’s literal reflection, in the ever after—and her allusion to this poem is reversed accordingly. she leaves her rose (ruby) behind in the circumstance described in the poem’s final stanza: friendships decay (team strq fallen apart), true hearts lie withered and fondness is flown (raven), and ruby has to inhabit this bleak world alone. i made a sacrifice but forced a bigger sacrifice on you; summer left her family behind to do what she feels is right, and condemned her daughter to grow up in the shadow of her mother’s pedestal.

yet the empathy and identification with her rose is still present and expressed through this plea for ruby not to do what summer did: i don’t want you to waste your life in vain. by being ozma’s ‘smaller soul.’

but there’s also an element here of the epitaph saying something about the ones who chose it—taiyang and qrow, presumably—and their perception of summer and what her presumed death is doing thematically. in their eyes she is the rose; she left and never came back and they at some point chose to believe that she died. symbolically, they ‘kill’ summer rose—they make her into a dead hero—and so, thus kindly i scatter.

rwby is played with the “die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain” trope in V9 with both ruby and jaune—ruby when jaune explodes at her in a manner reminiscent of his obviously biased recollection of alyx, jaune in the literal sense that he becomes a tyrant—and i think that theme is going to come to fruition in a big way with summer. because…

remember how qrow reacted when he found out raven was ‘with’ salem? his kneejerk reaction was to disown her. he lionized summer—they all did—gave her a noble hero’s death, a beloved memorial, a shining posthumous pedestal. thus kindly i scatter. she’s been with salem fourteen years. she will, presumably, have some thoughts and feelings about how she was remembered.

[dahliaontherun]

Rewrite Tag!

Thank you @thecomfywriter for the threat invite to join the game! This is so fun!

Rules: rewrite the previous person's lines in your own style, then offer your own line for your tags to write.

Here's the original line:

I swayed on my feet, struggling to stand without air. The world around me was my opponent. I did not know who to fight anymore. There were too many enemies. Too many attacks, all happening at once. I was only one man. How could I fight them all? All I wanted was to protect my people… I thought balefully. All I wanted was to protect my home and finally rest. “Just let me die…” I whimpered, collapsing onto my knees in tears. My tears themselves were poisonous, scalding my skin down to the muscle. Did I extinguish the flames on my arms? I could not see anymore. Black smog and Von Doro’s silhouette blackened my vision blind. Maybe I was still burning. Maybe I was on fire. Maybe I finally get to rest. “Die?!” she hooted as another blazing inferno decorated the sky in blue and red ferality. “You don’t get to die until I allow you to! HA!” Her laughter brought a sudden awareness to my body as it withered in suffering, but not death. “Your death is MY CHOICE, daara. Mine all mine!”

Credit: @thecomfywriter

~~~~

My version:

I stumbled forward, struggling to hold myself up. My legs threatened to give up at the weight of the destruction I carried on my shoulders. The very air I breathed had become my enemy, puncturing my lungs from the inside. Though I managed to keep my eyes open, they were so dry I could no longer distinguish the scorched corpses from the pools of blood beneath them, nor the silhouettes from their shadows, the living from the dead. There were still so many of them. Too many.

I let my eyes close for a fraction of a second – a brief, fleeting moment of rest – and let myself travel for the last time to a home I knew would soon be no longer, to the people I loved and had sworn to protect. In the darkness I could see them melting into oblivion.

When I opened my eyes they had taken the place of the corpses around me.

My knees fell to the ground, pulled by the growing weight on my shoulders. The living and the dead – what separated them but a moment? Those I loved would soon join those I had killed.

"Just... let me die." I whispered. I was scared by the ease with which my words came out. Tears rolled painfully down my eyes, plowing their way down my face deep into the muscle and scarring it like a branding iron. Did I extinguish the flames on my arms? I hoped they'd consume me whole. Maybe I finally get to rest.

"Die?!" Von Doro exclaimed as the sky behind her exploded in new hues of red and blue. "You don't get to die until I allow you to! HA!" Her laughter pierced my body, shaking me into a state of awareness I thought was lost. "Your death is MY CHOICE, daara. MINE!"

~~~~~

I'll add an excerpt from an ongoing work below, and I'll tag @jrdnmichelle. From what I've seen on your profile, I thought you might enjoy this – "this" being loosely defined as paranormal (though this excerpt in particular doesn't show it that much) and lesbian/sapphic hehe:

Her gaze had a mix of curiosity and fear to it, a look that took Luana back to when she used to roam the night for erring deer. They were so unaccustomed to humans that they did not run but, in their innocence, approached their hunters. Luana would always hand-feed them a few berries before aiming for their lungs and dragging them home. Thea couldn't be that naive, she thought. She must have known what Luana was sent for. She must have felt it in her gut. Or even then, she could have felt Luana's knife pressing against her thigh. Yet she remained still. In the thousands of times she had daydreamed about Thea's assassination, Luana had never considered what to do in the case of a complete forfeit. "Do-do you understand what's happening?" she asked in disbelief. Thea remained still for another moment. "I-I think I do." she finally answered, slowly reaching for Luana's neck. Luana prepared for the sting of strangulation, closing her eyes to give Thea the illusion of an upper hand. She felt her hands wrap around the top of her neck, her thumbs brushing against her jaw. She controlled her excitement as she heard Thea's breath grow louder, a preparation for the struggle to come. Then she felt Thea's lips against hers.

This was super fun!! :) Thanks!

[becauseplot]

A little ficlet I wrote! Spoilers up through Ordem Paranormal: Calamidade Episode 2. Ao3 link provided on the title for those who wish to read it there.

Lingering

AU where the Ordo crew arrives right after the end of the final fight in Episode 2. Self-indulgent as all hell. I've only watched up to a few hours into Episode 3 so I don't technically know exactly what Joui's deal is yet, so I've taken an incredible amount of creative liberties working off of theories and headcanons. Enjoy! <3

Joui stands there, sword in hand, staring down at Hanna’s dismembered body. She’s dead. Her face is frozen in an expression of slack agony, eyes wide and mouth opened in a soundless scream. Her blood still spills out of her in a growing puddle and runs beneath his feet. He stands there, and he stares, and he pants, and slowly that fire starts to die in him, replaced by that horrible, horrible emptiness creeping in. 

Joui flexes his grip on his sword, jaw tight. When he is not angry, he is not anything. Everything becomes disconnected, alien. He doesn’t like it. He feels his own dread reach his awareness like a conversation in another room would. 

That’s when he hears them—voices at the front steps of the mansion. The doors are still wide open, and he hears a woman’s voice cry out; running, then several sets of feet chasing after. More voices. Two he recognizes. One he knows. 

He can’t. Just as a (painfully, so painfully) familiar silhouette crests the stop of the mansion’s front steps, flanked by others, Joui lets the shadows take him. He sinks into the floor (nowhere and everywhere and nothing; welcome home) and emerges in the sitting room, back against the wall by the open door, listening. 

Despair from the woman. A deep voice and a clipped one. Dante and Arthur too. They offer comfort and condolences to the woman. They talk about the bodies, Escripta and Leone alike. They discuss the damage done, the limbs scattered, the chests exploded, the twisted expressions of fear frozen on some of their faces. Confusion. What happened here?

Joui adjusts the grip of his sword in his hand again. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. His body feels hollowed out. But Arthur’s voice is there and it’s…it’s…

Something stirs in him. Blooms, then withers, then persists and curdles and struggles for life. It hurts. Clearly, he is not made to feel something like this. No longer made to feel something like this. Going against nature. For the first time since Joui emerged from the Void, reformed, his hands tremble with something other than fury.

Joui steps out from behind the wall. He stands in the doorway. Their backs are to him, gathered around one of the many bodies. Joui raises a hand to the mask resting on the side of his face. He starts to pull it forward. He moves it back. He drops his hand. Then, Joui lifts his sword, and he finally slides it into his scabbard. 

The grind of the metal makes all five of them jump and whirl around, hands going to weapons.

And Arthur looks right at him. Eyes wide. His hair has changed. He looks older. No. He looks weathered.

Arthur squints. 

“...Joui?”

Joui breathes in.

“Hey, man.”

Several expressions flick over Arthur’s face. Then, in a blink, he has crossed the room and thrown his arms around Joui. He’s crying already.

Joui, frozen, arms hovering and confused, realizes he is crying too.

[themiserymarquis]

spent a while typing out short summaries for all of my HSR characters so far. Here you guys go. There are 12 characters here.

Chisako - Masked Fools

Ran away from family pressure and competition that resulted in a human-blood steamed buns eating mentality and joined the Masked Fools to try to drown her anguish in indulgence and revelry. She's not a very good Masked Fool yet, because she's not one who's able to plan out a big grand scheme to cause chaos.

Blue Lace - IPC

A distinguished figure in the Talent Motivation Department, goes on lots of work trips to recruit new talent to the IPC by offering irresistible contracts to the people she scouts out. Her favorite job perk is to poach workers on other planets by providing them much better lives and benefits. The people who work for her are only her definition of beauty and she's seen as shallow because of it.

Sardonyx - IPC

Sardonyx is in the Traditional Project Department, largely taking care of multiple smaller business projects, runs his own business in regards to clubs, and largely deals with info brokering. He’s got his claws sunk deep into anything and everything that’s worth knowing, and passes along “interesting” information over to his twin sister.

Valentine - IPC

A refugee from a planet that had a revolution. They, along with their brother, were purchased as people who would grow up to be excellent duelists who would be the ones fighting for the fragile honor of the nobles they worked for. Valentine underwent harsher treatment and treated much more as a spectacle since they were much more petite, and thus garnered higher prestige and larger betting pools whenever they succeeded with higher and higher stakes. They are Blue Lace's secretary.

Kaelen - IPC

Valentine’s older brother. I haven't quite thought of what he's doing in the IPC yet, though he still has a deep passion for the arts. He feels guilty that he hasn't been able to shield his sibling from the worst of what they experienced together, fighting as fancily-dressed slaves to duel for the most foolish of dishonors.

Riido - Galaxy Ranger

Victim of an experiment that makes him draw his lifeline from a being that would like to disappear and die without a trace, an Emanator of Nihility. It's terrible on his mental health, and he's become deluded to the fact that he's still self destructing by killing the people close to him instead of himself, and not "winning." A previously renowned sharpshooter before this incident, he's now only able to load bullets that are touched by the power to burn its targets away without a trace.

Galahad - Knight of Beauty

A Knight of Beauty who worships the Aeon Ildrila, and is incredibly infatuated by Blue Lace-- he genuinely believes that Blue Lace, with her beliefs of beauty, is as close to an incarnation of his Aeon as he can get to, and is fiercely obsessive. If you know Blue Lace's personality, however, she gives affection to him in turn... but it's largely exploitation.

Yingshyuan - Xianzhou, Yaoqing (Vidyadhara)

They have both horns, a tail, cloven feet, patches of scales, and still have memories of their past life. They are unable to understand emotions at the same time as someone that experiences them. They delight in learning more about the world around them, and take most things said to them at face value. The destructive path of their curiosity is led first by wanting to know the evil, malice, and hatred in the world before they can comprehend happiness, gratitude, and love in others.

Rays - Xianzhou, Luofu, Mara-stricken Mutation

Everything that came before living inside the greenhouse has become a muddled blur. Her condition triggers whenever she feels danger, which manifests as tree roots bursting from the scars on her body and growing pulsing white pustules that explode on contact and leech life from any organic material it touches. After sufficiently draining something, the roots fall off and wither away, and sweet sap flows from her scars which has the vitality to save someone from the brink of death or greatly enhance their combat abilities. She currently is satisfied with her imprisonment in the Shacking Prison.

Jyeong-hyo - Xianzhou, Zhuming

As someone who is an Emanator of Finality, she is dedicated to living out her life until it's natural end and to watch and sometimes interfere with the cords of fate in order to find other's ends as well. As someone who was deprived of the knowledge of basic things one should know at her age, she also spends the time she gained from her second chance at life devouring books and expanding her vocabulary. In-game, her eyes constantly follow the camera, because she senses when the player is looking and is waiting for when they close the game.

Euphonos - Penacony

A Halovian who has experienced more hardship than her single mind was capable of comprehending, so she split and compartmentalized different parts of herself and manifested the ability to use words of control to protect herself from people who wouldn't take no for an answer. This ability of hers is not-all powerful, and then she was thrust into one situation after another where she was compelled to use her words for someone else's "greater good" and take away people's free thoughts, and eventually her own mental barriers degraded and became unstable.

Aida - (unspecified)

It's been afflicted with a deadly disease that has been miraculously cured from the worst of it by a kind of space parasite, whose only wish is to continue propagating throughout the universe. Because of the parasite's interference, she wholly believes that she is working towards a cure of a manufactured undeath to give short-lived races more time and less suffering. Believes they’re following the path of Abundance, but is moreso influenced by the path of Propagation.

[drchenquill]

Since you've taken the liberty to ask me about my title, I have to admit, I've been curious about yours too. But I've been really preoccupied with personal stuff so I got a bit late. And I have ALOT. Hope you don't mind me bombarding you.

Desire Is The Purest Of Sins

Life Can Be a Bitch

Elite

The Fairy And The Man

The Nightingale

Pas De Deux

The Secrets Of The Sea

Veangeance Is The Meal Of The Powerless

The Memories Of The Future

Foliè

I can't help it 😭 the titles were pulling me in 😭😭😭.

Oh gosh!!! Thank you so much for the interest!!! I'm overwhelmed (in a good way)!! I'm always happy to talk about my stories, so don't even worry about bombarding me!! I welcome it!

Let's begin, shall we?

Desire Is The Purest Of Sins

This story talks about a young woman named Rosie the goes through life with metaphorical blinders. Nothing can change her world view, until she lands a job as a barwoman. There she'll meet a man she first gets to know as "Gin". He is a charming man, flirtious, knows his way around the ladies, but Rosie won't let herself be swooned or brought off track, until she sees something she shouldn't have. Her "blinders" get ripped off and now she is forced to see the world in a whole new light. (spoiler: it's a fantasy story~)

Life Can Be a Bitch

This is a rather tame, non-fantasy high school romance story. Eighteen year old Hannah moves into a new city with her mother and has to attend a new school. To her surprise, she fits in quite well, making friends pretty fast. She meets Dylan, a wannabe bad boy that gets beat up on a regular basis, and they get along like a cat and a dog (not) , but they gradually get used to each other and something starts to bloom~

Elite

This is quite tricky to explain, but I'll try my best. I've come up with a race of creatures who inherited their luck bringing powers from "Lady Luck". Their task is to prevent a vitium. A vitium is what happens when a world is in such a bad streak of bad luck that it fades from existence. This usually happens when the world has to go through something that affects its history. If for some reason that doesn't happen, then the world is gone because its story hasn't been continued. Now, the main character of this story is part of the elite, the best of the best. She gets send down on earth to investigate the disappearance of some of her collegues that had previously send down to safe the world from the incoming vitium.

The Fairy And The Man

This one is about soulmates, or better, the wish of having one. Moira, the main character, is a fairy woman, locked up with other fairy women to prevent the extinction of their race. You must know, my kind of fairies, are very, very, sensitive to emotions. A fairy could literally explode from happiness or die out of fear, so they lock them up and give them a pill to surpress any kind of emotion. But Moira hates being locked up, she wants to go outside, to find out who she could be if those walls wouldn't be trapping her. She suddenly gets a roommate, sixteen year old Felicity. A young fairy that is everything that withered away inside the now twenty year old Moira. Felicity is full of exictment and joy, awaiting the arrival of someone that could sweep her off her feet. Sadly, that person does come and manages to coax young Felicity out of those protective walls, leading her into an unknown world. Moira follows without a second thought, but everything goes downhill from that point on.

The Nightingale

A young woman forced to either marry a wealthy man or to work under a wealthy woman. She chooses the latter, of course, because with that one, she will at least get paid to do the housework. Madeline Templeton starts working under a noblewoman as one of many other maids. She is eager to please (to not get kicked out) and follows all the rules. At least some of them. She is very curious and sticks her nose into things the lady of the house might want to keep hidden. One of the biggest rules is to not enter the white door that she will eagerly open anyway. In there she will find something that will change her life forever... or maybe someone?

Pas De Deux

Another non-fantasy story. Ellie is a ballett dancer with a weird sort of problem. She hates being touched. Only the people she knows her entire life long are able to touch her without getting snapped at or even hit. She can't help it, she herself doesn't understand why. Everything goes to shit when her train and dance partner ditches her. At least he has the decency to present her wih a solution: his older brother. Joshua Reed is a boxer with a nasty reputation and a shitty personality. She begrudgingly gives in to let Joshua help her with the training, which is the worst idea she could ever have.

The Secrets Of The Sea

Pirates, wohoooo!!! Maire is the daughter of a pirate captain and the sea is the only think she knows. She was born on it and will die on it. One day, her father decides to visit an old friend, explaining that he still owned him a favor. Without doubting her father one bit, she and the rest of the crew agree to this favor. As she will find out, the favor included trafficking of a creature she long thought a myth: a siren.

Veangeance Is The Meal Of The Powerless

Its' a vampire murder mysterty and it's sort of a sequel of a finished book of mine "Who's to judge?". We follow Thana, Talon, Valerio and Leroy as they get called to assist in a murder case with a vampire as primary suspect. The evidence was clear as day, they only needed to find which vampire took their anger out on the victim. But the more they dig, the more intricate the case becomes. What if the murderer is the actual victim? What if this wasn't an act of meaningless killing, but an act of veangeance? Our four vampires will need to question thei own morals and world views to get to the bottom of this.

The Memories Of The Future

Picture this, a young girl lives with her aunt and her border collie in an old town where nothing intersting ever happens. This young girl, Sophie, is as chaotic and skittish as a squirrel, and just as forgetful. She leaves notes for herself around the house to remind her of stuff she has to do, which she still forgets. But as she soon will find out, those notes and those confusing visions she has, are acutally snippets from the future, and it turns out, some people might want to kindnap her because of it.

Foliè

My newest baby. This is the first story I planned out the numbers of chapters (let's see how well that will go). It's set in a world where the air has been polluted by something the humans call "The Madness". It's a gas that slowly makes you lose the grip on reality. Once you inhale it, there's no turning back. You'll hear a womans voice, whispering to you your deepest, darkest wishes. She will not stop until you act upon it. Some scientists succeeded in building a machine that filters the air, but since it's still in its early stage, it needs a lot of maintrnance, that's where the main character comes in. They are in charge of checking every crook of the machine, which goes well until, one day, they start hearing the womans voice.

That was a wild ride! Again, thank you so so so much for asking and I hope you have a wonderful evening/day!!!