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magicshopaholic · 3 years ago

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Industry Baby (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: In an unexpected turn of events involving your economics class and a magazine article, you find out just how talented your boyfriend is.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word count: 8.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, teasing, dirty talk, making out, breast play, blowjobs, restraints, mild dominance, edging, unprotected sex

A/N: Not me reading a Reddit thread about the best rappers in the Korean music industry and coming up with a whole fic by the time I get to the end of it :')

A huge huge thank you to @jeoniius for being a stellar beta as usual, reading the whole thing, giving me tips and telling me how hot it was at the end :') Couldn't have done it without you, Tannie <3

This is also part of my submission towards the Bangtan Bingo Spring Event by @bangtanwritingbingo, using my square "oral sex".

Listen to: "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

Click, click, click.

You don’t realise you’re clicking your pen until the person in front of you turns around to frown at you. You immediately stop and mouth an apology, sinking down further in your seat as your cheeks burn and you continue counting down the minutes until you get home.

Not just home, though. To your boyfriend. There’s a warmth that flows through you at the thought. For once, when you go back to your studio apartment, you won’t need to look forward to simply receiving texts from him or maybe catching him on the phone during a common free half hour. No, if everything goes well and you’re able to get out of here at a decent hour, Namjoon will be right there, in the flesh, tall frame and dimpled smile welcoming you.

“Diversification bias!”

You almost jump out of your seat as your professor barks a term at the class, quite possibly the reaction he was hoping for. You realise that you’ve missed the last ten minutes of the lecture entirely, most unlike you. You love what you do, what you study. You like this professor: a thin, lanky gentleman with kind eyes and thinning hair who speaks with an exasperation that suggests he’s seen war - or numerous batches of post graduate students, which is pretty much the same. You even like this particular topic - Practical Case Studies on Neuromarketing and Their Uses in the Modern World - which is why as a Ph.D student who doesn’t mandatorily need to be here, you’ve still shown up to an advanced post graduate class.

You’re surprised, therefore, at how distracted you’re getting. You glance down at the notebook before you, to see one and a half pages of written notes and feel slightly better; your boyfriend’s presence here doesn’t seem to have rid you of all your focus, at least. You don’t know why it should; it’s not like it’s the first time he’s visited you here in Amsterdam. It’s the first time he’s been here in months, it’s true, and for some reason you’ve missed him more than ever while he’s been working on promotions for his new album. Soon, he and his band will be on tour and you’ll be lucky if you can get even a minute of his time in between your classes, his concerts and the multiple timezones.

“That’s correct!”

Fuck. You’ve never been this low on concentration before. You sit up straighter in your seat as the professor nods approvingly at someone a couple of rows behind you, determined to focus for the rest of the lecture. You squint at the slides he’s presenting, sighing quietly in relief when you pick up the gist of what he’s talking about. The graphs are ones you’ve worked on yourself for your research and the insights are logical enough for you to catch up.

“Why would we be talking about Herd Behaviour in this context, though, hm?” The professor prowls about the dias in front of the class, peering at the forty twenty-somethings in the room. “Why -” He turns with a flourish to the other side of the class “- would the perception of a choice affect the decision of a consumer when those around them would perceive the choice to be something else?”

Everyone looks at him blankly for a few moments as they process this before the murmurs break out and the guesses start coming in. You don’t raise your hand; were you a student of this class, you would have. As a doctoral candidate, you and the professor both know it would be unfair for you to answer, even if you’re the same age as half the class.

“Exactly,” declares the professor when a girl in the front row makes an educated guess. “Can you think of a practical example where an industry not only employs this, but thrives on perception marketing to influence a consumer’s decision?”

Film, sports, music, pharmaceuticals… You sigh, suddenly remembering why you’d zoned out. Still, you wait patiently as the answers come in slowly from different students and the professor nods in approval.

“Quite right. All correct - except that, Janssen. Sports? Think again.” He claps his hands, making everyone jump again. “Let’s talk about a popular case study here, alright? This one’s for the kids.” The slide behind him changes and your heart stops. Right there, in the middle of your classroom, eight feet tall, is an image of your boyfriend.

You hear the lazy whoops and claps from corners of the class and the professor grins at the reaction, everyone suddenly a bit more awake at a pop culture case study.

“Does anyone know who this is?” The professor asks, almost jokingly, pointing at the picture on screen.

“BTS!” Several voices crow, the classroom erupting into laughter. They’re right, of course, for while your eyes had naturally gone straight to Namjoon, you now notice his six bandmates around him, all dressed similarly in suits, posing for the camera with perfect make-up and styled hair.

“And who knows who this is?” To your horror, the professor trains his pointer straight to Namjoon so the red dot hovers somewhere between his chest and his shoulder.

The voices are fewer this time but, if possible, louder. “Rap Monster!” a couple of people call, while some go “RM!” and one girl goes “Kim Namjoon!”, the loudest of all of them.

“So you all are capable of such energy in class. Imagine that,” quips the professor as everyone laughs, and the girl goes red in the face but continues smiling, eyes trained on the picture. “Well - yes, in answer. Rap Monster, RM, what have you. Leader of BTS. Can anyone tell me why he’s the leader of this world famous band? No, not you, Karina, we’ll have to wait for you to calm down…”

Your heart is still thudding, unable to reconcile the image of Namjoon, your Namjoon, here in your Economics classroom. As the answers pop up, you find yourself surprised at how many people know him and the detail in which they do. You’re not daft; you know BTS is world famous. Just because you had no idea who they were when you met Namjoon, aside from the band’s name in a vague sort of way, doesn’t mean other people in your campus aren’t aware of them. You’ve just never been faced with it this blatantly.

From behind you, you hear a guy speak in a low voice. “Mate, who’s the bloke with the blue hair and why is he looking into my soul?”

Another male voice answers. “Dunno. The only one I recognise is Rap Monster.”

From next to you, a girl whips around to look at them. “Wait, Bill, what the hell? You listen to k-pop?”

“Nah, not really,” the second voice, Bill, answers lazily. “But I know Rap Monster, though. Aoki posted a picture with him so I checked him out. He can rap, by the way.”

“He goes by RM now.” You don’t realise you’ve spoken until the girl next to you snaps her head down to look at you, blue eyes wide. “I think,” you add hastily.

“Are you army?” she practically squeals.

“I - uh, not exactly,” you stutter, already regretting saying anything. While Namjoon doesn’t get recognised too much in Europe, compared to back in Seoul at least, you want to limit any potential connection between you and him, especially while he’s here. He’s warned you before about getting photographed together, more for your safety than anything else, and you intend to defer to his judgment here at least. “My cousin’s a huge fan. She’s Korean,” you add, nodding when the girl sighs in understanding and you thank your stars for Jae-Lin, your favourite cousin and the perfect cover for your bouts of random BTS knowledge.

Somehow, like something out of a dream, the class progresses, proceeding to break down the entire economics behind the formation and positioning of one of fastest emerging bands in the world. The professor switches the slide and this time it’s thankfully not just a huge picture of the band but a couple of graphs, pie charts, article screenshots and pictures of about fifteen different bands in a messy collage of sorts.

Some of them are k-pop - thanks to Jae-Lin, you recognise who you think is EXO and Got7, and whom you know is Blackpink. Apart from them, you recognise One Direction, NSYNC and some western girl group that looks incredibly familiar but you can’t place for the life of you. However, the picture of BTS, this time in baggy clothes and headbands as they glare into the camera, still remains bigger than the rest of the collage put together.

“Why -” The professor’s voice booms around the class even in the absence of a mic “- is the concept of a centre so important in the k-pop industry? What is the perception they’re working with, when -” He trains his pointer straight to Namjoon again “- the band was actually created around a different member altogether?”

For the first time this entire lecture, you’re paying full attention. The professor continues, with factual inputs from a few students here and there, to explain how Namjoon was the first member, former underground rapper, leader, producer and whatnot. “Where does the revenue for a label come from?” he asks dramatically. “Come on,” he prods, a bit impatiently, when no one answers for a few seconds, “how would a label make money?”

“Production.” It’s the only thing you’ve said in the class so far and you intend to keep it that way, even when the professor catches your eye and nods, looking slightly gratefully.

“That’s right!” He turns with a flourish to point the red dot at the western bands now. “Historically, usually, the labels are the producers. Why is k-pop different? Why is -” He turns towards the class this time “- BTS different? Take a wild guess as to who produces half their music!”

There’s a smattering of answers as people guess the answer to this rather leading question. Somehow - and you have no idea how - the class has turned into an RM worship session, and most surprisingly, a large number of people seem to be participating in it. You don’t speak again for the rest of the class, simply listening in awe at how much people seem to know about your boyfriend.

In the eight odd months that you’ve been dating - and the few months preceding it where you both danced around the topic for longer than required - you’ve discovered his love for modern art, his favourite artists, how he likes his eggs in the morning, which t-shirts he likes to sleep in, the fact that he greatly prefers wine to beer, that he’d read the entire Iliad in English when he was sixteen years old, that his favourite mode of foreplay is to palm you over your underwear until you’re begging for his fingers. Somehow, amidst all this information, and the fact that he’s somewhat of a legend in the k-pop industry has escaped you.

Of course, sixteen year old Jae-Lin has done everything in her power since the day you’d met him to convince you of his greatness, but given the fact that she’s also called Jimin “a real life angel” and declared Taehyung her future husband, you’ve been forced to take everything she says with a rather large pinch of salt.

You’re shaken out of your reverie when there’s a collective gasp of acknowledgement from the class, usually reserved for when a professor presents the class with a logic that’s been staring them in the face this whole time. As seems to be the theme for today, you’ve missed the explanation, but you watch as the slide switches to the conclusion of this case with - you guessed it - a full screen picture of BTS, this time at some sort of interview where all the members are sitting on high revolving chairs.

Your eyes, predictably, go straight to Namjoon, who’s sitting in the middle with a mic in his hand and a small smile on his face. It’s incredible how much you miss him in that moment, even though you know you’ll see him in a couple of hours. As the professor takes doubts from the class, your gaze lingers on the t-shirt he’s wearing, how the thin material stretches across his shoulders and around his lean biceps. You’d left fingernail marks on those last night, you remember, biting your lip.

The summer heat suddenly feels stronger, and you reach for your bottle of water to cool down whatever it is you’re feeling. It’s pride, for sure, and a lot of surprise - but a pleasant kind of surprise. But there’s also something else, something that makes you feel just the tiniest bit uneasy, only because its elusivity makes your reaction completely unpredictable. Just a few more hours, you think as you take a sip. Next to you, the girl leans over.

“Which one are you looking at?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Um… no one in particular.”

She rolls her eyes and gives you a knowing look, as though letting you know your secret is safe with her. “Let me guess. It’s Jungkook, isn’t it?”

You almost choke on your water. “Oh, God, no,” you mutter, automatically thinking back to the first time you’d ever met the kid, his shocked and reddening face, inopportune timing, and the cold showers you and Namjoon had had to take after that. Realising how that must sound, though, you immediately backtrack. “I mean, he’s - he’s sweet, but… I was looking at… at Jimin, actually. I like his jacket,” you add lamely, for the first time noting the colourful and sparkly cardigan he has on.

She seems to accept your answer as the professor dismisses the class, thanking them for their unexpected participation. As you stand up and begin gathering your things, it takes you a moment to realise that while the case study might be over, the topic of BTS certainly isn’t.

“... documentary on how Eminem rose to fame,” Bill, one of the guys behind you, says as he zips up his bag. “Dre said it, too, that the best rappers have flow, beats and wordplay. RM has all of those. At least in k-pop, he’s one of the best,” he declares.

“The rest of them are really good, too,” the girl next to you pipes up, letting her blond hair out of its ponytail. “Suga and J-Hope. Best rap line in k-pop,” she corrects Bill.

“Wait, hang on, Ana,” says the guy next to Bill, turning to his friend. “What d’you mean wordplay? You don’t even speak Korean!”

They continue bickering, the two guys and Ana trailing behind them next to you. As the class exits, a few more people join them and it doesn’t take you long to realise that it’s everyone in the class who has any kind of opinion on k-pop. It’s incredibly strange; your heart skips a beat every time you hear anyone refer to Namjoon, especially when they’re giving him a compliment, but everything after that feels like brand new information. You hover around the same group as everyone mills outside before going their separate ways. There aren’t too many post graduate students you’re familiar with apart from the ones you studied with last year, but suddenly you’re glad you chose to attend this lecture.

BTS RM Tops Spotify Charts with Mixtape in Twenty-Four Hours… You scroll through the article on your laptop an hour later, feet up on your coffee table and a glass of red wine next to you. They’ve used a recent picture of Namjoon, dyed blond hair and winning smile taking up your whole screen before the article begins. You remember when the mixtape came out; you’d been together for three months at the most, and all he’d said about it was that it was different from the stuff BTS usually put out so he wasn’t sure if fans would like it.

You knew it had done well, though; Namjoon’s relief and happiness hadn’t been a secret but it had coincided with you getting your research methodology approved and his reaction when you’d told him had been to “celebrate both wins together”. Now, you can’t quite believe he’d thought they were the same thing.

You continue going through headlines with a little trepidation. Even after Jae-Lin had revealed that the guy you’d bumped into and flirted with over a year ago was the leader of BTS, you’d been hesitant to look him up online, part of you wanting to follow your instincts and research, but another part forcing you to restrain yourself because you honestly had no idea what you’d find. Once you’d met him and gone on a couple of dates, you’d been able to form your own opinion of him - which, by all standards, was a fantastic one, and you’d no longer needed to read anything else.

The front door opens and you immediately close the browser window, looking up to see Namjoon enter. He takes off his earphones the moment he sees you and smiles easily, dimples popping. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, walking up to you and tilting his head to kiss you on the mouth. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, straightening up and taking off the baseball cap. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“It was okay,” you reply, leaning into him a bit when he puts an arm around your shoulders. “Good lecture.”

“Yeah? What was it about?” He sounds genuinely interested, just like he had on your first date when you’d told him what you do.

“Neuromarketing.” You bite your lip, not elaborating further. It’s suddenly odd to see him back here after everything you’ve seen and heard in your class today. You note how different he looks, too; every picture on the slides had him and the band looking flawless, in designer clothes and with smooth skin and perfect hair. But right now, in chinos and Chuck Taylors, with his hair slightly messy and face bare, he looks like a dream.

He’s still frowning curiously, though, so you shake your head. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs and ruffles his hair again. “I’m going to take a shower. It was a hot day,” he adds, and you nod in agreement. “We’ll watch the documentary when I’m back?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Smiling and patting your bare leg affectionately, he kisses your cheek and stands up. “Oh, by the way,” he says, moving to hang the cap on the line of hooks you have on the wall next to your TV, currently occupied by your bag and a few stoles, “I passed by the gallery today while they were setting up for tomorrow’s exhibit. It looks like it’s going to be huge.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do you think you'll be recognised? We can skip it if you want.”

“What? No,” he says immediately. “I know how hard it must have been to get these tickets - I definitely want to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent,” he confirms, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles before heading inside. He emerges fifteen minutes later, in a white t-shirt and black cotton shorts, drying his wet hair with a towel. The image makes something stir inside you and the warmth you feel coursing through you makes you wonder if the second glass of wine was a bad idea. You’d tried, while he was gone, to try and put your finger on why you were suddenly looking at him a bit differently, hoping that seeing him in the flesh might do the trick. But he seems more than ever like the same person you’ve known since June last year - except for that one thing.

“I just remembered, I have to send an email,” he mutters, going to his bag which he’d left under the row of hooks and retrieving a small, sleek laptop.

“Now?” you ask, keeping your own laptop aside and standing up before making your way over to him.

“Yeah, it needs to get to the management before they wake up in the morning, which is…” He checks his watch “... in about an hour.” He props the laptop open on your small dining table and begins typing away on the Korean keyboard, still standing.

You stop right behind him and place your hands lightly on his hip bones, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He smells of your shower gel but there’s an additional scent there, something you only get to experience when he’s around and miss like hell when he isn’t.

Namjoon lets out a content sigh and pauses typing when he feels your touch. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says softly, “but this will just take a minute, I promise.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist when he resumes typing. Your nose is at level with the top of his shoulder; you rest your forehead against it and inhale, content to just be with him, his large and comforting frame back in your life and in your apartment.

“Babe?” You tighten your arms around him slightly and wait for him to murmur in acknowledgement. “Who’s Runch Randa?”

The typing stops abruptly. “What?”

You lift your head to rest your chin against his shoulder blade so he can hear you more clearly. “Runch Randa?” you repeat.

“Where, uh, where did you hear that name?”

“In my Economics class today.”

“You heard Runch Randa in your Economics class?”

“M-hm,” you nod, mostly telling the truth. The girl sitting next to you - Anabelle, you'd discovered later - had mentioned the name to the group in a deliberate attempt to be nonchalant and looked extremely proud when no one else seemed to recognise it, before she finally explained it on her own. “Apparently, he’s a pretty big deal.”

“Kaya?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to have to explain, babe, just a little bit.”

You snicker against his shoulder. “You were a case study in my class today. Or, BTS was,” you amend.

“Seriously?” Namjoon turns around slightly. “Wow. Why?”

“It was actually a pretty good example of perception marketing,” you allow, “and it included other k-pop acts, too. But,” you add, coming back to the point, “apparently you’re, like… a really huge deal. Top of the industry and stuff?”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not true.”

“Really?”

“M-hm.”

“So BTS isn’t platinum in, like, forty countries with the highest album sales of any k-pop group ever?”

He pauses. “I mean… okay, yeah, but -”

“And you aren’t the leader of the group? And apparently the best rapper in the industry, neck and neck with Zico?”

Namjoon pauses, turning around a bit more. “Someone said I’m as good as Zico?” he asks, eyes wide. “Wait - how do you know who Zico is?”

You haven’t the faintest idea who Zico is, but it was one of the two names being thrown around while the group from your class debated on who the best rapper in the Korean industry was. But this isn’t about your k-pop knowledge - or lack thereof. “And your mixtape didn’t top Spotify charts in, like, a day?”

There’s silence for a moment before Namjoon sighs and turns around fully, and you drop your arms from around him. “Where did you hear that?”

“I read it online, like a normal person. Although a normal person would probably hear about it from her boyfriend, considering it was his album,” you tell him, unable to keep a note of annoyance out of your voice.

He leans back against the table and frowns slightly. “Are you mad?”

You sigh heavily, reaching out to tug at the bottom of his t-shirt. “No, of course not. I just… it’s a really huge deal. And even the other stuff…” You bite your lip, trying to get to the bottom of it. “You don’t talk about your work a lot,” you finish eventually.

He shrugs, eyes softening. “Yeah, because I don’t get to see you that often,” he says, pulling you closer by the waist. “Why would I want to talk about work when I do get to see you?”

“I’m not saying you need to talk about it all the time, but I want to know,” you say in a small voice. “The good stuff and the bad. I tell you everything about my work,” you point out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You tell me everything?”

“Pretty much. Minus the boring stuff.”

“You didn’t tell me you walk back home alone from campus after midnight. I found that out when I got here and saw it for myself.” You don’t miss the disapproving note in his tone, so you give him a look until he sighs again. “Look, I know you weren’t really into k-pop before we met. I don’t want to force it on you.”

“You weren’t into behavioural economics research when we met either, but I still tell you all about it.” When he doesn’t answer, you drop your gaze. “Congratulations. On the Spotify thing.” You feel yourself getting pulled closer to him and his arms encircling your waist.

“Thank you,” he mutters, pressing his lips to the side of your neck before coming back up to your lips and kissing you. You automatically kiss him back, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck as you melt into him, like you always do. His mouth opens against yours and you sigh softly, having thought about nothing but this all day.

Namjoon slides one hand slightly lower down the curve of your hip. “Sexy t-shirt,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You smile into the kiss. “It should be. It’s yours.”

He lowers his hand even further so it skims the hem of the t-shirt and lifts it up, making a low sound of approval. “Damn, I thought you were wearing shorts under this.”

“M-m, it’s too hot for shorts,” you reply, feeling the familiar warmth between your legs and nipping at his lip. “Is that a problem?”

He chuckles, low and deep. “Not at all.” He squeezes your arse and the heat increases. “It’s encouraged, in fact.”

You know if you keep going, you’re bound to forget everything you were talking about before this so you pull away regretfully and push him back slightly, ignoring his quiet groan. “Okay, no, but back to you and how you’re some kind of legend in the industry.”

Namjoon groans, an embarrassed hint of a smile on his face. “I’m not. Really. There’s seven of us who’ve made all that happen.”

“No, I know,” you say immediately, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m not trying to take anything away from them, but… okay, aren’t you the leader? The first member of the group? Had the opportunity to go solo but didn’t take it? Underground rapper with a name and a brand already?”

His smile widens and the dimple appears, even as he drops his face into his hand before looking back at you. “Okay, yes, all that is… technically true. But it sounds a lot fancier than it is.”

“Ugh, you’re so sexy when you’re being modest,” you groan teasingly, your stomach flipping when he laughs as you push him back by the chest until he’s sitting in your recliner. It’s your most expensive purchase, one you’d made after you’d finished a gruelling research job for one of the university’s faculty members, and you’d sprung for a good version, with a soft leather lining and the cup holders on either arm.

Namjoon sits back without protest, the top of his head just an inch above the back of the chair. You straddle him, finally having his full attention. His expression is somewhere between exasperated and indulgent and you have to ignore the jolt in your heart as his hands come up to rest comfortably on your hips. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on.” You aren’t sure how to put this into words and it frustrates you. You’re normally quite articulate, especially when it comes to self-awareness, but this time you just can’t identify it. You hold his gaze; despite sitting on his lap, his height ensures that you’re still at eye level with each other. “I just want to know what’s going on with my brilliant boyfriend, that’s all.”

“Your brilliant boyfriend needs to finish writing an email,” he says, matter-of-fact.

You deflate. “Fine, I can take a hint,” you mutter, moving to get off but immediately feeling yourself being pulled back.

“No, come here, I’m sorry,” he says, smiling and sounding apologetic. “I’m… I’m just not very good at taking compliments.”

“Even from me?”

“Especially from you. My brilliant Ph.D girlfriend,” he adds, pulling you even closer and kissing you on the cheek.

“I’m not a Ph.D yet,” you remind him, your cheeks warm. You shift your gaze, suddenly feeling shy. You finger a strand of his hair; it was initially a warm, golden blond but with his natural brown seeping in, it’s a dark, caramel colour, longer than it had been when you first met. “It felt nice,” you say finally, “to hear all that stuff about you. Of course, a little weird because a room full of strangers knew more about you than I did…” You lower your hand and your eyes. “But I felt proud and…” You trail off.

“And?”

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing. Just proud.”

"Thank you," he says after a moment, and his voice sounds deeper. When you simply nod and look up, he frowns slightly. "What?"

"... What?"

"Kaya." His voice is deep and soothing, like warm honey, and he looks more curious than anything else, tilting his head. "What is it?"

You straighten your face, wondering what exactly it is that he's seeing on it. "Nothing," you repeat, mostly because you don't know either. His torso, large and lean, is inches away from yours. You feel your toes curl of their own accord when you notice how his gaze continually falls and lingers on you.

Namjoon doesn't say anything else. He’s seen this look before - he just can’t place it exactly. You’re playing with the ends of your hair, falling dark and wavy down your shoulders and stopping just above your breasts. The leaf green t-shirt looks like spring against your olive skin and, without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair off your neck. As you shift slightly in his lap, he feels the elastic of your underwear against his thumb and immediately wonders if you’re wearing black - and he feels himself stir at the thought.

He can’t tell if you’ve felt it. It suddenly occurs to him where he’s seen this look and at the same moment, something seems to click in your mind. Leaning forward, you tilt your head slightly and kiss him.

He seems surprised for a fraction of a second but responds passionately, sliding his hands slowly up your back as you bring your hand to rest behind his head, fingers running through his hair. All intellectual brilliance aside, Kim Namjoon is the best goddamn kisser you’ve ever come across in your life. You open your mouth against his, sighing when you feel his tongue press sensually against yours and pull at his hair slightly, and this time you definitely feel him stir under you.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, moving down to trail kisses down your jaw and to your neck as his hands disappear under your t-shirt. His large hands envelope almost your entire torso, warm and familiar on your skin before reaching your breasts, pushing them up and squeezing them. Your soft groan makes him twitch and he feels for your nipple, moving the hem of your bra aside and running his thumb over it.

“Oh, god…” You moan even louder, rolling your hips into his. “Shit, you’re really good at everything, aren’t you?” His low snicker against your neck makes your abdomen clench, and you feel him squeeze your breasts again. “World famous music producer and everything?”

Aside from the conversation you were just having, you’ve just referred to an inside joke, possibly the oldest one you both have. His chest flutters at the memory of your face looking up at him in the sunshine, juxtaposed with the reality of you on his lap right now, expression full of desire. “You know I am, baby,” he murmurs, snaking a hand down to your arse and pulling you closer. “A pretty damn good music producer…”

Your eyes snap open as he begins sucking softly at the spot above your collarbone. There it is, you think, except you don’t yet know what it is but you can tell it’s right in front of you, dangling just within reach. You run your hand through his hair again, your fingernails scraping against his scalp. He groans softly against your skin and your heart starts beating faster.

“Tell me you’re the best rapper the industry’s ever seen,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he squeezes your breasts again. He chuckles again, soft and low, but you’re done with jokes. Pulling away slightly, you push him backwards by the shoulder and kiss him, ignoring his momentary surprise. By the time you separate, he’s panting, his eyes narrow and heavily lidded. You suddenly realise how you’ve both shifted, and you’re finally able to look down at him. “Tell me,” you repeat softly.

Namjoon bites his lower lip, as though just realising he’s looking up at you, too. “I’m the best fucking rapper the industry’s ever seen,” he says quietly. Your heart jolts and you feel a warm wetness between your legs as you reach forward and your mouths meet again, messier and wetter than before. Even his grip is stronger now, holding your pelvis to his as he slides one hand beyond the hem of your underwear and squeezes the flesh.

“Joon,” you murmur, pulling away, breathless, and holding his gaze. “I want to tie you up.”

His eyes flicker for a moment, running over your dishevelled hair, swollen lips and glowing skin. Then, he nods. “Okay.”

Your heart thuds and for a moment you don’t move. You think you know what this is about, but you don’t want to overthink it. Clambering off his lap, you walk towards the row of hooks and grab the two thinnest stoles you can find before sauntering back over to Namjoon. His eyes don’t leave you and as you near him, he places his arms on the armrests of the chair, his erection now fully visible.

“Sure you’re okay with this?” you ask, pausing where you’re kneeling down, a dark blue stole ready to be used. When he nods again, the corner of his mouth curving upwards slightly almost like he’s looking forward to it, you smirk up at him. His heart jolts in his chest at the sight of your smile, his favourite thing in the world, and he sits back as you secure both his wrists to the cup holders of the chair before standing up again.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he mutters, visibly checking you out and letting his gaze linger on where the t-shirt rides up to the tops of your thighs as you run your hands through your hair. You notice where his attention is and raise your hands even higher, allowing the black of your underwear to peek through and Namjoon lets out a choked sigh before looking back up at you.

You love it when he talks dirty - which is often. He knows he has the voice for it and he uses it all the time, telling you how gorgeous you look or what he wants to do to you. It usually works differently because while neither of you occupy the role of the dominant one, Namjoon usually leads, worshipping your body and driving you crazy in equal measure. This time, though… you straddle him again, slowly, taking your time because now, the best fucking rapper in the industry has all his attention on you.

Hesitating just so you can see his reaction, you lean forward and kiss him again, slower this time. You tease him, swiping your tongue across his lower lip and biting on it lightly until he groans into your mouth. His erection twitches again and you feel it more clearly this time. Still kissing him, you reach down between you and palm him through his shorts, feeling yourself get wetter when you realise how hard he is.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling away and resting his head on the back of the chair. “God, I want your mouth on me…”

“I know you do, baby,” you murmur, slowly letting him go and sitting back so you can lift his t-shirt. You watch his expression as you run your hands up his torso, loving how he’s forcing himself to meet your gaze. You make sure to graze your fingernails against his skin until you reach his pecs and lift the shirt up further. The way his breath hitches tells you that he knows what’s coming - something you’ve only done once before.

Shifting further back on his lap, you lower yourself so you can press your lips to his sternum. The scent of your lime shower gel that he's used hits you again and you move up further, feeling his chest tighten under your light touch. “Something wrong, baby?” you ask softly, trailing your mouth higher up. When you reach the spot below his nipple, you feel his erection strain against his shorts.

“Kaya,” he mutters, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. “Come on, don’t tease me, baby...”

“You tease me all the time,” you remind him, unable to resist pointing that out. “Being a big deal in the music business can’t get you everything, baby.” Lifting his shirt up further, you reach out to lightly brush your tongue against his nipple.

“Fuck!”

You look up from your position to see his head thrown back as he bites down on his lip. You continue, more confident now that you’re getting the reaction you wanted. You lick his nipple again, this time grazing it lightly with your teeth when he groans again when you feel a warm wetness against your thigh. Reaching for his erection, you brush your thumb over his covered tip, confirming the pre cum that’s leaked out.

Straightening up, you reach for his face, bringing it down to look at you. “Fuck, you’re so hard for me, baby,” you murmur, only partly in wonder. Slipping a hand under the waistband of his shorts, you grip his length through his boxers, your own clit pulsing at the feel of it. Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut when he feels your touch and you kiss his jaw, making your way down to his neck and biting lightly on his earlobe.

“How many artists said they wanted to work with you this year, hm?” you ask calmly, your lips touching the helix of this ear and your thumb brushing the tip of his cock. “When you were in the States last month?”

“Not -” He breaks off, biting his lip as you continue stroking him. You sit up to look at him properly, waiting for him to pay attention to you. “I…” He swallows, and you feel him pulsate in your hand. “Ten… maybe fifteen,” he says at last.

You nod, knowing you’re soaked through your underwear by now. “I’m so proud,” you tell him softly, lowering your head to kiss him again. He kisses you back hungrily and you run your free hand across his shoulders and down his chest, your stomach leaping at how tight and tense he is.

“I want you…” Namjoon whines, lips moving off yours and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, “... please, babygirl.”

At the last word, you let him go and slide off of him, getting your first good look at how far you’ve been able to push him till now. Wrists tied, cock hard and expression both aroused and frustrated, you can finally reconcile what you’ve been feeling this whole time. RM, leader, rapper, producer and Big Hit’s main man is yours.

Kneeling down between his spread knees, you hear him sigh and see his hands clench into fists on either side of your head, bound by a green and blue stole each. You snake one hand up his thigh, continuing even after it disappears into his shorts until you feel him again, big and hard. You palm him, trying to ignore how much you want him right now, how badly you want him to fill you up… Namjoon groans again, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“Kaya…” He sounds so incredible, his deep voice reverberating in your small apartment, his huge frame in your favourite chair, all the while at your mercy.

"Yeah, babe?"

“Please…”

You retrieve your hand and reach forward to bring his shorts and boxers down together, freeing his cock, hard and already dripping pre cum. You need to bite your lip to keep from audibly moaning at the sight; it’s never ceased to amaze you just how well-endowed your boyfriend is, especially because he doesn’t act overconfident or super proud of it.

Getting on all fours so you can crawl back between his legs, you sit back on your heels and look up at him, willing him to beg again. His pleading gaze is enough, though; when you reach out gently grasp him, he lets out a guttural groan and drops his head back against the chair.

“God, you’re so hard, baby,” you repeat in a wondrous murmur, stroking him once. Next to you, his fists clench again and his hard length pulses in your hand. You brush his tip with your thumb so the pre cum leaks out, your core aching when he groans in pleasure. Standing up but retaining your hold on him, you gently bring his face to meet yours. You kiss him, softly. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Namjoon’s eyes flutter open unevenly to look at you, the desire and desperation clear on his face. You feel a jerk, and when you see his gaze abruptly move to his hands, you realise it’s the first time he’s forgotten that he’s tied up. Licking his lips and swallowing, he meets your gaze again. “Suck me…” he sighs, closing his eyes and finally giving in.

BTS’s RM essentially, you could say, was responsible for an entire quarter’s increase in revenue for the parent company - so why are we glossing over this rather important fact? The question that was posed to the class runs through your mind as you lower yourself, as does the response, wherein while everybody else struggled to put forward a few well-informed guesses, you’d felt a flutter in your stomach at the sheer power your boyfriend clearly held… except for now.

You stroke him a few more times, smoothly and consistently, using the pre cum to lubricate him well. Namjoon’s sighs tell you it’s working, so without making him wait any longer, you reach forward and take him in your mouth. The moment your lips touch his cock, he lets out a groan and you automatically grip him a little harder. Slowly, you take him in further until you establish a cadence, running your tongue along his length and swirling it around his head.

“Fuck, Kaya, you feel so good…” He groans, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep his hips from buckling. His deep voice, capable of making you feel so much even in a non-sexual setting, makes your heart race and your clit throb with desire. From your periphery, you see him look down at you. “You look so pretty with your mouth around my cock, fuck…”

You can’t help it; you moan at his words and hunch further over him, taking him in as deep as you can, feeling his tip touch the back of your throat. You lift your hips off your heels to get into a better position and feel his oversized t-shirt drop down your back. You don’t realise until you hear the chair creak and see his hands strain against the bonds that your underwear is visible and by his reaction, you were right about it being black.

“God, baby, I want to come in your mouth,” he murmurs, groaning loudly when you cup his balls with your other hand. “I don’t think I can - I think I’m going to -”

Just as he breaks off, you let him go with a pop and stand up, feeling close to the edge yourself when he groans in frustration. You don’t wait for him to glare at you or beg any further; you’ve teased him enough - and ironically, you’ve made yourself a hot mess for him, too. Brushing the rogue strands of hair off your face and wiping your mouth, you reach up under the t-shirt and tug your underwear down, stepping out of it and straddling him.

“Shit, yes…” The relief in Namjoon’s face is more than evident when you climb onto his lap. Kissing him, you raise your hips and slide down onto his cock, both of you moaning in unison. Pulling away from his mouth, you sigh in pleasure as you shift into position, feeling his length and girth inside you and feeling so full, so complete that you whisper his name without thinking.

He grunts in response, moving his hips so he hits your g-spot just right. “Fucking hell… Kaya, take off your t-shirt, baby.”

Instinctively, you’re about to listen before you stop and take a long, hard look at your boyfriend. He’s gritting his teeth, already on edge, his muscles tense and his eyes narrow and boring into you like he’s already undressed you mentally.

Can’t have that. Grabbing the back of his head, you roll your hips into his, not taking your eyes off him as he groans again. You kiss him, your tongues meeting immediately, both your moans being swallowed as you fuck him into the chair, your hands sliding up his t-shirt and feeling his taut chest. His shoulders tense further and you feel the chair move as he tugs on the restraints.

“Kaya…”

You shiver when you hear his voice, because he’s no longer pleading. His mouth moves to wherever it can reach, down your jaw and to the side of your neck before you manoeuvre him to look at you again.

“Tell me you’re it,” you murmur, using all your strength to keep your voice steady while he stays inside you, “tell me you’re the industry, baby.”

Namjoon meets your gaze, looking like he’s holding onto the last shred of resistance he has in him. Still not breaking eye contact, you reach down and take your shirt off, keeping just enough distance from him for him to screw his eyes shut in frustration and tug at the restraints again. “I’m the goddamn fucking industry,” he mutters, his gaze falling to your mouth.

You don’t keep him waiting any longer and roll your hips into his again, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kiss him roughly, pulling his hair and biting his lip to tell him everything - how proud you are of him, how much you love him, how ridiculously lucky you feel sometimes. He tugs at the bonds again and this time you feel the chair move.

“Fucking hell, Kaya, please let me touch you, baby!” Namjoon pulls away and blurts, sounding more frustrated than ever. He tugs at the restraints one more time but you don’t make him wait any longer, simply reaching back and untying both scarves one by one. His hands come up to you at lightning speed, flat on your skin, reaching everywhere.

You frantically tug at the bottom of his t-shirt and unhook your bra as he takes it off, mouths meeting again in a fit of passion and desperation. You can feel every bit of his skin, as warm and clammy as yours, as he holds you to him as close as possible.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mutters against your mouth, hands pushing your breasts together and squeezing them. He takes one of your nipples, rock hard between his fingers and twists it. You moan and pull away, fucking him faster now, your whimpers and his grunts in harmony.

“Oh, God, Joon, I’m so close,” you gasp, clutching his shoulders. His hands snake down to your arse and he grabs the flesh, and you can feel his warm breath on your face, telling you he’s close as well.

“Mm, cum all over my cock, baby,” he murmurs tightly, pressing another kiss to your jaw. He squeezes your arse again before landing a light spank on your cheek - and you do exactly as he asked. You shudder in his arms as you feel wave after wave of your orgasm crash onto you. “Fuck, I love you so much,” you hear him say against your neck before grabbing your hips again and coaxing you to move.

Using him for support, you begin moving again, feeling his hips thrust upwards as well. “I’m almost there, babygirl,” he mutters, reaching up to kiss you again.

You kiss him back hungrily, feeling your wetness coat his cock further. “Come on, fill me up, baby,” you whine against his mouth, feeling his hips buckle upwards before he groans and drops his head backwards. You close your eyes as you feel the warm spurts inside you as he pants, his bare chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

You lean into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder, exhausted. Pressing a kiss to the slightly sweaty skin of his neck, you close your eyes again. “Love you, too,” you whisper, feeling his arms come around you as he softens inside you. This, arguably, is one of your favourite things about sex with Namjoon. While neither of you are too cuddly or tactile in general, the few moments after sex are so intimate and private that he holds you in silence anyway, gentle and protective no matter how urgent or rough the sex was.

“What was that?” His voice is quiet, fingers brushing your hair off your clammy shoulder.

You look up at him, head still resting on his chest. “What was what?” you ask innocently. When he gives you a look, a hint of a smile still on his face, you shrug and look down. It seems insane that after what just transpired, you might actually be too shy to meet his gaze. “Did you like it?”

Namjoon sighs thoughtfully, and you eventually do look up at him. “Well,” he says finally, “it was different. And I think you can tell if I liked it or not,” he admits, smile widening just a bit. “But I’d say if you like this chair, you probably shouldn’t do it again.”

“Okay. I won’t do it again in this chair.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Where are you going?” he asks when you sit up a moment later, an underlying whine in his tone.

“I’m getting up.” You adjust yourself and both of you sigh softly as he slides out of you. Reaching for the tissue box on the side table, you clean yourselves up before you get off the chair and start pulling on your clothes. “What?” you ask, noticing how he hasn’t moved.

“I…” He sighs and smiles lazily, sitting back and watching you hook your bra. “Nothing. That was just…” He sighs again and you feel your cheeks heat up with the way he’s looking at you, but you keep your cool. “I’m not ready to be done yet,” he states, holding out a hand, presumably for you to take and climb back on his lap.

You shake your head, though. “Can’t, baby,” you tell him, pulling on your t-shirt and kissing him on the cheek. “You have an email to finish writing.”

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

Tagging: @kflixnet @k-radio @ggukkieland

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sweetkingdomstarlight-blog · 4 years ago

Text

they were roommates

Warnings - non consensual sex, anal sex, somnophilia, forced drug use

Pairings - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words - over 2k

A/N - READ THE WARNINGS - I can’t stress this enough. Also if you are under 18 just shoo, bugger off. I wrote this from a prompt on @darkficsyouneveraskedfor stalker writing challenge, the prompt was your roommate isn’t who you thought they were. I’m still super new to writing and this is new territory for me, as always a huge massive thankyou to my beautiful wife @buckyownsmylife she helped me a lot and continues to hype me up.

It’s been six weeks since your friend got a new job upstate and moved out,. You’ve had an advert out for a new roommate but so far everyone who’s applied has either been rude or hasn’t shown up. You’re running low on your savings and would probably accept Satan himself if he could pay his fair share. That’s when your latest applicant knocked on your door.

James was polite and charming, he offered to pay a month up front to secure the room and could move in as soon as possible. You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when he moved in later that week, it was a bit odd that he had no friends to help him but he didn’t seem to have a lot of stuff and had himself sorted while you worked in your home office.

The first night he offered to buy pizza and beers so you could get to know each other better, it turns out you two had a lot of things in common and he was easy to get along with. You must have had a few too many beers because your head felt fuzzy, deciding it was time to go to bed. You said goodnight to James and stood up but felt so dizzy you had to immediately sit back down. James was so sweet though, looking after you, he actually picked you up and put you to bed so you didn't have to walk the short distance to your room.

Waking up the next morning you realised you were wearing a t-shirt you didn’t recognise but you didn’t remember getting changed, your mouth felt strangely dry so you got up for a drink. That’s when the soreness hit you, in between your legs, rushing to the bathroom you were confused that you weren’t getting your period and nothing seemed to be different. You assumed you were getting sick and went for hot tea to soothe yourself.

Sitting at the kitchen counter drinking and nibbling on some dry toast, James walks in looking like he’s just been for a run. He grabs a bottle of water and walks over to you giggling “you can’t possibly be hungover you only had three drinks last night” you look up at him smirking and sarcastically respond, “yeah, well, maybe I’m just a lightweight”.

As you get up to clear away your mess he clears his throat making you turn. “Should we have a system for when we have people over in the future?” You look at him confused. “I’m sorry what do you mean? Do you want to bring someone over tonight?”

He chuckles at you, “Well no, not tonight but if you want your friend from last night to come back I can make sure you have some privacy,” he offers you, smirking at the confused look on your face.

“I’m sorry, I don't understand, I went to sleep last night. I didn’t have anyone over.” Taking a step closer, he leans on the counter separating you both. “Then who did I hear you with last night and who did I kick out this morning?” You stare at him open mouthed and scurry off to your room to check your phone for some clues, you feel your chest tighten when you see that you matched with someone last night and invited him over. How could you not remember? You were absolutely mortified, what is James going to think of you now?

Sitting in your home office talking to idiot customers on the phone all day, you try to take your mind off what happened last night. How can you have invited someone over, had sex and apparently stolen his t-shirt without even knowing? You vow there and then you aren’t drinking ever again. However, the end of the week rolls by and it's been the absolute worst, your boss is a dick, your customers are all idiots and to top it off your best friend hasn’t responded to your calls all week and you don’t know why.

You have a quick shower and decide to spend the night binge watching whatever you can find on Netflix when James sits next to you handing you a gin and tonic. “Thanks but I’m not drinking for a little while.” You go to put the drink down but he pushes it up to your mouth

“Don’t be silly, you’ve had a hard week. One drink won’t hurt” smiling at him you take a sip and he’s right, you instantly relax and get cosy on the sofa, ordering chinese and laughing at the show you both decide on. Waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth again, you find yourself laying on your bed but this time you have your own clothes on which is a relief. Standing up, you feel a bit weird round the back like you’ve been stretched out with one of your plugs but that’s not possible, they’re hidden in your box under the bed.

You drink a big glass of water and sit on the kitchen counter, a little uncomfortably, but quietly and relax. Something has been off the last week and you can’t put your finger on it, it's always weird when you get a new roommate and you’ve put it down to that but you just sense something isn’t quite right. You lean your head back on the wall behind you and get a surprise when James walks round the corner. “Hey doll, you feeling ok? You looked a bit sickly earlier and went to bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You nod at how sweet he was and drink some more water before hopping down. “I’m fine just going to sleep it off.” He takes your glass for you, offering to wash it and says goodnight, watching you walk away very closely and licking his lips as his eyes roam over your body.

It’s been a few weeks now since James moved in, he’s got to be the best roommate you’ve ever had. He pays his bills on time, keeps the place spotless and he’s such a good cook, always making food and drinks for you. It's lucky that he’s so kind because none of your friends seem to be in touch anymore, you message them and even try calling them but no one ever replies.

You sit watching your usual Friday night film with drinks and Chinese takeout, talking to James about both your weeks, tonight though he sits closer than usual and his face seems to light up when you talk to him. He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in real life, you’ve never looked at him that way before because not only is he your roommate but he’s so far out of your league it's laughable. You tell one of your stupid jokes and he laughs with his whole body, his arm goes around the back of the sofa and he pulls you in close, hugging into him, you relax biting your lip when he kisses the top of your head.

That was the beginning of it for you both. You had daily movie nights, he cooked for you every day, listened when you got upset that your friends seemed to have dropped you and even encouraged you to start running with him. Everything felt perfect, you still occasionally woke up sore with a dry mouth but James told you it was just your body getting used to all the exercise you were now doing. Both of you had really found each other, loners who just needed someone to listen.

You went down to collect your mail one day and stood talking to your elderly neighbour when she told you how familiar James looked, she couldn’t work out where she knew him from but she praised you on finding such a nice young man who apparently had carried her groceries up the stairs for her when the elevator was broken. Smiling at her you told her to have a good morning and went back to your apartment looking at the thick brown envelope addressed to you, you never really got anything in the post except the occasional leaflet. James had made you a coffee and you smiled at him taking the package in your room to open while you got ready to have a shower.

In the shower you decided tonight would be the night with James, you shaved yourself from head to toe and used your best lotions. Winking at him as you walked to your room, he had a weird look on his face and couldn’t seem to look at you. In your room the envelope had been moved, it looked like it was open too. Bending down to pick it up you hear James behind you but before you can turn around you feel a pain in your neck and everything goes dark.

You wake up with a blinding headache and go to move but your body feels too heavy. “Ssshh sweetheart, don’t move, I had to tie you up for your own safety.” You look at him confused, trying to pull on your wrists but you can’t move.

“James, what’s happening?” Sitting next to you he slips some ice chips in your mouth to ease your dry throat and takes a deep breath.

“You can blame your friend, we were so happy and she had to try and take you away from me.” A tear runs down your cheek, you’ve never heard him talk like this and it’s terrifying. “I told your little friends to leave you alone or I’d take care of them all but they just didn’t listen.” He throws the envelope down and slowly shows you the newspaper clippings and articles they had sent you, apparently he was on the run and considered dangerous, something to do with what happened with the helicarriers that crashed a few months ago.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he says with a smirk, wiping your tears away and tutting. “Don’t be scared of me, I’m doing this for you, for us!” Pulling on the restraints on your feet and arms again he shouts, “Enough!” You stop immediately, scared of what he‘ll do if you don’t. “You were so nice to me on the phone when I first got free, you helped me hire that car that brought me to New York. I hacked into your company's database and found you. Your roommate was easy to convince with a little bit of money and I hired all those people to come and see you so when I finally got my chance you’d want me as much as I’ve wanted you”

“Why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?” You managed to stutter out, trying not to sound too pathetic.

“You never leave the house, you stay home all day working then sit watching TV all night, I saw you through the webcam. You really should be more careful.” He smirks before running his fingers over your naked body. Feeling how smooth and soft your skin is he smiles. “Did you do all this for me? Sweetheart, I’ve already had all of you, you don’t have to do anything special for me. I love you just the way you are”.

The realisation hits you and you sob loudly. “Have you been touching me while I sleep?” He tilts his head to the side and looks at you with so much admiration.

“You’re so smart, I’ve been preparing you to be mine. I didn’t know how long it's been since you’ve been with a real man, not those silly little toys under your bed and I wanted our first time to be special. I even set up that fake dating account so you would think you had a guy over on that first night.” He strokes your cheek and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

“James I’m cold, can you untie me and we can talk properly, please.” He studies your face for a brief moment before leaning forward and chuckling in your ear.

“You can’t think I’m that stupid baby, oh and you can call me Bucky now. If you’re going to be mine forever we need to get better acquainted.” He drops his sweatpants and straddles your hips. “We’re going to have so much fun”.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier

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reveriequill-rai · 3 years ago

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Shroud: Withered Soul

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while. As of right now I’ve just been uploading stories I’ve written in my newspaper club, and now that I’ve graduated I hope that can now expand to short stories generally. I’m not gonna promise that posts from now on will be more consistent, but I would like to at least speed up my uploads a bit before they actually wind down, as I imagine I will be working on more stories in the future. Everything being uploaded right now is previous work, but nothing too old--probably like, from last year tops. This was completed sometime in May, I believe.

This is an introduction to a character I created called ‘Shroud,’ an amateur self-proclaimed ‘detective’ who exclusively investigates occult-based crimes and malefic.

Content Warning: death, descriptions of corpses, graphic descriptions of violence and pain, cults

[My blog will usually contain PG-13 stories, and as of right now I am writing some darker content, but I will tag anything that may be especially disturbing or uncomfortable. I’ll include this warning in my bio, too.]

----------

The corpse in front of me wasn’t all that disturbing by itself. I had seen dead people before–comes with the territory. I had been dead before. Murder rates in Twilight were, naturally, much higher than any other district in New Fable–especially further south of the district where I was–considering how much wild magic was around, and not even the police force sent here from the northern district of Bastion could do anything about it. So the corpse itself didn’t bother me, all things considered.

What did disturb me, though, was a number of other things.

For one, the corpse just being there was a problem. They weren’t stopping, and they were getting far too close to home.

Its eyes were still open, for another thing, and nearly colorless, and looking at me specifically, and I can swear to you that had not happened when I first laid eyes on it. Even worse, like me, the man lying dead in front of me appeared to be wearing a few bandages like I was, perhaps just recovering from an injury.

And for yet another thing, and perhaps the worst part of this, was the connection I felt with this dead man. Something about the state he was in struck a familiar chord that only I and a select unlucky others knew. As if we were kindred spirits–undergoing the same fate, yet with (probably) different outcomes.

I had been at this–whatever you would call tracking down cults as someone with zero prior detective experience with the help of almost no one–for…a few months now? And I’ve made a bit less progress than would be expected from someone who has seen just about everything the darker sides of magic had to offer. I did have one solid lead, though, and hopefully one that would lead me to exactly who I was looking for.

“Everyone move,” I ordered, pushing my way through the crowd.

Ignoring their complaints, I made my way over toward the body and began to examine it, hoping for any hint of who had done this, and more importantly, if it was exactly who I had suspected. There didn’t appear to be much damage, but what first caught my attention was the note tucked into the man’s pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, and immediately flinched.

Demon tongue.

Hellish whispers ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if they were just in my head or not. It was hard to tell these days.

I honed in on the note, written on some old paper as if torn from an ancient book. The more I stared, the louder the whispers got. I ignored the throbbing in my head as best as I could–humans were not mentally equipped to engage with the infernal language at all, and I much less so. My hands shook as I read the brief message, which I must have read dozens and dozens of times already; I wasn’t counting and didn’t care to.

Some people studied demon tongue despite…well…everything, even the illegality. It probably didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to me, either, but someone had spoken to me in demon tongue before–though, in their defense, likely not out of their own volition–and the trembling and rapid heart rate was not worth the ability to communicate with infernals. (Nothing was, honestly.)

For these reasons–and also not wanting to be arrested or have my mage license revoked–I personally didn’t speak or write demon tongue, but I at least knew a little bit and could recognize some of the infernal runes. And those runes were enough for me to know that this was the exact same message that the abyss had been trying to send me in my last moments.

—

Can’t run home, I thought. They’ll follow me.

Just gotta run until I find a phone booth.

I ran until I finally spotted one on the street corner near a bridge. I let out a sigh of relief, taking a quick moment to catch my breath. Then, I quickly crossed the street and ran toward the phone booth, quickly dialing the police station.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as quietly as I could manage. “My name is [……………………………] I’m at the corner of Coral Avenue by the Armada IV Memorial Bridge. I’m being pursued by a group of kids in demon-charmed cloaks and shawls, please I need your help they have knives and they’re trying to kill me-“

The tears stinging at the edge of my eyes began to overflow as a human voice at the end of the line responded in perfect, uncharacteristically calm demon tongue. It was a short sentence, repeated over and over again, but with the little knowledge I *did* have, I could translate it by about the sixth loop:

“You are going to hell.”

I hung up the phone immediately, resisting the urge to yell, “I KNOW” directly into the phone.

Humans can’t speak demon tongue here. It’s illegal.

So how did an officer know demon tongue?

—

Unsurprisingly, the body was still in semi-good condition. After all, little damage was done to the body—only the soul. The only physical marks I could make out were marks around the wrist and neck, likely to restrain the victim. Couple of bruises here and there, too, but nothing was broken.

This…disturbed me, to say the least.

Cults around here were usually known to be violent. After all, a lot of them stood for violent causes–executing the ‘impure,’ plunging everyone into the dreams of a volatile eldritch creature, usurping the throne and forcing everyone to convert, rallying the youth to their bloody cause with claims that they alone possessed special powers…I had heard it all, all of them violent to some degree. But the ones that had gotten me…they seemed to worship oblivion itself. Or maybe whatever was in it. That was beyond even my knowledge.

But…even then, they still had arguably the least violent cause. The deadliest, yes–they seemed to just be destroying souls–but strangely not as bloody. Yet their means of carrying out this objective has historically been, well, bloody.

Or maybe that was just me.

Either way, this victim had certainly not gotten the worst of it. There were no twisted limbs, no bloodied nose, no wounds from blade or bullet, basically no magic-driven attacks aside from the terminating consumption of the soul…only marks of the initial restraint, bruises from the subduing, and the abyss claiming and destroying the soul.

I could almost picture it in my head: they likely jumped him in the middle of the street, kicking him around a bit to possibly weaken him, throw him off balance, but not too much as to rouse resistance, then restraining him–to the floor? A wall? I couldn’t tell, but there were no rope burns so they must have done this by hand–and calling, somehow, for their god, for lack of a better word, to devour its newest victim’s soul.

What did he see as he died? Did their eyes turn as colorless as his would become? Had they shown any sign of enjoying his torment? I doubt it; it didn’t seem like a very ‘fun’ kill. And likely not as personal as it was for me.

They were getting much better at their kills. It probably wasn’t as fun, but more precise.

And a lot less violent than I had gotten.

—

I caught a glimpse of the charm from earlier out of the corner of my eye, but just as I looked it vanished. Just then a cold breeze hit me as the door behind me opened, and I was yanked out onto the street, leaving the phone dangling by the cord. The book dropped from my hands.

The four delinquents appeared in front of me from nowhere, likely having turned off their Moonlight Shroud charms.

“Gotcha,” Ransley said, smiling as he picked up the book.

“Give it BACK!” I roared, lunging for him. Ransley hit me hard across the face with the book, sending me flying a few feet back onto the brick road. Quickly I realized that my safety was not worth keeping that book. I didn’t know where or how Ransley learned to hit that hard but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. As he and the others examined the book, I began to scurry away as Ransley gave an order to the others:

“Get him.”

An instant later, I heard something click far behind me, and a sharp pain ripped through my knee. I collapsed to the floor, letting out an agonized cry. I examined my knee, and saw a hole much bigger than a bullet hole should be. I looked up at my attackers.

A gun?!

“What the HELL?!” I shouted. “You’ve already got what you want! LEAVE ME ALO-“

Ardent appeared behind me and punched me square in the face. I held my probably-broken nose as a muffled shriek of pain escaped me. Each of them vanished and took turns raining blows and slashes on me as I tried to step back and run. They gave me almost no chance to react. My body ached everywhere; the knife wounds, though shallow, stung just as bad, if not worse, as any bee. I could barely stand. I used my remaining strength to try and push them off of me whenever I felt them, but I stumbled each time I did, giving them room to knock me around further. Finally I collapsed, and Ardent grabbed my shirt and dragged me to the bridge.

“W-wait-“ I cried, still wincing and crying from my bruises and decayed knee. “STOP IT!-”

—

I examined the bandages on my hand and knee. The ones from that night must’ve been amateurs, or at least new to the cult’s way of doing things.

Focus, Shroud.

The victim’s eyes were still open, and almost completely empty.

Almost.

The body must not be entirely empty, then. This wasn’t exactly a kill—whoever this person was, they would not be dead for much longer, or at least depending on your definition of ‘dead.’

How long ago had this attack been, then? I touched the skin—still warm-ish. This had to be recent.

By that logic, if this was meant not as a lethal attack, but as one of induction into their group…

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I at least knew it wasn’t for very long.

So…I didn’t have much longer, then.

I instinctively jerked away from the body. Would he come back? He wouldn’t be under anyone’s control, at least for the first few minutes–how long does it take to kill someone? Would it be long enough for him to kill me?–no, he probably wouldn’t go after me; I had barely any soul left for him to long for…unless he’s just that desperate enough to take scraps from a near-husk.

What would he do when he came back? Would he wander around, lost, confused, until they welcomed him with false promises of salvation and freedom from the ‘burden’ of having a judgement-tied soul? Would he be violent, as they had been to him?

Then again…I came back after one of their attacks, but with a will of my own. Did they want me to come back? Why would they want me of all people to come back?

—

“You know how much trouble you caused us, […….…]?!” Ransley shouted as he kicked me in my injured leg. “Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming, you little weasel.”

“I didn’t-“ I tried to say.

Ransley propped me up on the sidewalk, just by the edge of the bridge, right above the river. He placed his hand on my bruised shoulder, looking at me with a bone-chilling grin.

Again, I got a good look at his eyes. This time, everything except the pupils was entirely white. As I looked I almost felt like I was staring at something beyond; further, even. But the harder I looked the more I could see how much nothing there was. And yet, in spite of that, this nothing seemed to be staring back at me.

The others had the same white eyes too, looking on with a horrible satisfaction.

“What…” I barely managed to say, “…what are y-you…?”

“Free,” Ransley answered, without his usual cruelty and instead with an uncharacteristically sanctimonious tone. “And with our help, so too will you be free.”

With a hard shove, I was pushed off the bridge.

I grabbed onto the edge with my hand, barely having the strength to pull myself up.

“T-this is insane-!” I cried. “Ransley! Please! Y-you can keep the book; I won’t call the police, just help me up-“

Ransley frowned and put his boot on my hand. He leaned in as he brought his foot down harder, crushing my hand. Bone splintered and crumbled under the weight of the shoe, and I let out a shriek as a cold look crossed his face.

“You really should stop holding on so much,” he said. “That’s your problem. That’s why you’re here. Just let go, and face oblivion.”

Ransley took his foot off finally, but my hand had run out of strength. I slipped, and fell into the river.

—

Either way, I had to work fast.

“Hey, kid!” Someone from the crowd called. “What’re you doing? Leave this to the professionals.”

I turned around, and maybe it was the speed at which I had whirled around to face them, or he did just flinch.

Was it my eyes?

“The police won’t find them,” I explained. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve studied demonology for a few years.”

I went back to the body.

“You mean you know who did this?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I just wanna be sure…”

I pressed down on the bruises on their shoulder and arms. Hollow. I felt no bone or extra layer of skin or muscle underneath.

Just as I suspected, I thought. Soul devouring.

My only question now was, how much of the soul was left?

—-

The bridge wasn’t particularly tall; just enough for any small cargo ships to run under. But the fall felt much longer than it had any right to.

I never hit the water. I was swallowed by something but it certainly wasn’t the river. It was as cold and sharp but nothing wet ever touched my skin or clothes.

I did not fall into water. I fell into something foreign, something dark, something alive, something evil.

Its eyes were beady and attentive, focused, eager, and it had long rows of sharp fangs. It appeared to smile at me, expecting me, welcoming me. Whispers in demon-tongue surrounded me, and I overwhelmed myself trying to find a single word I could understand. The only thing I could catch was “going to hell” again…was this it? Was this hell? What circle was this?

I was immobile, unable to look away from the creature in front of me, unable to scream as it opened its fang-filled mouth. I couldn’t even let out a scream of protest; no, not against this, as it brought down its jaws and took a large bite out of a deep part of me even I could never access. The pain from my bruises and wounds no longer burned; only ached, as if the pain had been there forever.

I was hollow. If there was anything left, I barely even felt it. My wounds glowed a hot white color and became shallow. I felt nothing but an aching nigh-emptiness that seemed to have no origin I could place; no past; only a present and a long future.

I didn’t know how long I was in that void. But as much as I despised that thing for robbing me of my life, I was grateful that it chose to let me go.

—-

 I took out my pen from my pocket and a couple of mini-candles from my satchel. I flicked a lighter and lit the candles, surrounding them at different points around the body. I began to draw an evocation circle around the body. I’m not sure what had stopped this cult from performing forced evocations as opposed to beating everyone into submission until they blacked out enough to face the abyss and have their soul devoured, but I wasn’t about to find any sense in a group of people who literally worship the abyss.

I took my time with the intricate webs of the circle, carefully connecting whatever remained of the soul to the points where I would draw in the runes, and connected those to the candles.

I then drew in symbols in the language of the spirits at the different sub-points that would draw up souls from the afterlife, adding a desperate prayer in each pen stroke that I evoke the right thing and not something unwelcome. I had to steady my hand as I did this, reminding myself that this was merely a human soul who was recently killed, so the chances of him having ended up in hell – was he that kind of person? – were slim; they had to be, of course they were; there was no need to panic so stop panicking. Yet knowing I was drawing the same symbols, the same webs, lighting the same candles as the deadly evokers around town who would break into people’s houses and draw evocation circles under their beds to call up who-knows-what from the pits of hell to torment the living…to think I was drawing the same circle that I checked for every night when I went to sleep…

The pen snapped in my shaking hand against the concrete, getting ink all over my hand. I swore, and rubbed some on my finger tip so I could start to finish the circle.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?!” someone cried, making me jump. “You’re tampering with evidence! That’s illegal!”

“You’re gonna screw up the investigation!” someone else shouted.

I steadied myself from being startled.

“This…this is the investigation,” I replied bluntly.

“Wh–okay…? Are you a detective or something?” the first guy asked.

I shrugged.

“I think so,” I said.

“You think-”

I could hear further shouts from the crowd as I turned the body over to draw the rest of the circle underneath, but I held up my hand to stop them from getting closer.

“Just let me work!” I cried without looking back.

That’s when I noticed some of the rapidly-decaying skin near the shoulder and side of the ankles. The skin had withered and given way to bone, the effect cutting through flesh and muscle. Even the bone had begun to decay.

Well, so much for minimal damage.

I unzipped the victim’s jacket and pulled back the shirt just slightly to get a better look at the damage. The withering had spread further—the entire shoulder seemed about ready to decay. I took a camera out of my bag and took a picture of the decaying wounds.

With the remaining ink, I drew another sigil on the bandage of my injured hand, a heart-shaped eye-like symbol with two lines running up my index and middle finger. It was a painful process and I was just careful enough to have the pen not tear through the bandage, and I placed my shaking hand on the decaying shoulder and closed my eyes. I saw all of the injuries on the man’s body, including where he had been injured–he had a broken arm that had almost finished recovering, and a fractured foot that was also healing, but wasn’t as near completion as his arms. Either way, both of these had stopped healing, and had actually gotten worse, with the bones beginning to decay in both areas.

What was the point of beating people up, breaking them, letting them decay, and then expecting them to join you after you had broken them? My attackers probably went through the same thing as this man had–as I had, if this cult was larger than them. So why do the same thing to others?

But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?

They knew what it was like to be soulless, and only they knew not only how to recover from the injuries suffered, but how to disguise themselves as living to avoid trouble with the law.

I looked again at the bandages on my hand, and unraveled it slightly, careful not to let the crowd see. There, too, did my flesh begin to decay. This was the primary issue with not having a soul: without the very essence that gives us life, our bodies aren’t capable of self-healing anymore. Any injuries are permanent unless fixed by a doctor, or if we tend our own wounds.

Fortunately my bones—at least in my hand—hadn’t completely withered away. I managed to revive just in time, fortunately.

Just in time.

——

I don’t remember much about the day I woke up. Just the excruciating, aching pain.

What I did know was I had washed up on the shore of the city, and I couldn’t stand up for a very long time. A burning sensation enveloped my entire hand and knee, and I felt a throbbing sensation in both areas. The bruises from the beatdown stuck on me like a leech, but most vividly, my chest felt hollow. And it hurt. The emptiness gnawed at the inside of my chest, and it, too, burned and ached. Like a stomach ache in the wrong place.

With my good hand I crawled my way off of the shore until I found a lamppost. I grabbed onto it, and propped up my good knee. I swung my arm toward the lamppost, grabbing onto it with my bad hand, shocks of pain running through my body. I tried to haul myself up, but the weight of my body caved my knee in, and I collapsed. That’s when I got a good look at my hand.

Bits of skin had completely come off, seeming to have withered away. Pieces of bone underneath had chipped off.

I grew nauseous and I felt the blood drain from my face. I let out some inhuman noise that I reckoned was some attempt at a scream but came out as a cross between that and a moan of agony.

How had this happened?

It was a horrible sound, but at least I had been found. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened?

Or who else would’ve found me?

——

Finishing the circle grew tricky as my hand trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the injury or from the reality of the process itself.

“Kid, we don’t even know who you are,” the guy from earlier said. “Are you even a licensed detective?”

I ignored him and wiped some of the ink from my pen on my hand, pressing my hands together to activate the circle. As the soul fire candles flared, what little color was left in their eyes drained slowly, and a small, glowing, deteriorated wisp of a soul rose out of the victim’s body.

This was all that was left…

Somehow this dead man was just the same as I, who could still breath, still walk, still talk, still live—but only just.

What had this man’s soul seen before it was decimated? If, in fact, the same people who killed me are responsible for this, did he, too, see the same grinning face in the abyss that I had? Was he as afraid as I was? Or did he accept this as death?

I took my mage’s license out of my pocket and showed it to the crowd.

“I’m a licensed magic user,” I said, “is that enough?”

“…that’s not a detective license,” the same guy said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Great!” I said. “Tell them the Brotherhood of Abyss Walkers did this.” At this point it was all but confirmed.

“The…what?”

“The cult that keeps tormenting this forsaken town,” I explained. “The one behind all the unexplained murders.”

The guy—along with the rest of the crowd—stifled a laugh. Some of them couldn’t hold it in.

“There’s no cult in New Lumanore,” someone else said. “Our security’s airtight; no way they would’ve been able to form a guild without a license.”

“Just call the authorities, Aaron,” a lady in the crowd said. “This kid isn’t worth persuading.”

“W-wait-“ I said before letting out a resigned sigh. I packed up the candles and pocketed my pen, and took off. I knew who the culprit was. What the police had to say didn’t bother me.

They’ll believe me when I put the culprit behind bars.

—————

In previous investigations I managed to pin down the general area where the Abyss Walkers operate. Prior murders took place at least within a mile’s range of Eclipse Avenue, an area further south of New Lumanore. It was a relatively quiet and empty area; there were quite a bit of shops and buildings of unknown function that no one ever seemed to go into, not even during the day.

The entire place screamed occult activity.

Sure enough, just as I hit the corner of the avenue I caught a glimpse of a Moonlight Shroud charm, pinned to the outwear of a hooded figure. They were walking along the other side of the street, hanging close to the bare wall of a wide building.

Once they were some distance along I crossed the street quickly and began tailing them.

Confrontation wasn’t new to me, just…unfavorable. Is that why I trembled? Either way I knew the procedure: Walk with the same beat. Same path, same pattern of step. Stop when he stops. Walk like this until the shadow is close enough for contact.

Once I did I took out a capsule from my coat. It contained shadow ink, allowing me to either create my own shadow, or to hide within someone else’s. I didn’t have enough of a soul to perform any magical feats on my own–whatever I could do would probably just come out as sparks–so this was the best I could work with. Unfortunately the capsule was nearly empty, and I made a mental note to contact my supplier after I was finished. In the meantime, I used what was left to lather my hand in ink as I silently crept behind the lone cultist, and pressed my hand against his shadow. I latched on and eventually got pulled in. Inside the shadow realm, I had a black-and-white view of the street from inside the wall. I couldn’t breathe, though, and I couldn’t hold my breath for very long so I knew I had to jump him sooner rather than later.

I took a coin out of my pocket and tossed it outside behind the cultist. He stopped and turned around, as expected, and I took the moment to lunge out and grab him by the throat.

—————

The cultist narrowed his eyes, and an amused smirk came on his face.

“Hey…” he said. “I know you.”

I flinched. How?

He kicked me off and stood up.

“You…you’re the kid we got that book from!” He chuckled. “You don’t quit, do you? This is really what you chose to do after death? Vigilante work?”

I felt the blood drained from my face.

“…what are you talking about?” I lied. “What book?”

“The demonology book, stupid,” he said. “The thing damning you to begin with. You forgot already? Or did you lose your memories alongside almost all your soul somehow?”

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to charge at him again. I couldn’t take him in a head-on fight. I was too weak for that.

“Tell me,” he said. “How’s it feel? Being so close to freedom, so close to ridding yourself of that moral creed weighing you down…no fear of rapture…just your life and your…well, I suppose now broken…body, and your heart and mind.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Good thing you came back, though. We’ve been slacking on our initiations recently…Ardent went a little too hard on too many people. We’re behind on our quota.”

“Wait a sec…” I took a step back. “What do you mean ‘too hard?’ Aren’t they supposed to come back?”

“The idiot decided to use magic to slow the initiates down,” the cultist explained. “As if that wouldn’t damage the soul at all. I’m sure you of all people know. You’ve taken enough beatings form him, right, D–“

I punched him in the face. The second I made contact I realized I had used my bad hand without thinking. Bone snapped, collapsed, and even shifted through the hole in my hand. I let out a far-too-loud shriek of agony as I recoiled and caressed my hand, trying to relocate the bone.

The cultist looked at me and laughed, and I raised a finger on my good hand and threatened him:

“Don’t try that again,” I said. “I’ve still got one—ahh…—perfectly functioning hand.”

“Fine by me,” he replied. “You hit hard for a dead person…”

My hand still ached from the punch. I imagine it probably hurt me way more than it hurt him.

“Do you mean to turn me in, Shroud?” the cultist hissed. “Just try it. I know who you are. They’ll find out you’re undead and investigate you to hell and back. Whatever decimal of a soul you have left won’t save you. Not even close.”

“I can’t trust you with that information even if I let you go,” I said. “But even if you do…I’ll know sooner or later if you’ve said something. You best not try it if you don’t wanna die twice.”

The cultist grinned.

“I’m shaking,” he said, deadpan. “I’ll just come back again.”

“What, are there no revival limits in your little group?”

“Nope. He’ll bring us back again and again as long as he needs us.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Oh, you’ve only been resurrected once, you big baby,” the cultist said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not joining you.”

“You have no reason not to,” the cultist said. “We can fix your broken body; make you look and seem as alive as the next person. Those remnants of a soul may not matter to the police, who’ll mark you as soulless anyway, but you know who it does matter to?” He pointed at the sky and at the group. “Them. Someone like you, who’s spent hours learning about heaven’s enemies…you think you have any chance of reaching heaven? HA!”

I fell silent. Just when I thought being registered as ‘dead’ to everyone you know meant they wouldn’t bother you about being a (rookie) demonologist anymore. That reminder worked my last nerve, yet every time it was brought up I could never muster up a proper defense.

“…I’m aware,” I mumbled.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re just livid at the police, who never caught who got you. I’m sure you’d like your vengeance against them for failing you…we can help you out with that, if you’d like. After all, why should we fear death, or judgement, from this life or the next? Like I’ve said, we’ve got no soul to weigh us down to heaven or hell. No death, no judgment. Just you, whatever you wanna do, and a welcoming oblivion who’ll spit you back out as many times as needed. As long as you keep it fed, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter if the police know or if they don’t know,” I said. “I know. And I’ll know more than they ever will. Besides, why the hell would I trust you to give me closure about my death–the death YOU caused?!”

The cultist frowned.

“And that’s just the trouble, isn’t it…you’re just about soulless, and the only soulless person New Lumanore who isn’t with us and…for what? You lose nothing by joining us!”

“First of all,” I shouted. “I am not soulless. Your stupid demon didn’t take all of it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why that happened,” the cultist replied, “but who am I to question the great abyss–”

“Oh, shut up. And second of all–just in case you forgot–YOU KILLED ME! I don’t owe you loyalty, or gratitude, or mercy…I owe you nothing.”

“You may be upset now,” the cultist said, “but you’ll learn to thank us later.”

“I will not.”

His frown turned into a scowl. He took out a small cylinder from his pocket.

“I was gonna use this the day of the attack,” he said, “but I didn’t see any point. Seemed like the others were doing just fine without the staff.”

Sure enough, the cylinder popped open into a metal bo-staff. He walked towards me, twirling it through his fingers.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong thing, Shroud,” he said. “You think you need vengeance, but what you really need is security. We all know what being soulless is like. You’re weaker, you can’t heal your wounds, you can’t do magic, and it’s pretty obvious when you’ve just come back from the dead. I don’t care what three-percent of a soul you do have; it’s nowhere near enough for you to enjoy all the privileges of being fully human. Face it. You’re basically the same as us.”

As I stepped back, he stopped spinning the staff and instead gripped it with both hands.

“So you can either let go of those remnants you have the audacity to still call a soul, then come with us and let us give you the safety you so desperately need,” he said, rearing the staff back, “…or we’ll just break you further and let oblivion do what it wishes with your remains.”

He started to bring the staff down.

“WAIT!” I yelled, bringing my hands to my face.

Surprisingly enough, he actually froze, the staff a couple inches from my face.

“Okay…I get it…” I said. “You’re right. I won’t turn you in. Just…promise me you won’t tell anyone who I am.”

“What’s stopping me?” the cultist asked, cocking his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“Look. I didn’t turn you in,” I said. “You owe me.”

“No I don’t. I’m not tied to anything but oblivion.”

I let out an annoyed huff.

“Like I said. I’ll know if you exposed me,” I reminded him. “I don’t care if that scares you or not, just…let me go.”

“Let YOU go?! You jumped ME!”

“And I had—I…thought…I had the right to. Look…I’m backing down. You go about your night. I go about mine. We don’t speak of this.”

The cultist hesitated, then put the staff away.

“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll still come back for you. Whether or not your initiation goes smoothly is entirely on you.”

With that, he pulled out the same charm he had on the day of the attack, and vanished.

“See you around,” he said.

That was the last I heard of him that night.

Once I thought I was safe, I let out a loud groan of annoyance.

I had him. He was literally a few feet away. If I *just* had more shadow ink that would’ve been it for him.

But…he was right. I was at every possible disadvantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I shouldn’t have jumped him. I should’ve just taken note of his appearance and went from there. That was foolish on my part.

But…I did have his appearance now.

But he had my identity.

I still wasn’t at a complete advantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I had to lay low, and rebuild. My hand was wounded and I was lucky I didn’t get my skull bashed in. There was no way I could have recovered from that. But I wouldn’t give up. I had a lead and I wasn’t letting go of it.

I didn’t care about their ‘freedom’ or ‘not being tied down’ or anything like that. Fact of the matter is, they were hurting people, and their demon lord had more control over them than they’d realize.

They were beyond redemption. The demon didn’t bind them through any soul manipulation or contract–it was some weird combination of free will, gratitude, and the threat of permanent death.

These cultists had to go, and quickly. They had to pay, and dearly.

I know I’m weak, but once I’m back up and running I would do as much damage from the shadows as humanly possible.

They weren’t bound by any rules, so why should I have to be?

I didn’t care how many times I would get hurt. They ruined my life, and I was going to pay them back tenfold.

#original story #fiction story #creative writing #dark fantasy #urban fantasy #violence cw #death cw #cult cw #death tw #violence tw #cult tw

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mochees · 4 years ago

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"𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗜𝗜"

-> headcanons, how they tell you they love you for the first time, part two!

characters: sakusa, iwaizumi, x fem!reader

warnings: fem reader, ✨healthy relationships✨, oikawa being oikawa

wc: 3.6K

a/n: WOAH okay uh did NOT expect that last set to be that popular,,,, y'all thirsty for love huh? me too anyway i thought id do a part two since i honestly really enjoyed writing the first set and my brain is vibrating with ✨thoughts✨ and seeing how much love it got really made me feel how i haven't felt in so long, so thank you! maybe ill turn this into a series so lemme know if u wanna see someone specific👀👀😏 also sorry for like posting and then dipping again lmao thats just my social media brand i have the attention span of a fucking worm

read part 1 here!

Sakusa Kiyoomi

okok i know its like common for sakusa to be shown as not interested in PDA (in private or public) unless hes feeling "needy"

BUT i believe that after a few weeks, maybe months if he's still unsure, he would definitely be much more comfortable with PDA

like, if its been a long time and your both serious about it and not just in a relationship to be in a relationship he starts to notice your routine

he notices the changes you make so that he's comfortable and so that you can be close to him without him being worried about icky yicky germy wormys (someone take away my thought privileges)

so now that he knows that you take care of your hygiene and exactly what you do for it, slowly he's wrapping an arm around you in 30° heat while you're both sweating

slowly he's "forgetting" his mask in the car for dates

slowly, but surely, he understands that a little bit of exposure, isn't a bad thing.

"kiyoomi?" your voice brought sakusa's eyes to yours where he could see the concern behind them.

"are you okay y/n?"

you'd decided, after three weeks of intense training and barely seeing your boyfriend, that you wanted just one day and one night with him. just the two of you, you know he'd never admit it, but he needed a break.

after atsumu decided to try out some new plays that didn't start off to well, sakusa had been silently groaning everytime he had to reach for something. he was excellent at making sure he wasn't overworking himself, and he wasn't, its just that the human body is an absolute wonder, and not in a good way. sometimes things that should have mildly injured you, left you with a tiny scrape, or a bruise or a very quick-to-fade red mark, and sometimes you drop a phone on your face and break your fucking jaw.

you offer him a gentle smile that completely washes away the concern in your eyes.

"im fine omi! but you," you reach your hands up to rest on both sides of his face turning his head side to side, studying it intensly.

"you're looking a little pale. and possibly grey."

"how do you mean y/n-chan?"

for such an intelligent man sometimes he really could be a himbo.

"i mean that i think you might be sick, baby."

sakusa stared blankly at you, as if he couldn't fathom the possibility of 'himself, sick?'

"omi? kiyoomi!" you nabbed his attention, "i think you're sick, and we best go home."

"but-" he started, but you were quick to cut him off knowing exactly what he was about to say.

"kiyoomi, it's inevitable. even if you were the worlds most decked out with ppe, and the worlds leading force in hygeine, you'd still end up catching a cold at least once. that's just how the world works baby. and don't worry about the date, all i want is to spend some time with you."

you ended up practically dragging your sad little puppy of a boyfriend back up the complex stairs and into his unit before settling him on the couch and getting to work.

"ill get you some water, you just sit here and relax. i don't want to think about what would happen if those dumbasses didnt have you there next week, bokuto and hinata would probably crack their skulls!" your attempt at a little light hearted humour helped sakusa forget for a moment, but he was quick to go back to not understanding how he was sick.

"thank you." he took the glass from your hand and rested it between his legs, when he noticed the rubber gloves you had clutched at your side. he knew what they were for, those were his cleaning gloves.

"what are you doing? you can't stay you'll..." he paused. "you'll get sick too."

"i'll be fine omi-omi! you just relax and drink lots of water, ill take care of this." you turned towards the wall with a soft smile before muttering, "ill take care of you."

sakusa watched you clean, the bucket full of diluted bleach, the duster, a cloth, and his cleaning gloves. he loved the way that they were too big for you, the way you kept having to pull them up every so often to keep them on. he loved the way that everytime he finished his glass of water, you were right there to fill it back up.

you don't even remember seeing, or hearing him lift himself from his spot on the couch and make his way over to where you were humming and covering the counters in the diluted solution. you felt a pair of big arms wrap around you, a chin on your shoulder and a kiss on your cheek.

"thank you, y/n. i love you."

thank god he caught a cold, or he might never have realized just how lucky he was.

Iwaizumi Hajime

family man

is a family man but not just ANY family man

yes, it's important to him that you like and respect his parents and vice versa

but its just slightly more important to him that you get along with his friends, his found family because im a SUCKER for the classic lilo n stitch trope

he knows that many people say that its his life and he doesn't need anyones approval etc.

but iwaizumi believes different, he believes that he doesn't need approval in the literal sense but rather approval through watching you interact with his friends and his family and how you do your best to learn about them and make time for them, even though you dont have to

and he thinks it's absolutely enthralling

the way your eyes light up when you see that book his mom has been talking about wanting to read and picking it up with no hesitation

how you're able to almost flawlessly keep up with issei and takahiro's antics while also making sure they don't go too far, something even iwaizumi struggles with

and most importantly, how effortlessly you connect with his childhood best friend.

there were many things that Iwaizumi Hajime enjoyed, volleyball, athletics, godzilla of course, spending time with three dumbasses (but he’ll never admit that) and a little while ago, he added you to that list.

you were so effortlessly able to connect with his team, his friends, and his family but most importantly, the way you were able to connect with Oikawa brought a smile to his face.

“oh, iwa-chan~, what are you admiring?” there he went again, Iwa thought, Tohru Oikawa’s dumb smirk and hyper awareness of his team, both on and off court. how he wated to head-butt him in the face. but, he showed restraint. after all, he wouldn’t want loserkawa to use you as a human shield from his head. so, he ignored the urge. but it passed as soon as he saw tohrus arm arond your shoulders, crossed feet and leaning on you ever so slightly while he took a few occasional swigs from his water.

and just like that, the incredible restraint vanished like morning mist.

you could practically see the steam coming off of his hot skin, and the vein popping out of his forehead, when you noticed what had him so heated. “trashykawa get your filthy hands off of my girlfriend!”

“excuse me!” he pouted, “my hands are clean and tailored! just like any responsible setters would be!” he stuck his lip out farther and gave you his irresistable puppy-dog eyes. “y/n-chan, i’m not filthy! am i?” he whined.

and, as the word suggests, his look was truly irresistable and you stumbled over your words. “n-no! of course not tohru!”

“see, iwa-chan! y-n thinks i’m squeaky clean!” his dumb smirk appeared again, and rather than continue with flirtykawas obvious games, Iwa opted for the less violen approach.

“don’t flatter yourself, dirtykawa. she’s just being nice.” he growled. “I’m done for the day, i have a project due. y-n.” he offered his hand to you like the gentleman he is not forcing you to take it, but the look in his eyes told you that he wanted you too.

“see you later, tohru!” you gave him a quick hug and intertwined your fingers with iwa’s.

now, technically, girls aren’t allowed in the boys locker room but since it’s after hours and just you and iwaizumi no one cared. to be fair though, literally no one knew except the team so, whatever you didn’t complain you got to watch yout ultra ripped boyfriend change. quality time. you thought, when you noticed him mid-change with his shirt over his head, resting on his arms. as any good girlfriend would, despite the devil on your shoulder, you came up behind him placing your hands on his seriously broad shoulders. taking notice of the tension, you started to work at the muscles. your care was quickly rewarded with a quiet sigh, and relaxed shoulders.

“hajime?” you continued rubbing at the tight fibers, “are you alright? you’re usually the one telling me im holding too much tension.” you giggled and he turned to face you placing one hand against the side of your face.

“hajime?” it came out shaky and worried.

“i’m okay,” he smiled “it’s just,” hesitation. he was never one to hesitate.

“i know i have no right to be but seeing oikawa so clingy with you it just, i dont know, it really gets to me i guess? he, just, he gets all the girls, all the attention, and i don’t want to-” you stopped him.

“sweetheart, it’s okay to be jealous or upset i’m not going to be angry, you have a right to your feelings. I understand how you feel, i never mean to flirt with him, if i ever have, i mean i don’t know, you know how bad of a flirt i am,” he chuckles at that. “it’s just that i know how important he is to you and you are so, so important to me and i want to be able to understand whats important to you, so you never have to choose between us, because that wouldn’t be fair. i love you, hajime iwaizumi, and everything about you.”

you expected him to be shocked, hell, he thought he would be shocked when or if you said it, but he wasn’t. and that’s exactly how he knew what to say next.

“i love you too, y/n l/n.” pressing a soft kiss against your lips.

“geez, it only took you two a century and forever.” someone snarked.

hajime chucked a towel at him “get out assykawa!” and he did, he bolted through the door laughing like the demon matchmaker he thought he was.

do not repost, copy, or claim.

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#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyu!!#haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu headcanons #iwazuimi #iwaizumi x y/n #hajime iwaizumi #iwa x reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #hq iwaizumi #hq headcanons #hq anime #hq sakusa #hq fanfic

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gamergirlshelby · 3 years ago

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"Can we talk about the BNHA OC Comeback timeline? I've been dying to talk about my theories for the BNHA OC Comeback timeline all day!"

-Me to anyone willing to listen.

Here are the ramblings of me, someone who has no restraint when it comes to coming up with crazy theories about their interests, rambling about their theories on how the BNHA OC Comeback timeline could work.

Note: this is all speculation, and if the people in charge of the AU deem it to not be canon it is not. This was just something I did for fun because I wanted to do some writing. That is why I said could happen and not should happen, because this is all just fun speculation, and none of the other fandoms I am a part of have been able to scratch that itch for me lately.

Also, I will be talking about spoilers for a majority of the anime, but mostly stuff revealed in seasons 3-5, with a little bit of stuff from seasons 1 and 2, since those are the seasons with a lot of the important details that I will be attempting to write work arounds for. I will also be using the Wiki's names for story arcs (a list of which can be found here) when referring to specific plot events.

My ramblings about my theories are under the read more:

Also, to start this off, this speculation was pretty much brought upon by this post from the official BNHA OC Comeback blog, but what is important here is the tags.

I think the idea of Class 1-A and Class 1-B being third years would be a good starting point for what I want to be diving into.

First point should be a little obvious but in this timeline, Deku still inherits One for All from All Might. This is mainly because if he didn't, if someone where to write or draw an interaction between this version of class 1-A with, lets say class 1-X for this example, Deku would likely not be there, due to not having a quirk, causing the question of "who is the 20th student in class 1-A?" One for All would likely be passed down to someone else (most likely Mirio because Nighteye was going to recommend him to All Might in the first place, and if Deku is not going to inherit it, I doubt there would be anything in the way of Mirio getting One for All)

Second point I want to point out is the battle between All Might and All for One that had happened before the events of the show. I think All Might will still suffer from his injuries from the fight, and continue being the symbol of peace, even if it is killing him. BUT I think it would be best if All for One gets defeated and gets put into hiding, not initiating any of his plans or finding Tomura Shigaraki. Tomura never getting taken in by One for All would also cause the League of Villains to never form (at least not in the way we are familiar with) so we.

Third Point is, although this is speculation, and I do not know where Nomus come from, I do think, even without the league of villains, there would be some sort of lab somewhere where Nomus are being created, likely as one of the last things All for One was able to set into motion before going into hiding in the AU. (I mostly went with this because I think Nomus as a concept are really cool, and I think it would be great to have some sort of generic enemy for the 1-X and 1-Y students to have to face without the need of creating a new organization)

Fourth Point is because All for One is in hiding, so All for One can not force All Might to reveal his "injured form" (I dunno what else to call it), but I do think when All Might and Sato get engaged, he will maybe (and this is a big maybe) reveal it to the public on his own, as more of a "I'm retiring and settling down now" then a "You must keep fighting because I can not" thing, causing crime to not sky rocket, but still rise because there is no more symbol of peace, since there is still the possibility (at least in the publics mind) that All Might could come out of retirement and go back to saving people.

Alright now I begin with some of the actual stuff that actively happened in the show that Class 1-A and Class 1-B had experienced.

Alright so everything at the beginning of the anime is the same, going up until the USJ arc. This is because, as stated previously, there is no League of Villains to attack the USJ. The only thing I can think of that could possibly stay the same is the All Might vs Nomu fight, because I think Nomus as a concept are cool and that was an awesome fight. The only way for the fight to happen though is that the Nomu is let loose somewhere else, like a highly populated area, because it makes no sense for it to be at USJ without the League.

Next is the sports festival, and this would also go the same. But after that is probably the most interesting arc I leave mostly unchanged, being the Hero Killer Arc. This is because, even without a League of Villain's, there would still be people following Stain's ideologies after he is detained, so I think maybe there could be some sort of small unorganized group of people following Stain's beliefs that there are no more "true" heroes. The group of stain followers would likely be the characters that had joined the League of Villains after the Hero Killer Arc (like Dabi, Himiko Toga, and Twice). It is also unchanged in the sense that the students are interning with Pro Heroes, and that Nomus are running around, being a cool concept (can you tell I like Nomus? I just think they are neat.).

Next is the Final exams Arc, which would go unchanged, but the next arc, the Forrest Camp Training arc, would also not have a League attack (because there is no league), and Class 1-A and Class 1-B have a normal experience at the training camp, causing there to be no Hideout Raid arc, because there is no hideout to raid.

Next, the Provisional License Exams are the same results, so no change here, except Camie Utsushimi would be there instead of Toga's impersonation of her, and still ending up to need to take the Remedial Course.

After that is the Shie Hassaikai Arc and then Remedial Course Arc. The Shie Hassaikai Arc would actually largely go unchanged because it is mainly just another internship for the Hero Course students, with the only change to the arc being the League involvement being removed, even though this would leave some plot holes, which I will fill by saying the small unorganized Stain followers would take the place of the league (since Toga and Twice are apart of the Stain followers group, so they would still end up working for them, filling the same rolls they had in the original Arc). Also Overhaul doesn't lose his arms because there would be no reason for him to get them ripped off (because there is no League of Villains). ALSO this means Eri would be canon to the BNHA OC Comeback, which I wanted to mention since from my knowledge she is a fan favorite. After that, the Remedial Course would go unchanged.

I'm also going to say that Mirio will have already gotten his quirk back during the main events of the AU, since Nighteye had predicted that he would get it back before Nighteye had died. How he gets it back will likely go unanswered, since I have not read ahead to the most recent chapter of the manga, only watching the anime, so we should leave the answer to how he got it back to be unclear just in case he gets it back in a spoiler-y way.

Then, lastly as of right now, the rest of the arcs would go unchanged up untill the latest arc where Todoroki, Midoriya, and Bakugo are interning with Endeavor, excluding the parts of the arc going into the Meta Liberation War, which can not properly go through thanks to their being no League of Villains, but especially because there is no Tomura.

Alright now we get to the stuff some of you are here for, being the new info and timeline stuff that occurs during the year Class 1-X and 1-Y are first years. First off, Class 1-A and Class 1-B would now be third years, which was a concept brought up in the original post that cause my brain to go into theory mode.

I would also like to pose the idea of a new "Big Three", replacing Mirio Togata, Tamaki Amajiki, and Nejire Hado (and also the nameless "Big Three" from when 1-A/1-B had been second years in this AU) since 1-A and 1-B are now all third years. This new "Big Three" would be made up of Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, and Izuku Midoriya, seeing as out of Class 1-A and Class 1-B, those three have shown to be the most consistent heavy hitters (and also being the most relevant to the original plot).

Aside from that, Class 1-A and 1-B would not be doing that much in the AU aside from the new "Big Three" occasionally helping out the first year Hero Course students with their studies.

Anyway if you read this far I really appreciate it. I have some more ramblings about stuff in the tags, but its more side stuff that doesn't really effect this AU within another AU.

#bnha oc comeback #skiduffle #long post #hoo boy did i go a little over board here #this is mainly a bunch of head canons on my part of what could possibly happen with the original story since there where some retcons #since not everyone is super familiar with all of the story of My Hero since the AU is just here to let people play around in the setting #But man do I have quite the habit of going crazy with theories #best comparison that i think a lot of the people will get is how deku would get super analytic whenever discussing quirks #thats basically me when i'm in theory crafting mode #but i don't plan on theorizing how to work around other story arcs #not because i don't want to #its more of a time thing #this is pretty much all i've been working on all day tbh #since we don't know the time his fight with All Might took place #so my attempt to fix some lore might have also messed up some of the lore in the au #bonus: the meme at the top of the post is probably my favorite part of the post #i'll probably redesign my sona at some point though #so the meme will not be the most accurate #anyway that's enough speculating for me

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

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Late July Part Two

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit kinda' tame.

AN: Guess who was a fool and thought that they could leave Late July the way it was?! Me. Spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle abound in this chapter, so proceed only if you don't care about the movie being spoiled for you! I'll see you guys on Wednesday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst @mostly-megan @pancakepike @88dragon06 @chibi-liz05 @iellaren-uodo-rian @heatherbel @ripleyafterdark @oloreaa @thesoftdumbass @okilover02 @renegademustelid

Alright, I think I got everyone! There will be one more part on Wednesday, so if you would like to be tagged please let me know!

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This chapter contains attempted purposeful triggering, frank discussion of character death, memory loss, regression and vivid flashbacks/allusions to post-trauma. Stay safe!]

He came back around slowly, still tasting the stale beer of last night's party like an unwanted echo in his mouth. But instead of waking up on the kitchen floor of his shared apartment, he was in a blindingly white room that looked suspiciously like an alien spacecraft. Jack's mind raced. Shit, maybe my roommate wasn't being a total spaz when he talked about getting probed, the young man realized with an undercurrent of fear.

Incomprehensible beakers of things lined the walls of the room. Alright, maybe he should have paid more attention in his chemistry classes, but he could hardly be blamed for assuming that none of it would have practical uses!

Jack rattled his hands in the cuffs that secured him to the table, clearing his throat. Man, his head ached. This was why he needed to remember to drink a glass of water before passing out!

"S'cuse me? Uh, hello?" He called hesitantly. "Look, if the guys from Theta Alpha Phi put you up to this-"

A beautiful older woman rounded the corner into the room, observing him over her glasses. "Welcome back." Her voice was steel, and Jack worried his lower lip nervously. "Wasn't sure if you were going to make it for a little while."

The restraints around his wrists and ankles abruptly retracted into the table, leaving Jack to awkwardly stumble forward onto the floor. He quickly regained his footing, reaching up to seize the lapels on his usually-open shirt and finding instead that he was wearing some sort of...ski suit? Jumpsuit? Top Gun, I can dig it.

God, she really was a good-looking woman. Ah, what the hell. Nothing ventured...

"Hello gorgeous. I'm Jack, what's your name?" He didn't give her any time to answer before he carried on with a disarming grin, "How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?" Jack ran a hand through his usually-unruly hair and found it...weirdly tame. "I've got a six pack on ice and my roomie is out for the night so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar!" He continued, ambling forward. The cheesy, blatant approach usually worked well for him. Sixty/forty split, or thereabouts.

She kept retreating as he advanced, and then she reached into her pocket. Jack braced himself for the rebuff, confused when she pulled out a Polaroid instead. "I hate to do this to you, Jack." She sounded like she meant it. There was Blue-Tack on the back of the Polaroid and handwriting that some portion of his brain vaguely recognized as his own, but he didn't get the chance to read it before she was showing him the faded image.

It took him a moment to realize that it was a picture of one of the girls he had dated in high school, but it looked like she had grown into a legitimately stunning woman. She was smiling fondly at whoever was taking the picture, and the entire image radiated playful energy. Jack cocked his head, a buzz of foreign sadness churning briefly in his chest before he raised his eyes to meet the...scientist's? Teacher's? "Where'd you get this picture? I ain't seen her in years! Shee-it, she got beautiful." The young man drawled. "I have been thinkin' about visitin' my folks again. Maybe I'll go 'round to her place too for some catchin' up."

The woman seemed startled, her sculpted brows raising and then dropping as she studied him intently. "You...don't remember...?"

"I remember her, yeah, we dated for a while in high school." Jack insisted. "Broke up senior year because I was leavin' for college, y'know how it is."

"This is your wife, Jack. Or she was, rather."

His head throbbed, left temple lighting up with sudden agony. "Oh, shit." Jack grunted, holding the side of his head and grazing a bandage that he hadn't realized was there. "Damn, I must have hit my head real good when those pricks from Theta Alpha shoved me down the stairs. Hangover probably ain't helpin'." He grinned ruefully at her. "Guess you must be the one who patched me up. I ain't never asked out a doctor before, but there's a first time for everythin'. Can I pay you back with dinner?"

The woman appeared perturbed. "Jack. This is your wife." She repeated, waving the picture in his face.

"I'm real sorry ma'am, but I ain't the marryin' sort." Jack replied bluntly, "I would definitely remember if someone like her was still my girlfriend. Or uh, had become my wife."

"What do you remember happening, Jack? Before…" she gestured vaguely. "This?"

Jack chewed on his lower lip in thought, tilting his head back to stare up at the featureless ceiling. "Uh, I remember…well, before they pushed me down the stairs, them TAP boys crashed my roommate's party…"

…

"'Pressions, I need you down here in the reconstruction laboratory." Ginger Ale's voice issued abruptly through your earpiece and you sat up a little straighter at your desk.

"What's happened?" You asked softly, rising from your seat and making your way to the door. What with a majority of the population currently locked up in stacks of cages, enough to fill football arenas to their brim, you weren't doing much in the 'managing first impressions' area. Since you had fewer and fewer responsibilities, Ginger Ale had begun to lean upon you a bit more, especially as all able-bodied agents were deployed into the field to search for an antidote. With Tequila being incapacitated, it had made the assignment personal to many agents.

It had been fascinating to find out that Statesman was technically an offshoot from the now utterly-decimated Kingsman agency. When the two surviving members of their group had shown up to the Statesman headquarters, it had caused quite the stir.

"I need a favor." Ginger said, sounding tired.

"Anything." You agreed before she could elaborate further, picking your way through the gravel in the courtyard as you headed to the warehouse where the massive casks of Statesman Reserve were stored to age. Once inside, your heels clicked loudly in the stillness of the temperature-controlled storehouse and you were certain that Ginger Ale could tell your location just from the noise alone. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Don't promise me that until you know what I need."

Your brow furrowed. "Uh...okay."

Once you had made your way through the somewhat labyrinthine halls of the Statesman underground facility, you found Ginger Ale waiting for you directly outside the sick bay. She was rubbing her temples.

"Oh no, that's not a good sign." You quipped as you approached.

She looked up and her face bore an expression of long suffering. "You don't have to say yes to this, okay?"

"Ginger, talk to me. What's up?" You asked worriedly, taking her arm and leading her off to the side of the doorway.

"'Pressions, Whiskey may not be...one hundred percent." She said carefully. "He didn't snap back into 'Whiskey mode' even though the nanites-"

"Wait, what happened to Whiskey?" You interrupted in concern, your heart hammering a foreign, panicky tattoo on your ribcage. "He was with the Galahads, I thought?"

"He got caught by a sniper." Ginger Ale grimaced. "Clean shot to the head."

"Jesus, no." You gasped. "I'm assuming one of the Galahads used his alpha gel?"

"Yes, and the nanites did their job perfectly. So he's stable, and conscious. Better than that, I would hazard, considering that he took a bullet to the head and he's walking and talking. The issue is that he's not really...Whiskey. At the point he's regressed to, he thinks he's still a dropout living with his college roommate." Ginger Ale pulled a picture out of an inner pocket. "It used to be that we could just trigger him to resume where he left off using the memory of his wife and unborn son, but it doesn't appear to be working this time."

You stared at her, mainly because of how casually she stated the fact that they triggered their agents back to 'normal' with traumatic memories, but also because you had a sneaking suspicion that you might be the reason why the aforementioned trigger no longer held the same weight for the field agent.

You told yourself you would refuse to feel guilty about it. Whiskey had asked for your help and you had obliged. It was as simple as that.

"Now, I know your family has that rental cabin, and I also know that it's fairly secluded. If the Statesman organization could possibly, uh...commission the cabin and persuade you to take some paid leave until Jack is...himself again, or at least until the drug issue is sorted and we can devote more time and research to this situation, I…" Ginger Ale trailed off as Jack's head popped out around the doorway.

You were treated to a blatant once-over stare that seemed to last for a lifetime, his dark eyes studying you intently. "Have I...met you before?" Jack asked you, the hesitance in his tone making you briefly hopeful before he continued, "yeah, last night, in my dreams I think?"

You couldn't help your groan and eye-roll, laughing in spite of yourself. "Ugh, and how often does that line work for you?" You teased.

"So far, never." Jack admitted. "But I've always held true to the belief that the sexiest thing a fella' can wear is confidence." He continued with a grin, "That and a high-quality hat." He glanced down the hallway. "So, is it just you two lovely ladies on this alien spacecraft, or what?"

"Alien…?" You raised an eyebrow. "Okay Ginger, I'm convinced. I'll get the paperwork ready. But if you need anything-"

"I know. I'm glad that I can rely on you." She interrupted you gratefully, looking relieved.

"You gals got any Midrin on you? My head is killin' me." Jack grimaced, palming over the gauze square attached to his temple even as he shamelessly watched you walk past him to the lab's computer.

"Midrin was discontinued almost ten years ago." You replied absently while you punched in your login and searched for the proper documents to send to the nearby printer. Commission for resources...ah! There you are.

"What, really?" Jack gawked at you. "Hell, I should probably tell my roommate to chuck his then, it must be way outta' date."

"Somehow, I doubt that will be a problem."

…

Jack balked a little when you stated that you would be driving, but he quieted down once you implied that the world may look a bit different than he recalled and that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

"He's not the first one to get put back a little wrong. The process isn't perfect," Ginger had told you. Of course you knew about Galahad senior, the Kingsman agent who had been shot in the head and returned merely wishing to study butterflies. "But I'll send you informational packets that he can sift through. Hopefully something will jog his memory."

Just riding up in the cask elevator had Jack worryingly pale, though getting him outside into the fresh air and sunshine appeared to perk him right back up. He was obviously doing his best to roll with the punches. You thanked whatever gods were listening that Champ had given you permission to take Whiskey's Bronco. Despite the technological advancements of your own personal vehicle that made it miles more convenient to use (you kissed your Bluetooth phone sync goodbye with a woeful sigh), the last thing you wanted was to cause Jack even more distress. Whiskey was mercifully a classic, no frills, no fuss man when it came to his preferred vehicle, even for being a secret agent.

You grabbed your go-bag out of the trunk of your car and walked over to the Bronco in the lot, barely holding back a laugh at Jack's obvious approval of the vehicle. He was running his fingers reverently along the tiny red pinstripe on the exterior, back and forth.

"If I get enough money for one of these beauts someday, God, it will be a sight." He mused, sounding wistful. "Have to get a better job first, though." He continued, as if reciting an oft-repeated mantra.

"Ginger said you dropped out. What courses were you taking?" You asked curiously. Jack had never been very forthcoming with information about his past, so you seized the opportunity to glean a little insight into the normally tight-lipped agent.

"My parents want me to be a doctor." Jack answered you with a shrug. "I dropped out last semester. Still ain't sure how I'm gonna' break it to 'em." He bounded up into the passenger seat, drumming his fingers nervously on the edge of the door. "Can I ask for somethin' to eat? I'm fuckin' famished." He admitted, changing the subject.

"Yeah, what do you feel like?" You paused, wondering if visiting the establishment near your cabin would assist his memory. "Sandwiches? Pizza?"

"She drives a manual and she eats real food? Be still my goddamn heart!" Jack proclaimed dramatically.

"Easy now cowboy, flattery will get you everywhere!" You laughed.

He grinned back at you, but the smile soon faded. You noticed him studying himself in the side mirror, running a finger down his jaw and grimacing. "God, there's a lot more mileage on this face than I remember." He muttered, prodding the skin of his right temple to smooth out the pronounced crow's feet around his eye. As if working on muscle memory, he reached down without looking and popped open the glovebox to grab his sunglasses. He paused, like he noticed what he had done, then shrugged and slipped the glasses on. "How do I look, ma'am?"

"Perfect."

What with the drug situation ravaging the world right now, the normally-bustling joint you favored was downright sleepy. Aside from the muted television over the counter, the only sign of life was the lone waitress who ushered the two of you in to sit at the counter.

"I can turn that up if you'd like." She offered, nodding at the TV. "I just leave it silent when I'm alone because all the reports...well, they can grate on your nerves, y'know?"

"Nah, leave it off." You shook your head. "I'm full up on hearing about the topic at hand."

"'Topic at hand'?" Jack repeated, looking confused. He had taken his hat off and placed it on the countertop, his fingers back to worrying the bandage on his head.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Hey, cool it. You'll undo all of Ginger's hard work." You chided, and he jerked his hand away with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Whups, sorry." He looked up at the menu, and then asked the waitress, "Ma'am can I get a cup of coffee and a hot brown with chicken? I'm downright famished." His smile seemed more genuine, somehow. You realized after a moment that it actually reached his eyes, warming them even further. You weren't sure if you had ever seen him smile like that. Maybe he had forgotten how.

You began to explain in an undertone after the waitress had bustled off to the kitchen, "so there's this...problem going on in the world right now. Big drug problem."

"Yeah, no shit." Jack scoffed, taking a sip of the black coffee she had poured him. "Nixon started that shit, and Reagan's been on that shit for years. You ain't tellin' me nothin' I don't know."

"N...No, no no, this is different." You grimaced, leaning in a little closer. "I'm talking like, there was one person behind the whole thing and now a large chunk of the population is infected with a virus that will kill them because they used illegal drugs."

Jack stared at you, his coffee cup forgotten in midair between the counter and his mouth. "You...what, hell, all drugs?" He asked incredulously. "Weed? Coke? LSD? 'Shrooms? Everythin'?"

"Everything unregulated, yes."

"I...God." The mug met the counter with a thump and Jack put his head in his hands. "Fuck, you're serious about this, ain't you?"

This was a far cry from the boardroom Whiskey who had insisted that Champ "couldn't make this personal" after it had been revealed that Tequila was infected. But then, people changed over time. Things happened. You imagined a secret agent would grow into a fair amount of detachment through their career, if only for the sake of their sanity.

"So what's gonna' happen to them? Is anyone doin' anythin' to help? Or is everyone just sittin' on their damn hands again, watchin' shit happen?" Jack growled.

"Well, our friends are doing their best. I'm confident that they'll be able to pull off their mission." Even without the senior Statesman agent at their side, you added mentally. Jack stayed in his hunched-over position for several minutes after his food arrived and you finally nudged his elbow. "Hey, sour puss. C'mon, we only made this pit stop because you were hungry."

"I'm sorry, my head is...I'm havin' some trouble." He mumbled faintly, and you noticed that he had gone pale again. "Headache."

You felt a touch of remorse. Maybe it had been overly optimistic of you to assume that he might recall more clearly in this location that he had only visited once. "To go it is." You decided for him, tugging out your wallet. "Once we get up to the cabin, we'll settle in for however long. It'll be fine."

…

There was no power.

You cycled back through the last month's bills in your head. You had definitely paid the electricity. You huffed out an annoyed breath. "There must be a tree down somewhere." You said aloud.

Jack was already making a beeline for the table in the kitchen, the takeaway container quickly splayed open so he could dig into his food with newfound zeal. "So, what do we need to do?" He asked around his first mouthful. He hadn't even bothered to sit down.

"Well first, I'll call Ginger." You sighed, already dialing the reconnaissance specialist. "After that, I'll check the stove, the fridge--"

"What happened?" Ginger answered before it even had the chance to ring, her voice sharp.

"No no, nothing's wrong. Just the power is out. With everything being the way it is, it'll probably be down for a few days." You heard the rapid clicking of a keyboard. "Whoa hey, don't move stuff around, Ginger. We can survive just fine without power for a day or two." You assured her. It always made you feel guilty whenever Statesman resources were used on someone as inconsequential as yourself.

"Are...are you sure? I really should be working on getting more information from the drones in Cambodia-"

"Absolutely, you have way bigger fish to fry. We can wait our turn on the outage route." You interjected firmly. "I'll use the car charger for my phone, so if you need anything you can still get in touch."

…

Jack did his best to tune out your conversation with the woman from the lab, the young man scanning the inside of the cabin as he ate.

It was small, though not cramped. Behind him was the common room, separated from the deck by sliding glass doors. The ceiling overhead was simple untreated beams, interspersed with skylights that left sunny squares on the warm wood floors.

There was a hallway to his left that he assumed must lead to at least one bedroom and the bathroom, but he wasn't particularly interested in snooping down that direction.

His gaze landed on the wood stove that was tucked into the lone river-rock corner upon a sturdy pedestal of bricks, eyes tracing the stovepipe up to where it pierced the wall to the outdoors. Jack left the table and meandered to the stove, turning the handle and popping the door open after a brief struggle. It was still full of old ash from the last use and he grumbled under his breath, grabbing the shovel and bucket from their cobwebbed resting place against the wall so he could give the stove a proper seeing-to.

You would think people had never heard of a damn chimney fire, the young man griped to himself, eventually standing with the half-full bucket and making his way outside. "Hey!" He called to get your attention, "where's your trash?"

You waved a hand off in the direction of a waist-high wooden crate that no doubt housed the waste receptacles, out at the end of the rutted drive. On his way by, Jack slowed briefly to a halt to watch you talk into your...God, is that really what cellular phones looked like?

You shot him an absent smile when you seemed to notice that he had paused and the young man felt his stomach lurch, what the hell? This all seemed so familiar, like he had done it before.

His head hurt.

Waking up in a body that was damn near twenty years older, retrograde amnesia was what the...what Ginger Ale had called it. Jack scoffed to himself. The hell kind of name is Ginger Ale? Then, he winced. Jack Daniels, meet kettle.

So what had happened in between? Something must have happened to him. Ginger had implied that he and that girl he had dated in high school got married, which was...not something he had ever thought about having on his radar, if he was honest.

Unless…

A weird, uneasy suspicion began to take root in his chest. There was one scenario where he believed he would ask a woman to marry him, if only because it was the goddamn proper thing to do.

Oh God, he felt sick to his stomach again. Something, a memory, was lurking just out of the light and he couldn't shake the burgeoning sensation of dread. It was as if his brain was playing tug-of-war, both pushing him towards the realization and dragging him away from it in equal measure.

Jack shook his head and dug his fingers in beneath the heavy wooden lid that shielded the waste containers from the elements (and snooping animals), shoving it up so he could empty the bucket into the ash can. Later, he promised himself, we'll tackle that shit later.

...

Jack appeared to be deep in thought as he carried on the task of emptying out the wood stove, so you simply left him to it as you did a quick check of everything else in the cabin. It looked like the power hadn't been out for too long, as the small fridge hadn't defrosted just yet, so you made a note to head down the road and pick up some ice at the amenities store. You kept an 'emergency' cooler under the counter for such an occasion as this.

This cabin and the surrounding ones didn't lose power very often, but what with all the old trees around it tended to be inevitable once the winds got strong. Your parents had instilled the knowledge in you of how to properly maintain the property, and you were immensely grateful that no problem had cropped up yet that you hadn't been able to straighten out by yourself.

Most of the vacation cabins that littered the nearby woodlands had been booked up for the summer, due to the prolific population of affluent wealthy who enjoyed them as an 'isolated retreat from civilization'. You were hard-pressed to think of an 'isolated retreat' that included a convenience store within literal walking distance of one's residence, but any port in a storm.

Jack was oddly silent for nearly the entire walk down the road to the tiny store, his thumbs hooked through his belt loops as his fingers idly patted out an off-tempo rhythm on his thighs. "Penny for your thoughts?" You broke the quiet with your question, trying for a genial tone.

"I dunno', really. I've got a lot of 'em. How many pennies we talkin'?" He replied, his smile strained. "I just feel like I'm missin' somethin'...big. Obvious. And I...dunno' if I'll be happy about figurin' out what it is, y'know? Like there's somethin' in the back of my head, hollerin' at me, but I can't make out the damn words and I don't--I ain't sure if I really want to." Jack stared off ahead, his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. "I've already been a fuck-up for most of my life, y'know. I can't imagine what bullshit I pulled later."

This uncertain man was a far cry from the usual cocksure attitude you had come to expect from Whiskey. In a way, you weren't exactly surprised that his attitude may have been mainly bravado. Or it might just be that he had played the part for so long he started to believe it. You reached out carefully and he met you halfway, almost absentminded, instinct kicking in before his brain as he wrapped his hand around your wrist.

It took a moment before Jack's fingers twitched, and then his shoulders went stiff. Just like Whiskey, you found yourself thinking. "Uh, sorry, I-" he began to awkwardly apologize.

"It's okay." You murmured, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. "If you're okay, this is okay."

"...okay." Jack's voice was barely a whisper, the man smiling gratefully and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

...

It was a beautiful night.

Due to the lack of power in your cabin and the ones around it, the stars were clearly visible. You had brought the battery-powered radio out with you onto the deck, soft crackling static and faint music the backdrop to your after-dinner conversation.

Jack was more at peace than he could recall feeling recently, the man content to watch your expressions in the light of the lone citronella candle that you had lit on the table.

At ease, well-fed and comfortable, it was almost malicious how fast his mind began to twist everything for him. Jack Daniels, college dropout. Nothing to show for it at all. He'd crashed and burned so damn fast, there hadn't been time. And now, all of this, finding out that the world had gone to shit--

In the middle of his ruminations, something dragged him back to the present. A familiar song, jarring him out of his self-deprecating reverie. "You fill up my senses…"

His head aching again, Jack got a fleeting recollection of a kitchen in a tiny apartment. Faded, dingy gray subway tiles on the backsplash, yellow curtains framing the window over the sink, her yelling at him, "I hate it when we fight, Jack," eyes snapping with fury but resigned and no, no, something is wrong-

"What's wrong?"

It took him a minute to realize that it was you asking him aloud, not his brain screaming at him. Jack grimaced, pressing his fingers to the bandage. "This song, I...I know it."

"I mean, it's John Denver." You said in a deadpan tone. "The guy oozes questionable sweater choices, denim and radio-friendly vibes. I'd be more surprised if you didn't know it."

"When she and I...we had moved in together. And this…it was playin' while we were arguin'." Jack's head was pounding. The kitchen had always felt too small, though it was the perfect size for her. They fought. About little things, and then bigger things. His gambling, her drinking. What a couple. Jack shoved his chair back from the table on an impulse, getting to his feet. "C'mere." He ordered, extending a hand to you

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. "Why?"

"Dammit woman, just-" Jack tangled his fingers with yours, giving your arm a light tug. "C'mere." He pleaded.

You obliged begrudgingly, obviously comfortable in your current position and unwilling to move. But once you were upright you didn't seem to have any reservations about him swaying you back and forth in time to the music, your head on his chest like it belonged there and your hands tucked into the sleeves of your large sweatshirt.

"...like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean…" the song carried on, sweet and calm. Jack rested his chin on the top of your head, closing his eyes and just letting the faded memories wash over him.

"...I can't do this shit anymore." He had whispered into her hair, his voice hoarse. "All we goddamn do is fight and neither of us change and I'm fuckin' sick of this shit." He had continued to rock the both of them to and fro in that tiny kitchen, as if to soothe her.

"Oh, you think I'm not sick? I've been sick!" She threw it right back at him hotly, her fists clenched on his chest like she wanted to beat the piss out of him. He probably deserved it. "Jack, you're the one who needs to change! You're the one who's the father of my fucking baby, why don't you start goddamn acting like it!"

Jack's eyes flew open. Baby? He scoured his mind frantically, every memory he turned up so frustratingly piecemeal!

Baby, a baby, son? Blue crib, blue walls, my son? Married, needed to get married, can't have a baby without getting married, her parents hate me, my parents are already disappointed, have to elope--

And then everything ground to a halt. It was like his memory hit a wall, leaving him confused and almost raw with uncertainty. He needed more, damn it! He exhaled raggedly, making you look up at him in concern.

"Jack? Are you okay?" Your query was so quiet, like you didn't want to disturb him..

"I just...my uh, my joints are complainin'. Guess I let myself sit for too long." He fibbed, smiling down at you in an attempt to distract you from his obvious turmoil. "Thanks for the dance," Jack hesitated, an unfamiliar pet name lingering on the tip of his tongue, "cherry pie."

...

Jack meandered to lean with his arms crossed on the porch railing, his head tipped back to look up at the sky for a time. "Have I...been here before?" He asked out of the blue. "I feel like...it's weird to ask, but I feel like you and I have...I feel like I've been here before. With you." He finally managed to get the words out.

"Well, yes." You admitted. "You came to me because you needed help."

"And did you?" Jack cocked his head to the side.

"Did I what?"

"Help."

You hesitated to answer him, mulling it over. Because in the moment, it seemed like you had. Whiskey had left your care an obviously happier man, but…

If the memory of his pregnant wife, the memory of losing her had been established as his failsafe, it was downright irresponsible of him to have removed that trigger without instating a new one first. Ginger Ale hadn't known, and now Statesman was down their senior field agent in the middle of an incredibly dangerous and tenuous maneuver. The health and safety of countless people hung in the balance and technically, technically (by your reasoning, anyway), it was your fault that Statesman was unable to put their best foot forward in this endeavor.

But…

"I think so." You said softly. "You hung onto something from your past that hurt you, Jack. Something that weighed your body down. I guess you finally got tired of carrying it with you."

Jack's smile was slow, but it lit up his face yet again in the way that Whiskey's never had. "Well good, then! I'm glad you helped me out." He shook his head ruefully. "I just feel like I've been here before. This point in time. It's like...like I'm gettin' the chance to do somethin' over, but I don't know what the hell it is. I'm scared, feel like I'm gonna' fuck somethin' up on accident." He admitted quietly. "It was here, wasn't it? Where you helped me?"

"Yes. This cabin is a safe environment for anyone that needs it."

"I can tell. It's...peaceful." He drawled, one boot hooked over the other as he shifted his weight against the railing. A hand wandered to your arm, his warm palm rubbing your shoulder absently. "I just hope that I can...do whatever it is folks need me to do." Jack murmured.

His hand stayed on your arm for a good long while, the two of you silently looking at the stars.

"Hey, uh," Jack spoke up suddenly, "your...helpin', I…"

You glanced over at him, the stark white bandage on his temple serving as a stern reminder that this was not Whiskey, but simply Jack Daniels. The man, not the senior agent. A college dropout in a dead-end situation.

"Do you help even if a person don't need helpin'?" He asked pointedly, an eyebrow hitched upwards as he observed you.

You opened your mouth, uncertain of what you would even say, but you were suddenly blinded by the motion sensor light blazing to life overhead. Jack pulled you into his body defensively, once again seeming to act on muscle memory. You watched through squinted eyes as he reached down for weapons that he didn't have, his hand flying to his hip. "Hey, don't worry." You mumbled against his chest. "The power just came back on, that's all."

"Jesus fuck that shit is bright!" Jack squawked, his voice pitched high. "Thought I was gettin' abducted by aliens again!"

"Again?" You couldn't help your laughter at how ridiculous he sounded. The man began to laugh along with you after a moment, his expression sheepish in the brilliant Illumination.

"Yeah, yeah, get your kicks." He growled good-naturedly, rumpling your hair. "You're lucky you're cute."

You grabbed hold of his hand, tugging him to follow you back inside. "C'mon, let's make sure nothing got overloaded." You urged.

Even when he could have let go of your hand, you noticed he continued to hang on.

Part Three

#agent whiskey/reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels/reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels #jack daniels imagine #kingsman: the golden circle #the golden circle #pedro pascal character #i just can't leave things alone #i know after the first chapter this may come off as dry or boring #please forgive me #i am but a man rendered base by my need to make characters safe and whole again

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megashadowdragon · 3 years ago

Video

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Can These Rednecks Stop The Next Rittenhouse Mob?

On this short edition of Out of Frame, we’ll tackle the issue of false accusation and deadly prejudice through “Tucker & Dale vs. Evil”. Although the story is as old as time, the past few years have seen an increase in nonsensical, dangerous, and impassioned mob justice. While some may seek to do away with “pesky” rights and due process, we should actually reemphasize their importance, and maybe screw our heads on a little tighter… comments on youtube

Oddly enough the new spiderman kinda tackles "cancel culture". At least it shows how innocent people that just are too close to the wrong person can have their lives upended. I would also like to point out that the new Spider-man movie is a really good example of the mob mentality too, the only difference between Spider-man and Kyle is that Kyle was supported by the 'conspiracy theorists", while Spider-man was vilified by both them and the mainstream media.

"Why even bother with a trial by jury?" Asks the self-proclaimed anti-fascists Tucker and Dale Vs Evil is a great movie about class differences and definitely a movie about projective identification gone wild. SPOILER There's literally a scene where a college girl accuses the main girl of Stockholm Syndrome when the latter was trying to mediate between the two groups. Also funny was how the relatively sensible one gets killed off first.Show less

I wouldn't exactly say "Misinformation", more as in disinformation. Being deliberately told something completely untrue by some one(media)

Give 'em the Nick Sandman treatment. If fake news costs more than it makes them, then they'll stop People so often forget to place themselves in the shoes of the accused AND of the wronged. You want a system that will defend either's rights. The golden rule is a starting point of sound justice. More trials need to be Livestreamed, so people can see what goes on, and what is presented as fact or dismissed as fiction. As far as I can tell, there's no real downside I think.

There was an interesting trend posted by WTF Happened in 1971 on Twitter about the trend in rational language vs emotional language in media. Rational language rose until the early 70s and then has been falling ever since as emotional reactions and shallow moral superiority took over. Unfortunately, a lot of your factual claims here aren't true and were explicitly disproven during the trial itself. Rittenhouse fled because he was still in significant danger and was subsequently chased down and attacked by several other people, including Anthony Huber, who was ultimately killed while attacking Rittenhouse and Gage Grosskreutz, who was shot in the arm while pointing a gun of his own at Rittenhouse when he was on the ground being beaten. You don't need to be in your own home to use deadly force in the protection of your life, which is exactly what Rittenhouse was found to have done by a jury with access to all the evidence, even in spite of a prosecution that nearly caused a mistrial for prosecutorial misconduct more than once - including for withholding evidence from the Defense during discovery, which is a huge problem. Part of the challenge here is that Rittenhouse actually was being attacked, whereas Huber and Grosskreutz were the attackers - so the claim that they thought they were taking down an "active shooter" doesn't hold up as a defense, even if you believe that that's truly what they believed. It is incumbent on the person initiating violent force to be sure they have just cause and neither Huber nor Grosskreutz did that. Rittenhouse, incidentally, did demonstrate that trait in the moment (on camera) where he actually lowers his weapon when Grosskreutz momentarily pulled back his handgun. Rittenhouse only shot him when he re-pointed the gun at Rittenhouse. That's exactly the kind of restraint I'd want to see in such a harrowing and chaotic situation. But it's not what was shown by Huber or Grosskreutz, let alone Rosenbaum.Show less

#kyle rittenhouse #false accusations #prejudice

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

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Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga.

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods.

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post.

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

#opening arcs #chapter 1 #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #kamui woods #mt lady #1800 words and only nine pages #buckle in this is gonna be a long project folks

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whale-shark-queen · 4 years ago

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Also I wanted to make a post talking about this

N is such a lanky skinny lad. You find a rare candy on the floor in his room but otherwise just from that and how Ghetsis is with him one could probably glean Ghetsis probably kept him on a strict diet to maintain this idea of an ~ideal king~ who was free of worldly wants other than the stuff in his room that clearly must have sufficed for the nearly 20-or so years N was locked in there to keep him 'innocent' and child-like, and that rare candy was probably the one treat N would be allowed as a reward. Or of course, he was keeping it there for his Pokemon friends. But I like to imagine the former, and that N secretly has a HUGE sweet tooth.

I... really think N would be the type to gain weight from getting to eat a lot. And I'm saying this as a chubbo myself who is quite on the fence about fat characters who are shown to love food--

I both hate when anime/anime style games have skinny characters who get to wolf down massive meals and are seen as cute for it despite staying skinny while the fat character has constant food and fat jokes made around them (looking at you, Danganronpa 2 and also Genshin Impact to an extent) but at the same time I adore the 'chubby soff chef/baker' trope (NOT looking at you, Danganronpa 2, my heart is for Twogami only) and the idea of a character who is normally skinny and very active getting to 'settle down' after the rush and adventure of the main story, getting to relax and indulge in their favourite food and snacks without having to worry and getting some pudge, or 'going domestic' if you will. I haven't watched any of the Avengers films past the first and a few clips of others but I'm guessing this is partially what happened to Thor. At the same time I realise, why should I have to justify it? Can fat people not simply be allowed to enjoy food? Can skinny people not simply be allowed to enjoy food without having to 'worry' about gaining weight as if it's a bad thing? And to that I say, yes, of course they can, and fuck the stigma attached to it.

Anyway, I just LOOOOVE to imagine N finally trying out new food on his adventures, or maybe even after he reunites with the TouTous, unlearning the strict ways dear old Dicksis instilled into him and gettin chubby. Like it could go two ways;

On his own he might initially feel too stuck in certain ways and be a bit intimidated seeing so many options and stick to what he knows; fruits, veggies, whatever his Pokemon friends and partners would have; very green and healthy but at the same time very simple, boring and bland. He'd most definitley be intruiged seeing the kind of food other people eat but initially would feel he'd have to resist the 'temptation' and avoid cafes/restaurants all together until he finally reunites with the TouTous who are worried sick about him and see he's all scruffy from living as a hobo for 2 years and probably had absolutely not had a good meal in forever so they sit him down at whatever diner they come to first that's open at 3am and order him a big thicc stack of pancakes (vegan for him, of course, guessing his food preferences as such just to be safe) and start bombarding him with questions about where he's been and how he is and WHY DID HE DISAPPEAR only to pause when they notice him poking it and staring at it rather nervously. How does one even EAT this 'panned-cake'? And surely it all can't be for him!

Of course it's for him, he looks practically starved to death, so he takes a bite and a whole new world has opened up for him, it melts in his mouth and makes him feel so warm and fuzzy inside, bringing a huge smile to his face, and he inhales the entire stack, excitedly talking about his adventures and catching up with the TouTous. Of course this would go on for a long time and N would probably timidly ask for any other food recommendations while they're there and even though it's probably just cheap 'nasty' stuff they'd try a little bit of everything together and N feels like his mind has been BLOWN. He's missed out on so much!! He's gotta try more! So the TouTous help broaden his horizons by introducing him to all sorts of delicious meals and snacks and N learns to loosen up, enjoy himself and learn it's okay to indulge!

The other way it could go is if N gets the courage to straight up go for it and discovers new food on his own. That same moment of bliss where he tastes something brand new that lights up his tastebuds and makes him realise how much he's missed out on. I've always imagined he probably has money from Ghetsis squirreled away somewhere so as someone who discovers his enormous sweet tooth and loses all self restraint he'd most definitley buy one of everything from some Kalosian bakery and sit in a forest clearing trying EVERYTHING with his Poke-pals and just having a grand old time

Fast forward to reuniting with Touko and Touya where they notice he's plumped up a bit and-- let's be real, on his own N would try to learn all about human views on pretty much anything and would probably feel some anxiety about his weight at some point -- even though it's perfectly natural for Pokemon to do it while hibernating and to keep safe for winter, human society views gaining weight as some kind of moral failing, but of course the TouTous would be more than happy just to see him and would obviously think he looks super cute with a fluffier body they can hug and squish like a tol marshmallow

Just !! AAAA either way the TouTous would 100000% be supportive as well as Cheren and Bianca (who I also hc as a chubby ball of sunshine) who all suggest new stuff for him to try as well. I also like to think N would love to get into cooking himself as well, since he can apply his love of maths and equations to it to try and find the perfect combinations of ingredients to make the most delicious dish that he would also love to share!

Except for that 'mathematical bagel'. It just makes everyone angry looking at it.

(On a slightly serious note, at that point he'd probably lose a bit of the pompousness (which he does have a tiny bit of in bw1) of some of his concepts of 'elegant vs ugly formulas' when it comes to his opinions of a good meal, as in he'd value a simple dish he may have previously considered 'ugly' for being 'basic' and dislike how arrogant and pretentious 'fancier' dishes can be. Like what the fuck is the point of a deconstructed cheesecake, or deconstructed anything! That's just a gentrified version of being a kid who eats all the lunchable bits separate!)

But yes tldr; let N enjoy food! Let N be chubby! Let chubby N enjoy food and cooking!!! Let him be a soff boy who's perfectly squishy to hug and would 100% love to learn how to cook great meals to share!

#n harmonia #natural harmonia gropius #monochromeshipping #vuvuzelashipping #a little bit #pokemon #chubby n #god i love him #precious innocent floofy green baby #angry floff poff #still need a tag for touko #sunshine marshmallow bab #cherry #i really should redo those tags but yeh

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raguna-blade · 4 years ago

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So, listening to [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQqY7s1-pyo], and that got me thinking about Kingdom Hearts again as occasionally is the case. I’m still a bit steamed about 3 for one reason or another, and probably i should get the DLC down the line, maybe when/if I do a full series dive again since As i’ve kinda gone through it it’s occurred to me that i’ve been 1: Giving it an unfair shake due to personal disappointments, and 2: Giving it an unfair shake because god, please lord the story isn’t (when you get down to it) that complicated but these twists and nonsense make things really obnoxious and hard to track the themes and stuff which I think it does a good job on honestly but it makes it so hard to track sometimes i swear.

But this isn’t about that.

This is a fanfic idea, following the post game of Kingdom Hearts 3 and the idea is simple enough.

Sora falls into the Persona 5 setting, and ends up joining (or at least working with) the phantom thieves.

Including A Persona!

Including A Sweet Rebellion Outfit!

It’s Vanitas!

Wait, hold on.

So the general idea here is again, Sora ends up in the persona 5 world and ends up mucking around with that plotline. If anything, Persona 5R especially is probably a good fit for this considering Maruki and his goings on.

But really setting wise I dig the idea because first off the creatures in the heart of mankind are basically Heartless, Unversed, and Nobodies all kind of rolled up into one. One might make the argument if the worlds are supposed to be completely compatible that Persona’s are basically filling up the last part of the triangle of things that exist with Hearts/Heartless, Bodies/Nobodies, and Souls/Personas.

That last may seem a bit fuzzy since the Link doesn’t seem super straightforward, but it seems to be that the Soul in KH is an animating force in part but also keenly tied to thoughts.

Which lines up fantastically with Persona and Shadows! They’re basically entities made up OF thoughts really when you come down to it. Thoughts and feelings shape how they act, effect the world in general, and in great numbers and concentrations create absurd entities that are a sort of crystalized idea for good or ill.

So I think that part links up well enough yeah.

But what ends up happening though? Well for the moment, the general vibe is this. Sora, now set adrift and kinda just vibing out between worlds and of course desperately trying to cling onto something ends up losing his memories. Well...Not quite losing his memories so much as, he is incredibly damaged by the absolute clownery that he pulled at the end of KH3. That shit is not without consequences, and the fact that he’s not just hot erased really speaks to both Sora’s keen ability to do things that really shouldn’t be doable as well his other critical feature of being able to befriend basically everyone and everything if they’re willing to at least take a step along with him.

Enter Rage Form and Enter Vanitas.

Now I could probably do a whole thing about how Rage Form is essentially Sora tapping into the Powers of Darkness and yet not absolutely getting lost in the sauce like everyone else and why that is...And I will actually, you cannot stop me.

So my going theory in regards to using darkness in Kingdom Hearts is that Using Darkness is, as literally everyone points out, Absurdly Wickedly Dangerous...It is not, however, inherently evil as the games kinda make it out to be. We’ve seen several people use it without going full super villain, and indeed one of the major series leads Makes copious use of Dark Power.

The Problem with Darkness is that well...I guess the way to put it is, Darkness is basically concentrated Heart in a sense. It amps up E V E R Y T H I N G, to dangerous dangerous levels, and if you aren’t paying attention it will cause you to hop off the slippery slope in a hurry because you have to do the thing and you don’t feel any different so it’s obviously not effecting your mind. And it doesn’t precisely, effect your mind and make you evil....But it does cause you to lose restraint, to more or less give into passions to absurd dangerous extents that you may as WELL be evil.

Take Riku for example. He’s probably the clearest cleanest example because he has a whole arc with it, but fundamentally when he starts using darkness it doesn’t exactly make him start being an evil jerk it makes him do the exact same thing he was doing before (looking for his friends, looking for sora and kairi and trying to wake up Kairi especially at the time) and kind of not think, to not consider things that are patently obvious because it doesn’t jive with what he’s feeling at the time.

Basically Darkness (as I think is said at some point? but certainly implied) causes hearts to rage out of control and if you’re dumb with it, if you’re not highly extremely cognizant of this fact you absolutely are going to lose it.

Back to Rage Form, back to Anti Form. Anti Form first actually, and then we can go into Rage form.

See Anti form when it was a thing explicitly was never a thing Sora really had control over. It occurred with Drives yes, but it was always an accident (and notably get’s cancelled out when you fuse with Roxas in the Final Form but another thing) which tracks with the general antics going on with it. It nukes your drive gauge (which let’s you fuse with Donald and Goofy) and it’s actually rather weak on it’s own, in no small part because part of Sora’s whole thing is series wide is obsessively IGNORING how frustrated and angry and all that he is.

Kid has no idea how to actually use his rage in a constructive useful way. As a result, antiform while edgy and possessing some interesting qualities, isn’t really actually all that useful for untrained still stupidly uncannily powerful Sora (Like...I know it’s probably a whole other discussion but I kinda feel like the games both underplay how ridiculous Sora actually is while still at least kinda nodding at the fact that yeah this Kid has single handedly absolutely and somewhat literally decimated every single foe he has come across with disgusting ease? No one takes him seriously and then he’s basically breaking you across his knee, it’s hilarious)

But Rage Mode...? Rage Mode is actually QUITE handy. Offer’s a quick health boost, lots of teleport shenanigans (combo wise yes but hey) offer’s a move to get stronger at risk of health and is an emergency save both in game and story, and while the exact reasoning that he has it is never stated outright, I think it’s also fair to say that Sora as of 3 Is both Coming to grips with the frankly Absurd amount of bullshit that is laid at his feet when he really just wants to chill out with his friends and fuck off for a while (It’s a little unmentioned since Sora spends a large amount of time knocked the hell out but I’m pretty sure from his POV it’s been like the most hellish year possible)

Rage mode is Sora acknowledging the bullshit of his life and actively using it to do things and accomplish his goals, which at the time were basically beat the living hell out of heartless, nobodies and Xehanort (13 times)

It’s an active deal with darkness that may yet actually have severe consequences, but for Fic purposes, we connect from Rage Mode to Vanitas.

Now Vanitas is, for whatever else he may be (and the Unversed Certainly are weird), still a part of both Ventus and Sora’s heart. His Mirroring of Sora appearance wise (and indeed being the opposite of him in that While he may work with others he is decisively something of a loner I think, to contrast Sora’s Friends Everywhere thing).

And I thought, personally, when he was fading away at the end of KH3 that there was something of a lost opportunity. Vanitas was perfectly happy being Darkness, whatever that may exactly mean. But hey, if we’re going with my idea that Darkness=Heart Unrestrained here, then I think it’s not unreasonable to track what’s going on here.

Ventus and Sora both got extremely raw deals, and Vanitas unlike them was able to express that anger, rage, and just...Immense seething I suppose. Taken as a whole really, that’s more or less what his role WAS, to be the outrageous out of control fury of Ventus and Sora, targeting everything that hurt them which, frankly, was pretty much everyone and everything constantly (to say nothing of whatever is going down with the Mobile game for ventus who apparently is involved there so that’s you know...Not helping)

Vanitas being Satisfied as the Darkness of Sora and Ventus (and of course his own being) tracks then. He really would be fine kicking it because he was spent basically. Those two had more or less at that point burned out the rage and fury and overwhelming emotions, had brought it to heel, had taken it under control and all that.

But I can’t imagine Sora willingly letting someone fade like that. It’s not that he’s soft, or won’t put down bad guys. He absolutely will and does. I don’t think he’ll be happy about it, but he’ll do it, and I think if he has any idea of what’s gone down with Ventus and Vanitas he would be willing to, if the opportunity arose, basically give Vanitas a place to crash for all intents and purposes.

So. Remember when I said Sora has a Persona, a Rebellion Suit, and that it was Vanitas?

Part of the entire thing with Persona is, in fact, dealing with your shadow self. Shown primarily with dealing with negative aspects of yourself, but it involves all untapped aspects of you right?

Vanitas is a near perfect Shadow of Sora, being about as far on the opposite side of the spectrum as you can get. Arrogant, Self Absorbed, Callous, Lonely, yeah? But also, genuinely skilled and powerful, more than capable of reading others, and a solid lone operator. And thus, as a Shadow of Sora he’s basically perfect for a kid who is now on his own.

But Persona’s aren’t shadows precisely. I mean they literally are, but they’re shadows put to purpose, controlled, a specific mask put forward to the world to deal with it.

And Sora right now, alone, forcibly separated from his loved ones again, and much more permanently this time, turns to someone who he took in in his heart for perhaps not kinship at least commiseration. And Vanitas in turn responds in kind. Sora’s a nice kid but he’s not really properly in touch with the darker aspects of himself. This is a problem, not because ooooooo you gotta have darkness edge edge edge, but more because Sora has already USED darkness before. At the time it was safe enough because he was focused had a goal and all that.

But Now? Oh now Sora is basically in a situation where he might reasonably reach out for those dark powers and he is not in the right headspace to try and do that safely 1 and 2 I don’t think genuinely has a good enough grasp of his own less than great inclinations that could lead to him SCREAMING off the slippery slope into bad time junction.

Now Vanitas isn’t really fully doing this out of the kindess of his heart here. He want’s to do what he wants and that’s cause a degree of mayhem, get into fights, just in general kind of fuck off and do his own thing in the same way that Sora does except you know kind of more maliciously (though I genuinely suspect that a Vanitas without an immediate thing to do probably would just kinda...go somewhere and be moody. He seems the type. With a task though well different story, but sans one? And hey, the old man isn’t around to push him around anymore)

So Vanitas functionally becomes his Persona Here, which ties back to the way earlier mentioned point. Sora is a little broken here, but he has a certain understanding of both what’s going on with Tokyo when he get’s there (something stupid is happening at the bottom of mementos involving a heart. Guess it’s Heartless Stomping Time) even if he’s not fully on board with everything because of yet more missing memories, but for the moment, he doesn’t have the full power’s he really had before. He needs to lean on darkness here not just to stay as a whole person, but to also find his way home. And of course, this requires darkness.

Some of you may be seeing the grim and stupid pieces lining up here, so for you, just hold your head in shame and prepare the finger wagging.

So we have vanitas as a persona, more or less. Cool, fine.

And predictably, his rebellion outfit would more or less be a flavoring of Vanita’s armored up form, albeit probably a bit more kingly given Sora’s king motif.

But he’s not a royal here no. He’s looking for something. Going after a thing hidden deep in the darkness.

And as a proper phantom thief needs a code name, Why not call the guy who’s seeking something in the darkness. Why not call him a-

Why not Code Name Seeker for Sora the Phantom Thief eh? eh?

And that’s about the limit of what I got on this idea honestly. I know that Sora is still his lovable goofball self in a general sense, because Edgy Angst Sora isn’t really fun or I think true to the character really, but I think he’d probably be at the very least a touch more bitter than he has been, and perhaps for once in his life, just not feeling making friends at the outset. Up until a problem occurs and he see’s these other kids dealing with both unmitigated bullshit and being absurdly way over their heads.

Also, Yaldabaoth getting his carefully cheated game absolutely derailed, perhaps much sooner letting Maruki do his thing, perhaps letting him do a slower more thorough and less rushed job of things and having the Phantom Thieves + Sora + Akechi Have to deal with it is kind of fun.

Especially since Maruki as Antagonist in this case would be interesting considering probably 1, Akechi would Almost Certainly Be Alive (unambiguously), 2, Haru’s Dad would probably be alive leading to Shido getting his shit wrecked way sooner (I would expect that Haru’s still going to mostly deal with the same general problems given her dad would be in jail albeit still alive. At least in a broad sense, the specifics will very certainly be different), 3, It’d let Akechi get in on the fun of having his “dream” world realized in gaining the phantom thieves as perhaps genuine friends minus at least the baggage of him being the murderer of someone they personally know. He’d still need to atone, and I can’t imagine them letting him off the hook for that, although in the immediate sense absolutely yes they would because Maruki pulling antics (probably more hidden this time I would imagine), and until they fix things at least it’s not like he actually CAN turn himself in because Idealized World is bending over backwards to absolve him which is probably still bullshit in his eyes (He did the crime he’ll do the time damnit!)

And meanwhile Sora is busy dealing with his PTSD basically, while Vanitas crashes on his mind couch and occasionally steers while Sora deals with the mess going on on the inside.

yeah.

Feels good to get that out of the system for the moment.

#Kingdom Hearts #Persona 5 #a fanfic idea that just kinda keeps popping back up #Spoilers #Vanitas #Sora #Some Kingdom Hearts meta

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liskantope · 4 years ago

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I’ve just reread my collection of political articles written by H. L. Mencken, in the book A Carnival of Buncombe: Writings on Politics. These articles span early 1920 to late 1936, over five presidential elections.

Below are a few of the passages I found the most interesting, as a glimpse into American political culture during this period (although Mencken is overtly snobbish and somewhat bigoted -- far from an objective observer -- and seems remarkably obtuse about some pretty obvious things).

[This turned out long-ish. For me, the most interesting passage is the last one I quoted actually, although I’m not really sure if any of my followers would be that interested in any of it and this is for my own note-keeping as much as anything else.

After living abroad for a while, I’ve become increasingly interested in what is unique about American culture and common American mentalities, and it’s interesting to see the following musing from a century ago:

It seems to me that this fear of ideas is a peculiarly democratic phenomenon, and that it is nowhere so horribly apparent as in the United States, perhaps the nearest approach to an actual democracy yet seen in the world. It was Americans who invented the curious doctrine that there is a body of doctrine in every department of thought that every good citizen is in duty bound to accept and cherish; it was Americans who invented the right-thinker. The fundamental concept, of course, was not original. The theologians embraced it centuries ago, and continue to embrace it to this day. It appeared on the political side in the Middle Ages, and survived in Russia into our time. But it is only in the United States that it has been extended to all departments of thought. It is only here that any novel idea, in any field of human relations, carries with it a burden of obnoxiousness, and is instantly challenged as mysteriously immoral by the great masses of right-thinking men. It is only here, so far as I have been able to make out, that there is a right way and a wrong way to think about the beverages one drinks with one’s meals, and the way children ought to be taught in the schools, and the manner in which foreign alliances should be negotiated, and what ought to be done about the Bolsheviki.

- from “Bayard vs. Lionheart”, July 26th, 1920

On President Harding’s inaugural address (this, like many other things, makes me wonder what Mencken would have made of Trump):

I rise to pay my small tribute to Dr. Harding. Setting aside a college professor or two and half a dozen dipsomaniacal newspaper reporters, he takes the first place in my Valhalla of literati. That is to say, he writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean-soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm (I was about to write abscess!) of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of post. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.

- from “Gamlielese”, March 7th, 1921

At the risk of being redundant, here is Mencken’s comment on the lack of defined policy differences between the two major parties as they existed in 1923:

Both [major political parties] have lost their old vitality, all their old reality; neither, as it stands today, is anything more than a huge and clumsy machine for cadging jobs. They do not carry living principles into their successive campaigns; they simply grab up anything that seems likely to make votes. The old distinctions between them have all faded out, and are now almost indiscernible. The Democrats are just as hot for centralization as the Republicans, and just as friendly towards a protective tariff; they stand together on the money question; there is no choice between them on the question of foreign policy; they are both wet and both dry.

The only reality that remains is their division on sectional lines. In the South the morons still vote the straight Democratic ticket. But even this brand begins to wear off. We have seen Maryland and Tennessee take to the fence; we have even seen some wobbling in Virginia and Texas. The time may come, and it may be soon, when the solid South will fall to pieces. Out of the wreck, I venture to believe, a new alignment of parties will come, and it will be based, not upon outworn traditions and shibboleths, but upon genuine differences of opinion. What those differences of opinion will be I do not risk prophecying, but it would not surprise me at all if one great party advocated the inspection and control of bootleggers by rigid Federal legislation, and the other, clinging to the tattered remains of local self-government, advocated licensing them by the commune.

- from “Next Year’s Struggle”, June 11th, 1923

Mencken’s (rather lofty and prejudiced) perception of cultural differences between rural and urban America and how they play into differing attitudes towards Prohibition (the Volstead Act):

Prohibition is essentially a yokel idea. It mirrors alike the farmer’s fear of himself and his envy of city men. Unable to drink at all without making a hog of himself, he naturally hates those who can. When a city man goes on a grand drunk, the police take charge of him humanely and he is restrained from doing any great damage. The worst that happens to him is that his wife beats him and he loses his job. But when a farmer succumbs to the jug his unmilked cows burst, his hogs and chickens starve, his pastor denounces him as an atheist (or even an Episcopalian), and he is ruined. Thus he favors Prohibition, especially if he is given to heavy drinking -- first because he hopes it will protect him against himself, and secondly because it harasses his superior and enemy, the city man...

I have never encountered a genuine city man, not obviously balmy, who was in favor of Prohibition. There seems to be something in the urban mentality that rebels against such imbecilities. Perhaps the fact is to be ascribed to familiarity with the police. The yokel, seeing policemen very seldom, retains a considerable fear of them, and a high respect for the laws behind them. But the city man takes the cops lightly, and the laws with them. He has no respect for laws as such; he respects them when they are useful and plausible. Such grotesque concoctions as the Volstead Act he knows to be neither.

The yokel’s answer to this sniffishness is that the city man is a scoundrel, and ought to be kept under restraint. His opposition to Prohibition, as the hedge pastors argue, is due to a consuming love of rum. But that argument quickly runs aground on the fact that the city man, despite the Eighteenth Amendment, still has all the rum he can consume. For he is not only contumacious; he is also ingenious, and knows how to beat laws that he dislikes. So the yokels and their spiritual advisers have to fall back on the doctrine that Prohibition is ordained of God, and is hence binding upon every good citizen, regardless of his private convictions. But the city man simply laughs at that. He observes that the chief agents of revelation are Methodist bishops, and that he has heard too much balderdash from them to have any confidence in them.

- from “Real Issues at Last”, July 23rd, 1928

Commentary on Herbert Hoover’s character just before his election, as I provided it in the comments section under the (very interesting) SSC post on Hoover:

The contrast [Al Smith] makes with his opponent is really appalling. Hoover stands at the opposite pole. He is a man of sharp intelligence, well schooled and familiar with the ways of the world, and more than once, in difficult situations, he has shown a shrewd competence, but where is character ought to be there is almost a blank. He is the perfect self-seeker, pushing and unconscionable; it is hard to imagine him balking at anything to get on. His principles are so vague that even his intimates seem unable to put them into words. He is an American who came within an inch of being an Englishman, a Republican who came within an inch of being a Democrat, a dry who came within an inch of being a wet. He is what is today because it has paid him well so far, and promises to pay still better hereafter.

- from “Al in the Free State”, October 29th, 1928

Now Mencken’s attempts to predict the results of the elections of 1932, in which he demonstrates how oblivious he was to the effects of the Great Depression on public sentiment:

That Dr. Hoover will be renominated by his party next year is as nearly certain as anything human can be, and that he will be reelected at the ensuing plebiscite is highly probable.

- from “The Hoover Bust”, May 18th, 1931

Barring acts of God of a revolting and unprecedented character, Mr. Hoover is almost as sure of reelection next year as he was of election in 1928... [Mencken argues in terms of several states that Hoover might lose but won’t need anyway.]

All this should be plain to anyone able to add and subtract. It is as obvious as that 2 and 2 equal 4.

- from “Hoover in 1932″, July 27th, 1931

Right before the election, Mencken finally recognized that Hoover was going to lose but seems to emphasize almost every other complaint against Hoover (particularly his acting on the wrong side of the Prohibition question) over his failure to cure the Depression:

My guess is that the thing which really finished the right hon. gentleman was his singularly disingenuous and unconvincing dealing with Prohibition.

- from “Pre-Mortem”, October 24th, 1932

I’ll end with the passage I found maybe the most interesting. Mencken had identified as a Democrat and enthusiastically voted Democrat in 1928 and 1932 (although he didn’t support the Democratic candidates in 1920 and 1924 and loathed the legendary Democrat William Jennings Bryan). But well before the end of FDR’s first term, he had turned against the president’s new-dealing ways. Here is an excerpt from his article on the eve of FDR’s reelection:

Nevertheless, and in spite of all Hell’s angels, I shall vote for the Hon. Mr. Landon tomorrow. To a lifelong Democrat, of course, it will be something of a wrench. But it seems to me that the choice is one that genuine Democrats are almost bound to make. On the one side are all the basic principles of their party, handed down from its first days and tried over and over again in the fires of experience; on the other side is a gallimaufry of transparent quackeries, puerile in theory and dangerous in practice. To vote Democratic this year it is necessary, by an unhappy irony, to vote for a Republican. But to vote with the party is to vote for a gang of mountebacks who are no more Democrats than a turkey buzzard is to an archangel.

This exchange of principles, with the party labels unchanged, is naturally confusing, abut it is certainly not so confusing that it goes unpenetrated. Plenty of Republicans who believe sincerely in a strong Federal Government are going to vote tomorrow for the Hon. Mr. Roosevelt, and plenty of Democrats who believe sincerely in the autonomy of the States and a rigid limitation of the Federal power are going to vote, as I shall, for the Hon. Mr. Landon. Whether the shift that confronts us will be be permanent remains to be seen. But while it lasts it is manifestly very real, and those who let party loyalties blind them to its reality will be voting very foolishly.

This is particularly interesting to me because it reflects an interpretation of the history of our political parties often claimed by Democrats: “The two parties switched places.” I’ve always been a little impatient with the simplistic way this is put (although of course it’s nowhere near as bad as Republicans, including the president, who love to imply that theirs is still the party of Lincoln out of one side of their mouths while idolizing Andrew Jackson, the founder of the Democratic party, out of the other). It’s not as though the parties one day just up and decided they wanted to switch names or switch positions. Mencken himself had pointed out in the early 20′s, in one of the passages I quoted further above, that there was little differentiating the two parties at the time apart from the demographic and geographic subgroups of Americans who formed their respective bases. Moreover, the Democratic party had been displaying somewhat of a fiscally progressive streak in the past few decades, arguably starting with William Jennings Bryan in 1896. (Although to be fair, the Republican party flirted with progressivism in a very big way thanks to Theodore Roosevelt, and none of this earlier progressivism looked that much like the revolution FDR was waging anyway.)

That said, if one had to point to a single turning point in history for Democrats and Republicans which played the greatest role in directing them towards where they are today, the early 30′s with FDR’s New Deal is probably the most reasonable choice, and Mencken’s above contemporary commentary is evidence supporting this.

#H L Mencken #american presidential politics #herbert hoover #fdr #william jennings bryan #indecision 1932 #indecision 1936 #alcoholism #Prohibition

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amarscollyon · 4 years ago

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@bunnydelphine Hi Belle. I've written a lot for you. I care about you & I aim to change the entire world. I hope you have the time to read it, or listen to the audio recording as it should make you happy & hopeful, & I need a little support to achieve the goal. Link to hear my voice here:

or carry on reading...

So like, erm, hi....I joined Twitter recently, a vague plan in mind. I conceived a dozen tweets to begin explaining, & then I got carried away. I posted in reverse order so you can read down from here...It is around 15 minutes long

#BelleDelphine

The whole load of them is basically for you Belle, & I hope it can make you smile, & feel good. There is good & bad in the world, & good & bad attention you will receive. This is intended, honed, & perfected, to make you happy, show you your worth to me & the future, & keep you safe as we move forward, & it's just the start...

The extra good part is - I ask nothing from you but the time to read it, & be happy, as your smile is worth more than the universe to me...I'd love nothing more than to know just once I was the cause of it creeping across your face, making you feel warm, & maybe even...blushing..

You're nothing but an absolute treasure, a joy without limit, & the most exquisite heart ache I could ever have wished for or imagined.

So, hello world. It is clear to me that there is too much pain on this planet & for it's denizens. It is just as clear that many innocent folk need change but no one really knows how. No one can begin. But I am a spiritual master & linked to spirits that have shown me a great deal is possible, & I can help guide us all towards a much happier, safer future.

Thing is, I am slightly premature here. Ok so, as stated, I am here to save the future. Obviously, I can't do it alone. It's really all about connections, as you would expect from someone who is working on behalf of the beyond. Life itself is about love, & it isn't about our ego, our personal goals, or desires. I do what I do for all of us. So it follows I can't just do it without some of you helping out in whatever way is possible.

I need money, laughably, in order to kill the finance system. Not as much as you'd guess, but I need a start...We cannot continue to use this invented resource as it is. In a purely mechanical sense it guarantees selfishness & greed end up controlling too much, whilst empathy, kindness & love, end up able to alter too little.

I intend to begin crowdfunding soon to raise startup capital, so a bit of publicity & presence is a big way you can help me easily.

I need advice & knowledge. Building a new way of self sufficient life will take an enormous amount of information & administration. In order to escape the system that dominates us & teaches us to abuse our own nature, we need to be free of restraint & able to produce all we need. Even making a list of all those things is no easy task, but it is quite possible to cover it all, with help.

I need connections.

Sooner or later I will post the plan with more details. But life & the path I walk through it, has it's detours I cannot always predict. I have learned to accept they always happen however, & always for a reason. When you achieve a certain level of connection to the beyond, & behave in natural ways, when your intent is to further the plan for all folk, then events in your life begin to happen just as you need them, synchronous moments that go way beyond coincidence & become miracles. One day I shall publish my journals from the last 7 years, as it shows my progress towards enlightenment, & explains how it is achieved. But this is one of many tasks & for now I have to begin travelling to find who & what I need, to found this community.

Riding the waves of intuition takes something too,

actually,

I need your love.

My own huge heart does me well for me, no doubting it, yet it will only benefit with more care.

It has to be real though, & of course everyone thinks they already know what love is,

but almost no one does.

So I may need help teaching everyone what it is.

I can show you, but you have to want to understand & have the courage to rise to it....Love is pretty scary...It isn't ever just about self, & it is the most amazing & transformative force there is.

I need to travel the world to meet people I need to meet, gain the knowledge & resources I need to found a community with a new way of living, turn desert into forest & work with nature to bring us all to greater joy. I will have to find some way to fund this travel too, & with my limitations & illness, the only way I can do it, is to make adult material. This means I need at least one willing partner, so if you aren't interested yourself, well, I am sure you have friends or followers who would be more than happy to help. With just one camgirl or entertainer, I can get the attention of the others. Don't get me wrong, I came to you Belle, because you don't just look nice, but you also move my heart & I was directed to discover you in ways I know from past experience are spirits showing me someone who is good, & also needs my help. But I am ready to accept it may not be what you want, yet I know if there is a good person there which is why I am drawn to you, then you will help in some way, directly or indirectly...

It will be a huge undertaking & will gather immense attention, so it can't hurt anyone's career, & I promise, I am good at what I do. As a shaman & spiritual teacher, sex is quite sacred to me, so you can be sure I can make it beneficial to my partner(s) & exciting & appealing to the audience. Done right, with enough courage to connect fully, it will bring whoever I am with a previously unknown level of calm, contentment, happiness & even mystical revelation. Of course, I will have plenty of people say I only do it for myself, but they're wrong, I was never one to seek casual interactions, it will be something new for me, but I do it because it is necessary & right.

Indeed, sex work is an essential part of modern life. It provides a valuable service to society, & receives too much criticism. The truth is that sex is divine & can be used to generate massive amounts of magical energy, & I honestly think the best thing for us all is to appreciate this. These are beautiful, amazing, special people. So many use their services. Yet they receive so much derision & scorn, & despite a reasonable wage, a lot of negative energy too, which can be harmful. So I want them to help me or work with me & prove to all just how special they can truly be, & thus I can help protect them.

So hey, that's the basics, good enough for now. I'll check in from time to time for dm's & responses here, & I'll be back one day to really kick this fucker off. I have to start getting a following by following others.

But so far I am following one account, which makes me look.... conspicuous? ....erm...yeah, I'm not saying anything about that for now...

The pinnacle of beauty itself can awaken us to the deepest & noblest of all loves.

It is actually quite common to be willing to die for someone you love, especially for men, (in extreme contrast to their also killing more of course.)

But something else entirely to be prepared to live, face all fears, conquer all obstacles & do what must be done.

Love alone can do this. Love alone can mean the person I was - is already dead & gone, & so now I can live to the fullest to provide the very best example of love I can.

Love,

true love,

is a loss of self.

A death in a way.

It is also a common wish to acquire a home for someone you love.

Again, knowing love deeper than most, it is quite another to recognize it is your sacred duty, to fix the entire messed up planet for those you love

& call it all,

home.

Safe, comforting, warm, & full of love.

If your love is true, then those you love deserve nothing less.

We all need it.

I find it so much easier to fight for it, for something I find such beauty in, because I recognize my heart & soul must be as pure & vibrant as I can make them, to be worthy of a beauty I find so truly

mind blowing

It is a duty,

a chore,

a sacrifice & more,

to try to be worthy of what you find to be the highest point of love, inspired by something so beautiful, it takes your breath away

& kills you...

& to recognize that this true love means accepting that,

unconditionally,

I ask for nothing back that isn't in anyone to give.

Maybe one day it will be right to ask,

"have you seen my heart & soul? They're unparalleled, because the love I felt looking at you is unparalleled, the beauty you possess has no equal, & so inspires me, demands of me to make my heart & soul as equally beautiful & unparalleled."

I cannot change my age,

or whether you like my physical properties much.

If you cannot love my heart & soul, then perhaps I cannot love you forever, as much as I desired... & I will suffer as I watch you suffer, for rejecting that purity which asks for nothing.

I am adored by the good in the beyond, so being unable to appreciate the good in my intangible properties would be nothing short of a curse.

If you simply cannot love my body, my more tangible properties, yet can love my heart,

well, that's ok, I would be happy my thoughts & deeds meant I could still wake up everyday

& see

your beautiful face,

& I'd be able to say, "I did this for you, & I have all I need. To bask in your presence, the warmth your images bring to me, is the most sublime peace & bliss I have ever known."

It is a chaotic whirlwind in my mind, I wont deny it,

yet always so controlled, & I know a mental peace I never thought I would, as a scared, anxious child.

Indeed nothing in life is wrong

unless it is uncontrolled.

Thanks to you, my love, I can use the will & love I have to wipe out that which plagues humanity, & bring healing to so many.

The highest point to reach is truest purest love. For there is the inspiration to become gods, work wonders, & be the best thing you can be.

So. Not so conspicuous now. Let's make this super clear...

Mary-Belle Kirschner,

I love you with everything I have.

I want to make the world utterly safe for you,

so you can be free to be whoever you wish to be

& love every possible moment living in it.

I have never in my life found anyone to be so alluring, inspiring, amazing, or motivating & you occupy my thoughts constantly. I do not ask you to do anything except be aware of this care, & accept I do this because you are so wonderful to me, & reach out now, like this, so you know you're worth the world.

I just want you to know how by being who & what you are, you are so special to me, that I can become what is needed to keep you that way. This is all I need to keep me fueled to face the immense challenge it will be. I am here to save the future from the selfish inconsiderate apathy of most, & the deliberate control of an evil few, & I can do so because you are one of the few things I can say makes life truly worth living.

Just seeing your smile shatters my heart into a billion pieces, & nothing matters more to me than making sure you are aware of how valuable I find you, so you can stay happy.

My reward is that from now on I get to see every part of you & your journey that you choose to share with me.

My reward is knowing you will not only be there for me to visually enjoy (& melt into bliss each time,

oh how I wish I had words to help you feel how wonderful you make me feel just looking at you,)

My reward is knowing I've done the right thing,

but also knowing that you know, that simply by being, you made my world shine so brightly, that I achieved something wonderful,

maybe just like every hero you ever dreamed of

saving the future

& the princess?

& I can ask for nothing more than to be allowed to share whatever you desire to allow me to share.

To know you are free to be yourself, I can know unending utter rapture in admiring it

& I wont forget the understanding it brings that

I exist,

to love,

I exist,

to reduce pain & create greater joy,

& I brought it to you as best as any man ever could

with devotion unmatched

& asked for nothing but recognition & thanks.

I can not be a better role model for other people.

I cannot be a better lover & healer to the world.

I cannot be more than ultimate love!

& if you cannot love in return, well it would hurt you,

so I'd find some way to make sure. Being the true will I am, means the true anyone else WOULD love me, so it would just come down to repairing any damage the world has already done to you.

Undoing anything that has taken you away from your true nature.

But I'd never ask for that love to give me anything it doesn't want to.

Love means your will is yours, not mine to coerce or demand or dominate...

Could it be the love story you were waiting for?

Could it be you wish to save the future with me?

Could it make the world weep & push things in place for everyone better than trying to scurry & hide like illegal aliens?

Whatever you answer, it can only gain momentum to aid my goal, & bring you to happiness. The love I have for you, however you receive it, can be used to make the world weep, & in so doing, wash away much sadness, & let happiness spring fresh once more in the sunshine.

Come. If you will, in spirit, take my hand.

For I am Apollo made flesh, since I merged with him in prayer in 2018.

My tarot told me you are my Pythia, I mean my first reading about you showed me that card & I then realized - that's why you picked that name, isn't it? You have that bust & Delphi is rather similar to Delphine...So, you are my oracle then? We should certainly meet if that's the case!

I already went to the Labyrinth as a child. I also swam in the pool near Pamukkale, not far from a temple to Apollo. Those are just a few of many more salient points. There is no doubt here, I know who I am & what I experienced.

Belle, I am a guide, a teacher, a healer, a lover, & I can be with anyone & help them in many ways. I am able to love all people, literally, all, but there are some I am drawn to with such intensity. My own desire is strong for you, without doubt, but I do not pursue anything for merely my own gain. You are truly so special to me, I am reiterating I ask only that you find your true heart & be who you wish to be, but I am sure that you are a wonderful person & would want to help make the world better for us all. I'm sure you can find a bit of time to interact with me here, & this alone would aid me immensely.

The kind of love I have, I sacrificed much to be able to give, & it is here to help us all, it cannot harm you

nor ask for more than you are prepared to give.

I'd do anything you asked,

as long as it wasn't evil,

but I'll never ask anything from you besides considering my advice,

as it's rooted in placing your needs before my own,

in agapic sacrifice of self,

to bring you anything you could ask for to know joy in life

However - you should always ultimately make your own choices, & not bend to others desire unless it is also your own.

You said you were lost....well, I have found you!

You asked to be adopted...I wont ever let you go unless you want me to...consider yourself adopted...

I'm also a really decent cook, & you need to eat better!!

Mary-Belle, you are truly amazing, wonderful, & beyond compare. Loving you these last few weeks since I discovered your existence, has been the most awesome & humbling series of miracles & unimaginable happiness for me.

I want you to know that & to feel it too.

It is beautiful, how you make me feel. Nothing compares. Nothing comes close. I wish you could let me help you feel it too.

Notice me senpai? I bloody noticed you! I hope you notice me back.

I said at the start, I'd need help saving the future, help teaching everyone what love is

Belle, even if you don't want to be with me, I hope you can interact with me & appreciate this devotion. For the world can benefit, as can you, whether you come to me, or on me, or not...

It would certainly help shut up those moronic critics inspired to spiteful jealousy by your magnificent gorgeousness. Folk who go through life criticizing others, do so because they have so little to offer anyone, & it is all they can do. I want to help you show them just how much you can do & make their lack so apparent they finally grow up. It all aids the future, the development of every person we can.

Regardless, I hope it makes you feel good, to mean so much to someone, who is one of the best people there is.

I'm sure that could sound arrogant, but you will find out if you simply give me time...

I wish you a really lovely day

my love & blessings,

always

muah...

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