#not in a violent way in a 'I was fed lies my entire life and now I'm trying to placate the damage I've caused as a member of the lds church'

[just-some-friendly-fun]

✦ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇ

: ̗̀➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ #: ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛ (OC x Canon)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: The days that follow after the dawning truth that befell Iacon, and the waste that had been laid as a result of the new leaders of Autobots and Decepticons have now stirred a mutlitude of reactions amidst the people of Iacon. Some feel betrayed and others angry over the lies they'd been fed their whole lives, and even some stir in denial as a result of their false Prime and all he'd done... While others bear a more personal wound after his termination.

■ ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: HUGE TF: One Movie Spoiler!! Major Character Death, Angst, Hurt, Character Grieving Over a Character's Death, Graphic Violence (Gore), Assault (someone gets a bottle thrown at them), Oc x Canon, Sentinel Prime & D-16 Megatron are mentioned, but only appear in flashbacks.

✎ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6,869

ׂ╰┈➤ A/N (if needed): Felt like putting one of my OCs into the emotional meat-grinder for fun, and also I'll post a song that I listened to while writing these, because yanno. Also, if I do need to tag anything else please lmk. This is sort of my rough first-time posting smthn like this, so lmk what you think!

▶︎ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ᴍᴏʀᴀʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ - ᴀꜱʜᴇ

Three.

Weeks.

It had been nearly three weeks

Three weeks since the fall of Sentinel, when he had finally been shot down for flying too high where he should've never gone in the first place, and ended up crashing violently back onto Cybertronian soils as his plummet burned him alive and seared his frame.

Seared every part of his legacy, his influence.

His reputation and face once so boldly plastered onto every wall and holographic transmission, now torn down by servos once so welcoming and worshipping of their false God... Now turned to claws that dug angrily to tear off his face, his mark on Iacon, his history.

And maybe it was all deserved in the end, it really was--some way or other.

Memories of the day arrived in a constant fold, time and time again, washing over what little peace she had since the loss. It would often come to tear at her again when she had thought too much--and far too long on it, more than she was willing to admit.

Sunblitz wished she never did think on it sometimes, wished she hadn't been there during the execution, wishing that she didn't have the exact front row seats to his public execution that never stopped to remind her day in and out on what the color of Sentinel's frame looked like when his t-cog was torn out from him.

Or was it ever really his t-cog to begin with?...

Sunblitz's talons dragged further into her berth as it let out a weak scream from the metal to metal contact. Her pain bleeding into the desire to hurt what couldn't speak. To destroy something when her entire life had been practically wrecked in itself, the fault befitting more to the cup of her servos than any other.

She closed her optics and rendered herself locked in her own berth, her coffin of sorts, and waited for the rust to settle in, beginning first where her spark laid beating still--painfully so.

The flier tried to keep her optics shut tight, before re-opening them again, then closed, then open, a constant dance out of the darkness casted by her eyelids and to the shadows she casted over herself as she hid from the world beneath a tarp.

She was trying to furiously eradicate the memory from her processor core manually, time and time again as she writhed uncomfortably, merely pushing the recollection back only for it to have struck her back harder, running away and only to be captured and let go again.

✦ ✦ ✦

"No!.. No--!! Please! Please! Stop! Stop!" Sunblitz screamed, helplessly dragging herself on the floor, claws reaching to the open air as several of the golden death trackers and guards lay beside her in a heaping mess. Each of the polished plating reflected the appearance of her dreadful look as coolant furiously spilt from her faceplate to follow the tear-like designs already pre-made upon her looks, now giving them a real purpose, to no longer imitate for the sake of art.

Pain gripped at her very frame, seeping into the wires and plaguing her systems with a hot sensation that made it unbearable. She could feel the shock settling in as she pushed herself across the ground with the exposed axis of her legs, the exposed wires trailing along. She choked back a cry with every time the raw wound touched to the ground. Her legs were strewn about elsewhere by the hands of D-16, a cost of her duty--but by accordance to his views, a cost for intervening in this public execution.

No.

Not D-16.

Something far worse than Sentinel could've ever been in her optics. By the hands of a--a monster in his place.

She crawled pathetically with desperation, the pain of her missing legs searing through her sensors with every drag as she pathetically moved with desperation to stop D-16 while he lifted Sentinel into the air for all of Cybertron to see.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go... This shouldn't end like this.

"No..! No!! No--Please!!" Her voice rang shrill, a shattering pitch that went unheard. Sentinel was lifted higher and higher, the Prime's mouth agape once the silver mech behind him began to fasten his grip around one half of his body and then the other before a loud, sickening wail of stretched metal sounded in the air, slow and torturous.

"STOP!--"

A cacophony of limbs, wiring, and steel flesh began to split as the city of Iacon fell first to hearing Sentinel's choked screams of agony, followed by bloodlust-filled hollers and cheers below somewhere amidst the exiled. His helm tilted further back, his servos unable to stop himself from breaking into two as he was split apart by servos fueled with rage. This was the end.

Her optics had met to his, and every part of her screamed in her mind--get up!

GET.

UP.

But the painful truth took hold to her. She wasn't going to make it. She couldn't do a thing in this state but watch, helplessly with her optics torn wide open to remember this moment vividly, for the rest of her life. She should've looked away, saved herself the addition of another drowning tidal wave of pain until, for the briefest moment Sentinel had left, he spoke up, and out rolled a final lie to the world, to her.

"It's... Alright-" He choked, ".. It's gonna be okay-"

His words no longer existed, cut short, and abrupt, followed by a crash of metal and snapping circuitry, and wires that filled the air. It was still day and yet with every spark that flew across her vision and crackle of electricity, for a moment. She thought she was seeing the stars to the universe die out.

And then, she was no longer looking at optics lit with life anymore, as his body--a part of it-- fell before her and it took...

One.

Two.

Three flickers.

Before the rings in the lens of his optical receptors went out one by one, until he had finally been rid from the world, lips parted in a silent scream that Sunblitz herself couldn't have voiced for him as her vocalizer had been strained to its limit, leaving every choked cry to befell her to become agonizing.

Even when his death wasn't enough. Sunblitz lifted her helm to watch while Megatron proceeded forth, unsatisfied yet of his slaughter. He began to reach down, tearing open the chassis and into the chest cavity again to feast upon the rewards that lie waiting for him. Sentinel Prime was soon desecrated, robbed of the very thing he stole from another, Megatronus' t-cog now befitting to the new brutal revolutionist who preached to his followers below.

Her spark hammered against her chassis, the echo ringing in her audial receptors at the sight and she felt a stinging urge in the back of her throat to throw up, force everything out as her tears were the first to begin spilling from her in rapid streams. In her last morsels of strength, she crept forward, sliding close enough to pull what remained back to her, and to reap the scavenged remains, holding close while it was already beginning to dim into a cold, gray design. She held to his body, offering a warmth that was meaningless, pleas left unheard, gripping to it.

Sunblitz sobbed into the side of his helm and lifted it carefully off the floor and laid it against her, to find some meaning to the weight and to trick herself into believing, despite the odds, he was alive... Even for a moment, shredding her sense of reality just for a droplet of delusions. It didn't help when the weight had grown a smidgen lighter, cold.

She didn't know what compelled her to say it, but as her spark began to wring itself dry from the twisting threads of her own emotions, she spoke up.

"Don't... Don't you dare leave me like this, Sentinel Prime..." She silently sobbed, "Don't you dare... Go," Before burying her faceplate into the crook of his neck.

✦ ✦ ✦

An abrupt knocking came at the door, violently yanking Sunblitz from the cycle of pain Sunblitz had thrown herself within as she pushed up to her knees, her fore-helm against the berth. She waited.

"Sunblitz. Open up. You can't stay in there forever,"

At the voice of her carrier, Sunblitz shifted further into the blankets as if to hide from an unseen gaze. She was beginning to feel the tarp she concealed herself with grow taut against her wings. It tangled and snagged onto several nooks and crannies along her frame. A soft creak of her body became her only response, and in turn, another knock came harder than the last.

"Sunblitz." Voltcharge began, and from there. Voltcharge didn't have to start any further on her lectures or demands.

Sunblitz knew better.

So, with aching resistance, she slowly untangled herself and yanked on the tarp, attempting to throw it off of her frame but only stopped from her harsh throws and pulls once it snagged sharply on the parts between her arms and wings. A trickling sensation of pain seeped with the tight lock she found herself in, forcing her to halt abruptly.

She grimaced, forced to be gentle to herself as she searched her frame for the snag, and slowly unloosened the tangled tarp from the space in-between her gears, before resuming. Her fight became a loss. Her optical receptors slowly adjusted to the dark silhouette of her room, only illuminated by the slight crack that remained ajar by the curtain-covered glass wall that led out to the balcony of her room. She stepped out of her berth, and let out a ragged sigh, breathing in and out to make sure her vocalizer hadn't strained itself too much from the countless hours she spent in her vulnerability, wondering if the walls had been thick enough to conceal and keep her secrets in.

She hoped they were.

Heavy trudges answered to the door, she swiped her face-plate and reached for the input pad of her door, slipping the code with a few clicks of the keys before she came face to face with the older femme beyond, and a tray full of energon cubes stacked into a loosely designed pyramid, with a few blocks here and there led astray from the initial concept clearly. Sunblitz glanced at the appeasement gift, then to the older femme.

Voltcharge's audial finial twitched, and she slowly offered the tray forth, serving to her first patron of the day.

For a moment, Sunblitz eyed at the cubes, and then back up to Voltcharge in silent questioning, her vocalizer unfit to produce any real words just yet before the silent exchange ended with a sigh.

The older femme re-adjusted the positioning of her hold on the tray and spoke up, plucking a cube from the arrangement, "Might've over done it a little but... You skipped on refueling hours quite a bit ago, I thought I'd bring extra," She expressed, explaining to the design as it left Sunblitz to huff.

"... I don't need it," She said, internally cursing as her words began to drag with a prominent rasp.

Her carrier was immediate to the slight catch in her throat and the voice Sunblitz carried, before she spit-fired back a solemn response, "Like slag you don't," Before visibly liftening her sharpened optical ridges and softening her gaze. She bit down her glossa for coming off too strongly and to make up for it, a quiet "sorry" escaped her and she shifted her placement beneath the tray again, to selected one of the Energon cubes. She plucked to one of the cubes, the one from the very top now lying at the bottom of Sunblitz's outstretched hand, "... Just, take one, at least. You can't keep neglecting your health like this," Voltcharge spoke, with a touch of concern in her voice, her optics dimming to a pleading look.

By way of her weakened state and inability to deny the truth, Sunblitz couldn't help but begrudgingly sigh. She took the cube, placing it on her glossa as the conveyer-portion of it began to coax the cube into the back of her mouth and she proceeded to consume it under Voltcharge's careful gaze until it let up.

The older femme sighed with relief and her sharp gaze dulled to a passive look, her optics adjusting and brightening as she nodded at her eldest's compliance before walking off.

She paused briefly in her strides to look back at Sunblitz, tilting her helm in gesture once she noticed Sunblitz hadn't followed, "C'mon, come downstairs and help me get The Rewind up and at 'em, hm?"

Sunblitz huffed, "What's the point?..." Sunblitz remarked, Nobody's going to be coming here not after..." She trailed off, and pursed her lips, the fresh memories arising once again and making the sweet aftertaste of Energon on her tongue go sour while she gazed on to her carrier.

Voltcharge stared on and, she responded, offering Sunblitz another cube from the tray to goad her out of her room. Reluctantly, Sunblitz followed to pick up another Energon cube, and then down the stairs went Voltcharge who spoke between every step, "... It still doesn't hurt to keep it open for the people that still need this place. A place to come down to and rest, have a drink or two after everything," She advised. "The people need it. They deserve it,"

At that, Sunblitz couldn't deny the older femme's reasonableness on the matter. The idea of keeping The Rewind opened right after felt at some ways... Capitalizing off the conflicts as of late, but with the intentions her creator carried, it sways the thought.

Yet even then, Sunblitz wondered if the same could be said for her--whether the resolution would be just that simple, or enough. Her own mind felt like a mess, a steaming, hot pile of burning slag that not a cup of high-grade could fix or extinguish. Either way, she shook her helm to push her problems aside and followed dutifully after, syncing her steps to Voltcharge's,

"... Fine,"

. . .

Slowly, but surely, Sunblitz had resumed to aiding Voltcharge in setting up the establishment, the floors were cleaned, booths and tables polished, and inventory stock was checked, and so on to make the space cleaned up just right to keep the welcoming atmosphere hanging. A few customers had arrived in soon, not many clearly as she noticed that some hung outside the entry point, some merely turning away when they caught glimpse of Sunblitz to mumble something beneath their breath.

She pursed her lips at the hateful gazes that came and go, but she didn't necessarily point and blame them for it, not after everything.

She looked back into the rest of the establishment after giving the bar top a firm wipe-down. The place was nearly desolate, mind a few customers here and there that laid in the far corners, drinking themselves silly and having a good cry into their mugs. Others had finally gotten some shut eye, slumped in booths and tables--only finding rest when the drinks had pushed and encouraged for them to submit to the need for recharge, ending their days of neglect for rest or previous inability to.

No words were spoken amongst what remained of her family, as she looked around. Voltcharge was working behind the countertop as usual, having wiped clean the same glass when all others were already accounted for, and Razorcase was helping check up on the generators and other technical areas of the bar--trying to keep his own servos busy to occupy his mind from the messy days. At some extent, Sunblitz had even begun to wonder how her other sisters were holding up after the mess... Or at least one of them, no... Both.

She didn't even want to think of it like that, and regardless she did, now her attentions lingering on the thought of Silversong, and how she was doing since her body was... Recovered from the rubble.

Her tank began to coil uncomfortably again while she gripped the microfiber rag and to the shelf she was cleaning now, her claws lightly digging into the material of the furtniture.

Silversong had known to D-16 far longer than Sunblitz ever did, and she almost wondered whether somehow or other if Silversong had any part to the slag-show that resulted in all of this. And even without the role for causation, she almost wondered if Silversong did anything to stop that monster from becoming who he was and-

She stopped, her servo gripping fiercely into the steel shelf, nearly leaving indentations to the edges. The teeth of her digits had carved up the paint and material, dirtying the golden tips.

Sunblitz stared for a long moment, peeling her hand back and removing the rag from the shelf to clean off the evidence from her talons before deeply sighing. I need to get out of here, she thought, internally fearful of harming something else now while in her moments. She abandoned from her post from behind the countertop, throwing the rag loosely onto the flat of the table as she passed by her carrier in a speed-walking motion, catching their optic..

"Where are you going, Sunblitz?" .

Sunblitz continued her strides, slowing them down a step to speak rather than abandoning to Voltcharge's inquiries completely, "... To... Somewhere, I guess to uh. To get my processor off of things, y'know?" She remarked, trying to keep casual, extremely eager to leave.

"Do you need me to come along with you?-"

"No!" She abruptly began, like an uncontrolled blast from a gun, her words came out too sudden, too explosive than she would've liked-- which now left her patting out the flames of where her words ended up striking, looking to the surprised bartender, as guilt briefly glimmered in her optics.

Sunblitz cleared her throat "No--I mean, it's... Fine. I..." She waved a dismissive servo, averting her gaze, "I think--I'd like to go alone," She said.

After a moment of awkward silence, she slowly pivoted on her heel and pushed to moving towards the door again"... I-I'll be back soon, I promise,"

"Alright but, stay safe out there," The older femme resumed, and just as Sunblitz prepared to leave the establishment, she freezed at Voltcharge's next remark, morally obligated to stop and go like a delayed clock--uneven in its ticking and pace.

"-And you know you can always talk to me, right?" Voltcharge hummed, "Or Razorcase or even..." She froze mid-gesture, her own words now carrying too short and dropping like a dead fly.

She had trailed off, and Sunblitz had already known painfully too well what she was intending to say.

Your sisters.

But that option wouldn't be available at this moment, not with the current state of things as it almost made her scoff at the thought. Silversong was the last person she wanted to talk to right now, yet the only one she felt tempted to reach to, to demand answers even if it meant to grip to her unconscious form and to scream at her from there, to ask what had happened when she had disappeared off with the group of miners and came back to all this. And as for Hightop? Primus knows where she's gone since all that had happened, having remained holed up in her room from time to time or either gone elsewhere.

Her family was currently a mess of itself, so to her. It only felt right to leave and find her own space rather than rely to her closest ties--not while they were like this--a conflicting tangled web of lies, and mistrust, uncertainty and cluelessness, to put it crudely.

"Yeah. I know," She said, more lenient to brushing off the offering more than anything to seek her own methods of peace. She began to resume her trek, looking to her side and reached out as she took to an abandoned bottle of cheap high-grade left behind by some sap she remember slumped here from yesterday. Before waving out at the door, "I'll see you soon, Voltcharge,"

With that, she bid farewell and shortly departed, having felt the set of concerned optics burn into her back, attempting to shrug it off as she disappeared out the doorway.

. . .

"... Dirty traitor!"

"Lowly scum bag!"

"Wasn't it your job to protect us!?"

"Slagger!"

Sunblitz raised her forearm as a glass bottle crashed against her plating, wincing. Her forearm shielded herself from the shards that flew explosively in their own web of directions, fortunately none having entered in places she didn't want them to.

She opened up her optics devoid of glass--and made sure to keep them that way while she hurried off before another bottle could be thrown at her, narrowly missing her helm and into the wall she darted past.

The barrage of hostile messages barely relented with each step, wondering whether she should've just changed her passage route as it was beginning to become slowly more populated with bots who saw to her and thought,

"Now there's an outlet we can use. There's the one who was apart of this mess,"

Damn it all, she thought as she dodged poorly to a thrown can that nearly caused her to trip.

The group of various bots she had passed began to raise their volume with each advancement she made while walking away, wanting to remind her of her past with every opportunity they still had in her presence.

Sunblitz knew that she could've flown here, made it easier for herself had she taken to the skies but there was no longer any pride for her gift of wings. At the very moment, most fliers weren't regarded very well, considering that most of the fliers that once made up the population of Iacon were associated one way or another with Sentinel, some thought back to either the ex-High Guard, and Sentinel's personnel, now turned Decepticons or either dead.

Even if she did take the option, she couldn't put much trust that it'd be a smooth sailing without someone deciding to take her down from the skies with just one very accurate and emotionally driven throw of a tool or some other, so for now. She dismissed the thought and forced herself down this walk of shame, venturing on and taking to the strikes of cans against the helm, sheet metal and anything else that proved to be a rather effective tool to remind her of her regrets and faults for ever associating so closely with Sentinel Prime.

She wondered if he'd be even laughing or pitying her from where he stood in the afterlife by now.

Down the streets she went, down every road, and path. Her pede followed to very calculated steps, an internal route that she had followed time and time again to visit to the one place where she'd be able to find some quiet to herself... The one place where she truly could speak to someone freely without interruption.

She turned up around a corner and glanced around for a moment, having drawn out on the farther side of Iacon city down at the outskirts. She sighed, and trudged up to a particular space, twisting to one more corner, down a flight of short stairs.... And there, she found herself face to face with Sentinel Prime.

...

Or what was left of him really.

The intricate statue that remained of his head had been worn out, cracked in the side of the helm where it had its first taste of concrete after several of the miners down in the center of Iacon took it down from its shiny pedestal, the only recoverable part she could find in the mess of broken pieces of his limb and bod.

His faceplate adorned to smears, and scars, littered in desecration that aimed to ruin everything he found so perfect in himself. His jaw had been broken off too, ironic, to say the least--perhaps for the sake that he could tell no more lies. Even in this petrified yet solemn expression.

Beside it, there was his wings--his actual wings--clipped from the scene during his fight with Megatron. She even wondered how she had managed to find these in rather adequate condition, after her recovery, and after her makeshift trials with the new leader, Optimus Prime. She had initially suspected that someone would've at least made a grab for them to destroy and throw away or some other. Yet it didn't feel so much as a lucky find and more of a dreadful discovery that some part of him survived when the rest hadn't.

It was the only thing she had left of Sentinel to remember of him, not that he had deserved much of a proper memorial in the eyes of the people who once adored him.

Sunblitz almost wondered what they had already done to the rest of his frame already, probably melted it down into slag and then thrown away to be turned into garbage, some sort of tragic cycle of being used to be rendered useless again, or perhaps turned into something undignified, a crude design of his visage to remind all of Iacon the liar that had been plaguing their government for years... Or maybe her processor was all too forgiving, too kind, and uncreative at the moment to really wonder what happened and what they'd done to it, because most certainly, she knew that Iacon bore no kindness for being played like fools, nobody would.

Regardless, she took to the one thing she had left and properly arranged to the space again as it had come undone since her time away, keeping everything into place. His helm laid at the foot of a piece of debris, chipped poorly to make for a headstone. His wings leaned against the side of it, folded on the other instead of displaying proudly.

His name was once etched on the stone but became desecrated by her own golden talons, for the better--she thought. Otherwise, had anybody found the space she had been visiting to, Sunblitz was most definitely certain they would've just destroyed it completely, to purge Iacon of the traitorous figure.

The flier eventually settled, only after scarring to the stone obelisk again, making her... Seventh notch in the material before sitting down in front of it where she could face the decapitated stone helm.

She watched it, as it watched her, and with a deep sigh. She pushed out her first words to the open air,

"Hey," She greeted, with no mirth, and nothing short of forced casualty.

...

Silence.

As to be expected.

...

She slowly clenched her digits close and parted her lips, ready to speak again until... All the words she had, mingled into something else altogether, her internal script becoming unwoven by the letter,

"I..."

Sunblitz took in another breath, her ventilators whirling as her processor tried to find something, to untangle the words and make this as clean as possible, gripping to the lower end of her facial plate.

It shouldn't have been this hard--she's done this before.

She was speaking to a rock for Primus' sake.

"I--hff." She huffed, and tried again and only embarrassed herself further when a choked noise escaped.

Primus, she looked insane.

"Ugh...Hhhgghh---!!! Frag. Frag it all I guess! Let's just. Let's just roll with the punches," She expressed, miserably reassuring herself as she threw out her desired, clean scripts out her mental window, doing it the way she's always done...

Not like the ways that she was once used to, no.

There were no more cleanliness to anything she did, she wasn't given that option anymore. Just a mess, of herself and--everything!

"Frag it--frag it all! I don't even know what the hell I'm even doing here, talking to this--talking to you--I look insane!" She exclaimed, judgmental of herself in every part when the figure before her wasn't even alive for her to blame.

Throwing her servos forward and glaring at the Sentinel helm, she huffed at its natural indifference, "Y'know what? I bet you're all up happy--happy and prancing about in the Allspark right now, all giddy and slaggin' gone stupid with joy that you didn't have to fight bolts and nails to prove your innocence, huh?! That you didn't have to be down here like all the rest of us facin' the consequences of your own actions!" Sunblitz breathed, her chassis rising and falling as her anger steadily rose with the silence from the stone, pinching the metal between her optical ridges.

She was right somewhere, this was stupid--let alone embarrassing to be talking to this inanimate object that looked like her last partner albeit bodyless...

and... Jawless... And lifeless.

But, damn if she did and damn if she didn't--whatever she was doing. It was working in getting her to talk and so she persisted, sighing and grabbing to the stone head, holding it close in hopes that it would help burn her out soon enough in her tangents and hopeless rants.

"You don't even KNOW how absolutely fraggin' grueling it's been bein' around here and cleaning up after you!" She hissed, "... Telling and begging all of Iacon to believe me--me! One of the very closest people to you--you, who had to go and blow up everythin', and make an absolute slag show out of this entire thing!" Sunblitz exclaimed, shaking her helm, "I--I honestly can't believe it! Do you even understand how terrible it was?! To be looked at and ridiculed, to no longer make people feel safe around you when you swore to protect them?!"

She almost felt like throwing the helm out of her lap. Her digits wrapped tightly around the sides, watching as the material cracked slightly, breaking under her harsh gaze and even harsher treatment.

Sunblitz forced herself to exude once again, some extent of restraint, not wanting to actually break him despite the temptations that lied in the back of her processor to do so, to take and find some peace in destruction, as she always did, be it on herself or something else.

She closed her optics again, gritting her dentas and sucking in a sharp breath--then carefully dropping the helm back onto foot of the obelisk to keep it away from her talons, scoffing at it instead.

Reeling in her anger, she found the strength to speak up once more when she had the coherency to, forcing herself to drop her dignity out so that her whirlpool of thoughts at the moment would be better balanced and given light of this opportunity. She doubted that she'd ever get the chance like this to speak to him, to argue like she used to, to hear his stupid voice, watch his face crack with bafflement at her defiance.

This was her taste of reprieve and for her alone, so she'd be sure to relish in every part of the taste of it,

"... All of Iacon's struggling to process what you did still, half the center of the city is wrecked and we've got new messes arriving soon. There's... There's Decepticons and Autobots now. And... And they're being lead by the miners that--- you messed up, the ones that.. You.. You tore out their transformation cogs from?!... I mean, who does that and... And you lied to me! You lied to me this entire time and kept it secret--from me!!" She pointed to herself.

The decapitated head only stared and continued to say nothing.

Sunblitz huffed and shook her helm, not even understanding why she was getting so worked up about this statue-head not reacting, not saying a word, blinking, anything--and yet she knew somewhere, that some other. It was the simple work of projection, forcing all her emotions onto this single, lone block of stone that made it real enough for her to converse with--or rather simply fill the silent space around with her voice. Every echo coming back in her own words felt just right enough to make up for a conversation, even if it felt a little mocking and uncomfortable.

She didn't know if that made her more of a fool to the fact that she tricked herself into believing just enough that this hunk of rocks was him, or the fact that it was working.

Her thoughts lingered and delved now that she was alone and face to face with him, some part that fooled her just enough.

She thought back and swam in her memories, no, not swam--she began to drown in them and her own doubts, sinking further into the spiraling whirlpool of her mind before, bobbing to the surface again with an unsteady realization, "...Primus, how long have you been lying to me? For how long did you keep up this facade?"

Silence.

"... Was there every any truth to anything you said...?" She muttered in disbelief.

The stone-head continued to keep quiet, lips permanently sealed, and in her dying hopes. She leaned back and steadily pressed her knees up to her chassis, crossing over her arms and glared to the rock before averting her gaze as she softened her voice, spitting out bitter words that hold no better heat than to a firecracker, "... And to think you had the audacity to lie to me, and promise me that it would be okay..." She scoffed, "... Was this your definition of it being 'okay' then?..."

...

Still, silence filled the air in place of his reply.

Her expression turned sour and she pursed her lips, faceplate scrunching up, "... You gave me a purpose here, a job, and somehow you ripped it away from me without having to do--anythin'. Now, the people of Iacon can't even look at me, because they think I'm just like you and... Airachnid--that I knew from the very beginning that you both were knee-deep in all this slaggin' mess... and don't even get me started on what they've got on with Airachnid now," She said, rolling her optics to the thought before glowering again.

Her gaze fell right back onto to the decapitated helm of Sentinel. She gripped her fists around air again and settled back into an uncomfortably bunched state, huffing as her wings drooped and she hid back behind the wall of her crossed arm to glare like a petulant child, the gaze giving away to a look of weariness, a flame in her eyes that should've been put out long ago,

"... I should feel lucky. In fact, I think you would've probably told me that I was lucky. Somehow or some other with that cocky, arrogance of yours somewhere." She said, "But I don't. I don't feel lucky. Between the three of us? And all that happened? ... I'm starting... To feel like you... You were the luckiest out of all three of us, Sentinel,"

She gripped her arms a little harder, bitter to the thought, "you got the easiest way out possible, while me and that bodyguard of yours had to suffer the collateral, and some of us--me, especially, and so many others, are now pickin' up after you, was this all really worth it?... Did all of this live up to your intended dreams caked in gold and all the finer things in life?!..." She near-shouted, before forcing herself to quell her anger by a smidgen, cutting off her volume first when she had heard pedes off in the distance down the alley walking by.

Her eyes widened, tucking herself further near to the tombstone close to the wall and kept quiet, silent and watchful until the silhouettes passed, keenly listening to the sounds of their steps

... Until silence became restored and she sat back with a relieved sigh, now solemnly glaring at the rock nearest to her lap before looking away when she had once again picked it up and carefully placed it into her folded legs,

"... Maybe she had already known this would happen, but me? I was the damned fool who knew nothin' of this..." She said, before something bit into her throat at the thought--the idea of being innocent and a victim--left a more burning flavor of disgust on her glossa than any of Cybertron's worse below-grade Energon could ever do, rephrasing,

"... No, I wasn't the damned fool who knew nothing... I knew something and felt too complacent to even think of sniffing around any further to see what kind of slag you were hidin' from me... From all of Iacon, from the world..." She rested a servo over his helm, and reluctantly dragged it to tilt his lifeless eyes up to her, by the chin.

"... If Primus had written your fate to be like... This? Then, by the Allspark, do I have some slaggin' criticism for his work," She said, trying to find something bitter to say but, all there was left in her internal storage now was just... Memories, both good and bad that she wanted to get off her chassis. The idea of something so sweet between brittle and sharp thorns of her mind was... Almost repulsive.

She reached back, and forced them out--like throwing out tchotchkes and toys she no longer needed or wanted, only to look back and wonder whether they still deserved to stay or to go

"... For a moment, and during the nights, I can't help but think... They were too easy on you, too merciful," She started up, outright blunt honesty as he would've expected from her, "... I sometimes think you should've been brought to justice, imprisoned, stripped of your wings, your power, somethin' more that I know would've hurt you more than what you got in the end... And sometimes, I can't believe I think that way now... Say things like that. It's like I'm right back to where I was the first few times I knew you... So hateful, and... Full of resentment," She crossed her arms over the top of his helm, bringing the rock close to her chassis, looking over it.

"Sometimes I wonder if I was even the first bot to have ever hated you when I came... What a privilege that would've been, hm? Someone original out of every copy here who said they 'loved' you,"

She sighed, "And now look at me." Sunblitz tilted the stone-head to face to her as she gently cupped the side of its face, the cold material leaving her to shudder as she narrowed her optics and lowered her helm.

Passing the weight out of her servos and back onto the ground, she stood up once more with a hardened expression, what softness lied now became suffocated, "... You are... One of the most downright, worst bots, I could have ever gotten the privilege to know... in this life cycle, and I..." She trailed, her servo wandering just short of the storage compartment to her forearm, taking out the extra company she brought with her in the form of a bottle of cheap high-grade, "...Honestly do not know... Or whether I ever truly knew... Whether I hated you or if I ever genuinely did... like you," She whispered the last half out, and sighed deeply.

Her index and thumb seized to the cork, twisting.

"... This one's for you, Sentinel,"

"pop!" went the plug, and out went the dark blue liquid. She took to a short sip of the bottle of processor-poison first, choking on the taste as she spilt the rest out over the rubble and mess that she called Sentinel's grave, sharing the awful drink out to her unresponsive partner. Her yellow optics dimmed to the lowest setting they'd been in since... Ever, watching as it spilled over and stained every part before becoming a pool on the ground that surrounded his helm like blood. Sunblitz watched until all of the contents slowly left the bottle and onto the crudely arranged headstone and for a moment. She observed to the waste.

It almost looks like his color, she thought, with pursed lips and a strain in her throat. Sunblitz cleared her vocalizer for the moment, trying to rid the bitter taste that lingered, looking to the headstone once more with a conflicted look that slowly gave away.

"... I hope you're happy with yourself from up there," She whispered, huffing as the bottle ran dry, before allowing it to slip from her fingers. It clattered onto the cold rubble where she knelt once more to come at eye-level to the stone, tracing her digits gingerly onto the engraved moniker, and her spark began to ache once more and twist itself painfully.

Blame it on the high-grade, she thought, blame it on the high-grade.

Before Sunblitz knew it, she held to the sides of the obelisk, and leaned her helm to it, a ragged sigh escaped and she breathed,

"I hate you..." She airily said, before allowing herself the moment of silence to pour out one last thing, suspecting that the poor high-grade pool beneath could use to a coolant finisher, as she softly breathed and wept against the monument in silence.

[lupismaris]

It's the final day of my 20s and I found myself answering, as expected, the question "how's it feel?" rather a lot, asked most by my older colleagues, especially when they realized this is technically a big milestone birthday

The trouble is it's not a milestone birthday for me in the same sense.

24 was a milestone, it was supposed to be a diagnosis, an omen, the tidings of the end.

25 was a milestone, the final bell, last call, the closing of the doors. I can remember standing in a freezing Times Square at midnight while bf ordered our pizza waiting for an act of god, hoping it would sound as loving as a bartender calling out the last round of the night or a mother switching on the porch light for wandering kids to come home.

26-29 weren't milestones so much as baffling confusing years left to my own devices waiting for the cosmic powers that be to realize they'd miscounted and the hunt would snatch me up at some point or another to set the scales right. Somewhere along the way I stopped thinking that and started thinking instead that I might as well make use of whatever time I'd manage to steal before someone notices. Then it shifted to "how does one build a life out of borrowed time, especially when life after 25 never existed as a possibility?"

Now 30 comes, and I'm being asked on the last day of my 20s, how I'm feeling, by people who were terrified of aging, terrified of losing that chapter of their lives, and I told them honestly, as un-depressingly as possible, that 30 feels a bit like coming up for air. I never thought I'd see it, but here it is and I'm waiting to breathe deep.

I swim a lot, whenever I can, the colder the water the better, and there's a moment when you've pushed too hard and held on too long and you see the surface above you with the light cresting and shimmering in the dark as your muscles seize and your lungs shudder under your ribs and you push for those last few inches until you break through for air, gasping, wrenching breathes without grace or dignity, reborn each time, raw and desperate and violently alive- only to do it again a few minutes later, joyfully.

That's what this feels like.

There's no running away this year, no fleeing as far from this makeshift home as possible. There's no self deprecation or deprivation or spreading ourselves too thin. Hell, I have a shrink appointment in twenty minutes, I'm asking for med refills and sleeping meds finally after fighting it for years. I have an ultrasound a week after Christmas. Nothing changes really. But I'm surrounded by people who showed up when I offered a place to come and be together, offered a meal and a bit of love. I have you all here in the void. I have enough to keep the cats fed and medication in the cabinet and food on the table. I have partners who love me even with the distance. Despite it all I'm happy, I think for the first time I am happy, debt, illness and all.

Here's to 30.

Here's to you, to me, to coming up for air.

And here's to the queers who can't envision life past 16, 18, 21, 25- we build our own lives. Sometimes it's entirely out of scraps. It will never look quite like you picture it. But there will hopefully come a moment, be it soft and subtle or a jazz band chorus, when you realize you are loved and the world lies at your feet. The smallest step makes it possible, even just waking up tomorrow counts.

I love you all so very much. Thank you for sticking with me the last decade 💕

Here's to 30 🥂

All my love xxoo

James Maren

[missywritesfor7]

🌙Moon’s Light | JJK🌙

Synopsis: Luna is a young paralegal trying to maintain her new found independence and enjoy life. Too bad her job sucks and her boss is the worst. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she encounters a vampire named Jungkook who changes her life in more ways than one.

Jungkook is a shield and protector of the vampire kingdom of Korealis. He’s trained his entire life to block out any and all distractions and focus solely on becoming the strongest. While investigating a potential threat to the kingdom, he encounters Luna who turns out to be more than he could have ever imagined. It becomes his job to protect her, but he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is his devotion to the job or perhaps something deeper.

Secrets are uncovered. Lives are on the line. Hearts are tested.

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Fem!OC

Warnings: Violence, character death, eventual smut, tragedy, some angst, strong language, MINORS DNI

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|| Ch. 25: Believe ||

Going through her box of memories has brought a lot of forgotten parts of her past back to Luna’s mind. Times that she wishes she hadn’t unleashed. Just before Jungkook scared her half to death, she spent the better part of the hour fighting with those locked up feelings. She finally calmed down before he showed up and got her worked up again.

While rummaging through her seemingly never ending box of memories, she found an old purse she used to love. It was small and could barely hold more than a few cards and small change, but it was still her favorite accessory. It was nothing special by any means, just small and black with a long thin strap for her to wear it across her shoulders. She wore that purse through most of high school and half of college.

What she doesn’t seem to realize was there was a small note left inside that she doesn’t remember ever seeing before. It was folded up and stuffed in the purse as if it had been there for decades. It was from her ex. The one she nearly gave up her whole life for. The one who used her, lied to her, cheated on her, and gave her every reason to lose trust in every person she’d ever come across.

In the note her ex went on telling her about his many affairs during their relationship. He told her all of the lies he fed her that she never questioned. He told her about stealing money from her purse a few times. He even told her about the time he claimed to have been robbed right before her birthday which is why he didn’t get her a gift that year, when really he had spent the money on other women.

He wasn’t confessing in his note, no, he was bragging. He took pride in the fact that Luna trusted him and taunted her about it in this note. He called her a fool, then went on to call her a crazy bitch with her “weird ass evil eye” and had the nerve to say the affairs were her fault for being “crazy” and stupid.

Luna doesn’t know when he left her that note, but it was clear he must have put it there hoping she’d find it after he left her. Those old wounds she thought had healed were violently ripped back open when she read that note, and if Jungkook wasn’t sitting next to her right now looking sad and concerned with that large scratch across his face, she may have fully unleashed her anger on him. Especially after the way he scared her.

But the timing is still. Wrong.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” Luna asks slowly. “You want me to be your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend,” Jungkook chuckles as if the concept is foreign to him. “Do you think I’d be here saying all of this if I didn’t want you to be my girlfriend?”

“No I guess not,” she says studying his demeanor. “But why? Why me? Is it because we’ve been spending so much time together that you find me convenient?”

“Convenient?” He scoffs offended. “You’ve been the most inconvenient pain in the ass since I’ve met you. There’s nothing convenient about you at all. I’ve lost many hours of sleep, taken beatings like I’ve never taken before all in the name of making sure nothing happens to you. I’ve pissed my dad off more since you’ve been around than I have my entire life. So believe me when I say this, LuLu, falling for you the way I have is far from convenient.”

Luna stares at him in shock by his words. It’s not that she doesn’t believe him. She’s seen enough of his memories to know that these words aren’t easy for him to say. However she doesn’t believe anything else. She doesn’t believe that history won’t repeat itself. She doesn’t believe that she can give herself to someone the way she had before. She doesn’t believe she can give Jungkook what he may really be looking for, what he needs. Whatever ‘what he needs’ means, she doesn’t believe that she’s it.

“Do I want you to be my boyfriend?” Luna whispers to herself, though Jungkook can still hear her.

“Well…yes,” Jungkook says with a hint of sarcasm. “If you word it that way, yes I suppose that’s exactly the same question I was asking.”

Luna takes a deep breath then sighs. “Tell me you’re serious. Tell me you won’t break me or use me. Tell me I won’t have anything to worry about. Tell me you won’t waste my time or lie to me.”

Jungkook looks her over, paying close attention to the fear in her eyes. He wishes he knew why she’s like this. He wishes he knew who hurt her to make her have little trust in anyone else.

He lightly strokes her cheekbone then lifts her chin to bring her eyes back to his. She’s beautiful to him and he can’t imagine how or why anyone would hurt her. He knows he’d do any and everything in his power to make sure she never feels pain again.

“I won’t tell you that,” he says brushing his thumb along her bottom lip. “I’ll show you.”

He brings his lips to hers sealing his words with a soft kiss. She gives him a faint smile and goes in for another kiss, this time a bit stronger. The butterflies filling both of their stomachs escape through every breath which gets increasingly stronger. Their tongues tangle together giving Jungkook flashbacks of the first time they kissed. And the second time. And of course the time he finally felt the feeling of being inside of her. The flashbacks not only spur him to press his body harder into hers, but it does the same to her because she could see every single moment that just flashed through his head. Every moment that made her knees weak flashed through her mind erupting with great intensity through her body causing her to push harder into his chest until he’s flat on his back. His hands slide to her waist gripping her belt loops as if he’s about to saddle up on a horse.

“WHOS IN THERE?!!” Shouts a voice from the front door that scares Jungkook and Luna sober from their intoxicating moment of intimacy.

Jungkook quickly jumps to his feet and quietly instructs Luna to stay hidden in the closet. He quietly steps out and looks through the peephole of the door. Two men are standing at the door waiting for someone to respond to their knocks and shouts. They knock again shouting for whoever is inside to answer the door.

“I knew it was nothing,” one of the guys says. “She hasn’t been back here. Definitely either dead or in another country by now.”

“The neighbors swore they heard someone yell,” the other guy says.

“They’re probably going crazy from all of the rumors that the place is haunted.”

“Yeah maybe. Let’s go.”

The two walk off and Jungkook waits until he’s able to hear them get far enough down the hall. He rushes back to Luna in the closet and grabs her hand.

“We have to get out of here,” he says urgently.

“Who was it?” Luna asks quickly throwing things into her backpack.

“I don’t know, but you’re not safe here.”

“I still have to go to my parents house,” Luna pleads. “I can’t leave until I do.”

“LuLu-“

“Jungkookie,” she interrupts paralyzing him. “I can’t leave until I get everything I need. I don’t know when I’ll be back so I have to do this now.”

“LuLu,” he sighs defeated. He absolutely doesn’t want her staying here any longer, but he knows he can’t fight her. “If anything happens-“

“I know,” she says having gotten used to his rules. “Just let me go through the house and that’ll be it.”

“Ok,” he resolves. “Get your backpack and I’ll carry you on my back. I’ll make sure we get there fast and unseen.”

“Don’t drop me,” she says nudging him to turn around.

“Never,” he says. “As long as you don’t let go.”

“Never,” she smiles jumping onto his back.

He grabs her legs and locks them at the ankles around his waist. His hands grip her thighs tightly then he makes his way to the door. When he’s sure no one is outside, he quickly walks out and rushes to the roof.

“Why are you taking the roofs?” She asks. “We’re not in Korealis.”

“What part of fast and unseen did you not understand?” He sasses speeding across the roofs of houses and buildings towards her parent’s house.

“I don’t think it takes all of this though,” she chuckles.

“Oh look, we’re here,” he says landing in front of the house. “What were you saying about a less efficient way to get here?”

“Shut up and come on,” Luna says jumping off of his back.

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles.

Luna slowly opens the front door with Jungkook at the ready behind her. The place is still a mess, but the blood and other more traumatic things have been cleaned or removed. Luna knows she can’t take her time so she begins going through things in the living room. That’s the biggest place she hasn’t combed through yet.

The books on the shelf come up with nothing. The dusty movies sitting under the tv come up with nothing. Even hidden behind the picture frames on the wall is nothing. Luna starts to get discouraged thinking what she’s already found is it, and if that’s the case, it’s not nearly enough information.

Defeated, Luna treks into the kitchen hoping to at least grab her favorite childhood mug to take back with her. There’s nothing special about it, but it was a glittery silver and she loved it. She never wanted to drink out of anything else, even after she was an adult living on her own. As she’s retrieving the mug, she sees her mom’s recipe book sitting in the cabinet. Her mom cooked a little, but not quite enough to make sense of the amount of recipes stuffed in there. But then Luna takes a closer look. What starts as a few recipes for various dishes turns to newspaper clippings and handwritten notes.

Luna sifts through the book finding notes about her birth mother Luna, and notes about Hyungwon. It becomes clear that her mom was doing everything she could to try finding the person responsible for her birth parents’ death. There’s newspaper articles mentioning one of the best talent agencies in the city, the one headed by Park Hyungwon. There were other articles mentioning various disappearances in the area. All suspicious, and apparently all her mom thought were linked to Hyungwon.

“She knew where he was,” Luna whispers to herself as she flips through the articles. “She knew this whole time.”

“She never said anything?” Jungkook asks looking at everything from over her shoulder.

“No. At least not that I can think of. This is fucking crazy.”

They don’t have the time to sift through the entire thing so Luna stuffs it in her backpack to go through later. From the kitchen she moves to her parent’s room. She quickly goes through every corner of the room picking up photos and salvaging some of her mom’s most precious jewelry. In one of the drawers in her mom’s dresser Luna finds a journal. She wasn’t aware that her mom even kept a journal. She flips the book open and the words on the first page she comes to brings her pause.

The medicine seems to be working. There hasn’t been another incident. Kai is a genius, though I’m certain he may be a vampire too. There’s no other explanation for why he knows so much. Luna thinks they’re vitamins and she hasn’t questioned it. I’m still not strong enough to tell her. I’m afraid she’ll be upset. I’m afraid she’ll hurt one of us again. Her emotions are strong and out of control and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Each day she becomes more and more like him and it’s terrifying. She is him. She could kill us.

“Incident?” Luna whispers under her breath. She can’t think of any incidents that would warrant her mom being afraid of her. She now knows why her mom was always adamant that she take her vitamins everyday though.

Luna flips back a few pages to see if there’s any specific mention of an incident. She wishes her mom would have dated her entries so she would have a better idea of what she may be talking about.

She wanted ice cream at the store. When I told her no she got upset. She began yelling until the glass on the freezers in the store all shattered. She wasn’t bothered by it at all. No one could explain it. No one knew it was her. The store manager apologized and let Luna have whichever ice cream she wanted saying sorry that this incident scared her. He doesn’t realize she was the reason for it. He doesn’t realize he likely saved my life by letting her have the ice cream.

“What the fuck?” Luna thinks back trying to remember that time. She doesn’t remember glass shattering or even getting a free ice cream at the store. She flips a few more pages in disbelief that this is about her. No way it could be.

She wanted to go swimming but we told her not today. We’re running out of excuses. She didn’t like that. The kitchen table collapsed. We decided to take her to spare any more damage. Even with sunscreen she got a terrible burn. If anything I hope this will deter her from wanting to go swimming again. If she gets another burn I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle treating her again. I love her. I hate him. He did this to her. To all of us. He killed them and I won’t rest until he’s gone. I will find Park Hyungwon and make him answer for what he’s done.

Luna recalls getting a sunburn. It was her first one and it was terribly painful. Her skin bubbled as if it were melting and she felt like she was going to die. The only thing that seemed to help the pain was the fact that she bit her lip so hard from the agony that it started to bleed. The pain in her lip suddenly overwhelmed the pain all over her body. And then there was no pain at all. Somehow that helped her fall asleep that night. She doesn’t remember the kitchen table collapsing but she remembers they got a new one suddenly.

“LuLu,” Jungkook says hating to tear her from what looks like a rough moment of realization for her. “You’ll have to go through it later. We really can’t stay here much longer.”

Luna looks up at Jungkook trying to mask the tears beginning to well in her eyes. “They were afraid of me.” Her voice trembles at the hard truth that the people she loved most in this world were absolutely terrified of her.

“I know they still loved you though,” Jungkook says unsure if his words are of any relief.

“I know,” she says through the knot in her throat. She stuffs the journal in her backpack and stands. “I think I have everything I need for now.”

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks wiping a rogue tear from her cheek.

Luna nods afraid if she opens her mouth again the flood gates would open. She steps around Jungkook to walk out the door but he reaches his arm out to stop her. He pulls her into his chest without a word and holds her there for a moment.

“Hold on,” he says struggling to find the strength to say anything else. He can feel her pain even if she claims she’s ok. He kisses the top of her head hoping she feels his sincerity.

Luna allows herself to sink into Jungkook’s body. His solid arms and warm chest are comforting in this moment of grief and sorrow. She wishes she could stay molded to him until the end of her days.

“I’ll get you home,” he says carrying her out the door.

He jumps to the roof and quickly and quietly gets Luna back to the portal. He doesn’t give her a choice, he grips her tight and transports back to Korealis. The car ride is quiet. Jungkook takes her back to his mother’s house and they both quietly walk to the bedroom.

As much as Luna knows she needs to sleep, she needs to read more of her mom’s journal. She sits on the edge of the bed and pulls the journal out of her backpack and begins at the very first page.

“Do you want to get some rest first?” Jungkook asks already knowing what her answer will be.

Luna shakes her head not looking up.

“At least come eat the dinner my mom made,” he says taking her hand and pulling her off the bed. “You can read while you eat.”

Luna follows him to the kitchen without protest. Her eyes are still glued to her mother’s words. She sits at the table reading while Jungkook prepares them both a plate. She doesn’t look up to see what he’s doing. She doesn’t look up to see the food he placed in front of her. She doesn’t look up to see where her hand is going as she blindly tries to feed herself. She doesn’t respond to Jungkook’s chuckle and sigh before he takes it upon himself to feed her while she continues reading. The world outside this journal barely exists.

Her mom never dated anything in the book. Luna can’t remember half of the things mentioned so it’s hard for her to know when these things took place. The first few entries are about Luna’s temper that seems to have been getting worse. Apparently her parents tried everything they could to help her manage her anger as a child. They began noticing things moving around whenever Luna was upset. It quickly evolved from moving things to breaking things. Her mom details a day when Luna had broken a wind chime they had hanging in the backyard. The chime flew so hard into her mom’s face that it left a bruise on her cheek. Thats when the fear began. That’s when they realized they were losing control of her. That’s when her mom was even more determined to find Hyungwon and make him pay for what he’s done.

“Jungkookie,” Luna says softly. She finally looks up to see him frozen staring back at her with kimchi hanging out of his mouth. “Why can’t I remember anything she mentions in here?”

“Well,” he says slurping the kimchi into his mouth. “The night you fell into your coma you didn’t remember killing the guy before you passed out. Maybe you’d remember things if you had better control of your power.”

“How can I control it better?”

“Practice. And controlling your emotions. I noticed the stronger your feelings are the stronger your power is. If you can control your emotions then you can control your power.”

“Can you teach me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he smiles puffing his chest out.

“You know what, never mind because you seem way too proud that I asked you.”

“Too late. Training starts tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to work me to death are you?”

“Of course not. But maybe close,” he chuckles.

“I would like to unenroll from this class.”

He stands up taking both of their plates and putting them in the sink. “Get some sleep, you have a long day of training to get through tomorrow.”

“No I said unenroll.”

“Too late LuLu, you’re stuck.” He pulls her from the chair and drags her to bed. “You have a lot to learn.”

“But I don’t want to,” she whines laying down on her pillow.

“Don’t be such a baby,” he laughs laying next to her and pulling her into his arms. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t think we have the same definitions of fun.”

“Sure we do, LuLu.”

“Luna.”

“You’ll see tomorrow.”

“I’m going to complain the whole time,” she teases.

“That’s fine, you’re still going to do it though,” he laughs.

The next morning Luna wakes up to the feeling of something wet on her chest. She’s laying on her back and blinks a few times until the ceiling above her is clear. She looks down and sees Jungkook’s head resting on her chest with a stream of drool trailing from his agape mouth down between her breasts.

“Ew!” She says hitting him.

Jungkook groans then grabs her tighter.

“You’re drooling on me, you big demon!” She hits him again.

“Good,” he mumbles sticking his tongue out and brushing it against her skin.

“Gross!”

She pushes him away and he looks up through his mess of hair covering half of his face. He laughs then gets close up in front of her face.

“How is that gross when your tongue has been in my mouth before?” He smirks.

That really smug shit eating smirk. The one that Luna can’t even fight because she knows the truth, and she loves the way he looks when he’s nothing but a mess of hair and one piercing red eye peering through them. She bites her lip trying to fight her smile, but he’s no fool. He brushes his black curl aside and plants his lips on hers. She doesn’t fight him for a second. He’s hypnotizing.

“Time for training,” he smiles. He’s taunting her with that smile and she knows it.

Luna fights a little not wanting to get out of bed once Jungkook revealed to her that it was 5 am. If she doesn’t have anything to do she would much prefer to sleep in until noon. But she does have something to do. Jungkook was dead serious about teaching her to control her power. So much so she’s almost certain he’s doing it more for himself than her.

He has an outfit of dark gray leggings and a black tank top picked out for her already that he says is perfect for the physical activity he’s about to put her through. She doesn’t even know why he has a brand new outfit ready for her in the closet of his mom’s house, but he says his mom got the wrong size but never got around to returning them.

He won’t tell her that’s a lie. He won’t tell her that he’s bought a few things here and there online the past week. He won’t tell her that he’d been sending all of the gifts to his mom’s house waiting for the right opportunity. He won’t tell her that he already has a closet full of gifts just for her.

He puts Luna in his car and begins driving her to their training destination. The sparring room in the palace.

It takes a small pep talk and a few assurances for Jungkook to convince Luna that she’d be ok going back there. He tells her that his father wouldn’t be up this early so she doesn’t have to worry. They get into the sparring room and Jungkook closes and locks the door.

“Why did you bring me here?” Luna asks. “You could have trained me anywhere.”

“This is the only place where you can blow my dad into the wall and not cause structural damage,” he says. “If you lose control I’ll at least know you won’t tear the entire place down.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“We can fix it,” he assures.

He starts by making her do a few stretches. She isn’t sure why he’s acting like she’s about to try out for the Olympics, but he maintains his intensity. After a few warm up exercises he moves on to having her do some weightlifting. She hasn’t worked out like this in all her life, not even back when she played softball. She’s quickly getting exhausted and struggling to keep up with his nonstop training.

“What does any of this have to do with me controlling my power?” She whines.

“Because you’re weak, and if you’re weak you won’t be able to control anything. Also, it’s clear your power is stronger than you are. You’ll keep knocking yourself out if you’re not strong enough.” He waves his hand to signal for her to do another set of squats but she doesn’t move.

“Give me like five minutes,” she says out of breath.

“Five seconds,” he says sternly. “Come on, one more set.”

Luna groans in defiance not moving. Jungkook takes her arm but she resists.

“Come on, LuLu, you can do 10 more squats.” He grabs her hips getting ready to guide her but she continues to fight back.

“No, Jungkook baby, I can barely stand right now. I can’t do any more,” she whines.

Her hands are pressed into his chest to get him to let her be done with the torture. He doesn’t move. He looks at her with his head tilted as if he isn’t sure he heard her right. The words slid through her lips so casually as if it were nothing, but to him it was everything. She’s never called him “baby” before, and now that she has he doesn’t know how to react. Nothing has ever sounded so beautiful to his ears.

“Ok then,” he says bending down. He wraps his arms around her thighs just below her ass, then hoists her in the air. “I’ll let you end your training here, Princess.”

“That’s more like it,” she says relieved.

He carries her over to the couch and lays her down but doesn’t let go. He’s leaning over her trying to fight everything in him to not devour her right here and now. Maybe just a little kiss. A little taste to hold him until he can get her to his room.

Just a little kiss.

Jungkook is a greedy man.

Luna is a greedy woman.

Their tongues begin to fight over who’s the greediest. Jungkook’s wandering hand sliding up her thigh is about to win that fight for him. He presses himself further into her chest that’s glistening with sweat. She can feel his heart pounding against her rapidly. He tastes so good to her.

“We use that couch,” Hoseok says, scaring them both.

“Morning,” Jungkook says pulling away from Luna in embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you forget we all have keys to this room?”

“I wasn’t locking it because of you guys.”

“Right,” Hoseok sighs. “Well the person you were locking it for is down the hall so you may want to find another place to hide and do…whatever you two do.”

“I thought he’d still be asleep.”

“I don’t think he sleeps much anymore. Not since you left.” Hoseok studies the confusion on Jungkook and Luna’s faces. “Look, I don’t know what he wants exactly, but he’s been everywhere lately. I’m just giving you a heads up. And trying to save the couch that I actually like resting on. Please don’t taint it.”

“Sorry, Hoseok,” Luna giggles. “He was supposed to be teaching me how to control my power.”

“I don’t need to know,” Hoseok says shaking his head to stop the details that hadn’t even begun. “Just use your room. Or any other hiding place that isn’t shared by the rest of us.”

“Thanks for looking out,” Jungkook smiles.

“Now go,” Hoseok says waving them off. “Don’t get into any trouble.”

Jungkook stands and gives Hoseok a salute. “Aye aye,” he says taking Luna’s arm. The pair wave to Hoseok and leave the room.

[sayitwithurheart]

To my not so dear fear,

Before I was a thought, you knew me. My entire life, you've Infitrated every good thing, lke a slow acting polson. Your relentless, frigid hand on my shoulder is constant, on joyous days and mundane ones.

My stomach becomes sick with disdain at the thought of you. Your constant chattering in my ear makes me numb, but it's unclear to me why can't get I

rid of you. You smother me with your condescending, nonsensical, and unceasing word-vomit. I'm often left questioning myself: Is achieving my dream of becoming a bestselling author possible? Am I on the right track? Am I loved?

This verbal volley with you is perpetual, and I never win. When I try to defend myself, you plug your ears like a petulant child and mock me, singing, "I can't hear you!"

Big Bad Anxiety strikes again.

However, with Self Love, I ascended; far beyond heights of what I never knew was possible. We moved to the other side of Healing and left you to wallow alone. Together, we made countless memories and shared epiphanies. We were thriving in a healthy and safe relationship, unlike the one I had with you.

She fed me dally and filled my belly with encouragement and light. I left the table satisfied and appreciated. We had some magnificent years, then you spotted me one day by happenstance, begging me to let you move back. It was strange that I listened to your sob story, and you seemed to posit some valid points.

This time, I didn't know your words could get more violent. Before, you just nagged, then you yelled and belittled, you threw out all my stuff; my confidence, my self assuredness, my inner peace. I took Self Love for granted because I thought you were gone forever. I became complacent, and I missed you, despite all the ways you clawed into my self esteem.

I've left you before, don't forget that. At some point, I realized I deserved better than for you to be the death of me. Life got in the way. Every unexpected blow of struggle and bad news whittled me down to a nub of depression. You preyed on my moments of fragility and indecisiveness and I nibbled at your bait, contemplating before I bit down. I relapsed and allowed you to take over, and the worse I felt about that, the more you took control.

The core you is a festering disease.

Self Love called today, opening my eyes to your parasitic nature; you drained me like a leech. You don't belong here anymore. I have outgrown your toxic and controlling ways, and I recognize the value of my existence. As long as I have breath and strength, I can rise above your maliciousness with confidence and grace. There is so much to strive for.

The venom you spewed no longer stings. I now know that the present is for solldifying my worth and moving to a future without your insidiousness. I don't belleve your lies anymore.

Without you, I am everything; more than what I can even conceive.

[beels-burger-babe]

With You Always

***So I really really really love this idea, but I'm going to tweak it just a little bit so rather than only seeing them in mirrors, MC can just always see them when the brothers aren't around. This one is going to take place after they return to the human realm. I'm also going to be using he/him pronouns for the crush that'll be mentioned. I figured since all the dateables in the game identify as male, it'd be a safe bet. Thank you so so much for this creative request @gender-less-lemon (also I freaking love your profile picture. Monster Camp/Prom is hilarious)***

Summary: An average day of high school with MC...and the seven pact manifestations that haunt their vision.

TW: Bullying You were awoken not by an alarm, or your guardian, or even some random noise from outside, but rather a phantom gnawing on your arm. With a groan, you blinked open your eyes and saw just your regular old room, with one minor difference; a spectral red bear was happily teething on your elbow. You chuckled and pet the manifestation, noting the brightly glowing symbol of gluttony resting in its stomach. "Okay, Beel," you mumbled to yourself as you dragged yourself out of bed, pushing the purple translucent calf sleeping on your stomach, in the process. "I hear you." Ever since you had returned to the human realm, you had been followed around by spectral manifestations of the seven pacts that you owned. By the looks of things, no one else could see them, and they only appeared when the connected sin was active or needed, but it helped you feel less alone. You missed the brothers more than you had anticipated. It was more than a little bit of a culture shock to go from being loved and spoiled every day to being the misfit in your high school. Speaking of which, you needed to get going if you weren't going to be late. As you rushed around our room frantically grabbing the things you needed to get ready, the calf-like manifestation of sloth sat on your bed mooing in complaint. You sent a glare over to it as you finished collecting your belongings. "Trust me, I rather stay home and sleep too, buddy. But I have to go." Grabbing some fruit on your way out the door, you just managed to make it to school on time. Now it was simply a matter of surviving the day.

In all honesty, you preferred RAD to high school. In RAD, the subjects were interesting and grasped your attention without any problems at all. You had friends, even outside of the brothers. Sure there were always demons that would talk down about the kid human that clung to the demon lords, but you had the brothers to protect you. It was nice.

Now that you were back in the human world, you had none of that. In fact, you were even more of a misfit than when you were before. The teenager that vanished for a year and came back weirder than before; that was you. At first, you couldn't get people to leave you alone, but once they realized you weren't going to give them answers they backed off. You would occasionally laugh or whisper to the manifestations, which would earn you some more than weird looks, but you didn't care. These weird little ghost-like creatures were one of the only things you had connecting you to the Devildom. They meant more to you than anything else. As you entered your classroom, you had to bite back a laugh at the sight of one of your classmates looking around in confusion as, unknown to them, a golden yellow crow flapped around their head and pecked at the shiny earrings they were wearing. You took your seat in the back of the classroom and watch in amusement as the crow continued pecking at the various belongings of students, causing subtle chaos and confusion. Leave it to Mammon to make your day even when he wasn't actually there. Your teacher walked in and sat down in his chair. "Alright, class. Today we're going to continue with our history presentations. Remember these were subjects of your choice, so I do hope that you can at least pretend to be interested," he sighed and pulled out a clipboard. "Looks like the next person presenting is...MC." You winced and looked down at your notes. The topic was definitely one you were confident in, but to present it in front of your class. What if no one liked it? What if people laughed? What if- You felt a nudge on your arm. You glanced over to see a dazzling blue peacock, straightening its long neck out high as it puffed out its chest. The pride manifestation gestured forward with its head and almost seemed to smile at you. You smiled gently as you felt warmth grow from his pact mark on your inner wrist and stood up beside the peacock. It cawed and began to strut forward, leading the way to the front of the class. The mental image of Lucifer doing the same almost caused you to burst out laughing. You finally turned to the class and held your head up proudly as you began to speak. "My presentation today will be on biblical demonology and the way it has evolved throughout the eons of its existence." It was the best presentation you had ever given in your life. Riding off of the high from history class, the day seemed to fly by. Before you knew it was time for lunch. The bear was back, this time just softly moaning it continued butting your back with its head in an attempt to get you to go to the cafeteria faster. With one particularly heard shove, you were sent stumbling forward, directly into the chest of someone. "I'm so sorry! I'm a total clutz. I just tripped, I hadn't meant to-" you cut yourself off as you looked up and noticed you were looking at your crush. Your jaw snapped shut as you felt your face suddenly become uncomfortably hot. He smiled and waved off the apology. "It's alright. Just an accident right?" Your face became even hotter as you noticed a bright pink rabbit jumping up and down happily behind him. "I- Uh...Ehm...Y-Yeah! Yeah, t-totally an accident. I'm seat so I should go find my hungry. I-I mean!" He chuckled and nodded. "No worries, I get what you're trying to say. Enjoy your seat, MC," he gave you a wink, causing you to squeak as he walked off. You glared down at the rabbit running happy circles around your feet and the red bear that was sulking guiltily in a corner. "I blame you two for this." With an embarrassed huff, you entered the cafeteria and found yourself instantly wanting to walk back out. Everyone was laughing and talking with one another in their friend groups at their tables. Some gossiped eagerly over a magazine. Others sat silently with one another while they gamed or read books. There was even a table where a group of theatre kids were drumming out a soundtrack beat on the table while singing their favourite

songs. You ducked your head down and grabbed a tray of food before moving to the lonely table in the back, doing your best to ignore the giant orange snake that slithered between the tables, occasionally hissing and tripping students. You tried not to think of how you could be just like those groups of laughing friends, if only you were still at RAD. Your heart ached as you thought about the brothers. Maybe you could call them tonight. You let out a heavy sigh as you stood up and went to leave. You had almost made it to the door when a familiar face stopped you. Standing just a couple inches taller than you, surrounded by their groupies, was your tormentor, Taylor. You weren't entirely sure why they hated you so much. You just knew that they did, and that it got even worse when you came back from the Devildom. Taylor smirked with their arms crossed over their chest. "Where do you think your going? You haven't come to say hello yet." You scoffed and tried to walk past them. "Leave me alone, Taylor. I'm not in the mood for this today," before you could get very far, you were harshly onto the floor, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped and glared up at them. "What the fuck?!" The bully just sneered down at you. "You may not be in the mood for this, but I am. You know I heard about your weirdo presentation. Demons? Really? What are you, a satanist?" Their word choice was really ironic, for at that moment you noticed the large, white unicorn with flaming green hair and eyes appear behind them. The beast stomped its hooves and whinnied dangerously. You gulped nervously and looked up at Taylor. "Even if I was, it's not your business. I just find the topic interesting is all." You went to stand up, and therefore force the angry horse with a horn away from Taylor, but were stopped as they placed their foot on top of your chest. "I bet that's why you have all those weird tattoos, huh? What did you run away and join a cult for a year? Freak!" You could feel Satan's pact mark on the back of your neck grow hotter and hotter to the point that you were concerned the manifestation may be trying to summon him. Your eyes widen as you noticed it back up a few steps and point its horn at Taylor. You knew that the creatures normally could do small interactions with others, such as tripping or pushing, but you had never seen them attempt anything so violent. You couldn't just let it kill someone. "STOP!" The cafeteria fell quiet, but you weren't looking at them or even Taylor, you were looking at the unicorn. The manifestation neighed in frustration and jumped around, but obeyed your command. You slumped in relief. Looking back over to Taylor, you found them glaring down at you like you were nothing but a bug. They opened their mouth to degrade you even further when a teacher finally stepped forward. "What is happening here?" You walked over to the unicorn while Taylor fed the teacher a handful of lies. You leaned over to the manifestation and whispered under your breath. "Thank you for trying to protect me, but you can't hurt people. Just leave it be." The creature snorted and nuzzled your shoulder. In comparison to the hectic lunch hour, the rest of the day passed by with ease. In no time at all, you were back home in your room. You had just plopped onto your bed, when you heard a familiar ringtone. You smiled brightly and quickly grabbed your D.D.D. before immediately answering the phone. "Hello?" "Oh, you answered that quite quickly," you grinned at the surprise in Satan's tone. "I was just calling to-" "IS THAT MC?! GIMME!!!" You laughed as the sounds of Satan yelling and running from Mammon came through the other end. There was a yelp, a bang, and a victorious whoop before you could hear the device get picked up by someone. "'Hey MC! How was your day? I hope you didn't miss the great Mammon too badly. N-Not that I've missed you or anything just wanted to know how you're doin' is all." Belphie's purple calf climbed its way into your lap once more as you gently patted its head.

"I miss you too, Mammon. And today wasn't bad. I'd say it was pretty average overall." You could hear Satan growl in the background before there was a loud thud followed by a scream from Mammon. Satan took the phone back. "Just average you say? Nothing special?" You frowned and narrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "No, why?" To your right, the unicorn neighed softly and plopped down beside your bed. "Well, I could've sworn I felt our pact become triggered at some point today and...Well in all honesty I was concerned. We worry about you getting hurt without us there with you, MC." You couldn't help but smile softly as one by one each of the manifestations of your pacts made their way to your bed and laid down. "I know," you replied affectionately. "Though I'm never completely alone. So long as I have my pacts, you guys will always be with me." ***This was such an interesting concept to toy around with. I hope this wasn't too confusing and actually makes sense 😅😅 Thanks again for the amazing request @gender-less-lemon!***

Taglist @thegrimgrinningghost

@henry-and-the-seven-lords

@satans-beloved-riv

@cosmixbun

@sufzku

[sendmyresignation]

In Defense of Teenagers:

Ok so. There seems to be a general consensus that Teenagers doesn’t fit on the black parade or that it ruins the trajectory of the album or that the song order of bp needs to be changed to fit the b-sides and drop Teenagers, or it should have just been a single- basically any option other than its inclusion between Sleep and Disenchanted would have been better. now, i’m not here to tell anyone that they’re wrong- i just want to offer an alternative perspective because i truly believe Teenagers is right where it belongs and that its inclusion on that album is, in my opinion, completely necessary to the album’s narrative arc. I want to focus on the way Teenagers builds into the foundation of the Concept Record, the way it bridges the gap between Sleep and Disenchanted so as not to delegitimize Disenchanted’s impact, and the fact that no other available material fits into the struggle the Patient endures at the end of the narrative (sorry this got LONG here’s a read more)

So, before we get into the meat of Teenager’s narrative significance, i wanted to briefly mention the way it makes Black Parade a more cohesive whole in relation to the material it is mimicking. Like Black Parade as an album is structured very differently from Pink Floyd’s The Wall- but it takes a lot of the same beats and recontextualizes them for a new purpose. Both records use war and relationship troubles and school and drugs to create an atmosphere that leads to disillusionment. In The Wall, this is quite literally the protagonist, Pink, building up “bricks in the wall” that isolates him from the rest of society and lead to a downward spiral into cynicism and hate. But Black Parade uses the same tools that The Wall does to say something different- things, specifically the actions you've made or the trauma you've endured, haunts you and makes your life seem insignificant in the face of what happens to you and those regrets are what causes the Patient to fall into a cycle of damnation and cynicism. This is representative of the Patient's descent through the afterlife- each new "layer" of the Patient's exploration is equivalent to a brick in The Wall's metaphor. Additionally, in this new context, this song in particular takes The Wall’s discussions of adolescence and the vice-grip control older generations attempt to force on teens and the disillusionment with the future and retells it from a new perspective- both literally in the fact the song is now more reflective of the 2000s post-9/11 and post-columbine culture, but its also literally from the perspective of the Patient as an adult. Teenagers, as a result, becomes a necessary piece of that puzzle- it is the refraction of Another Brick in the Wall repurposed to mean something new entirely- it’s no longer about kids being forced into complacency by a cruel education system from their own perspective (the children’s choir allows them to speak for themselves) but about the ways in which adults see those kids and why they decide to enact actions similar to those within The Wall. I mean even the imagery used in the song’s music video is purposely almost plagiarizing The Wall- it feeds into a separate analysis of the video and song outside the narrative as well- which i don’t have time right now to get into, its just very interesting that the band is bodily removed from their instruments at the end of the video and the teenagers in the audience have rendered them incapacitated (“they’re looking for a rockstar to kill” anyone?) it's the metaphorical tearing down of the wall from a completely different perspective. Anyway, the work Teenagers does for the narrative is it fits the album into the Concept Record Cinematic Universe- it is a piece that evokes the material it is influenced by to build off of the old to create the new- without it, the connections to The Wall would still be there, sure, but it wouldn’t be as complete- you cannot recontextualize the album without the foundation of Teenagers.

Teenagers is also, at its core, a subtle subversion of genre- using the blueprint of a specific kind of song to center the song within the timeline/narrative. In this case, the same way I Don’t Love You mimics and exaggerates the emotive and plaintive 80s rock ballad, Teenagers twists the classic rock of a bygone era to specifically call back on the stadium rock anthem.  Black Parade, on the whole, does this quite frequently- most of its songs take pre-existing genre cues and subverts them in ways that play off of the expected tapestry of a concept record to create individual sounding songs that seamlessly transition into one another yet remain entirely separate. It maintains their presence as scenes in a larger tapestry- specifically the fabric of the Black Parade being a morality play. This serves two purposes, it allows for this exaggeration of genre to become a motif within the work (see mama, cancer, house of wolves, i don’t love you, wttbp -> they all play with a different, varied song type/structure that is distinct from each other) and it plays off of existing genre-stereotypes in ways that contribute to the songs overall function. I Don’t Love You, for example, undermines the fundamental purposes of sappy power ballads- to express one of the two dualities of love songs: the cheesy unconditional “i will love you forever” types or the plaintive, melancholic end-of-relationship song by instead focusing on the complexity of a not-quite-finished relationship. The ballad then shifts from an expression of love to one of human loss- and the loss is less about the individual speaking, but moreso about what the other character has become - it’s a mourning not for the relationship, but for the person themselves, who they used to be in a way. It shifts from the one-dimensional view of what a ballad can achieve and instead infuses the anger, the resignation, the drama, the transformation- it humanizes a very stock genre full of platitudes and uses our expectations to create something more interesting. Similarly, Teenagers takes a tired genre and utilizes the working mechanisms of its typical song structure to subvert and repurpose those into commentary- its literally a stadium rock song that devolves into a chant. Looking at the loud drumbeat that resonates in your chest, the all together now as a command that lures the listener into singing along, the addition of more chorus vocals at the end like a crowd is shouting along, the screaming and the solo on after another like the song is falling apart a little bit, all of these elements build into a song literally meant to be infectious and replicated by the audience. Herein lies one of the songs many interpretations- humans can be easily influenced by the media they consume, the perspectives they are fed. What happens when the view that we have of adolescence is cloaked in mistrust and violence? This aspect of the song is less about the band reconciling teenagers being moved to committing acts of violence and more in analyzing how an audience can be persuaded into believing the erroneous view of teens as fundamentally destructive- are you not repeating the chorus? do teenagers not “scare the shit out of you”? Obviously the band doesn’t want you to believe this but it does what you to think about why this perspective is so common. It's a cultural subliminal message that is present in songs and tv and books that we simply do not question- it is a chant we cannot help but join in on. Teenagers is a replication of that process, but is clearly just subversive enough (both as a piece of genre and just as a song in general terms) that the listener knows its commentary and not itself propagating that viewpoint. Every song on Black Parade does this kind of “genre-bending” to make a point in some way or another, so it's a significant reason Teenagers fits into the albums cohesion.

But,Teenagers isn’t just important to the album in its sound- it lyrically parallels Disenchanted in a way that effectively moves on from Sleep without losing the album’s emotional momentum. Sleep, conceptually and lyrically, is a very heavy track- its influence from the Dune soundtrack’s Final Dream turn a cinematic, swelling piece of instrumentation into an oppressive blanket of noise that bears down on the listener and the lyrics are referential to the patient believing themselves to be irredeemable and monstrous. It's also inspired directly from Gerard’s vivid and violent night terrors during his stay at the paramour- including a recording of Gerard’s recollection of those dreams, that mentions being choked, seeing loved ones die, burning alive, etc. To transition directly from such a dark, personal subject into a reflective acoustic number about the narrator’s adolescence would be tonally inappropriate and almost laughable- it would stop the progression in its tracks, while also doing a disservice to Disenchanted. Having a break is necessary! And it's even more appropriate for that break to be a song about teenagers considering Disenchanted is so nostalgic. Additionally, Teenagers brings up a really interesting narrative thread about the Patient becoming disenchanted with the youth that then directly transitions into a song about him losing faith in his values and sense of self- they are directly correlated conceptually. Looking deeper, Disenchanted is a punk song. sort of. more specifically, it is the foundation of a punk song that becomes a ballad through narrative framing- it takes punk cliches (running from the cops, the crowds, the imagery of guillotining traitorous rich celebrities) and turns them wistful and sad because the Patient is looking back at something they no longer understand or identify with, it allows the narrative to illustrate how the Patient feels like their life was worthless and didn’t amount to much and they’re just another stupid punk kid who grew up and didn’t achieve anything. and you can’t get to this point from Sleep because it would weaken Disenchanted’s impact, make it seem insignificant and petulant in the face of Sleep’s heavy and grand sorrow. Lyrically, you need Teenagers to bridge the gap between the war metaphors and the visualizations of hell and the all-encompassing nature of cancer in order to redirect the focus to the Patient and limit the scope of the narrative at the end of the album. Teenagers, within the story, then functions as the Patient reflecting on the nature of youth and, in the wake of Mama’s “we all go to hell” rhetoric, comes to the conclusion that teenagers are wholly violent, easily manipulated, and unsympathetic. It's another step in the Patient removing his own agency and viewing his life as predestined at the same time it allows the “plot” to focus back on the more nostalgic and mundane aspects of the patient’s life. Doing so makes Famous Last Words so much more significant because it forces the Patient to reconcile with his past before he can move forward (whether that's living or dying its still applicable). so, Teenagers is very important to the overall “plot” of Black Parade- it is fundamentally necessary for the pieces to fit together.

Another larger aspect of Teenagers' importance is that it introduces the fate versus free will internal debate central to the ending fourth of the record. The song lays the foundation for this thematic idea by being about the fated violence of the youth and how they cannot help but to respond to their world with anger and cruelty. This realization about adolescence by the Patient leads to him perceiving his own youth as destructive and worthless and in following the themes of guilt/regret and damnation it's this violence that began his path to hell or his current state of suffering.  In that vein, Teenagers leads into the idea that your life is predetermined or that there is a destiny that we all have (in the Patient’s case its the absence of a future, or “a lifelong wait for a hospital stay”) and no matter what, you cannot fight that. While Mama gives a blanket statement about how "we all go to hell", Disenchanted centers the Patient's specific destiny by saying his whole life has led up to his illness and, looking further, there is the implication that life before that was retrospectively pointless. So, as previously mentioned, Disenchanted begins, structurally and lyrically, as a punk song- this sort of expression of youthful existence that, in any other song or under another faster instrumentation, would fit on some basement demo from 1986. But it doesn't stay that way, instead it actively subverts the genre it's cliches are lifted from- thinking specifically about “we ran from the cops” and the “roar of the crowd” that is juxtaposed with the change in structure  or theme. Namely, punk songs (speaking generally here) aren’t wistful because there isn't really a sense of legacy in punk music. There's history yes, but most songs are about the immediacy of emotion, not existential questioning. The retrospective nature and the shift into a ballad structure are elements reflective of a change in the main character brought on by the disillusionment present in teenagers from a punk kid to a dying young man looking back on the banality of youth and the hypocrisy, the trauma and the lack of agency. It's so much easier to think that nothing matters and the perspective makes it so much easier to give up.

This build from Teenagers into Disenchanted regarding the Patient's fate allows Famous Last Words to become an even stronger end because it's in direct opposition to that perspective. Famous Last Words is a song that screams fuck fate and fuck the past- the only thing that matters is moving forward. The image of the Patient keeping on whether he’s walking into the afterlife or continuing to stay alive as long as possible becomes something difficult, something he had to fight to achieve - he had to struggle to find a new understanding. That he can't be "afraid to keep living" or "going home" and that these are concrete actions, a use of free will. And that free will is very specifically defiant. Regardless of how you view the Patient's end, he makes the conscious decision to accept the present and move forward. We are not fated to die alone, nor is life worthless. Black Parade proves that the opposite is true, that we must grow to accept the value of life, and it's so much stronger having the Patient actively reject nihilism and apathy. Ultimately, Teenagers introduces the main thread of the final songs and without it, those songs would be narrative incomplete.

So, Teenagers has a valued place on the album sonically and within the narrative whole, that much is clear. But another reason that the album order of Sleep, Teenagers and Disenchanted is important is that none of the other material written for the album comes close to filling its place. In this case, I am going to be specifically talking about the b-sides since the demos are incomplete and we have no idea what the final version would have sounded like (but I would contend they don’t fit either). Beginning with the easiest song to discard from the narrative- My Way Home Is Through You has its moments in the lyrics but it's completely out of place musically- plus the tone is a little too hopeful for this point in the album which does not gel with Disenchanted’s hopelessness. It's also incongruent with the album since Disenchanted is effective as the only “punk” song on a record that plays with and explores genre and having this come before it would ruin the previously mentioned motif of each of the songs being individual and unique in form. Also, it really adds nothing to the fate vs free will theme- meaning its placement would weaken the disenchanted/flw combo ending. Moving forward, Kill All Your Friends seems to fit, considering its cynicism and nostalgia, but the bridge (“you’ll never get me alive, you’ll never take me alive, do what it takes to survive and I'm still here") doesn’t fit the Patient’s slow decent into apathy at all and contradicts Disenchanted’s loss of faith in the idea of living- it's too hopeful and centers survival and resilience in a way that makes it an ineffective substitute for Teenagers as a bridge song. And finally, Heaven Help Us is too religiously centered- it would refocus the fate vs free will discussion in the context of god/angels when that isn’t a theme in the album up to this point (hell is the grounded point of the album- the protagonist has already accepted their fate by Mama- having a reconciliation with a lack of faith or the absence of God seems completely out of left field when its just not an established part of the narrative) Black Parade is actually one of the mcr albums with the least references to god/angels in the heavenly religious sense- more centered around the human struggle against determinism: the usage of damnation is Catholic inspired but divorced from the division of hell vs heaven and is instead about guilt and worthiness and agency. The presence of angels or god or any divinity would simply weaken the narrative by expanding the album's focus outside its own limitations. Also, the Patient isn't ever a martyred figure, if anything he is purposely pathetic. Including any comparison of the Patient to Christ ("give you all the nails you need") or a saint unravels the key feature of the Patient's character: that he is insignificant. His insignificance and his struggles with his past actions make him a character who must find the strength to live through the guilt and pain to prove that everyone is worthy of life. The overarching purpose of Black Parade is emphasizing that no matter what we've done and how dirty we feel, we can move forward and either accept our afterlife or we can find value in being alive. Because of this contradiction, Heaven Help Us destroys the central theme of the entire album if it is included. With all of this in mind, it seems to me that the b-sides are their own nebulous thing- they don’t tonally fit on Black Parade (though I do think they fit together and are interconnected thematically) but any of them would break the flow since they seem angrier and gritter in a way that is noticeably absent and would be at odds with from a lot of Parade’s resignation. They also just do not complete the narrative, they are simple not as good as Teenagers at bringing all the pieces together.

If I still haven’t convinced you, a bonus reason Teenagers is a valuable memeber of the Black Parade tracklist, Ray was the only one who believed in the song- he called it genius (x) so listen to mr chemical romance himself telling you the song is Good and Important :)

anyway now you should, at the very least respect teenagers based on a couple thematic ideas expressed here, if not also understand why it’s imperative to black parade as an album, as well as the narrative itself. <3

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xiv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: When one threat is resolved, another makes presents itself. 

Warnings: character deaths, reference to sexual assault, ptsd, implied smut, shitty writing but we’re not gonna mention it ok, time jump!

Word Count: 2.7k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Confused, angry, annoyed murmurs filled the courtyard as people were ushered outside by the kingsguard. The summer sun had already risen and beat down unforgivingly on the crowd that began to form. An eerie feeling clung to the air – similar to the early morning sunrise when Sister Mary was beheaded. The people had not forgotten about the large army that gathered outside their castle gates this morning. They wondered in fear – had their king been overthrown? Or perhaps… the king was prepared to be a widow once more?

To their relief, King Steven stood at the platform. He was rather calm with his brows furrowed, lost in his thoughts. To their surprise, you weren’t dressed in the traditional execution black, nor were you cowering in the crowd in fear of your husband. Instead, their queen stood tall with her husband’s hand clasped in hers and a crown on her head, reminding them of who you were – reminding you of who you were: an angry queen seeking revenge.

The stoic expression on your face unsettled them. The last time you made a public appearance as queen was when you were struck by your husband. After then, the only time you had been relevant was when guards were storming the castle early in the morning in search of their runaway queen. Though they knew you were back and rested, they had expected your duties to be minimal – that you were to be hidden away, locked in the castle as a crowned prisoner.

They were wrong.

Behind you, stood your father, the invader from this morning. Though he did not seem to pose a threat to you or the king, his army was still sprawled out around the courtyard. Any attempt would be thwarted with ease with both Brooken and York standing together like this.

“Bring them forth,” Steven called out. The crescendo of the people’s chatter became louder and louder as the two criminals were finally revealed.

Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce trudged through the crowd, being led by guards. Shock was expressed on many noble’s faces. Confused muttering shook the crowd as they stared on at the two men who wore black.

“What is he doing?” “Has he finally lost his mind?” “That’s his cousin!” “That’s his father’s sister’s boy!” “Pierce has been an ally to the crown for decades!” “It’s the queen’s doing!” “She’s manipulating him.” “She’s made him a monster.” “No… He’s already been one for years.” “That’s his cousin, his father’s sister’s son!” “He wouldn’t dare.” “He’s a monster.”

The whispers didn’t stop. It felt as if the people were turning their back on Steven, losing hope, respect, and trust. He had yet to say a word that was heard by the crowd. Their mutterings became louder and louder, drowning him out, calling him a monster, saying he shouldn’t wear the crown. They called him mad and cruel, saying he lashed out – disguising his insanity and using treason as an excuse to blindly kill.

It wouldn’t stop. The vile accusations against him were deafening. You stared at the crowd, listening to every word spat out. It sounded like a long continuous scream.

The wails bringing you back to the violent sways of the boat. The nausea induced by the mercenary’s poor command of the boat. Seeing the man on top of Wanda. Hearing her screams of pain and pleads for help. The sticky blood on your hands as you stabbed him. You remembered the sharp shove he gave to your stomach – to your child. The ripping of your dress as he spat, “I should’ve raped you first” with his hands wrapped around your throat. The metallic taste of blood after Wanda slit the man’s throat open. You remembered her falling to the ground and the haunting lifeless look on her face. The terrible cramping pain in your stomach and the discomfort in your back. You remember the blood pooling underneath you as you lost your child.

Everything hitting you all at once. The anger. The hurt. The betrayal. The loss. It all spiraled together, morphing into one hideous feeling that you couldn’t describe. It bubbled in your throat, demanding to be let out.

“SILENCE!” You didn’t even recognize your own voice that bounced throughout the kingdom. It was so loud that you were sure your mother could’ve heard it in York. Maybe the true Mad King heard it from wherever he was.

The entire crowd fell into silence, surprised at your outburst. Steven looked over to you. His own frustration and anger melted into pure concern as he watched your shoulders rise and fall with every breath you took. He called your name but you didn’t hear it, basking in the silence as you wordlessly commanded the respect and attention of everyone in attendance.

Steven couldn’t help but smirk proudly at his queen as you stepped forward from your position, glaring at the crowd.

“You want to call your king a monster?” You asked them. “You have no idea what he has done to protect this kingdom… He has done nothing but protect each and every one of you. Whether the threat be my own father or foreign invaders,” you glared at the two bound men in black, “or lords who plot and conspire for his demise. He’s on the frontline of every battle when he could simply cower in the castle along with the rest of you. And you want to call him the monster?”

You gestured to the chained men. “Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce are the true monsters. They’re the shadows that lurk in the dark. Their the ghosts that haunt the castle. They prey on your fears, they isolate you, they manipulate you.”

You walked to the de-tongued Pierce, a shell of the noble he once was – thanks to your father. “Alexander Pierce brought King Steven two wives. Both from the same house. Both who have died. Everyone’s quick to tell the story that the king murdered his wives. They refused to give him an heir, so he ridded himself of their incompetency, right? I believed that story, too. But no one tells the truth of how Pierce deliberately chose wives of a house who swore allegiance to King Thanos.

“Brock Rumlow manipulated his way into my circle. He fed me lies of how Steven murdered his wives, confirmed untrue rumors – all to turn me against my own husband.” You looked over to Steven, who had a proud look on his face as he watched his wife take control of the situation. “I should’ve believed you, my love. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“These two men orchestrated to have me and my ladies murdered. They posted as people I could trust, promised me protection from a man they said was a threat. They arranged for my friends and I to be murdered on a boat. They hired a mercenary who rap – “you stopped yourself. The word had a foul taste that you could not stomach. “They hired a mercenary who murdered Lady Wanda Maximoff before my eyes. They’re responsible for the death of my child, the heir to Brooken.”

That fact alone stunned many. They were all quick to resent their queen because you had spent months childless… Little did they know they lost their heir they were so desperate to have.

“They’re monsters and if you cannot see that for yourselves, then you, too, will be on this platform next. Call me a killer. Call me ruthless. Call me the monster. I’ll accept it all. I’ve lost a friend and I’ve lost a child. And if their executions and your spiteful rumors are what I must pay for a moment of vengeance, then so be it.”

The crowd remained silent as they took in every word. They may never know what fact is and what is fiction, but everyone can agree that the hurt and the pain in your voice was completely genuine. No one could feign that type of grief.

Steven took a step forward, grabbing your hand and rubbing soothing circles onto the back of it. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before turning towards the two men.

“We needn’t relive the torment you’ve brought upon my wife. You both are guilty of treason, and everyone knows it,” Steven told them, directly. “I, King Steven Rogers of Brooken, with the witnesses of my wife, Queen (Y/N) Rogers and King Anthony Stark of York, sentence you to death for your treason.”

Brock had called your name. He begged for his life. He begged for mercy. He stared into your eyes, pleading for a shred of empathy or compassion. He knew you had it in you – he saw it when you defended your friends fiercely, when you tried to stop your husband from executing the old crone. But he was met with angry, cold eyes as he heard his cousin call for his sword.

Pierce was the first to go. He was brought to the executioner’s block with no hassle – he did not fight. He knew when he had lost and he would lose with any dignity he had left. Steven’s blow was quick and neat. The head fell into the basket with a soft thud as the body was removed from the block.

Rumlow thrashed in the guards’ arms. He begged and he called for your name. He sputtered out apologizes for his crimes in hopes for any ounce of mercy that could be thrown his way.

“Stop.” You said before your husband could lift his sword. “Get him on his feet.”

“(Y/N).” Steven warned, but you repeated your order. The king sent you a weary look before gesturing for the guards to lift his cousin.

Steven watched as you marched over and gave Brock a kind smile. Relief flooded through Rumlow as you fixed the black collar of his shirt.

“You don’t deserve a fast death.” You told him. Though your voice was soft, it was heard throughout the eerily silent courtyard.

Before he could process your words, you gave a swift, deep cut to his throat with a dagger no one knew you were hiding. After the attempt on your life, you always ensured that you had some form of a weapon on your person.

He choked on his own blood as the crimson spurted out from the deep gash. You watched with little remorse as he fell to the ground, clawing at his neck. You didn’t shift your eyes away as you did when Sister Mary was beheaded. No. You wanted to see your enemies fall.

Once he laid lifeless on the platform, you turned and made your way off the platform and back into the castle.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Your farewells with your father were bittersweet and fast. You wished him safe travels as you gave him a sword – specially made for your little brother’s name day. You noticed the saddened look on your father’s face upon hearing Harvey’s name, but you decided not to press him about it.

You watched from the balcony as he and his army disappeared into the horizon. Your hands were still shaking – something you hadn’t thought would happen once you took Brock’s life. Though you have bathed – and re-bathed – immediately after the executions, your hands still felt sticky even if you only had a few splatters of blood on them.

You were too lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Steven slowly walk over to your position. You jumped when his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked you. He noticed how you were still trembling.

“I killed him.” You said. “I looked him in his eyes and took his life.”

“If you weren’t shaking, I would ask myself if I had married a coldblooded killer.” He joked lightly, but you scoffed at him. He kissed your temple. “But I know you are not a murderer.”

“As I know you are not a monster.” You whispered. “I couldn’t stand there and listen to them whispering anymore,” you shook your head. “I do apologize for thinking such things.”

“You had reason to believe it. I do not blame you.”

“You should be angry.”

“I am not.” Steven assured. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” You responded, leaning into him. “Is it over? Is this unrest finally over?”

“It never is.” Steven sighed. “But now, everyone knows… They can’t turn us against each other. We stand together. King and Queen. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are taking strides to a brighter Brooken. Together.”

You smiled at the thought. You basked in Steven’s arms. The security the bring. The feeling of home.

You turned to face him and pulled him down for a kiss. Sweet and passionate. Lips melting together as if they had always belonged there. You pushed Steven backwards towards the room. He broke the kiss as he watched you close the balcony doors. You smiled at him before you cupped his jaw with your hands to reconnect the kiss.

You kept pushing and pushing until the back of Steven’s knees hit the back of the bed. He pulled away from you, combing the loose strands away from your face before placing a chaste kiss to your lips. “We needn’t do this if you aren’t ready.” He told you. He was afraid that his desire for you would overwhelm you. Though some time had passed since the incident, he did not want to make you feel pressured in any way.

You shook your head. You tried to bring his lips back to yours, but he thwarted your attempt. “Steven…” You whined.

He chuckled, cupping your face with his large hands. “You needn’t give me an heir… Not yet. Not if you’re not ready.”

“Steven…” you frowned. “I want this. I want you.”

He shook his head. “We don’t need an heir… Not yet. I am happy with just you.”

You groaned at him. “If we have a child this night or the next, it makes little difference to me. I’m not trying to have an heir. I want to make love to you because I love you.”

He smiled. That warm smile that sent butterflies to your stomach. He kissed your lips once. Twice. And a third kiss one from an eager husband ready to make love to his wife. 

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six Months Later…

You let out an erotic moan, one that quite possibly awoke the entire castle. Not that you nor your husband minded as your hips rutted against his as you both came down from your highs. Exhausted, you slumped down to his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you. He pressed a kiss to your glistening forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

“I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you, too.”

Three sharp knocks were stamped into the wood of your bedchamber’s doors. You and Steven frowned at one another. It was late at night, who could it be?

You quickly got off your husband and wrapped yourself in a robe as he did the same. He walked over to the door to find Lord Barnes, who was supposed to be vacationing in his chateau with his new wife, Lady Natasha. “What’s wrong, James?” Steven asked the obviously exhausted lord.

“Your majesties…” He said, winded. “There’s an emergency. Please. Come to the throne room now.” Steven asked for privacy so that you both may properly dress.

Your bare feet padded against the tiles as you hurried walked hand in hand with Steven. “What’s happened?” You asked Lord Barnes as he rounded the corner towards the throne room. When he didn’t answer, you asked again. He pushed the doors open and you gasped. “Mother?”

“Oh, my sweet child,” your mother sighed out in relief. She held baby Morgan in her hands, the infant had grown in your time away. You rushed to her side and gave her a hug, cooing at your baby sister who babbled happily as she recognized your voice.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Your husband asked.

“Always great to see you, Steve.” Your mother smiled.

“Pepper,” he greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “As much as I find your company a delight, it’s in the middle of the night… It’s winter. Travel is rather troublesome in the north, even for a three-day journey.”

“Where’s father?” You asked. “And Harvey?”

Your mother sighed sadly. Your face dropping. You looked to Natasha who stood with her husband and the guards you recognized belonged to your father’s kingsguard. “What’s happened?” You asked.

“York’s been invaded by Thanos.”

[hello-that-happened]

How She-Ra, Wrong Hordak, and I Deconverted in Six Steps

Alright y'all, it's time for my fourth essay exploring how She-Ra and the Princess of Power (SPOP) used Christian themes and parallels to provide a humanist message.

My first post named 9 major messages of SPOP that contradict Christian fundamentalism.

My second gave the historical context of how our generation and Noelle's are growing up to overthrow Christian fundamentalism after it became such a powerful enemy in the U.S.

My third discussed the parallel between Horde Prime’s rage at Hordak’s self-naming and the Christian idea that everyone is an instrument of God’s will.

Now I want to discuss how Adora's and Wrong Hordak's journeys defections from the Horde parallel my story, and potentially others', of leaving Christianity. Adora and Wrong Hordak experience many of the same stages in his journey out of the Horde as many ex-Christians experience leaving Christianity.

My own experience leaving Christianity was a journey into atheism, so I will interpret Adora's and Wrong Hordak's stories through that lens. Plenty of people who left toxic/conservative Christianity behind still believe in God, in heaven, and/or in the value of Christian communities. I do not want to minimize or dismiss their experiences, and I welcome progressive Christians as allies in the fight for LGBT+ rights and social justice generally. But when I watched Adora and Wrong Hordak leave their belief in The Horde behind, I saw myself leaving Christianity behind. I want to tell my story through/alongside theirs. I hope some of you can relate, but it is okay if you cannot, regardless of your religious beliefs or lack thereof.

Deconversion in Fast-Forward

Adora, Wrong Hordak, and I escaped from the organizations that raised us and its worldview in six somewhat-distinct stages:

Multiple major characters' arcs in She-Ra begin with rethinking their loyalty to The Horde. Wrong Hordak and Adora both lose their faith in The Horde after a lifetime of indoctrination into its ideals and goals. Their journey away from The Horde mirrors many young Americans' away from Christianity, with at least one notable exception: time. Deconversion takes multiple years for most ex-Christians, but only takes a few days for Adora and Wrong Hordak. Their de-conversion basically represents a speed run of most ex-Christians'.

Full Breakdown of Each Stage

(tw: mention of depression and suicidal ideation)

Adora takes delight in pretending to beat up an imaginary princess in the show's first scene, and later calls princesses "violent instigators who don't even know how to control their powers." She believes in the ideals of The Horde, and feels excited to rise through the ranks to become Force Captain. Obedience to Horde authorities comes fairly naturally to her, and she even chides Catra for being "disrespectful."

Wrong Hordak consistently repeats his loyalty to Horde Prime throughout his first episode and beyond. Even while being attacked by his fellow clones, Wrong Hordak affirms that "We serve Horde Prime's will." Unprompted in the next episode he happily announces, "I believe in Horde Prime!"

I felt proud, as a kid in Sunday School, that I could answer more questions about the Bible than any of the other kids. My church's youth group was the most enjoyable part of my middle school years especially because I got to hang out with the guy I only recently realized I'd had a huge gay crush on. I started viewing "feeling happy" and "feeling the presence of God" as identical. I wrote in my 2011 "Faith Statement" for my church's Confirmation that "I fell in love with God," and that "I thank God that I was born into a good Christian family and was raised to honor God."

Adora is kidnapped by the Horde's enemies and taken away from her home, separated from all of the voices reassuring her that The Horde is a good organization with a just mission. Shadow Weaver is not around to give her orders or map out her future anymore, leaving her alone with her enemies and her thoughts.

Wrong Hordak's connection to the hive-mind he knew for all of his life is severed. "I am…alone?" he asks in shock, then breaks down and cries, "I am alone!" For someone who grew up living in the same mind as his entire communal "family," suddenly losing that connection to everyone he knew would be traumatizingly shocking. The best equivalent I can think of in human experience is being suddenly ripped away from your family and community and then never seeing them again.

I kept conflating happiness with my faith in God for years, even after my crush moving away drove me into suicidal ideation for a couple weeks in 2011. My mental health recovered for a year before settling into a long-term depression in 2012. Because I conflated happiness with the presence of God, my depression felt like something had taken away the presence of God.

Adora defends the organization that raised her by quoting her highest authority: "Hordak says we're doing what's best for Etheria. We're trying to make things better. More orderly." Glimmer argues against Adora's worldview by showing her (1) that princesses are just people instead of dangerous violent monsters, and (2) what The Horde has done: first the ruins of a village destroyed by The Horde, and then that the village of Thaymor which she was told to attack was peaceful, innocent, and happy.

Wrong Hordak grabs Entrapta by the hair for the crime of "trespassing," and enjoys saying, "Prime shall hear of this, and his punishment shall be merciless." But once Bow’s arrow disconnects him from the Horde’s hivemind, he is simultaneously stranded away from the people who constantly reinforced his belief in Horde Prime’s goodness and stuck with a group of people opposing Prime. For a long time, Wrong Hordak simply pretends that the Best Friend Squad™ serve Horde Prime just like everyone else he ever knew. Every line of his dialogue in “Taking Control” is a quick, snappy motto he took from Horde propaganda, like “I believe…in Horde Prime” and “True nourishment comes from the favor of Horde Prime.” [see footnote 1]

I was well aware, growing up in a progressive suburb, that plenty of my high school friends were nonreligious. After my depression sunk in, I found myself arguing about religion with a brilliant but very smug British friend who consistently refuted my arguments in ways I could not dispute. Searching for arguments to support my pre-existing beliefs, I started reading Christian apologetics, but found nothing my friends could not easily refute. [see footnote 2]

Adora sees the ruins of the site of a Horde attack while with Glimmer and Bow, and at first rejects what Glimmer tells her about what she sees to preserve her worldview: "This doesn't make any sense. The Horde would never do something like this…You don't know them like I do." But when she sees The Horde attack Thaymor, the belief system painstakingly constructed by The Horde and drilled into her over 15 (or so) years comes crashing down. At first she can rationalize away her experiences to preserve her beliefs, but when the evidence of her own senses becomes overwhelming she cannot resolve the cognitive dissonance between her belief in The Horde's goodness and her direct experience of The Horde attacking the innocent town of Thaymor. Her worldview cannot explain what she experienced.

Wrong Hordak keeps his belief in Horde Prime's all-powerful nature for a long time after joining the Best Friend Squad. However, when until the Best Friend Squad catches him in a contradiction. He tells them what he was told: that Krytis does not exist. As soon as they start questioning the contradiction he was fed, he becomes extremely uncomfortable. He maintains his denial of Krytis' existence even after they land on the planet, until he can no longer deny the evidence that Horde Prime is not all-powerful.

I grew up, like many of you, on the Internet. My depression began during the heyday of the online atheist movement—and by “heyday,” I mean “seemingly inescapable presence,” especially on YouTube where I hung out. I kept running into comments asking questions that I could not answer: Why does Christianity seem to promote belief based on internal feelings instead of observable evidence? Why would an all-loving god send anyone to hell forever? Why did I believe claims from Christian doctrine and doubt claims from every other religion? Why has Christianity seemed to cling to the past instead of embracing a progressive future? The questions overwhelmed me. I found myself terrified of my own growing doubts. Eventually, my belief was based entirely on two emotions: nostalgia for past happy experiences I associated with Christianity, and a fear of losing the vague hope those experiences gave me.

The first time that Bow and Glimmer met Adora, they immediately labeled her “Horde soldier!,” and the label stuck through the first three episodes. Adora has always identified herself primarily as a soldier serving The Horde, echoing the messages she has heard for her whole life: “Shadow Weaver said it didn't matter who I was before, that—that I was nothing before Hordak took me in.” The language of “I was nothing” reflects cult dynamics where a group tries to retain someone permanently by making them think of themself as nothing more than their worshipful loyalty to the group. Similarly, it is a common Christian belief that “without Jesus we are nothing.”

After realizing that Horde Prime fes him lies, Wrong Hordak collapsed into a sobbing mess. “Who am I if not an exalted brother of Prime?,” he bawled, still thinking that the only legitimate kind of identity is one based on fully devoted worship of an all-powerful authority. Per Entrapta, “It seem[ed] that Wrong Hordak has begun to question the meaning of life.” She later described Wrong Hordak’s breakdown as an “existential crisis,” which happens “when individuals question whether their lives have meaning, purpose, or value, and are negatively impacted by the contemplation.” Without an all-powerful father figure to value him, Wrong Hordak thought, who would?

I identified myself fundamentally as a Christian for my entire childhood and teen years. I found joy, purpose, and a sense of self in my religion. Leaving my religion behind felt like burning the bridge to who I was behind me. When I de-converted from Christianity, I felt like I was standing at the brink of a void. I thought that without finding goodness in God, I might find no goodness at all. [see footnote 3]

When Wrong Hordak finishes (digitally, but also emotionally) processing the Krytis data logs of Horde Prime leaving in defeat, he explicitly renounces his old loyalties and declares his opposition to the organization and beliefs that he used to believe in with all his heart: "Brothers! Horde Prime lied to us. He is a false ruler. We must rise up against him, and free the universe from his unjust reign!"

After Adora betrays the Horde at the Battle of Thaymor, she pledges her loyalty to Bright Moon in her battle against the Horde: "I’ve seen for myself the atrocities the Horde has committed against the people of Etheria, and I’m ready to fight to stop them. If you give me the chance, I know I can help the Rebellion turn the tide of the war."

I didn't have an explicit declaration statement like Wrong Hordak or Adora. However, on 5/5/15 I arranged a meeting with my very friendly and understanding youth pastor as a last-ditch effort to save my faith. I hoped that he would crush my worrying doubts. Instead, actually encouraged me to become agnostic and to look into non-Christian beliefs on the subject of religion. Rather than feeling terrified of what I might find and wishing that someone could indoctrinate me into my old belief system, I started on a path to discover the truth wherever it might lead me.

Footnotes for Context

Christian fundamentalists’ similarly simplistic snappy phrases have been labeled by ex-Christians as “thought-terminating clichés… brief, highly reductive, definitive-sounding phrases” where “Simple labels are attached to something you like or dislike, and they are the start and finish of all thought on the subject.” Such black-and-white “totalistic” thinking is common in Christian fundamentalism, especially how it labels complex political topics as somehow being merely a cover for “spiritual warfare” between the totally good/Godly side and the totally evil/demonic side.

Specifically, I started reading an “Intelligent Design” propaganda apologetics book by Lee Strobel called The Case For A Creator. A self-proclaimed former atheist, Strobel wrote his The Case For series using my same research strategy: Only do research using sources that already agree with you. Whereas Strobel exclusively talked to other Christian apologists, though, I at least tried talking to atheists. Anyway, I walked into school one day with a confident smile and a copy of Strobel’s book and sat down with some friends. One of them, another brilliant atheist but with a far subtler and humbler personality, noticed it and his face immediately sunk into the expression of someone exhausted by the topic as he braced himself for my bullshit. When I confidently asserted a creationist talking point trying to dismiss the findings of some old experiment, he not only knew the experiment but immediately dismantled my talking point. I had no reply. What struck me most was not just his swift rebuttal, but his weary tone: My arguments were not only bad, but so bad that he was genuinely tired of them.

Around the same time, I became obsessed with the character of Kefka from Final Fantasy 6. To me, Kefka represented what I feared most about leaving Christianity behind — that I would lose any sense of meaning, purpose, or morality in my life. ("Life… Dreams… Hope…Where do they come from? And where are they headed? Such meaningless things!") Edgy, I know, but in my mind that kind of absurdism seemed to be an inevitable result of abandoning my religious beliefs. Fortunately, I came to understand that there is plenty of meaning, purpose, beauty, and goodness outside of the particular religion that I happened to be born into.

[hieromonkcharbel]

Weep over your sin: it is a spiritual ailment; it is death to your immortal soul; it deserves ceaseless, unending weeping and crying; let all tears flow for it, and sighing come forth without ceasing from the depths of your heart.

In profound humility I weep for all my sins, voluntary and involuntary, conscious and unconscious, covert and overt, great and little, committed by word and deed, in thought and intention, day and night, at every hour and minute of my life.

I weep over my pride and my ambition, my self love and my boastfulness; I weep over my fits of anger, irritation, excessive shouting, swearing, quarreling and cursing;

I weep for having criticized, censured, gossiped, slandered, and defamed, for my wrath, enmity, hatred, envy, jealousy, vengeance and rancor;

I weep over my indulgences in lust, impure thoughts and evil inclinations; covetousness, gluttony, drunkenness, and sloth;

I weep for having talked idly, used foul language, blasphemed, derided, joked, ridiculed, mocked, enjoyed empty gaiety, singing, dancing and every pleasure to excess;

I weep over my self indulgence, cupidity, love of money and miserliness, unmercifulness and cruelty;

I weep over my laziness, indolence, negligence, love of comfort, weakness, idleness, absent-mindedness, irresponsibility, inattention, love of sleep, for hours spent in idle pursuits, and for my lack of concentration in prayer and in Church, for not observing fasts and not doing charitable works.

I weep over my lack of faith, my doubting, my perplexity, my coldness, my indifference, my weakness and unfeelingness in what concerns the Holy Orthodox Faith, and over all my foul, cunning and reviling thoughts;

I weep over my exaggerated sorrow and grief, depression and despair, and over sins committed willingly.

I weep, but what tears can I find for a worthy and fitting way to weep for all the actions of my ill fated life; for my immeasurable and profound worthlessness? How can I reveal and expose in all its nakedness each one of my sins, great and small, voluntary and involuntary, conscious and unconscious, overt and covert, every hour and minute of sin? When and where shall I begin my penitential lament that will bear fitting fruit? Perhaps soon I may have to face the last hour of my life; my soul will be painfully sundered from my sinful and vile body; I shall have to stand before terrible demons and radiant angels, who will reveal and torment me with my sins; and I, in fear and trembling, will be unprepared and unable to give them an answer; the sight and sound of wailing demons, their violent and bold desire to drag me into the bottomless pit of Hell will fill my soul with confusion and terror. And then the angels of God will lead my poor soul to stand before God 's fearful seat of judgment. How will I answer the Immortal King, or how will I dare, sinner that I am, to look upon My Judge? Woe is me! have no good answer to make, for I have spent all my life in indolence and sin, all my hours and minutes in vain thoughts, desires and yearnings!

And how many times have I taken the Name of God in vain!

How often, lightly and freely, at times even boldly, insolently and shamelessly have I slandered others in anger; offended, irritated, mocked them!

How often have I been proud and vainglorious and boasted of good qualities that I do not possess and of deeds that I have not done!

How many times have I lied, deceived, been cunning or flattered, or been insincere and deceptive; how often have I been angry, intolerant and mean!

How many times have I ridiculed the sins of my brother, caused him grief overtly and covertly, mocked or gloated over his misdeeds, his faults or his misfortunes; how many times have I been hostile to him, in anger, hatred or envy!

How often have I laughed stupidly, mocked and derided, spoke without weighing my words, ignorantly and senselessly, and uttered a numberless quantity of cutting, poisonous, insolent, frivolous, vulgar, coarse, brazen words!

How often, affected by beauty, have I fed my mind, my imagination and my heart with voluptuous sensations, and unnaturally satisfied the lusts of the flesh in fantasy! How often has my tongue uttered shameful, vulgar and blasphemous things about the desires of the flesh!

How often have I yearned for power and been gluttonous, satiating myself on delicacies, on tasty, varied and diverse foods and wines; because of intemperance and lack of self-control how often have I been filled past the point of satiety, lacked sobriety and been drunken, intemperate in food and drink, and broken the Holy Fasts!

How often, through selfishness, pride or false modesty, have I refused help and attention to those in need, been uncharitable, miserly, unsympathetic, mercenary and grasped at attention!

How often have I entered the House of God without fear and trembling, stood there in prayer, frivolous and absent-minded, and left it in the same spirit and disposition! And in prayer at home I have been just as cold and indifferent, praying little, lazily, and indolently, inattentively and impiously, and even completely omitting the appointed prayers!

And in general, how slothful I have been, weakened by indolence and inaction; how many hours of each day have I spent in sleep, how often have I enjoyed voluptuous thoughts in bed and defiled my flesh! How many hours have I spent in empty and futile pastimes and pleasures, in frivolous talk and speech, jokes and laughter, games and fun, and how much time have I wasted conclusively in chatter, and gossip, in criticizing others and reproaching them; how many hours have I spent in time-wasting and emptiness! What shall I answer to the Lord God for every hour and every minute of lost time? In truth, I have wasted my entire life in laziness.

How many times have I lost heart and despaired of my salvation and of God's mercy or through stupid habit, insensitivity, ignorance, insolence, shamelessness, and hardness sinned deliberately, willingly, in my right mind, in full awareness, in all goodwill, in both thought and intention, and in deed, and in this fashion trampled the blood of God 's covenant and crucified anew within myself the Son of God and cursed Him!

0 how terrible the punishment that I have drawn upon myself!

How is it that my eyes are not streaming with constant tears?.. If only my tears flowed from the cradle to the grave, at every hour and every minute of my tortured life! Who will now cool my head with water and fill the well of my tears and help me weep over my soul that I have cast into perdition?

My God, my God! Why hast Thou forsaken me? Be it unto me according to Thy will, 0 Lord! If Thou wouldst grant me light, be Thou blessed; if Thou wouldst grant me darkness, be Thou equally blessed. If Thou wouldst destroy me together with my lawlessness, glory to Thy righteous judgment; and if Thou wouldst not destroy me together with my lawlessness, glory to Thy boundless mercy!

St. Basil the Great

[michibikionmain]

This isn’t THE tommyinnit villain essay but it sure is one of them

Ok ok so 4 those of u who aren't on discord with me: i have two main essays that have been in the works for MONTHS, these being my Complete Dream character analysis essay going in-depth for nearly all of his canon interactions and finding his character traits and motivations through the story, and my Tommyinnit (and Wilbur Soot) were Always The Villains on the server essay talking about how the only reason so many people view them as the good guys or heroes is because we see the story from their perspective mainly. This essay? Is not either of those. BUT, it does go through a lot of my thoughts on Tommy and Dream’s characters so I figured I’d post it. maybe itll help me organize my thoughts 4 my Mega Projects lol

@ranboocore bc u helped me pop off on this so hard LMAO

Warning, it’s VERY Tommy Critical, what a suprise. I do not like Tommy as a character lol. idk what triggers yall might need me to tag but if u need one in particular pls lmn!

My biggest issue with tommy's character is that he SAYS hes learned but he never does he is exactly the same person he was at the start of the server just More Sad and with Trauma, when out of all the characters he's had the most push to change. c!Tommy is a very tell-don't-show character which can make it hard for some people to connect to him, especially those who don’t directly share his trauma or see themselves in his character. Of course, there is still a MASSIVE amount of people who relate to his struggles and thus love him regardless of his writing, but those who can't relate to him will always feel some kind of barrier until the things they've talked about are actually shown to the viewer instead of being spoon-fed to them.

It is a very beginner writing thing, and I'm hoping that Tommy is figuring out how to fix this, maybe with support from the many other writers on the server. There's the 3 you mentioned, plus fundy, niki, and maybe tubbo who also play dnd, plus Dream who said he would've been an English major and does a lot of personal writing for fun.  I think the biggest issue in the writing lies in the individual ccs being inexperienced in the medium, particularly with planning out their own character growth. 

Another glaring issue I have with c!Tommy is how he's framed to be sympathetic and he goes through all these horrible things without acknowledging his role in any of them. The things that have happened to him are a direct result of his actions, but the thing is HE won't acknowledge and so it falls flat. This isn’t to say that being abused is his fault, because it’s NEVER the vicitm’s fault, but being exiled? His multiple fights with c!Dream? His friendships falling apart? Losing the disks in the first place? They’re the direct consequences of HIS OWN actions, but he never acknowledges this and constantly just... brushes off any accountability by either saying that it’s Dream fault or simply SAYING he feels bad without properly showing it through redemption and GROWTH.

Denial is useful in storytelling sometimes, but Tommy's character has been in denial since the very beginning of the server and at this point it's just exhausting. He only ever switches between denial and depression, not really going through all 5 stages of grief properly. His violent/upset reactions would be more powerful if they were any different from how tommy usually acts, but this is always how he is. When he “lashes out” because he’s reached the end of his patience, it doesn’t SEEM like the snap it is because that’s just... it’s seriously just his standard reaction to everything. It hold no WEIGHT to see c!Tommy yell at someone violently or threaten to fight them because he does that anyways!

Static characters can be a good thing, and can be interesting if done correctly, but not every character SHOULD or CAN be static in a story.

Static characters need to have their position or behavior challenged and question, where they look into if the way they see and interact with the world is really the 'correct' one or just evaluated to see if they truly believe in them. This questioning period is CRUCIAL! and NEEDS to be well done in a way that ACTIVELY SHOWS the conflict between the two ideals. If they decide to hold onto their beliefs/continue their behavior then, it feels deserved, because rather than just being a flat "they do thing its who they are" they have defined WHY. WHY is a very important question to think of when telling the difference between dynamic and static characters. The why of a character is ESSENTIAL to developing them as a relatable, sympathetic person rather than a flat story telling device. It makes them a human rather than a puppet. When a character's motives aren't well defined or discussed, they're doomed to fall flat in everything else, because the WHY is the foundation of what makes them who they are.

c!Tommy has an underdeveloped "why", his motivations are weak, rarely properly discussed and when they are it doesn't particularly stick with him. His motivations change without showing us the internal struggle that should come from literally shifting your driving principles. There are some good MOMENTS of him reevaluating the importance of certain things, but they're so spread out and contradictory and immediately spat one that they're hard to piece together. He TELLS us what his motivations are as well, which is another big flaw when it comes to all that but we don't have time to unpack all THAT Anyways, the key to static story telling is reaffirmation. The character goes through a complete journey and ends with the same beliefs because they've looked into why they have them and determined that they still matter to them. A great example of static writing in my eyes is c!Techno, who since the beginning has believed that governments are bad. c!Techno enters the server to destroy a government, and still ends up doing that because he sees and we see him experience that the reasons he didn't like government before still hold true and he has no reason to support them any more than before, and so his anarchist beliefs are REAFFIRMED, proving to him that they way he handles things is the right one for him.

c!Tommy’s attachments are all just... they're all so weird.  like he LITERALLY SACRIFICES HIS LIFE MULTIPLE TIMES for L'manburg. By action of sacrifice it seems like it should be the most important thing to him, but then he throws it away for some disks that mattered less to him just a minute ago.  But then it's all about how c!Tubbo is worth more than Anything and maybe he's found something more important! but then he shoves THAT out the window for the discs again ig!!! but then it's about l’manburg again? Make it make sense.... pls....

Here's smth that really irks me about Tommy's character, and is kind of weird but give me a second to explain: Tommy has never actually permanently lost much of anything on the server. Every punishment he's ever received he's tried to find some way around. And like... I'm not expecting him to be HAPPY to face the consequences of his actions but seeing him constantly have his cake and eat it too is very irritating, especially when there are characters who DO have to deal with actual permanent sacrifices. The whole thing with the disks. where he WILLINGLY OFFERED THEM UP AND GAVE THEM AWAY THEN SPENT FOREVER TRYING TO STEAL THEM BACK WHILE CLAIMING DREAM STOLE THEM FROM HIM, is the biggest example of this, but it's generally his characters way of dealing with things. He's very backhanded and conniving, constantly calling himself "big man" except for when he wants things from people and he plays up the "iM a MiNoR" card to try and get them to give him things or feel bad. He's not just some sweet innocent kid like people paint him, he knows damn well he's messed up and while he SAYS he feels bad about it, he has never once really shown, with his ACTIONS, regret for what he's done except for the stuff with c!Sapnap, which could it could be argued he did because he thought it would help get c!Sapnap on his side to fight Dream and he knew c!Sapnap was a skilled warrior and could possibly be persuaded to fight with dream.

c!Tommy is in NO way some sweet innocent child, he knows what he's doing. He KNEW l'manburg was a drug empire, and wanted to turn his hotel into the same He was FULLY prepared to just murder c!Schlatt for legally winning an election that he KNEW was rigged AND INTENDED TO HELP RIG HE LITERALLY TEAMED UP WITH c!TECHNOBLADE KNOWING THAT HE INTENDED TO BLOW UP L'MANBURG AND ONLY LEFT WHEN HE REALIZED IT WASN'T GOING TO ACTUALLY HELP HIM--

The line of c!Wilbur saying "Tommy, are we the bad guys?" wasn't him mentally going batshit it was him realizing that the entire time they've been doing terrible things. c!Wilbur was literally ALWAYS Vilbur but the time people CALL Vilbur is when c!Will himself realized he was a villain.

[tonya-the-chicken]

I’m not going to change your views but it does feel a bit dismissive when you say it wasn’t that bad because he had rich parents who neglected him but hey they got a maid for him and he probably wasn’t outcasted or bullied so hey it’s not that bad right 🤷‍♀️! I don’t know he definitely didn’t have the worse out of the villains but I don’t know it felt a bit dismissive is all. Although we need to all remember these are fictional characters so have no idea why the other anon needed to get so aggressive! Also the person in the notes I don’t know how to say it but uh the whole the Todoroki’s had a rich father they didn’t have to work a day in their life take is not a good look. Just because someone has parents with money it doesn’t derail the fact that neglect can cause trauma.

Anyways for the real reason I sent this, you wonder why Dabi is so insane. Well take into account the neglect alongside the fact that he burnt to near death up on that hill alone at the age of what 13? That’s got to be extra traumatising, especially for a child that was already not mentally ok. We also don’t know what his circumstances were like after that fire, like was he homeless? Or picked up by someone nefarious? Kind of like AFO(not him exactly but someone nasty) who maybe fed on his brewing anger and hate instead of positive healing. I’m sure we will find out at some point? I don’t think it was just what happened in the Todoroki household or the fire that broke his mind? There had to be other factors after the fire after his “death”!

[[WARNING!!! I love Dabi as a character but I am not a woobifier so if you are too much into him don't read!!!! No complaints taken, y'all will be blocked for being rude I am too old to deal with people unable to interact with me in good faith (anon it's not for you, you are good and I can't understand your point of view I am just not as good as a person and too old for that shit)]]

I don't think I will change my mind either but I feel like the belief that every trauma is equally bad is just... Simply wrong. Like, we can legit compare this stuff and how badly it affects our brain, what do y'all think psychologists research 🤷‍♀️ Like, your therapist won't tell you this because it's not their job to make you understand you not the centre of the Earth (and it won't help because it is a legit trauma response that is very valid but is annoying you're fucking 25 yo). And to say that, neglectful parenthood is probably the worst parenthood style, as far as I know XD I wrote coursework about this (neglectful bitches are having a lot of need to make us the biggest victims (the bitches is me))... It also feels really American to me? Like, are we going to pretend people who got to live in a nice house and were neglect somehow got it as bad as people living in poverty or warzones? Hello? Imagine telling some orphan "I know you have no parents but actually, my trauma of my father not spending enough time with me is just as severe as yours". Bruh couldn't be me sorry... Like, even taking into account the fact that we can have weaker or stronger nervous systems or be more prone to depressive episodes *looks in the mirror and cries* I simply wouldn't find the guts to say my trauma is as severe as idk people who had physically abusive parents or no parents at all or who were disowned for being gay

And like **again** I am not saying that neglect is not traumatic I WAS NEGLECTED THIS IS TRAUMATIZING AS FUCK. I just am living in a country at war and with lots of discrimination problems and I like... Can't say I am the biggest victim. Sorry I can't though there were times when I was a lot more bitchy especially before being in therapy so I understand where you are coming from and I know what I am saying won't resonate with everyone (it's ok go on your own healing journey I believe in you) but this doesn't mean it is garbage and won't help me or someone else... I've already talked once about it but as a person, I am very easily irritated and envious and really not your local Jesus and partially my trauma turned me like this so being more humble about my sufferings helps me not be a complete bitch (believe me or not but people with traumas and mental illnesses are often insufferable *looks in the mirror* not me though I am perfect... BUT IT IS OK TO BE INSUFFERABLE OK??? like, bitch, that's normal. That's normal to stink when you are depressed it's ok to be a bitch when you are hurting. Forgive yourself because I forgive you (when you are not being an abusive asshole but if you apologize and explain yourself I will forgive that too)

The reason why I talk about the fact he is rich is that I've got a disease called leftism and I am a person of several marginalized identities and since this fandom LOVES looking at characters like real humans, I looked at Dabi this way. And if Dabi was a real human, I wouldn't sympathize with him one bit. I would fucking hate him for being the biggest entitled asshole who commits crimes for the reason his Daddy didn't give him attention. Bitch, my Dad didn't give me attention either! But somehow I don't kill people! And I don't even have money!!!! But like... I am not denying that neglectful parents are not a problem. It is. But he is overreacting, bro. He needs to humble down and recognize the fact he is a fucking idiot (he is). He has inherently so much more resources to recover and heal himself than I had... Yes, I am just being jealous at this point but honestly. Making an entire country suffer for you is not a good thing and y'all need to stop using trauma and mental illness as an excuse for people. No! Being abusive to people because of neglect is not valid, is overreacting and you had no reason to do that. I am dismissing your trauma because you are exaggerating it to make me sympathize with your asshole behaviour. I won't judge people with different sets of standards as I judge myself

I bet it would be dismissive and bad if I said it in conversation with someone who is currently struggling with mental health and is not a murderer. But guess what! I don't talk with humans and my friends the same way I talk on my Tumblr about fictional characters 🤷‍♀️ Not to mention I don't have rich friends akabsksbxm

I think with Dabi there's this whole thing where we saw him at 14 (poor baby boy) and 24 (a grown-ass boy) and... Like, I am so sorry for 14 years old Touya not receiving the help he needs (bruh so relatable) but I am not gonna act like 24 years old bitch can't get his ass to a psychiatrist (extremely unrelatable and infuriating). We shouldn't apply the same standards to kids and adults. We can talk all day long about how society is bad and how our parents ruined us but at some points, you gotta take your life into your own hands and do something and be an adult. And it's fucking hard when you're born with a shitty brain that was fucked up by your parents even more in a society where no one gives a fuck but I sincerely don't know another way to live. You will feel bad and want to die but you either keep on recovering or keep on getting worse and at this point getting worse is Dabi's *choice* That's how I live, that's my framework and I am, of course, extremely fortunate in a lot of ways but I just don't know how are you supposed to survive without the notion that grown people are responsible for themselves and their mental health. We can't act like adults are babies

But as a character, Dabi is fucking hot ngl. Like, do I sometimes want to murder my entire family, make them suffer AND commit terrorist attacks? We all do. Dabi is the dark fantasy of us neglectful bitches craving some attention. Gotta kill the president and tell everyone that my Dad sucks. Imagine the entire country hearing your Dad sucks? That's the juice, that's the dream. Trauma makes you vicious. I get the sentiment. Imagine all those fuckers who made you feel like shit pissing their pants and crying? Imagine your Mom being afraid of you the way you used to be afraid of her? People do have the desire for some violent justice but like... Think of bullied kids committing school shootings. But instead of a kid, it's a grown man who graduated school and who also have a rich father

Ok too much about irl stuff and philosophy shit. I know my way of talking is kinda brute so just know the way I treat people is different from that I treat fictional characters, in particular, I don't call real-life humans submissive and breedable... And stuff...

Damn Dabi is kinda good to project your hatred of your parents in bruh, I should write a fanfic about that (would be cathartic)

To the plotline, I am also very interested in what the hell happened with him after burning because... How the hell he wasn't found? I kind of DON'T want him to be groomed at this point because I feel like it won't be as cool as him just more naturally evolving into what he became. Like, surely, he is an asshole but consider this: as a villain, he is morally obligated to be an asshole

I feel like someone hiding him and Touya overstating the gruesomeness of his living conditions to the dude so he feels *bad* for him and hides him and feels sympathy and Touya gets attention but also begins to reassure himself in the fact his Dad needs to be punished... Idk it's a lot of mystery but I feel like more suffering won't deliver the point the way I want it... I mean it CAN be handled this way and initially I thought a lot about Dabi being brainwashed a bit or having his memories altered so it seems worse to him or even him being groomed or lied too but nowadays I am not into it. I mean I believe in Horikoshi and that he will handle him well 🛐

I talk a lot so I will summarize

If we judge him as a real human

14 yo Touya - DID NOTHING WRONG IN HIS LIFE PROTECT HIM

24 yo Dabi - go fuck yourself bitch you older than me and act like a child and kill people, I couldn't care less about your trauma rich boy

If you want me to talk as his psychologist

Yeah, it is painful and sad, I understand him so much and surely, his trauma is valid as is his hatred but probably revenge won't bring him what he wants. And what he wants is love and attention. But he gotta make choices that will lead to his healing. He needs to *want* to heal. And we will step by step go to the healing because it is possible. He is loved and he is enough. AND YOU ALL MOTHERFUCKERS WILL HEAL I BELIEVE IN YOU BESTIES

Also his therapist (behind his back)

You won't believe it but my client is the most infantile attention whore I've ever met

But if we talk about him as a character... Very delicious soup

If you talk with your friends

Please, if your friends are being abusive to you or someone else don't even LET them say how their trauma made them this way. No. Nothing allows you to be an abuser. Call them out and stop them and make them talk to the therapist. Like, surely, there are extreme situations like severe mental illnesses or extreme neglect where we should be more forgiving but babying adults won't do you any good and won't make them recover

Yeah, I guess this is what I forgot to say. When I say "it wasn't that bad" what I mean is that I would be more forgiving to people who had it worse. It's more of a personal measure where I can tolerate stuff from people who had particular traumas or from those who suffered greatly (it's not my place to be a bitch here). I can forgive 14 years old or a poor person for stealing stuff but not the 25-year-old man who got no need for money and is not a kleptomaniac. I would be more forgiving to Shigaraki than to Dabi because Shigaraki was groomed a whole lot. Same for Toga, who is not even an adult or Twice who is a poor orphan. But that doesn't mean I would forgive them completely. All of them are shitty people. It's just that they had fewer resources and possibilities to not be what they became while Dabi had more but he acts like he is extremely hurt and the biggest victim which is like... There will be people like this in your life, please, don't make friends with them, they WILL abuse you

I talked a lot damn. It's adhd I can't shut up

[sokkastyles]

Mai: The truth is, I guess I don’t know you. All I get is a letter? You could have at least looked me in the eye when you ripped out my heart.

I’ve seen some people say that Zuko was in the wrong here because what he does by breaking up with Mai via letter is the equivalent of breaking up via text message. The show tells us that Zuko broke up with her via letter because he didn’t want to get her involved for her own safety. However, there's another layer to it.

This is the equivalent of breaking up with your girlfriend via text message if you and your girlfriend were part of a violent terrorist organization and your entire relationship was founded on being part of that organization, and your girlfriend was best friends with your sister who is second in command of that organization. Oh, and the reason you broke up was because you realized that you did not believe in the ideals of the organization anymore, and literally had to defend yourself from being killed in order to leave. Zuko's not just protecting Mai here, but himself. His whole relationship to her is part of a life where he was abused and leaving the relationship is something he needs to do to realize his own agency. That's not Mai's fault, but it is what it is.

Not only is talking to Mai about this putting her in danger, but Zuko has every reason to believe, given all of his previous interactions with her, that she would not have responded well if he had had a conversation with her about it, that she would see his defection as traitorous and that his life might be in danger, considering how she reacts in this scene and won’t listen when Zuko tries to explain his motives. Zuko has changed his views of the fire nation, but Mai hasn’t, and their conflicting values are shown throughout the time they spend together. And Mai might be getting fed up with Azula and definitely a victim of that relationship, but as of “Nightmares and Daydreams,” which was the last time Mai and Zuko spoke, Mai was still a close confidant of Azula, as evidenced by her casually mentioning a war meeting that Azula brought up that Zuko did not even know about. Zuko has every reason to believe that when push came to shove, Mai would choose Azula, her childhood friend, over a boyfriend whose ideals she does not share, nor does she understand. Which might not have been true, but Zuko spent most of the relationship with her unsure of what she wanted from him and whether she actually cared about him, and given his history of abuse, and hers, I can definitely see why he would think that.

To be fair, I think part of the reason that Mai is so blindsided by it is because Zuko doesn’t try to talk to her about it, because as I said before, Zuko throughout his relationship with Mai was trying to be what he thought he should be. It’s hard to blame him for that, though, considering that Zuko’s whole fire nation identity is tied to being conditioned by abuse to believe that who he really was wasn’t good enough. Because of this, he tends to not handle personal confrontations very well and has a fear of rejection. It took incredible bravery to stand up to his father, but in some ways I think it was easier because he was no longer looking for affirmation from his father. A confrontation with Mai would have been harder in this respect because he still cares about her. When she reads his words from the letter aloud to him, he’s literally hiding his face from her and curling in on himself. I understand why Mai wishes that her boyfriend had “looked her in the eye” when he broke up with her but I also understand why he couldn’t, and forcing the confrontation in this way is not going to help the situation.

He’s also sitting in an interrogation chair for added symbolism.

Which brings me to the fact that when this confrontation happens, Zuko has been arrested and imprisoned by Mai’s uncle, who expressed to Zuko his desire to punish him for breaking up with his niece. Then Zuko is dragged into an interrogation room while screaming “I didn’t do anything!” with no idea why he’s being brought there (other than the warden threatening him for breaking up with his niece.)

Mai says she knew that Zuko was there because her uncle is the warden, and given that in “The Boiling Rock, Part 1″ the warden recognized and spoke to Zuko personally after he was caught, we can infer that Mai’s uncle took the information of Zuko’s whereabouts either straight to his niece, and then Mai told Azula, or he told Ozai/Azula and Mai agreed to go along for the ride to pay a visit to her ex boyfriend. So that she could save him from imprisonment, torture, and/or death? No, so that she could yell at him. Which actually confirms that Zuko was right not to tell her when he was going to leave the fire nation.

I said before that I do not mind at all that Mai was sent to track down Zuko before book three. Childhood friends/crushes/acquaintances to enemies to lovers makes for some very interesting story conflict. (And we were robbed of getting to see Mai and Zuko actually fight each other somewhere during book two, which would have been a cool fight, as well as possibly fleshing out their relationship by including some dialogue about how these two characters feel about seeing each other again for the first time after three years.) But what matters is how people treat each other within the bounds of a relationship, so Mai going along with Azula to capture her ex who will either be a) dragged back, and this time with no chance of going back as an ally but as a prisoner, or b) killed, because she’s pissed at him for breaking up with her is not very compelling if the writers want us to believe in this relationship. It's hard to blame her for her and Zuko's bad relationship because Zuko entered into the relationship based on the lies he was telling himself about who he should be, but that also doesn't mean that the relationship should continue or that it would make sense that it would. And even in this scene the show is using her in the ways they use Azula and Ozai, as someone Zuko has to leave behind in order to become the person he is supposed to become.

He has to physically lock her in the cell to get away from her. Which as I also said before, is one of the few times he is active about the relationship. And when he does, he looks her in the eye.

...And walks away.

It’s not necessarily that I think Mai is a bad person, it’s that even in this episode, which is supposedly her redemption, she’s presented as an obstacle to Zuko’s growth as a character, which does a disservice to her character as well especially when we are supposed to believe they should end up together. The show never really seems sure about what they want her to be.

She also seems to think that she gets to define the terms of the relationship, but that he doesn’t have any say at all. Remember that in “The Beach,” she broke up with him. He was being a jerk but he also told her that he felt she didn’t care about anything (which really meant that he felt she didn’t care about him), and that wasn’t addressed at all. She decides by the end of the same episode that they’re dating again without either of them resolving their issues with each other.

When Mai betrays Azula to save Zuko, I initially thought that the reason she did it was because she realized that she loved him and was willing to save his life even if it meant sacrificing her relationship with him. That caring about him didn’t necessarily mean she was entitled to a relationship with him. “I’m saving the jerk who dumped me.” This fits nicely with the themes of the fire nation plotline, Zuko realizing his own agency to become a better version of himself (instead of becoming a worse version of himself to please his father or a pretty girl), and the theme that you can’t control other people, that love is better than selfishness, that permeates Azula’s story and also extends to Mai and Zuko, who both try to control each other at various points.

Then she came back in the finale and announced to him that they were back in a relationship and he was not allowed to break up with her ever again, so there goes that, I guess!

[simpmeon]

Red: Companions

Pairing: Any Demon Brother x Gender Neutral MC, Diavolo x Gender Neutral MC Genre: Angst Word Count: 2k Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Cursing // Implied Smut

The Fall // Rebirth // Betrayal // Companions // Revenge 

His ability to charm all those he comes in contact with and how they all love him and all of them fell for the same lies he told you. You may have been the only one that those words may have been true to, but you didn’t care at this point. Every promise, every whispered affirmation, every touch he placed on your body was a lie. He was a liar and a cheater.

And you will have your revenge.

The masquerade was everything you expected it to be. You saw all the exchange students that followed you and each one left a more bitter taste in your mouth than the last. One seemed to be hanging off every brother, asking for the one you fell in love with and where he was. You could see the annoyance on their faces as they grabbed onto their arms and held their hands, begging for a dance. They were the one directly after you, a demonologist who dedicated most of their time to studying the demon brothers, both before and after the program. You could feel the disgust and anger waft off of them with every passing second. The one after the demonologist was a spoiled wizard who only saw their place as the new ruler of Devildom, only getting to the brothers to get closer to Diavolo. The third and fourth housemates were apparently twins that went down in different years. Those two did not not even bother showing up, citing fear of being eaten as their excuse, and the fifth housemate just strutted through the door, hickeys covering their exposed neck as they entered arm and arm with the demon you fell in love with. 

None of the brothers had really noticed your presence yet, but that was your own doing. Slinking between demons, hiding in the kitchen and hallways, standing behind Diavolo’s massive frame, anything to keep an eye on those fiery red locks and the other brothers. You wanted a dramatic reveal that you were not only a demon, but that you died with him being the last thing on your mind. You basically hung onto Diavolo all night, your composure eliciting praise from Diavolo.

Diavolo’s big speech was almost here, where he would introduce all of the exchange students that came before you, humans and angels alike. All of them were hanging out in a special room chatting away, but you mostly hung around on the outside of the room. Inside you could see Luke and Simeon, as well as Solomon, telling their stories of the first exchange program. 

“I heard the first person to live with the brothers was a descendant of Lilith! I must see if they match my sketch of Lilith!” The demonologist would squeal gleefully. Simeon would only laugh and go to describe Lilith in great detail from what he could remember. The demonologist ate up every word the angel breathed, ecstatic to meet one of the highest ranking angels in the entire Celestial Realm. Luke and Simeon have yet to mention the fact that they saw you fall to the Devildom, probably because you haven’t spoken to them since they last saw you on the pathway to the Celestial Realm. 

Poor Luke was still getting doted on by the angels and humans alike, his blush getting redder and redder with each head pet. Solomon was the only one who seemed to have noticed that you were behind the door, listening in and watching. You two would sneak glances at each other, almost conversing telepathically between each other. He was just as fed up with the other humans as you were which was refreshing to see. His eyes were glued especially on the one with fire red hair. No one really mentioned the fact that all the humans had a ring of some sort around their necks, all the humans giving some excuse of your old flame giving the rings as parting gifts to them so they would never forget their year in Devildom. You felt your body go rigid as they would talk about their times with the brothers and their times with your lover. 

EX-lover 

You had to remind yourself of that as you fiddled with the ring around your neck. Something that brought you immense comfort now brought nothing but pain to you. You had physically died twice in your life now, but the pain you felt whenever you would touch the ring was worse than any death. 

You felt someone’s hand on your shoulder, and your head snapped up to see Solomon looking at you with worry. The two of you walked further down the hall, away from all the commotion to be shrouded by the dim light of the candlelit hallways. You had been texting Solomon about your plan to reveal yourself at the masquerade, however he did express concern with the idea. Having not had the chance to speak face to face about the situation, he pulled you further down the hallways until you could barely hear the words from the room.

“Are you sure you want to do this? What if you lose control?” Solomon whispered, hand grabbing yours. 

“That’s what Diavolo is for and that’s what you’re about to be for.”  You replied with a chuckle. “If you make a pact with me you’d be able to get me to stop with a simple command, right?”

Solomon’s eyes shot open at that, completely in shock before relaxing with a smirk. “So. You’ve been a demon for a little less than a year and you want to make a pact with me?”

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to. I’ve known you for five years now…I agree that you’re a shady little shit but ….you’re my closest friend.” You said, squeezing his hand. “But I would like to make one with you one day.”

Solomon sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. “Listen Y/N, you’re powerful and would make an amazing pact mate considering you had all seven of the strongest demons I’ve ever known under your belt, but you’re not stable enough right now. Have you even been in your demon form tonight yet?”

“W-well. No. Dia wants it to be a surprise! And plus, if I was in my demon form heand the brothers would’ve saw me and so would Red over there and knew something would be up! It was easier to just maintain my normal form and slink around.” You explained, a light red tint on your cheeks.

Solomon smirked and let go of your hand to rest it on the wall, his free hand on his hip. “And what were you slinking around for?” He asked, amused.

You took a deep breath, blush tinting your cheeks at his playful tone. “I just wanted the rundown on those who came after me, and how they treated the boys. From what I’ve seen they’re all insufferable except for Red, but then again they showed up late so I couldn’t get a good read on them. They all seem to have no clue who I am.”

Solomon sighed again, now opting to lean against the wall with one leg and his arms crossed, although there was still that mischievous smile on his face. “That’s because the other students don’t know about you besides what they gathered themselves. I think the brother’s decided it would be best to not mention you and to stop comparing you to the other exchange students, for their sake. One of the few perks of having a twenty-four seven access point to this place is that you get to pick up on behaviors. For a whole month after you left Lucifer would grumble about how you were late with his coffee only to realize you weren’t there….Leviathan didn’t leave his room for three months….Belphegor slept in the attic more…even Satan began slipping back into his old habits of leaving books everywhere and untouched. I know Beelzebub stopped eating for a while and Mammon was almost never home, working constantly and then immediately spending the money….hell even Asmodeus stopped taking care of himself because you weren’t around. Do you know how annoying he can be sometimes? How many hours I spent cuddling him? Ugh, it was annoying.” He grumbled. “Don’t even get me started whenever Asmodeus would swing violently from being horny to being depressed.”

“Awww was someone tired of being the top?” You jested, poking his arm and giggling at the blush that took over his face. Getting Solomon embarrassed was such a delight because of how rare it happened.

“No! That’s not it at all! I’m just a very busy man.” He muttered, turning his face away from you to hide his blushing cheeks.

“Mhmm…of course you are wizard boy. Now go back into that room before Simeon goes searching.” You giggled, pushing Solomon gently, but he still managed to almost get slammed to the ground. The minute Simeon’s name left your lips, you frowned. How was Simeon? How was Luke? How were they handling the news…

“Why don’t you go in the parlor yourself?” Solomon asked, fixing his suit and tie, almost reading your mind. You pursed your lips together and gripped the ring that swung from your neck. Solomon picked up on the shift in your mood easily, once again standing closer to you. “Is it because of the exchange students?”

“They’re…..one of the reasons.” You answered, spinning the ring between your thumb and index finger. “Simeon and Luke were the ones to watch me fall…and I just don’t want them to know what I’ve become… not yet…”

“Oh…Simeon did mention that to me. He asked about you. Luke did too.”

“…What did you say?”

“That you became a demon. I didn’t tell them anything past that. Luke didn’t want to believe that, especially since they saw you on the way to the Celestial Realm. Simeon beats himself up almost everyday that he stood there and watched you fall from the heavens. Apparently Luke was practically beating him, yelling at him to save you with tears in his eyes. Simeon said he was crying too. They even went to Michael about asking God to save you, but by then you were already a demon and although you sinned as much as the next guy, the pacts with the brothers are what ultimately made them deny you passage.” He answered. 

“Oh…” You muttered, biting your lip. So they did know about you being a demon after all. That’s good at least, the shock won’t be too bad for them then.

“Having sex with them also didn’t help your case.” Solomon added with an evil smirk. 

Now you were a blushing, sputtering mess making Solomon laugh out loud. You pouted and crossed your arms, cheeks still a nice tint of pink. Solomon smiled and swung an arm around your shoulder so his laughter was right by your ear. He pressed a cheeky peck on your temple before flashing the peace sign and walking back into the parlor with the other students.

You watched him from around the corner as he entered back into the parlor, the warming glow of the candles casting orange light in the otherwise black hallways. You could smell the cinnamon and you could hear the laughter of all the students and part of you wishes you would have the courage to force yourself to walk in there, but you were too scared. Too scared of seeing Luke and Simeon and having their guilt take over them, too scared to see Red and to be bombarded by those who were just cheap replacements, not to mention the other angels who you’ve never met before. 

You sank down the wall, legs outstretched and arms crossed one over the other. You thought about the hickeys on their neck, how miserable he looked to be walking in with them, disguised with a smile. The way his brothers treated him like a stranger….how every exchange student under the same roof was enthralled by them. How cute for him to prevent them from entering the Celestial Realm and for leading them on because of his ways. His ability to charm all those he comes in contact with and how they all love him and all of them fell for the same lies he told you. You may have been the only one that those words may have been true to, but you didn’t care at this point. Every promise, every whispered affirmation, every touch he placed on your body was a lie. He was a liar and a cheater. 

And you will have your revenge.

[world-of-socks]

Chapter one: Spies are Forever (sorry I had to…*)

*If you don’t know what Spies Are Forever is please look it up. The full thing is on Youtube, you won’t regret it!!

(Got the idea from @steven-universe-au-prompts. I’m still working on concept art and stuff I’ll post that later. Anyways this was super fun to write and I hope you all enjoy this first look into hopefully will be a series that I’ll complete for once lol)

...

“Soldiers!” A pearl roared to the oncoming sea of quartzes and other miscellaneous gems and fusions.

Nobody was paying her any mind, the camp was full of excitement, everyone was talking to each other and conversing about the next move and where they were stationed. The air was so abuzz with different conversations that Yellow Tourmaline heard none of them. Nor did she care. She was here for one purpose and one purpose alone, and that right now, was to hear that renegade pearl speak.

“SOLDIERS!” she roared again.

A few looked up and then went back to chatting.

The pearl looked towards everyone’s leader, the rose quartz, who was speaking with a fusion, and then turned towards the crowd once more, “SHUT! UP!!”

Everyone turned to face her, and ceased their conversations. Yellow watched the pearl sigh, and then continue,

“We all appreciate you being here, your service is greatly needed in our fight to win back this wonderful planet. Though, we will need to have some form of organization in our camps, you will now hear a word from my general and yours: ROSE QUARTZ!”

The crowd erupted into applause and roars and cheers. These gems loved this Quartz, loved her more than any gem Yellow Tourmaline had ever seen. The Rose Quartz dismissed the applause, humbly, and then began to speak.

“You wonderful gems, you’ve worked so hard your entire life to please someone who doesn’t care about you, or your well-being. You’ve slaved away for the whims of a dictator who thinks you are a pile of sediment, unworthy. Those days are over. When you are under my command you are free to be whoever you want, and to fuse with whoever you want!”

There was another planet shaking roar of applause, Yellow just stood there, dumbfounded, she didn’t understand. The Rose quartz held up her hand to silence them once more.

“Though I would like to make one thing clear. There will still have to be a level of organization in my camps! You will be organized by your station, you won’t be shattered if you don’t listen, but if we want to do this properly, it would be preferred if you would do as I tell you. Though, all ideas are welcome! Pearl will continue from here.”

She then stepped away and resumed talking to the fusion, her pearl then started commanding everyone on where to go.

“The front lines will be stationed in the first two barracks, the blacksmiths will be stationed…..” her voice seemed to fade away.

After the meeting, Yellow knew exactly where she was to go, she was a general on the front lines (she had perfected the basic general appointment test) and would be staying with other generals in the barracks. She hadn’t met any of them yet, and wasn’t thrilled about staying a week with everyone else, but she knew she had to.

She pushed back the fabric of the tent and stepped in timidly, inside was a table with chairs and a few gems gathered around it, a few cots (she only recently learned what those were), and a weapons rack. As she walked in a few of the gems looked up at her, a few looked a little wary, but the others appeared friendly.

“Heya, we got a new one ‘ere!” exclaimed an Ametrine.

She got up from her table where the rest of the generals were huddled over a map, and approached her. Yellow backed up slightly, she wasn’t used to being interacted with in such a way.

“Ey, I’m not gonna ‘urt ya.” Ametrine gave her a pat on the shoulder, “I’m Ametrine, by the way, but you can call me Ame, everyone does.”

Ame looked her up and down to take her in, Yellow watched the evaluation process go on in her head, “Let’s see ‘ere, a newby most likely from, what, Yellow’s court?”

Yellow stiffened up, not used to the informal addressing of the name, “Yes.”

“Ah! rough, mate. I was too. She’s a bit cold, ain't she? Kinda emotionless, yeah?” Ame shook her head, hands in her pockets,“Yeah, I’m real glad I left when I did. I started feelin’ real low, always scared of gettin’ shattered, y’know? I’m feelin’ much betta’ under Rose’s command, though, no need to worry ‘bout little ol’ me.”

Yellow just gave a weak laugh.

“Ya don’t talk much do ya?” Ame remarked, “What’s ya name anyway?”

She straightened up, “I’m Yellow Tourmaline.”

“Do ya go by anythin’ shorter?”

“No.” she retorted simply.

“Well that’ll have to change.” Ame thought for a moment, “I’m sure durin’ trainin’ tomorrow a betta’ name will reveal itself.”

There was an awkward silence yet again, Yellow wasn’t very good at interacting like this.

“Lemme’ introduce ya to the team!” Ame said with fake or real enthusiasm, Yellow couldn’t tell.

“This is Black Opal, but we call her Bo. She don’t say much either, but she’s a great archer and an even betta’ general. Her surprise attacks are some of the best and smartest in the biz!” Ame pointed to a tall and darkly colored gem towards the left of the table, she looked up and simply nodded in greeting.

“Over there’s Emerald, but we just call her Bear. She got the name cuz’ we went on a scoutin’ mission, and ran across an earth creature, Rose said it's called a bear, and she got chased by that thing for hours! Once she got fed up though she stopped in her tracks and screamed in its face and scared it off into the woods! She’s more a bear than it was!” The Emerald rolled her eyes, she must’ve been used to the anecdote.

“There’s old Peach Sapphire over there, Bismuth, and oh that there’s Cat’s Eye, don’t mess with them, they’re a tricky one. I could tell ya a million stories about all these guys.” Ame laughed, but quickly stopped when she saw the unamused look on Yellow’s face, “Ah, but, I won’t… I won’t.”

Yellow strode across the room to the map on the table, and looked at it for a moment.

“Judging our strategies, are you?” Peach Sapphire retorted to Yellow’s glance at the map.

“Wha-... no.” Yellow lied.

“Ah well you were going to.” she mused.

“I thought only Blue Sapphire’s could predict the future.”she grumbled, realizing she had been caught.

“Hm, yes, and that’s where you're wrong. Blue Sapphires can predict the future more accurately than I, but no, they aren’t the only ones.” She sighed, “And if you’re worried that we won’t succeed without good incite on the future we have a rare Blue Sapphire on our team. She’s fused with Ruby, they go by Garnet by the way, she’s Rose’s lefthand gem.”

Yellow cringed slightly at the mention of fusion, “The Pearl is the right hand?” she clarified.

“Yes.” Peach sighed and looked back at the map, “Newcomers aren’t permitted to be strategists until they go through a week of training. Our apologies, but this war has been long and hard, I’ve lost friends, loved ones, excuse me if I don’t trust you right away.”

“I… see.” the room was silent, a distant grief hung in the air.

“I assume you aren’t one to sleep are you?” Emerald asked, breaking the emptiness, “The newbys usually aren’t.”

“No, I don’t sleep.” she replied.

“That’ll change!” Ame called from where she lay on her cot, her cap over her eyes.

A few of the other generals snickered.

“Well even if you don’t sleep I recommend resting on the cots until morning.” Emerald added kindly.

“Is there really nothing else I can assist with?” she asked, desperate, not loving the idea of being left alone with her thoughts, surrounded by strange gems.

“Not until we get a chore list, a training schedule, or a command.” Emerald replied.

“Or until Jasper comes in here and breaks something.” Peach muttered.

Ame laughed from her cot, even Black Opal snickered slightly.

Yellow sat in the cot the second closest to the tent opening. She lay down on her back stiffly, and closed her eyes, but when nothing changed she sat up and looked around. She hated the feeling of not being in charge, but she knew it was only going to have to be for a week.

After an hour or so of sifting through the pamphlets for newcomers, she was startled by a loud sound. The tent ripped open and a giant Jasper burst through with a terrified look on its face. Yellow jumped to her feet.

The Jasper ran over to where Ame lay presumably asleep and shook her violently.

“Ame! Ame!!” she cried, “You gotta wake up! Please wake up!”

“Wha-... Jazz what’s,” she yawned, “What’s goin’ on ya loon.”

“I was just-...I was just!” she panted and stuttered, “I was just-... practicing my acting! Free acting lessons with Jazz as soon as the sun goes down!”

“Nobody needs ya classes Jazz, not in this war. Besides no non-sleepin newby would ever join.” Ame muttered readjusting her cap.

Jasper stamped her foot, “Yeah, but MORALE! Ya know?” she turned excitedly to Yellow who felt more uncomfortable than ever before, “Hey, would you wanna join?”

“Uh… no.” She answered, Jazz frowned, “Uh I mean- no, not really.” she stuttered.

“Dang,” Jazz mused, “This one IS new. Welp, they're always open if ya ever change your mind.”

Jazz crashed onto an empty spot on the floor which had blankets, that were probably chipped in from the other generals, for her to lay on. Yellow hadn’t noticed the broken cot pieces before.

Yellow resumed her sitting position at the end of the makeshift bed and continued looking through the pamphlet, more to look busy, she had already read the entire thing. After an hour or so the other generals retired, save for Cat’s eye who, without a word, glided to the tent entrance and stood guard.

Once she determined it wouldn’t be awkward to stop reading, she layed back down, this time on her side. She stared at the dirty tent fabric.

It would just be for a week, then she could transform back into her usual form, get into her ship, and drive home with whatever plans she could find. Nobody would know, not even the others on homeworld. She could finally end this fight once and for all.

[merakiaes]

Play Pretend - Finn Shelby

Pairing: Finn Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: #1 from the common trope-list.

Warnings/notes: No warnings or notes really. It’s not proofread so sorry in advance for any possible mistakes. I hope you like it xx

Wordcount: 2884

Summary: Finn asks you to pretend to be his fake girlfriend for an evening and meet his brothers to get them off his back for being a virgin and not accepting the prostitutes they keep hiring for him. 

You and Finn had been very close friends for almost a year now.

You had met for the first time when you had been walking with your little sisters down by the cut and he had been accompanying his uncle to the docks, waiting for him while he was off talking to someone by the ships. You had stopped near him while your sisters threw some stale bread to the ducks, introduced yourself and sparked up a conversation to pass time in the cold, autumn weather and you had clicked immediately.

His uncle had come back only about five minutes into your conversation, but you told him you’d be walking the same route around the same time the next day, and that you hoped you would see him around again.

The next day, you saw him at the exact spot again, and you had been meeting up ever since whenever his brothers would go off on business without him because other than them, you were his only company.

He had met your siblings on the times you’d been forced to take them with you while meeting him, and he had briefly met your parents a few times when he had been walking you back home on the later evenings.

They weren’t too fond of the idea that their daughter was associating herself with a Peaky Blinder, but they understood pretty quickly that Finn was in no way a violent boy. You hadn’t met his brothers and usually stayed close to home when you were with him, anyway, so they weren’t too worried.

You weren’t anything more than friends, but you both harbored feelings for each other that the other had no idea existed. If you would have known that he liked you as more than a friend and vice versa, you probably would have stopped beating around the bush a long time ago.

But despite being eighteen, you were both very soft and careful in comparison to other people your age. You were both generally innocent, and both virgins, which was Finn’s biggest dilemma in life right now.

His brothers had found out that he had never been intimate with a lady before and hired a prostitute for him for his eighteenth birthday. But he couldn’t do it. It felt wrong. Mostly because of his feelings for you, but also because he simply didn’t want it that way.

So he had kept the girl in his room for half an hour, just making conversation and letting her rest as she was clearly exhausted, and then paid her extra to not let spill to his brothers that they hadn’t had sex and sent her on her way.

When asked by Tommy how it had gone, he told him it had gone well, and then gone straight out to tell you about it.

Tommy and the others had believed him to a start, letting go of the subject for a few days. But then they found out that he had lied, proceeded to sit him down and ask him if he was a sodomite or if he was having… trouble. Finn denied everything and told them he just didn’t feel like it, but they never stopped pressuring him, pushing prostitute after prostitute after prostitute his way.

Finally, he had gotten fed up and let it slip that the reason he didn’t accept their favors was that he was in love with someone else, and as you were his only lady friend, your name was the one to slip from his lips when Tommy had asked who it was.

It was safe to say that the conversation he had been forced to have with you after this had been awkward, to say the least.

His brothers were skeptic that he was telling the truth, seeing as they had never seen him with a girl before, and told him to invite you to the Garrison so that they could meet you.

He hadn’t been in any position to say no, and had, a stuttering mess, asked you to be his fake girlfriend for an evening.

The question had shocked you and left you speechless. You had been disappointed that he hadn’t asked you to a real date but rather one made out of lies, but still, his request brought a heavy blush to your face and as the loyal friend you were, you accepted.

You were nervous. Despite it all being play pretend, the fact still remained that you were only seconds away from meeting your crush’s family, who just happened to be the Peaky Blinders.

When your parents had asked what you and Finn was going to do today, you had been forced to lie to them for the first time. Since this was only going to be a one-time thing, meeting the Peaky Blinders were not a conversation you wanted to have with them.

God knows they would probably lock you in your room and not let you come out for a year.

The entire walk from the canal where you had met up with Finn had been pretty much entirely quiet, the air between you slightly awkward but not uncomfortable. You walked for five minutes, taking your time, before you finally reached the Garrison in which his brothers and aunt was waiting.

Finn stopped outside, making sure you couldn’t be seen through the windows so that you could get some privacy and talk strategy without being overheard or seen before going inside.

He gave you a shy look, his cheeks rosy from the cold. “Would you mind if I put my arm around you?” He asked, bringing his hands out of his pockets. “You know, for show.”

“No.” You shook your head with a comforting smile, sensing his nervousness. “Go ahead. If we’re going to pull this through, we’ll have to make it believable.”

He offered you a smile back and carefully put his arm around your waist, leading you inside the pub.

It was empty, not having opened yet at it was still early in the day, but in the far back of the room, the biggest one of the tables were occupied by four nicely dressed men and a beautiful older woman, all talking and laughing, and waiting for you.

The anxiety bubbling in your chest and stomach intensified by ten once they noticed you, but you quickly pushed it down and put on a bright smile when one of his brothers snorted and spoke out.

“Well, would you look at that! Finn wasn’t lying when he said he’d gone and gotten himself a girlfriend.”

The woman who was sitting closest to him wasted no time in cuffing him upside the head, giving him a disapproving glare. “Quite down, John.” She scolded. “You’ll scare her away before she’s even sat down.”

John rubbed the back of his head and quieted down, and you smiled at them as you finally reached the table. “That’s alright.” You assured her. “It’s so nice to meet all of you. Finn’s told me a lot about you.”

You mentally cringed at how incredibly pathetic you sounded. Sure, you were desperate to make a good first impression, but Lord Almighty, couldn’t you have hidden it a bit better?

But you weren’t lying, of course. Finn talked about them a whole lot, and you knew how much he looked up to each and every one of them, which to you, made it an honor to even be in their presence.

Another one of his brothers leaned forward in his chair at that, reaching out to put out his cigarette in the ashtray resting on the mahogany table.

“Is that right?” He asked, the corners of his lips tugging slightly and his eyebrow raising. “All good things, I hope?”

Your smile grew nervous. “Well, that depends where you draw the line between good and bad.”

The woman smiled a smug smile where she sat, the apples of her cheeks full and pink. “I like her.” She drawled, before tapping the chair beside her. “Come, sit down.”

Finn wasted no time in letting go of your waist to pull the chair out for you. You removed your gloves while you sat down, and looked up at him and gave him a quiet ‘thank you’.  He smiled at you, sitting down in the chair between you and his brother.

Said brother leaned forward on the table, clasping his hands in front of you and smiling a mysterious smile, looking at you as if he was trying to solve you. “So, (Y/N), was it?” He asked, and you nodded.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Tommy.” He introduced himself, continuing around the table. “This is Arthur, Michael, John and-”

“Polly Gray.” The woman beside you interrupted, still smiling. “It’s nice to see that Finn is familiarizing himself with some good people for a change.”

You were shocked by her words. Finn had told you that she was the one most protective over him and that she would be the hardest to impress, but you already seemed to have her blessing, which you hadn’t expected at all.

Pushing the shock back down, you reached your hand out and grabbed the one she had stretched out for you to take, shaking it slightly. “Well, the pleasure is all mine.”

You dropped your hand back down into your lap, greeting John, Arthur, and Michael with a small ‘nice to meet you’ each, as well, as Polly spoke again.

“Did you grow up in Small Heath?” She asked, to which you shook your head.

“I grew up in Manchester.” You told her softly. “I moved to Birmingham three years ago with my family to help out around my grandfather’s farm after my grandmother’s passing. We lived there until last year when he passed away and we found our way to Small Heath.”

“Sorry to hear about your grandparents.” Arthur, who had been quiet up until then, offered his condolences.

You offered him a smile in return, nodding your head. “Thank you.”

“Are your parents still with you?” John asked next, taking a drag of the cigar hanging loosely between his fingers.

“Yes.” You confirmed.

“My mum works as a baker just down the street, my older brother works down by the cut and my dad stays at home taking care of my younger siblings.” You told them, turning a tad sadder. “He was a soldier in the war and injured his knee, so he can’t really do any heavy labor anymore.”

At the mention of your dad having fought in the war, their attention was instantly piqued, all of them leaning forward in interest while Polly wondered out loud. ��A soldier? Tommy, Arthur and John fought in the war, as well.”

“Yes, Finn told me.” You smiled, giving them each a shy look. “Thank you for your service. The world will forever owe you.”

And after that, they were all sold. Any girl who could truly understand and comprehend the sacrifice and hardship of a soldier, and who had seen it with her own eyes, too, was a keeper for sure and without a doubt in their minds someone worthy of their brother.

They’d had doubts before you had arrived, but now they had none. They could see the love behind your eyes and the connection between the two of you, even though you had yet to see it yourselves.

You stayed at the Garrison for about an hour, the Shelbys all asking you questions about your personal life, Finn sitting quietly at your side most of the time, really only pitching in whenever John or Arthur would make fun of him for something.

You could hear your parents’ voices screaming at you in your head not to expose yourself to the Peaky Blinders like you were doing through the entire time, but you had known already before coming there that none of them were as much of a monster as they wanted people to believe.

By the time you had said goodbye and you and Finn were leaving again, you had pretty much spilled your entire life story to them and gotten to hear stories from their childhood in return.

Like he had done when you first arrived, Finn had pulled your chair out for you when you were going to leave, and also helped you back into your coat that you had relieved yourself of throughout the conversation, before putting his arm around your waist and leading you back outside.

The sun had started setting, and if you were to have a guess, you were only half an hour away from dark despite the clock barely being four in the afternoon.

Once you had come far enough away from the Garrison that they wouldn’t be able to see you anymore, he let go of your waist and tucked his hands into his pockets, and you walked in silence all the way to the canal where you usually parted ways.

You came to a stop at the same spot you had met for the first time and turned to each other.

“Thank you.” Finn was the first one to break the silence, and you wasted no time in nodding your head.

“Of course.” You answered, shrugging with a small smile playing at your lips. “It wasn’t so bad. I think it went well.”

“It did.” He was quick to agree. “They liked you. I could tell. Aunt Pol especially.”

You blushed, taking a brief glance down at your shoes before turning back up to look at him again. “I really liked them, too.”

He turned hesitant then, sounding as if he was about to say something but cutting himself short several times before finally speaking in a quiet, sad tone. “They’ll want to meet you again.”

You understood then why he got so hesitant but managed to put on a teasing smile and lighten the situation up a bit, asking with a raised eyebrow. “Are you planning on keeping me as your fake girlfriend for a long time?”

Your words made him flustered, but he covered it up with a shrug, and the words he spoke next were more shocking than when he had asked you to meet his family.

“You could be my real girlfriend.” He spoke quietly, shrugging again and kicking at a pebble with his foot, looking down. “You know, if you wanted.”

You stared at him, feeling your neck getting hot. “Are you asking me to be your real girlfriend?” You questioned, and you couldn’t help a light chuckle from leaving your lips. “You couldn’t just have done that in the first place? Instead of asking me to be your pretend one?”

Your harmless teasing only managed to make him even more flustered, his voice growing low and discouraged. “I didn’t think someone like you would want someone like me.” He said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Someone like me?”

“Yeah.” He agreed, looking up at you through his lashes. “Strong, beautiful and brave.”

The triple compliment caused your heart to thud in your chest, but at the same time, they made you sad. “Are you’re saying you’re weak, ugly and cowardly?” You questioned slowly and only got silence in return.

“Because you’re not.” You shook your head. “I don’t think so, at least. I know your brothers give you shit for being too soft but that’s what I like about you.”

You frowned slightly, but your face quickly relaxed again when a smile grew on his lips. He stopped kicking the stones with his toe and took a step closer to you, bringing his hands out of his pockets.

“Can I kiss you?”  He breathed out, and although you were shocked by the sudden question, you wasted no time in grabbing his face in your hands and pulling him down, gently pressing your lips to his.

Your entire stomach fluttered at the sensation, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips. You stood on your tippy-toes to reach him, and his hands instinctively grabbed a hold of your waist, only adding to the tingles running through your body.

You broke apart some seconds later but remained in the position you were in, foreheads pressed together.

“You really are amazing…” He uttered as he looked down at you, gazing upon your face with pure wonder in his eyes.

The intensity of his stare caused your blush to intensify even more and his words caused you to giggle. You tilted your chin up to connect your lips in another, shorter kiss, before pulling away and taking a step away from him.

“I should get going.” You said, shoving your hands back into the pockets of your coat and balancing on the balls of your feet with a permanent smile playing at your lips. “My parents are expecting me for dinner.”

Finn broke out of his trance-like state at your words and nodded his head. “Oh, of course.” He said quickly, before turning a bit more hesitant again. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

You could only grin at him. “Of course. You’ll never get rid of me now, Shelby.” You told him with a teasing voice while beginning to take a few slow steps backward, giving him one last look before turning away and heading home, the smile not leaving your lips the entire evening.

[darker-soft-starker]

Gold Digger / Sugar Baby Starker AU 

Warnings: some nff mentions, mentioned erectile dysfunction

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

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend.

His laundry list of previous entanglements is by no means lengthy, however it is somewhat selective. The criteria is simple: men with money - lots and lots of money.

Four years ago Peter been desperate. Six weeks behind rent his landlord was threatening to have him evicted, electricity already cut off, he’d dropped out of school to work three jobs. The cost of his aunts cancer treatment was so high even the most dubious loans couldn’t cover them. Everything was beginning to pile up with no way out.

So, in despair, he became an escort.

It was high end and he got lucky. One of his very first clients was a man so wealthy he practically exuded dollars from his pores, dropping a ten thousand dollar tip on Peter on their first night. The man seemed to like him, hiring Peter again and again, dressing him up in designer clothes and taking him to the most exclusive venues. 

Peter would have enjoyed it, had the man not been the scum of the earth.

No matter exorbitant his gifts were it never made up for how bad a man he was. Money couldn’t cover up his drunken racist remarks. Lavish luxury couldn’t excuse how the man looked down on the poor, literally spitting on the homeless as they passed them on the streets.

By the time Peter had cycled through a few rich clients he’d more than covered the cost of his aunts treatment, their rent paid six months in advance. He could even afford to pay off his student loans and move out on his own. He resigned with the escort agency, keen to get his life back on the straight-and-narrow.

Except, he had a taste for it, now. The creature comforts, the luxury cars, the attention. The satisfaction he got from ripping off perverts who hired him because his young face made him seem underage.

The things he had seen made his stomach turn. How was he supposed to go back to a normal life knowing what he knew about Hollywoods seedy underbelly beneath its glistening city lights?

So, he went out looking for them. 

They were all the same. Incredibly privileged men with more money than humanity, morally bankrupt despite their bulging bank accounts. All wanting something young and pretty on their arm and warm in their bed - no matter how much they have to fork out for the illusion of a smitten partner. 

It only ever took a few sweet words, wide eyes and wandering hands to hook them in and drain them dry. 

Once Peter would have his fill he’d sell their secrets to rival companies, then to law enforcement. It was by no means a humanitarian endeavour, but it made him feel good in the same way donating to charity did.

And he looked damn good doing it.

------

Peter had met Tony on a cloudy Monday morning.  

He’d heard all about Tony Starks philandering antics and his acerbic personality and pegged him to be just like the others, just another playboy looking for something to play with.

So he managed to get hired as Tony’s personal assistant, hamming it up as a meek, clumsy newbie. As the weeks progressed, the more flimsy Peters’ outfits became, one too many buttons open on his thin dress shirts, voice soft, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned in close to the man to pass him his coffee or a contract. 

It was the same drawcard he’d used for all the affluent assholes he’d dated prior; whether a high powered lawyer or a CEO, they all seemed to have a weakness for simpering submissive types, those who dropped things too many times, those who played dumb, didn’t engage in intellectual conversation. 

It took Peter an embarrassingly long time to figure out that kind of behaviour didn’t interest Tony for anything more than a one-night stand. 

Sure, he’d caught the end of Tony’s prolonged stares more than once, had noticed the appreciative leers whenever he bent over a table or to pick something up, but it wasn’t enough to truly engage him.

It wasn’t until one day, Peter frustrated and exhausted from a poor nights rest, had spoken back to the man with a scathing remark that Tony had really started to pay attention.

Tony likes bossy. Tony likes being challenged by someone he considers an equal. Once Peter dropped the facade of wide-eyed innocence, proved his smarts and snarked back it was like reeling in all-too-willing fish.

They’d been bantering all day, mostly light-hearted, because apparently that’s flirting, according to Tony and Peter can’t fault him for that. 

Peter had been teasing Tony for hours, all his usual tricks. In the afternoon he’d squeezed behind Tony’s chair and set his hands on the mans shoulders, lightly massaging the tight muscles through his shirt. A treat for all his hard work Peter had simpered, going back to their discussion on quantum field theory.

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Tony had said, but relaxed into the touch anyway.

“Do you? Is it working, Mr. Stark?” Peter had asked, hands coming down to stroke at Tony’s chest. The man had near purred as Peters hands trailed over his pectorals. 

“It’s definitely working. At least let me take you to dinner first.”

So he did. Peter had been wined and dined that night, followed by the best fuck of his life, riding the man in the backseat of Tony’s car. And the rest was history.

Back then he’d only forecasted the longevity of their relationship to be a few months. A fleeting romance, however long enough for Peter to get into Tony’s wallet and for Tony to show his true colors.

Except, Peter is still waiting, is the thing.

Despite all his expectations and his fevered observations, Tony hasn’t slipped up yet. With the mans combined net worth and reputation, Peter had expected more than one skeleton cluttering his closet, red flags and scandals waiting to be uncovered.

The only secrets Peter finds in two years are the ones Tony whispers into his skin at night, his deepest insecurities and worst memories.

As time drags on Peter is beginning to suspect that maybe he rolled the dice wrong and maybe Tony just isn’t a bad guy.

Not long ago they were in Paris. They’d sat upon their terrace drinking coffee in the morning sun, making up life stories of the people passing below. Tony snorted at a particularly funny one and looked at Peter with such unadulterated affection and said:

“I fucking love you, Peter Parker.”

That was new.

------ 

The guilt is also new to Peter.

It’s not that Peter has never experienced remorse, but he’s not once felt a single modicum of contrition for the men he’s played or the luxurious gifts he took with him.

Peter keeps waiting for Tony to give him a reason to cut him off. Keeps waiting for the incriminating tabloid pictures proving Tony’s infidelity, anticipates some white collar crime to sneak into the newspapers, or like his last boyfriend, a violent temper.

But it’s been two years and Tony has yet to slip up. His interest hasn’t waned, his hands haven’t wandered. Peter would know - he’d set Tony up on three seperate occasions and the man is unfailingly faithful. 

The only thing that has changed is the ever increasing way in which Tony softens for Peter, how the fondness reaches his eyes and is woven into his words.

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend, but he has been his longest. The longer their relationship continues it becomes considerably clear that Peter miscalculated terribly. 

Because, despite public opinion, Tony is a good man. A really fucking good man.

Peter is never left wanting for intimacy or possessions, the only absence in his life is misbehaviour. Of course Tony isn’t perfect, he has his vices. He drinks too much, works too hard, loves like it’s going out of style. He spoils Peter and values everything he has to say. It’s the worst.

So, the guilt.

Peter feels lied to. The public, playboy persona of Tony Stark does not align with reality at all. Peter went to Tony for his transactions but Tony ended up giving him his heart instead. 

It was Peter who was supposed to do the ruining, not the other way.

------

Galas were never really Peter’s thing.

There was too much ceremony and exaggerated decorum for it to be any real fun. Any entertainment was usually in the form of a high profile guest tripping over themselves or a rowdy politician overindulging on the free alcohol.

Tonight it was to commemorate some new arts centre. They’d been there for an hour already but it felt like entire night was dripping by in slow-motion, minutes bloated in boredom. 

Peter is sullen, given up playing nice with the socialites and pretending he has anything in common with these people. He just wants to be at home in the jacuzzi, being hand-fed caviar and truffles. Is that honestly so much to ask?

As he’s about to suggest as such to Tony, a hand touches his wrist to get his attention. 

He frowns, looking over as some guy gestures to him, eyeing him up and down.

“How much?”

Tony’s arm around his waist keeps him upright as he politely removes his arm from the strange mans grasp.

“Excuse me?”

The man, short, stout and wielding a fat cigar between his fingers like a weapon, points at the diamond encrusted necklace dangling from Peters neck. The pendant, a large bejewelled spider, rests heavily against his sternum, hung by a solid gold plated chain.

“My niece loves the creepy fuckers,” the guy says by way of explanation, smoothing his tie down upon approach. “Got a thing for them. Has her own pet tarantula, can you believe?”

The arm around Peters waist tightens.

“It was custom made,” Tony supplies, pressing a kiss to Peters cheek whilst squeezing his hip. “Just for Peter. Cartier were generous enough to make it for our anniversary.”

Peter smiles at the mention, looks every bit the doting boyfriend as he leans into Tony further, winding his arm around the older mans waist. The man never fails to exude an effortless, old-school debonair charm, the satin lapels of his tuxedo reflecting the lowlight of the chandelier glow.

The stranger nods, chest hitching with a laugh. 

“Anniversary, huh? Well, congratulations,” he commends, nudging Tony with his elbow. “How long? Six weeks? Six days?”

“Two years,” Peter says, voice hardening. 

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” Tony adds, flagging down a waiter and scooping two flutes of champagne from the tray. “Do you know this guy, baby?”

“Nope,” Peter replies, accepting a glass from Tony with his free hand, toasting their glasses together with a clink. “No idea. I think he works here?”

“Does your manager let you mingle with staff?” Tony adds. “Isn’t that so adorable, honey?”

“So adorable,” Peter agrees, smiling at his lover. 

He enjoys watching the scowl form, the flustered, sheepish twitch of the mans lips as he struggles to find something to say.

“Excuse me,” is all the man says, turning on the spot and disappearing into a crowd of haute couture.

Tony lets go of his waist to turn further into Peter, hand coming up to trace the delicate chain up to the bump of his collarbone. It really is an exquisite piece, Peter concedes as Tony’s fingers grip the pendant, using it to pull Peter closer.

Peter goes willingly, flushing their bodies together. He slips both of his hands onto Tony’s hips, wondering if he could get away with snaking them into the mans back pockets, if he could squeeze Tony’s ass in public view. There’s something arousing about being crass in a formal setting like this, surrounded by Los Angeles’ elite and foregoing all of their staged propriety.

Tony must sense the intent because his gaze surrenders to Peter’s, leaning in to place a placating kiss on the corner of Peter’s mouth.

“Tony, Tony,” comes the chiding tone of Obadiah Stane. “What have I said about being indecent in public?”

“To only do it if I’m getting paid for it?” Tony quips, but loosens his grip on Peter nonetheless to shake his hand with his associate. 

Obadiah gestures to Tony with the hand that holds a glass of whiskey, speaking to Peter. “Think’s he’s a wise guy, doesn’t he?”

Peter smiles demurely, hand coming to rest on the back of Tonys neck. He knows better than to think that the man actually wants to hear his opinion on the matter.

“And, please remind me, which of us graduated college at seventeen?” Tony retorts not unkindly. “I think I’m absolutely qualified considered to call myself wise, wouldn’t you say Pete?”

It’s not Peter’s function to be funny in this play, so he swallows the already formed quips and nods, fingers stroking at Tony’s hairline as he pastes a wide smile on his face. 

Tony tugs playfully on Peters pendant, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. “Why don’t you get us some more drinks, sweetheart. I’ll come find you.”

Glancing between the two men, Peter agrees, letting his fingers brush the back of his neck as he walks away.

It’s not the first time Tony has tried to shield business from him, won’t be the last. In the early days Tony would rave ad nauseam about his company, all the tech being developed, conjoined at the hip to his office. He’s been quiet about it, lately. 

Peter doesn’t know what that means and reminds himself that he shouldn’t actually care. He’s done nothing to earn Tony’s trust, after all. 

When he reaches the bar he orders himself a vintage wine, sipping it as he cooly observes the room. 

The elite. The upper echelons of society. Or so they call themselves, as if they aren’t just every bit animal as Peter, if not more. As if the room isn’t full of criminals and adulterers, their wealth built on the exploitation over the lower ninety-ninth percent of the rest of the world. 

While Tony talks shop Peter leans against the edge of the bar, sipping, observing. He spots Pepper Potts in the distance and raises his glass to her when she nods to him. 

She doesn’t make much effort to hide how little she thinks of him, which is a shame, Peter thinks. He is ever so grateful for her hiring him as Tony’s PA those two years ago. 

If she hadn’t taken a look at his heavily falsified resume and considered him a shoo-in then where would he be right now? Probably on the arm of some lower level wall-street rat, which would be comfortable, but not where he wants to be.

It doesn’t take Tony long to finish, clapping Stane on the back and ambling over to the bar. He takes in the curved line of Peter’s inelegant slouch with unashamed appreciation, loafers skipping with a squeak against the polished floorboards as his step falters.

“That just for you?” Tony asks, nodding towards his half drunk wine. “You ready to go home, doll?”

Peter tucks his elbow into his chest, protectively clutching the glass closer to him. “Mhmm,” he hums agreeably, taking a large sip and downing the rest, watching Tony watching him. Once drained Tony offers his arm.

Depositing the empty glass on the glass counter with a clink Peter takes his arm, rolling his eyes at their antics, grinning nonetheless. 

They wave to various dignitaries, trust fund babies and political hopefuls as they make their departure, promising nebulous future appointments and catch ups, none of which will happen, but they all like to pretend. 

Outside in the cool fall air Tony pulls a stack from his back pocket, depositing it into the hand of the nearest valet. The woman scurries off to retrieve their car as soon as the notes nestle into her palm.

A sleek sports car, a model that Peter has never seen, pulls up while they wait, a woman covered in silk slipping inside. Tony whistles at the seamless lines, the near silent growl of the engine as it takes off into an opportune gap of traffic.

“I want one,” Peter says, transfixed at the gleaming paintwork. He turns to Tony and tugs on his tie. “In rose gold.”

“In rose gold,” Tony echoes softly into the night air, rolling his eyes. Peter can already see him mentally pulling out his checkbook as he smooths his tie down. “Anything else, baby?”

Peter only smiles as the Audi pulls up, slipping into the far end of the backseat and pulling along with him. He still has an ounce of refinement from his aunts lessons in him, so he waits until they have left the parking lot to sink to the car floor inbetween Tonys knees. 

This isn’t a hardship for him at all. In fact, having sex with Tony is his favorite past time.

With practised movement he slithers his hands up Tony’s thighs, spreading them apart. Their driver turns up the music as Tony’s zipper slides down.

Tony is predictably soft when Peter pulls him out, lazily fondling his length, Tony’s eyes getting progressively hazier as his cock gets stiffer. Peter enjoys laving the head with kitten licks, Tony’s soft groan as he licks his way from the base back up before taking the entire head into his mouth. 

It takes a while for Tony to get fully hard. Peter knows he’s insecure about it but it makes their age gap more apparent - and incredibly arousing.

Seated like a king upon his throne Tony hums in satisfaction, gently brushing his knuckles against the high crest of Peters cheek.

“So good at that, darling. Want to push your pretty head down and fuck your mouth.”

Peter groans affirmatively around the flesh in his mouth, encouraging Tony to do just that as he reaches for the older mans hand. 

“God, I love you,” Tony breaths, gently thrusting up.

Peter’s glad his mouth is occupied with Tony’s cock so he doesn’t have to reply.

------

When they get home after the gala Peter has worked Tony up enough to get thoroughly fucked against the windows of their bedroom, come shooting all over the glass. They shower and stumble into bed shortly thereafter. 

Under the sheets Tony curls into Peter, placing a sleepy kiss on his bare sternum, the warm exhalations from the mans nose tickling his skin. 

It’s not until Tony falls asleep that Peter allows himself to return it, pressing his lips into the older mans hair and sighing into the greying strands. Not for the first time he wonders if he’s in over his head.

There’s a slimy feeling all over his skin. Tony loves him. Tony is good and he loves Peter. Peter, who came into this relationship because he thought the man was made of too much stone to bleed. 

Somehow under all of the glamour and supposed moral superiority he’s become the very type of snake he’s been trying to ruin these last years.

He’s been a fool for staying this long, allowing himself to grow fond. Peering down at Tony’s vulnerable form, Peter knows he shouldn’t stay. Can’t stay. Better late than never to do the right thing, isn’t it?

Tony deserves better.

------

It’s for the best, he tells himself.

Sad, but resolute, starts pulling away. He surreptitiously packs his things, stays longer and longer at their Beverley Hills apartment until Tony begins to notice his prolonged absence. 

One night they are having dinner out at some high-end restaurant, Tony preoccupied on his phone. It’s happening more and more lately. Once there was a time where the man would determinedly dedicate the entire night to making Peter see stars without touching his phone once.

Maybe he’s losing interest in Peter after all. 

The thought shouldn’t make his chest hurt.

“Sorry about that, baby,” Tony says as he hangs up, reaching over to take Peters hand.

“Work comes first,” Peter appeases, squeezing Tonys fingers before pulling away to re-arrange his napkin.

Tony looks at him, eyes searching for just a moment. 

“You come first, Pete. You mean everything to me, you know that right?”

Peter nods, throat tightening up. He offers Tony a smile he knows must look flimsy and sips his wine to avoid saying something stupid.

“Me and Obie are working on something, baby. Something big. I know I haven’t been around much, but trust me when I say it’s going to be worth it.”

The hopeful, earnest smile on Tony’s face makes Peter feel like the worst person in the world.

However fine their food is, all Peter tastes is guilt.

------

It takes a few weeks but he makes his arrangements. 

Every day spent apart feels like a sandpaper scrub to his heart, leaving him raw and aching. When they’re together Peter hides his the wet pinprick of his eyes until Tony isn’t looking, only allows Tony to take him from behind so in his head he can call it fucking instead of love-making.

Tony Stark loves hard. It isn’t fair of Peter to take advantage of that anymore. 

So he picks fights. Begins acting like the vapid airhead he pretended to be when they first met. He spends less time in their bed and watches as Tony looks at him with increasing sadness.

Peter wants to be the type of guy that Tony deserves, but he isn’t. He might not have much money of his own but the one thing he can give Tony is the opportunity to be with someone who didn’t use him.

Turns out it’s Peter that’s just like the others, after all.

------

More and more time is spent at their alternative apartment, then May’s apartment. He tries to figure out what his life is supposed to look like, after. The sadness is distracting, but it doesn’t have any right being there.

He scrolls through endless online job listings, but ultimately his efforts are fruitless.

How is he supposed to explain the gaping gap years on his resume? What are his applicable skills? Being a money hungry sugar baby?

Not only that, but Tony Stark is nothing but high profile. Over the last two years Peter has been in countless pap photos, endless grainy TMZ clips. How is he supposed to go back to a regular life when he’s had articles written about his relationship?

It makes him frustrated and depressed. It makes him miss Tony who best waved away all Peters worries with a kiss and stream of distracting words.

He tries to stay away.

The need to be in Tony’s arms again wins over his moral crusade.

-----

On a midday venture back to the the mansion in Malibu, Peter intends to only be there a little while. Maybe have lunch with his - with Tony. 

He thinks he really should pick up the last of his belongings until he stops dead in the living room, color draining out of his face as he spots the older man.

“Tony?” he slowly approaches, hovering by the sofa. “You okay?”

Tony sits hunched over upon the sofa, head buried into his hands.

“S’all gone,” Tony whispers, burying his face deeper into his palms. 

“What do you mean,” Peter asks cautiously, moving closer and sinking to his knees to kneel between Tony’s legs, loosely clutching at the mans wrists. “What’s gone, babe?”

Tony gestures vaguely to everything around them, lifting his face from his hands long enough to indicate at their surroundings. His hands shake as they are brought back to his mouth, eyes red.

“You. Them.”

Peter shakes his head, guilt coming at him for a whole different reason. “I don’t --”

“They voted me out,” Tony interrupts, voice hoarse. “I put everything we own into this new deal. It was gonna earn us billions, baby - and when they accepted the board voted me out - he fucking framed me --”

“Ssh, hey,” Peter soothes, leaning inwards to press a kiss to Tony’s jaw. “It’s okay, Tony - “

“After this deal I have nothing,” Tony shakes his head, refusing to meet Peters eyes. “I threw all our chips in knowing it was a good bet. Fucking Stane, I swear to god I’m --”

Tony runs out of steam, his head hanging low, the defeat making the man look smaller. Shame and fear roll off of Tony in waves, his hands visibly shaking, chest hitching.

Something in Peter snaps and he lets go.

“I know I don’t tell you this enough,” Peters voice cracks, “but I love you. I really fucking love you.”

“I’m losing you too,” Tony whispers, wrecked. “I can see it. You don’t want me anymore, and why would you? I have nothing to offer you.”

Peter shakes his head, peppering kisses over the glistening tear trails on the mans face, resolve solidifying. It breaks his heart to see Tony like this - how could he ever think of leaving him - the only thing Tony ever wanted from him was unconditional and free.

He may not be what Tony deserves but Peter has always been selfish.

“I’ve lost everything, baby. I’m nothing.”

Peter shuffles closer on his knees, tilting his head down to capture Tony’s red-rimmed gaze.

“You’re everything. I don’t care if you don’t have a single penny. I want to be with you, okay? You’re my Tony.”

Tony smiles wetly. “And you’re my Peter. You’ll stay with me?”

Peter nods, kissing him sweetly, an idea forming into his mind as his anger grows towards Tony’s former associate. The fucking nerve of anyone knowing the real Tony Stark and wanting to hurt him sets his cells ablaze. There’s one way to right this wrong, to prove himself.

"If you’ll have me - and... if you want, I’m going to help you.”

Tony blinks, expression going serious. “What do you mean?”

Peter grins wryly. 

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about getting into someones skin. Stane won’t see me coming.”