#the author just didn't think of it further. Even after everything that happens the existence of the children of misfortune is necessary to

[jacksintention]

I can't with the previous post. It's just so good applied to Levi, Lacie, Oswald and even Jack.

Levi has his hands tied by the Baskerville system that is a sort of scam by the Jurors‚ like every Glen. But he says "let's just create a change" and gives a will to the Core. And he does so with the full intention of changing the narrative, if just to avoid the boredom of spending eternity watching the same thing happen over and over again from a sit in someone else's mind.

Lacie goes along with it because of her desire to ease the Core's loneliness, but in her idea of the children of misfortune being a consequence of this loneliness and her feelings of doubt or reservations, perhaps, revealed even before the tree scene in the scene in which she talks about this with Oswald, we could interpret this as her desire to end the existence of the children of misfortune and thus the cycle.

Jack plays into this in his attempt to take the "real" world to the "Abyss" world, but when he most consciously twists the narrative the Jurors had settled was when he intently made the decision to take the power from the Baskervilles. And I do think it has to do with ending the very system that doomed Lacie and Oswald and he deemed cruel and like torture, but mainly it is so that no one would interfere with him in the future.

Oswald tries to destroy the new narrative Jack has or is creating first by trying to stop him, but later on by trying to stop Levi's schemes before everything happened, resettling the narrative he was controlled and doomed by, serving still as their tool. And then he literally faces the truth, in the most explicitly way no one ever has been told this in that "real" world before, and threatens to kill the instigators of that narrative. And then just renounces, in a lack of action that is him at his most active ("not with a bang but a whimper", how fitting is that?!!!).

Ultimately there is a middle ground but the narrative is changed for good. For better or worse. With uncertain future consequences. But it is changed, and it feels kinder. And as a thank you the source of every narrative, the ink and paper of the narrative, lulls someone who shouldn't have existed but changed the world to sleep by telling him a different story. Because that's it. They're stories, and Oz deserved to go with a kinder one, because the ink and paper of the narrative loves him. And it's so interesting how that works metanarratively too. The author tells the story, but the author tells the reader a story about the stroy telling a softer version of the story, so that the reader too will get it alongside Oz. That works on several levels and it's so so interesting.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Gawtin x fem Reader

Immortal reader (similar to dark souls 2) dresses up like ancient Egyptian. Gawtin journeys to this planet to find worthy prey only to find it dead but many alive counters reader killing one of the bosses dies gawtin thinks she was was unworthy only for her to emerge from the gate of fog and fights the boss once again to succeed. They Incounter each by the reader thinking gawtin is a boss. Reader to win in the end Gaston acknowledges her they became companions then soon dating mages (?)

(Ignore this if u don’t wanna do it😻)

Life Comes Back

Paring: Gawtin x GN!Reader

Summary: Day in. Day out. Life. Death. You've experience every death possible. This is a cursed life by the gods. As you've grown accustom to this unfortunate life, you are faced with a new opponent you've never seen before.

Word Count: 4382

Author Note: I didn't know if you wanted me use this ask or the other so I decided to go with the one that's anon just in case. Thank you for responding and clarifying. I was trying my best to decphier what you wanted from me. Thanks for the ask! I'm also working on others and 'The Monarch' at the same time. Bare with me!

P.s. We've hit 1K followers!!! Thank you all for this wonderful achievement. Don't worry, I'll get to working on those smutty Vic'tao and Uihoy drawings!

Masterlist

Ao3

A cycle. An unending cycle. Life. Death. Everything between. You’ve gone through it all, experience more than ever before. You don’t know where you go nor do you remember what happens after your heart stops and the life fades from your eyes. Countless times, you’ve searched out, attempting to find your mangled remains before. Yet, there was nothing to find in the end. Not even the blood that had been spilt. All gone from existence as you reappeared once more.

Countless years ago, you remember the world as lush, green, filled with joyous life. People thrived and celebrated, happy as can be. Well, until Famine hit and ruined all to be.

Cries of despair were all that you remembered as the last sounds of your people made. Temples to the gods were starting to tremble and collapse. The upkeep far too hard for them to sustain as the mighty people of Egypt fell. Though, it wasn’t just them.

Every established colony or country fell like dominos. Just one after another before all that was left was you. The need for food or clean water was no longer desired. It felt as if your body became numb to all once you became alone on this planet you used to all home.

If you believed the loneness and never staying dead was bad, the creatures that crawled from the pits of the Duat. Monstrous, disgusting beings that killed everything in sight. Including others of their kind.

Like you, they where a never-ending cycle of kill and return. Every kill was never about food, not a single bite taken from the caresses. You don’t count when they swallow you whole as consume you for nutrients truly. It was just a way to kill you, not even swiftly either.

Despite the uselessness of it, you learned how to craft weapons from the metal of deserted cities you once lived in. Armor decorated your body and protected the best it could from any acid, fire, or smacking blows the monsters threw at you. Every time you lost, was a time to learn, to adapt further in this new, endless life. To better your weaponry and armor to protect yourself from them.

As this life went on, you wondered if this was some sort of punishment from the gods above. Why you, out everyone that had lived upon this planet, were chosen to suffer? You had no clue or a beginning to understand their reason. This was life that only gave hardships and cruelty in the wake of your existence.

When will be the day you could join all the fallen in the Field of Reeds? A peaceful ending.

The armor that adorned your body was heavy, uncomfortable. Some ends jabbing into your side as you traverse the land. Years on end have helped you study, learned the pattern of these creatures that hunted. Where they migrated, where they hunted at each time of the year or day.

Nights, cliché enough, were the absolute worse. Night is where you had to stay awake, rarely needing sleep anyhow. No wonder why your city believed you to be a goddess walking among their people. Night terrified you.

Day was okay. The light seemed to scare off the majority of the monsters back to the cracks or holes they wormed their way out of. Some didn’t seem affected by the change. Those were the blind ones. No eyes to spot their prey from miles away. Dangerous as they could be for sensing you, a tall structure or caves you or ancient people dug out helped. Anything too small for them to stick their grubby hands into and make you into a corpse. Not that you wouldn’t just reappear back on this planet in a shimmer of glittering sparkles.

As the sun fell, the ground trembled and groaned as it released the most dangerous of the monsters possible. With an exhausted, dead groan, you shimmed your way out of the hole and exposed yourself to the darkening sky.

Glittering sparkles, like the ones you create after you die, began to reveal themselves in the blackening sky. Khonsu’s moon, just a small sliver of the silver sphere. The time when the god is his high of power. You grinned lowly and stretched out your aching muscles. It had been some time since you’ve last been wiped off the planet for a short time.

Every time you were ‘reincarnated’, your body would feel like new, rejuvenated after a gruesome death. The pain that occurred every death was just annoying at this point. Yeah, it hurt. Once again, you have grown numb to this life and the suffering all it brought to you.

Dents and long scratches marred your armor. Your older skin has bright, fresh scars that will be gone the next time you reappear. You pulled on the straps of the gauntlet on your left arm for it to be firm against your skin. One wrong move can have you gone.

As the monsters all over the planet clawed and fought their way to the overworld, you prepared yourself for another night of fighting. The years have molded you to adapt to every situation possible. To every monster known to you and the gods. The quakes the earth bellowed begin to quiet and relax until all was calm. A false sense of security any rookie would fall into.

For your time alive, you believed you have seen everything. Everything humanly and monster-like possible. But the gods were cruel to you.

Either you’ve grown rusty from the lack of deaths these past few weeks, or the feeling in your stomach caught you off guard. An ambush had you trapped in the city you once lived with your family and friends.

Creatures that had big, consuming eyes stared at you. Their gnarly, inhuman arms that doubled the amount of limbs that you had carried their mishappened bodies. This type of monster hunted in packs, rare and unfortunate for you in your state.

The slight change in the air had you rolling forward. Talons, ready to sever you from the land of the living swiped at the spot you once were. You were back on your feet and facing the monster while you unsheathed your sword to defend yourself. A creature you’ve come to call the Nurok circled around you.  A move you knew. The Nurok tried to push you in the direction it just came, towards the others to jump you.

Years of experience aided you. Instead, you bullied it back towards a building on the verge of collapse. The attachment you felt to your decrepit city has long faded away from your heart. You armor protected you from the harsh attacks of the Nurok as you drove it back, back, back. All the way until it’s rump met the unstable wall. Carefully, you crouched down and grabbed the biggest rock you could fit into the palm of your hand. With all of your might, you chucked the stone at a spot that held of the majority of the wall.

Like a dam releasing water, the stone wall fell on top of the Nurok and effectively burying till it died. But, the battle wasn’t won.

Snarls and howls from its pack members were cried into the night as four other Nurok purposely lost their high ground advantage. Your face twice with a battle cry and charged at them, fed up with the beginning of the night.

Your sword, sharp and expertly sharpened whistled in the air. Each step pounded against the pathways that once filled with life and bustling people. People you loved and cared for.

Shin guards protected you in a slide underneath a Nurok and shoved your blade into where you believed to be its heart. The noise it gave would be heard for miles, drawing other monsters to the battle. You had to scramble out of the way before the thing came down upon you. The blade now coated in a sticky, black substance that reeked of rotting death. You’re numb to it.

A Nurok charged at you with its eight spidery legs that were angled at an unsettling way. You barely had time to throw up your sword to deflect it maw of razor sharp teeth and long tusks ready to gorge into you feeble body. Its black tusks clashed into the metal of your blade and pushed. Your muscles strained against its strength. The balls of your shoes slid over the stone pathway, effectively overpowering your human body.

From previous fights, your body screamed from lack of rest and constant work. It pushed you, straight towards what’s left of their pack. As a fight and survivor, you weren’t about to let them win this easily. You release a yell from the pits of your chest and rolled backwards.

It’s full weight was against your sword. At the change of force, the monster barreled over you and into one of its packmate. Both of them smashed into another building. Years of wear and tear with the force of two thunderous creatures brought the stone down upon them. Three down, two more to go.

Back on your feet, you faced off the last two Nurok that have yet to fallen. Sweat stuck to you like a skin second, armor feeling gross hugging to your body. Both uncomfortable feelings were snatched from within and shoved into the depths of your mind. Thoughts like could distract you, catch you off guard and kill you. Not that death was permanent when it came to you.

Your sword was still slick with black blood of the first Nurok. It had ran down the length of the metal coated your hands and hilt. You struggled to hold onto the leather bound hilt as you watched the two Nurok closely. Your chest heaving with deep breaths, beads of sweat falling down your face to pool around the collar of your shirt.

These things had no collective thought between them as they stomped after you. The only truly color you could spot in the low light of Khonsu’s moon was their red, distinctive eyes. Their spider like legs stabbed into the ground as they stole space between you and them.

You didn’t give them chance to attack first. Instead, you rushed them like a barreling bull. Like the goddess your people once thought you as, you dodged to one side only to feel tusks ram into the armor that protected your back. A surprise gasp tore at your throat. You were thrown into the air and crashed back down onto a stone pathway.

All the air that once filled your aching lungs was forced out. The best in the moment you could do was lie on the ground before your instincts snapped alive. You rolled out of the way of a sharpened foot and switched to a short sword. It cut clean through the Nurok’s leg, weakening it.

That wasn’t gone win you this battle though. You were back on your feet, ignoring the way your armor dug into your fleshy body more than usual. Your hands shook with adrenaline as you stared down the creatures. Then, you sprinted at it once more, ready for the battle to be over and done with.

A move that would cost you this life.

Despite the aching muscles in your leg, you leaped up into the air and held the sword far above your head. In a ready to strike position to defeat the second to last Nurok, you had unfortunately left yourself open for an easy attack. A lesson you would learn once you were reincarnated.

In slow motion, you watched as the Nurok reared up with a screech that could cause your ears to bleed. With its two front, shorter limbs, it stabs them through the air and piercing through the weakened armor near your belly. The usual pain that exploded from the unfortunate loss didn’t faze you much. You still fought like a cat backed into a corner, heaving your sword into its neck before everything went completely dark.

.

From her stance on top of a structure ready to collapse from the slightest movement, she observed the fight through the dark. Her mask aided her as she took note of the way this smaller earthling fought. Coordinated but not. As if it was self-taught without a proper teacher to guide them on the way to surviving a harsh, dangerous life.

Why she was here? Like many of her kind: to hunt and gather trophies. Her hunt sisters have spread about the planet to collect what they deemed worthy. She, on the other hand, has stopped to watch this event unfold before her.

The itch of the hunt boiled underneath her thick, scaly hide. A dark green which aided her in the forest but this was a desert. Dry and desolate. That she thought of.

Not this humanoid figure that fought viciously. If only she had gotten to it first. Its skull would be a fine addition to her collection back on her home planet. Now, unable to aid it to survive, all the hidden being could do was watch and wait. Patience was something she was first instructed to learn about. If you could not wait for your prey, you weren’t destined to be a hunter. That’s where younglings were divided.

Once the battle grew to a close, she saw something that would ruin everything. It did the first thing you weren’t supposed to. This solidified that it was self-taught by this last action.

These insect-like creatures took the open chance that this humanoid figure willingly gave. Two red tipped tusks were shoved through the metal of its armor. All it gave was a shortened, airily groan… like it was an inconvenience. With one last blow, the smaller being rammed its blade into the neck of its opponent.

Disappointment filled her chest as it fell limp on the tusks. Dead. A skull she could not retrieve. It was not hers for the taking. Her mandibles clicked against one another.

She began to stand and take her leave when glimmering night that lit up the street captured her attention. Bright, sparkling lights burst from her former prey and fell to the ground. She looked back towards the tusks only to find the armor left. Not a body nor blood.

Uncertainty filtered into her neon green blood. The being tensed up and unsheathed a blade, purple eyes scanning the area around her. Had the creature actually die or somehow have an ability to teleport? Once you’ve explored the universe a few times and seen many, many different aliens, anything was possible. Her mandibles chittered.

In a bright light, noks away from the former winners, a body formed from nowhere. Like a force unlike any other, it reappeared without a scratch and ready for this to end.

D’yeka.

Of all of her years as a hunter, mother, and explorer, Gawtin has never come across something like this. Like a newly blooded, she could only stand in bewilderment as this thing rushed them again. As if it didn’t just come back from the dead like Dhi’ki-de. This got her heart thundering through her ears as she wished for that fight to end so she could start her own.

.

In a birth of glimmering light, you appeared further down the street. In this new body, the old aches and pain were wiped away. All you were left with was the tone muscles you were glad to keep. Everything else, including armor and clothing had been abandoned, stuck to the creature’s face. The Nurok wildly shook its head to get rid of the offending article. All while the other stared at its pack member in confusion.

You used the opening to your advantage. Quiet, calm, you stalked up to them and swiped the first, longer sword from the ground while moving. Before either of them had a chance to notice you, you sheathed the sword in the side of one. The Nurok without the clothing on its face gave a screeching cry, alert its friend to the trouble.

With a grunt, you twisted the blade and shoved it further in to cause as much damage as possible. The thing gave one last croak before falling at your feet, gone like a light. You pulled the blade once more from it and stared down the last Nurok.

Out of all your time upon these grounds, you’ve never seen emotion from any monster. Either it was an illusion or trick of the eye, you believed to see a flash of fear within the blacks of its eyes. A snarl crossed over you face as pounced again for the last time. You struck and left the creature unable to think. One swing after another, cutting at its skin like meat.

The Nurok bellowed out a roar that rumbled the ground before lowering its head. A move you read within a second while the next you twisted out of the way. You shoved your sword once last time into the creature and watched as its guts spilled onto the ground. A heavy smell of death wafting up into the air, one you’re quite use to.

After it fell to its finally resting place, you marched over to its head and retrieved your shorter sword and weapons. The armor was, unfortunately, unusable. You would need to start over… again.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, your senses lighting up to another contender. The adrenaline that still filled your body rushed back in full force as you swiftly scanned the surrounding area. Yet, your search came up empty. Not another, living soul in sight. You couldn’t just shake off the feeling though.

Naked like the day you were born, you lugged your battered weapons to the smithery close by. Something stopped you though.

In a low shimmer of blue light, a humanoid figure revealed itself to the darkness of night. A monster you’ve never seen before. It’s body similar to yours in shape but its face covered by a mask of metal. Expressionless and cold. The main difference you first notice was the dark, possibly green that colored its skin.

Tonight has been dreadful, killed again. Now, with a new opponent stepping into the ring, you were irritated and grouchy. With either sword in your hands, you stared down the monster. And just stared, observed the soft rise and fall of its shoulders.

Then, it took a step forward. You reacted swiftly, like lightning. Your toes dug into the light dirt that coated the stone street as you launched yourself forward. It was your hardened instincts that drove you for survival. After the events today, you were on guard, ready to lash out on the dime at any movement.

That you did.

This thing wasn’t like anything you’ve met before. It raised its aforearm and blocked the downward lash you preformed and kicked out a leg at the same time. For the second time this day, the air was shoved from your lungs as you smashed into a structure behind you. Ringing in your ear began. You dropped down onto the ground in heap of pain and broken bones.

Blowing painfully through your nose, you rose back to your feet and gripped only one sword this time. The other lost during the flight over here. The monster looked like it hadn’t moved an inch from its spot. You huffed an amused chuckle with a smirk gracing your face.

Despite the pain this thing caused you in once kick, you marched back over to it. The creature morphed its stance to a fighting position. You stopped where you were and cocked your head for a moment before doing the same. This thing had intelligence. It was acting different compared to anything you’ve face before.

You felt the unfamiliar, cold, trickling feeling of fear run a path down your spine. The sword you welded trembled slightly, not from the adrenaline this time. Now, you had to think of strategies you hoped it didn’t know of. You had to plan this thoroughly. And survive.

It launched itself at you, faster than you could blink. A gasp tore at your throat as you rolled to the side to dodge the incoming attack. The second afterwards, you threw up the sword and blocked a deadly slash from three pronged weapons in either hands of it. The power behind its force was enough to rival the Nurok’s you just took down.

The ground aided in a sturdy backbone to keep yourself up as this figure attempted to kill you. This was nothing new. Just go through the motions.

And win.

One of your legs kicked out swift into the side of its knee. A harsh hiss sounded from its mask as the creature was forced to kneel down. A new opening revealed to you. One, you took. You lashed out with your blade without remorse. It was able to twist its body enough to only receive a glancing blow on the dark skin of its lower side.

Bright, glowing, green goo dribbled from the freshly opened wound. Your eyes widened at the sight. There wasn’t a single creature from the Duat that has ever bled this color before. What was this thing?!

Its own weapon came for you. Despite the size of it, it didn’t move like any monster you’ve seen before. This creature was better, faster, stronger than what you’re used to. You barely moved enough to only have one of the prongs jab into your side. The pain was nothing but a minor inconvenience. You unsheathed a small dagger in time to ram it into the figure’s arm.

A hiss and rapid clicks is all you got before its hand wrapped around your throat. You were lifted clean off of the ground and held before its eyeless gaze. The grasp tightened before you had a chance to even know what was happening.

This wasn’t the last time you would fail.

Like before, you appeared in a shimmering of bright glitter. Unfortunate for you, your weapons laid at the monsters feet. Deep down, you had a feeling it would not let you even get a chance to grab them. You cracked your neck and fell into a stance to entice the thing to walk away from them on the ground. Anything to let you get your weapons back. To make this a fair fight.

But… it kicked at the sword’s hilt and pushed it towards you. The weapon slid to a stop at your feet. Your eyes darted between the sword and the monster. This was a game you didn’t know how to win or play properly. You had infinite lives to survive but how long will this dance go on?

Time and time again, till Khonsu’s moon was chased away by Ra’s sun, you were killed more times you’ve ever fallen in a week alone. This last round, after you reappeared like any other time, you collapsed to your knees and looked up tiredly at your opponent. You could not die nor win against it. This would be an unending battle like your own life.

The figure walked up to you, feet entering your vision to stop in front of you. Defeated, you raised your tired head to gaze into the void of where its eyes should be. You were ready for it to bring down its own weapon to kill you all over again.

A green hand, a green that matched the jungle you’ve been too, entered your sight. The palm turned upright, its weapon gone. An offering.

After everything you’ve endured during this night alone, you just stared at the hand. A tired, exhausted look in your eyes. The creature curled its fingers in a ‘come here’ motion. Defeated, you placed your hand in its and was yanked to your feet. The blazing warmth of its scaly skin released its hold.

With both of its hands, it reached up to cup the mask it wore. Something you finally noticed in the morning light. That wasn’t it face but just a metal mask that adorn its face.

Two tubes were from the side of its mask, hissing like Nurok. Carefully, it pulled the metal away to reveal… something you weren’t expecting. From all the monsters that roam the overworld during the night, this thing wasn’t the ugliest. The purple of its eyes struck you hard. A color you haven’t seen for years.

You mouthed ‘wow’, attention captured by the beauty this figure held in such small orbs. Out of everything on this planet, this was the first time a monster stopped. Was this a sort of truce?

The longer the two of you stood there, you began to become nervous. This was different than anything you’ve ever experienced. A monster stopping to reveal its true face to you. Was this a horrible dream of peace for just a moment?

Now that it was day, the level of threat has gone down significantly. Yet, the blind, trickier critters now come out to prey upon you and each other. Then you realized, the monster hadn’t gone back down to the Duat. What was this thing? You didn’t know how to feel about this thing in front of you.

Then, it moved its arm. You reacted back jumping back and getting into a defensive position. Your heart thundered in your ears as you watched as it pulled something from a pocket. Calmly, it held out its palm with the item towards you. Timidly, you reached out and swiped it.

A pocket knife. Small, durable, and extremely sharp. You looked back up at the monster and dipped my head in appreciation. With it’s strange face, it lifted its mandibles into a smile and returned the gesture. Then, it turned and began to tapping at the gauntlet on its arm. Strangely enough, some bright and glowing red appeared. You gasped!

Magic!

As if your world couldn’t turn more upside down, something revealed itself hovering in the sky. By the gods! With the graceful leap of a cat, the monster jumped into an opening of this thing. One last look at you and it was gone.

And you thought you had seen it all.

[cdroloisms]

Ok there are a lot of things I don't understand about Wilbur and Dream's interactions, but one of the main things that I don't quite get is the whole breaking into the prison and burning the disks with Tommy , like ok why was Wilbur so convinced that by threatening to kill himself he was gonna make Dream do what ever he wants ( burn the disks)

And well we can say that Dream was just agreeing to whatever the hell the wanted because he wanted them out of his living room ( and because he didn't need the disks) but like ,Wilbur didn't know that, what made him so sure that Dream wanted him alive especially after the prison break ( Dream didn't need his help anymore) to the point that he thought he could use it ( his life ) as leverage

Did Dream want to keep Wilbur alive, if so, then why? I don't know man, seems like the only person that would be losing in this situation is Wilbur himself.

I got more questions but like this is what confuses me the most. Idk just don't get it

Honestly I'm going to assume you know about these reddit posts, but while like I think that people should be able to draw their own conclusions to a text without strictly subscribing to what is said by the authors, like, cc!Dream and cc!Wilbur did give explanations behind what happened in this stream that I think are worth checking out: x x

A lot of people perceived cc!Wilbur's comment specifically as speaking for c!Dream in a way that was uninformed and therefore dismissed the post, which I think is...unwise? Like, cc!Wilbur literally says that he's posting from the perspective of his character's thought process, not an out of character word of god on what c!Dream actually values and believes. Further, he literally clarifies that his character isn't entirely correct and is an unreliable narrator.

But looking between the posts and looking at c!Dream's behavior, I mean. What we can say, rather definitively, that c!Wilbur was right about is that c!Dream didn't want to lose that feeling that he had leverage over c!Wilbur. Like, he's pretty damn desperate not to lose it, actually. c!Wilbur "believes that Dream has nothing if not himself"--a perspective that obviously leaves out c!Punz, considering c!Dream's secrecy in terms of this one particular ally, but is otherwise I mean. Like. Correct? cc!Dream emphasizes repeatedly that c!Dream doesn't want to lose "that feeling of control over Wilbur," that c!Dream's power over c!Wilbur is "just in his head," that he's holding onto it even though "it's seemingly gone after the exile reveal." The rest of the server's story only throws this in sharper relief--c!Wilbur literally fucking leaves the whole damn server and c!Dream is cowering in the prison worrying about him A MONTH LATER.

When c!Wilbur makes the assessment that c!Dream is going to hold onto the perceived leverage he has over c!Wilbur tightly, EVEN WHEN SAID LEVERAGE DOESN'T EXIST, to the point of doing almost everything c!Wilbur tells him to? He's 100% right. c!Dream doesn't want to break the illusion. When cc!Dream gives the two examples of what c!Dream wouldn't do, he mentions that c!Dream wouldn't "kill himself" or "give over the revive book," which, I mean. Is literally just saying the same thing twice. Which, again, just goes to show how far c!Dream is willing to go in order to keep holding onto a feeling of control, that--once again! Is emphasized by both ccs AND by the literal text (as we can see that c!Dream at no point is able to actually use the "leverage" he has over c!Wilbur from reviving him to do LITERALLY ANYTHING AT ALL) as not existing in any meaningful manner. This isn't a case of c!Wilbur having an inflated sense of self-importance or a case of him pushing his way into this conflict recklessly w/ a delusional belief that his pitch will work. This is a case of c!Wilbur (as is like, usually the case with him and c!Dream) reading c!Dream like an open book and getting exactly what he fucking wants by force, literally shouting down at c!Tommy and c!Dream until they both comply.

(And it's worth pointing out that like. This whole thing does have a visible toll on c!Dream. He's extra jumpy and defensive in the stream on the same day after Inconsolable Differences, says he went for a stroll outside the prison (something he basically Doesn't Do after he gets the prison back in Daedalus) explicitly to "keep his mind wandering," he bristles at the perception that he's being accused of a terrorist--the exact wording that c!Wilbur uses against him when he makes him write the book in the prison. c!Dream's behavior, while not yet pushed to the point where he starts lashing out in self-defense, was pretty obviously off as soon as c!Wilbur started making demands--he grows quieter, more still, visibly less comfortable--honestly, not at all unsimilar to certain behaviors that we saw in the prison arc.)

And I mean. At the end of the day. Why wouldn't c!Dream want some reason to believe that c!Wilbur would work with him? Why wouldn't he want some kind of leverage? The guy is pretty obviously worried about him, if not outright scared of him. He was ranking c!Wilbur with the likes of c!Sam and c!Quackity when he mentions him in the Finale, for god's sake. c!Wilbur was the person that first called him the tyrant that c!Dream ends up believing he has always been. c!Wilbur was the originator of L'manburg, which c!Dream blames for the literal loss of his home. c!Wilbur is like. Extremely charismatic, extremely good at convincing people that he's well-meaning, that what he's saying is right, that this-person-is-the-enemy and you-want-to-stand-for-freedom and that so-and-so is a cause worth dying for, isn't it. c!Dream was The-Man-That-L'manburg-Opposed from the minute that c!Wilbur decided so and this narrative would follow him literally for the rest of his life.

So yeah c!Dream wanted to keep c!Wilbur alive out of the delusional belief that doing so would mean he has leverage over him. Why he wants that leverage (even though he never uses it and the fact that it literally doesn't exist), I mean.

[theneighborhoodwatch]

i have been trying to make this into a coherent post for days and have gotten Nowhere so you will have to put up with this borderline incoherent trail of thoughts instead. okay here we go:

dorelaine sounds like it was meant to be a mondegreen of darling (or vice-versa depending on what perspective you're seeing it from) which lends some credence to the WHRP's insistence that ronald dorelaine Must be the creator of welcome home (again - "must be," not "is," which is odd.)

wally as a self-insert for dorelaine? this information sponge who kind of exists to learn from his friends/loved ones on our behalf, the audience surrogate, a slate so blank he didn't know what a clown was until someone asked him to draw one. what about a character like that would cause someone to draw on their own traits to write him?

in that same vein, wally being not only a self-insert but an Ideal Self? if so, what about the above traits would have been Desirable to dorelaine? wally being representative of a desire for some kind of "fresh start"? or perhaps of flawlessness by way of (initially) not knowing there are flaws to be had? ignorance is bliss and all.

y'know. i was talking about this in a metaphorical sense and was gonna go on about how like i wonder what it will look like the further things progress and wally deviates more from this aspect of himself (assuming he hasn't already. dorelaine probably was not quite so attached to his house, for one thing) but i think this might be one of the only contexts in which a literal(ish) possession story could work - i.e. how far do you think someone would go to discard their original identity and become their ideal self?

i was gonna elaborate on that but then i realized i was just describing the season one plot twist from surviving romance.

[spoilers for surviving romance, obviously] by which i mean: yknow how it turns out that the protagonist, who is now the MC of the novel the entire story takes place in, actually used to be the author of the novel? and the whole thing was written in an attempt to justify her own suffering (without actually unpacking any of her trauma or the defeatism that was beaten into her by her circumstances) by giving her idealized self-insert (the original MC) a happy ending after a series of borderline comedic acts of cruelty - something she felt she would never be able to achieve herself? and how she only remembers this after repressing it long enough to form relationships with the other characters in the novel after being thrown into a life or death situation and realizing that they all have a lot more depth and interiority than the original novel's narration afforded them? yeah? Yeah.

that's not the Whole plot twist but it is the part of it that's the most relevant to this post.

but hey, maybe there's no literal possession/reincarnation/transmutation/Whatever stuff going on. in fact, for now i'm confident in that not being the case, at least not literally. but i still think if wally being some kind of self-insert or at least being based on ronald dorelaine in some capacity is canon, then it is worth noting bc like. wally As We Understand Him so far exists to absorb and reflect the world around him and the people in it in order to guide us, the audience. if he turns out to be a self-insert on top of that, then he also exists to reflect his creator in some form. for as much as everything seems to revolve around him (even when we Know for a fact that whatever happened had an effect on the other neighbors as well) it's kind of hard to imagine wally existing as his own guy; he always exists in relation to something or someone else.

one has to wonder how he feels about that. he seems confident that it will all work out in the end (whatever "it" is) but, well. this Is a horror story.

something about what i said a while ago, about the puppets being more affected by unconscious decisions - "things left unsaid," in particular.

still think about Metaphorical hauntings in welcome home though. that one guillermo del toro quote - "What is a ghost? A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again? A moment of pain, perhaps. [...] An emotion suspended in time. Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber."

"ah but doesn't home also lend themself to a good possession story?" so close! i think whatever's going on with home is closer to necromancy/a state of Undeath than anything else. i will not be elaborating at this point in time <3

..... possible future holy trinity imagery with dorelaine, wally, and home? father/son/holy spirit? unlikely but Could you imagine.

ah. i think here is when the thoughts run out. thanks 4 reading.

[egg-emperor]

Any Canon!Eggdad headcanons you got?

I have a headcanon that when (or if, for that matter) Eggman dies, Sage will take over the empire but keep keep his logo and general aesthetic intact out of honor.

I have this funny post where I say I think Eggman would be highly against passing the empire on to anyone, not even to Sage. He wants to have the world to himself and I think that he feels that if he can't have it, no one can. I think he'd rather take the world with him in death and blow it up before even entertaining the idea of passing it down it for a second lol. He called it the Eggman Empire and Eggmanland and has his visage plastered on everything for a reason. He wants to be the center of attention and for it to be all for him and about him and nothing more or less. His ego and greed would never allow it.

I like how you say "if", because I also imagine that if he has the choice and ability, he'll want to extend his lifespan or immortalize himself in any way because he needs all the time in the world to build and rule his empire, especially as an older man already. With all the crazy shit he's survived, age is the only thing currently that could kill him. But he needs the time to build it all and enjoy it, he didn't build a throne to pass it down to someone else in matter of a few decades or so! And that can tie into his refusal to let anyone else take his place when he's not around, it can't happen if he never dies in the first place.

But if he did die then of course someone would have to take it over whether he wants it or not. But he certainly wouldn't leave anything in a will, he gives nothing to nobody, not even in death! Sage would be the most appropriate of his existing creations to take the reigns with her loyalty, devotion, and respect for him until the end. But I think she'd be hesitant to do anything without his authorization and struggle with it, while Orbot and Cubot would just be like "hey he's gone and we're free now, it doesn't matter what he wanted" but she'd feel like she's betraying his wishes so it'll always feel wrong. Pretty sad thought.

But yeah, I think she'd be very careful and strictly compliant to his orders and wishes as if he never left because her honoring of him and his wishes will remain strong forever. She'd maintain it the exact way he left it with its design, aesthetics, and all, and run it only exactly how he did. It'd make you forget you're in a world with Eggman no longer in it, when you're still surrounded by him and his ideas and rules, with his image plastered everywhere just like he wanted. It would look like he never left and is going to come back any moment and take his seat on his throne but he's never going to come back again.

While everyone gets to remember him and it feels like his spirit is still alive and they're never able to forget him, it would only constantly remind Sage of the truth after being much closer to him but she'd willingly live with never being able to move on and escape the pain, just for him to get what he wants like always. She wants to think those efforts would make him proud, even if her taking over wasn't what he wanted, but she remembers how mad he'd get when she did anything differently so she'd always feel a little bad for that. But she never stops having his best interests in mind, no matter what she does.

I'm feeling emo about this lol. If I was in the Sonic Universe and he was real and really had existed in my world, a world without Eggman in it after he died would be so fucked and not one worth living in ahakgbskgjskg

Anyway yeah! I've been thinking of further developing some more of my canon accurate Eggdad headcanons for some more posts but I still need to get started on that properly and I haven't had the time but stay tuned because I definitely want to contribute to the small amount of canon accurate Eggman and Sage Eggdad fan stuff.

But aside from this, I also have some others that I've already shared that I'll compile here:

This funny one about how Eggman would talk about Sage to other parents based on the things that specifically made him value her

Eggman brags about Sage being better and superior to Maria based on his thoughts on her in the memos

A father's day concept with Eggman, Sage, Metal, and Orbot and Cubot

Eggman shows a warning to Sage so she knows why it's important to stay loyal and efficient in subtle but eerie and unsettling way

Two posts of me talking about the chaotic villainous antics that I really want to see with them hehe

Eggman making people into robots for Sage to play with so she'll view them as toys and play things like he does

That's all of them so far I'm pretty sure, aside from my most controversial problematic fucked up short concept I shared that people got really mad at lol

More to come!

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

Everything You Want

If you ever needed proof that I really love Shipwrecked, here it is: I tore myself away from Hatchetfield on NPMD RELEASE DAY (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) to put down some thoughts on Greater Gatsby, episode 7. As always, spoilers below the cut.

(Before we jump into that, though, MASSIVE shout out to Curt Mega for this podcast, Nerdy Prudes, and Pulp Musicals. He's worked on almost everything that's keeping me going right now. Man of the Season. Thank you for your service, sir.)

Okay, I got to say it. Ford suggesting that Peter Lorre, an ethnically Jewish guy who had to flee Nazi Germany, isn't used to hate mail was... a choice on his part. But the running gag of celebrities taking threats as complements is genuinely one of the best gags in the series so far.

So the writer of the letters is going after adaptions. The further we get into this, the more I start to wonder if these letters are really just an old-timey viral advertising campaign. If you build up this whole, buzzy, real-world-intrigue story about beloved actors being threatened for appearing in adaptions, you know what will happen when such adaptions come out? Ticket sails will soar. People will want to be part of the narrative, to see the movie Jimmy Stewart or Wilhelmina Vanderjetski put their life on the line to make. And someone in the business threatening other people's lives just to increase profits is thematically just the sort of thing that would exist alongside Ford Phillips and his hatred of the cynical, exploitative Hollywood system.

But the problem there is, what would that have to do with F. Scott's murder? There's got to be a reason both these cases are part of the same story. Perhaps Fitzgerald somehow found out in his deep-dive into Hollywood secrets, and the letter writer killed him to keep him quiet. It's not a worthy motive, but most aren't, and the greed at the top of the ladder knows no bounds. Or maybe the letters are being sent out by someone connected to the movie but unrelated to the murderer in order to specifically market a rewritten Greater Gatsby and further capitalize on Fitzy's death--make it seem like he died for the art. But then again, the public doesn't know he was even murdered in the first place...

Or maybe I'm flat-out wrong about the whole marketing angle. Really, the most obvious answer is that Greater Gatsby was basically an adaption, and the writer of the letters genuinely hates such movies. They threatened Fitzy, then simply followed through. But that falls apart if you look a little deeper. Beyond "hatred of adaptions" being the silliest reason to kill someone, such events would imply a pattern of the writer murdering a victim before moving onto the next and that hasn't held up. So maybe F. Scott was being threatened to stop work on his film by someone who had a secret to protect. The situation spun out of control, our threatener killed Fitzgerald, and is now writing all of those threats as a distraction. That way, if the threats he/she ever sent to Fitzgerald were found, investigators wouldn't see through to the real motive behind them.

Meanwhile, all of the celebrity cameos were very fun and silly, but didn't tell us much other than give the slightest glimpse into why Ford hates Jimmy Stewart so much (still perfect character lore). We got another mention of Eugene from the Punchwhistle twins, definitely making him feel less like flavor and more like set-up. And do we think Rex's perfect recall is going to come back, or was just a device for this one scene? In Ford's personal orbit, it sounds like Bixby's quest to fix his financial issues has gotten him into real trouble. There's clearly something clandestine about the group he's renting the backroom out to, and their potential relevance to Mo, one of the few people to see Fitzy's body, is another point in favor of that group connecting back to our murdered author. I still think they're working on remaking Greater Gatsby in secret.

Speaking of secrets, we don't know where Barnaby was the night of Fitzgerald's murder, or why he's lying about it. He could be the murderer, he could have also been having an affair as well... I gotta tell you guys, Barnaby might be one of my favorites but I wouldn't trust him with a moldy piece of bread. The way he stabbed Ford in the back and then instantly came to him for help because someone else was untrustworthy? What a guy. (He's right about the cops, though. Don't trust the fuzz.)

Regardless, it looks like Fig and Ford are setting their sights on Darby. I doubt she's the one behind the letters but I'm hoping we'll start to get answers about her "book club" and whatever the hell Bixby's gotten himself into...

[7potato7]

My fics

Completed chapter fics:

the masks they wore:

tgcf role-swap fic, solely written bc I got annoyed that fics never seem to put HC in the role of a heavenly official in role-reversals. ~25,000 words of XL being utterly oblivious to everything, including the fact that he's a Ghost King.

Scum Child's Self-Saving System:

First work of the mini shizun adventures series. SY is less stupid and plants like, a bunch of Sun and Moon Dew Flowers. Unfortunately, he ends up in one of SQH's instead. Even more unfortunately, it's a six-year-old body. Guest appearances from SJ's reincarnation. ~42,000 words of me avoiding the romance subplot like the plague. Part of a larger series that will have further updates later.

One-shots:

ice ice baby:

moshang one-shot, part of the mini shizun adventures series. Mobei-jun gets hit by a de-aging plant right before he goes to eat his dad's body. Things change a bit. No knowledge of the rest of the series required. ~7,000 words of Shang Qinghua spiraling into eternal anxiety.

The Oddest Nightmare:

Black Water arc fix-it, but I didn't do it on purpose and am still spicy about it. The timing is just a *bit* off, and He Xuan's plan falls through. <5,000 words of Xie Lian threatening He Xuan's entire existence.

Bad Timing, That.:

He Xuan finds a drowning man and decides that he needs more bonefish! What could go wrong? >1,000 words of He Xuan questioning all the choices that brought him to this moment.

Incense and Ashes:

Rather than having a good 'ol spicy time after finding the incense burner, Wei Wuxian has a nightmare, and they don't. Do that. >1,000 words of the author being frustrated with the extras' wasting of a perfectly good plot device.

a Ghost and a Requiem:

Wei Wuxian is dead. Just not as thoroughly as some may think. ~3,500 words of Wei Wuxian disassociating.

Shen Qiao Says No:

Short, not-frustrated-at-all extras rewrite wherein Shen Qiao asserts his personal autonomy. Just a teeny bit. For a treat. <400 words of Shen Qiao respecting himself as a human being.

Chiblian:

What happens after Xie Lian breaks his cultivation??? <1000 words of Hua Cheng dying a fourth time.

[fuzzydreamin]

Doing the Writer Bingo thing, considering myself tagged by @theartofblossoming because they said so

I got bingo twice!

Gonna tag @new-eyes-extra-colors @bokatan and @nukanaptime if yall haven't already done it - blank template is under the cut along with me talking about my answers and writing - feel free to ignore it if you want lol.

I don't actually have any of my fics public rn because I hid all of my old ones (they were HP and thats blech now), but I had... 13 fics, including a completed multichapter amongst a bunch of oneshots and abandoned starters, lol.

So I have had a Fanfiction.net account, but I never posted fic on there. I just read fic there. I also read fic on a bunch of other old sites that don't exist anymore and haven't for many years, but didn't have profiles on them. I don't even remember their names, I know some were primarily non-english sites that just happened to have some of their fics translated - some of the best fics honestly. I've only ever posted on Ao3 because it wasn't until I was basically done with highschool that I felt confident enough to write publicly.

Never had a wattpad phase. Never even read fics on it and I honestly click away if fic links lead there. I just don't like how it's set up.

My most popular oneshots were my two hard E rated smut fics, which rivaled by multi-chapter fic for a while but got overtaken by it while I wasn't looking, hah.

Some of the earliest writing I ever did was roleplay. I joined a Warrior Cats roleplay guild on the Neopets forum as a wee child. I didn't even know what Warriors was when I joined, I just wanted to play with cats. It introduced me to the series though, which became a big part of my life with reading and art. The roleplaying was fun for a bit but... well there were issues but I guess we were all kids. Didn't help that they were all American so I had to do weird hours to join events. I don't do a lot of roleplay overall, I've dipped my toes in again here and there but never anything dedicated. It's rather intimidating honestly.

I've never beta read anything or had a beta. I work entirely alone and prefer it that way. I just do it all myself and quadruple check everything and then freak out after posting and check again and again to pick up any small spelling mistakes that might've slipped past me.

Always been a nerd for researching. Sometimes I'll be researching something by my own whimsey and that'll become part of a fic after the fact, lol. I like when authors sprinkle in little bits of knowledge, and some of my favourite fics are ones that have me highlighting terms to look them up further.

I never actually had an outline for any of my old fics. I would just start typing up whatever came to mind at the time and post it when it felt ready. It's a miracle I finished a multichapter fic at all honestly. But I'd also be manic in my writing, being that I'd blast out one or even multiple chapters a day for a while and then randomly stop and not look at any of my fics for months or even years. I did begin to start fics with some outlines and collected thoughts later on, and I'm outlining so very much with my newer fic and not writing in a manic state anymore thanks to nearly a decade spent working on my mental health. I'm writing from a better place now, but I often look back at my old works and wonder if I haven't lost something over time due to the large break I took in creating, which is something that goes for my drawing too. Overall though I have a lot more hope for my future works being more planned/thought out and far superior to anything I've put out before - though I didn't get many complains on my old stuff, just a lot of very confused watchers who got overstuffed and then left in the lurch. Sorry.

The "anxiously waits for feedback" thing I think is something pretty much everyone feels when they put any work out there. I really get it with the immediate posting and having to double and triple check that I didn't misspell anything, or get something wrong, and that what I'm trying to say comes out clearly - as if people will point it out and laugh at me or something when I know they won't / haven't even had time to read it yet even though it's public. I've found it's best to just distance myself after posting and doing my doublecheck though, like just enjoying a game or an episode of something and trying to forget about it for a bit and avoid checking it too frequently. Like meditating, but with a distraction.

I have commissioned art for fics at least twice - but neither of the fics actually made it to the point were the art could be used. Oopsy. Was still fun getting the art.

So many unfinished and unpublished fics. I could probably complete that Danse/Butch smut oneshot I was doing back at new years...

"Editing and formatting is hell", I mean... I've mentioned my tendency to quadruple-billion-times check things twice now. This makes three.

Ideas in the middle of the night are the worst. I can't type shit out on my phone, it takes too long and I get frustrated (I'm also sleeping next to my partner and he'd question wtf I'm doing with a light on), and even if I try the ideas are already escaping like very agile moths. My condolence is that ideas that come when I'm half-asleep probably actually aren't that good anyway and just seem so to my sleep-addled self.

I don't need tea to write, but it definitely helps. That or an iced mocha. ... it's totally the effect of caffeine and sugar on the ADHD... I'll be bouncing up and down while I sit there but at least my fingers will be moving over the keys.

[5s-missing-eye]

Small rant about Lorien Legacies and stuff bc I wanna get it off my chest

I first heard about this series in like 2015 when I watched the movie with my dad and brother. I really liked the plot but I didn't know the books existed so I just kinda forgot about it.

Fast forward to 2017/2018 when I watched the movie again and I loved it sm but I didn't look it up any further bc I was stupid.

Then a few months later I was at my local library searching the science fiction section for something to read. And what do I see there? The mf ian4 book. I immediately remembered the movie and thought "well if I liked the movie I will love the book." I was right bc my 12 year old self was so happy with it. That book was my escape from all of the other bullshit that was happening in my life. My childhood best friend had just moved away to Germany and my friend group fell apart, leaving me lonelier than ever. Adding to that, my parents never took me seriously so I couldn't talk to them about any of that.

After reading ian4 in less than a week I borrowed po6 and fell in love with the series even more. The books made me feel special. And they made me feel like I'm not alone. Like there are people in the world just waiting to meet me and be my friends. I always felt like an outsider at my school and this series made it feel like a blessing rather than a curse. Marina and Six meeting up felt like a sign that someone is eventually going to save me from everything like Six "saved" Marina.

When I went back to the library to borrow ro9 I found out that it wasn't translated to my language. That made me a little sad but I knew I would find a way to read it. I didn't really know about pirating back then so when I found pirating sites it was like I was discovering a whole new part of the Internet. I would've ordered the books online but most of the time they're sent from the USA and the shipping is wayyyyyy too expensive. My english wasn't the best back then but I was fluent enough to read the books.

I remember thinking we would meet all of the Garde while reading ro9. I was so excited for Five bc that was my favourite number at the time. So ofc I was a little disappointed when I finished the book and Five was nowhere to be found. But that's what made him even better for me.

It felt like he was left out of everything interesting and he was missing out on bonding with the rest of the Garde. Then I looked him up and got Eight's death spoiled. I didn't really know how to feel about that so I just went to read the next book to finally meet Five.

Tfo5 made me hate Sam bc his pov is so annoying. He always has something to say even if it was uncalled for. He was so rude to Five for no reason (just like everyone else). Five is so awkward in this book and that made me fall in love with him. I love awkward characters bc they remind me of me. Five stood out to me even more than anyone else tho. It is so obvious that the authors wanted us to hate Five but he was so relatable to me that I couldn't hate him. I sometimes feel like we're the same person. I felt awful when Eight died obviously but I felt even worse for Five. He was manipulated and he was brainwashed. It wasn't his fault. He never wanted anyone to get hurt he literally wanted to protect them. But in the end it seems like anything he does just hurts others more.

I don't really have anything interesting to say about the other books. I hated how everyone treated Five with 0 sympathy. He deserved better. It was kinda obvious in Fugitive Six that it was him working with Einar. I was glad to see him actually having friends and hanging out with people the way he was supposed to with the Garde.

It's sad that he always knew he wouldn't get along with the Garde. It must've been horrible to see his worst fear coming to life. I just wanted to hug him and tell him everything is gonna be okay :((

I don't know what to say about rtz. The authors didn't even bother to write about the Garde getting a new scar after his death. Nor did they give us any hints that he might be alive. It's like they just wanted to get rid of him so they don't have to write about him anymore.

I think I read the novellas after the main series. I read Five's Legacy first (obviously). It just made me love him even more. He's literally perfect in every way. I just wish he was a little more appreciated in the series.

[fatalroyale]

==> [S] Balit: Get the books

It was easy to disguise yourself as human after filing down your horns and caking on your makeup. And probably for the best that you did, considering that the task ahead of you would be much more difficult than preparing for a game of stabtag. And it was just as easy to wave at the camera as you left the house, just in case Treekat happened to be watching at that time.

It was much more difficult to overcome the mental hurdle once you were physically standing in front of the transportalizer. Were you really willing to return to the place you hadn't considered home in so long, but still felt too much like home anyways? You didn't owe this to anyone, and no one would know any the wiser if you turned back now. Despite that, you knew you had to do this. The pain of your not quite fully healed wound was tolerable, but you already hated all the aspects of your existence that demonhood brought even before the newer unpredictability of it all. And maybe, just maybe, you'd finally get the answers you'd been seeking from the angel for most of your existence.

When you snapped back into your old world, you felt… Nothing. It seemed like there should be some monumental seismic shift in your very personhood, but it didn't feel any different than traveling to Texas, or the forest, or whatever abandoned house was your latest haunt. So you relied on the triangulations you'd done to generate these coordinates and moved forwards to confirm your work. Seven steps up to the building, just like you remembered. Reaching out to touch the intricate woodwork in the door that had since been weathered down caused an itching sensation to blossom under your skin, and you pulled your hand away quickly. You weren't the same girl you'd been the last time you'd been here. So you nudged the door open with your foot to avoid further direct contact, and couldn't help the shudder as you stepped inside.

Muscle memory helped to push down the itch, so you slowly walked forward until you could slide into the fourth pew from the altar. You ducked your head down in feigned prayer, knowing perfectly well that the late hour didn't necessarily mean no one else was around. And sure enough, you were able to hear the sound of steps coming from the opposite direction of the main entrance, although it had been long enough that you were no longer able to remember what might lay ahead.

It became difficult to hold onto the memories of everything that happened after the priest showed up. You remember using the cover story you'd come up with (thanks to Treekat) about a supposed ancestor who may have authored some of the texts the church still had, and the laser focus you’d put into flirting with the priest that was just barely within the limits of what could be construed as honest friendliness. You remember being led into the back libraries of the church, where you spent an hour or so trying to mentally note down the locations of the books you wanted to take with you while the space between yourself and the priest seemed to shrink.

You don't remember thanking him for his time and leaving like you had laid out in your plan, but you assume you must have in order to end up back outside and dry heaving a short distance away. The sensation of flames was trapped beneath your skin wherever your body touched an object holier than you, but your body couldn’t purge itself of the all too familiar sensation. So instead, you snuck back into the library through the window you'd just so happened to knock the latch off of earlier.

Being inside the building the first time had been a building discomfort, but re-entering was an immediate blast of pain. You knew you weren't supposed to be here before, but now the white hot pain radiating from your stomach wound made it hard to think about anything else. You removed the collapsible grocery bags from your pockets and began throwing what you hoped were the right books into the bags, as well as any other books that were near them. The ache of your arm muscles from the weight as you squirmed back through the window was nothing in comparison to the partial relief from at least being back outside, and so you stumbled as quickly as possible towards the house that you'd cyberstalked checked on virtually to make sure you'd have a transportalizer back.

Once there though, you paused. Where were you going to go? You couldn't go back to the house right now and risk leading someone (or something) back there when you weren't in any state to fight or move everything to the new location. You couldn't stumble into Treekat's forest and risk being tracked there, and you certainly couldn't drop by Texas unannounced. But… There was one place that would still be safe for the time being, one that you'd memorized the coordinates for a long time ago.

It was easy to find the makeshift key you'd fashioned once upon a time to break into Futurekat's old apartment, and it felt familiar to be back inside after all this time. You immediately lock the door and drop your bags unceremoniously on the floor, then exhaustedly drag the table over and push it against the door. From there, you reach out to touch all the windows and make sure they're covered, which someone seems to thankfully have already done for you. The air is stale, and you can't help but wonder how long it's been since anyone was here last. Futurekat presumably hasn't been stopping in to change the bedding, but you were headed straight towards your preferred place to rest anyways. As you curl up in the empty bathtub and appreciate the cooling porcelain against the angry burning sensation of your flesh, you think about how fitting it is that you're here again. Even all these years later, you were still getting upset with him for not understanding you and yet still looking to some version of him for safety and comfort.

You were going to be better now though. Soon you would get back up, move on to your next location, and fix things.

[lilallama]

Imagine y/n being the most quietest person you know, but their secretly protective of the art club. They would silently glare at namjoon and avoids him the most out of the cooking club. They would also fight jungkook if they ever see him yelling at them, even though they know they will lost that fight.

Those damn brats! The cooking club was gathered in their clubroom. On the wooden table layed photos, letters and the members notebooks. A problem which they hadn't considered just presented itself.

"If I see one of those little brats swarm my Y/n-" Hoseok cleared his throat and gave Jeongguk a expectant look. Jeongguk snapped at him, "-MY Y/N, I will not hold back and kill a bitch. Five, to be exact! It's all day 'Y/n sunbaenim this, Y/n sunbaenim that'. Like how greedy for attention can these fucking bastards be!" Jimin nodded in agreement, "I couldn't even talk to them today! The last time I talked with them was 18 hours ago! How can I be expected to live under those conditions!"

"Fucking christ-" Taehyung glared at Hoseok, "I failed to consider that these kids might become a problem." Hoseok had become restless since he realised the severity of the problems the art club is causing. Y/n seemed to have taken on a protector role around them, shielding them from everyone else and not paying attention to the cooking club. Namjoon was equally, if not more, concerned. He never wanted to harm his younger brother before. To him Soobin was irrelevant. They didn't talk often, despite Soobin seeming to look up to him somehow. But he's proven himself to be a true threat. Under Y/n's protection, Namjoon has to be careful what he says to his younger brother. The dismissive and slightly annoyed tone he usually held when talking to his brother now made Y/n glare at him. His heart drops just by the mere thought. The first time it happened he felt like crying, like taping his own mouth shut, like ripping his hair out, like jumping off the school roof, like strangling his own brother to death. How dreadful.

Out of everyone Jeongguk was complaining the loudest. He's their childhood friend, but now these fuckers want to steal his spot! "Who do they they think they are! Just because they're tall they think they can do everything! Well let's see how they feel about that once I tear their eyes out of their sockets. First I'll knock them out by bashing their heads against the ground, and then-" "Calm down, Jeon. Or do you want the whole school to hear you planning murder." The youngest huffed and kicked his chair to the ground. "Ooh~ how threatening. You really showed that chair who's boss, eh?" The youngest glared at Seokjin's remark. "Don't hurt yourself, sweetie~" Seokjin continued to mock Jeongguk, only aggravating the youngest further. "You're only mad because they called my Prince/Princess 'hyung/noona' during fourth period. What a pathetically bland nickname." "Oh and prince/princess is any better?"

The fight went on for another 20 minutes untill hoseok threatened to withdraw both their Y/n privileges. It shut them up, for now. They tried forming a plan on how to get rid of the art club. Taehyung who had been unusually quiet the entire time was brooding over whether he was still of use to Y/n as a servant. "I am not brooding. I was merely thinking..." the others turn to him. "What are you talking about, Tae?" Jimin raised a brow at him. "Are you talking to yourself again?" After he so rudely interrupted the author, "Alright, I apologise..." he returned to thinking about Y/n. His dearest saviour. Would they no longer have any use for him? Now having five new servants... no! How ridiculous! He's irreplaceable. He is Y/n's greatest and most loyal servent. No one can compare to his devotion, especially not these over grown toddlers. That he'd make sure of.

The cooking club agreed to work together, to tolerate each other existence for the time being, but that didn't mean they'd tolerate the art club. So the next day they calmly aproached the art club just as planned- "Hey you bastards! Get the fuck away from my Y/n!" The five boys looked at him slightly confused. Jeongguk was so close to tackling Yeonjun when Y/n appeared. They eyed both clubs and threw Jeongguk a death glare, effectively shattering his heart. Huening Kai clung to Y/n's arm and stutter about how they Jeongguk just stormed towards them and was about to attack them. Which was absolutely true so Jeongguk couldn't really defend himself. Y/n's gaze got colder as they looked back at the cooking club, the youngest in particular. Usually Jeongguk would theive ubder any attention his childhood friend gives him, but not even he could misinterpret their expression. As Y/n took a step towards him, the members of the cooking club could the the amused glint in Huening Kai's eyes. Soobin just stared towards Y/n with a blank stare, observing their every move while the other three huddle together and fuzz over how cool Y/n is. Y/n stared the cooking club's youngest member right in his eyes and said, "If you want to pick a fight with them, you pick a fight with me. So if you've got anything to say, say it to my face, dumbass."

Everything stared towards them. The students around them expected a fight to break out. Jeongguk wasn't known as the guy you don't want to mess with for nothing. All the people he beat bloody, the bones he's broken, the fights he's emerged victorious from could not prepare anyone from what he then did.

Everything fell silent. Jeongguk clenched his fists and stared at the ground, his breath becoming uneven. And then... sobbing. The most feared guy in school now had tears streaming down his face as he gasped for air. "Why? Why don't you love me?" His voice was filled with desperation. Everyone, even his own members were caught off guard.

He dropped on his knees and started professing his love to them. After the original shock passed, Hoseok was furious. That kid just ruined everything. He earned himself every possible punishment they have. Originally the punishment for confessing to Y/n was death, but Hoseok will admit, Jeongguk is not a member they can afford to lose. And killing him will be more effort than it's worth. So he will be banned from seeing or interacting with Y/n for the next six months.

As if it wasn't insane enough that the Jeon Jeongguk was pleading on his knees for Y/n, Min Yoongi was the one to step forward and pull him up by his collar. Without saying a word he pulled Jeongguk away who was struggling, trying to get back to Y/n, but the others stopped him from escaping their grip. Yoongi was mad beyond belief, "What the fuck were you thinking, you moron."

Jeongguk would not only be humiliated for the rest of his school days by his peers (the newspaper club will gladly make sure no one forgets this anytime soon), but also be banned from seeing Y/n. No photos, no social media, no stalking. Prepare for six months of hell. Meanwhile the other members need to figure out how to fix this mess with the art club.

[one-joe-spoopy]

Yes it's a multi-planet, multidimensional universe. Originally it was limited to Earth but the further humanity spread the further the Otherworld sprawled. You describing it as the Backrooms is top-tier, it absolutely is, and I am making that official.

Juno could ask Jet to help him source organs for Peter, sure, but he's never sure which one of Jet's favors are free and which ones might cost him something he can't pay. So far Jet's been willing to help him but Juno doesn't know if it's because of Buddy and Rita or because Jet wants something in return and quite frankly he's too scared to ask.

Buddy has indeed gone to see the Warden, but with Jet because she doesn't want the Warden to possibly try and drag her into Purgatory. To her, it's dressed like one of the guards in her father's prison: black from throat to ankle, heavy boots, the same cheery, maddening tone of condescension that the voice modulator added, the certain feeling that there was nobody home behind those frosty green eyes. She never went to see it again because it couldn't help with finding Vespa, since technically Vespa never walked through its gates and she isn't dead.

The Warden is based on whatever the individual imagines an authority figure to look like (mostly related to prisons and werewolves, in Rita's case. No one knows why.)

Sarah did still call them "my little monsters" because that's what they were: her little monsters that took her real child's place, the one she truly loved and never saw again, the one that she wasn't even sure ever even existed. While she said out loud that she didn't see either of the twins as her children, she allowed Ben to have her love because sometimes, most of the time, if she didn't look at him or listen to his voice or acknowledge that he wasn't hers, she could fool herself into imagining that Benzaiten was really her baby and that the worlds didn't play a cruel joke on her already gnawed thin nerves.

I don't have any equivalents for Mag or Slip yet, but they do exist, I just have to think about them. Mick (human but there's a joke that some witch cursed his family generations ago and that's why he's such a failure and why everything goes wrong around him) and Sasha (human) (Annie still died, yeah, but "Annie" technically is still living with her family. Sasha isn't sure if she's lost her mind, or if this really was her Annie) and Dark Matters do. DM's in charge of keeping track of the Otherworlds and making sure to keep the tentative peace that already exists (with the added bonus of having handy holes to chuck people into for 'science'). The Kanagawas are magical and "blessed" and are technically all the same person torn apart over and over again to create duplicates, with a few unique exceptions (Cassandra and Cecil, for example—the same case as Juno and Benzaiten). By "blessed" I mean that someone in their family made a deal with something in exchange for magic and use it to create fucked-up monsters (like the Cameramen™ and the photocopied Kanagawas themselves).

I haven't fleshed out Juno and Peter entirely yet, but here's what I do have: Juno's been stalking Peter for two days and Peter's tired and feeling twitchy but not enough to do anything about it. Juno shoots him in the hip, makes sure he's down for a good while and then approaches. Half-human-skin Peter is pretty big at 6"5' and Juno is very impressed by the antlers (sure, Juno, the antlers. Of course it was the antlers that impressed you. Uh-huh, suuuuuure). Peter stares at him because what the absolute hell, I'm losing my touch, Mag was right and also because of the look in the hunter's alley-cat eyes, hungry and calculating. Juno carries him like a half-grown lamb, legs bundled up and Peter's blood warming his jacket. No idea what happens after but I am very much open to suggestions (this is a blatant request for suggestions, jsyk)

The rifle is a gift from someone, haven't decided who, but it's my favorite because it glows!!! And also because Rita added mini charms and her special signature! It's one of Juno's most prized possession.

Hey! So, uh, I have some more stuff for the fae-hunter jupeter au, if you'd like to hear it? Regarding some more about the background and things and the other characters and also some intrusive thoughts Juno has regarding the cannibalism?

Oh fuck yeah babey lay it on me. This is the best Steel Twin Birthday Present and no other holiday or event going on irl I could've woken up to ever! And also does it mean anything if I say I have more thoughts on my monster hunter au bc I have a lot of new thoughts about it

[dragon-kazansky]

Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 10

The very day the rest of the guards that Steve had contacted arrived. He gathered them for a meeting to brief them on the job. He was worried about the group that had taken you out of action for a while.

You had begun to suspect that Zemo knew exactly who they were and what they wanted, but he hadn't informed you about them at all. Since it wasn't deemed important enough for you to know, you didn't ask.

You had been excused from Zemo's side, reluctantly for him, to join Steve and Bucky outside.

The boys were stood with their hands behind the back watching the new lot get used to the grounds. It was important they knew their way around.

You came up beside Steve.

"Morning."

"Morning, Y/N," he smiles.

"How is it being Zemo's personal bodyguard?" Bucky asks.

You chuckle. "So far so good. No issues to report."

"And in the romance department?" Bucky asks, grinning like a fool.

"Non existent, Buck. Don't be silly," you scold him.

Steve is smiling.

"Not you too, Rogers."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I think Bucky is right. I honestly believe the Baron may have feelings for you."

"Why would he? He hated me when we met."

"You saved his life," Bucky reminds you, "that is plenty enough to change a point of view on someone."

You sigh.

"I suppose."

You knew it was probably true just from the way he had been treating you. You felt less like a bodyguard and more like a guest. Even you could tell he was reaching for any excuse to keep you near him.

You would just go back to being the professional you were and decline politely, having excuses of your own to do other things.

He was your boss.

"Nothing is going to happen, so no point in bringing it up any more," you tell them.

"You sound so sure of that," Bucky says.

"Because I am."

Neither one of them mentions it further. The new group finish their tour of the outside grounds, and it's here you decide to go back inside, leaving Steve and Bucky to show them the rest.

Bucky watches you go, feeling bad about teasing you, but also not because he knows it's true.

You pass Natasha on tour way back inside.

"Can I join you?" She asks.

"I don't see why not," you chuckle.

The pair of you walk in perfect sync as you head upstairs. The house is quiet as you walk your usual route.

"Are you not scared they'll come back?" She asks, looking at you from the corner of her eye. Natasha had been worried sick after you were rushed off to hospital. There hadn't been much word about your status until they all got back to the hotel. She was scared it was going to end badly.

Then they heard you were stable and she let out the biggest sigh of relief. It painted them that they couldn't all come and visit you, but Steve assured them you were on the mend.

You sigh softly.

"Honestly, yes."

Natasha didn't miss the way you reached u pro your shoulder for just a moment. Obviously it bothered you everytime that day was mentioned.

"But in here to do a job and I'll do it again if i have to. My life for his."

"It's a reckless job, isn't it?"

You smile softly. "Yes, it is, but it is also the most rewarding. We are duty bound to protect someone and I did just that."

She smiles.

"And I'm sure you'll be rewarded handsomely for it too."

You narrow you eyes at her, lips tugging into a frown.

"What do you mean by that?"

She laughs a little. "The Baron fancies you, perhaps your reward is, well, him."

"You too? Natasha, no! I just told Steve and Bucky off for this. Even if he does like me, I won't peruse it. I'm here to do a job, Natasha. He trusts me with his life."

"Maybe he just wants to keep you close to him."

"You're being ridiculous," you sigh.

The pair of you reach Zemo's office. You stop outside and turn to your dear friend.

"Trust me, nothing is going to happen here."

She looks sceptical, but Natasha doesn't say anything and just nods once. She gestures to the door and leaves silently.

You hold your head up high and knock on the door.

"Come in."

You open the door and enter. The door closes gently behind you, and then you make your way over to the Baron to stand behind him.

You ignore the way he watches you do so. You can feel his eyes on you as you pass him.

Helmut hides his smile as he looks back down at his work. He was glad you were here. He had missed your presence in the room. You had this calming affect for him and he noticed it greatly when you were gone.

He hadn't got very far with his work. For every time you leave him, his mind lingers on you. He wonders what you'll do, where you'll go, if you think of him as he does you.

Whenever he thought about that last part, his heart was skip a beat.

Zemo's thoughts came to a halt when another knock sounded at his door. He gave them permission to enter.

A maid enters. One you've seen around the estate. She is carrying a tray with a tea set on it. The maid approaches the desk and places the tray down. Helmut thanks her quietly and she then excuses herself.

Helmut pours himself a cup.

You admire the little tea set. It's all matching. All made from china. White with flowers painted onto them in an intricate design. Simple, yet classy.

Too busy admiring the teacups, you only just realise he is pouring another cup.

"Sit."

You glance at him quickly. He was obviously talking to you as you were the only other person in the room. Not wanting to argue with him, you take a seat opposite him, all while keeping your wits about you just in case.

Helmut places the other teacup in front of you. You stare at it.

"For you," he chuckles softly.

"Um, thank you, sir."

You accept it. You sip the hot contents of the cup and hum softly. It was very nice. You hide your smile behind your cup, hoping he wasn't looking at you right now.

Problem is, he is always looking at you when you're within his eyeline.

"How did you get into this line of work?" He asks, desperate to get you to open up to him. He wanted to know about you, hear you say more than a few words to him.

"Steve Rogers is a dear friend of mine. He was looking for recruits back when the agency was just starting. I told him I was interested, but I had no training. He assured me that was alright and introduced me to Natasha. She became my mentor. Everything I know, I learned from Nat. Within the first month of my employment, I received my first assignment. I've been a bodyguard ever since."

He smiled. This was progress. You were opening up to him and he was happy.

"Then I should thank Mr. Rogers and Miss. Romanoff," he says, smiling softly.

"Thank them?"

"If not for them, I wouldn't have such a hard working and efficient bodyguard."

"With all due respect, sir, you didn't think that way when we met."

His smile fades. Of course you wouldn't forget about that. First impressions are important and he had ruined it by thinking lesser of you.

You must really hate him for that.

Perhaps he didn't stand a chance with you after all.

"Yes, well, opinions can change," he said, lowering his cup onto it's saucer on the desk.

"Your opinion changed because I took a dee bullets for you. Your opinion changed because I did my job and saved your life."

Normally you would never talk back to your employer, but you wanted him to know how he made you feel.

"I apologise."

"Apologies are unnecessary when I'm doing my duty," you tell him.

"Do you ever not think of your duty?"

"No. When I'm working, all there is to think about is the job."

Helmut looks at you with a longing gaze, not that you see it as such.

"Are you happy?" He asks. The question startles you.

"Happy?"

"Happy doing your duty? Happy putting your life before others. Do you not think your life as important compares to those you serve and protect?"

You stare at him blankly.

"My purpose is to put my life before others. I do what I do because I'm good at it. It is my job to put myself before others in dangerous situations. I wouldn't want to do anything else. I'm here to keep you safe, sir."

Silence falls between you.

All you think about your job and for some reason he hates that fact. Right here in front of him, you aren't your own person, you're someone who lay down their life for whoever employs them.

Once upon a time he had happily felt the same, laying down his life for his country, but things changed. He changed.

"Anything you want, just say the word and I'll get it for you. I want you to be happy in my home."

Our home. He wanted to say our home, but that felt far too personal, even of you were living here now.

You put your cup down and stand up.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I have to make my rounds."

You leave before he can say anything.

Helmut stares at your half empty teacup. He sighs. The most you had ever said to him, and he had only managed to upset you further. Judging by the way you left, he may have offended you.

His heart was going crazy.

"Why must romance be so difficult?" He sighed, sitting back in his chair.

He just wanted to know you. What a fool he was.

Sitting there in silence, he made a silent promise to make it up to you. He had a mission of his own now.

Helmut Zemo had accepted that he liked you, and now he just had to win you over. He would start tomorrow, when the day was fresh and today could be forgotten.

He was going to show you who he was underneath the title of Baron.

Helmut Zemo was going to win over your heart.

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol @hb8301 @the-chaotic-cow @mssennimatilda @uncomfortablebagel @fictionlandslanddreams

[eryiss]

Summary: Forced to be sociable by his so called friends, Laxus finds himself attending a five week cooking class. An insulting and stupid idea, and one he resents them for doing. He would have thrown it in their faces, if it weren’t for the smug prick teaching the class, with his handsome face, delectable body, and annoyingly enticing way of keeping Laxus on his toes. [Fraxus One Shot]

Notes: Hi. I wrote this on my phone while sitting on the beach, so who knows how it’ll turn out. But it’s got them both being cocky, both being flirty, and both being in love, so what else could you want. Hope you all enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3

Set To Boil

Or: 4 Times Freed taught Laxus a recipe, & 1 time Laxus returned the favour

Week One - Pizza

"Laxus, you need to get out more."

"Laxus, there's no reason for you not to give it a try."

"Laxus, you're an antisocial brat and you need to get out more."

Fuck them all. Fuck Evergreen for her haughty sense of self belief. Fuck Bickslow for having no tact and being and coming up with good points. Fuck Makarov in particular, for being a rude old coot who threatened to change the damn lock. And when Laxus found out which of the interfering bastards had been the one to come up with this stupid idea, then fuck them too.

It was ridiculous. Yes, perhaps Laxus had become somewhat insular as of late. Maybe his friends had been putting in more effort than him as of late, but it was important. He was newly hired in his sports journalism career, and he needed to focus on his writing.

What he did not need was a five week cooking course!

Why the hell did cooking courses even exist anymore? If you wanted to learn to cook, there was this brilliant new invention called a computer. They had hundreds of step by step recipes, none of which required Laxus to trudge through a damn rec-centre at eight at night!

Seriously, fuck them all.

He was late, too. The bus had missed his stop, and as such he was now ten damn minutes late. He was half-tempted to leave the rec-centre before he found his classroom - Ever, Bicks and Makarov wouldn't find out if he didn't use the damn voucher, after all - but then he would have to spend the next five weeks thinking of ways to pass the time every Thursday night. He really needed to move out of Makarov's damn apartment; the old bastard apparently had nothing better to do than to keep tabs on him. Bastard.

He was in front of the classroom door before he knew it, and he faulted. Dammit, why had he agreed to do this? Why couldn't the bus have gotten him there on time? Why was he nervous about this?

No; he was a grown man dammit. Fuck his nerves,

With false confidence, he walked into the classroom. Eight benches, all with sinks, ovens, cooktops, an array of cutlery and equipment, and a basket of ingredients filled the space. Five people stood behind some of the benches, and Laxus somewhat guilty slinked towards the nearest bench, at the back of the classroom.

"Mr Dreyar, I presume," A voice, deliciously smooth with underlying authority, made Laxus pause.

He looked up to see a man standing at the front of the room, behind a larger and more professional looking cooking worktop, and Laxus paused. If you were to encapsulate all of Laxus' ideal qualities in a man, his new teacher was apparently as close a person could come. Tall, obviously with some muscle, tight and sharp facial features, a little pale, and with long hair. He wore a button up shirt that hugged his form, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off a near-indecent amount of his forearms. He was quirking his eyebrow towards Laxus, and he felt ensnared by the expression.

Dammit, of course. Almost every other cooking class in the country would inevitable be taught by a homely housewife or a tedious Ramsay wannabe, but not his. He gets a stud with veiny forearms, high cheekbones, and narrowed eyes that made Laxus shiver.

He couldn't justify it, but Laxus was inclined to blame his grandfather for that.

"There's a bench up here, if you'd like to take it," The teacher said, motioning towards one of the cooking stations at the front of the room. Laxus cringed; even in school, he'd been one of the kids who sat at the back. That wasn't a habit he was ready to lose.

"I'd rather stay here, if it's all the same to you," Laxus mumbled, annoyed at himself for not speaking clearly. There was something about teachers that just… what did you call someone who intimidated you but also kind of excited you at the same time?

God, this was going to be awful.

"And I prefer it if my students arrived to my lessons on time," The teacher smirked a little, and Laxus almost stuttered in search of a reply. "And, as tends to happen with a student who shows up late on the first day, you'll likely act out further. As such, I want you close by so I can keep you on the straight and narrow," He tapped his finger on the surface twice. "This counter, please."

Though only a few steps, the walk to the counter at the front of the room was humiliating, it served to make the asshole teacher appear less hot, if nothing else. Because Laxus definitely did not like a man who knew how to be firm with him.

This was going to be hell, wasn't it?

At his assigned counter, Laxus felt a little lost. Nestled in the ingredients was a recipie - they were making pizza, apparently - and Laxus slightly found himself floundering. The cooking lessons weren't just to make him more sociable; he had no idea how to cook.

The teacher, who was looking at him from behind his work surface, sighed and approached Laxus. In his hand, he held a chopping board with what appeared to be a large mound of dough. He placed it before Laxus, who drowned down at it.

"Normally I would have taught you how to make dough yourself, but my plan's require the full hour," The teacher said, as if that was an explanation. "Rather than you lagging behind and not getting the whole experience, you should start from the same point everyone else is at. So put yourself to work and start to kneed this. It'll require a few more minutes to get to the right consistency."

Laxus looked down at the dough, grinding his teeth. Kneeding was rubbing it, right? And occasionally you punch it? That didn't sound right.

"Like this," The teacher said, pulling the chopping board towards him. He started to kneed the dough - it wasn't what Laxus thought it was - and the attraction came back with a sudden force. God dammit, why did his sleeves have to hug his biceps like that? That just wasn't fair.

The dough was pushed towards him again, and Laxus rolled up his sleeves and started to emulate what the teacher had done. The teacher didn't leave, and Laxus squirmed a little under, and found himself speaking to fill the silence.

"I ain't gonna learn, y'know," His mouth said before his brain could intercept. "Don't give a shit about cooking."

That a'boy Laxus. Turn up late, fail at a basic thing, and insult the guy's career. Real classy.

"You will." The teacher said, as if it were undeniable.

"I will?" Laxus scoffed.

"You will," The teacher repeated, smirking, "Once you realise what a good home cooked meal taste like, you'll be desperate to learn what else you can do."

"You seem awfully confident about that…" He drifted off; he didn't even know the damn guys name,

"Freed," The teacher supplied. "And I am confident. You'll love cooking by the end of it. I'm sure."

"You talk a big game," Laxus chuckled a little. He almost forgot he was kneeding the dough, but Freed looked down at his hands and grinned a little, which got Laxus to pause. Just because he was kneeding dough it didn't mean he cared; it was basically a workout. That was all, and Freed needed to know that. "If you're that sure, then I'm gonna insist you eat everything I make, no matter how shitty it turns out to be."

"So long as you don't sabotage yourself on purpose, I can agree to that."

Well, Laxus had slightly wanted to make Freed eat combinations of food that tasted like crap, but this could work. Laxus really was that bad of a cook, Freed might not be able to know the difference.

"Deal," Laxus nodded, offering Freed a hand to shake. The chef did so immediately, with a firm squeeze and… oh damn, those veins!

——

Week Two - Curry

Laxus had been right. Even putting in the effort and following the recipie as best he could, he was still a shitty cook. Unless, of course, a curry was meant to be accompanied by a waft of dark, burning smoke when you opened up the oven. Laxus coughed a little as he removed the dish from the oven, placing it on the counter top while shutting the oven door with his foot,

Freed was storming over immediately, flapping at the smoke with a dish towel and immediately turnoff the extractor fan on to suck up the smoke before it reached the detector. He had previously been working with a pink haired bastard, who was snickering at Laxus' failure. Asshole.

"What on earth did you do to it?" Freed demanded, more confused than angry.

"I followed her recipe," Laxus retorted indignantly. "Can't blame me."

"Everyone else has the same recipe and they've managed fine," Freed muttered under his breath. "Explain to me what happened."

Laxus bit down the instinct to tell Freed to choke on something, patronising ass that he was. He had made a deal with Freed the week prior that he would do what he could to make the most of the lessons, and he would enjoy knowing how to make a few meals, so admitting his mistakes was something that he would have to do. Even if it was to a smug, ego-centred teacher who Laxus could definitely take in a fight without breaking a sweat,

Maybe he should suggest some boxing lessons. Laxus had given up pro fighting the year before, but kept it up for fun. If Freed was acting like Laxus was stupid for not knowing the basics of cooking, Laxus would act like Freed was stupid when he didn't understand how to box.

Fantasising about punching Freed in the stomach - which was no doubt toned and sexy as hell - made talking through the process easier. Freed wore a slight frown, apparently not seeing anything wrong with what he had done. Laxus was about to boast that he was right, and that it was Freed's instructions that had gotten the burned pile of mush that filled the room with smoke, but Freed's expression turned to one of understanding when he looked at the oven,

"These work on Celsius, you set it as though you were using Fahrenheit," Freed explained. "You essentially nuked it."

Fuck. God-fucking-dammit!

He could have dealt with it if he was unable to do some cooking thing he'd never had to use before. But this? Misreading a piece of paper and setting the wrong temperature on the damn oven, how the hell had he managed to do that? It was humiliating! He was a grown ass adult, a retired sportsman who was forging a career to be respected. But an oven had made him look like an idiot who couldn't do anything for himself. Fucking brilliant.

With clenched fists, he rested against the workbench and leant on it with closed eyes. This was why he didn't do shit like this; he needed to keep in his lane and do what he was good at. Not cook, not have this weird hate-boner for his teacher. None of this.

"How soon after the class do you need to leave?" Freed asked, cutting through Laxus' spiralling thoughts. He frowned, but answered.

"Don't have any plans after."

"If we start again, we can have you finished ten minutes after class. That way it won't be an act of futility," Freed said, and rolled his damn sleeves up again. Thankfully he was moving around the counter, turning the oven down and fiddling with appliances fast enough to stop Laxus' eyes from lingering. "I can teach you how to spice things to your own tastes, as well. Normally that's next week, but I can advance you for your troubles."

"Advance me?" Laxus frowned. "Kinda need to be good at the basics first."

"You are, everything you said was correct. You made a small mistake that I should have noticed," Freed shrugged, walking to the counter he taught from and taking a box of ingredients to place on Laxus' desk. "I thought you'd learn better left to your own devices, and while I expect that was true, I shouldn't have left you alone. That was my mistake and as such, I'll amend it. We'll make a curry suited towards your tastes."

This was an olive branch, Laxus was sure of it. Freed had apparently noticed Laxus' shift of mood, and took the blame for Laxus' mistake. He was thankful of it, but it was still embarrassing.

Thankfully, a way of saving face had presented itself.

"I don't know if I can believe ya," He said with a small, somewhat forced smirk. "I mean, you don't have a record for keeping promises, do ya?"

"Don't I?"

"You told me you'd eat some of everything I made," Laxus shrugged, looking towards his pot of 'curry' that lay stagnant in the pot. It was grey, somehow. Food shouldn't be grey. "That was a lie."

Freed sighed, but didn't back down. He pulled a dessert spoon from one of the drawers, carefully scooped up some of the ruined mush and brought it towards his lips; damn they were pretty. He openly winced at the smell, swallowing preemptively as it got closer to his mouth. He glanced towards Laxus for a split second, who was watching him with crossed arms expectantly, and let out a resigned sigh. He opened his mouth, took in the spoon, then ate.

First he gagged, then he coughed, then he struggled to swallow. Even though Laxus had worked hard, and a small part of him thought Freed was exaggerating, he laughed at the reaction. Freed was fighting to keep the burned, disgusting food down. Once completely swallowed, he turned to Laxus with a wince.

"Delicious," He lied, trying to hide how thoroughly unhappy he was.

"If that's the case, there's plenty more," Laxus smirked, and Freed actually winced. That, of course, spurred Laxus on further. This was more fun than cooking. "Eat up, I don't mind."

Freed seemed to think for a moment, before standing up straight, rolling his back, and doing something Laxus never would have expected. He pulled out a plate and a ladle, scooped a portion large enough to fill two fully grown adults would struggle to finish no matter what the taste, and placed it on the countertop as if it was something to be proud of.

"A deal," Freed proposed. "I want to teach you one on one for the rest of the session. No distractions, no changing the subject, simply me telling you how to cook. Essentially, until you've cooked something successfully, I want your full attention."

Laxus nearly scoffed, Freed already had that. Instead, he said: "What's my 'delicious' curry got to do with that."

"If you make an attempt to distract me, to get out of lessons in some way, or continue with the mindset that this course is not suited to you, then for the rest of your time learning under me, you'll stay after class and clean everyone's dishes until I'm satisfied with the result."

Laxus winced a little. "And if I don't do any of that."

"I'll eat all of this," He motioned to the plate of ruined food. "And you may watch me do it."

Thinking for a moment, Laxus grinned. "Your funeral," He then glances at the food and winced. "Possibly literally."

Freed waved off the comment, stood beside Laxus with his new range of ingredients, and began explaining the basics of how to get a flavour you desired from your ingredients. On instinct Laxus wanted to taunt the man, suggesting the best way to get a flavour was with a take-out menu, but he managed to stop himself before the words slipped out. Mainly it was to avoid four weeks of dish washing, but also because he hasn't seen Freed like this. He was passionate when he spoke about cooking, and Laxus didn't want to ruin that.

And when Freed's arm slid against Laxus' as they moved, somehow at the same moment Freed looked at him with a genuine smile, Laxus felt shivers roll over him. This was… there were worse ways to spend a Thursday evening.

——

Week Three - Chicken Soup

"Y'know, if you're gonna make such a big deal about-" Laxus cut himself off. Holy shit.

He had been ready to blast into Freed about puntuality. Laxus had gotten to the class on time, only to see that Freed was not there. Eight minutes into the lesson, the door had opened, and Laxus was fully intending to lambast Freed about how much of a big deal it was when Laxus was late, and yet Freed was just as bad. He only stopped when he saw the state Freed was in. Because dammit, the man was drenched to the bone.

What the hell had happened to him? Sure it was raining, but Laxus knew he had a car, and surely the walk from the parking lot to the building hadn't been that bad. He looked like he'd gotten into a fight with a lake and lost.

"Everyone to your work stations please," Freed instructed, removing his coat as he walked to the front of the class. "I apologise for being late, but it shouldn't be too much of an imposition if we all focus."

Laxus was focusing. Focusing on the fact Freed's white shirt was clinging to his chest, showing off strong pecs and the taunting glimpse of a six-pack. It was a temp tight sight, and far too indecent for a classroom setting.

He shook his thoughts away. He needed to focus, because last week's lesson had proved a lot of things. One: Freed was willing to eat a whole plate full of disgusting food to prove a point, which wasn't relevant but Laxus still thought funny to think about him gagging and going green. Two: Freed was actually a damn good teacher, he just apparently hadn't know what Laxus needed from him until the latter half of the class. Three: Laxus actually could cook, if taught well. Because the second curry he'd made was indescribable, and it had tasted just as good when Laxus had cooked it two nights prior.

So, the lessons were actually working, and Laxus decided he was going to fully allow himself to be a student. Groping the teacher with his eyes wasn't going to help that, so Laxus remained quiet and let Freed explain the lesson.

To learn how to flavour things correct, they would all be making a series of different soups throughout the hour. Five basic recipes has been placed on their workspaces, and an entire array of spices, ingredients and flavourings had been scattered through the room. The point of the exercise was to follow the recipes, but also put other ingredients into their soups while doing it so that they can experiment with flavours. It was pretty smart, and Laxus felt like he had an advantage given Freed's impromptu lesson with spices the week before.

Once Freed stopped talking, they began cooking, and Laxus felt oddly confident in himself.

About ten minutes into the exercise, Freed made his way to Laxus' workstation. Wordlessly, he picked up a plastic ladle and scooped out a small amount of the soup Laxus had cooking. Laxus watched with only a small amount of anticipation as Freed brought the soup to his lips and swallowed it, and didn't focus on the flipping of his stomach as Freed smiled at him.

"It's very good," he praised, and Laxus did not preen at the words.

"Thanks," He muttered instead. "Any advice?"

Freed smiled a little at the request, placing the ladle in the small sink. "I'd use sea salt from now on, it'll bring out the flavour of the chicken more. But your instincts have served you well, it works very well together."

"Oh, thanks," Laxus mumbled awkwardly, and Freed didn't help by leaning over the table to look at Laxus' recipe, bring their faces far too close. Thank god the heat of the room has fixed the slight transparency of Freed's shirt, because knowing about the body below the clothes was tempting enough with him this close. If he could see the man's body, he might explode.

"You've put everything you've added onto this, haven't you?" Freed asked, tapping the recipe that had Laxus notes covering it. Laxus nodded weakly. "Then, if you can recreate it as it is now,I then it's time to experiment. Pick something at random to add and see what it tastes like. If it's bad, remake what you've already done."

"Anything huh?" Laxus quirked a brow. "You know you have to eat it, right? You wanna give me this much freedom after last week?"

"So long as you choose your ingredients thinking it will taste good, I'll uphold my agreement," Freed shrugged. "Though I must admit, I'd prefer not to spend the night with stomach cramps and a bucket beside my bed again, if avoidable."

Laxus barked out a laugh. "Kinda thought I'd killed ya when you didn't show up on time. What happened?"

"My car's broken down," Freed explained, looking over the herbs Laxus had added. "It took longer to get here than I expected."

"You walked in this?" Laxus glanced towards the heavy rainfall beating down on the windows.

"Indeed," Freed nodded. "Not my smartest decision."

Laxus winced a little at a roll of thunder exploded outside, apparently trying to make sure Freed knew just how stupid his decision had been. Freed didn't seem too bothered by it, though, and instead walked towards the old woman who worked behind Laxus, tasting her version of tomato soup and giving her advice on how to give it an extra kick.

The rest of the lesson continued on like that. Freed would work his way around the room, helping where he could. Laxus experimented on his soup, finding parmasean to be the missing ingredient.

Freed actually licked his damn lips after trying that. Did he know what he was doing to Laxus?

Once the lesson was over, the storm still lighting up the sky, Laxus walked to the door of the rec-centre. Freed was lingering there, wrapped up in a large red coat and clearly not looking forward to his walk home. Laxus understood that; the rain was so hard it probably would hurt to be under it.

"I'll drive ya home," Laxus said, his tone not leaving room to argue.

"What?" Freed asked. "No, that's not-"

"Didn't give you a choice, did I?" Laxus crossed his arms.

"You intend to kidnap me?" Freed joked.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "If you walk out in that, you're gonna get sick for no reason other than your own stubbornness. If that happens, the. Eat I can do for you is give you the recipe for this," he patted the container of chicken soup he held, "but I kinda think driving you might make more sense."

Freed considerd before speaking. "I insist on paying for gas, at least."

"Course you will, I ain't a cheap date."

The words came before Laxus could stop himself, and a flush of worry spread through him. Freed simply laughed, murmured a teasing "I expect not," and walked towards the door. He held it open for Laxus to walk through, and with a small grin, Laxus did so, with Freed by his side.

When the rain hit them, Laxus didn't care, and it certainly didn't diminish the silly smile that he hoped Freed couldn't see.

——

Week Four - Meringues

"What are you looking at, Laxus?"

Freed seemed amused as he spoke, and he walked towards Laxus' working area. Laxus had been trying to catch his teacher's eye for around a minute, with probably a stupid little grin on his face. He couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed about being caught out.

The drive home with Freed has been a long one - thirty minutes in the car; how long would it have been if he'd walked! - and they'd talked throughout. Laxus had learned that, until recently, Freed had been a professional chef for the TV show 'Sabertooth Chefs', a cooking competition watched by millions. He was off camera, making the meals that the celebrity judges claimed they had cooked to use as an example for their contestants. Apparently he quit because of a lack of passion.

That, and apparently Rufus Lore - the judge he cooked for - was obnoxious and could barely bake a loaf of bread if left on his own.

Laxus spoke about his own life. How he'd felt obligated to quit his pro-boxing career after a nasty head wound that resulted in his scar. How he was now a freelance writer who did sports analysis for some of the sports magazines and websites. Freed had seemed impressed, and claimed he'd watch out for his work.

They were closer now, and as such Laxus felt comfortable joking with him.

"I've got a question," he said when Freed was close. "You said you'd taste everything I cook, right? Well, for food, tasting something means you're experiencing it, right?"

"I suppose," Freed agreed, though seemed to know he was walking into a trap.

"Well, with meringues, you showed us that trick, right," Laxus smirked. "Where if you've made it correctly, you can turn the bowl over and the mixture won't fall out."

"Yes," Freed was wary now.

"Well, you also said for the best experience," he put emphasis on the word, "then you tip it up over your head. If you've done it right, it stays in the bowl. If you ain't, it covers ya."

"I did say that," Freed muttered.

"Well, if you're gonna experience everything I make, surely you should do it." He smirked; and pushed the bowel of mixture towards him.

Freed looked down, resignedly.

Then he perked up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a coin. He flipped it with flair and caught it, covering it before either of them could see the result.

"Heads or tails?" He requested, and Laxus chuckled.

"Heads."

Freed removed his hand, and Laxus let out a cry of triumph. He nudged the bowel towards Freed, grinning wide and ridiculous as Freed openly sighed. Laxus crossed his arms to hurry the man up, and it seemed to work.

With quick, resigned movements, Freed lifted the bowel. The thick white mixture jiggled slightly, and Freed turned it upside down above his head before he could stop himself.

And… it stayed in place.

For a moment, Freed seemed to be wincing in anticipation, before a look of triumph flooded onto his face. He turned the bowel back over and placed it on the counter.

"Kinda anticlimactic," Laxus said, picking up a spoon.

"But it means you did it correctly," Freed smiled. "You can take solace in that."

"Guess so," Laxus nodded. "Or I could do this."

With neither showmanship nor hesitation, Laxus used the spoon so scoop a dollop of the mixture up and flicked it towards Freed's face. For a moment, all Freed could do was blink, and Laxus burst into stifled laughter.

It had splattered over his lips, nose, and left cheek. Equal parts ridiculous and oddly attractive.

"Mister Dreyar," Freed spoke calmly, but he was trying to hide a smile. "I will be seeing you after class."

He turned away. Laxus snickered.

Although it was tempting to be a dick for the rest of the lesson, Laxus behaved himself. This was the only lesson that they did on desserts, and Laxus wanted to learn. That, and he felt Freed wasn't going to take his little prank lying down, so he probably shouldn't piss him off further.

When everyone else was gone, and Laxus was left alone with Freed, there was a moment of quiet. He motioned for Laxus to approach the desk. Laxus did so.

He was hit in the face by a spurt of ketchup.

It continued, splattering across his face. He gasped, and Freed apparently aimed for his mouth at the moment. It was a stupid moment, not helped by the noise the bottle was making, and eventually the spray died out.

Neither man spoke for a moment.

They both started laughing at the same time, and Freed handed Laxus a napkin to clean himself with.

"You're an asshole, you know that right?" Laxus said with mirth in his voice. "You still got the balls to want a ride from me again?"

"Is the offer still available?" Freed chuckled.

"Sure, just as long as you don't mind me getting some glue and those decorative feather things from a store on the way back," Laxus smirked. "There's a smug asshole who needs to be tarred and fathered."

"Perhaps I'll get the bus," Freed grinned, then frowned a little. Perhaps without thinking, he reached up and stroked Laxus' cheek to rid it of a remaking fleck of sauce.

They both halted, frozen for a moment, and Laxus' mind was set alight. In that moment he knew one thing for sure; he couldn't let Freed go.

——

Week Five - Solyanka

"That will be all for our time together," Freed said, standing at the front of the class. "I hope you all enjoyed your time together, and that you've all learned something. At the risk of promoting myself, I have other courses available that last longer and offer more flexibility with what you'll cook, if you want to further your culinary pursuits. If not, then it was a pleasure working with you all, and I wish you well in your endeavours."

It was weird seeing Freed using his teaching voice; the things he said weren't Freed-like. It was kind of funny.

Laxus hung back when the rest of the class funnelled out. Some of them spoke to Freed before leaving, orbits just left, but Laxus decided to hang back and wait. As he did, he pulled out a small plastic tub from a bag he'd brought with him, waiting for Freed to take note. Once everyone was gone, Freed saw him still standing at the end of his cooking surface.

"Laxus," He said, and he seemed pleased Laxus was still there. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, just wasn't ready to leave yet," Laxus passed it off as a joke, but the stopped himself. "I, Erm, well, there's this recipe my family's been making for years. Generations, actually. Just wanted to know what you think."

"You want me to critique a family recipe?" Freed frowned.

No. No he didn't. He wanted to share something with Freed that was important to Freed. It was ridiculous to think, but this old Russian dish was something he had loved for his life, and he wanted Freed to love it too. It seemed stupid now he was thinking about it, but they only really had food in common right now, and Laxus felt like it was his turn to add something to the conversation.

"It's called Solyanka," Laxus said instead of answering the question. "It's a soup. For sausages, olives, cabbage. A lot of things, really."

Laxus didn't say anything else, and picked out a pot from the cupboards to place on the stove. He emptied the contents of the container into the pot and stated to bear it up.

"It tastes better when it's not been reheated but-"

"It smells beautiful," Freed said, cutting through Laxus' backtracking. "And I'm sure it will taste just as good."

"Thanks," Laxus mumbled a little.

As they waited for the soup to heat, there was a comfortable quiet between them both. Freed seemed engrossed in the cooking - the growing scent, the occasional stirring - and it gave Laxus the chance to watch him. He had known Freed was hot from the moment he'd seen him, but he was also fucking beautiful. His hair was pulled out and flowing over his shoulders, and his expression was calm and relaxed.

Laxus was glad he had done this, suddenly. He would have regretted it. This couldn't be the end of his relationship with Freed; it just couldn't.

He went to speak, but Freed went first.

"I think it's time to take it off the heat," He said gently, as if wanting to avoid offending Laxus by telling him how to cook his meal. Laxus quickly removed the pot from the heat.

With now familiar movements, Laxus pulled out two bowls and poured them both a portion. Laxus sat on one of the stools, waiting a little nervously as he saw Freed spoon some of the soup up and take it into his mouth.

"Wow," Freed whispered. "It's incredible."

Pride bloomed inside Laxus, and he didn't tamper it down. This piece of Laxus had pleased Freed. It had made Freed smile such a brilliant smile that it was like a shot to the heart. He was speechless, and Freed spoke again.

"You're incredible, Laxus," he said with equal sincerity.

"What?" Laxus frowned slightly.

"You're incredible, Laxus," Freed repeated, smiling now. "You've made these five weeks remarkably fun for me, and I'm sad to see you go."

"I'm sad to be going," Laxus mumbled, unused to speaking honestly about these kinds of things. "These have been… the best part of my week."

"Mine too," Freed admitted, and the words sent lighting throughout him.

There had been a small part of Laxus that had thought it had been in his head. He felt like he and Freed had been steadily growing closer and closer, in a way that couldn't exactly be called platonic. It felt like this was the moment where a choice had to be made. Laxus could either hide from his feelings, as he had often done in his life, or he could take the dive. Just like he'd done when he had quit his job. Just like he'd done when he'd come to the class in the first place. Just like he should have been doing all his life.

Freed was going to speak, but the urge to act overtook Laxus and he moved before it could dwindle. He launched himself toward, took Freed by the back of the neck, and kissed him.

It wasn't perfect, but the imperfection made it better.

The feeling of the desk jutting into his hip might have been a bother, but it was nothing compared the the brilliance of soft lips moving against his own.

The lingering spice on Freed's tongue could have been a distraction, but it only added to the searing sensation flying through him.

The scent of Laxus' Solyanka might have drawn focus, but instead it nudged with Freed's cologne and created a beautiful feeling of mingled familiarity and uniqueness.

This was the type of kiss that was unforgettable.

Freed's hand was grazing the back of Laxus' neck, scratching at the usually untouched skin in a way Laxus was tempted to put at. He smiled a dopey smile, leaning further into the kiss.

When they pulled apart, breathless and smiling, they couldn't look away from each other.

"Don't know how this works with a chef," Laxus began in a whisper. "Don't wanna offend your sense of pride, but d'you maybe wanna get a bite to eat some place?"

For a stagnant second, that felt like an eternity to Laxus, Freed didn't say anything.

"I'd love that," Freed nodded a little, though his head still rested against Laxus'. "So long as you don't mind me critiquing everything?"

The joke was trumped by the honesty in his voice. Freed really wanted it!

"I can deal with that."

They shared a quiet, private smile. One that promised excitement, passion, and if Laxus allowed himself to be optimistic, perhaps a future as well.

[mochikeiji]

You Found Me

↠ Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader

↠ Warning: none, fluffy for my boy akaamshi uwu Writer!Reader, Aged Up characters.

↬ Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: He was just a fictional character, how can you be foolish enough to believe he were to be reincarnated and to be born in the same world as you live in? Will it even be possible for him to notice you in billions of people and far places?

⇢ Day 1: Reincarnation

You loved him.

More than words can describe.

"Love." can never be enough to portray the amount of adoration you had for this man. Nothing.

He doesn't know you.

He was just a character; written by people who held the most artistic perspectives into capturing a character's personality. They made him seem so real, so easy to love and to be succumbed into his entire being.

But he wasn't real.

Nor is he aware of the millions of eyes and fans from reality admiring him for simply being ethereal in his world of ink and colorful dialogues made by his author.

Nor will he be aware of the amount of love you were pouring out to his inexistence. To reciprocate the feelings, let alone acknowledge you from a crowd filled with much more dedicated people to him.

Yet every night you prayed; longed that one day there will be someone to be reborn as he is. A man to be born with that natural charismatic aura. The blunt, yet soft hearted soul of a person, the dedication he has shown in the show with his desr senior. Everything.

He was the embodiment of everything you wanted, needed.

Perfection at the most flawed world.

"Nobody compares to you, Keiji."

Day dreaming for what seemed like an everyday routine for you, you clicked on the next tab of your laptop away from the world of fictional sight— where mostly your safe haven is. Where you get to imagine a world with him and pondered back into your field of writing.

How long has it been since you've been off your draft? Was it 2 hours ago? Had you been submerged again with the same story you've memorized over the times you've read it? Well, no one can't help it. It was your coping mechanism, your escape from the cruel reality. Though the stories are imprinted in your mind and everyday dreams, you admired the fact how they were well written by different varieties of writers that came to admire his character and brought him to life. How they managed to make him and every character from the show come to life. It was as if all the scenarios you've wanted was all there, all granted. Except for one.

Where he was truly existing in the same world as you do.

"Well done, sweetie, you've lost another promised motivation to write." groaning with your head leaned back on your pillow, you closed your eyes for a short break. By instinct, the stories scenarios began playing inside your head.

All the fluffy ones that made your body feel somewhat lighter from the ghost, feathered kisses as you recalled the lines of your favorite ones. The ones where they would further describe how he would hold you in his arms like a fragile being, link his hands with yours, giving you his warm kisses as he presses you close to his chest.

The angst ones where he would be there to comfort you immediately, wiping away your tears as he helps you out of your struggles and battles in life. Letting him be your resting place and safety.

And lastly the explicit ones where you could only go so far to imagine the lewd things as the words from the screen pages come up to the surface and bound your body at his presence.

What a paradise, you would call.

Yet what a tragic for someone who longs for a person like that to be real.

Eyes opening after the self pitied thoughts, your sudden decision to go out in the cold, rainy afternoon came by. For a shy person you are, you never really liked the idea of squeezing in a crowd or to be seen, but as you eventually grew up, you begin to like places that felt like a second home to you. Be it a cafe or a bookshop, or just an area with a few people and closed walls where you were free to be in dazed once more.

Shutting you laptop closed and placing it back on your desk, you picked out some of your most comfortable clothing; mostly jogging pants and an adorable sweater. Having to be in highschool and growing out the habit of wearing long sleeved shirts even though it was hot was amusing to many. Though, today was exemptional.

You contemplated whether or not you would tie yor hair into a bun or leave it down, like that one character you read in your favorite show, he didn't like his field of vision to be wide. It brought a small amount of relief someone felt the same as you did, so you decided to just put it in a lower bun with your fringes hidig the sides of your face.

Grabbing you small bag and an umbrella, you walked out from your dorm. Your roommate had been stranded in her university from the sudden pouring, ordering her a coffee after coming back from the shop may be a good welcoming gift for her. She was the only person you managed to get close to at the time of your adulthood. It's only fair you have gotten attached and wanted to show her how much you love and appreciate her.

Thank goodness it was only pouring. If the rain happened to be coming with thunder and lightning, you would've gotten out and hid underneath your blankets. It isn't all the time you get to enjoy the droplets from the sky without the God of Thunder stomping down in anger.

The streets were absolutely stunning during the dark or gloomy weather, the lights from each building and shop were lighted up, combining with the rain and its pattering, it felt so serene to you than it did to others. The odd musk from the rain filling nostrils as your eyes cast upon the cemented streets that had colorful lights illuminating them, made you feel at ease and somehow your mind was starting to stir up multiple writing prompts and ideas that made you excited and happy.

The whole world disappearing before you as you were at the best day you claimed. The musk of the rain mixing up with the cinnamon and coffee like scent as you opened the door from the nearby cafe from your dorm welcomes you. Smiling shyly, you moved to the side a bit and removed your glasses to cleanse it as it got fogged up from the cool air before placing it back on your face and walked towards the cashier.

It was a miracle that the infamous coffee and sweets cafe of yours wasn't crowded today, managing to order quickly and waited on the other side of the counter. Your usual frappucino and a chocolate cake for your cravings.

"Ah, you're here again?"

The lovely male behind the counter chirped at the newly arrived customer. He was the nicest crew you knew in this cafe, you loved how he makes you feel at ease.

"Yeah, I got caught up in my papers and it went pouring all of a sudden."

"Always a workaholic aren't we, Kei?"

Kei? Cute name.

Kinda reminds you of that tall, player in the show you watched, Tsukishima.

"Wait there for a second, we're preparing two orders."

In instinct of the male's voice, you scooted away from the receiving counter a little for the next person to be standing next to you. You really didn't like sitting to waot for your order, who knows? You might trip and cause an embarrassing accident.

His scent however, was filling in your nostrils. Combining with the soft, delicious treats, he smelled like someone you would love to hug for days and feel safe. He smelled like home.

Was that weird? Yes.

Suddenly, this scene had made a perfect prompt pop in your head, you had to fish out your phone from your bag to write it down on your notes. It had been too long since you've written a good story. You missed your passion in writing, a good opportunity will never be passed as this.

"Do you write as well?"

Squeaking a bit with your palms already forming a sweat from nervousness and the cold air, you turned your head to your left side of the male costumer, who had an amused smile at his face from your reaction.

You wete never one to come and talk to a random stranger as a kid and teenager. But even as an adult, you felt inferior of them. But taking a few seconds to regain your breathing and judging by your surroundings, nothing seemed to be harmful to reply, right?

"A-ah, yeah, but it's not that good or a job, y'know?....Just a hobby."

Stuttering out and muttering the last part, inside your head you were screaming, had you lost your people skills too? Soft chuckling can be heard from him, he gives you a small smile, not noticing how he scooted closer to you since he couldn't quite hear your voice from afar.

"I think it's incredible how a person can put their imaginations into words and share it so freely to everyone across the world."

Heart beating fast.

He hits it home. He was definitely speaking the language of a writer, and you find yourself standing straighter and smiling a bit wider. There wasn't much people that shared your interest, your relatives and friends were always into musical and artistic drawings, or the domestic kind of jobs and talents. You were the only one who loved writing so much and pursued secretly. Meeting someone who shared the same thought and words as you cannot be forgotten.

You had to know him.

"Thank you..I take it you write as well?"

Score, you manage out a normal reply without being awkward.

"An editor to be exact, it's not as fun as it sounds. I was aiming for literature but it seems life wanted me to have a little detour."

Nothing was boring. In fact, it was making you more happy to hear how much you had in common with him. Not able to hold back the next words, you blurted out,

"I think it's amazing you're still part of the writing community. Be it any position I know you must have such potential in your work."

You catch his eyes just staring at yours behind his glasses. Biting your lip in habit gor when you feel nervous, you clamps your hands together and immediately stammered an apology for invading his personal life.

He laughs, but not too loudly.  The longer you reviewed his features and everything, the more he was starting to look like someone you've been day dreaming.

No, fate cannot be this powerful.

But he seemed so much like him that you wanted so badly to point your fingers to all the matched characteristics he was performing. From his outfit, hair, glasses, and his feature but more realistic, different. His eyes weren't the same gun metal ones as you remember from that character, but he radiates so much of his aura.

"Here are your orders, Kei, ma'am."

Ah damn, you didn't catch his name.

The both of you thanked the kind male before walking away from the counter. Scanning your surroundings quickly for a good spot to sit, you saw the free spot by the window where the rain was pattering and went there. It was like having a television show for free. Seeting your tray down the small coffee table, you stabbed in the straw to your beverage and mixed it up a bit before taking a sip, feeling empty and sad from not getting to know who that person was or to befriend him.

He was nice, gentle, something you would in a man before befriending them. You wanted to know more about his works and his ways of writing, maybe show you his ideas on literature writing. But mostly, you were intrigued from his entire existence.

You wanted to know more about him that it made your stomach twist in guilt and regret from the opportunity slipping away.

"May I sit here?"

And it slipped right back to you.

Biting the straw in your mouth as he smiled at you holding his tray of waffle and steaming coffee, awaiting for your permission before you nod out of daze and watched as he takes a seat in front of you.

Cliche was the first word that came up in your mind. You never would've thought that the scenario of a cute boy in glasses and a sweater hugging his body would want to be seated in a cafe with you.

And you loved cliche scenarios, even dreamed of having your own story-like life.

"The cafe is pretty empty, and you looked like you could use some company."

"I didn't take it that you enjoyed company so I sat far away.."

"You're right, I'm not. I wonder why now."

Was this his way of flirting? If it was, you're buying it. You loved how his voice was smooth and calm. The stoic look on his face earlier replaced by a pleased one with a small smile while taking a sip of his coffee.

"Maybe because I look lonely and you felt bad?"

"I simply wanted to enjoy my treat while chatting with someone who knows my interest rather than myself. Besides,"

He places down his cup on the tray before leaning his head a bit and smiling,

"It's not bad to get out of my shell now, right?"

His face stayed up close as yours was heating with your body getting ligther. He looked like him, he acts like him when he was all grown up. You didn't want to believe in the source of reincarnation and their mysterious, yet hopeful glimmer, but you knew. You knew and you would bet everything that this person was the perfect resemblance to the Akaashi Keiji.

"You never told me your name."

It came out like a whisper from your lips, the rain outside pouring harder as night fall came. He remains the same, smiling like a cheeky person, now fully interested in a person like you, a random stranger whom he just caught writing a romance prompt about a man she met in a cafe.

The detour his life had turned around for him to take, and yours to be fulfilled.

All the possibilities or unexplainable books, movies, theories. The characters, the events, all now making you dizzy at the idea of it all being true at a specific time and place. All of it was too good to be true. Too much that it made your eyes a bit teary to have finally encounter the person who has raised you high and kept you moving. The person who could never compare to the other people, be it fiction or reality.

"My name is, Keiji."

[riseofarmy]

01 | YOONGI KNOWS BEST

i can do this all day 01 | yoongi knows best

author : @riseofarmy

pairing : kim seokjin x original character

words : 1938

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DARLING

Yoongi squints his cat eyes and looks into my own from the folds of my jacket, but doesn't make a sound. Good boy. It's like you can read my mind. I stand still for what feels like an eternity, tuning out my heartbeat to check for any unusual sounds.

The one time I hadn't checked if other people were following, some whackjob had managed to tail me. If it hadn't been for Yoongi's soft hiss - something he only does around strangers - I wouldn't have even known I was being followed and would have led the creeper straight to the Han inheritance.

Just thinking about how close I had been to losing the treasure sent a shiver through me.

So thanks again, Yoongi. You and your hatred for social interaction saved our asses.

In acknowledgement of my mental gratitude, Yoongi pokes his head out of my jacket again and looks around. We were right in front of the entrance to the old Han tomb, which was embedded in a small hill among the Mount Ilsan forests. The tomb itself was made of light grey stone and extended into the mound, with the open entry leading to a locked door.

I pause under the entry for another minute, patting his soft, black fur and gathering my wits. It had taken me over a year to move back to Daehan-Minguk, but now that I was here it felt like my plan finally had a shot at success. The one thing I needed to make all my wishes come true was inside my tomb, and all I needed to do was get my hands on it.

The magic lamp.

"We'll go find it one day, Darling," my dad had said to me one day, when I was still too young to know how evil people can be. "Then I can treat your mum like the queen she is to me."

But first, I needed to get in.

I walk through the entry, where I'm faced with an imposing set of double doors made of the same grey stone I assume is used through the whole tomb. Yoongi nuzzles my hand when I bring it to my neck, where a small drawstring bag hangs; inside is the key my father gave me as he told me about the tomb.

It was a strange-looking key, with teeth poking at five angles rather than just one, but it clicks perfectly into the lock, and I nearly slump with relief. A part of me had been worried that perhaps after all I did to get here, the key wouldn't even fit, that my dad had made some sort of mistake.

There was no need to fear though. Stone grinds against stone as the doors are drawn apart by some ancient mechanism, and I step through.

If I didn't already know about the Han family, I could learn everything I needed to just by looking around.

Within was a long hallway, and in each of the small rooms branching off was the burial chamber of a different Han. The whole tomb was lit by the afternoon sunlight streaming through yellowing windows and all of the chambers were basically dripping in gold, studded with gems and draped with silks, all covered in a layer of dust.

As expected, the Han were filthy rich, even in death.

It was a little bit sickening to see when I had to slave away as a labourer for two years just to have the money to get to Daehan-Minguk. I tell myself that I would come back here one day and take away from the dead what they couldn't use anyway, but not now.

Right now, I have to go to the oldest tomb, the one which held Han Jinsoo and Han Euntaek. Everyone thought Euntaek started the Han empire, but the real brain behind the operation was his wife, Jinsoo. Despite having to pass credit to her husband for all her work, she built the most successful merchant business in Daehan-Minguk, and it was in her chamber that the real treasure was hidden.

I make my way to the foot of her tomb and find the brick with Jinsoo's name written on it, exactly where my dad said it would be. Before I can have second thoughts, I press it hard. For a stomach-churning second, nothing happens, but then I hear stone grinding again and the floor between her tomb and Euntaek slides apart.

Alright. Everything's going according to plan.

Yoongi pokes his head out to examine the dank, earthy smell coming from the steps the lead to the underground room. It had taken me so long to get to right here, and not once was I nervous. I knew this is what I had to do the second my dad told me about it, but now that I'm here...

No, I can't have second thoughts. I have to see this through to the end.

With a pat on Yoongi's head to gather my courage, I stride down the stairs, my heart already beating more erratically as I get closer to my dream. After the stairs is a long, winding passage that got darker and colder the further I went, but one last turn later, I'm faced with... more gold. What a surprise.

It's kind of pretty here though. I can't figure out how, but light streams into the room even though we're underground - it's just bright enough to set the looming heaps of coins alight with a soft orange glow. It wasn't dusty like the upper chambers, but I could still tell that no one had been here since it was last locked up.

Yoongi accidentally flicks my face with his tail as he wiggles out of my jacket and onto the floor. He walks alongside me as I explore the rolls of silk leaning against the walls, the chests filled with sparkling gems and-

Hang on. Where is it? Money, more fabric, diamonds... Is that the old royal crown? More gold, more gems...

I can't find it.

Even after searching for another hour, digging through the coins with a bored Yoongi clawing at my back, I can't find the lamp. Oh hell no. This is not happening right now. I can't have come all this way for it not to be here.

Panic grips me for a moment and I drop to the ground, running a hand over the hair that was just starting to grow out again. Come on Darling, think!

Dad said the old Han tombs were within the Mount Ilsan forests. He had given me the key, said to go into Jinsoo's chamber and press her name at the foot of her tomb, that the room I'm looking for would open. He told me everything he knew about the Han magic lamp...

Which means someone else has already come and taken it. But that can't be right either - Dad was the only one who knew about it, and I was the only one he told. There's no way someone could have just stumbled on the tomb either - it was set within jungle-like forests in the crook between two mountains, and the nearest town was hours away.

"Miaaaanngg." Yoongi butts his head against my legs, wrapping his tail around an ankle in the way he does when he wants to show me something.

"Not now Yoongi. Show me after I find the lamp, okay?" But he doesn't give up, pouncing on my foot with a newfound vigour and even attempting to bite my shin.

"Alright alright! Have it your way you utter goose." Finally satisfied, leads me to a chest I had already looked through and elegantly settles himself next to it. Unbelievable.

"Thanks Yoon, but I've already checked that one." I don't know if cats can look unimpressed, but he manages to do just that at my response. I take a step away from him, but he lets out a loud yowl and starts batting at the ground.

Where Han Jinsoo's name is inscribed in the stone.

"Yoongi!" I pick him up in a tight snuggle, pressing kisses to his head as he pretends not to enjoy it. "I'm sorry baby, I'll never doubt you again, I swear! I'll get you a whole cat palace for yourself."

With Yoongi snug in my arms, I stare at Jinsoo's name on the brick. I guess she only wanted the lamp to be taken by someone who needed only that - if I hadn't known the lamp existed, I would have been distracted by the never-ending rooms of gold.

Maybe it was important to her, too, when she was alive.

A wiggle from Yoongi prompts me to lean down and press the brick hard. This time, instead of any sort of door opening, the brick next to it pops open to reveal a hollow space filled only with-

The magic lamp!

I pick it up gently and nearly start crying with the relief that finally, finally, it was in my hands. Eleven years. That's how long I've coveted this lamp, and now...

A shit-eating grin creeps on my face as I examine it.

The body of the lamp was made with intricately hammered gold and the shade made with glass that fades from purple to clear. There was a peculiar jewel set into the gold - it's a deeper, velvety purple in the shadows, but a softer, lavender when the light hits it right.

Yoongi looks disgusted when a deranged cackle bubbles in my throat, but I didn't care. I felt a little deranged, drunk on the power this lamp gave me, this tiny lamp worth more than everything in this entire tomb put together.

"Yoonie-baby. Are you hungry? I bet you are. You want me to give you something yummy to snack on?" Yoongi simply drapes himself over a particularly soft roll of silk, ignoring me pointedly as if to say 'where in this room are you going to get food for me from?'

I stick my tongue out at him (even though he doesn't see it) and I stare into the gem in the lamp. "I'll show you. I wish that Yoongi had something to eat."

Nothing happens.

I wait for a minute - maybe it's dusty from not being used? - and then another, but still, nothing happens.

Just as I think to try again, though, the lamp starts to get warmer in my hands, trembling as if there was something inside. It gets so hot that I want to drop it, but it's like my fingers are glued to the gold. Not just my fingers are stiff though, my whole body seizes up and I can't move no matter how hard I will myself to.

Yoongi hisses at the lamp as it suddenly lights with a flame that flickers white and lilac. The flame doesn't stay within the glass shade - it grows until it shoots up to the ceiling, spreading across the surface and then back down the walls to cover everything in the room.

The fire morphs into a thick, purple smog, and just when I think I might choke on it, the smoke gets sucked back into the lamp.

Just like that.

It all happens so quickly that I might have imagined it, but the air smells different now, less earthy and more like jasmine. My fingers unstick from the suddenly cold metal and let it fall to the ground. I follow it down, letting Yoongi jump into my lap as he yowls and butts his head against my quivering hands.

And then, a voice.

"Man does it feels good to be out of there!"

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