#there’s just no way to accurately translate the story into aus

[mxtxfanatic]

I’ve been stuck in 2ha fics for a minute and have seen a few metas and posts surrounding Mo Ran’s character, but something I don’t think comes across very well from the book to fanwork and (some) discussion is that Taxian-jun doesn’t exist without the long-hatred flower.

Like, I see a lot of modern au fics, for example, that tackle the Mo Ran 1.0 to 1.5 shift by having Mo Ran be disillusioned by Chu Wanning and that being his villain origin story, but what gets lost in that remix is that in canon, while Mo Ran was hurt by being whipped by his shizun, after he thought about it for a while, he decided to apologize to Chu Wanning to reconcile rather than hold a grudge. Because Mo Ran, at his core, is someone who is naturally good and would rather die than enact vengeance on others. That’s why both the timing and the effects of the flower are particularly evil: Mo Ran is cursed because he chose reconciliation over petty grudges and the curse forces him to go against his nature by holding onto said petty grudges to “repay” them to a ridiculous degree while erasing any good memory he has, which is what had previously fueled his will to live.

With that said, Mo Ran 1.0/Taxian-jun is able to transition to 1.5 and eventually 2.0 not because he realized that Chu Wanning loved him all along (as a disciple at this point), but because the Chu Wanning from the original universe nullified the effects of the flower, allowing him to finally see that Chu Wanning loved him all along and that he actually doesn’t want revenge. And we can see that effect of the nullification immediately! Taxian-jun becomes 16-year-old Mo Ran, finds out that Shi Mei, his “first love” is actually still alive at this point, and immediately decides to prioritize keeping Shi Mei alive over enacting revenge on Chu Wanning. Because at his core he’s motivated by love! And when Hua Binan brings Taxian-jun’s reanimated corpse into the new universe, his control is tenuous because Taxian-jun isn’t being motivated purely by spite anymore because the flower isn’t in effect anymore. This isn’t to say that Mo Ran was incapable of becoming Taxian-jun, but as the narrative proves, that is a version of him that only exists under mind-breaking abuse and duress, which only happened when he lived under the Mo family’s reign of abuse for years before finally snapping and then once again under the effects of a curse that rewrote his memories to convince him that he was living under mind-breaking abuse and duress. Without those conditions, Mo Ran always chooses hope and love, and even as he looks back on those moments where he reigned terror, he wishes he could have chosen/been afforded death instead (much to Chu Wanning’s upset). So all this to say that Mo Ran isn’t saved by realizing he was living under a misunderstanding; he is saved by having the thing leeching out all of the good in him destroyed.

(Also on a smaller note, Taxian-jun isn’t uneducated because he was on the street for so long and therefore “too old” to be properly educated. Taxian-jun is uneducated because all of his memories of learning were good memories tied to Chu Wanning, thus they got erased. Mo Ran 2.0 re-educates himself in his late teens/early 20s because the problem was always the flower, not some “inherent” inferiority he was stuck with from his upbringing or an unwillingness to learn.)

[bizarrelittlemew]

I have a burning curiosity that can only be relieved by an OFMD author. Why is there so much AU fanfiction in this fandom?? 😆 My AO3 search results with every alternate universe tag I can think of blocked are coming up with almost every result on the page filtered out! 🤣 I have nothing against them existing and I'm all for everyone writing what makes them happy, I just wonder how this fandom ended up being so full of them. I used to think SPN was oversaturated with AU's, but it can't hold a candle to OFMD! 😅

okay i wanted to give this a proper answer and also asked a few other authors, so here are some of the reasons we came up with - i think it's a combination of all of these:

while the show takes place in a historical setting, it's not historically accurate or even trying to be. it uses anachronistic dialogue and gives piracy a vibe more like a modern workplace. the characters become timeless in the sense that they are already "modern" characters put into a historical setting, and therefore fit just as well into any kind of AU setting. the characters are what make up the show more than the historical setting

the themes that the show deals with - relationships, sexuality, gender, trauma, family, self-image, mental illness - can be explored in so many different ways given different settings. it's very interesting to examine how the characters would deal with them when thrown into different circumstances and time periods

canon is really good, so while there are gaps in the narrative that can be explored, a lot of people are drawn to putting the characters in entirely different situations and/or feel like canon ground was covered pretty quickly

the story itself translates to other universes very easily. people want to enjoy that story and/or their favorite plot points again and again, but just writing down the plot of the show in the canon setting wouldn't make much sense. by throwing the characters into a different universe, you can pull scenes and plot from canon without just repeating it, putting a different spin on it

very few shows have (canonically) older queer people, and people like the idea of how that translates to other universes

we have (relatively) little canon and had a lot of time between seasons. considering the size of the fandom, amount of canon, and time since canon, the proportion of AUs is not surprising

if we assume proper tagging, AUs make up around 27% of all ofmd fanfics by number of works, but probably much more by word count, since a lot of canon fics tend to be shorter. in comparison, that number is around 20% for SPN and 34% for Merlin 🤷

also i've seen a lot of people starting out by only wanting to read canonverse fics until they gave an AU a try and BAM they were hooked 😌

and last but not least:

Ed and Stede fall in love in every universe 💗

[wonustars]

𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 ’𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 (𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘳)

“𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴. 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶” - 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘦’𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩

story inspirtation came from this poll pairing: c.sc x reader word count: estimated ~10k+ (this teaser: 983 words)

genre: friends to friends with benefits to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut (mdni)

summary: You and Seungcheol have been friends ever since you were kids. Growing up as neighbours, experiencing all the horrific adolescent moments in high school, and now going to the same University together. Even though you’ve denied it many times to your friends, part of you has always had feelings for him, not that you would ever say it out loud. He is the one person you can trust with anything and everything. So what happens when he propositions the idea of becoming friends with benefits? (the plot maybe change a little while i’m continuing to write but the overall theme will stay the same <;3)

tags: bestfriend!seungcheol, nonidol!au, university!au, female!reader, mutual pining, slow burn so painful you'll feel it in your toes, they are one year apart, SLIGHT like extremely miniscule wonwoo x reader (for the angst mwahahaha), seungcheol is a jealous jealous man, they're both idiots, jeonghan is a menace as always, seungcheol has a lot of pride, so does the reader, (i'll add more once its finished lol)

warnings/smut: this will be added on in the full post.

taglist: open! send an ask, dm, or comment to be tagged for when i post the full fic.

notes: long time no post everyone.... a LOT of people voted for an s.coups story on my poll so i'm here to deliver mwahahahaha...ALSO im so proud of the banner i made like udek i love how it looks hehhehe, i spent a good hour or so on it T-T ! i really have an urge to write a longer story, so idk when i'll be finished because it may take me a while to finish so sorry in advance. I just started writing and I was playing Mikee's Letters by Just Hush during it and so i thought id incorperate the song into the story, but barely lol (its a tagalog song so sorry if the translation is a lil rough my tagalog is not the most accurate). this story is SOOOOOO self indulgnet that it should be criminal lol BUT im really excited to write this and im really excited to share it with everyone,,, but first i actually got to finish it hehe. talk to u soon, mwah <3!

As long as you could remember you and Seungcheol have been attached to the hip. Even though he was a year older than you, you couldn’t remember the last time you spent a day without him. You’ve been in each others lives ever since then, starting all the way from the young, bright age of 5, when you and your family moved into the small, humble house across his. Although your parents weren’t very well off, Cheol was. It was an odd thing that you two were neighbours because his house was much more grand, and nicer kept than yours. This didn’t really bother you growing up though, he always made you feel like an equal.  

Seungcheol has been with you through it all, the petty fights in middle school to the pains of adolescence in high school. He’s seen you at your worst, like the time you tripped and fell trying to impress a cute guy at school, which resulted in a nose bleed. You were so embarrassed but at the end of the day Cheol was there to help you clean your bloody nose and pick you back up. A true night and shining armor, which was practically his brand. He was the one to patch up your heart, breakup after breakup. Always your shoulder to lean on when you’re feeling down, and especially when you’re happy. 

A man and bestfriend like Choi Seungcheol didn’t come around very often, and you took notice of that since you were young. You cherish every moment you have and will have with him. He is a true gentleman with a heart of gold. He’s handsome, smart, rich and caring. Every single box on your list is ticked off when it comes to him. Yet, you know that no matter how hard you love him, you will only ever be his bestfriend. The girl he sees as practically his younger sister. The bittersweet feeling of being so close to him tugs your heart till its torn. It took you a long time to accept that all you’ll ever be is his bestfriend, and even now, you’re still trying to accept this fact. 

...

Seungcheol has always seen himself as your best friend. The man that will be there for you when you have no one else to turn to. He has never seen you as more than his best friend, his y/n. He is a man who never second-guesses himself, always keeping a strong-willed sense of mind. Every time one of his friends asked him if he had feelings for you, he would simply answer no; and that you were like a younger sister to him. 

That first year was lonely for him, he didn’t really know anyone and all his classes kept him away from socializing. The only thing that seemed to have stayed constant was you. You face-timed him at least once a week before he went to bed, never forgetting to remind him how much you missed him, and how much you cared for him. In the simplest words, you were his rock for that first year. 

Seungcheol was never warned about how lonely and jarring your first year could be. The change in place, people, and most importantly the change in the fact that you weren’t there experiencing it beside him. He was never one to believe clichè sayings, but he finally understood what the saying “distance makes the heart grow fonder” really felt like. He had gotten so overwhelmed from the loneliness he even began to write you letters, ones he would never actually send out, as cheesy as it sounds. But knowing that he was addressing them to you brought him some type of solace in that first year.

 A year later you came to study at the same university, and he was elated, to say the least. Finally, he had thought to himself. The one person he hadn’t been able to see, smell, or touch for a year was finally going to be in his proximity. 

Unlike Cheol, you were only able to go to this school through bursaries and scholarships, your parents simply just couldn’t afford to send you to school in a different city otherwise. It reminded you how lucky Seungcheol was to receive support from his parents, getting and going to school was nothing he had to ever think twice about. You knew you could’ve stayed with your family, and gone to school closer to your house, but with Cheol away, it just wasn’t the same. Nothing had felt the same since he left. But this didn’t matter to you the moment you felt his arms wrap around you again. 

You stood there in the airport all alone, eyes searching for a head of freshly dyed blond hair. The moment you heard his voice call your name, you knew you were finally home. 

“Y/n!” An excited, deep voice calls out for you. 

You whip your head around to see him. The man you hadn’t seen in so long, the man you were so desperately in love with. Your best friend. 

“Cheol!” A squeal escapes your lips, you run to him. He pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his large hands around your smaller frame. Swinging you around like crazy, a laugh bubbles up from your throat. 

“I’ve missed you so much y/n.” Cheol exasperates as he hugs you tighter, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’ve missed you too Cheol…” You whisper into his chest, breathing in his expensive cologne, not caring that you are in public; staying there to embrace him for a weirdly long period of time. “Never leave for that long again.” 

[s1i9d]

I hope you don't mind, but now that I've finally found someone who's listening to Magnus Protocol but hasn't listened to Magnus Archives I will be studying you like a bug under a magnifying glass. I've been dying to know how the show hits from a non archives perspective. So in that vein, if you don't mind me questioning you, what are your overall thoughts on the show so far? Also what's it like seeing the fandom response from people who have listened to archives? Have you been successful in avoiding spoilers?

Honestly I’ve been loving Protocol.

I’m not 100% sure what to translate since I don’t know what Archives context I’m missing, but I can try to tell you what I really like about Protocol.

I really do love the format of Protocol. It’s mostly an office drama story, which on its own is appealing, but the statements from FR3-D1 put in each episode gives the story this underlying horror aspect to it. So when I listen to an episode, often times if the statement portion feels lacking, the office drama really brings up the episode and the vice versa.

Then things start to get a lot more creepier when the two intersect (The Magnus Institute, Mr. Bonzo, Lady Mowbray, the Drowning Victim, the Archivist, etc.) and by this point in the story, we’re so close to having a full merge.

Since this is my first real dive into horror podcasts, I do want to engage with the fan community, but it’s hard to balance being spoiler-free at the same time. I do know some general spoilers that I haven’t updated in a while, but is mostly still accurate. I don’t know what an Archivist is, but I am aware that AU versions of Archives characters have made their debut here.

I am aware that Protocol is going a lot faster than Archives. From what I understand of Archives, it has a lot more slow build up rather than Protocol which I has a pretty good pace. Might be because Protocol has less than half the episodes as Archives.

It’s really interesting how the fandom keeps losing their minds over stuff that I’m just like “yeah cool let’s see where that goes”. Like E26 where the Archivist was named, I felt like I took on the perspective of Alice/Gwen/Sam where I’m like “okay… and this means what?” while the rest of the fandom is taking the Celia perspective of “OH NO”.

Or even this recent episode where this Minister Trevor Herbert dude was. Like I have no idea what this dude is and why everyone is absolutely screaming, crying, throwing up that he’s here, and that is fascinating.

It’s been pretty interesting when I bring up something that felt weird or off that just went nowhere, and my friends revealing some info. I’m like “WHAT” and they’re just like “oh thats not common knowledge?” And I’m just there like “huh?!?” Which turns out, the Hilltop Centre was actually important.

I mostly wish the fandom would tag archives spoilers with #tma /#the Magnus archives / #tma vague just so that spoilers could be tagged a little bit better, but to be fair I am one of the rare people that doesn’t intersect the Venn diagram between archives and protocol.

But overall, I really am loving Protocol. I don’t know when I’ll listen to Archives (probably after Protocol’s three seasons are over) but I will listen to it eventually. Feel free to send more asks my way.

[minervadashwood]

The Truth

Bucky x F!Reader (plus size/curvy/heavyset) Tropes: Fantasy AU, friends to lovers, confessions CW: sex, burn injury Word count: 2.1K Summary:

Playboy Bucky Barnes keeps insisting that he loves you. But he is not a one-woman kind of man. Or so you think. Fantasy setting in which Bucky and you are part of a small group of adventurers. You're not a front line fighter but a savvy alchemist. Maker of potions, poultices, and traps. One day, some of your traps are compromised, and you get hurt. Bucky is not pleased.

Notes: Inspired by a dream I had and this gifset. There are a couple of Russian words in there, but they are translated in the story.

You were bent over your alchemy table when your bedroom door slammed open. In walked Bucky Barnes, dressed in only a towel tied at his waist.

You flushed, taking in his sculpted body, the dips and planes of his torso. Heat overwhelmed you, and it had nothing to do with the burns along your right arm. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he demanded, stalking forward and taking your chin in his hand.

“The grenades were compromised!” You shouted back, twisting away from his grip. “ My grenades, Bucky! I sent you out there with something that could’ve killed Steve, Tony, Wanda.  Maybe even you.”

Bucky stared you down, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

Suddenly, with inhuman speed, he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and yanking you against him. His skin was damp, like he’d just come from bathing. Steve must have told him what happened. That you broke formation to detonate your traps before they could hurt your team. Thankfully the only casualty was you. Your burns had been treated, wrapped in cloth, and were healing nicely.

“ Lisitsa ,” Bucky warned. “You can’t scare me like that.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Vixen? Really? That might apply to all those women he bedded at taverns. Not you. Leave you to your potions, poultices, and fiery concoctions. Ved'ma would be more accurate. Witch .

You tried to twist out of his hold, but Bucky only gripped you tighter.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” he growled.

“No, Buck, I don’t. You bed every woman who looks your way.  There’s a different girl on your arm at every festival, every tavern crawl. How could I think that I’m any different? Shall I let you bed me and be done with it? So you can move on to your next conquest?”

You struggled in his arms, trying in vain to get away. Bucky easily controlled you, spinning you around, dragging you to your bed, and shoving you down on it.

You laid sideways, your butt at the edge, as you tried to scoot away from him. Bucky grabbed your legs, squeezing the generous, soft flesh of your thighs.

“There is no ‘next’ conquest, Lisitsa. Only you.” His towel fell away as Bucky made himself at home between your legs. With his strong hands and even stronger arms, he drew your legs apart, forcing your sarong open, revealing your lower half to him.

You froze in place, skin ablaze as his grip lessened and his hands trailed up your outer thighs, your hips, your sides. As he moved, he leaned over you, nestling his own hips to your pelvis, his taut stomach resting on your soft one, with his erection between you.

“If you won’t believe my words, then I will show you. Leave no doubt in your mind that I love you.”

“B-Bucky?” You whimpered, wetness gathering between your legs. He was a specimen of a warrior. Strong, agile, lethal. Of course you wanted him. He set your heart on fire, practically made your blood boil in your veins .   But you couldn’t give in to him. If you did, he’d be gone before the morning, taking with him his sexy, enigmatic smiles, his heart-pattering winks, his insincere confessions of devotion.

Bucky grabbed your wrists and took them in one hand to hold them above your head. With his other hand, he swept away the rest of your clothing. Leaving you completely exposed.

“Stop it, Bucky,” you whispered, catching his eyes and holding his gaze. “You don’t love me. You can’t .”

A devastating smile graced his lips. “Why not, Lisitsa? How can I not love all of this? All of you?”

“B-b-because…” you faltered as he traced his nose along your cheek as, his deep inhalation audible; he was just so close. You, too, took a deep breath, steeling yourself to answer. “I’m nothing like them. The women you bed. I am more; I am too much. ”

Bucky growled, deep in his chest. The hand holding your wrists tightened, and again he took your chin in hand, gripping it tightly .

“My love, you are everything .”

You gasped as Bucky lowered his head and kissed you. Now, there was no denying your body’s reaction to him. You moaned and writhed, wishing your hands were free so you could bury them in his hair. Wriggling, you sought purchase on the bed, but Bucky’s hips and torso held you in place. The sheer strength of him captivated you, entranced you. You could only wrap your legs around his waist and welcome him closer to your core.

Long minutes passed as Bucky explored your mouth and you his. The man was voracious, but so were you, gasping and kissing, a paired clash of teeth, lips, and tongues: both of you desperate for more.

With a moan, Bucky eventually pulled away.  “My Lisitsa,” he murmured, and rested his forehead on yours. Your eyes met again, and there he was, exposed, and soft…adoring. Was that the truth you saw in his eyes? Or another maneuver in his game? You’d seen him woo women, time and time again. Were you now just the next item on his ever-growing list?

“Don’t pull away, love,” he whispered, those soft, searching eyes pleaded. 

“Do you mean it, Buck?”

“With every word, Lisitsa. ”

He held still, his breath arcing across your face, evidence of his desire growing more and more rigid as it was trapped between your bodies.

There would be no way to know for sure, not until morning. But you had him now . Why not take what you could, trapped in his arms?

You lifted your head slightly, seeking his mouth, and then Bucky devoured you. His tongue danced with yours. Gods how he tasted, how he felt . How he was the only thing in the world now, aside from you.

Every inhibition forgotten, you kissed him back, fiercely, and he finally let go of your wrists. Instantly your hands were in his damp, shaggy hair, clutching him close to you as months, years of repressed longing were brought to the surface.

As you kissed, Bucky’s hand skirted down your body until it cupped your sex. His fingers traced along your wet folds, forcing you to whimper into his mouth as he kissed you. 

Bucky broke your lips apart, gasping in your face, his own cheeks and ears darkened, flushed.

“So soft and wet,” he told you, a single finger slipping between your folds and slowly stroking you. “Shall I stop now, love? Or do you believe me?”

“Please, Bucky,” you begged, angling your hips closer to his teasing hand.

He had the nerve, the absolute nerve to laugh at you, and back was that signature, indecipherable smirk. He kissed your nose, your chin, your jaw, and then his mouth was on your nipple, suckling and biting to send shockwaves of desire through you. You jolted beneath him, and then his teasing finger lingered at your entrance.

“Shh, doll, it’s all okay. You're mine now. Aren’t you?”

You nodded dumbly. “Yours, Buck.”

Bucky finally pushed his finger into you, and you sighed. The first finger was joined by a second, and Bucky hooked them both, moving languidly in and out until you were mewling, and whimpering, and begging, all in the same breath.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged. “You look so beautiful right now, it hurts. I can’t wait. Not anymore.”

“Then don’t.” You tugged on his hair, insisting that he continue.

He removed his fingers, using them to coat his erection with your wetness. Then, he perched himself at your entrance, sliding in just a bit before he lowered himself on the bed, holding his weight on his elbows as his hands cupped your face.

“Believe me now?” he asked, thrusting into you.

You clenched around him, the sweet sensation of being filled by the man you’d denied for so long. It felt like he belonged there, inside of you, filling you, stretching you, loving you.

He moved quickly, and you matched your movements to his own, raising your hips and chasing after his thrusts.

Sweat soaked his body, and you grabbed every part of him you could reach as he made love to you. You gripped his arms and then caressed his chest. You sank your fingernails into his back as you neared your peak, as Bucky groaned and panted above you.

You were on the edge now, faster than you’d ever been before, all because of the man in your arms. “I’m going to come, Buck,” you rasped, voice strained because of all the pleasure coursing through you.

“Go ahead, love,” he told you, nibbling your ear. “I’ll be gentle next time. Take my time with you.”

Next time .

You came, the promise of his statement letting you rise and fall while surrounded by Bucky Barnes.

His thrusts grew sloppy, urgent, and Bucky groaned, capturing your lips with his own, as his movements slowed and he spilled himself inside you, coating your walls with his warm seed.

Your bodies remained joined, you gazing up at him, and Bucky, eyes wide, staring down at you. Then, Bucky gathered you up in his arms, lifting and arranging you easily on your bed so that you rested on top of him. Both your bodies were sweat-slicked and shivering from the aftershocks.

“Did you mean it?“ he asked you, holding your chin once again. “Are you mine?”

Apprehension, suppressed while Bucky had his way with you, rose again.

He must have seen it because Bucky softened his grip and ran his thumb on your cheek.  “I’ll go Lisitsa, if you didn’t mean it. I’ll go and never speak of this again.”

You shook your head furiously, unable to bear the thought. “I meant it, Buck.”

“So do I, Love,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead, and held you close until you both fell asleep.

*

You woke some time later, your injured arm burning and crying out for another poultice and a clean cloth. As you attempted to sit up, you realized you were cocooned in a pair of arms, with a blanket draped over you.

“Mmmph,” Bucky grumbled sleepily. “What is it Lisitsa ?”

Your heart clenched. “You’re still here?”

“‘Course I am,” he answered, voice still groggy with sleep. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You never stay the night with them. With…the others.”

He sat up, pulling you with him, and the blankets pooled at your waists. Outside it was still dark, the stars glittering the night sky.

Bucky pulled you into his lap. “There are no others.” Threading his fingers through your hair, Bucky forced you to look at him. “There is only you. I promise.”

In the darkness, you could not see his eyes or his smile. You only had his words and the feel of his touch to guide you.

“My bandage needs changing,” you murmured, trying to slip off his lap to get your feet on the floor.

“What here,” he ordered, setting you on the mattress as he got off the bed. 

“Buck, what are you--”

You heard the lighting of a match, then the soft glow of a candle filled your room. Bucky held it, and the tiny flame bounced off his body, casting shadows over his muscled form. He’d come into this room wearing only a towel, and he was barefoot and naked, making his way to your shelves of concoctions.

“Which bottle, Lisitsa ?”

“The green one, middle shelf.”

Bucky grabbed your healing poultice and a clean, rolled cloth, too, before returning to you. Unwrapping the cloth on your arm, Bucky tsk’d and sighed.

“No going where I can’t protect you. My heart can’t take it,” he said, focused on your injury. After setting the used cloth aside, Bucky scooped some of the poultice out of the jar and touched it to your arm.

You winced, not used to someone else taking care of you.

“Shush, love,” Bucky soothed. “It’ll feel better in a moment.”

Love . There it was again. He’d had what he wanted and still, he was here, tending to you, comforting you, loving you.

“There’s my good girl,” he encouraged, gently patting the poultice on your burns. He finished and put the lid back on the jar. You’d never seen him do such a thing. Not for Wanda, certainly not for Tony, not even for Steve. But he was doing it for you.

As he reached for the clean cloth bandage, you grabbed his elbow with your left hand and said, “I believe you, Buck.”

He gazed at you in the candlelight, it danced across his features the face of the man you’d loved for so long. And now you were finally ready to admit it.

“About time, Lisitsa . Now let me finish this so I can get back into bed with you.”

You let out a long-held breath as Bucky finished wrapping your injured arm. Bucky snuffed out the candle and found you in the darkness, crawling back into bed with and pulling you back into his arms. 

Outside, the sky turned gray with the rising sun. It was morning.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Ok so everyone say thank you to @kirabasai for infecting me with the thought of Commander Fox getting zapped from starwars to naruto

Mitsuki and Fox clone solidarity,, I know Mitsuki only exists in Boruto but I don't give a shit so now not only is this a dimension travel au it's also a time travel

Somehow both Fox and Mitsuki end up in normal naruto canon, and work together bc uhhhh. Reasons, I dunno.

Fox gets zapped first to boruto, probably through spooky Palpatine sith shenanigans that don't actually matter. But he's only there for a second, with just enough time to knock into Mitsuki before he's zapped again into naruto— accidentally bringing Mitsuki with him.

Oops.

He actually feels kind of bad ab it. Or like, as bad about it as Fox can feel, bc he's Fox. But then he learns Mitsuki is a clone and it isn't just awww shit he accidentally kidnapped some kid but aww shit he accidentally kidnapped a Shiny

Head in his hands, he didn't ask for this,, he was a good boy,, he did his job so diligently,, he hid all the bodies and killed all the people Palpatine told him to,,, literally never done a thing wrong,,,,

Fox winds up with Palpatines lightsaber somehow, and over the course of the story it kind of becomes his. It freaks the absoloute FUCK out of literally any sensors, it is radiating legit evil over there and Fox is holding it like it's no big deal (bc he can't sense shit and is kind of numb to sith energy anyways)

Fox also has a blaster and I am definitely thinking ab the comedy of like. A gun in Naruto. It's a gun. It's a gun that moves fast as light. No one knows what a gun is and Fox is going to get SO much milage out of just having a weapon he can aim places without people realizing what it's ab to do (shoot you in the fucking face)

If someone were to pry into Fox's mind they'd actually have a really awful time of it, then probably walk face first into some nasty lingering sith mind fuckery stuff. Bad experience, 0/10, Fox is very happy w how it turned out but also has no idea why he got that effect. Either way, keep ur nasty ass mind fingers to yourself

Also, Fox speaks Basic. Not Japanese.

I'm thinking he has some sort of standard translator chip that allows him to communicate, but it sometimes translates the stuff he says weirdly. For example, from everyone else's perspective, he keeps introducing himself as Kitsune.

Which, for obvious reasons, doesn't really go over that well with a lot of people in Konoha when he gets there.

He's also visibly foreign and keeps being mistaken for being from Suna

So anyways, Fox and Mitsuki first fight bc like. Hey!! You fucking kidnapped?? Me???

Mitsuki gets the jump on him bc shinobi kid vs guy who doesn't know what a fucking shinobi even is

But then they're able to kinda talk it out and like, look neither of them know where they are so... truce?

Ok so now the fun part:

Fox has no fucking clue what's going on.

From his point of view, he's on... some kind of semi primitive planet. Doesn't remember how or why, but he's here now. So standard GAR procedures; find a way to contact home base. He has his normal gear on him, but no deep space radio, so he'll have to just... make one. Fuck, ok. If he can find the parts, it's doable. All command class clones are taught the basics of how, just like how they're taught how to assemble a blaster from scraps.

But from Mitsuki's point of view, they time traveled.

Mitsuki's POV is the only reason Fox knows there's smthn seriously up, but he's not exactly gonna go "aha! Dimension travel!" On top of it all

Now here's the thing. They're in early naruto canon, some time after wave arc.

Mitsuki only knows chunks of history, and only what has been taught to him second hand from school, Orochimaru, and very very occasional stories from Sasuke or the rest of team Taka

(I feel like Suigetsu especially would have fun telling all sorts of stories)

Not... all of these stories are completely accurate. And even if they are, they're often dumbed down to be easily understood by children— think that one Boruto episode where they put on some sort of silly play about the sanin (which was adorable btw and also fucking hilarious. Actual war criminals son learns about war crimes in class and everyone is just cool happy magic of friendship about it. Amazing.)

So now Fox is learning these fuckin third hand stories from Mitsuki, who literally learned it from the villains of many of the stories, and there is some SERIOUS biases going on

They go to Orochimaru for help.

Local scientist, parent of child (= dependable?) Best source of tech for potential radio + blaster repairs if needed. Fox can trade information to him if needed, it seems like a good choice.

It is not a good choice.

Orochimaru is like nearing the heights of his insanity, and I think it'd be real fun if he decides Sasuke is cool and all but a man from the stars??? A man literally made in a vat to be the perfect example of human physique???? Who's also resistant to many forms of corrosive chakra????

New perfect body alert.

Mitsuki is cute but Orochimaru isn't really in a parental sort of mind set, sorry <3

Mitsuki is going "Huh!! My parent did say they had a pretty severe midlife crisis..."

"Kid I think this is a bit more than just a midlife crisis."

Anyways, then they escape and continue to fuck around trying to build a deep space radio, which at this point is Fox's only hope home which also means it's Mitsuki's bc maybe the jedi can help with the whole uhh... time? Thing?

I'm thinking that after the thing w Orochimaru goes to shit, they're both a lot more wary of the fact that Mitsuki's information may not be the best.

After Oro in terms of figures of power and safety, almost everyone else is either a child, not born yet, or their current location is unknown— except for good old dependable ✨️ rokudaime Kakashi ✨️

Ok so picture this. You're Kakashi, sleeping peacefully in bed after a long day fucking with your students (who you're still very conflicted about having) You wake up to a presence in ur room and there's some fucking snake kid leaning over ur bed going "Hatake-sama—"

You freak out.

Knives may be thrown.

The snake kid has a very angry looking, foreign adult man body guard.

This is so fucking suspicious.

The snake kid says he's a time traveler, and that you are the eventual Rokudaime and also the only person he knows he can trust 100%

This is so fucking suspicious.

So obviously, Kakashi plays along then turns around and reports the fuck out of their asses to the Hokage.

Yeah, Fox doesn't really know what he expected. If some random kid showed up looming over HIS bed in the middle of the night, said he'd be the next chancellor and they know bc they're a time traveler and also pretty please help me build a deep space radio so I can go home— well, he wouldn't report them to Palpatine because not even he's that sadistic. But he'd probably toss them into the cells for a minute, if only because it was one of the only perks of his job

Or, well, for that analogy to work it wouldn't be a deep space radio, because he was used to space travel. It'd have to be something wilder— like an interdimensional radio. Haha, good one. Like that existed. God, imaging having to try and make one of those, that'd be insane. Fox would just kill himself at that point. Good thing he doesn't have to, right? Right?

Anyways mid adventure, they bump into Jiraiya who is fucking horrified to recognize Orochimaru's way of smiling in Mitsuki and gaslights himself into thinking he HAS to be wrong.

I think its Jiraiya who finally helps them out

[kokiri]

I love French Aymeric. He's so cheeky. After he saves Estinien's a second time in the Through Fire and Blood short story, he's immediately like "We're friends now!" And I love that. It's even called The Warmth of Friendship (La chaleur de l'amitié) in French!

Translation via Google Translate, sorry if it's not entirely accurate:

"That's twice I've saved your life, mind you! You'll just have to compensate me for one of them with a drink in the tavern of your choice. And by the way, my name is Aymeric. I advise you to remember the names of your friends, it could be useful to you in the future."

Original French dialogue:

« Ça fait deux fois que je te sauve la vie, dis donc ! Tu n'auras qu'à me dédommager de l'une d'entre elles avec un verre dans la taverne de ton choix. Et au fait, je m'appelle Aymeric. Je te conseille de te souvenir du nom de tes amis, ça pourra t'être utile à l'avenir. »

[hobivore]

Mission 111: The Timebreaker | JYH

— Jeong Yunho x reader (f)

Prompt: "Hey, did you fall from heaven when you hurt—fuck." & "If you're trying to manipulate me us, it's not working." from this prompt list. AU/Trope: science fiction-y angel!au, coworkers to lovers (or partners to partners or whatever the angel equivalent would be) Warnings: Django!Yunho but give him wings, apocalyptic levels of violence and a little bit of blood (nothing too explicit) WC: 2.2k A/N: Surpriiiiiise, your local writer cryptid has risen from the 10th circle of hell called Adult Responsibilities! This short story draws inspiration from Ateez’ delightful space-cowboy concept, biblically accurate angels and a spoonful of Welcome to Night Vale (which I used to obsessively listen to back in 2012). Shout-out to my lovely friend @augustbutwinter for kicking my ass into gear and beta-reading this piece. I love your galaxy brain! © hobivore Do not repost, translate, edit or otherwise use my stories without my permission. ateez masterlist | ask box

“Are you trying to get us all killed?” 

The timebreaker sneezes into his elbow. He’s covered in a fine layer of dust. The chains strapping him to the seat didn’t survive the crash, but he won’t get far either way: his timepiece remains safely hidden in your pocket. 

You ignore him and survey the wreckage in front of you. There’s very little left of your spacecraft. Dawdling will only cost you precious time, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the flames at bay. 

A few crumpled feathers stick out from under the rubble. You pull with two hands, using your weight to unearth your equally crumpled associate. 

“It’s not like I can actually die, of course. I think. Not really. I’m not afraid of death anyway,” the timebreaker continues. “He looks pretty damn done for, though.”

You turn around and fiddle with what’s left of the control panel. Your partner coughs up thick globs of blood. He wipes his mouth with the back of one wing and straightens his glasses. "Hey, did you fall from heaven when you hurt—fuck." 

“Welcome back,” you mutter. The control panel lights up once and fizzles out again. 

“Have you seen my hat?”

“This, here?” The timebreaker lifts one foot and your partner snatches the weathered cowboy hat from under his boot. “Sorry, I thought it was just a piece of debris. I didn’t mean to step on it.”

You snort. “Yunho’s awfully attached to that ugly old thing.” After a repeated bang on the control panel yields no results, you give up and grab your pocket pulsar. “Didn’t they go out of style over 600 billion years ago?”

“Real fashion is timeless,” Yunho says. “Besides, it's a keepsake from Earth.” 

You roll your eyes. “Ugh. You’re such a romantic.”

He winks at you. Behind you, the timebreaker coughs. “I’m still here.”

A glare shuts him up. Your many eyes tend to have that effect on people.

“Which way do we go?” Yunho asks. 

You check your pulsar. “We should head southwest for about 11 kilometres. We’re not that far off. You did a decent job crashing the ship.”

“Thank you.”

“You think you can walk with that leg?” 

“I’m fine, but it might take us a bit longer. Do you still have time?”

You nod. “I do. But the big boss won’t like it. You know his patience runs thin.”

“We’re bringing him a timebreaker! He ought to be happy with that.” 

Your eyes drift towards the man who’s still staring at the wreckage, appearing to be lost in thought—no doubt mourning what might’ve been his only chance at escaping.

“You’re right. Let’s go before the weather gets any worse.”

Above you the glittery storm clouds gather. With just your pocket pulsar left, navigating will be a lot more difficult if you don't cross the Great Plateau before the first rain falls. 

“So… you two are angels, then?” The timebreaker asks when the silence drags on for a bit too long. 

“Damn right,” Yunho says. “Ever met an angel before?”

The timebreaker shakes his head. “Can't say I've had the pleasure, no. They—I mean you, sorry—don’t exist in my universe.”

You grumble. He's awfully polite for a man who killed half a planet of innocents. “Just because you've never seen one doesn't mean we aren't there.” 

The timebreaker’s face turns sour. You don’t care if he doesn’t like you. There's more pressing matters to worry about: right now it's the unshakeable sizzling in your ears, the sound growing stronger with every step.

You rub your temples but the gesture brings no relief. Yunho watches you closely, rummaging through his coat pockets. After some fiddling he extracts a small bottle and hands it to you. He always seems to know exactly what you need. You down the liquid and make a mental note to thank him for that after you’ve finished this job. 

“Why does he have wings and you don’t? And what’s up with all the eyes?”

Your nostrils flare in annoyance and you’re thankful for the sudden crack of thunder that makes your captive jump. “No more time for existential chit-chat,” you say. The taste of ash lingers in your mouth. 

“If you give me my timepiece back I can get us off this planet,” the timebreaker offers. He almost trips over his feet in an attempt to keep up with you and Yunho. “Another universe maybe, just for the two of you? Something beachy? Sun, Martinis, a nice big bed, a few slaves to preen those pretty wings?”

You laugh and look at Yunho’s tattered feathers, still covered in dried blood. "If you're trying to manipulate us, it's not working." 

“Are we still heading in the right direction?” Yunho asks. He looks mildly flattered but not at all phased by the timebreaker’s implications, so you narrow your eyes at him. All he does in return is smile. If you weren't in the middle of a job you'd use his own wings to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“We’re slowly getting there," you sigh, handing him the pulsar.

“We’re heading away from the capital. The only civilised place on this planet.” The timebreaker glances past Yunho’s shoulder and points his cuffed hands at the device. His voice raises an octave when you start walking even faster. “Hey! What did I do wrong anyway? Since when is breaking time a crime? And who are you, the space police?” 

“You didn’t tell him?” Yunho asks. 

You shrug. “The less he knows, the better.” It’s a lie. It doesn’t matter: you just didn’t feel like talking to the man.  

“I’m sorry for my partner’s lack of proper protocol,” Yunho starts, and you close your many eyes for a moment to collect yourself and tune out the other angel’s lecture. The situation is starting to get on your nerves and you wonder if the flames have ignited by now. They probably haven’t—neither of your companions seem to perceive a sudden increase in heat. 

When you open your eyes again, the timebreaker’s face has gone blank.

“And that’s how we ended up here!” Yunho smiles and claps his hands together, as if he didn’t just give a detailed account of why the man will spend the remainder of his life in chains. “Any questions?”

“I—what the fuck,” the timebreaker says, “have more questions now than before.”

Yunho opens his mouth but you cut him off. Unlike the other angel, God didn’t bless you with the patience of a saint when They created you. “No one cares about obnoxious fools who run around universes breaking time. Killing innocents however? The boss doesn’t like that.”

The timebreaker tilts his head towards you. “Who’s this boss you keep talking about? God?”

You laugh. “So you’re a fool and uncultured.”

He looks ready to murder you. You’d like to see him try; it would spice things up a bit. 

Your partner shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “God died a long time ago. No, we call him the Captain.”

At the mention of his name the storm clouds rupture and shimmering glitter falls from the sky. You blink up at the sudden burst of colour. 

Suspicious.

“Dammit,” you curse, “we’re not even close.” You shake the pulsar, which buzzes sadly in the steady stream of luminescent sparkles. You huff and a small puff of smoke escapes your nose.

Yunho squeezes your shoulder. “Do you think you can do it here, if needed?” 

“It’s not ideal, but I can manage. The harvesting will be a pain, though. The soil is too muddy.”

“We can work something out. I trust you.” Yunho’s hand drops to his side and you miss its warmth already. Then he jumps in front of you, causing you to nearly barrel head-first into his chest. He spreads his wings and grins, “This is the skin of a killer, Bella.”

“Shut up.” You push him out of your way, suppressing a smile and trying not to look at the pretty glitter covering him from head to toe. Some of your eyes steal a glance anyway. “Vampires aren’t real.”

He’s still laughing. “For someone who pretends to hate Earth you sure know a lot about it. Who’s the romantic now?”

You don’t respond and push past him, aiming the pulsar at the glittery sky. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind your feigned disapproval and falls back at your side, his comforting presence grounding you like always. As annoying as he can be, you need him there. You’d trust him with your life. 

“I miss humans sometimes. It’s a shame they went extinct.” Yunho turns towards the timebreaker. “She was there, you know. During Armageddon. It was angels versus demons… pretty cool. I wasn’t old enough to join the fight yet. I’ve only heard the stories.” He elbows you in the side. “Tell him about it.” 

You groan. “There was a lot of fire. The end.”

The timebreaker raises an eyebrow. “What happened to the demons?”

“They were wiped out.” 

“That seems to be a recurring theme.” 

You turn your head and grin at him. “You could call it our… speciality.”

For the first time since you’ve dragged him from his universe, the timebreaker looks afraid. A shiver runs through him and his sharp teeth clatter. “I thought angels were supposed to be harbingers of peace. Chubby babies chanting glorias to God and all that stuff.”

“We were tasked to maintain the cosmic harmony of all universal laws,” you shrug, “but no one ever told us how to mete out divine justice.”

“You could say we’re just winging it.” Yunho grins. “Get it?”

The timebreaker doesn’t laugh. The crease between his brows deepens. “So let me get this straight: when you wipe out an entire planet it’s fine, but when I do it—” he huffs, an indignant sound, “—I get thrown in jail?”

You shrug again. “Collateral damage. It happens.”

“Fuck this,” the timebreaker says. Then he starts running. It only takes a few metres for his form to completely disappear in the downpour of glitter.

“Took him long enough.” Yunho takes the pulsar from your hands to save if from melting and sticks it in his pocket. “Are you ready?”

His glasses reflect an orange glow and you laugh. You know he loves this part of the job as much as you do. He can have this. “Go get him, partner.”

The angel spreads his wings and points at you. “I’m taking you out for dinner after,” he says. Then he disappears into the void. 

You draw patterns in the fallen glitter with one smoky foot and start counting. People tend to underestimate your partner by virtue of his angelic aura. They’re always wrong. 

It doesn’t take him long to return. The timebreaker shrieks when he sees you. “What the fuck happened to her?” He trashes in your partner’s arms. “I’ve got a family! Friends! They’ll come looking for me!”

“26 seconds. Not bad,” you comment dryly. 

“They will come!”

“Over there would be perfect.” You point at a spot a few metres away. “Thank you, Yunho.”

Your partner puts the captive down and pats him on the shoulder. He doesn’t run this time. Where would he go, hands bound, without a timepiece and with two angels on his heels? Maybe he wasn’t as foolish as you thought. Some of them keep running. 

“It’s going to be okay,” your partner says. It won’t be. “I’m sure you’ll be dearly missed. I can already picture the memorial service. Lots of flowers, sad piano music... it's going to be beautiful.”

The timebreaker pales. It appears he’s finally caught up on the plan. “What happened to jail? A proper trial?” He blinks twice, then recovers some of his rage and spits at Yunho, “You’ll regret this. My family will hunt you down and kill you both. They'll rip out your feathers one by one until there's none left.”

Yunho pushes his glasses higher up his nose. “‘I’m not afraid of death anyway’, you said.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t worry, death doesn’t have to be temporary. Some of us believe in reincarnation.” Yunho lowers his voice, knowing you can’t hear him over the roaring fire around you. “Not her, of course. She believes in total annihilation.” He gives the man one last gentle pat on the back before stepping away. 

“No one but you has mentioned jail.” You have to raise your voice because of the ringing in your ears. “And your family will find a shipwreck, remember? Such an unfortunate accident.”

“Extremely unfortunate,” Yunho agrees. 

The timebreaker doesn’t answer. His skin has turned the colour of grey mud. You feel the flames rise even higher, inching closer to him.

Finally. 

The last thing the timebreaker sees before the flames engulf him is the sky breaking open. You wrap around him and burn until there’s nothing left but a heap of sand and glitter.

Yunho retrieves an empty hourglass from his pocket and crouches down to fill it with sand. “The Captain’s gonna be happy,” he says while he pours more grains in the glass. "Look at the size of that pile!"

You suppress a yawn and shiver. You always get a little cold after the fire has gone down to a simmer.

“Chinese sound good to you? For old time’s sake?” Yunho hands you the hourglass and wraps a wing around your shoulder. “I know a place.” 

You elbow him in the side and smile. “Romantic.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this story please reblog, leave a comment, tell a friend, send me a pigeon, launch a mars rover. Your encouragement fuels my inner writer cryptid 👾

[megamindsupremacy]

Stewjon is Space Scotland: Names and Naming Conventions

For context, I designed an entire naming system for my Stewjon is Space Scotland AU. I'm still trying to work out the cultural logistics of it, but the actual practical logistics I have down.

To break everything down:

Stewjon is a clan-centric society, with clans and clan names having a hugely important role in the culture. I therefore had clan names feature in both the first and last name of Stewjonis.

-The last name (Kenobi) is the family/clan name, and is passed down the family paternally. This is both because I'm from a western culture with a paternal naming tradition, and also because I liked how his parents names sounded when the last names transferred paternally but not maternally. "Ken" would translate to "Clan" (I don't know if this is accurate to Scots English or Scots Gaelic, but I'm working from canon Star Wars names and trying to worldbuild from nothing so work with me here), and then the clan name "Obi" is attached, so "Kenobi" translates to "Clan Obi" or "of Clan Obi"

-The given name (-Wan, but we'll get to "Wan" in a second) is one to two syllables. All of these names are (according to Wikipedia) actual Scottish names, which I picked from the list mostly based on how well they'd sound next to the clan name.

-The prefix clan name (Obi-) is the interesting part. All children are given the father's clan name as both their first and last clan name. Therefore, Obi-Wan Kenobi, son of Ito-Benneit Kenobi, has "Obi" in both his first and last name. However, upon marriage, the couple swaps their prefix clan names to signify the tie between their clans. Therefore his mother Ito-Ceit Kenito and his father Obi-Benneit Kenobi became Obi-Ceit Kenito and Ito-Benneit Kenobi upon their marriage.

-Originally I was going to do something with the fact that "Obi" means belt in Japanese, such as making the clan names signify professions in the same way "Miller" or "Smith" would in English surnames, but I gave up because Japanese is so different of a language from what I understand that I would have just made myself very confused and everyone who understands Japanese language and culture very mad. So I just went with a vowel-consonant-vowel pattern for all the clan names and called it a day.

-Remember how I said we would come back to "Wan"? Obi-Wan wasn't born Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was born Obi-Owen (Owen is a whole 'nother thing and I decided to just give myself a freebie on it), and his name was anglicized (basic-icized?) upon being brought to the Jedi temple. Not on purpose, but it did happen. So technically the chart above should have him listed as Obi-Owen Kenobi, but I already took the screenshot so this is what we're working with.

-Culturally, it's respectful to refer to someone by their full name (Obi-Owen Kenobi). The full name stands until two people are fairly close to each other, platonically or romantically. The informal, friendly version would be their full first name (Obi-Owen). So you wouldn't call your new friend "Obi-Owen" until you're quite close, even if you're social equals. Technically you could refer to someone by their given name only (Owen), but it's awkward and Stewjonis don't really see a reason for it. All of this highlights the cultural emphasis placed on clans and clan ties in Stewjoni society.

The Family Tree

THE KIDS

Starting from the bottom, we have the four Kenobi siblings. Obi-Conn is the oldest, and he marries Yana-Eóin Kenyana, becoming Yana-Conn Kenobi. None of this happens in the story but I wrote it in the chart anyways. Obi-Eóin is nonbinary, which is why their square is white instead of blue or pink.

Obi-Mór and Obi-Pál are twins and approximately four years younger than Yana-Conn. Obi-Mór is ambiguously disabled (she has some form of muscular disability, but the specifics weren't relevant to the story). Obi-Pál is just some guy and I love him for that.

Obi-Owen is the baby of the family. He's twelve years younger than the twins (16 years younger than Yana-Conn) and was definitely an oopsie-baby. I don't need to say anything else because he is also one of the major characters of the Star Wars franchise. You know him.

THE PARENTS

Obi-Ceit Kenito and Ito-Benneit Kenobi are the Kenobi siblings' parents. I don't have much to say here other than that Ito-Benneit shortens his name to Ito-Ben, to avoid the repeated "eet" sound in his full first name. I'm sure that doesn't affect Obi-Owen's future nicknames in any way!

It is Ito-Benneit fault, by the way, that I made clan prefixes instead of surnames to be switched upon marriage. Culturally, it would have made more sense for the more commonly used first name to hold your birth clan and your less commonly used surname to indicate your linked-by-marriage clan, but I needed Obi-Benneit to marry into the name Ito-Benneit so that I could shorten it to Ben. Goddammit.

THE GRANDPARENTS

Ito-Ben's parents are entirely irrelevant so they don't exist. Sad!

Technically I didn't have to name Ito-Lili Kenuna, but I felt bad having her up there as an unnamed person. Una-Owen Kenito, as you may suspect, is where Obi-Wan's name comes from. I really wanted to highlight his Stewjoni heritage in this fic, so giving him family ties through his whole name was important to me. Obi-Ceit names Obi-Owen for her father because Una-Owen was a strong fighter, and she wants to pass that resilience to her son. Which, uh. Well he sure is resilient to things trying to kill him!

Feel free to come yell at me in the askbox about Stewjon's worldbuilding!

[codenamesazanka]

I need help writing the league of villains for a fan fiction. Like can you give me tips on to write their dialogue and stuff like that

Thanks for the ask! Here are some things that I think would be helpful, but please be aware that it's my approach to writing the League the way I interpret them. I'm sure there's people who finds my fic wildly inaccurate in terms of characterization. Sometimes I go back months later and disagree with my own stuff, given new information or outlook. You'll have different interpretations than me, and that's okay. And thus,

Tip #1: First of all, it’s fanfic, it’s fun, and it’s yours. You can do whatever the heck you want! It does not matter at all what you do with the characters, their dialogue, their personalities, their relationships, etc. I’ve read plenty of AU fanfics where I could not recognize Shigaraki Tomura/Shimura Tenko, despite the character having the name, but I still liked the story okay. Really, it’s all up to you and what you want. 

That said, to actually answer your question:

Tip #2: Re-read the manga. Read the scanlations - multiple versions from different scanlation groups. Read the official. No version will be perfect, some are better than others (Viz Official has its issues, but it is done by a professional translator and I tend towards it; Fallen Angels (Chapters 1-150s) was the first to scanlate and iirc they even included translation commentary at the end of their chapters; I found mangastream to be more accurate than Jaimini (Chapters 150-250s)), but having a variety of translations will give you insight into the intention of a dialogue, and different ways of achieving it. Read the original Japanese, if you can. 

Tip #2.5: Best way to figure a character, I find, is to describe the panels they’re in as if you’re writing a very plain, objective, impartial image description. Now you have an overview of their outward behavior, their actions, their dialogue. Using that, you have the basis for developing their motivations and personality. It’s the difference between ‘Shigaraki used gamer lingo a few times here, so he is a gamer... therefore he’s obsessed with games and that’s all he does’ and ‘In the first 100 chapters of the story, despite speaking sometimes like a gamer, Shigaraki is actually seen reading newspapers rather than holding a game console’.

Put another way, don’t assume generalized descriptions or traits for a character and write them based on that. You risk writing a trope or archetype or situation rather than the actual character. 

When a loved one dies suddenly, people will be in shock, before sobbing and weeping uncontrollably. That’s generally true, but the character may manifest grief in a different way. Someone close to Toga is killed - what does she do? You can write her breaking down crying, that’s perfectly reasonable. But if you look at the manga, when Twice is killed, she doesn’t cry right away. She gets angry; she lashes out. She’s deeply hurt by his murder, of course! But the tears she sheds for his passing are few in the immediate aftermath - her grief mostly takes the form of slicing Heroes’ throats.

Tip #3: Read everything else, for inspiration, for background knowledge, for tone, for your own gain outside of fandom.

Just the other day, I read Real, the wheelchair basketball manga by Inoue Takehiko. Its three main characters are marginalized by proper society - two because they’re disabled, one because he’s a high school dropout - and there were moments where I was reminded of the League’s situation. In the first chapter, the high school dropout makes a final visit to school where his teachers didn’t think much of him, and his classmates looked down on him. As he leaves, he thinks to himself that everything he does ends in failure and he’s an idiot, all the while he takes a dump at the school gates as a parting gift.

While I can’t see anyone from the League doing that exactly shot for shot, the spirit of it - being seen as a fuck up, being unwanted, being defiant in face of that, even in a inadvisable way - is similar.

Tip #3.5: Another book I’ve read years ago is Codes of the Underworld: How Criminal Communicate. It was very informative, and I think back to it sometimes when I write for the League. 

Criminals face severe constraints on communication imposed by the action of the law, and, unlike the rest of us, cannot easily develop institutions aimed at circumventing them. This central feature of criminal lives makes communication and above all reliable communication exceptionally hard to sustain. For instance, the same secrecy that protects criminals from the law hinders their opportunities to advertise their goods and qualities… In the underworld, moreover, punishments for mistakes and irrational behavior are harsher than they are elsewhere. In the world of regular business, failures of communication can lead to a loss of business, but in the underworld they can result in years behind bars, or worse.

I don’t follow it exactly, because the League is in a children’s fantasy story, and maybe this was obvious but now that it was written out to me, I know how to give the Villains an “edge” to them that a non-Villain might not have, because as Villains, they do often logically would to be secretive and brutal and cautious. Dabi walking around in broad daylight meant their hideout was discovered and All Might literally took down the wall to the bar; a breakdown in negotiations with Overhaul meant Magne dying and Compress getting his arm blown off. 

Tip #4: Related, let the League be assholes, because sometimes they are. Let them be mean and cruel and problematic. Sometimes they’ll be jerks to each other. Nearly all of them grew up in bad circumstances where they probably were not taught important lessons and details about respect and boundaries and being nice. They are definitely not going to be aware of the intricacies of fandom's (oft-American and oft-terminally-online) consensus about problematic behavior. And that’s fine. 

I remember once receiving an ask about why Shigaraki would pull Twice’s mask off in Chapter 224. Wasn’t that terrible of Shigaraki? Yeah, it was. It was also the quickest, most efficient way to get Twice to quit his arguing with the rest of the League, so Shigaraki can announce that they are going to rescue Giran (what Twice was arguing for). After that, he puts the mask back on for Twice. If you ask me, I’d say Shigaraki thinks this evens out - he does something mean that he knows will freak out Twice for a moment, but it’s because he’s arguing for Twice’s side, and he’s putting on the mask back at the end. 

You and I would likely never do something like that because we know taking away someone’s important assistive aid, even for a moment, hurts them and we don’t want to cause them pain for even a second if we could help it/there’s not ‘evening it out’/it demonstrates a power unbalance that perpetuates ableism/there are other ways to stop someone and grab attention/we know not to touch someone even the slightest without permission/etc. But does the character you’re writing know all this? Does he care? Does he think it’s worth following these rules? Does he have time for it, does he have incentives for it, does he have the lucidity, does he think he’s an exception because of this and that, etc, etc. 

A lot of things, most people often just don’t know until they’re taught to be specifically aware. As an example: When I was younger, I knew broadly that taking things without permission was bad; but what if I took these pair of scissors from my friend’s desk and used it and put it back before the owner knew? The owner is my friend. They once told me it was okay to take it, so it counts even today, right? It was just a pair of scissors, a common household item. My friend did not care; still does not care. But knowing what I do now about things like violations of boundaries, explicit consent, the continuation of these concepts for the most trivial and mundane things even in the deepest of friendship or familial ties - I feel the need to ask to use something. That’s me and what I’ve learned through the years, though. It’s probably not going to be [fictional character].

And sometimes the League are just bad people. Shigaraki tried to kill Toga and Dabi at their first meeting. Mr. Compress is seemingly a-okay with kidnapping and murder despite his ancestor being more of a Robin Hood type. Spinner likely knowingly doomed his family to even worse ostracism and harassment from his fantasy-racist hometown when he ran off to join a group of well-televised terrorists. 

That’s also fine. They’re not real. They’re fictional Villains, and you’re temporarily using them as hand-puppets to tell a story. 

Tip #5. For dialogue, it helps knowing what each character’s voice/speaking style sounds like. Some basics:

Shigaraki: 

“Shigaraki speaks with the normal masculine contracted speech, but with a sinister tone. Surprisingly not very cussy. He likes aggravating other people though.”

Caleb Cook notes that Shigaraki talks like an overgrown kid. (In comparison to ReDestro, who “uses more SAT words, since he’s had a formal education.”)

He can be a sarcastic smartass.

Kurogiri:

“Kurogiri is Extremely Polite”

He only refers to Shigaraki as ‘Shigaraki Tomura’. Always the full name, always just that.

He speaks very formally and respectfully; however, there is also a nastier side to him that comes out when he faces off Heroes: Saying to All Might, “I can't say I like the idea of having blood and guts inside my gate, but… if they're yours, I’ll happily oblige.” (Chapter 18); mocking Eraserhead and Mic when they're being sad over him, “Have you mistaken this place for a confessional of some kind?” (Chapter 254)

Dabi: 

“Dabi is like Shoto but ruder, though not to Bakugo’s extent”

He calls people names: Toga most often, as 'crazy'; he called Spinner 'lizard' once; when he first met Shigaraki, he said 'gross'.

Note that all the examples above are people younger than him; as far as I know, Dabi refrains from name-calling his allies who are older than him: Compress, Twice, Skeptic.

He inexplicably politely calls Ujiko ‘Ujiko-san’.

Compress:

“Compress is kind of like Sero. He’s got that trickster tone to him. Gets rougher when things don’t go his way.”

Likes to call himself an ‘old man’ at age 32; talks like an older gentleman as well. 

Twice: 

Twice contradicts himself a lot. Generally, he says one thing, his alter then says the opposite of that immediately afterwards. 

However, when things are urgent or serious, his alter’s speech fades. See Chapter 148, when he confronts Shigaraki about the Overhaul plan - he spills out his feelings with no contradiction. See Chapter 224, after they find out Giran’s been kidnapped - when arguing with the League about whether to say Giran, he’s completely coherent. 

Twice argues back with the alter sometimes, rather than the alter simply blurting out the opposite of what he says. 

After he gets over his clone trauma, the alter seemed to have…integrated into himself? He still speaks in contradictions, but less so, and it doesn’t seem to be a separate voice speaking out involuntarily

Spinner: 

“Spinner also speaks the normal masculine contracted speech like Kirishima and Kaminari, but he talks like Tokoyami during the Forest Lodge arc because he’s a Stain chuuni.”

An average, normal guy, compared to the rest of the League: not very polite, but not particularly rude; no great wit or affect (after he stops being a Stain fanboy), but not unintelligible; game references infrequently.

Giran: 

“Giran is also like speaks the normal masculine contracted speech similar to Shoto, but he’s a lot more mature.”

He calls Shigaraki “Shigaraki-san”, being polite towards him as a customer. 

He calls Twice by his last name, ‘Bubaigawara’, likely because they seem to be friends beyond just business. 

Toga: 

Toga is a generally polite girl, talks like a teenager. 

She can be bad at explaining herself! Seems to forget the people are lacking context for the things she says. “Hey, my best friend Jin just got killed by a Hero, which makes me sad, as well as worried that I'm going to be cut down like nothing as well, especially because I've been told how abnormal I am, even though I think I'm a normal person just like you, because I have emotions like love and fear, as any regular human does, and that lifetime of repression has hurt me.” -> Whatever she actually says to Uraraka in Chapter 289.

Only Toga uses first names with honorifics with the other League members. This is her being cute and desiring familiarity, but still polite. 

　◦ Twice is ‘Jin-kun’

　◦ Shigaraki is ‘Tomura-kun’

　◦ Dabi is, at first ‘Dabi-kun’; after she finds out he’s Touya, he’s ‘Touya-kun’ 

　◦ Spinner is ‘Spinner-kun’

　◦ However, Mr. Compress is simply ‘Mister’ 

Conversely, only Mr. Compress and Twice call her ‘Toga-chan’. All the 20-somethings dudes call her just ‘Toga’. 

*Note what the League calls each other. They all call each other using Villain names. If the male members of the League are using first names and honorifics for each other, they’ve either gotten extremely close and intimate and weirdly polite, or they’re being possessed by AFO. 

Tip #5.5. Instead of fretting over writing good dialogue right away, just write whatever you need to get a scene over with. You can go back later to change the tone and speaking style of the sentence.

Here’s a line I had for Dabi at first: 

“Whatever hospital he works at should be shut down for incompetency in background checks.”

Wayyy too formal. Here’s the line after I went back and fixed it:

“Whatever hospital he works at should be shut down for being shit at background checks.”

Still not my best shot, but better. Sometimes all you need is just to change a word. 

Tip #6. Humor. The League is ridiculous and hilarious. Always try to have fun with their interactions and antics.

[pompomnium]

Please read from right to left. This is BartNat. 'Bartimaeus attends Nathaniel's funeral after his body is found' This manga was drawn in line with such requests. For me this was a so difficult request, consider this as one possible AU story among many.

The following is my fantasy. I couldn't explain it just within the manga...... Although Bart is sorry for Nat's death, they understood each other perfectly in their parting. Therefore, for Bart, Nat's death is not just sad. I think there is also the joy of having a heart-to-heart with Nat, whom he had hated for so many years. That is why the end of PG is sad but has a somewhat refreshing aftertaste. So Bart often reflects on Nat's death. Not because it is a memory of pain, but because it is a memory of his strong friendship with him. Well, even if that is the case, Bart's split on Nat's death is because he feels ‘that we did everything we could’, so if the possibility that there really was a way to save them both came into Bart's mind, he would feel bitter. I can't think that Bart actually believes that Nathaniel will be reborn (because Ptolemy doesn't come to see Bart after two thousand years), but he can live with the hope that he will see him somewhere down the road. I hope that through Nat, Bart has also healed the memory of his separation from Ptolemy. It would be nice to have a grave for Nathaniel and a grave for John Mandrake, respectively. In Bart's mind, the two are not similar. Even as Bart, he would not want to go near Mandrake's grave, even though Nathaniel's death deserves to be mourned. Probably.

Also, in my mind, the relationship between Bart and Kitty is similar to that of a father and daughter. I think that protecting Kitty, whom Nat wanted to protect, is what Bart can do for Nat. There's too much to write about when I'm trying to describe Nat's death. I hope to draw the same subject again at some point. Thank you for taking a look. PS Not sure if Latin is accurate. If you have a better translation suggestion, please let me know.

[the-marron]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self-love ❤

Hi!!! Thank you for thinking of me 🥰

Ah, well, that's a hard one, because choosing favourite kids is never an easy task and my faves change often, but I will do my best! I really like writing in general, so all the works are made with love, even if I don't revisit them anymore.

It's Not a Safe World For Kids - Batman/Catwoman, 12k

It's mostly Selina interacting with different Robins and figuring out her place in the family and in Bruce's life. I like it not only because of my love for the ship and the Robins that appear there, but also because it gave me an opportunity to play with the abundance of contradicting canons and timelines, wrangling it all into a more or less cohesive story of the Bat family.

I can see that you are lonesome just like me - Weilan Derivatives, Hong Yizhou/Ma Fei, 21k

This one is special not only because I really like the characters and I think they work together well given their respective canons, but I also liked working on it - it's a second attempt at this story, that I made after my friend pointed out that there is one bit that absolutely doesn't work in the first one. The resulting 'Director's Cut' of the fic is not only a story I like due to its slice of life feel of two tired, heroic people trying to find their way to one another, but also a memento of our talks and collaboration on making the second version.

Deceive me kindly (while I'm still here) - Weilan, steampunk au, 13k

My love for steampunk, self-made tragedies and Weilan all rolled into one. I know that bad endings/open endings are not everyone's thing so I can't recommend it with clear conscience, but I had lots of fun 'translating' Guardian's setting into a steampunk one, especially since I could delve into the darker undertones here.

we devour, like a falcon in the dive | - Weilan derivatives, Luolin, 13k

Okay, so choosing a favourite Luolin proved to be very hard ;-; In each one I centred on a different thing that I like about the ship (or maybe the possibility of the ship since, you know, derivs) so picking just one is... *hard*, but this one is my first attempt to give them a clean cut, kinda-historically accurate happy ending, plus again, I have a friend co-conspirator who inspired large parts of it. Also: it's very dramatic, I do like me some drama

End Racism in the OTW | The Story's Unwinding - Weilan, The Mummy! au, 61k

I usually divide between my own works and collaborations, but I just can't pick from my own, it would be a whole list, and this one is the fic of my dreams that I wrote with my friend and that love re-reading whenever I feel down - it's that feeling when you notice bits and pieces and you are not sure who wrote what, but it gives you lots of joy. Plus it marries Guardian and the Mummy, which are my two favourite works of 'Unhinged About the Love of My Life, Thanks'. And the process of writing this fic was one of the funniest rides ever.

Bonus: The Way of the Househusband, Weilan, 4k

Okay, so this is funny because I wasn't convinced that this fic was that good when I first published it, but it was inspired by my friend's art and I wanted to share it, but I kind of... didn't expect it to be noticed by anyone? But not only my friend liked the illustration for her art, but also this fic lured in another person who I can now call a friend, so this has lots of sentimental value 😁

Again, thank you for the ask, I will happily poke others ❤

[a-hobit]

Since Luz and Hunter in your switched AU are born in 1600s colonial America and Luz clearly speaks Spanish in the AU (shown in a comic) and is Latina (specifically Dominican) in show cannon, is there any history stuff you’re adhering especially considering the differences between Spanish and English colonies in location and demographic or are you ✨going rogue?✨ Is Luz an indigenous-Spanish mix like many Latinos are today? How would she have gotten to mainland since a lot of Spanish claim was in the Caribbean or Florida and treatment of indigenous people by Europeans, specifically Spanish and British, was notoriously brutal? Sorry if I’m absolutely overthinking this. This is coming from a history nerd, so I’m just curious how that’s going to work considering the realities of racial divides in colonial settlements during 1600s America and the relatively small number of Spanish people that actually would’ve lived there by then. AGAIN SORRY IF I’M OVERTHINKING IT I’M JUST A NERD FEEL FREE TO JUST BE LIKE “NAH.”

OH btw, I noticed a comment in a comic that implied trans Hunter and just wanted to mention that there’s some super interesting accounts of LGBTQIA+ people from the time period if you’re interested. I know of a fan work about Caleb and Phillip where Caleb is trans that covers that extensively if you want a link.

I LOVE ASKS LIKE THIS ANON!! Because IM overthinking it but at least someone else is too! So there's a lot I can't answer due to spoilers -- and I actually will be explaining a fair bit because I just am so charmed at how we are so on the same wavelength here so if you don't want to not know literally anything even a little bit spoilery about Luz or Hunter before the comic comes out I would ignore this ask! -- but I will go into some of it!

Okay! So I tossed and turned on this exact issue for FUCKING MONTHS. Go rouge or loophole? How historically accurate did I want to go with this concept and how much of that accuracy am I sacrificing for just needing something to be a certain way? Do I want to be as accurate as possible or have a cohesive and interesting story?

The answer is a little bit of both! Im much more of an art history nerd than a straight up history nerd but I have my moments! I love the sociopolitical conundrum having a latina Dominican (ALSO half black! Love that about her but SO hard to write in!) girl in 1600s America because it can be as little or as highly complicated as you can get. I drew a lot of inspiration for a long few months pouring over what groups of people were where and when -- what languages they spoke -- wether the books that I could find could describe a day to day of these people rather than just political conflicts.

Footnote : There are certain Native American groups so fucking overlooked that they don't even have ONE BOOK of comprehensive (non war centered) history that isn't a four year old reading level. I looked for WEEKS. I tried everywhere and was even willing to start to buy reading material but it just doesn't exist? Especially around the original colonies????? HOW!! People around me started telling me I should write a book because of how much I was obsessing over it and trying to find any information but no books can be written on close to NONEXISTENT historical writings! OKAY BACK TO IT--

I looked out for the first sightings of Spanish in the west and where they were headed -- wether or not any Spanish broke away from the group to have children with the Native Americans in the area at the right time -- what the political state was between Britain and Spain -- did they occupy the same or around the same places close enough I could fudge it? Were they friendly toward each other? When were slaves from other countries brought to America? What languages would they have spoken and is there a good translator online? What kind of spanglish can come from Angola, Umbundu and Spanish speakers at the time? Or would it be spanglish with Portuguese because of who was controlling the slave trade at the time?

Tearing out my hair and a hundred more google searches later I decided it wasn't worth the misrepresentation of both languages to try and include either of them mixed together in that way in the whole comic-- just bits and pieces separate for my sanity -- although I WILL get some cultural things in there I promise!

Some things just can not stay historically accurate and one of those things is speech. That was the first thing -- so damn difficult to really pin it down properly in the older dialects so I just had to sadly put that away first. All of the languages written about will be mostly modern versions, English, Spanish, Portuguese, and others but while keeping in mind the time frame.

Next I obsessed about when and where exactly would culture mixing begin and if the people stayed in the same spots! Also unfortunate ( for this AU purpose only! )that most of the Spanish went down and not into the Americas but history will be what it is.

SO

I decided that what I was going to do is make it up a little using a lot of historical context available instead of switching up Luz's race in a serious way to make the accuracy better -- I was going to have things happen MUCH sooner. Like 2 or 3 generations sooner. The Native Americans and Spanish populate together in 1500 ish instead of 1700 or 1800. I GET THIS IS REALLY INACCURATE but it was so fucking impossible to do anything else without getting into things I didn't want to do. The British get there the same time as usual and start the colonies in the 1600s but the Spanish are already moving up into North America and have already spent a lot of time with the Native Americans there at the time. SO that means that Luz is able to have a Native Mexican/ Native American AND Spanish mix at the time of the AU start and be similar to how the population became around now -- my dad inspired this! He's got the same mix himself and I loved that I could pull from that. It's such an interesting genetic tree honestly -- there's a lot of seriously horrible things that happened do not get me wrong -- but the history is amazing.

Luz being half black however feels similarly difficult but it follows the same principles of things with everyone who is not British making things happen much earlier. Africans come to America ( Horrifically and brutally I want to make that very clear) and some in real life of course make their way out of that brutality and hide away from the British and the Spanish...with who? The mixed Natives and Spaniards. Couple of generations later and we have a beautiful mixed pot like the America we see today but hundreds of years early that allows me to keep my afro Latina!! Hunter eventually finds this group that has naturally traveled up into where the british are setting up their first settlements in Virginia and joins them for reasons I can not explain!

THANK YOU for letting me ramble about all this rich history it is incredible.

ALSO I love trans Hunter HC and I do a lot of it myself but in this comic Hunter is cisgender. ( BUT seriously if you wanna hc Hunter as trans in my story I would love it -- trans fem or masc because Hunter is one of the transest coded characters ever) Because both him and Luz are attracted to the same and opposite sex I will still be able to explore certain LGBTQIA+ issues as well!

(DISCLAIMER : Listen I completely understand if this switching around might feel tone deaf to some people but I do not intend to shy away from the brutality of the past or give it a nicer spin -- but this is not a comic focused on the nitty gritty details of the world that Luz and Hunter come from but a focus on the nastiness that comes from later in their lives in Gravesfeild and the witch trials. To have this happen and keep all characters relatively the same I had to do a lot of background but It is worth it to keep these characters with their integrity intact)

[nogacheloveka-blog]

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №6

next 7

prev 5

This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

Heh, Killer found his lost family. I thought it was funny to depict him like that. To gather information, I use both English and Russian wikis on Backrooms. Level 2.1 is in the Russian version, but for some reason it's not in the English one. I won't be too accurate with the canon and will even take liberties with it. It's quite confusing and I don't want to get too tangled up in it, since my story isn't serious. I'm just having fun.

Shaking through a couple more rooms and turning into random corners, the group began to hear the sound of working machinery. Since there were no other landmarks, it was decided to follow the noise. Along the way, they encountered more strange inscriptions and drawings on the walls. Some were particularly interesting, and Dust even wrote them down in his notebook . It seems he gets some pleasure from working with paper and pen. Especially since the previous owner kept notes sloppily and confusingly, making it not always clear what was a note for later words and what was just random phrases or a list of necessary items (shopping list?). He also constantly mentioned other people, which sent shivers down their spines.

Apparently, people mainly lived in the Hub and in small numbers in some other levels and locations.

To get to the Hub, enter the Konami code at the entrance to level 1. You can also accidentally get there through doors on other levels.

Did this mean that the locals also mess around with files? What a headache .

The group decided to avoid people for as long as possible. Of course, Error wasn't particularly worried: he was capable of destroying AUs that were sometimes entirely made up of people. (Nightmare knew that sometimes it required several regenerations in the Anti-Void, but decided to keep that knowledge to himself) .

As they made their way to the rumbling machines, the Bad Guys noticed that the temperature of the air began to change: rising sharply above Hotland and then dropping to the coolness of Snowdin. Of course, for their magic bodies, this didn't pose any harm, but they had never seen such jumps in the atmosphere before. But it seemed to be a distinctive feature of the level they were moving through.

In one of the dark locked rooms, they came across a new type of creature. Their aura seemed quite familiar . They were clearly strange distorted monsters from the underground. Perhaps Snowdin's dogs or something similar. They didn't attack, but constantly wanted to approach and sniff, which made Error swear.

These speechless creatures got along well with Nightmare, through whose ability to suppress and ignite emotions, they could communicate with them in a way, instilling the necessary direction of thoughts and receiving an emotional response. Here, the Keeper of Negativity was in his element. It was only annoying that he couldn't feed on them: Smilers simply reacted to external irritants and were slightly smarter than amoebas.

However, according to records , these monsters willingly attacked humans, and humans were terrified of them. Dust immediately set about correcting the record about them.

Smilers Nasty things, but I've been lucky enough to avoid them so far. They say there's another nest besides the Hive with these creatures alien to our world. Researchers seem to suspect that they're really from another planet. Tips : - Maintain eye contact and slowly back away. - Be quiet and don't make loud noises. - Use Smiler Repellent. - Turn off all light sources you're equipped with. Prohibitions: - Panic and run away from the Smiler if it hasn't started chasing you. - Make loud noises.- Leave your light sources on. -------------- *are safe and friendly like dogs. Killer fit in well with their pack. They love light and seem to eat it somehow. Not so strange, after all, photons do exist.

They continued on with their entourage.

From the hot spots of level 2, you can get to 2.1 (nothing interesting, leads to level 3). Some doors here lead to level 3. A strange colorful curved door leads to 283 (DAMNED CLOWN HELL).

No one wanted to go to "Clown Hell", even though the notebook compiler had been wrong about the danger level of various phenomena more than once. But if the locations of this place were called "levels," then to get out of here, they had to go through all of them, right? It sounds logical.

The group still managed to get to level 3. Although it wasn't without problems. The notes spoke of two paths: accidentally through doors and through hot areas. They seemed to have used both at the same time.

Finding a place with high temperature or doors wasn't that difficult thanks to the group's overall number, along with the Smilers . Error preferred to simply stretch threads in all directions for some reason ( He won't get his glasses in this company ) . Then it was a simple routine of opening doors in the found "hot spots." Smilers couldn't open doors themselves, so it turned out to be impossible to entrust this to them.

During these searches, they found some office paper and a few spare pens for Dust. It seems he and Cross started communicating better with each other, working with the notebook and supplementing it with their observations.

Killer entertained himself by drawing various indecencies on the walls with the help of several aerosol paint cans. Horror also drew on the walls, but his actions were more practical and consisted of leaving marks on explored doors. Essentially, they were doing the same job, just in different ways.

Finally, behind one of the doors, there was a corridor of dusty brick, similar to the many Ruins of underground dungeons they had visited. Error confirmed that this was a transition to another level. He still didn't understand how to predict where they would end up, except through visual inspection of the passage. Along with his complete helplessness during his Loadings between locations, this drove him crazy. He had extremely high demands on himself. The only thing that slightly comforted his wounded pride in such moments was the hope and need for the gaze of others looking at him with a question.

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 5

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: covering up of wounds, thoughts about past mud€r, awkward morning, lies, fluff, 700 in 3 Jungkook because I couldn't not write it, inner conflicts between good and bad, detailed description of inner autopsy, scalpel in thigh, blood, stitching without local anaesthesia, drinking, fluff, OC drops a hint to her dark side, Jungkook is oblivious in so many ways it physically hurts, smut, f!ngering, worshipping, oral (m. receiving), protected s€x, OC rides him (it's the way that you can ride~), pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 7.6K

a/n: I thought I'd upload tomorrow as a present for ✨ Jungkook Day ✨ but I’m going to be busy, so here’s the chapter a little early. It’s a bit of a treat, mostly fluff and smut, pushing the plot forward, so ENJOY! After this one, we’ll be spiralling fast and hard 🫢 Please don’t come at me!

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

The next morning, you stand in your small shared bathroom that after all these years still feels too small, the kind of tight space that seems to crowd you when you’re already feeling a little claustrophobic. You’re staring into the mirror, eyes a little distant, trying to assess the damage from last night, trying to make sense of everything that happened in the darkness of night. The faint bathroom light flickers once, just as if it’s mimicking the wavering thoughts in your head, and you finally focus on yourself again. 

Your neck isn’t much of a problem, the slight pinkish bruise barely visible when the light isn’t catching just right, so masking it with some make up isn’t much of a problem. You can make it disappear entirely, almost like nothing happened. Almost. What does concern you however is the little cut on your swollen, puffy bottom lip. The skin is stretching tight over the small cut that’s stubborn in its defiance, refusing to be ignored. It’s not big, nor is it deep, but it’s prominent in the way it catches the light, just enough that someone standing close to you might notice. Someone like Jungkook.

Brushing teeth only added to the inflammation, which you gladly don’t feel, but will be adding to the problem of covering up. You curse softly under your breath, wondering how you’ll manage to keep it truly hidden, to dodge any questions about why your lips look like you’ve been punched in the face, what you actually have been.

You rummage through your cosmetics bag, hands shaking a little more than you’d like to admit as you pull out a small tube of liquid plaster, dapping it accurately on it so it’s somehow a smoother surface. The rich plum balm next, gliding over your lips, darkening the pink flesh until it matches the colour of the bruised skin perfectly. The cut disappears, camouflaged, and for a moment, you feel satisfied like you’ve won some small, meaningless victory over your reflection. The mask is in place, or maybe just good enough as is it.

You sigh deeply, letting the air out of your lungs as if it could take away the heaviness that has settled in your chest, but it doesn’t. You look at yourself once more, turning your head side to side, searching for flaws you might have missed. You look…normal, more or less. Tired, though. There’s no hiding the shadows beneath your eyes, the slight droop to your shoulders. You haven’t slept well. Not because of the kill itself—strangely enough, that part almost brought a sense of clarity, like you’d purged something toxic from your system with a detox diet—but because of Pulse. 

The memory of his eyes haunts you still, the way they were full of devastation, that strange sadness that clung to him, lingered in your thoughts like a stain in your favourite shirt you can’t scrub out for the life of you. He shouldn’t bother you this much. He shouldn’t. You’ve done worse last night, seen worse in your entire life. But there’s something about him that keeps gnawing at you, lodged in your mind, needles that are too deep to pull out, and it’s irritating in a way you can’t quite describe.

Why does he have this power over you? It’s irrational, maddening if you think about it long enough. You find yourself asking over and over again if you’ve met him before, if maybe, in some way, he isn’t a stranger at all. You can’t pinpoint it, but there’s something. Something in the way his eyes looked at you, something in the way his presence affects you even now, long after the night has ended. You hate it. You hate him for making you feel this way. It’s like there’s a vice wrapped around your chest, and every time you think of him, it tightens, constricting just a little more until you go wild.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now. You push the thoughts away with a forceful shove, leaving them scattered behind you like you did yesterday with him standing there. No, today is not the day to think about him or anything that happened last night. You’ve got classes to get to, and you’re definitely running late right now. You take one last glance at the mirror, nod to yourself, and step out of the bathroom, trying to ignore this irritating feeling that’s settled over your head.

But of course, as soon as you open the door, the universe decides to throw you another curveball. Jennie is standing there, right outside the bathroom, completely oblivious to the concept of modesty, wearing nothing but Taehyung’s oversized shirt. Your brain freezes for a second, and all you can do is blink, trying to process the scene in front of you. Jennie looks just as startled, her wide eyes locked on yours, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights right before its doom. 

“No. Fucking. Way.” You mutter under your breath, the disbelief seeping out of your pores. This can’t be real. But it is, and the longer you stand there, the more awkward it becomes. Jennie doesn’t move. You don’t move. And then, because the universe apparently thinks this situation isn’t awkward enough already, Taehyung steps out of his room and stops dead in his tracks as well. His eyes flick from you to Jennie, then back to you, and you can see the exact moment his brain short-circuits.

It’s almost comical, the way the three of you are just standing there in this ridiculous triangle of shock and embarrassment. But then, you’re the first to break free from the spell. You grin, sidestepping Jennie and making a beeline for the front door. You toss a hand over your shoulder as you call back, “I didn’t see shit.” Your voice is light, teasing, and you can’t help but giggle as you slip out the door.

But of course, you did see something. And it’s enough to make you file this away for later, something to question Taehyung about when the time is right. You’ll have to sit him down and roast him properly for this—though, knowing yourself, the topic will eventually circle back to Jungkook, and how your friendship shifted too.

You’re walking down the usual pathway to your classes, when you spot Jungkook. He’s ahead of you, but even from a distance, you can tell something is off. He’s slouched, shoulders hunched forward, his usual confident stride replaced by something slower, heavier. Your heart skips a beat, but maybe you’re just imagining things, so, you jog the rest of the way to catch up to him.

“Kook! Wait!” you call out, breathless as you finally reach him. “You wouldn’t believe what I just walked in on!”

But the words die on your lips the moment you get a good look at him, and you’re painfully reminded that your first instinct is always right. He’s not the Jungkook you know. There’s something…different. His eyes are distant, unfocused, his expression hollow in a way that makes your stomach twist on itself, making the bright smile that had been on your face fade, replaced by a deepening worry as the seconds tick by.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You can see the sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion that drips from him like mud. It mirrors your own feelings, but his seem deeper, darker, like he’s sinking into something you can’t reach.

“Nothing,” he says, but the word is empty, devoid of meaning. “I might skip class today.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Skip class? You never skip class. Kook, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are red, bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in days, his muscles tense, coiled like a spring that’s ready to snap any minute. The unease inside you grows tenfold, spreading through your veins like wildfire. You replay yesterday’s date in your mind, sifting through every moment, every word spoken, every touch shared, searching for any clue, something that might explain his sudden shift. But all you can think of is that maybe, somehow, he regrets it. Maybe he regrets being with you, and the thought alone drowns you more than any ocean could.

“If it’s about yesterday,” you start, your voice hesitant, your thoughts stumbling over each other in their desperation to make sense of it all, “if you regret the date, we can still be friends, you know?”

For a moment, he’s completely still. Then, like a switch has been flipped, his whole demeanour changes to his usual self. His shoulders relax, his eyes lose some of that haunted distance, and he reaches out for you, pulling you into a tight embrace, squishing you against his firm pecs. His voice is firm when he speaks, simple and resolute. “No.”

“No?” you echo, stunned. You don’t know how to process the sudden shift, hell, even the last twenty-four hours.

“No,” he repeats, more gently this time. “It’s not about us, I promise.” His lips brush against your hair, his arms wrapped securely around you as if he’s trying to shield you from something you can’t see. “I want this. I want us.”

You feel yourself relax into him, the unease slowly seeping out of your body as naive relief floods in to take its place. “I want us too,” you murmur softly, leaning into his warmth even more.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with something that feels so much like devotion it almost makes you tear up. “I forgot to ask you something,” he teases, his voice lighter now, almost playful. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

His smile is lazy, like he already knows the answer, which you have to admit he does. Your heart skips a beat again, but for a very different reason this time. “Of course,” you grin up at him despite yourself still not trusting his mood swing. 

“Good,” he winks with a playful smirk. “May your boyfriend kiss you then?”

You giggle, unable to help yourself, the sound is bright and airy in the morning light. It’s ridiculous, the whole situation is ridiculous, but it feels so right. So normal. So him. So you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, and when his perfect lips meet yours, it feels like coming home. It’s soft, warm, everything you didn’t know you needed until this very moment. He tastes like comfort, like safety, like love.

And for that moment, you allow yourself to forget the world. To forget Pulse. To forget the shadows that still linger on the edges of your mind. For now, it’s just you and Jungkook, and that’s all you need and have. 

When you finally pull apart, he’s smiling down at you with nothing but affection in his eyes. “You sure you won’t come to class?” you try softly, hoping maybe he’s changed his mind too. 

But the moment you say it, you regret it. You can see the switch begin to turn again, his expression slowly shifting back to that distant look, the one that makes you feel like you’re losing him to something you can’t fight. 

“Nah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Or… unless you want to work on our project?”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice light. “We can do it another day.”

He shakes his head slowly, but there’s still that wall between you, something that he won’t let you see. “I’ll come by later,” he says, his voice distant again. “We can work on it then.”

“You sure?” you ask again, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he says, leaning down to kiss you one last time before you part ways. And even though something inside you still feels unsettled, you hold onto that moment, to the warmth of his lips, the softness of his touch, and the hope that whatever is weighing him down, you’ll figure it out before it eats him alive. 

The day drags on after that like thick honey without Jungkook beside you, every class feeling like an endless void of monotony. You find yourself standing now alone outside the autopsy lab in the late afternoon, waiting for him, though you can���t help the quiet doubt creeping in—he's late, for the first time ever, and part of you wonders if he'll even show. To pass the time, you and your friends huddled mere minutes ago to plan a semi-surprise birthday party for Jungkook at the Italian restaurant, you volunteering to do the speech. It was light, fun, a bit distracting, a way to fill the gaps he’s left in your day, but somehow you couldn’t seem to fully join the excitement as you plotted out the details, even though it’s a way to celebrate the person who has become so important to you.

Across the courtyard, you see a couple stroll by, hand in hand, their laughter soft and intimate, and for a moment, a quiet contentment settles over you. You no longer feel that familiar twinge of sadness when you see couples like this, but are reminded of how lucky you really are, how someone as special as Jungkook has walked into your life. That warmth sits with you, and you think it permanently has settled within you by now, as you glance back down the path.

Then, you spot him. Jogging towards you in a black t-shirt, his hair tousled and damp with sweat, Jungkook’s muscular frame catches you completely off-guard. His late arrival suddenly makes sense. He must’ve lost track of time at the gym, and now, here he is, rushing to meet you with that apologetic smile. But your eyes can’t fixate on his face—his muscles are somehow more prominent than ever, veins tracing lines up his tattooed arm like rivers on a map, pulsing with every step. You’re not even sure when your mouth dropped open, but it stays that way as he finally reaches you, breathless and sweaty.

“Sorry I’m late,” he pants, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, his breath fanning your face with every exhale. He steps back but keeps his hand on the small of your back, his touch doing nothing more than searing where he touches you.

Your throat feels as if it’s turned to sandpaper, dry and useless, but through a miracle unknown, you manage to stammer out, “Did you work out since this morning?”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, his lips quirking with amusement. “Yeah, why?”

“Kook, it’s been over five hours,” you exclaim, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an undeniable glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what effect he’s having on you. “I’ve been hitting my new goal.”

“What goal?” you implore, your curiosity piqued, though your attention keeps slipping back to the way his shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, as though it might tear at any moment.

“700 in the big three,” he replies, smirking with that lazy arrogance that only makes him more irresistible.

“700 in the big three,” you echo, the words floating out of your mouth automatically as your brain struggles to catch up. You can’t even properly process what he’s saying; you’re far too busy ogling him like some kind of starstruck fool.

“700 in the big three,” Jungkook repeats, his tone teasing now, the humour barely concealed behind his smirk. He watches you with that glimmer in his eyes, this confident, playfully condescending glimmer you never seen before on him.

It takes you a second—a second too long, really—but the realisation hits you like a punch in the guts. “700 kilograms in the big three lifts,” you murmur, the numbers looping in your head over and over like a broken record, the image of him lifting so much weight making your knees useless. And with each repetition, your heart rate picks up, your mind spiralling in ways that are anything but clinical. 

Jungkook watches your reaction with an amused glint, his laughter barely contained as he steps closer. “You good?” he asks after a moment, his smile widening at the stunned look on your face.

You nod—well, more like a broken bobblehead—completely overwhelmed. There’s something primal about the way he’s standing there, his raw masculinity sending your hormones into overdrive. And then, just when you think you might be able to regain some sense of control, or rather sanity, he leans down, his breath hot and still slightly quick against your ear, and rasps, “Shall we head inside?”

The words are innocent, off topic, so simple, so ordinary, but coming from him, in this moment with this tone, they feel like a challenge, like a provocation. Your body practically trembles at the sound of his voice, and your brain, already hazy from his presence, finally surrenders with waving flags. You’re helpless—utterly defeated by the sheer being of Jeon Jungkook—and at this point, you’d happily surrender to him again and again, for as long as he wants you to.

“Yes,” you breathe out, the word barely audible, more of a moan than an answer. You’re not even sure if you say it aloud or if it’s simply a thought that escapes your lips. But Jungkook hears it, and the atmosphere between you shifts in an instant. His body tenses, his eyes darkening with a hunger you’ve never seen in him before. It’s utterly raw and intense, and for a split second, you think you might combust under the weight of his gaze. There’s no softness, no tenderness in his eyes now—only desire, pure and unfiltered.

„Another time, ___.“ He doesn’t say anything else, as if he just answered your unspoken conversation, and gently guides you inside the building, his hand never leaving the small of your back. When you and Jungkook step into the lab, the freezing air of it cools you both significantly down, and as the door closes behind you, you try to gather your scattered thoughts, reminding yourself that you’re here to work, to be somehow professional enough to do the project. But with Jungkook beside you, radiating power and confidence, you know it’s going to be an uphill battle to stay focused on anything other than him.

Around you, everyone is already deep into their work, carefully peeling back layers of skin and bone in their inner autopsies. The only ones lagging behind are Ben and Juan, still caught up in their external examinations, fumbling slightly as they try to catch up. You don’t let it slow you down, though—you’ve already lost enough time. Without a word, you and Jungkook move, quickly pulling your gloves on and retrieving your body from the cooler unit. And just like last time, you find yourselves standing across from each other at the autopsy table, the cold steel beneath your fingertips again triggering you demons to come out and play. 

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, kind and calm, and for a brief second, the darkness takes a step back, but it’s not enough when you look away, knowing better than to stand here with your emotions in overdrive. You can still feel the empathy radiating from him, a soft pressure against the walls you’ve carefully built around yourself, but you shut it out, wrapping yourself in the cold. It’s easier this way—safer.

And when that darkness within you finally consumes you fully, twisting its way through your thoughts, you feel the weight of your own hypocrisy. You’re the one who flips the switch now, pulls away, hides what lies beneath the surface. You realise then, slowly but oh so painfully, that it’s not just him keeping secrets. It’s you too, guarding those parts of yourself, refusing to let him in where it matters most. You shut him out, even as you crave his closeness, and in those moments, you know that the subtle divide between you isn’t just on him—it’s the walls you’ve built around your own heart, too.

“We should begin,” you note devoid of all the emotions it held before.

Jungkook nods, and so you reach for the scalpel, its cool handle familiar in your palm. You still feel his searching eyes on you, but you don’t look up, instead you slice the torso’s skin in the usual Y-shaped incision, down from the shoulders to the sternum, and meeting at the xiphoid process before extending down to the pubic symphysis. After peeling back the loose skin, muscle and tissue, you then begin cutting through the thin layers of fascia still clinging to the ribcage, exposing the pale white bones of the ribs.

Jungkook moves to the medical tool trolley, his gloved hands reaching for the rib shears. “Shall I...?”

“Yes,” you reply, stepping back slightly to give him room.

He carefully positions the rib shears between the ribs and begins clipping through the bones with a controlled strength, each snap of bone sending a soft vibration through the instrument. Jungkook works carefully, each snap of bone gentle, as if even now, he seeks to preserve some kind of dignity in death. It unnerves you a little, but as the sound echoes not only in the quiet room but inside your mind too—a crisp, definitive crack, similar to the thuds of Chulsoo as he hit the railings when he flew down the staircase, even though there’s no mess following the sound this time, only a slight shift in the body as the ribcage gives way under the pressure—you know there’s no chance for your emotions to be triggered.

With the ribcage removed, the torso opens before you like an unwelcome revelation, the organs lying in a strange, suspended silence, if waiting for you. The heart—the centre of all life, now still, now just another part of the anatomy to be examined—rests beneath the thin membrane of the pericardium, ready to be freed.

“The heart first?”

“Yes,” you nod with your voice sounding far away, almost hollow in your own ears. You reach for the scalpel again, making the first careful incision into the pericardium. The thin protective layer peels back, exposing the heart fully now, its grey, decayed mass sitting heavy in the cavity. And you wonder, if someone were to cut you open, would your heart, still beating, look the same? Rotten and past repair?

But you shake it off, “Forceps,” your tone more an automatic request than an engagement with him, the word just a tool to continue the work. Jungkook hands them to you, and for the briefest of moments, his fingers brush against yours, sending an unexpected jolt through you. You swallow it down with all your might, feeling utterly exhausted by now while you use the forceps to  gently peel back the rest of the pericardium.

Jungkook leans closer, his brow creased with concentration, his voice quiet as he observes the enlarged heart carefully. “It’s bigger than normal. Maybe hypertrophy.”

“Most likely. Possibly undiagnosed hypertension or cardiovascular disease,” you agree, letting the clinical words form a barrier between you and the moment. You trace your eyes over the heart’s pale surface, noting the thickened walls, the silent history of the body it once powered.

Jungkook nods, his hands moving carefully as he begins to sever the heart’s connections to the body, everything done tender, as though he’s cradling something fragile in his hands. When the heart is finally free, he lifts it with care, placing it in the tray. “We should weigh it,” he suggests, glancing at you with a gentle question in his eyes, one that lingers in the air between you, full of more than just the cold facts of death.

„Hm.“ You nod, watching as he places the heart on the scale. The weight flashes across the small digital display, confirming what you both already suspected.

“It must have strained him,” Jungkook sighs quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he’s speaking to the heart itself, or perhaps to the ghost of the person it belonged to.

“Yes,” you reply absently, your mind trying to ignore his empathy. You can’t afford to feel it, not here, not now.

“Next, the lungs?” 

But Jungkook’s suggestion hangs unanswered in the air, lost in the moment. There’s a sudden yelp behind you, and before you can react, Ben stumbles into your cart, knocking it violently over. A scalpel—thankfully still clean and sanitised—clatters off it and embeds itself in your thigh. The room goes still, breaths held, as everyone stares at the darkening spot of blood slowly spreading across your jeans. You feel the strange weight of the blade in your thigh, though there’s no pain. It’s just... uncomfortable, having a blade lodged in your leg. You sigh, long and heavy, while Jungkook exhales shocked, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply slightly angered, though the room remains frozen. “Tae, do you have your kit with you?” 

All eyes are on you, including the professor’s, who looks more pale than the body on the table. You limp to a chair at the back of the room, Taehyung already swapping his gloves before casually grabbing his first aid kit. Jungkook hovers nervously, while Ben, on the verge of fainting, stammers out apologies. You wave them off half-heartedly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. As Taehyung kneels before you and rips your jeans open around the scalpel, you say, “No worries, I can feel no pain. It’s no big deal.” But inside, you’re simmering with irritation at Ben’s incompetence.

Ben, looking horrified, blurts out, “What do you mean?! You’re hurt!”

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat, yanking the scalpel out with not a care in the world, the metal clinking to the floor as you barely blink. He hums a soft tune as he begins cleaning the wound and stitching it up, while you explain, “NTRK1. I can’t feel pain. At all.”

Everyone is stunned to the core, everyone just able to stare as Taehyung works calmly, as if nothing unusual is happening. There’s a little bit of guilt within you, seeing Jungkook’s shocked expression, realising you should’ve probably told him and the others before now. But what’s done is done, and really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not such a big deal.

When Taehyung finishes, he pats your good thigh with a small smile, „All done,“ and starts packing up his kit, leaving you sitting there, feeling more awkward than anything else.

„Could you all please just keep going?“ you try not to snap, but you know the irritation and exhaustion are clearly visible now.

“Let’s get drinks tonight,” you turn to Jungkook, knowing it’s no use, the weight of the day, hell the weight of the last few days, presses down on you too much, the accumulated stress leaving you wanting nothing more than to melt away in the comfort of something strong and cold.

“With the gang?” Jungkook asks still a bit shocked, but his eyes soften as they always do when you’re tired like this, as though he’s already prepared to do whatever it takes to lift your spirits.

You shrug, not really caring who tags along. “I don’t care. I just need a drink.”

Jungkook grins, nodding, and without missing a beat, he turns to the others. “Yo, we’re going out. You coming with?”

Everyone agrees with enthusiastic nods except for Hoseok, who’s laughing nervously as he looks at the clock. “This early?”

Jennie rolls her eyes at him and chimes in, “Oh come on, you can have your Sprite,” but then mutters under her breath with a mischievous smirk, “with vodka.”

You laugh softly, standing up and limping towards the locker room to change out of your scrubs. Jungkook is right there beside you after he put the cadaver into the cooler, his arm hovering protectively at your side, ready to catch you if you stumble. A line forms between his eyebrows out of concern, but you want to ease that worried look from his face, not wanting him to fret over something that feels so routine to you.

“Kook, I’m fine,” you reassure him, flashing a small smile. “I don’t feel anything; it’s just my muscle acting up.”

He shakes his head a little, his mouth pulling into a line as he watches your movements. “It’s still strange to me. All these years, I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply softly, not meeting his eyes for a second, afraid he’d discover more of what’s hidden. 

“Don’t be. It’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

After a few more steps, your leg starts to loosen up, and soon enough, you’re walking normally again. By the time you reach the familiar doors of your regular pub, it’s like nothing had ever happened.

The early evening moves swiftly, conversations flowing as easily as the drinks, everyone excepting your condition by the time food is served. The moment Jungkook and you announce that you’re dating, the group bursts into cheers and clapping, Yoongi muttering a sarcastic “about time” under his breath, though you don’t miss the glances Taehyung keeps casting in your direction, his brow creased with concern. You know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to talk to him, reassure him that everything’s okay—he just wants the best for you, after all. You’ll need to convince him that keeping certain things from Jungkook is still the right choice, for now at least.

Especially when Jennie, sitting beside Taehyung, is caught in the crosshairs of your teasing. Leaning back in your chair, you smirk over the rim of your drink and ask her slyly, “So, Jennie, seeing anyone lately?”

She shoots you a withering look, muttering a quick and firm “no,” while you catch the warning in her and Taehyung’s eyes. You hold back a laugh, already planning weeks of teasing them.

The night continues with light banter, and the worries and struggle of the past few days seem to dissolve into the air like the hot steam of your food. Being here with Jungkook and the rest of your friends, there’s a warmth that wraps around you, a kind of quiet contentment that settles deep in your bones. This, you think, is what you’ve needed. Just this—the laughter, the closeness, the easy way Jungkook drops his arm around your shoulder, always finding your free hand or brushing soft kisses on your temple and hair.

A few drinks in, after you and Jungkook have both had a couple of glasses, he leans in close, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s not a question, and there’s something in his eyes, something inviting that makes it impossible to say no. You smile, knowing full well you’re both about to become the subject of endless teasing from your friends, but you don’t care. You bid them goodnight, waving off their playful remarks, your mind already too focused on Jungkook’s big, callused hand wrapped around yours, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room and universe worth paying attention to.

When you step outside, the night air is refreshing, cutting through the slight buzz you’ve got going from the drinks, sobering you up until there’s nothing left but happiness. The two of you walk side by side, hands swinging between you, and there’s this lightness in your chest you haven’t felt in days. You’ve always known that Jungkook brings a certain calm to your life, a kind of peace you’ve never really had before, but tonight it feels especially strong.

He’s laughing as you mimic one of your professors, trying your best to imitate the man’s deep, grumbling voice and exaggerated gestures. Jungkook throws his head back, his laugh echoing down the quiet street, and the sound of it makes your heart feel even more lighter. His hand squeezes yours as you twirl around, your movements carefree and loose, your inhibitions melting away as you let yourself bask in this moment, in him.

You leave his hand, spin a few times around a lamppost nearby, feeling the gentle night breeze on your flushed face. You’re not drunk nor buzzed anymore, just pleasantly warm, and in the soft glow of the streetlights, everything feels almost dreamlike. You’re smiling, Jungkook is too, and for once, you’re allowing yourself to be fully in the moment, free from the shadows that usually cloud your mind.

You really want this to work, really want him to know, so you start “Will you still be with me when I’ve killed someone?” The words slip out of your mouth as you spin, a strange mix of jest and sincerity lacing your tone. You try to keep the smile on your face, but there’s an uncertainty in your eyes that betrays you.

Jungkook laughs, catching your hand mid-spin, pulling you into his chest. He holds you there, his strong arms wrapping around you, his warmth enveloping you. “We’re going to be doctors,” he states with a grin. “Of course we’re going to kill someone by accident.” He pauses, brushing his thumb gently over your cheekbone as he cradles your face in his hands, his voice lowering into something tender, intimate. “And when that time comes, I’ll still be right here, standing next to you.”

Jungkook’s words repeat in your mind, and part of you aches to believe him. But there’s that vile voice inside, always nagging, always spreading doubt, reminding you of what you are, what you hide beneath it all. If he knew, would he really stay? you wonder if his patience and kindness could stretch this far, past the monster you are. It’s hard to imagine, yet you can’t help but cling to the hope that he’ll love you enough someday to not walk away. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am, because there’s nothing you could do that can make me leave.” And after a short pause, when his eyes drown you with their tenderness, he says the three words you didn’t expect. “I love you.” 

You’re floating, aren’t you? His eyes are so full of sincerity, it’s almost intoxicating, lifting you higher with every glance until you reach cloud nine where he awaits you. It’s too much, too good, but you let yourself get swept up in it, let the light of him fill you. The doubts are still there, of course, whispering their poison. But right now, you ignore them. You turn a blind eye to the darkness and deaf ears to the demon inside, because for once, you just want to feel this—this joy, this love—without the fear dragging you back down to the cold, hard floor.

„I love you too, Jeon Jungkook.“

And then he kisses you, a touch full of joy, soft with confidence and love. His lips meet yours, stealing your breath and offering his in return, and for now, everything fells right. You melt into his form, losing yourself as you gently suck on his plush bottom lip, and in that tender exchange, you feel whole.

When he parts, there’s a playful glint in his eyes „I think I forgot something.“

„Hm?“ you hum, still dazed from everything he is.

„Some weight for the 700.“ 

In one swift move, he sweeps you into his arms, cradling you effortlessly, and you can't help but laugh, breathless from the sudden rush. “You’re crazy,” you giggle, but the sound falters as you catch the predatory glint in his eyes. 

His gaze locks onto yours, and with each step he takes toward your dorm, your heart skips. “Oh, I am,” he murmurs, voice low. “Don’t think I forgot how you drooled over me.” 

Your laughter fades into silence, heat rising in your cheeks as wetness begins to pool between your thighs, his strength alone making your body respond instinctually.

When you finally make it back to the dorm and slip into your room, the space is drenched in darkness, save for the soft glow of light filtering in from the outside world. But you barely notice; all your attention is on Jungkook, his lips never leaving yours, hands roaming over each other’s clothed bodies with a heat that drowns out everything else. His breath is warm against your mouth, his tongue sliding over yours, and in each kiss, you taste him, feel him—everything he is, everything you crave.

His hands glide up your sides, fingers catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, and you do the same, your eyes falling on his bare torso. You always knew he was strong, but now, with the soft light catching the curve of his muscles, it’s like he’s carved from something divine—each breath making his body shift and flex with a power that steals your breath all over again. His gaze drops to your breasts, your lace bra pushing them up, but he doesn’t linger for long before kissing you again, guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of your bed. You fall together, crawling onto the mattress as if you’re made for this, made for each other.

He trails kisses down your body, his lips oblivious of the scars that litter your skin in the dim lighting, and there’s a tenderness in his touch that feels almost reverent as he carefully pulls your jeans off, mindful of the fresh wound on your thigh. His hands move over your skin as though he’s worshipping you, like you’re something fragile yet unbreakable, and it’s so unfamiliar it makes you nearly tear up.

You can’t take it anymore—you grab him by the neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back to kiss you as you fumble with his belt, his trousers quickly discarded with a kick of his leg. His lips move to your neck, tiny love confessions brushing against your skin between kisses, and when he finds the sensitive spots that make you moan, his hand slips beneath your underwear, fingers sliding over your wetness, his middle finger slipping inside you with ease as his palm presses against your clit. Your moan spills into his mouth, and he responds with a deep grunt that vibrates through his chest and into you, making your head spin even more.

“You’re so drenched,” he whispers, voice rough with desire, his finger slowly pumping in and out, each word sending waves of bliss through your body.

Your hands wander down his strong body, both of you discarding the last of your clothing in no time. His cock is to die for, long and girth like you never seen before, pulsing with dark veins making it even bigger, the tip glistening with precum. The sight makes you dizzy with want, every coherent thought slipping away as you take in the sheer beauty of him, his body and mind utter perfection.

“I love you,” you breath, pushing him gently onto his back with your small hands on his firm chest, straddling his tiny middle. Your arousal drips onto him, making him moan beneath you, his hands gripping your hips as you lean down to kiss his neck, sliding lower until your tongue teases his small, dark nipples. He bucks his hips into the air, the soft groan from his lips music to your ears.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper as you kiss your way down his body, eyes locking onto his cock when you finally reach it. His gaze follows you, full of lust yet still brimming with undeniable love.

You wrap your tiny hand around him, biting your lip as you keep eye contact, waiting for his reaction. His hips buck involuntarily, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You take him into your mouth, the weight of him sliding over your tongue, hitting the back of your throat as you work the rest of him with your hand. His moan fills the room, deep and guttural, one of his hands gripping the sheet while the other’s gripping your hair as he gasps, “Oh my god.”

And oh my god indeed. He tastes like heaven, feels like a dream as you pick up the pace, sucking harder, giving him everything he deserves until his abs tense and his thighs tremble. He stops you then, pulling you up to his mouth, kissing you deeply as your hands fumble for the nightstand. You quickly hand him a condom, watching as he bites it open, his hands shaking slightly as he rolls it on.

“Shouldn’t I prepare you more? It might hurt,” he murmurs, concern painting his face.

But you shake your head, kissing him softly. “I’m good. I won’t feel it,” you say, positioning yourself over him.

He pauses, his hands gripping your shoulders, eyes wide. “You won’t feel it?” he’s nearly squeaking full of disbelieve.

You laugh softly, realising your wording was off and correcting yourself. “No, I’ll feel it, just not the pain. Remember?”

Realisation floods his features, and he chuckles lightly embarrassed. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry.” His eyes drift down to where your juices drip onto his pelvis. “Okay.”

With that, you slowly sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully nestled inside you. The moan that escapes both of you is loud, filling the room as the overwhelming sensation of being joined like this crashes over you, throwing both your heads back. He fits perfectly, filling you in a way that makes everything else fade away, and when you start to move, it’s like you’re floating, flying in heaven, each drop of your hips sending you higher.

Jungkook matches your rhythm, thrusting up into you with an unrelenting drive, his stamina pushing you further and further until the room seems to shimmer in all the colours of the rainbow. You watch him, mesmerised by the way his muscles flex, the sheen of sweat on his skin making him look like some otherworldly being. And then it hits you—your climax tearing through you with a long moan as your juices spill out around him, soaking everything in their path.

Jungkook’s eyes lock with yours, his pace quickening as he chases his own release, his voice hoarse as he gasps out, “I love you,” before his orgasm hits, spilling into the condom as you ride out the waves of your own high together. It takes what feels like forever to finally come down, and when you do, you collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding in sync. No walls between you.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕

a/n 4: The next chapter will have a time skip, so there won’t be scenes like Jungkook’s surprise b-day party. However, drabble requests and character asks are open, though it might take me some time to write them ☺️

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[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Susan Kay's 'Phantom' Read: Part V (Erik, 1856-1881)

Before we start I feel that I need to talk about a perspective shift that I've had. More than half-way through the book now with the completion of this episode I've come to a realization.

Phantom is not what I thought it was. This epiphany has been slowly dawning but here we are.

My impression of Phantom, based on how I have seen it talked about in the Phandom (and certainly how the reviews on the back of the book present it) was that it was Leroux's story but with the blanks filled in and a few small liberties taken.

I had this impression because I was told that for quite a few years, Phantom was basically considered Canon and also because I have often seen Kayrik (or Kerik) and Lerik (or Leroux's Erik) conflated in discussions.

But as I'm reading I have finally realised that I don't think this is ever what Kay intended.

Don't get me wrong I hate most of the decisions she's made, but this book is a complete re-working of the source material with many elements of the book, some from the musical and some original folded in. For Erik's history she mainly follows the life-history detailed by Leroux, but in terms of Erik as a character, he more closely resembles Musical!Erik than anything (except that Kayrik's deformity affects his entire face, not just half). When we arrive at the Opera, she again adheres to Leroux's history. But once we catch up to the canon events, this time line is swiftly abandoned.

Nadir and Erik bump into each other and resume their friendship.

A few weeks later, Erik finds Joseph Buquet's body in his torture chamber.

A few weeks after that Erik hears the news of the Opera's change in management, and hears Christine sing for the first time.

In the source material, Buquet's body is discovered on the same night as Christine's initial triumph (so three months AFTER Erik began to teach her), the same night that the old managers, Debienne and Poligny, have their farewell celebrations and hand over management to Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin. Leroux describes Raoul rushing across the stage, "On which Christine Daae has just triumphed, and under which Joseph Buquet had just died." [This excluded from the original translation.

Why Kay chose to alter the progression of events I don't know, but that combined with a final nail in this coffin for me to realise that I had been approaching this book from entirely the wrong perspective. That final nail is the fact that Christine Daaé, in this book, is dark- haired and not blonde.

Kay does what most Phan-author's do: she cherrypicks her preferred elements from both book and musical (Erik general erudite comportment, his mis-matched eyes, Christine's dark hair) and combines them with her own headcanons to create an AU fic that, because of the reclusive nature of Fanfiction at the time and the fact that this work was published and widely circulated, became, for many fans not interested filling in the blanks themselves, erroneously synonymous with actual canon for a goodly number of years, despite its open contradictions to the source material.

Does that mean I like it any better? Haha fuck no. My irritation with Kay's choices persists. It's just that my ire for this book's influence is more accurately directed at the Phandom at large for making it something of a Golden Calf.

And like the Biblical Golden Calf I am here to pound it into dust and make everyone drink it.

So at this point I was going to complain that Kay never made mention of Erik being Christened "the trap-door lover" in Persia. There's even a CHAPTER of Leroux's novel called "The Masterstroke of the Trap-Door Lover". And this didn't come up even ONCE in Nadir's narrative. In fact the Persian and Leroux's narrator both talk about how Erik "rigged the palaces". Which is to say he made alterations to existing buildings and "turned the most honest construction in the world into a demonic house where one could not speak a word without being watched, or betrayed by an echo. How many family quarrels, how many bloody tragedies had the monster left in his wake with his trap doors?"

In Kay's narrative, Erik doesn't alter any existing palaces, he only constructs the Trick Box inspired palace described in Leroux's epilogue and his love of trap doors? Apparently it just isn't a thing.

Moving on

So of course we have to come back around to his mother. That was inevitable and I do actually appreciate it because we know Erik's furniture in the lair was his mother's.

The part where he views his mother's body is... eighhhhhh.

Erik describes the ravages of time in Madeleine's face and also the ravages of death. He talks about the irony that there's actually some resemblance between them now. And we get... this

And as I looked at her, I suddenly understood her revulsion at last--because now I shared it!

I felt no anger or grief as I looked down upon her . . . nothing except a disgust which enabled me to forgive any act of cruelty that she had ever shown me.

[...]

I did not kiss her, now that I had the opportunity.

I knew that she would not have wished it.

And I no longer felt any desire to do so.

I'm deeply confused as to what Kay is trying to convey here. Is Erik really saying that he doesn't want to kiss his mother because death has made her ugly? He goes on a lot about how death is gross and ugly and like... you just found out that your mom never re-married after you left. Never left the house she raised you in.

The misogyny REALLY steps up to the foreground here as well. He says of his mother's friend, Marie Perrault (the only person in this entire book with any rights imho)

This nervous, anxious, well-meaning lady had taught me to respect all members of the weaker sex.

Which, simply by calling them the "weaker sex"... you clearly don't? And after proclaiming is respect for ALL MEMBERS of the weaker sex, in the NEXT sentence he puts in a caveat about how he's never harmed an innocent woman, and also says something about the Khanom that really made me very, very queasy, and also reinforced my squicky suspicions about why Kay chose to make the cruel and capricious female figure in Persia an older woman (a domineering mother) rather than Leroux's "Little Sultana".

Very annoyed how Kay has graduated Erik's voice from "Automatic Aphrodisiac" to "Literally indistinguishable from Jedi Mind Tricks".

Erik regails us with how, using only his voice he is able to "reduce certain men to a trance-like state of obedience" (once exhibited on Nadir and his son Reza). When he meets Nadir again in Paris we are treated to this observation:

"Do you understand, Nadir? Keep away!"

His hand slid him it carriage door and he stood back with a trance-like obedience. He made no effort to prevent the brougham moving away, but although I knew my secret was safe for tonight, I felt no sense of complacency.

Once before he had broken free of my control, torn down the swaddling cocoon of sound with which I had bound him. Unlike Jules [Erik's lackey], he was not a natural subject; his will was too strong, his sense of identity and purpose too well developed.

Whenever he chose to fight my voice, I knew I would be unable to hold him.

That's a Jedi Mind trick. I'm sorry it is.

This section is actually quite enjoyable where the building of the opera house is concerned, but it takes a downturn, both in terms of the story and just the quality of the writing.

There are two instances of redundancy.

His death excited little excitement.

"My old interest in divination had never left me, and from time to time I still consulted the tarot cards in desultory fashion. It had been a long while since they had revealed anything significant, but now of late, each time I picked a card at random I seemed to turn up Death...

And this latter example leads me to something that really made me want to throw the book.

Since Nadir's narrative I have looked askance at something that has come up repeatedly: Susan Kay goes to GREAT LENGTHS to ensure that the readers know that Nadir I 100% straight. NO HOMO HERE, DEAR READER. ABSOLUTELY NOT. She shoehorns in a dead wife that Nadir never got over losing, and went into unnecessary detail about how when Nadir feels "the itch of manhood" (🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮) he avails himself of a prostitute or an odalisque. It comes up SEVERAL times. And when Nadir pops back up in Paris she makes sure to tell us that he has a mistress that he sees regularly. All of this to bring us to THIS infuriating line:

And so even as I walked with Nadir, talked with him, rejoiced in the warmth of communicating directly once more with a human soul, there was a part of me that looked at him with suspicion and wondered what part fate had assigned him in this new, unrehearsed opera.

Not the Lover, that was for certain. I'd seen enough girls leaving his apartments in Persia to be reassured that all of his instincts were purely heterosexual."

I'm not generally into gay readings of PotO. I don't ship Erik with either Raoul or with The Persian. But I will say that if there is an argument to be made for anyone in this book being anything less than 100% heterosexual, it's The Persian. Leroux makes no mention of him having a wife or anything of the sort. Tie that in with the determined responsibility and complex bond he seems to hold with Erik and a case can be made for our dear Daroga feeling something rather more than just sympathy for Erik. (I don't personally subscribe to this, but the case can certainly be made--I'm more of a DaRaoul girl tbh. I think that's an untapped gold mine).

But not here. Kay bends so far backwards as to have Erik say outright "Nadir is defo straight", while (even more bafflingly) implying that, perhaps, Erik is not. WHY, SUSAN. WHY?

Christine’s introduction is the single most "reads like Fanfiction (derogatory)" thing I've read in this book so far, but I find it very interesting how, when Christine sings for the first time Erik says that she "possesses a near perfect instrument". He says her technique is faultless, and that there's no weakness in either register. My first problem is that Leroux's Erik only ever calls Carlotta's voice an "instrument", because that's all it is to Carlotta. My second is that, according to Christine, her lower register was muffled and her upper register was shrill and her middle register wanted clarity. Maybe that's just Christine being too critical of herself, but I doubt that she had "flawless technique" when Erik began teaching her. Incredible latent talent for sure, but I do believe that she needed help with technique as well as motivation to reignite her passion.

Lastly we have Erik's description of when he first sings to Christine. His narrative regarding his motivation is actually very similar to my own:

She wanted an Angel of Music--an angel who would make her believe in herself at last.

[...] There was no reason in the world why I could not be the Angel of Music to Christine. I couldn't hope to be a man to her, I couldn't ever be a real, breathing, living man waking at her side and reaching out for her. . . .

But I could be her angel.

Is his motive here altruistic? No. But the sentiment is sweet enough. The notion of inspiring Christine's self-confidence is present.

Pity then that he takes a sharp left turn in the very next paragraph and utterly compromises any positivity in his intent.

I could not steal her body--but I could steal her voice and weld it irretrievably with mine; I could take it, and mold it, and make it mine forever...

Softly at first, infinitely softly I began to sing an old, heathen, Romany song. The Hollowed bricks carried the haunting melody relentlessly to her, permitted my voice to envelop her gently like a poisonous mist, seeping inexorably into her mind and staining her soul with darkness.

Well, well.

Once more unto the breach I go...

Masterpost