#to raise people��s spirits on The Day That Must Not Be Mentioned

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

@dragonskxn replied: "Hey, no, it's okay," Annalise reassures him, taking a seat next to him in the grass. Looks like this wasn't going to be just be a simple answer. "You can take all the time you need, okay? I'm more than willing to listen.”

A brief smile crawls onto his face at her reassurance.

“Well, t’answer yer question, I…I wasn’t born with it. ‘Fact, I was born a normal ol’ human. It wasn’t until I got put away in that magic book that I started t’change.�� Butch admits, seeming to just now realize that he hadn’t even mentioned that damn book, had he? It’s sweet though, to think she hadn’t questioned it before now because she saw him no differently because of these features.

“Shit, I ain’t even mentioned all that, huh?” The cowboy releases a sheepish chuckle before continuing on, “Back in my century, when I was still workin’ on my Pa’s farm, I met this woman an’ she was a witch. Not a mean kinda witch but I mean literally, this woman could cast spells an’ shit. She was… well, at th’ time it was th’ kindest anyone’s ever been t’me so I thought she was as sweet as could be an’ I couldn’t stand my Pop’s so I high tailed it outta there with ‘er. She was my best friend fer a long time,” though ten years held no candle to all the time lost in that book.

“We ate together, fought together, travelled together, robbed a bank or two together—everythin’ was just peachy. ‘Least… I didn’t have any complaints.” His tone suggests his partner in crime must have felt differently. “She had this magic book she took with ‘er everywhere where she’d trap away evil magic t’protect this world. We’d ventured int’ it a few times fer th’ hell of it an’ it was dangerous but we never went alone. It was…its own world in there. Dark an’ creepy, an’ it was always changin’.” As Butch continues, his tone grows a bit more serious, as does the look on his face as he revisits these events in his head.

“I dunno why or where it came from but one day, she told me there was danger an’ I needed t’hide. So, she did her whole magic thing an’ put me in there—I didn’t wanna go in alone an’ I tried t’get ‘er t’come with me but…” A soft sigh followed by a pause as he shakes his head, eyes finding the ground. He plays with some grass as he begins an again.

“…She said she’d find me later but, uh, that…never happened. She never came back fer me. I thought… somethin’ horrible happened to ‘er fer a long time. That place was… somethin’ else. I’d say worse than Hell but I ain’t ever been, heh.” He tries to toss a little joke in there to keep the air lighthearted though it’s a bit too late for that.

“It…changed me. I dunno how but I could feel it, an’ there was nothin’ I could do about it. These horns an’ tail, they hurt when they first grew in, real bad. It was…” he peers up in thought, momentarily squinting an eye shut. “Oh, I’d say a year or so ago when I finally was let outta that thing… by one’f her relatives. An’ that was by accident. That’s when they told me… she was dead.”

“An’ I know it ain’t much NOW… but it ain’t over. I’m… one’f them now, I jus’ know it.” Though he’s not even sure what ‘them’ is. An evil spirit of some kind? A demon? An honest to god demon? He didn’t know. His old partner in crime was the one who knew all that magic mumbo jumbo. I don’t feel th’ same as b’fore, I—“ Seeming to realize he’s been rambling, he stops himself, looking to Annalise a bit embarrassed, his head tilted down some.

“Er, s-sorry this is… it’s a lot. I jus’… want ya t’know everythin’ so ya understand. You’f all people deserve t’know… I dunno how much longer I got lookin’ like this. I dunno… what I might become. I figured maybe leavin’ that place stunted that weird ass transformation, but…” Butch trails off, averting his gaze. It’s obvious he’s been holding this all in for a long time. It’s hard to be so terrified of his unknown fate when he was raised to ignore such feelings.

Absentmindedly and without another word, he plucks out a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it up with a match.

[lupically]

#F40B32 | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

genre | light fluff, light angst, very faint romance undertone 

word count | 2616

warning | mention of death, mention of injury, mention of killing, decapitation 

note | i just wanted to try my hand at writing for a villain that is obviously irredeemable in a semi-realistic way.

what happens when you are irredeemable? you will fall in love anyway.

but ryomen sukuna wasn't in love with you. after all, he had killed you one too few times to claim that he was in love with you.

the first time he killed you was out of instinct. you were an intruder touching his soul the way mahito did, except you barged in without any malicious intention. he had gazed over your fallen body with mild interest then; a mere mortal, yet you emerged from thin air into his locked tight domain without dying?

the second time he killed you was a choice. he gave you not a minute to explain yourself, even though you had wasted the minute asking questions about his identity and the skull-filled area instead of giving him any valuable information about yourself. he had been fed up, he was never a man of patience, so he killed you with a wave of his hand and returned to his dull life alone on his throne.

the third time he killed you—he did not kill you. there was no third time; people liked to say the third time's charm but sukuna believed no such superstition. he killed you twice already and each time, you came back unscathed, both your body and your memories. whether he liked it or not, killing you for the third time would do neither you nor him any benefit, so he kept you alive.

you were afraid of him. he could tell, and he meant for things to be that way until he realized it served as a misfortune on his part. in order to understand this mystery—your sudden appearance into his domain, as well as your inability to leave it and his inability to kick you out—he has to gain some piece of information about you, but you were too shaken up from being murdered to talk to him at all.

sukuna's patience was reaching a breaking point and he thought about torturing it out of you, but he understood that humans are fragile, way more fragile than your typical jujutsu sorcerer. he could accidentally kill you and you would return with no scars and more unwilling to converse with him than before. then it was the waiting game all over again.

he wasn't planning on going through such a dull ordeal again, so he left you be and waited for you to calm yourself down.

the first time you talked to him, you asked him a question.

"are you going to kill me?" you asked him.

sukuna peered down at you from his throne. small, frightened, curled into a ball with no desire to touch the skeletons at his feet, but you looked up at him out of politeness.

he scoffed, displeased. "no, but i always can."

the second time you talked to him, it was to exchange a brief introduction.

"ryomen sukuna," he hummed curtly then he nudged his chin toward you. "your turn."

you shuffled up to your knees and sat down on your heels. your fingers fidgetted at your lap as you timidly peered up at his tattooed, disinterested expression.

"[full name]," you said with a nod, unable to meet his eyes. "nice–nice to meet you, sukuna-san..."

the third time you talked to him, you flinched.

"ma–may i ask you two questions... if i can...?" you asked, for the first time standing up to face him directly.

sukuna leaned away from his propped-up arm. after taking a better look at you, accessing your figure analytically despite having seen you move around slowly for days already, he shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe and he suddenly jumped down from his throne to stand before you.

you pursed your lips nervously over his looming figure, face heating up with terrible anxiety while your eyes darted down to the watery ground. oh, his presence has been so overwhelmingly deadly that you forgot your white tennis shoes were stained red and your pastel ankle socks remained wet. you did not dare to complain, not even in your head.

"i'll allow it," he said.

"where am i?" you quickly asked.

"an innate domain," he replied.

you have questions, but you decided not to ask. you only nodded after breathing out a soft sigh to calm your nerves. this man constantly sounded condescending, he was kicking open your comfort zone without actively doing anything that would make you uncomfortable.

"okay..." you said, "thank you."

"aren't you going to ask me another question?" he stated with a raise of his brow. "you wanted to ask me two questions."

you gulped, blinking hopelessly at the air as a grimace appeared on your face. "the first question was if i can ask you two questions, and the second one is about where i am... so that makes two."

oh, a meticulously cautious one, and somewhat humorous too he would give you that. sukuna scoffed loudly, but it was less out of annoyance and more out of disbelief of your incredible dullness. however, as plain as you were, he has grown accustomed to your presence; the scent of fear that bounced off of you and the fact that he cannot kill you at will.

"you must be dying to know what this place is, are you not, you brat?" sukuna asked.

when he saw the flashes in your eyes, he knew he had you down through and through. all you were was but someone who was too afraid to say what they want, which was just as he expected from you. you wouldn't cause him trouble, you never could.

reaching his hand out of his sleeve, he stayed silent despite seeing the way you flinched with your eyes shut at his raised hand. his movement had been slow, but that was an involuntary response, an instinct that he didn't craft into you. he wondered what it was.

"you can ask me three more questions," he said as he pushed the heel of his palm against the curve of your head. he was gentle at first, then he clamped his hand down on your head as he bent his waist to meet your eyes. he laughed. "i'll allow it."

he could keep you here. he has no choice but to keep you here, and he would kill you once he realized he has the ability to. but for now, perhaps he could act a little civil, something like a human being but one that people would hate to the core.

except he was met with a little obstacle in the way, which was that you were no bad company.

the first time sukuna gained a liking toward you was when you asked him a peculiar question.

"sukuna-san," you called one time when there was only silence within the innate domain.

you sat on a bed of skulls, one that you tentatively asked the king of curses to make you so you wouldn't have to lean on the rib-cage structure and sit in water for slumber.

he denied it at first. calling you names and threatening you about ever requesting something from him—a bed in his domain? fucking atrocious. but your insomnia was killing you; you hated the blood water and your neck burned whenever you wake up having it arched at the worst angle possible.

he did not grow soft. he just made one so he didn't have to watch you sleep in his peripheral vision.

"hmm."

"why do you think curses exist?"

he raised a brow at you. "did i not teach you that before?"

"you did, sorry," you nodded, "then do you believe in god?"

"where the fuck is this coming from, you brat?"

"from where i came, god is good. but from what i am seeing, whether from where i came from or here, everything goes against that value," you muttered loudly as you pulled at your fingers. "cursed spirits harm people. if i can argue that way, i think cursed spirits are harmful within themselves."

"if god is good, and god is real, why would this happen," you said. "why should we feel negative emotions? why do we have the ability to create cursed spirits? why do curses like you exist?"

he furrowed his brows in irritation. have you reduced him to mere curses? have you reduced him to nothing but a brainless being that only takes joy in the suffering of others? no matter how he approached your words, he felt infuriated that you could minimize his importance to simply being a bad person.

he was much more than a bad person, much more than just a pain! he has ideals, he has goals and ambitions, he has wit and strength! he has anger and malevolence and power beyond which your soul could ever contain and endure! he was ryomen sukuna, the strongest curse in a thousand years and more!

he will fucking kill you.

"i'm really glad you're here, though," you finished off softly, an unknowing smile on your face as you rubbed your thumbs weakly together.

he will kill you.

"for a long time, i was told my anger and hatred aren't real. that they don't and should not exist, and i learned to bury them to the ground so they never appear on the surface again," you said, your innocent smile audible to his ears and making his chest twitch with guilt.

"cursed spirits' existence is proof that my negative emotions are real. they may be a problem, but i am not crazy for having them because they're here. they became something, they're here and alive."

he will... he will kill you.

"i just think it's unfair to put the blame on cursed spirits and cursed energy alone when the society's standard guarantees the manifestation of them," you said. "if my anger got out to the world in the form of a monster and it hurt someone, i'll forgive it. i will forgive myself."

he...

"you don't need to hear this, i wish i had your confidence, but i have to say it," you looked up and smiled at him, "i'm a little glad you're here, sukuna-san."

he will kill–he will ki–

the second time, he went stoic.

mahito was too smart for his own good. the first thing he noticed when he entered the soul within yuji's body was the way sukuna has the collar of your shirt clutched in his hand and your body pulled close to his side. it was a glance, he had one small glimpse of you both before he was kicked out of the domain.

your face was riddled with tears—crying, disappointed, and frustrated, but why? for the transfigured human whose name mahito almost forgot, or because sukuna just had one of the most sadistic outbursts you have ever witnessed.

and sukuna, the king, the lord, the almighty—didn't he look annoyed. well, not annoyed, per se. angry, mad, overwhelmed, knowing, protective. very, very, very protective; glowing eyes that glared at mahito's patched up face, fingers that gripped at your shirt so tightly he could rip the fabric apart, an aura that was ready to spit any moment if mahito so much as reach a finger toward your direction.

you meant something to ryomen sukuna. mahito realized that, so the second time he entered the innate domain, he killed you.

right before his eyes, with a cunning and triumphant smile, your neck cracked and your skin broke, and mahito tore your head off just before he was once again beat out of the domain.

sukuna tried to heal you. he tried to seal your head back to your lifeless body, time and time again pushing your decapitated head against your haphazardly cut neck. but his reverse curse technique wasn't healing you. your skin refused to piece itself back together, you refused to come back to him. time passed and he was getting mad, he was going batshit crazy trying to force himself out of this body.

bastard! bastard! bastard! he was supposed to kill you! he was supposed to be the one to kill you! he would murder that patch-faced piece of shit! he would kill mahito! and he would destroy the whole world, light it on fire and kill all that wasn't worthy of his time! he would jump universes, light-years, the bloodstream of the galaxy to find you and bring you back to him. he would—

"sukuna-san, i'm sorry i took a while! i thought you were fighting–holy shit, is that me?"

the third time, sukuna admitted to himself.

"what kind of flowers do you like, sukuna-san?" you asked, voice drowsy and your legs dangling after you climbed on one of the bones of the rib-cage structure.

"why does it matter?" he asked from his throne, eyeing you carefully.

your were a clumsy idiot. you could fall anytime.

"it doesn't, but it's flowers," you mumbled with your chin leaning against the bone, eyes threatening to close. "sukuna... sukuna..."

"what?" he snapped.

"i like lilies, the red ones," you said with a silly grin. "will you visit me when i die? sukuna... will you bring... mmm... bring red lilies..."

he looked ahead. your death; your grave, decorated with red lilies, protected and preserved with his curses. your death—he gritted his teeth. he refused to think about it. it was a waste of time.

or maybe he simply hated the idea of your death.

sukuna has not gone soft. he was irredeemable; a killer, a curse, a tragedy to descend upon mankind. he was not good and he never would be, nor did he ever have the intention to be good.

still, from you, there was proof that he could be more. what was left of his being; his anger and his torture, what was left within the gaps of his hell, the rare softness that once was there, belonged to you now.

you were the vessel that pocketed all that he could potentially become if he wasn't born to be ryomen sukuna, a version of him that you have witnessed. within you, there was proof that he did not only exist to hurt people, but also to validate madness and pain, to acknowledge passion in its murderous wakefulness. within you, there was proof that within himself, there are pieces of what it means to be human and alive.

hearing your soft breath, sukuna looked up to find you asleep with your head against the bone. your arms barely supported your weight and you were threatening to fall off as you dozed with faint snores. he stared at you, his fingers twitching, then he finally waved his hand so he could bring you away from the ribcage and to where he sat.

he paid no mind to subtlety when he set you on his lap. his hand supported your back while he kept your head pressed against his shoulder. his other arm went around your body, preventing you from falling off the throne made only for him to sit on. when he was done adjusting to the new sitting position, he relaxed.

brushing the hair away from your face, he stared down at you with disinterest, but his heart pumped and pumped for you to be warm and well, his arms tightened for you to sleep soundly.

"i will bring you all the red lilies you want," he whispered, the back of his finger gliding past your soft cheek. you did not smell like fear when you fall asleep, you did not smell like fear now even when you looked at him. "i will allow myself that."

after all, ryomen sukuna was only fond of you. very, very fond of you. 

[marblesphere]

Gojo Satoru x Reader (Spin Off 2)

!!Warning!! Angst! Character death. Teacher x student relationships. Age gap. Mention of cuss word. Self-indulgent fic. Mention of blood. Fluff. MDNI please.

[Name] 15 years old

Gojo Satoru 26 years old

Few months before middle school graduation

"Welcome back, Satoru." I smiled as I saw him enter the living room.

Unlike the usual loud '[Name]-chan!!! I am back!!!' I am greeted with only silence. He must be quite stressed if he is this silent.

"Do you want to take a bath? Or dinner?" I asked. Satoru is vocal about what he wants even if he has a bad day. And he will get better with a few sweets and a relaxing bath. Fortunately, I made kikufuku today. My first time baking. I hope he likes it.

"I don't wanna." He said.

"Oh. Then how about kikufukus. I made them today. This is my first creation ever. Satoru will be the first taster." I giggled.

"I don't wanna."

"Eehh? Bad Satoru. You should be grateful I made them for you." I huffed.

"I told you I don't want them! You can eat by yourself!" He raised his voice.

I am startled. My eyes widened. He never raises his voice to me. Ever, no matter how bad or how stressed he is. The silence is deafening. I blink back the tears. "Oh… I see…"

"[Name]-chan, I-"

"Kikufukus… The kikufukus are in the dining room. Eat them when you get better. Bye bye, Satoru." I gave him a strained smile and quickly left the house.

I close the front door and lean on it. 'I pity you. He has to babysit of you everyday. He doesn't even have time for himself.' The woman's voice was ringing in my ears. "...I guess… it's the truth…" I mumbled sadly.

*Bzzzz Bzzzz*

My phone is ringing. I pull out my phone and answer the call. "Moshi moshi."

"[Name]-san, there is an urgent mission. No one is available right now. Can you do it?" Ijichi-san asked.

"I…" I wanted to decline, but after some thought. I think the best course of action right now is putting some distance. "Okay." I nodded.

"Really? I am glad. Gojo-san seems to be in a bad mood today." Ijichi-san sighed in relief.

"...I guess so… Where is the place?"

Not long after I arrived at the location. "...Uwaaa…How many are there inside?" I looked at the haunted house. "Ijichi-san, please raise the curtain."

"Understood. Please be careful." He said.

"Of course." I smiled while entering the haunted house. ~"~

"Just…how many...are there?" I panted as I exorcised another curse. I thought I would meet some first grade or even a special grade judging by the smell. How wrong I was. A special grade is better than a horde of first grade cursed spirits. Not to mention there are also some which could expand domain. The only thing I am thankful for is no special grade spotted yet.

I have been exorcising for god knows how long. This is the nest of cursed spirits. It's a miracle there were no traces until today. No, it should be because it was hidden in a domain.

"Tanro! Rokuson! Bukyouku! We will exorcise every last of them!"

"Yes!"

"Awooo!"

"Khrrr!" ~"~

Gojo sighed aloud as he messed up his hair. He messed up, didn't he? How could he raise his voice to [Name]. She was only trying to make him better. He didn't even apologize to her. The stunned eyes widened expression is still fresh in his mind. "...Kikufuku...she made kikufukus…" He mumbled. Guess he will just eat them and tell her they were the most delicious sweets he ever ate. Well, it was the sweets his precious [Name] made, it will always be delicious. Finally feeling better, he quickly makes his way to the dining room where his kikufukus are waiting for him.

"So good." He munched the sweets. It's really sweet by other people's standards, but to him this is perfect. [Name] really knows him the best. He will go visit her after he finishes the kikufukus.

*crash*

The sound of something breaking caught his attention. Has his cute [Name]-chan finally come back. With a wide grin he skips to the kitchen. But alas, no one is there. Not even a trace of humans. Only broken glass on the floor. [Name]'s favourite mug to be exact. The smile disappears. Someone once told him if something belonging to another person is broken suddenly, it means something bad must have happened to them.

'It was just superstition.' He frowned. He picks up the broken shards. After cleaning up. Gojo decided to buy a new mug to replace the broken one. Of course the expensive one. Money is not a problem.

'Bye bye, Satoru.' Her face flashes in his mind. She said bye bye, not see you later. For the first time in a while, he felt fear. What if something really happened to [Name]. He hasn't apologized yet. He still has a lot he wants to say and do with her. No no no, nothing will happen. He shakes his hand and turns on his phone. His first phone call, obviously Ijichi.

"Ijichi, where are you right now?"

"Gojo-san. You finally turn on your phone. I have been calling you for the past hour. [Name]-san is…"

Before Ijichi finished whatever he was saying. Gojo is already out of the door. He didn't bother to put on his blindfold or sunglasses. He won't need them anyway. Right now, he needs to be there and fast. ~"~

"...cough...cough…" I wiped the blood dripping from my mouth. The iron coppery taste is really disgusting. "You are the last!" Bukyouku sliced down the last bound cursed spirits.

"Haaa….haaaa…" I panted as I tried to stay conscious. My domain disappeared. My energy level is zero. My shikigamis start to disappear. "It's…over…" I smiled in relief.

*Rip*

Disgusting sound of flesh being pierce was heard. I look down to see something protruding from my chest. "Caught you."

"Tsk!" I mustered up all my strength to from binding chains to exorcise the spirits. Fortunately it's just a lower grade spirit, so it was quickly exorcised. But, my wound won't disappear anytime soon. I collapsed on the floor. I can feel my life force seeping through the wound. '...ah ah… so this is how I die… I wanted to at least… die surrounded by...wisteria flowers…' I smiled sadly. "Kikufuku… I wonder… if he ate it. .." My first and last attempt at baking. I will be happy if it tastes good.

"Sorry...Mama...sorry...Yae...sorry...Satoru...sorry...every...one…." Fortunately, I have put a spell earlier. If by chance I die, the spell will activate and burn my corpse. I don't want my corpse being a toy for the higher up, thank you very much. If I don't die, I can just dispel it. " Bye bye…." ~"~

Gojo arrived at the site, with Shoko. He forcefully took the doctor away from whatever she was doing. "Where is she?" Gojo asked Ijichi. The sense of urgency is never this high.

"Inside the veil. I will lower-"

"No need." Gojo just forcefully broke down the curtain, along with the building altogether.

"Wait! Gojo-san!!"

Gojo pays him no heed. Whatever it is will be after [Name]. As long as [Name] is alright. He teleports to the entrance. "[Name]!" He called. But inside the now empty building, nothing is left. No cursed spirits, no domain, no shikigami, no [Name].

"[Name]...-chan…" Gojo walked to the burnt spot. The spot where her corpse previously lay down. Nothing is left, only traces of her spiritual energy. "[Name]-chan, you are not playing a prank, right?" His voice trembled. His six eyes told him no one inside this building aside from him.

Gojo kneels down and traces the burnt spot. "...Aren't you a little mean, [Name]-chan… You didn't leave anything for me to keepsake…" A lone tear escaped his eye.

'Satoru.'

'Bad Satoru.'

'Ahahaha, Satoru is the best.'

'I am going to ignore you, Satoru.'

'Kyaaa! This is so scary, Satoru.'

'Bye bye, Satoru.' ~"~

2 years later

Today the weather is good. Not to mention today is sunday. They don't have class. Yuuji is walking around the town when he suddenly spots his teacher. Reflexively, he hides into a corner and spies his teacher. His weird but strong teacher is buying a bouquet of flowers. He is not sure what kind of flower it was, but he was humming happily. Is he going on a date?

With that in mind he calls Nobara and Megumi and of course his senpais. But, they all decline to tail Gojo today. Megumi is being forcefully dragged to the meeting spot by Nobara. She was thinking about who is in the right mind to date their infuriating sensei.

"Leave him alone for today." Megumi sighed.

"No way! Aren't you curious who his girlfriend is?" Yuuji protested.

"What kind of flower did he buy anyway?" Megumi asked.

"I am not sure. It's like droopy purple flower or something like that." Yuuji tried to recall the flower.

"Wisteria flower. Let's just leave him alone today. Today is her death anniversary."

"Her death anniversary? Who?" The other two blinked.

"She is… someone precious to Gojo-sensei." Megumi said.

"His girlfriend?" Nobara blinked.

"Sort of. I think she is the only one that Gojo-sensei wanted to spend his life with."

"Is she a jujutsu sorcerer?" Yuuji asked.

"Yeah. She was our senpai so to speak." Megumi nodded.

"How did she-?"

"Megumi! Yuuji! Nobara!" They heard Gojo's voice.

"Eehhh! We are discovered!" Yuuji whisper-screamed.

"What should we do? What should we do?" Nobara panicked.

"Good timing. I was planning to introduce you." Gojo smiled.

"Introduce?" They blinked.

The four of them are now standing in front of a grave. 'Hisaki [Name]'

"[Name]-chan. These are my students. Itadori Yuuji-kun and Kugisaki Nobara." Gojo smiled as he introduced his students to the gravestone.

Then, he starts blabbering about the events that have happened in the past year. He has made a habit to tell every event that has happened every year. "How did she die…?" Yuuji blurted out before he could stop himself. "Sorry. I didn't mean… It's just from what Fushiguro said, she was strong… that's why….ehehehe…"

"You don't have delicacy." Nobara smacked his head upside down.

"...That's because of my immaturity." Gojo smiled.

The smile he has shown is really different. It's not the usual grin or the taunting smirk. But, something more genuine and sad…? No, it's not exactly sad. Maybe more nostalgia.

"Sensei, we are going home first." Megumi sighed. Megumi bowed to the grave and dragged the other two back to the dorm.

"[Name]-chan… right now, I can't go there yet. When the time comes, I will also be together with you… that's why wait for me a little longer, okay?"

"I love you." ~"~

.

.

.

.

.

.

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Another ending

"[Name]!" Gojo's eyes widened when he saw the girl he was looking for laying down on the floor motionless. He feels his blood run cold. "[Name]..." He quickly picked up her body. "[Name], please answer…" His hand trembled as he checked on her. Too much blood. He can feel she is slipping away from living world. "Shoko!" He quickly teleported to Shoko.

Shoko's eyes widened seeing her condition. "Lay her down! Quickly!"

"What's her condition?" Gojo asked.

"I have closed the biggest wound. We need to move her to a more comfortable space and heal the rest of the wound." Shoko said.

"Shoko…."

"I will definitely cure her."

"...Thanks Shoko…" Gojo closed his eyes. ~"~

Pain… I can feel my whole body in pain… so much pain…

I forcefully open my eyes. 'A...white ceiling…'

"You are finally awake?! Wait a minute! I will call obaa-san and Shoko-san!"

"...Yae…?" I whispered. I can feel oxygen mask around my mouth.

While I am still in daze, someone is holding my hand. "[Name]!"

"...Mama…"

"I am glad you are alright." Mama sobbed.

"...Sorry...Mama…" I feel so weak. Just talking few words has been draining.

"It's fine… As long as you are alright."

"Let me check her for a moment." I heard Shoko spoke.

"...Shoko…"

"Good morning, [Name]. You really gave us quite a scare." Shoko smiled.

"...Sorry…"

"It's not your fault. Let me check you up and get some rest."

"...Okay…" My eyelids are getting heavier and I fall into slumber again.

The next time I wake up, it has been a few days later. I don't need an oxygen mask anymore. Even though I am still in bed rest and can't do anything except lay down and eat.

"Konichiwa, [Name]. Are you awake?" Yae poked her head inside.

"I am awake." I giggled.

"Today's snack." Yae grinned as she showed me the cake box. It has been a week since my hospitalization. Yae keeps me company everyday after school. Sometimes Mikan, Sera and Hinako too, but mostly just Yae. And every time, she always brings something, ranging from sweets to fruits. I do have vague idea who sent these actually. We just never talk about it.

"Looks like you have gotten better. You can be discharged in a few days." Shoko smiled as she finished my check-up.

"Thank you, Shoko." I smiled gratefully.

"So, are you and Satoru fighting?" Shoko raised her brow.

I flinch at her question. "...We aren't fighting…" I fidgeted. It's true that he didn't visit me even once for the duration of my hospital stay.

"I don't know what happened. But, I am sure it's Satoru's fault." Shoko said.

"Eh?" I blinked.

"There are also testimonies from others." Shoko said.

Q: If [Name] and Gojo have a fight. Whose fault do you think it is?

Testimony 1 (Y*e)

"Of course it's Satoru-san's fault. No question needed.

Testimony 2 (Me***i)

"It's definitely Gojo-sensei's fault.

Testimony 3 (Iji***)

"I think it's probably Gojo-san's fault. Ah, please don't tell him this."

Testimony 4 (Masa****i)

"A fight? Then, it's Satoru's fault."

Testimony 5 (To**)

"Mentaiko. Okaka. Konbu.”

Testimony 6 (Ma**)

“Are you stupid? It's that damn blindfold idiot's fault.”

Testimony 7 (Pa***)

"Of course Satoru's fault. It's a wonder [Name] hasn't gotten angry at him."

Testimony 8 (Uta***e)

“It’s Gojo’s fault.”

Testimony 9 (M*i M*i)

“A fight between [Name]-chan and Gojo? Then, it’s Gojo’s fault. Fufufu”

"That's what they said." Shoko smiled.

"Eeehh… Aren't you guys too harsh?"

"I don't think so. What kind of man didn't come to visit his girlfriend even once after a scary accident?" Shoko rolled her eyes.

"...I am...not his girlfriend…" I smiled sheepishly.

"What? He still didn't put a label? What a coward."

"Ahahaha…. He prefers someone older and more mature… I think. A child like me is not good enough." I smiled bitterly. Drip drop, big fat tears roll down wetting the sheet. "Sorry, Shoko. Can you leave me alone for a while?"

"You made her cry. It seems like you messed up for real this time, Satoru." Shoko spoke to the door.

"Shoko, why are you like this?" Satoru pouted.

"You have been hanging around the door for a week like a creepy old man. Just go inside and apologize." Shoko rolled her eyes.

Due to sudden shock, the tears halted. Satoru sighed and entered the room. "Then, I have work to do. If Satoru does something to you just push the alarm okay." Shoko instructed and left us alone.

I sit frozen still, trying hard not to move so that the pooled tears won't fall down. I can't even blink for fear it will roll down.

"...[Name]-chan…." He sighed, sat down on the bed. His hands cup my cheeks and wipe the tears. "Sorry…" He pulled me to a hug. "Sorry for yelling at you." He stroke my head.

"I…"

"It's not your fault. I was wrong. I shouldn't have yelled. You were only trying to make me feel better." He said softly. He still remembers her strained smile while saying bye bye. And the feel of her dying body in his arms.

"...Kikufuku, did you eat it…?"

"I did. It was delicious. So, make it again for me, [Name]-chan."

"Un…" I nodded, as expected the waterworks start again.

"There there. Good girl. Don't cry anymore, hm. I am always at lost when you cried." He sighed helplessly, but his hand hasn’t stop stroking my hair. “Let me see your face?”

I shake my head in denial. “My crying face…is ugly.” My voice is muffled.

“Who told you it’s ugly. My [Name]-chan is the cutest. No matter what expression she wears, she is still the cutest in the world.” Satoru said proudly.

“…So cheesy…” I let out a small giggle. I pull back a bit so he can look at me.

“As expected, you are the cutest.” He grinned widely. ~"~

2 years later.

"Hmmm….." Yuuji furrowed his brows.

"What's wrong? What's with that face?" Nobara made a face.

"No. I was only wondering if Gojo-sensei and [Name]-senpai ever had a fight. They seem like always so happy with each other…" Yuuji mused.

"If they have a fight. Then, it must be sensei's fault." Nobara rolled her eyes.

"Eh? How come you are so sure?" Yuuji blinked.

"Woman's intuition."

"Eeehhh?"

"If you are curious why don't you ask other people? I bet they have the same answer as mine." Nobara said.

The diligent Yuuji then goes out his way to ask.

Q : If [Name]-senpai and Gojo-sensei have a fight. Whose fault do you think it is?

Testimony 1 Fushiguro Megumi

"Ha? This question again? No doubt it will be Gojo-sensei's fault.

Testimony 2 Zen'in Maki

"It's Satoru's fault. It has been decided from the start.

Testimony 3 Kurogane Yae

"It must be Satoru-san's fault.

Testimony 4 Nanami Kentaro

"It's Gojo-san's fault without question."

Testimony 5 Inumaki Toge

"Mentaiko. Okaka. Konbu.”

Testimony 6 Panda

"About that again? It's still Satoru's fault.

Testimony 7 Yaga Masamichi

"Satoru's fault."

Testimony 8 Hisaki [Name]

"Eehhh… what is this déjà vu. I am not sure…? It depends I guess?

"[Name]-chan, Yuuji. What are you talking about?"

Q : If [Name]-senpai and Gojo-sensei have a fight. Whose fault do you think it is?

Testimony 9 Gojo Satoru

"A fight with [Name]-chan? Then it must be my fault then." Satoru grinned.

"Eh? Why are you so sure?" Yuuji blinked.

"Of course. Because… there's no way it will be [Name]-chan's fault. Absolutely. I support [Name]-chan’s supremacy all the way."

[sideblog-666-thousand]

A long bitch of an interview with Euronymous, from Orcustus zine in early ‘92.

What is Orcustus? Orcustus was an early 90’s black metal ‘zine run by none other than Bård “Faust*” Eithun— murderous pretty-boy, and o.g Euronymous simp. I think he might have also played drums in a band called Emperor... but I’m not sure! Its full name is actually “Orcustus— The Shadow of The Golden Fire”, and no, I’m not making this up.

This particular issue here opens up with a quote from a short story called ‘The Doom That Came To Thomas Parkes*’.

Assuming the reader hasn’t read the story, Faust explains that the quote is in reference to what happened to the titular ‘Thomas Parkes’ when he tried to raise spirits. Faust then admits that he’s unsure of his own ability to ‘raise spirits’, but says he hopes that he’ll raise some fists in agreement that there’s something wrong with the underground scene. Ironically (you’ll see why this is ironic very soon), he doesn’t like that certain bands, namely Entombed, are selling so many copies of their LPs.

After a brief diatribe on just that, he goes on to explain that he was in a rush to get this mag out because of problems with the printer. Then, he tells anyone who doesn’t like the fact that this ‘zine only features black metal that they can fuck off, with three exclamation points.

Finally, we get to the end of the opening page, where Faust pulls what can only be called an early form of the Twitter exposed thread. It reads as follows, with absolutely no changes to the text:

“I would suggest you to not do any business with that sucker Evil Ludo from France. He have riped me and several others off, by not return what we ordered. I suppose he’s a medical sensation, as I didn’t know it was physical or psychical possible to live without a brain”

Why am I telling you all of this, when this is only meant to be a transcript of an interview with Euronymous, you may be asking? Because I find it funny, that’s why.

Anyhow, the Euronymous here acts and feels very differently from the Euronymous of the last interview I posted. However, I hope you’ll still enjoy it, and I hope you’re able to appreciate the tiny glimpses of humanity talking to a close friend allowed him, even though they both behave like complete asses. Even though it’s hard to sympathize with him at points.

Like last time, any (sparse) commentary will be between (parenthesis) and in bold. Without further ado, let’s get into it.

.

F: Well, how in hell shall one be able to come up with an intro worthy enough for this band? The words I wanna describe Mayhem’s music with, is not yet created, and it won’t be created either, because no one has really experienced the real darkness and pure brutality with lays behind Mayhem’s hellish sound, but I suppose you all are familiar with this band anyway. Well, in the first place, I hadn’t really thought to enclose this band in this issue, because if we look away from rereleases of old demos (“Pure Fucking Armageddon”) and live tapes, it’s a pretty long time since their last release (in ‘87 that was). I thought I rather should interview them when they released their forthcoming album “Dee Mysteriis Dom Sathanas”, but due to the circumstances, I realised the time was right for an interview now. I won’t bother you with any history shit, but I could tell a bit about what has happened last year. You all know that their vocalist Dead comited suicude in April ‘91, that was a bigg loss for the underground, and I suppose I don’t need to say that this mag is dedicated to the memory of that infernal man. Anyway, Dead was replaced by Cultòcùlus (back then called Occultus), but due to different problems within the band, he left the band in January ‘92, but let’s not say more about that, as Euronymous didn’t want me to say anything about it at all (but Euronymous, you must admit that it has sounded pretty artificial if I hadn’t mentioned it at all). So now, the band consists of Hellhammer (drums) and Euronymous (guitar (and probably bass too)). I know the singer of Tormentor (rip) from Hungary (Esihar Attila) is interested in singing on the album, and also even moving to Norway, so it seems like Mayhem got some sort of predilection to foreign vocalists, but this Hungarian guy happend to be a good one as well, so never mind that. But I don’t think this is official, so don’t tell anyone you read it here, ok? Well then, it’s an honour for me to dedicate the next following pages to one of today’s most legendary and infamous bands......... THE TRUE MAYHEM!!!!!!!

F: First of all Euronymous, I know you and Dead live/lived totally for the old black metal attitude. Is your hate now total to young and trendy bands after Dead’s suicide?

Euro: YES, we have declared WAR. Dead died because the trend people have destroyed everything from the old black metal/death metal scene, today “death” metal is something normal, accepted and FUNNY (argh) and we HATE it. It used to be spikes, nites, chains, leather and black clothes, and this was the only thing Dead lived for as he hated this world and everything which lives on it. If we had the economic possibility to do it, we should meet up at concerts and beat up ALL trend people ALL the time untill they would be too scared to go to concerts at all, now we need to suck their money instead. It’s impossible to stop the trend no matter how much we want, we have to do the best out of it and sell lots of trend shit to them. (I don’t need to tell you that that’s totally not why Dead killed himself, right?)

F: In the spring of ‘91 you started up a shop in Oslo which sells all sorts of music within metal. Is there anything you can tell us about the shop (ideas? plans?)?

Euro: Well, the original idea was to make a specialist shop for metal in general, but that’s a long time ago. Normal metal isn’t very popular anymore, all the children are listening to “death” metal now, I’d rather be selling Judas Priest than Napalm Death, but at least now we can be specialized within “death” metal and make a shop where all the trend people know that they will find all the trend music, this will help us earning money so that we can order more EVIL records to the evil people. But no matter how shitty music we have to sell, we’ll make a BLACK METAL look on the shop, we’ve had a couple of “actions” in churches lately, and the shop is going to look like a black church in the future. We’ve also thought about having total darkness inside, so that would would have to carry torches to be able to see the records.

F: Well, how is the situation all in all in the Mayhem camp right now?

Euro: Difficult as usual, but we’re closer than ever to record the Mayhem lp. Almost all the material is completed, then I and Hellhammer will record the whole thing with 3 guitars, 2 basses and so on. It will be very massive. Who’s to sing on the lp is not yet decided, we’ll wait and see what happens. We have several people who can do the job very well.

F: As Metalion of Slayer mag* said: “it seems like you at certain times lives on the edge of starvation”. Have you ever been on the thought to just give up the whole band and become a normal 9 to 5 person, or is this a completely stupid question to ask?

Euro: It has been very hard at times, but I am not a normal person anyway so it would just not be possible to do that. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why things are as they are (this answer will be long) (that’s okay for me/Ed). The reason why we don’t have any money, is because of hardcore. We have for too long been following the “underground” rules, which say that you must hate money, you must not think you are anything, you must be open-minded, you might have a lot of attitudes and so on. Extremely stupid. But the situation has been that if you don’t follow these rules which are made by hardcore pigs, you are not accepted as a death metal or black metal band! Then you MUST be signed by some big label to be able to make some money, and we’ve never wanted to do that. Then you would anyway be labelled as “commercial” by the HC pigs. This has caused that after 8 years, we are still as broke as ever, while the HC pigs themselves are controlling all labels, and they sign only the bands which fit into their own idiotic world, that means “death” metal bands with society lyrics and jogging suits, and this is what the people see when they grow up. They don’t see any EVIL bands with spikes, as we did. Well, I’m tired about being broke, just to be “underground”. I’m tired of not having money to eat for just because tons of people will call you a “rip-off” if you don’t write 20 letters each day. It’s time to say fuck off to the whole system, which is built to strangle the evil bands in the birth. We must start taking inspirations from the ancient ones, from Venom and their likes. They did their thing BIG, and they never had to think about any idiotic underground rules. They did it big and so must we, but it must never become a trend, it must become a CULT. This is why we have started on a brand new policy with the band and the record label. It’s about time that someone makes a label for black metal and other grim music, and STRIKE BACK. There is NO reason why DSP shouldn’t be as big as Peaceville or Nuclear Blast, if we can just get the business on its feet again and get good distribution. That’s the only way to compete with the HC labels. It’s about time we start taking control over our own scene. We must spread the EVIL bands and pervert people’s souls.

F: What about the Norwegian scene then? Don’t you think that something is terribly wrong when it have gone so far that we have a christian “death metal” band here (Crush Evil)? Advices on how we should kill them?

Euro: First of all— the Norwegian scene is the BEST. There are a lot of GREAT bands (yet with no album out) and of course some shitty trend bands, but nothing as in Sweden. There you have 2-3 good bands out of 100, while here we have a few shit bands who hardly have made even a demo, while all the great bands will make records in the near future. Such as Darkthrone, Burzum, Immortal, Thorns (I’m flattered/ED*), Arcturus, Enslaved and newer bands like Malfeitor and others which I have not yet heard. BUT— when it comes to bands like Crush Evil, we must take serious action. It’s bad enough to have a couple of society bands, but a CHRISTIAN band is too much. But don’t worry, we have plans. They will not continue for a very long time.

F: And now over to something more humouristic....yes.... snuff movies. Who had been the perfect actor for a snuff movie, and why the hell aren’t they legalized? Don’t you think that every video-store should have its own section with snuff-movies?

Euro: Actually I think it’s great that movies like that are forbidden. If they were legal and easily accessible, all the small trend children would be watching them, and then it would not be something extreme anymore (I’m not sure if I agree with you here Euronymous. Snuff movies are usually too raw and brutal for the people with their “peace and life” infected minds. Remember the HC rules/ED) (shut the fuck up, Faust*) It’s just the same what happened to death metal— it became something everyone could buy in every store, something normal and accessible for everyone. All the mystic and evil atmosphere is GONE. I do not think snuff-movies are funny, I think they are DARK. I’ve seen people laugh at them, but that’s probably because they will not be mentally able to take the PAIN and EVIL on over themselves. That is the best way to watch such a movie, to try to FEEL the actual pain of the victims. It becomes much more gruesome then, and that’s great. One must be alone in the darkness and suffer with the victims, if you watch it with other people, they will often talk, laugh and so on, and then you get more distanced from it, it’s not supposed to be funny (death to fun), it’s much better when it’s depressive.

F: Through the years you have been talking about releasing bands like Samael, Rotting Christ, Master’s Hammer, Tormentor, Matricide, Imperator, Massacre etc. on Deathlike Silence Prod., but now some of these bands have released lp’s on labels which only have money in their eyes and know that black metal sells. Doesn’t that frustrate you, and don’t you feel it like the time is running out for you?

Euro: It’s a bit frustrating, but it is also a result of trying to be “underground” which is a suicide policy. Anyway, the main thing is that these evil records get released at all, and not who’s releasing them. We will probably release a record with Tormentor, they’re split up, but they still want to make their Anno Domini demo on vinyl, and we’ll try to fix it within the summer. The time is not running out, because there are a lot of really evil bands around. — most of the Norwegian bands which other labels haven’t heard about. Burzum is ten times better than all the bands on Earache together, and so are Thorns and Arcturus. So there is no problem, really. As for bands like Rotting Christ and Master’s Hammer, we might do something in the future instead. I’ve never been talking with Samael about any deal, but I wish I had as their album is FUCKING GREAT.

F: Almost all bands in the underground today says that they think they got their own style and originality, but the fact is that 95% of the bands sounds totally the same. What is an original death metal band today?

Euro: There exists no death metal bands today. There are only a handful of (mostly great) bands (in case someone hadn’t got it right— black metal has nothing to do with the music itself, both Blasphemy and Mercyful Fate are black metal. It’s the LYRICS, and they must be SATANIC. If not, it is NOT black metal) and what we choose to call LIFE METAL bands. Take a band like Therion. Their music is quite ok, it’s actually one of the best Swedish bands (even though that doesn’t say much) but their lyrics STINK. They are about society and pollution, what the fuck has that got to do with DEATH? If a band cultivates and worships death, then it’s death metal, no matter what KIND of metal it is. If a band cultivates and worships Satan, it’s black metal. And by saying “cultivates death”, I don’t think about thinking it’s funny, or being into gore, I’m thinking about being able to KILL just because they HATE LIFE. it’s people who enjoy to see wars because a lot of people get killed. How many bands think that way? Not many. I can’t think of one.

F: You’re maybe not the most active band when it comes to gigs, but at least you’ve managed to tour Germany and Turkey. What can you tell us from the tour, and is there any new gigs planed?

Euro: That tour was a big mess, we’ll NEVER take the train again! We lost quite some money, but still it was great to get to East-Germany and Turkey. The memories of the tour consist mostly of the starvation and idiotic custom officers, but still I wouldn’t like to have missed the opportunity. We don’t have any concrete plans, we’ll see happens in the future. We don’t like to play for a lot of trendies in jogging suits, so we prefer to leave it be.

F: What do you think of the fact that death metal has been on MTV?

Euro: It sucks. But it isn’t death metal anyway, so....

F: I know that you will soon release the debut album of Abruptum on DSP, so, what can you tell us about it?

Euro: It’s EVIL. It’s PURE EVIL, they were torturing each other in studio DURING the recording and you can HEAR on the music how they SUFFER. It will be the most demented record EVER, and it’s NOT for normal people. This is music which NEVER can become trendy, because normal people won’t be able to understand it. And that’s great. The price for the album it’ll be the same as for the BURZUM lp, which should be somewhere else in this ‘zine*. It’s called “Obscuriratem Advoco Amplèctere Me”, and stay away from it if you don’t like pure DARKNESS.

F: Don’t you think that people in the underground should respect others ideas and views more? I mean, it’s not accepted to spread unpopular thoughts. It seems like there is some sort of guardians of morality and most people keep in mind not to say or do anything which is not accepted by the public.

Euro: I don’t think people should respect each other. I don’t want to see trend people respecting me, I want them to HATE and FEAR. If people don’t accept our ideas as their own, they can fuck off because then they belong to a musical scene which has NOTHING to do with ours. They could just as well be Madonna fans. There is an ABYSS between us and the rest. Remember— one of the HC rules is that you must be open-minded (except for themselves), so we must be careful and avoid being open-minded ourselves. The HC pigs have correctly made themselves guardians of morality, but we must kick them in the face and become guardians of anti-morality.

F: You say you want your riffs to have a dark mood and really sound evil, but what if you came up with a riff which just sounded good, but not evil. Would you use it then?

Euro: Well, if a riff sounds good to me, it mostly means that it sounds evil too. At least when I make the music myself. Haven’t really thought about this about this before.

F: Do you think you’ve been playing this sort of music today if it weren’t for those old bands like Mercyful Fate, Venom and Hellhammer?

Euro: It’s impossible to say. Venom and the other ancient ones have been fundamental influences on Mayhem, and also the direct reason of the band’s existence. We like to think that if they hadn’t started up this, we would have, but who knows? Doesn’t really matter anyway, we hail ancient Venom as the CREATORS.

F: Ok, no more questions at the moment. End the interview in what way you want......

Euro: Perhaps it should be mentioned that well re-release the MAYHEM mini-lp “Deathcrush” VERY soon. We also have t-shirts available now. People should write for prices on things. Be EVIL, not open-minded.

Ok, I suppose some of you already know that Euronymous started up a shop in Oslo in the spring of ‘91. The shop is called “HELVETE” (which is Norwegian and means “HELL”) and are specialized within underground stuff and death metal in general (though he also have some other styles of music there). As he said in the MAYHEM interview, the shop really have a black metal look, so if you ever visit Oslo, I really recommend you to visit “HELVETE” as well. I think it’s good that people take the initiative to start up with such things, because if everyone were just passive, we would all get ruined by poser-shops like Hot Records where they take 140 NKR for the Earache albums (which you in “HELVETE” can get a CD for the same price). Euronymous also sells though mail, so write and ask for a list or something: HELVETE, Schweigaardsgt. 56, 0656 Oslo. NORWAY.”

That’s all! :)

And now for the things I put in asterisks, in order of their appearances.

*If for some reason you actually don’t know who Faust is, he was the drummer on the Emperor LP and “In The Nightside Eclipse” but you might also know him from other great hits such as “threatening to kill Mortiis from prison whilst simultaneously attempting to plead murder of the secondth degree”, “I’m glad the people Euronymous ripped off won’t get their money back because he’s dead hA hA!”, “I got fourteen years for murder because I’m a socially inept virgin— oops” and “bad... bad lyrics who’s quality somehow don’t improve with the passing of time”. All jokes are done in good humour— if it seems like I dislike him, it’s not that at all. I just find him easy to make fun of.

Here is another short bio, this one less sarcastic: he was born in Trondheim, lived around Kvikne, and Lillehammer, worked at Helvete, was a close friend of Euro’s, and has his sun in Taurus.

He also beefed with Glen Benton for dissing the Party City cape (Note: of course I’m being extremely reductive) he and Euronymous seemed to share. Here are a few pictures of Faust:

Here is the infamous Party City cape:

*This was surprisingly hard to find. I think he read it in a mag or something. Here’s a link to where you can find it: https://issuu.com/davidgamble/docs/paranormal37/3 page 64-65.

*Slayer mag was another zine, this one by a bloke named Metalion, who was Euro’s best friend.

*Faust (who felt the strange need to make a distinction between himself, the editor, and himself, the interviewer) also played in Thorns (well, Stigma Diabolicum), under the hilarious moniker: Fetophagia✨

*He’s being a fucking idiot, what was I supposed to say? It should be noted that Faust actually went down for the snuff films too.....

*In case you’re interested, for whatever reason, the prices for the Burzum LP were as follows:

Norge— 130 NKR

Norden— 100 K

Finland— 60 FN

Island— 1000 IK

Europe— 15$

Outside Europe,

Overseas— 15 $

Air— 22$

East Europe— 10$

By ‘norden’ he presumably meant ‘northern Norway’, and “Island” is the Norwegian word for Iceland. Notice the way he doesn’t include Sweden! (Edit: Originally I thought he didn’t include Finland because there was a black metal war with them as well, but it seems as though that feud came a bit later or had already passed)

That’s all, for real this time!

Legal disclaimer: I am absolutely, in no way shape or form, claiming that the stupid cape you see them wearing is literally from Party City. From my limited research, I’ve gathered that the Party City chain hasn’t yet opened its doors in the beautiful and glorious country we know as Norway— Norge. However, I am saying that the cheap, dinky piece of cloth covering their backs and shoulders are of the same kind of shitty quality you’d expect from a Party City Count Dracula costume and that maybe Glen had a point about how stupid Euronymous (and Faust) must’ve looked.......

[kinncman]

A LIST OF PLOTLESS TOWN RP-FRIENDLY CHARACTER IDEAS & CONNECTIONS INSPIRED BY MOVIES! (PART 1)

click here for part two.

i collected a couple of plot ideas from some of the movies i thought had interesting stories or characters that i hope can help you with your applications / character connections. please note that a lot of these are, by no means, the actual plots of the films and are only inspired by them. i’ve taken the liberty of making a couple of edits for them to be ‘plotless town rp-friendly’. also, i would’ve separated them by category (platonic, romantic, familial, etc.) but tbh a lot of these can be taken in any way so feel free to put your own spin on them, too, or even make combinations!

trigger warnings: nothing too specific, but there are light mentions of death, road accident, infidelity, illness, injury, drug addiction.

now, without further ado:

BAY OF ANGELS  // muse a met muse b on a vacation several years ago, brought together because they were both from the same home country and realized that they were traveling to run away from something. muse a came to learn that this wasn’t muse b’s first rodeo, and where this was the first time that muse a had tried to run away from their problems, muse b had been running for most of their life. muse b initially wished to emulate the same free-spirited, high-risk-high-reward principles that muse a lived by. however, muse b started to display totally erratic behavior that prompted muse a to question whether they were making the right choices. eventually, they went home. jump to present day where they meet again in their home country— muse b has toned down somewhat due to a traumatic event (a hard lesson to learn for them) meanwhile, muse a’s life remains the same cycle of events they can’t seem to break free from.

CLEO FROM 5 TO 7 // muse a suspects they are sick but refuses to go to the doctor to have it checked. most of their days are plagued with this feeling of doom enshrouding them, causing them to have a general distaste for life. they meet muse b who has profoundly positive disposition towards life. their company helps muse a to come to terms with the fact that perhaps their illness is something they should deal with. with muse b’s help, muse a starts to find meaning in death.

HAPPY OLD YEAR // muse a left town / the country for college, leaving behind all their friends and family, cutting all ties in a heartbeat, only to come back several years later a completely changed person who subscribes to the idea of minimalism and wants to get rid of all the clutter in their life, material or otherwise. this brings them to reconnect with muse b (and a variety of other muses if the mun wishes) when they find their old belongings and return them in order to be ‘minimalist’ and get rid of all the garbage in their home, which means getting rid of memories, too. however, muse b, who has now moved on from muse a and is with someone else, isn’t too pleased with having muse a back in their life. muse a is desperate to find the closure that muse b isn’t giving them, primarily because muse b knows that muse a is after starting over on a clean slate only to clear their conscience and not to make amends.

YI-YI: A ONE AND A TWO // muse a and muse b were each other’s first and greatest loves but are currently married to other people. when they are reunited through a chance encounter, they decide that it’s better to have each other in their lives as friends than not at all. they realize they still do have feelings for each other but because of their spouses, know that they can never be anything else other than friends. thus begins a journey of trying to bring their old selves back into the light as new people.

MIKEY AND NICKY // muse a and muse b are best friends since childhood. muse a is neurotic, childish, and wildly impulsive, and often has to depend on muse b to get them out of trouble only to show very little gratitude for it, much to muse b’s chagrin. in fact, muse b often finds themself thrown under the bus in muse a’s favor, though it’s not entirely muse a’s fault: muse b is an enabler. however, muse b can’t quite seem to quit muse a (either because they love the feeling of being needed and there’s no one who needs them more than muse a or maybe they’ve been in love with muse a since childhood— or both) until a certain event causes muse b to question whether they are healthy for each other at all.

IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE // muse a and muse b are neighbors, both living with their significant others. both muse a and muse b often see each other in the hallways or share an elevator up to their apartment when they come home from work. maybe they even carpool sometimes. however, they spare very little in the way of words until one day, muse a breaks down while drunk and admits that they think their partner is cheating on them. in an attempt to comfort them, muse b reveals that they think the same thing of their own partner. desperate for answers, they conduct an investigation until they realize that their partners are cheating on them with each other. muse a and muse b become each other’s support system, as they try to coach each other through an impending breakup all the while realizing that they might be developing feelings for each other and must now choose between indulging their feelings or deny themselves the hypocrisy.

TAKE THIS WALTZ // muse a meets muse b on a trip out of town and they instantly connect. they share the same flight back home and even a cab ride from the airport. however, they soon realize that muse b is muse a’s new neighbor, which makes things plenty awkward considering how a) they’ve been borderline flirty the whole time and b) muse a is married to someone who they now consider to be far less interesting in comparison to muse b. regardless, once they’ve recognized a mutual attraction with each other, muse a demands for muse b to keep their distance, only to keep running into each other everywhere, much to muse a’s chagrin.

LAST LIFE IN THE UNIVERSE // muse a is witness to a terrible road accident involving a pedestrian. muse a takes the pedestrian and their sibling, muse b to the hospital where muse b’s sibling is declared dead on arrival. despite being total strangers, muse a stays with muse b through the entire process. eventually, muse a takes muse b home but muse a refuses to let muse b leave, claiming they don’t want to be left alone in the house that they previously shared with their now deceased sibling. having money troubles of their own and on the brink of an eviction, muse a ends up staying with muse b not just for the night but for the week until they get comfortable enough with each other that muse b invites muse a to officially live with them to help with their financial problems, but mostly because they don’t know how to handle their grief alone.

THE FALL // muse a is in an outpatient physical rehabilitation facility after suffering from a near-fatal injury when they meet muse b. the pair are polar opposites in terms of their attitudes towards recovery: where muse a is more hopeful, muse b only throws pity parties for themself considering that this injury might prevent them from fully getting back to doing what they love. despite this, the two form an unlikely bond where muse b is completely enthralled with muse a, who tells them stories about their travels and their career and all the amazing things they’ve done, without realizing until they’re in too deep that they are all fabricated versions of the truth and muse b falls for every single one of them. what started as little white lies becomes a source of anxiety for muse a when the lies just get bigger and bigger.

COLUMBUS // muse a is a young, aspiring [insert career here] but to pursue this passion, they must leave their hometown, which they have constantly been refusing to do despite the numerous opportunities having been presented to them on account of the fear that no one else is going to take care of their mother (who, in the movie, is a recovering drug addict but it can be for any reason or relative in this case). muse b’s father is a well-known [insert career that muse a wants here] and is in town to hold a lecture/exhibit/performance/etc etc depending on the career, but then he suffers from a stroke. muse b, despite being estranged from their father for having been scrutinized by the man for most of their life, is forced to come to town and take care of him being their closest living relative. they meet muse a by chance, only to learn shortly after that they are a huge fan of muse b’s parent’s work. having spent their whole life in this town, muse a becomes muse b’s tour guide of sorts, while inadvertently helping each other come to terms with their relationship with their parents and how they can be kinder to themselves.

SECRET SUNSHINE // after their spouse’s passing, muse a moves from the big city to their spouse’s much, much smaller hometown so they can raise their child there. they meet all of the important figures of their spouse’s childhood including muse b, a local shopkeeper and an old friend of their spouse’s, who, despite muse a’s reluctance, helps them adjust to small town life. the pair eventually closer to each other and muse a to their spouse as they find out more about who they were before they met.

THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU // (originally lgbtqia+ and written about older characters with grown children, but make of this plot what u will, tbh) muse a and muse b are best friends. both married, both with grown kids. muse a’s spouse died a long time ago so they’ve had plenty of time to help muse b take care of their spouse in the couple of months leading to that spouse’s death. in the process, the pair have grown intimate (with muse b’s spouse’s knowledge— in fact, they encouraged muse a to ‘take care’ of muse b in the event of their passing and wouldn’t trust anyone else to do so) but haven’t told their families yet in fear of what they might think of them given their age and how they’re basically uncles/aunts to each other’s children.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

dark place, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is a man with no recourse, looking into the depths of an empty bottle. He’s in his dark place now and there’s no end to the darkness. The only one who holds the light is you, the other with your own dark place, the one he drove away. You shouldn’t have come.

warnings: mentions of attempted suicide; depression; former (toxic) lovers; rated M (18+) for language, alcohol consumption; heavy angst; smut (fem reader, f and m-receiving oral, tit fucking, penetrative sex)

--

“Hey.”

He must be seeing things. This couldn’t be real.

“You smell like alcohol.”

He did. He did smell like alcohol. He reeked of it. Because he was alone. Because he was thoughtless. Because he was empty, just like the whiskey bottle in his hand. Because he wanted to go to heaven, as soon as possible, and maybe, just maybe, if he drowned himself enough, he could part the sea of his own tears, walk across them, and never come back to this version of himself.

You pushed the door open, just a little. He relented, stumbling back. You stepped inside quickly, catching him. He pushed you away and you let him, sighing softly. You closed the door behind you and stepped out of your heels, watching him wobble into his apartment, almost tripping, almost dropping the bottle.

“Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi paused, swaying. You watched his form, waiting.

“Who sent you?”

His raspy voice was grating and accusatory.

“Hoseok.”

For a moment, you thought he was going to hurl the whiskey bottle. Instead, he just crumpled, sliding to the floor slowly, a mountain of black. Black hoodie, black sweatpants, black hair.

A long time ago, you had asked him the question. The question that drove you two apart, the question that you knew the answer to, but asked anyway. Back then, you thought nothing was more painful than limbo.

“I can’t.”

Those were his words to you at the time.

You took a few steps in, bending down to take the empty whiskey bottle from his limp hand. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t trying to stay conscious either. You were in your black slacks, black vest, and white dress shirt. Your bartending uniform. You knelt down and gently took him by the arms. He tried to fight you, but it seemed more like he was fighting himself. His whole body was shaking, pale face paler and gaunter than before. You dragged him to the bathroom, to the toilet.

He vomited.

You waited, him crouched over the toilet bowl, emptying his stomach of the liquor.

You told yourself you would never come back here. Jung Hoseok called you many times, asking you to come. Asking for help. And every time, you told him you couldn’t. That you weren’t ready. Hoseok pleaded with you, begged. Said you were the only one who understood, the only one who could even fathom what was going on in Yoongi’s head. And every time, you said you couldn’t. Because of what he said.

I can’t.

Then neither can I, you had thought to yourself.

You heard Yoongi choke a little and reached up to pat his back. Ran your hand over it, feeling his bones under the thick fabric, feeling his shivering. He flushed the toilet and you lifted him, righting him in front of the sink. He bent over it, rinsing his face, washing out his mouth. You didn’t say anything. Watched him brush his teeth and rinse some more.

You didn’t look at the mirror. You didn’t want to see your own face. If you didn’t see yourself with him, then maybe it would be like you never came. Like you were never here. Like you never gave in.

“I’m afraid he’s going to kill himself.”

That’s what Hoseok had told you. And you knew you shouldn’t have come, because when you’re in that place, no one can help you. No one can hold you. And you knew that. You knew that, because years and years ago, before you met Yoongi, before you even knew love could exist…

You had stood there, in that dark place.

That night, in that garage, covered in gasoline, you stood there, shakily holding that match. You really thought that was the end. You really thought, this was the way. Not simple, easy, effective, but full-on suffering. You thought you deserved that. You were young then. You didn’t know there were easier ways. You just wanted it to end.

Yoongi lifted his head. You could tell that he was looking at himself in the mirror, looking at that dark place. You knew there was nothing you could say. Nothing to do but stand there.

When two people are in that dark place together, the relationship can’t last. The relationship can’t breathe, because even if you’re in the same place, you both got there in different ways. Both of you would try to heal the other with words that never worked, because neither of you understood how you got there in the first place. You knew that now, much too late.

Yoongi turned around. You could see it, reflected in his dead eyes. The same scene you saw when you were standing in that garage that night so long ago.

“Why did you come?” he rasped.

You smiled sadly and told the truth.

“I don’t know.”

He looked down, at your clothes.

“You look dumb.”

You chuckled wryly. “I thought you liked formal wear.”

Yoongi frowned at you. His dark circles were even worse now.

“You look better naked.”

You shrugged. “I might get arrested on my way here if I did that.”

He scoffed, the side of his mouth raising a little. He pushed himself off the sink and tried to brush past, only to sway and descend against you, sliding down. You reached out and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Even though Yoongi was taller than you, his body felt like nothing. You stood there. He was breathing raggedly.

“I haven’t eaten.”

“You never do when you’re…”

You were about to say, like this, but you trailed off. You had the same habit too. That’s how you knew you were slipping back to that dark place.

Yoongi shuddered, leaning his head against your stomach. “I bet you were never like this after…” He trailed off too, not saying it.

“I was. In a different way.”

“Not anymore, though.”

There was a long silence.

“You learn to pretend.”

He stiffened at your words. “Don’t give me hope.”

You narrowed your eyes even though he wasn’t looking at you. You scowled. “You were the one destroyed it all.”

He lifted himself away from you. Broke out of your grasp. He was kneeling, staring at the floor.

“I know.”

You felt the anger come back. You wanted to scream. If you knew, why? If you knew, then why would you do this to me? Why would you ruin everything? Why would you say, I can’t? I can’t. The words that haunted you every night, every day, every waking second, and every nightmarish dream. But you didn’t cry. You didn’t start. Everything was apathy.

“Do you love me?”

You thought you were mishearing things. You thought your thoughts had come to life and spoken to you. For the first time, you looked into the mirror, into your own eyes. Your own dark circles. Your own face, gaunt and sickened from lonely nights. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Some kind of twisted déjà vu? You huffed in disbelief and looked down, down at the black curled-up form of Min Yoongi. Had he really, just now, said those words to you?

You crouched down. He wasn’t looking at you.

“I can’t.”

He flinched a if he was slapped. Then, very gradually, he turned his head to face you. Staring at you, with those empty, hollow dark brown eyes.

You exhaled deeply. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” you whispered.

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

You knew why he said it back then. Depression. You were both in that dark place. Neither of you fully understood why the other was there. Both of you used it to manipulate the other. Both of you used it like poison, puppeteering the other into the kind of love that was only based on pity, on fear, on sadness. And both of you knew it was wrong, it was terrible, and it was not the way to live. It was not love. And when you finally pulled the word out to him, he pushed you away, either from self-loathing or to protect you. Maybe both.

You sat down on his bathroom floor, looking into the eyes of the man you loved. And maybe they were the same as yours. You didn’t know. You kept yourself busy with work, taking double shifts to forget everything, working your body until you ached and collapsed in bed every night.

Yoongi’s face was completely blank.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

You wanted to hold him. Touch his face, tell him it was okay. Tell him you would always come back.

“There’s nowhere else to go,” you replied.

He was hurting. Hurting so very much. Yoongi stared at your face, at the spirit that he knew he broke, at the heart he knew he shattered. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

“I should have one more.”

“You know you shouldn’t.”

Yoongi turned his body, swallowing hard. His legs fell open, one knee up, the other on the floor. A familiar position, where you used to crawl up to and sit with him. But now you sat across from him, unmoving.

“I can’t do anything.” His voice was a cracked whisper, despairing. “I can’t compose. I can’t write lyrics. I can’t think of anything new. Everything sounds like shit. Everything is shit.” He smacked his head against the sink cabinets, brows furrowing. “My muse left me.”

He opened his eyes, slowly. Slowly. You weren’t crying. You just looked at him, heart aching.

“You told me to leave.”

His eyes shifted down. He wasn’t really looking at the floor. He was looking somewhere else, into the dark place.

“I know.”

You knew it would hurt you. You knew his voice, caked with remorse and shame, would hurt you. You knew and yet you came anyway, running at Hoseok’s panicked tone. You also knew, as Yoongi held his hand out and touched your face, brushing his fingers against your cheek, that you shouldn’t have come.

“I’m sorry.”

Because you knew it would be like this. So genuine and real, the way he said it, intoxicated, on the edge and hating himself. You knew because you were capable of the same thing. And yet you let him pet your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. Yoongi studied your eyes, your mouth. He leaned forward, pink lips parting.

You wanted it to be different. You wanted to hold your hand up to stop him. You wanted to be the voice of reason. You didn’t want to get hurt anymore.

But you let him kiss you because, in the end, you were weak too.

He pressed his lips against yours, a little minty from the toothpaste. You inhaled softly, breathing in that familiar smell. He still reeked of alcohol, but there was his own scent too, the scent you loved, the scent you dreamed about. His familiar taste. He leaned in more, crawling to you, cupping your face, lips molding to yours, his gentle breath against them. His tongue slipping out, licking yours. And you knew, with every second, that you were digging your own grave, but you let him because he was falling apart and maybe he was just using you an excuse to not think anymore.

Maybe that’s all it was.

Yoongi’s hands dragged down, finding the buttons of your vest. Pulling them apart, opening it up. He pressed his palms against your chest, nipping lightly at your lips. You breathing hitched, pushing your head back against the bathroom door as he kissed down your jaw, your neck, to the collar of your white shirt. You bit your lip as he undid each button, kissing every bit of exposed skin. You tried to tell yourself to stop him, but he was already pulling your dress shirt out of your pants, pushing it down to expose your bra.

“You still wear front clasp bras.”

You shrugged. “Easy access.”

Yoongi looked up at you, eyes in pain. “For who?”

You looked at the floor. “No one, anymore.”

His deft fingers undid the clasp.

“Was it only for me?” Yoongi murmured, spreading his fingertips on your breasts, pushing the cups aside.

“Everything was only for you.”

He paused. Your chest was fully exposed, shapely breasts with perky nipples poking out at him. He was between your legs, having spread them apart to move downward. Still fully clothed. Yoongi lifted his head, scooting back up to your face. His dark eyes found yours. He pressed his clothed chest against your naked one, forehead against yours.

“I’m hurting you.”

Your hand came up and petted his dark hair. Ran your hand though his dark locks, holding him close.

“That’s okay,” you breathed against his lips. “I know why.”

His large hands slid up your naked back, eyes closing. He turned his head to kiss you again, harder this time. Hungrier this time. Trying to tell you he was sorry for being this way, sorry it was like this, sorry he couldn’t stop. His nails dug into your back, dragging down, and you gasped, breathing into his mouth. He moaned, rolling his body into yours. Rubbing his hoodie into your nipples. You whimpered as the thick fabric stimulated them.

Yoongi pulled back a little to yank his hoodie over his head, dragging the white t-shirt underneath with it. He placed his hands on your waist and drew you into his lap, pulling your shirt and vest off, placing you two back in that familiar position. He was thin and pale, as if he hadn’t been outside for a long time. You leaned down and kissed him, soft kisses on his lips and cheeks, hands on his shoulders. He whispered your name and you whispered sweet nothings, holding him to you as he kneaded your breasts. Gently feeding his ego, falling into a familiar pattern. He smiled up at you, rubbing his thumbs against your nipples, making you moan.

“Has anyone else touched you?” he murmured. “Anyone else since that time?”

Even if someone had, you wouldn’t have told him. “No,” you breathed, gasping as he tugged gently at your nipples.

“I couldn’t think about anyone else,” Yoongi mumbled, pressing his hands into your breasts again, cupping them. “Your body is like a drug.”

You smiled into his forehead. “It’s a pretty normal body.”

“No, it’s not.”

His hands slid down to your waist, nails scratching into your sides. You hissed, arching your back. He continued, clawing at your sides, leaving red marks as you squirmed, throwing your head back as he teased your erogenous zones.

“It’s the body I remember,” Yoongi purred, tilted his head up at you, watching you fall apart. “It’s the body I loved, the body I continue to love, the body I will forever love.”

You wanted so desperately for it to be true, but there was no point in asking now. You clenched your jaw and panted, pleasure prickling up to invade your thoughts, each a blooming spiderweb over your doubts, your fears, your reason. You saw Yoongi’s lips part, trembling as he watched, becoming just as aroused as you.

“Look at you.” His voice low and gravelly, familiar. “You love it when my hands are all over you, don’t you?”

His nails scratched up your back and then back down to your sides, over and over, crisscross marks into your skin like an animal, marks you used to stare at in the mirror and rub yourself to, thinking of him.

You looked down, breathing hard.

“Always.”

You reached for your slacks as he continued, your body shaking with pleasure, unbuttoning them, unzipping them. His hands dragged your pants and panties down, stopping because of your spread thighs. His nails came down to your ass and you moaned, grabbing his shoulders, wishing you were stronger, wishing you were better, wishing depression wasn’t a forever contract. Because you were weak when it came to Min Yoongi, weak when he pushed you to the hallway, yanking your pants down and shoving them aside, weak to him spreading your legs, dipping down.

You sighed in pleasure as his tongue touched you, daintily pushing your slick folds aside, hands on your hips, holding you still as he breathed into your heat.

“Ah, Yoongi…”

His name, so cruel and beautiful, leaving your lips as he closed his eyes and played with your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Just take the pills and the dark place will go away. But it never went away; it just found more creative ways to break you, and you had shared it with no one but the talented tongue beneath you, the tongue that greedily lapped at your clit, so fast and hard that your spine arched, hands on his, every muscle tensing.

“Y-Yoongi, you feel s-so good…”

And you knew it was wrong, you knew you had to stay away, for your sanity and his, but it was too late, too late as he pushed you over the edge, sucking on your clit and licking fast. Your hips bucked and it poured out of you as you pressed your head against the floor and moaned his name again, eyelids fluttering as he sucked it out of you like a vampire, moaning into your pussy, your orgasm like honey, coating his tongue. He fucked you with it, feeling your walls close in on his tongue as he pushed in and out, scooping out more, drunk on you.

Your chest rose and fell as Yoongi continued, softer, licking every little bit out of you. When he was done, he crawled back up to your face, lips swollen and glistening, kissing you deeply, thrusting his tongue in your mouth. You could taste yourself, whimpering as he fucked your mouth with the wet muscle, his saliva sliding into your throat.

You felt wetness on your face. You opened your eyes a crack and tears clung to his lashes. Your hand slid up his back, tangling into his hair. Pulling him closer, kissing him deeper, sucking on his tongue. You realized his eyes were open too, watching you, aware that you had seen, but you only held him tighter, closer.

He broke apart, his exhale heavy against your skin, your name so delicately forming on his lips.

“Can I take you to the bed?” Yoongi asked quietly. Trembling, afraid.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Please.”

He got up and extended his hand. You didn’t have to take it. You didn’t have to hold it. But you did, hand fitting perfectly into his, grasping tightly, letting him pull you up. He swayed a little and you smiled, tipping his head towards you to press your nose to his.

“Haven’t you drunk too much?” you teased lightly, intertwining your fingers.

He scoffed as you two began to walk to the bedroom. “Are you implying something?”

“No, not at all.”

Yoongi frowned at you and pushed you into the room, shedding his sweatpants. “You should know I have a high tolerance.”

“You face is still red though.”

You sat onto the bed, facing him, backing up with your hands. You knew how much space was between you and the headboard. You knew where his pillows were. You even knew the feeling of his sheets on your bare body.

Yoongi’s eyes went to the floor. He walked over to his nightstand, opening the drawer.

“Maybe it’s red for a different reason.”

You chuckled as he took out a condom, pushing down his boxer briefs. His cock popped out, semi-hard, tip glistening with pre-cum.

“It’s not me, since we’ve had plenty of sex,” you remarked off-handedly.

He climbed onto the bed, still not looking at you. You slid down, opening your mouth. He stiffened as you wrapped your lips around his cock, closing your eyes as you swiped your tongue over the head. You groaned at his familiar taste, sucking all over, feeling him swell in your mouth. You pressed your tongue against the bottom of his cock, rubbing from side to side, making him suck in a tight breath.

“It is you.”

You opened your eyes, slowly, his cock still in your mouth.

“Because you came back and I don’t deserve that.”

You blinked up at him. Yoongi sunk his teeth into his lower lip, sighing softly.

“And I’m getting hard, even though I’m not supposed to,” he hissed, voice thinning. “And I still want you, even though I’m not good enough.”

You pulled your mouth off him and took him by the waist, dragging him to you. Pulling him as he resisted you feebly, reluctantly. You made him get on top of you, his cock hitting your breasts, wetness dripping everywhere.

“I’m not good enough either,” you said apologetically. “I guess we both suck.”

You pressed your breasts together, trapping his cock between them. He moaned softly, using his own hand to push his cock into your cleavage, rocking his hips back and forth. It should have killed the mood. It should have ruined everything. But it didn’t, either because both of you were incredibly fucked up or too fucking horny to really care anymore as Yoongi humped your tits, covering you with your own saliva and his pre-cum, rolling his hips into your chest.

“So soft…” he groaned, pressing the head in between your breasts. You rubbed your nipples as you held him tight, moaning with him, staring into his dark, cat-like eyes filled with lust, his black hair framing his slightly rounded cheeks, lips dark pink from pleasuring you.

“You’re still the sexiest man I’ve ever seen,” you murmured, knowing he wouldn’t believe you, knowing he didn’t want to believe you.

He chuckled, drawing his cock out from between your breasts. “You always say that. Your eyes need checking.”

You touched your chest, skin sticky and rapidly getting cold. “I’m offended.”

Yoongi shook his head at you, unwrapping the condom and sliding it on. A small smile danced on his lips as he grabbed your thighs, spreading them. How many times had you fought for that smile? How many times had you prayed and hoped that smile would stay, always? And how many times were your dreams shattered as the darkness always came back, dragging you both down into it?

Yoongi positioned you in front of him, one leg onto his shoulder, one leg around his waist. Slowly, slowly, pushing into you, a soft sigh escaping his lips, eyes closing as he felt you envelop him and pull him in, pulsing around him.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” he groaned, shuddering. “How can I fuck anyone else, knowing you’re this tight and this good?”

He went all the way in, hitting your deepest parts. Yoongi always fit you perfectly and you always clenched around him, controlling your muscles. It was sinful with how good it was. He slid out just a little and pushed back in, making you whimper, your legs tightening around him. He dug his nails into your thighs and dragged them over your skin. You gasped, clutching his sheets, feeling his cock throb inside you, tongue tucked in his cheek as he focused.

“Y-Yoongi…”

He smirked. “Can’t get that anywhere else, can you?”

You smiled back, raising an eyebrow. “Not sure, dildos these days are crazy.”

Yoongi laughed. Laughed and made your heart stop. His teeth and his gums flashed as he threw his head back a little, a little dry and raspy, the same laugh you remembered. His dark eyes went to your face, still gripping your thighs, realizing what he had done. You looked away quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He jerked his hips sharply.

“Hey, I’m still dick-deep here. Pay attention.”

You scoffed and turned back to him as Yoongi leaned down, pressing your leg down to get a higher angle. He rolled his hips into you, grinning as you moaned, your other leg tightly around his waist. You flexed your muscles and he sucked in a tight breath.

“Fuck…” He thrust again, harder this time, shuddering as he felt you squeeze him. “You’re so fucking wet and tight.”

You pressed your head into the pillows as he began to fuck you, really fuck you, hard and fast and powerful, the Yoongi you remember, the Yoongi who clenched his jaw and fucked you so hard that you were gasping for breath, clutching the sheets and moaning as he hit all your deepest parts, making the bed squeak in protest. Your eyes found his and he watched you, pink lips parted, bruising your hips together.

“Fuck, I love the way you sound,” he mumbled, brows furrowing as he increased his pace. You whined, tipping your head back, exposing your neck. “All those sexy noises you make. Fuck. I could cum listening to only your voice.”

“Y-You have…” you gasped. “You’d call me at work, demanding me to g-get you off…”

He grinned. “And you’d always complain about getting in trouble as you fingered yourself in the bathroom.”

“It could have happened,” you hissed. Yoongi leaned in even more, lifting your ass from the bed, thrusting even harder.

“Might still happen.”

Your heartbeat skipped, but then you orgasm crashed down, making you wail loudly as your pussy convulsed around him, massaging his entire length as you shivered, hips jerking involuntarily. He chomped down on his lower lip, swearing as he roughly pounded you, determined not to cum yet, determined to get one more out of you.

“Come on, darling,” he purred, killing you slowly with your old pet name, murdering you with his deep drawl. “Give me another.”

He lifted one hand and swiped at your side, igniting pain once again. You cried out, slamming you head back into his pillows, hips raising to meet his. It made his cock bury deeper into you, unforgiving and unforgettable.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you hissed, his breath hot against your skin, his sweat dripping onto your chest. “Fuck, Yoongi, why is your cock so fucking gooood…”

Your eyes rolled back into your head and you wailed his name, loud and clear, radiating off the walls, a familiar noise to these walls, a familiar scene. He sucked in a breath and rammed into you, gasping as he came, cock twitching against your walls as you felt his entire body tremble as he orgasmed, chest shuddering against your leg.

It took you two a moment to untangle yourselves, comprehension sinking in. Yoongi climbed off you, condom in hand, going back to the bathroom. You laid in his bed, closing your eyes, ribs rattling with shaky breaths. You shouldn’t have come. You knew this would happen. And you knew what would happen next, because you got up robotically, empty inside, wishing you could be stronger, knowing you would have to go to the hallway and the bathroom to collect your clothes and then go home, go home and pretend nothing happened, go home and pretend you were okay, even if nothing was okay.

Nothing was okay.

You stared down at your stomach. His red marks, crisscrossed all over you. His scent, painted on your skin. His taste, all over your lips. His arms, wrapping around you, pulling you to him, holding you tight.

“There’s no home without you,” Yoongi breathed against your skin.

Your eyes looked away, into the dark place. You visited there less often now, but still; it was there. Always waiting. Always coming back.

“Do you love me, YoongI?”

The question, so long ago.

I can’t.

You braced yourself for the answer.

“I do.”

The sound of rain.

“I love you.”

--

masterpost

-

if you have visited the dark place always remember, it is only a visit. long visit, short visit, but still, only a visit.

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

---

Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”   

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions. 

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

 Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

[ragingpancake]

I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part One

Here’s the thing: Rodney is an actual pain in the ass. They’d be hard pressed to find anyone in two galaxies who didn’t agree with that assessment but most of the time, John doesn’t mind. He puts up with all of Rodney’s neuroses with a kind of fond indulgence but there’s really only so much that one man can take, even if that man is John Sheppard, McKay whisperer. The trek to the Carnean settlement is long and it’s hot and John isn’t feeling charitable the fifty seventh time that Rodney complains about the heat. He snaps at the scientist in a way that he almost never does, even Teyla and Ronon visibly reacting to the sting of his words. Later, once they’re back home and John doesn’t feel like he’s going to sweat to death, he’ll ply Rodney with some chocolate and coffee as an apology, but now, he’s grateful for the silence. -- The Carneans aren’t quite what John expected. Most of the planets they trade with are primitive in technology, and the ones more advanced are usually comprised of a bunch of dicks. Teyla had warned that they were a peaceful people, but deeply, deeply religious in regards to their technology, believing them to be gifts from their Gods. She said it as a warning mostly to Rodney, who had horrible manners on even the best of occasions, but was known to abandon all pretense of any sort of civility when it came to shiny, new ancients toys that he could get his hands on. He promised to behave though, looking a little bitterly in John’s direction, clearly still smarting from the reprimand earlier, but John still won’t let himself feel bad about that when the armpits of his black t-shirt are completely drenched, leaving him to feel sticky and gross and still annoyed. To his credit, John can tell that Rodney really does try to behave. He questions the Carneans about their energy source almost delicately, even as his handheld is going crazy in his hand, alerting them all to almost ZPM level energy signals coming from just beneath them. His resolve to be, well, Rodney is slowly starting to break though and even though John warns him twice, voice growing more agitated as the Carneans grow increasingly uncomfortable with Rodney’s line of questioning. “Rodney,” Teyla interjects, forcing a smile to her face though her eyes never leave their leader, Arrens. “Perhaps it would be best if we—” “No, no! You don’t understand! This energy source is—” He yelps as Ronon scruffs him, grabbing him by the back of his tac vest to stop him from venturing to the giant pillars before them, the ones that lead down to their most sacred chamber. “Perhaps we should return to the village,” Arrens says and his voice is even, though clearly laced with barely concealed disdain for the scientist. John’s about to joke that he’ll have to get in line with all of the other people in Pegasus that Rodney has annoyed when Rodney wiggles free of Ronon and starts for the temple entrance. “McKay!” John snaps again and this time, it’s him who reaches out for Rodney, grabbing him none to gently by the shoulder, squeezing not so hard enough to actually hurt Rodney, but to get his attention. It has its desired effect and John leaves Teyla to offer their profuse apologies as he and Ronon set off for the Jumper, dragging Rodney between them.

--- “What part of sacred temple do you not understand?” John barks, whirling around on the scientist as soon as they’re far enough away from the Carneans. “For someone as smart as you, you have absolutely zero common sense!” “But the energy source--!” “I don’t give a crap about the energy source, Rodney! We need their grains, you know that, and instead, you’ve jeopardized this entire mission!” John’s sure why he’s so angry, but he’s hot, he’s tired, and once again, they’ll have to go back through the Gate empty handed all because Rodney couldn’t control himself for a total of two seconds. “Sheppard,” Ronon grumbles as Rodney seemingly wilts in front of them, not used to being on the receiving end of John’s Colonel Sheppard wrath and for a second, he feels a little bit like a dick. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth and gestures to the Jumper. “Get in.” “Sheppard, I—.” “I said get in, McKay. We’ll have this discussion later.” --- They’ve only been back at the Jumper for about fifteen minutes when Teyla comes through the thick foliage and she doesn’t look nearly as put out as John expected. He knows that she’s been counting on those grains for the Athosian settlement too, but she seems in good spirits as they meet her at the ramp of the Jumper. “I have spoken to Arrens and explained Rodney’s… over excitement away as a bit of religious zeal. They were concerned at first that he might wish to desecrate their sacred temple, but they have been advised that he simply wished to learn more about their practices.” “That actually worked?” Ronon asks, eyebrow raised. “It is not uncommon for planets to simply trade knowledge, Ronon,” Teyla admonishes and she turns back to John. “They wish for us to join them for a meal so that we might continue talks of negotiation.” John glances at Ronon and then back to Teyla, gauging the situation before he finally turns his gaze to Rodney, leveling him with a glare. Rodney holds his hands up, handheld tucked away safely in his vest. “Best behavior, yes, I know. You’ll not hear a peep from me.” “I doubt that,” John snorts but he nods. “Alright then. And Rodney, if you so much as look like you’re going to mention that damn energy source, I’ll string you up myself. Clear?” “Crystal.” “Good. Let’s go.” --- The meal goes better than John expects, honestly. While Arrens still maintains a cool demeanor despite Teyla’s best diplomatic attempts to draw him into conversation, his son Atton speaks animatedly with both John and Ronon as Rodney finishes off his third bowl of stew. John has to cut him off from going back for a fourth as Arrens eyes seem transfixed on the scientist and Rodney’s already offended these people once today. John won’t allow him to do it a second time. “Lay off, McKay,” he mutters under his breath and Rodney whines like he always does when food’s involved. “But it’s good. When’s the last time we actually had a decent meal off-world? You think they do doggie-bags here? Maybe we can take it back home and the cooks can figure out how to—” Ronon elbows him in the side and Rodney doesn’t quite yelp but it’s a near thing and John figures the Carneans have probably had enough of Rodney for one day. Once again, John leaves Teyla to the niceties while Atton escorts the three men outside and it’s not long at all before Teyla joins them and they set off for the gate again. --- The walk back to the Jumper is much less miserable than it had been on the way to the settlement, for which John is eternally grateful. The sun is beginning to set, cooling the air and he finds himself much less agitated than he’s been for most of the day. Even the sound of Rodney gulping his water behind him isn’t enough to annoy him now, whereas earlier it very well might have sent John into a homicidal rage. “Did that stew leave a weird after taste with anyone?” He asks, and John rolls his eyes at that. “Nope, but we didn’t eat enough to feed an entire army.” Rodney huffs at that and tips his canteen up again,

frowning when he finds it empty. Teyla wordlessly passes her own to him, squeezing his shoulder gently, affectionately maybe, and John knows that while Rodney annoys the shit out of everyone they’ve ever met, he’s there’s and John isn’t the only one who is indulgently fond of Rodney. Even when he’s at his most annoying. --- Their return through the Gate is uneventful. Elizabeth is there to meet them when they arrive and John is feeling charitable enough now that he doesn’t even mention Rodney’s faux pas. He promises to have Teyla fill her in more on the trade agreement she’d been able to broker before he leads his team down to the locker room, Rodney strangely quiet the whole way. John’s about halfway through removing his gear when he glances over at Rodney, one eyebrow raised to find him sitting on the bench, still in his tac vest and thigh holster. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks, kicking Rodney’s boot gently with his foot to get his attention and Rodney startles, lifting his gaze to meet John’s. “What? Uh, nothing. Nothing, it’s just… my stomach feels a little…” He gestures vaguely and Ronon laughs behind them, clapping Rodney on the shoulder. “Must have been that third bowl. One of our commanders back on Sateda had a large appetite, but I think even you could out eat him, McKay.” “Gee, thanks,” Rodney frowns as John goes back to hanging up his vest, surreptitiously glancing over at the other to find that he does actually look a little green around the gills. “You wanna go see Beckett?” John offers after a moment. “No, no. Chewbacca’s probably right,” Rodney says as he unstraps his holster and stands, shrugging off his tac vest. “We all had the same thing, and you’re all fine.” John just shrugs. It’s not the first time Rodney’s eaten himself to a stomachache and he’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. “Alright,” he says, clapping Rodney on the shoulder, a little more gently than he’d been earlier in the day. “If anything changes though…” “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” “Alright. Debriefing in an hour. I’ll see you there.” “Yeah,” Rodney agrees. “See you.” John does not actually see Rodney later. At least not while he’s conscious. --- It happens really fast. Rodney doesn’t actually show up for the debriefing but that in and of itself is not really weird; he’s skipped more than one debriefing over the last few years, but there’s something gnawing uncomfortably in his gut anyway. They finish up and by the time they’re done, John thinks he’s probably just being a paranoid asshole, but he taps his comm, needing Rodney to confirm he’s good. “Sheppard to McKay, come in.” Silence. “Sheppard to McKay, Rodney, respond.” John glances over at Ronon and Teyla who have both been standing by, Teyla looking as worried as John feels and Ronon… well, Ronon looks pissed off, but John knows that that’s Ronon’s default when it comes to concern. “Sheppard to Zelenka, come in.” This time, his radio crackles immediately in his ear. “Zelenka here, go ahead Colonel.” “Hey Dr. Z, is Rodney down there?” John waits impatiently, but even before Radek answers, John already knows. “No Colonel, he is not here.” “I will check the infirmary,” Teyla says, squeezing John’s wrist. “Ronon, the mess. John, perhaps you should check his quarters. If Rodney was not feeling well, it’s likely he is in one of these three places.” “Yeah,” John nods. “Yeah, you’re right, okay. As soon as you find him, radio in.” They disperse quickly and John doesn’t mean to, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach twists and he realizes that at some point, he’d started to jog to the transporter to take him as close Rodney’s room as possible. “Sheppard to McKay,” he says again, a little breathless as he steps out of the transporter, “Rodney, I swear to God, you better be alright or I’ll kick your ass.” Even the threat of bodily violence doesn’t raise him and by the time John skids to a halt in front of Rodney’s door, he’s expecting the worst. He pounds on the door once, giving Rodney the

chance to open it, but when he hears nothing inside, he palms the door open to find Rodney face down on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own vomit. “No. No, no, no.” John closes the distance between them, calling for a medical team with barely concealed fear in his voice as he drops down to his knees, rolling Rodney over onto his side as he presses two fingers to the side of his neck. He can feel a pulse there but it’s rapid and thready. “Rodney, c’mon buddy. You gotta wake up, hey, hey, c’mon. Wake up, Rodney.” He’s babbling, he knows that, but he doesn’t know what else to do until he hears the sound of the medical team in the hallway, sprinting toward them, Teyla and Ronon both hot on their heels. “What happened?” Beckett barks as they spill into the room and John drops back on his ass, away from Rodney so that they can work. “I don’t… I don’t know, we just got back and he said he had a stomachache but he was fine and he--.” Ronon hefts John back to his feet, as Beckett assess the situation, calling down to the infirmary to warn them of their imminent arrival as Rodney’s lifted onto the gurney, his body sickeningly limp. “Did he ingest anything off world?” He calls over his shoulder, expecting them to follow, and they do, Ronon forcing John to keep moving. “Colonel!” Carson snaps when John doesn’t immediately answer as one of the nurses places the ambu bag over Rodney’s face. “We took part in a meal with the Carneans, but we were all served the same food,” Teyla answers for John when it becomes clear that he won’t, or rather, can’t. John can’t tear his eyes away from Rodney as his chest rises and falls only because of the bag forcing air into his lungs. “Blood pressure’s dropping!” Simpson announces as the doors to the infirmary open and the last thing they hear is Beckett cursing as the doors close in their faces. --- He should’ve forced him down to the infirmary. The moment Rodney gave any indication that something was off, John should’ve marched him down here himself, but Rodney had been a pain in the ass all day and-- John had figured he’d deserved a bit of a stomachache for as much trouble as he’d almost caused and if Rodney wasn’t okay, John would--. John had no fucking idea what he’d do. They’re sitting outside of the infirmary, John’s leg bouncing nervously, head cradled in his hands with Teyla and Ronon flanking him. Others had come when word began to spread, Elizabeth and Radek, even Lorne, posted near the door. It’s unsettlingly quiet, only the muffled sounds spilling through the doors to be heard. Their vigil seems to stretch on forever. Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into--. Honestly, John has no idea how long they’ve been here. Time has no meaning in this moment and while it feels like it’s been days, after what in reality was only thirty minutes, Beckett steps out, looking more grim than John thinks he’s ever seen him, including the time that John turned into a bug. “We don’t have much time,” he says, glancing to Elizabeth. “I need permission to move him down to the Stasis pods. His condition is rapidly deteriorating and without an antidote on hand--.” “Antidote?” Ronon interrupts, hand clenched into a fist at his side. “Are you saying McKay was poisoned?” “Aye,” Beckett answers shortly. “Elizabeth, his organs have already begun to shut down at an alarmingly rapid pace. If we delay this--.” “Go,” Elizabeth says at once and Carson is gone before there’s a chance to ask anything further. John doesn’t need to know anything else though. He stands, nodding at Ronon and Teyla to go gear up and without a single word, the two turn, reading his body language clearly enough. John will be right behind them, but first he needs to make sure Rodney gets to where he’s going. The doors open again, the medical team moving at a quick pace, but John keeps up with them easily, coming to a stop only once they reach the stasis chamber. Rodney is sickeningly gray now and if John didn’t know better, he’d think he was already gone. He reaches for the other’s

hand as Beckett and one of the nurses ready the pod and he squeezes Rodney’s fingers as he leans in close to his ear, willing Rodney to hear him. “I will fix this,” he vows, lips brushing the outer shell of Rodney’s ear. “I will burn that entire fucking planet down if I have to, but I promise you, I will fix it. Hang on, Rodney. Please.” “Colonel,” Beckett says, shouldering John bodily out of the way. “Get a move on, son. The stasis pod will keep his organs from shutting down any further, but I need that antidote if there’s any hope of bringin’ him back from this.” John does not need to be told again. --- Arrens is prepared for their return. There is a group of armed men waiting at the gate, Arrens standing unapologetically behind them. John wants to blow them all to pieces as soon as the Jumper clears the event horizon but Teyla reminds him as calmly as possible that doing so will make it impossible for them to find the antidote. Instead, he touches the Jumper down and they’re out, weapons raised. “You come to our village,” Arrens booms, “attempt to desecrate our templeand return to turn your weapons upon us?” “Give us the antidote and we will leave, never to return again!” Teyla responds, neither John nor Ronon moving to lower their weapons. “We did not intend to offend your Gods; Doctor McKay had no malicious intentions.” Arren is not moved, however, but there’s another, Atton, who steps forward, maybe to act as a liaison for his people, but it’s all John needs to move. It happens so quickly, that none of the Careans have an opportunity to fire as John grabs the boy, arm around his neck as Atton struggles, hands up in surrender. “Please, Colonel Sheppard--.” “Nothin’ personal, kid,” but John’s not leaving here without that antidote. “You have five seconds to give us what we’ve come for. Do not make me ask again.” “My… my bag,” Atton struggles, but John does not hear him as his grip tightens around his throat. “Release him at once!” Arrens bellows, and he steps forward, as if to charge them but Ronon aims his weapon, finger on the trigger and the man stops. “Arrens, please,” Teyla tries, “there need not be bloodshed between our two peoples! Gives us the antidote!” Atton hits John’s wrist, struggling against him, blunt nails digging into skin and he tries again. “B… a…” And then John spots it, the tiny vial that’s tumbled from the bag dropped by the boy when John grabbed him. “Ronon!” The Satedan surges forward, grabbing it at the same time John releases Atton, who falls to his knees, gasping for air. “If he dies,” John snarls, aiming his side arm at the leader of the Careans, almost begging the man to give him a reason,“there is no place in this galaxy that you will be able to hide.” “John,” Teyla pleads urgently, trying to usher him back towards the Jumper. “We must go. Rodney is in great need.” And it’s that reminder that snaps John out of it as he backs into the Jumper, Ronon already dialing. --- Even with the antidote, they have no way of knowing if Rodney’s going to make it. The damage to his insides was extensive; his kidneys had shut down completely and Carson warns that if he wakes up, there very well could be weeks, if not months of dialysis treatments. They still have no way of knowing if there was any damage to his nervous system, and they won’t know until he wakes up. Carson speaks in hypotheticals, using if instead of when and John finds that every time he does, he wants to scream. If he’d been less pissed at Rodney, if he’d paid a little bit more attention, he could’ve caught this. The increased thirst, back on the planet, that could’ve been their first sign that something was wrong and they could’ve-- He should’ve--. Whether Rodney wakes up or not, John knows that he’ll never forgive himself for this one.

---

In the end, Rodney does wake up. He does so quietly, without fanfare, alerting at first only John when Rodney squeezes his fingers gently where they’re linked through his own. He sits up from where his head had been pillowed on the bed at Rodney’s hip and for a moment, when he sees those blue eyes staring back at him, he can’t quite breathe. “John,” Rodney rasps, voice hoarse, a bit pained. “Where… what…?” “Hey buddy,” John greets, leaning back in his chair for a split second to signal to Marie before his gaze flickers back to Rodney’s ashen face. “You’re okay. You’re in the infirmary. You’ve been here for a couple of days.” A couple of days which felt uncomfortably like an eternity. Rodney’s eyes close again and for a second, John thinks maybe he’s slipped back into unconsciousness, which Beckett had previously warned could happen, but then Rodney’s blinking up at him. “The… the energy source,” he manages. “There was… ‘m sorry.” “Hey, hey,” John says and he scoots forward in his chair and John can hear Beckett approaching, knowing it won’t be long before John’s forced to give up his seat at Rodney’s side while he’s examined. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Rodney.” And least nothing that Rodney should be sorry for. John, on the other hand… “You’re gonna be okay though. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine, I promise.” Rodney nods and closes his eyes again, clearly exhausted from the short exchange. Beckett steps in and John starts to pull back, to let the other work, but Rodney grips his fingers again. “Stay,” he rasps and John glances at Beckett who gives a barely there nod. “Alright,” he says, settling back down into his chair. “I’m here, buddy. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise.”

[popatochisssp]

Hello Poppy! I hope you slept well! Here is the reminder you requested to create a mob au hc post like the cowboy post. Have a wonderful day!

Thank you, it’s finally time! I’m gonna put it under a cut immediately because having twenty skeletons makes every post with all of them automatically a long one!

Full disclaimer-- none of the boys are bosses, that falls on the monarch(s) of their universes... but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own roles to play~

(Warnings: mentions of crime, drugs, violence, sex, brief sexism [probably not the way you’d think] and ableism, plus all the usual mob-tropes I may have forgotten to mention)

Sans (Undertale): He’s a...humble purveyor of items, quality goods produced economically in order to pass those savings on to the crafty consumer who might not want to pay full, exorbitant price for ‘name-brand’ luxuries... Yeah, he’s the ‘you wanna buy a watch?’ guy and he spends most of his days (strategically) wandering around the city looking for customers to hock knockoff, lookalike watches, wallets and bags to. The fuzz know him by name but can never seem to find anything to hold him on, so he’s mostly just a harmless nuisance to be shooed along elsewhere if there’s been any complaints. (He’s real good at making friendly conversation with the law enforcement and keeping all eyes on him, and frankly, if there were any real shady business going on somewhere nearby... well, the cops certainly wouldn’t know about it, too busy hustling him along down the street, now would they?)

Papyrus (Undertale): An upstanding citizen, unlike his brother who’s always in some little trouble with the law or other. He is gainfully employed at a fitness center, and he commutes there by car, because paid for his license to operate one and practiced his driving skills and saved up until he could afford a very beautiful, shiny car of his own! It’s a very nice vehicle...so nice, even, that he doesn’t like to drive it for...recreational outings with friends, in case the paint might get scuffed. That’s why his friends let him borrow their cars when they go out, and let him drive very fast (but safely!) all over the city, even at strange hours or by ‘suspicious’ locations. He’s certainly never seen anything suspicious going on, he just waits outside, and if he happens to keep a First Aid kit in his glove-box, that’s just taking precautions, isn���t it? Accidents happen, you know! (He’s the best getaway driver in town and he knows it, but plausible deniability--the less he ‘knows,’ the better.)

Sky (Underswap Sans): Just your average, ordinary businessman, running a nice little bar for average, ordinary folks of all kinds. Well... he co-owns the place with a buddy of his, Grillby, but Grillbz is a free spirit and a real man about town, so really most of the ‘running’  is down to him. And he loves it! So many people (monsters and humans) to meet and chat with and serve... human food and alcohol, of course. Monster food and alcohol isn’t legalized yet to serve to humans, and a black mark like that against his little establishment would be just awful. He adheres fully to the rules and regulations set forth by human governmental agencies, no magic in anything he passes across the counter, skeleton’s honor! ...Total bullshit, obviously-- he’s running a speakeasy for humans who want to partake in a little monster food or booze, because it’s not harmful to humans and that makes it an even stupider regulation than prohibition was. Grillby taught him most of the menu and cooks on the rare occasions he’s in, while Sky handles the liquid menu and keeps an eye-socket out for snitches and inspectors trying to catch him in the act. He’s never missed a rat yet.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He works at his brother’s place. In the back. Only part-time, though, Sky’s got it mostly buttoned up there, so Paps has a lot of leisure time to wander around the city, hit up his favorite joints, chat with friends--and strangers that can become friends, he’s a friendly sorta guy. And if he’s ever seen sharing a cigarette or two with one of those friends, of course it’ll be a totally normal tobacco cigarette, and no exchange of money or anything else incriminating about the interaction. ...Doggo is the one that does the deals, he’s got the Dog Treat supply and a client base that’s steadily starting to include humans--but since Dog Treats are classed as Monster Consumables and illegal to distribute to humans, in spite of being non-addictive, only mildly affective, and non-irritant to lungs, things get a little more convoluted. Paps hits up Doggo at Muffet’s (a wholly monster establishment) for the Dog Treats and a client list, ‘refurbishes’ the Treats to resemble cigarettes, and then meets up with anybody who prepaid for their order real casual-like to fence ‘em. He gets a little cut of the profits, and a discount when he’s picking up for pleasure instead of business--like a (slightly) more illegal girl scout cookie racket.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Him? He’s just an average joe in all respects. He’s got a little auto shop, spends his days tuning up cars and bikes and such as the like, and most evenings out having fun with anybody else who’s out looking to have a good time--food and drink and maybe a little gambling, but small games, low stakes, for charity, yanno? Nothing illegal, he’d freely assure anyone concerned about the law. Yep, he’s a perfectly normal, law-abiding citizen...as far as anyone can tell. If he does a little work on the side, when specifically requested to, by perhaps one of his monarchs or one of the parties they’d approved to ask for his...services... Well, he’s certainly too quick and clean about it to leave any hard evidence behind, and he’s always far away from...whatever may have happened...with too many witnesses all in agreement that he was there and couldn’t have been anywhere else, unless he could somehow make it across town in the blink of an eye. (His side-gig is as a hitman. He keeps his shortcut ability very tightly under wraps to make for perfect alibis, and takes his targets out with magic bullets which he can disappear afterwards. If he’s ever somehow implicated in anything, he’s happy to point out to the nice officers that he doesn’t even own a weapon. They’re free to look, but all they’ll find is a set of knuckledusters he keeps on his person, purely for protection--and look how shiny the brass is, never even been used, officers! Guess they’ve got nothing on him, after all...)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A law-abiding citizen. He must be--surely one can’t get more law-abiding than a lawyer...right? He actually does keep his (lack of) nose clean, but studying the convoluted mess that is human law doesn’t leave time for much else--even when your studies are funded by royalty and you’re given everything you need to open up your own practice as soon as you’ve passed the bar. Still, his skill and knowledge in arguing the law is very valuable and his services are in high demand, so he’s well-compensated for his chosen career and lives his life outside of it both comfortably and legally. His clients...are innocent until proven guilty and it would be an extreme failing of his duty to give any of them anything less than his best in the courtroom, regardless of their character, their associations, and what they happen to have been accused of. (Yeah, he’s a mob lawyer, used almost exclusively by Asgore and Toriel to protect them and anyone they send to him and all of their collective...interests. He respects the law, but values justice above it, so in spite of having a lot of clients who are definitely criminals in one way or another, he has no trouble sleeping at night.)

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He’s an accountant, nothing more, nothing less. ...For Toriel, of course, so he’s paid well for his services. And he has quite a head for numbers and figures, so he plays the stock market and does quite well there, too, smart investments and reading the writing on the wall, and all that. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his very healthy finances and his lavish lifestyle--fur coats, fine suits, fancy cars, shiny gold pocket-watches-- it’s all expensive and almost over the top, but hey, he is the money-man and all the numbers check out. It seems that he’s just very good at handling and investing his capital, it’s no wonder the monster-queen herself hired him on... (He is, of course, running several money laundering schemes at any given time, taking all the less-than-legally-obtained money earned by constituents of the [former] Empire and layering it through official channels to make it look legal in such a convoluted, complex web that it doesn’t raise any significant red flags. He’s got his claws in a lot of pies, and he takes what he needs off the top to live a little luxuriously, with Toriel’s knowledge and permission-- a perk for the necessary service he provides.) Whatever else may be true, it’s a simple fact that he’s very, very good at his job.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): With the lucrative career his brother has, the lucky SOB doesn’t have to work a day in his life if he doesn’t want to, but he’s using the safety net to pursue his passion in art. Subjective as it is, it’s hard to say if he’s really any good, but people seem to like what he produces well-enough--not a household name, but people passionate about the subject might recognize his work and his pieces sell with at least moderate success. For all that it’s probably not going to make him famous or rich(er than his brother), he’s dedicated to his craft and regularly makes bulk purchases of his supplies, canvas and reams of paper and paint and ink and the like, to keep up his steady work and art sales. He seems like an altogether normal and down-to-earth sort of guy, nothing suspicious about him at all. (He’s a counterfeiter and works in tandem with his brother--they even hit a Bureau together to lift a set of plates for the one and only active crime he was involved in--and his art is just a really good cover for why he needs so much ink and paper and other supplies on a regular basis. He does love and care about his art career, that part’s not fake, but he’s also got a good eye-socket for detail and steady hands to replicate it, and if fake human money that looks really real can help monsters, he doesn’t really see why he shouldn’t.)

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s...been through a lot. All monsters have, really, but he was hit kind of especially hard and... Whatever Gerson, or Undyne, or whoever’s running things now up on the Surface are getting involved in...he doesn’t really want any part of it. He gets regular stipends for some unspecified ‘service’ he performed for the Queen, Underground, and while no human (alive) knows what that was, it’s apparently enough to live off of relatively comfortably without being employed himself. He has a nice little place with his brother on the outskirts of the city and he lives there quietly, peacefully. He rarely goes into town, just the occasional walkabout, stopping at restaurants or scoping out the architecture. (Part of his one concession to being left out of whatever illegal, mob-type business may or may not be going on: he needs a good mental map of the city and at least a few landmarks that he’ll definitely remember, because he’s the emergency evac should...anything...go especially south. The house phone doesn’t ring too often in the middle of the night, but when it does, he needs to know where he needs to be, and quick.)

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s, ah... not involved in any ‘business’ either, but he does spend a little more time out of the house, at the local hospital. He was allowed to make a study of human medicine and become a nurse by Very Special Exception--mostly due to some friends (or at least one) in high places, and some very backwards human attitudes about parts that constitute a ‘man’ and how a skeleton without any parts could perhaps be allowed into nursing--and he’s proven himself a valuable member of staff and even made friends with all of his coworkers. He’s happy at his job, and with his life, and returns home to his quiet, peaceful house every night with a smile. (He has a go-bag ready by the phone for those late night calls, though, full of healing items and medical equipment he may have subtly nicked from the hospital, just so he has everything he needs to treat a monster or a friendly human that may have gotten hurt...somehow...and for reasons they have no need to specify, can’t risk going to a doctor.)

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Just a poor street musician...or at least, that’s what most people figure, ‘cause he doesn’t dress too well and the trombone he plays while sitting out on the sidewalk looks like it’s probably the nicest thing he owns. He gets a couple bucks from time to time, but rarely any second glances, and that... That works in his favor. You’d be surprised how much people talk about when they think nobody’s listening (or at least...nobody important) and he can pick up a lot of interesting information of what’s going on in the city just by setting up in the right spot and waiting for folks to talk business. He’s pretty quiet when he’s not tooting the ol’ horn and great at blending into the background, and that’s made him the guy to go to when you want to know something--like how much somebody else knows, or if there are any plans in place for say, a raid or a sting or some kind. (Law enforcement is the worst about keeping proprietary information ‘proprietary’ when they think their only audience is some nobody monster bum sleeping on a bench...) He’s also got something of a whole information network going on with the actual homeless people in the city, since he gives great tips about places who are hiring or somewhere to get a meal or a bed for the night and he always gives his earnings from busking to those who need it more than him. He’s paid for the service he provides and he’s got a home to go back to, it just seems right that the music-money goes to help somebody else.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a nanny for the Queen! Not too long ago, she might’ve opted to just stay home and look after her newly adopted child herself, while Asgore handled business with the humans, but... They’re freshly split now, and Toriel wants to be just as involved in things as Asgore as much as she wants to s l o w l y ease into being a full-time mother again. Yrus is the solution, already fond of little Frisk and a very warm and trustworthy soul who stayed bright even in the gloom of the Underground. He happily takes the job when asked and splits his time between supervising and caring for Frisk, and tutoring them in all the important subjects (math, history, magic, et cetera). He finds he has a passion for teaching and thinks he might go into that someday, when Frisk is older and Toriel has a little more time and confidence to no longer need him as a buffer. (Whatever it is, specifically, that takes up so much of Toriel’s time and keeps her out so late that he sometimes has to wait around well past Frisk’s bedtime for her to come back and ask after them... Yrus couldn’t fathom a guess and isn’t going to ask any questions. That would definitely be out of his scope as a simple child-minder and even if he knew anything, it would be an extreme violation of the family’s privacy for him to tell tales, which he’s happy to point out to anyone with a lot of questions for somebody so close to two of the Dreemurrs.)

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s on his brother’s payroll. It seemed like the best way to kill two birds with one stone: he’s a big, scary-looking wall of bone who isn’t well suited to a regular-joe sorta job, and his bro’s a very high-profile guy who needs somebody big and scary-looking to stand next to him and be a deterrent. Nepotism, maybe, but they’ve been looking after each other their whole lives already and it’s something Brick knows he can do--he’d do it for free, but if King thinks it’s better (and safer) to have it as his job description, he’s probably right, so Brick’ll take the paycheck for it. King’s also very likely the only one who could stop him if he...lost control...somewhere out and about, so sticking close to him makes Brick feel better and hey, maybe they’re actually killing three birds with this stone of an arrangement. Still, he mostly just goes about town with King, standing around and watching his back and staring people down when he needs to while his brother carries on with his conversations and business. He hardly ever has to do anymore than that...almost never. (One of his favorite places to go is a little hole-in-the-wall craft shop, where King always pretends to take longer than he needs so Brick can peruse the yarn and try to pick up a little sign language from the nice old deaf lady who owns the place.)

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Yes, yes, he’s very high profile--he did lead monsterkind for a time, getting everyone up to the Surface and settled there--but he’s since stepped down. He’s retired, and anything his successor may be involved in... surely, he couldn’t say. He and Toriel are barely in contact and the money he receives from her on the regular is a gift of goodwill, mostly for medical expenses (his leg, and his brother’s...well). All he does these days is collect for a charity, a pet project of his, Monster Reparations. Lots of people give such generous donations when he goes around to ask for them, maybe impressed a little by his fame, but he can’t feel too terribly about using it for such a worthy cause... (It’s a thinly veiled protection racket and the people and businesses who buy into it tend not to fall victim to ‘mysterious’ criminal activity. Toriel may be officially calling the shots now, but King, as the monster who put her back there, is in a very unique position of power in having her ear, an unofficial underboss totally off the books. Some ‘donate’ more than necessary when he comes collecting, hoping to earn preferential treatment, and sometimes they get it and sometimes they don’t--it’s entirely down to King’s opinion of them personally. ...The old woman who runs the craft store pays about half the going rate, and the immigrant who imports the miniature trees he likes gets a heavy discount, too. The deli-owner he overheard hurling discriminatory epithets at a customer, however, pays triple. You get the idea.)

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a researcher. Highly confidential, he’s sworn to secrecy and even mentioning that he’s being funded by Elder King Shroomba is pushing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to talk about. Still, he has his own facility, and several assistants, monster volunteers and sometimes human ones--but they have to sign papers swearing not to talk about what goes on in the lab, too. From what they are allowed to say, the gist is just that it didn’t seem like anything sinister was going on; not even a blood-draw... Merc seems pretty happy to leave at the end of every day, though, and whenever it comes up, he talks very fondly about being able to finish the project. (He’s researching DT, specifically how it can be used to enhance monster physiology and make them more resistant to damage from intent. Merc’s misadventure with DT destabilized him, but from 1HP he’s now more durable than ever, and his second attempt with his brother had less dramatic but still noticeable and successful results. The king wants that safety net for more monsters, especially ones who are on the front lines of...potentially less than legal dealings...who could really be at risk. Merc is reluctant, but with the stipulation of informed, willing volunteers for DT extraction and infusion, he can’t bring himself to turn down the resources and funding to research his own condition and bring the possibility of being normal again ever closer. He still has a hard time with the idea of ‘enhancing’ monsters, but the fact that it’s at least being done safely, willingly, and with a whole team behind it this time helps a lot.)

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He’s in a wheelchair but not letting it keep him down, and he’s running a modest little newspaper stand on the corner--papers and magazines and cheap books--nothing all that special but boy, what an inspiration, good for him that he’s got a job and can run the place by himself! All kinds come and go from his stand, and sometimes he closes it up for a little bit in the middle of the day to take a...er...roll, with some people who must be friends of his, but he’s never gone too long, so nobody says anything to the poor guy about the inconvenience. He’s a dedicated businessman, or trying to be; won’t even let people help him with those heavy-looking boxes of deliveries he gets, and for a fella with no legs, he seems to be doing his best! (...The whole thing is a low-key smuggling operation and he is making bank off it. There’s a system of code-words in place related to the publications he sells for a ‘customer’ to indicate whether they’re buying or selling, and what--magic consumables, stolen/hot items, imported goods, the works--and where and when they want things to go down. There’s even hidden compartments in his custom-built wheelchair for some of the riskier stuff, because he knows no cop in their right mind would force a guy with no legs out of his chair just to search it with witnesses around. And that’s presuming any law enforcement were to even catch wise to his set-up, which he kind of doubts: he’s sly and subtle and even if he weren’t, he knows people see the chair before they see him. Why not take advantage of that?)

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He makes his living as a boxer, and a subsequent minor celebrity. Pretty much any match he’s in is an exhibition match--not just a monster, not just a little guy (...relatively), but a short skeleton monster who’s blind, wow! You don’t see that every day, that’s a spectacle! Plenty of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s in the packed stands every night the sightless skeleton scrapper is in the ring and nobody can figure out how he bobs and weaves so well that he hardly ever gets hit. He loses some matches, that’s to be expected, even for a ‘normal’ fighter, but hey, people love an underdog story, so when he wins, it’s an uproar every time. (For his part, Pitch hates most of his ‘fans’ who think of him the same way they probably think of a silly little dog who learned a funny trick, but the fame in general, and the thrill of the fight... Those are enough to keep him in the ring. Just... maybe not quite enough to keep him fighting clean. He’s as dirty as sportsmen come and he and a few other monsters regularly play his own odds with the bookies: he’ll subtly use magic to cheat and stay in longer, or go down when he could easily keep fighting, whatever’s more profitable with the over/under from match to match. If he’s going to be a circus act doing what he loves, he may as well get hazard pay for his dignity... and y’know, a couple of idiots who think being able to fight is a ‘trick’ because you’re blind aren’t nearly so annoying when you’re being driven away from them in a luxury car, to your expensive house in the hills decked out with all the amenities.)

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s got a place he looks after, keeps things running. Just a small joint, nothing fancy, a little cabaret variety show type place--singing, dancing, drinks on tap, that kinda thing. After dark, some of the...performances... might get a little more risqué, stuff that titillates like burlesque and striptease, but rest assured, his permits are all in order and everything’s on the up and up. Nothing illegal whatsoever going on here, just a bit of singing and dancing and everybody having a good time. (Most of the performers are sex workers--monsters, but some humans too--and patrons can negotiate private shows or off-the-clock ‘meetings’ at their discretion. Nemo opts to not know too much of the details of what his dancers do when he’s not looking, for legal reasons, but he makes sure they have a safe place to do it, are paid for their services, and don’t have repeat problem-patrons if any slip through. Being one of the gentlemen running such an establishment in the city that doesn’t happen to touch or steal from or mistreat the performers, his place is the place to get hired if that’s your line of work. He’s mostly just happy to be able to provide the job security and the job safety for a group that really seems to catch a lot of hell up here on the Surface just for how they make their money.)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He’s a busy guy, bouncing around from place to place, job to job... Being so scattered, you might think he’d be having money troubles by now, but while he may not be the type to stick with one thing and stay there for a good few years, nobody who knows him would say he’s unreliable--he’s the type of guy that you can give him a call anytime and if you need help, he’ll be right over, and he’ll get the job done well, too! Of course he lives with his fancypants brother, and the King and Queen probably spot him a loan or two now and then, since they’re friendly, so all in all, no one really wonders how he makes enough money to live so comfortably. The answer’s right there in their face...isn’t it? (Yes and no. He is the kind of guy you can call anytime to get a job done, and he will do it well, but the money he gets from Asgore and Toriel is less of a ‘loan’ and more of a ‘payment for services rendered.’ He’s a cleaner, the guy you call to make things go away, things that aren’t supposed to be there: stains, papers, weapons, evidence... He’ll get rid of it for you, and if you need a convincing coverup or an alibi for...whatever it is that you weren’t there doing, he’ll take care of that, too. If somebody’s calling him up for his special brand of help, they probably just want to put it all behind them and forget all about that nasty business. He’s happy to facilitate--after all, what are friends for?)

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets on well with the King and Queen. (They both feel like they’ve known the monarchs much longer than they actually have...somehow...) But in any case, unlike his brother, Aster is very well-organized and thoughtful, so he’s a natural choice as an...advisor, of sorts, when monsters surfaced and it was...decided that perhaps there would be some...activities and...ways of doing things that...should remain unknown to the humans. Not unknown to Aster: he keeps track of everything, reminding the monarchs of little details they may have forgotten, pointing out things they may not have noticed, making educated suggestions for courses of action with likely positive outcomes based on past experiences... He’s the linchpin between Asgore and Toriel that makes them terrifyingly more efficient than they would be without him, a consigliere-equivalent who certainly isn’t a boss himself, but he has the bosses’ trust and their ears and that makes him a person of great interest. But...no one can get anything useful out of him: he’s loyal, above all, and much as he values truth, he also realizes that perhaps not everyone deserves to know the full truth of everything, especially not those who might use that truth to bring some sort of harm or misfortune to his friends...or to monsterkind at large. ...And trying to directly seize his extensive notes on the private and personal business-doings of the Dreemurrs is an even more doomed endeavor--he writes them all in a strange jumble of symbols that no one’s ever seen, and the code-breakers never have it long enough to decipher anything useful before its back in his hands, reclaimed quite speedily after unlawful seizure of private property containing confidential information. Lots of well-meaning law enforcement have their sights set on him as some sort of criminal white whale, but the simile is all too accurate-- they’ll never catch him, and even if they do, there’ll be nothing to hold him on. He simply has too many friends (and family members) in very high, very useful places.

[whosscruffylooking]

Instinct Part Two: Interrogations and Intrigue (Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader)

A/N: I'm super excited for this part. Spencer and Reader’s relationship finally has some foundation!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings! Mentions of suicide and manipulation. 

(Reader’s POV)

I tap my foot anxiously as I peer around the bland and intimidating interrogation room. It looks like something out of a mental asylum in a 1980's horror movie. They want me frightened? They got me.

Count Dracula barges in abruptly and sits opposite from me. I wince at the sound of the metal chair scraping against the cement floor.

“My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I'd like to take a moment to get your description of the man who broke into your apartment," he shows no emotion.

I nod, "Well, he had his hood up and a bandana on, but from what I could tell, he had green eyes...maybe blue...or hazel. I'm sorry, I'm not a hundred percent sure. He was just a little bit taller than me, so maybe 5'8 or 9. He climbed out of my window, so clearly, he's at least slightly athletic. He disguised his voice; he made it sound almost like Batman."

He writes down some notes. A statement that the other agent presented to me at the crime scene puzzles me. I decide to inquire for myself.

"The other agent..." "Dr. Reid?" "No, Emma? Emily?" "Yes, Agent Prentiss." "Yes, her. She told me at the ambulance that I might be the key to solving this. What did she mean by that? This wasn't just a one-off robbery? How could it involve me?"

He purses his lips, obviously pondering the right response, "What do you know of the Nomad Boys?"

My heart rate rises, but I promptly disguise my anxiety. "You get straight to the point, don't you," I quip, "I know that they used to operate about a block from my old neighborhood growing up. A lot of people have lost their lives because of them. Both figuratively and literally."

"Are you aware of your brother's involvement with them?" Agent Hotchner examines me.

I gasp. What kind of game is he playing here? I shift uneasily in my seat, "Excuse me?"

"We have significant evidence that your brother Jeremy was involved with the Nomad Boys from 2015 until his death."

I slam my fist on the table, "How dare you. How dare you bring my brother up and implicate him in illegal activities that he had no part in. Is this what you people do? You're so desperate to close a case that you can't admit defeat in then you pin it on people who aren't even here to defend themselves?"

"You seem relatively defensive yourself. Care to explain why?" The emotionless man taunts.

"Two hours ago, I was the victim of a failed robbery, and now I'm being interrogated by the feds about my dead brother? Is that not a good enough reason to get defensive?" I clamor back. 

Tears sting my eyes and threaten to spill over as I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand, trying frantically to suppress my growing rage. He watches me like a predator to its prey. The sound of my rapid heartbeat muffles my hearing. I can feel my skin heat up with anger. I stare right back, eager to display my disdain for his treatment.

"If you'd excuse me," he gathers his files and leaves the room. I exhale shakily and hastily wipe the stray tears from my eyes, desperate to gain my composure.

(Spencer's POV)

Hotch exits the interrogation room and clutches my shoulder, "You're up. She knows more than she's letting on, even if she doesn't realize it. She will feel more comfortable with you." "Hotch...I-I feel like maybe Emily or Morgan should go in. Not me." "Why?" He glares at me. I swallow the lump in my throat. 

I have a job to do.

"Forget about it," I say, stepping past him into the dimly lit room. She looks up at me with pleading eyes, silently begging me not to put her through what Hotch did. I sit across from her, noticing her obsessive picking at the skin of her fingers. Her knee bounces and lightly taps against the underside of the table.

She takes a deep breath and breaks the stillness, "Whatever it is they are thinking, it's not true. None of it is true. They're wrong." 

"Y/N, I appreciate your willingness to cooperate and come back to the precinct with us and sit in here to be interviewed." 

She throws her head back and laughs, "My willingness to cooperate?Interviewed? You mean interrogated, right?"

"I know this must feel like an ambush," I say, and she jeers, "but I promise if you just hear us out, the sooner we can rule you and your brother out of this." 

She sits up, eyes wide, her posture defensive, "You just said my brother and me. Am I a suspect too? For god's sake, I don't even know what we are suspected of! Do you think I'm apart of the Nomad Boys too?" 

Strike one, Spencer. Don't screw up again.

"I didn't mean it like that, y/n." 

"But you said it," she crosses her arms.

"I need to ask you some questions about your brother's death." 

"I'm going to be sick. Screw you, Dr. Reid." 

I can't manipulate her. I don't want to. I can't use months of researching her to achieve our agenda. 

It doesn't feel right. Why doesn't it feel right? 

But for the efficiency and success of this case, it's required.

"Every day, you wake up in fear of the nightmares that haunt you each night. You live with the images of your brother engrained in your mind. The patterns he used to follow every day have now been adopted by you, most likely in an attempt to keep his spirit alive somehow. You are constantly looking over your shoulder because, still to this day, aspects of his death leave you unsettled and uncertain. You opened the door today because you were under the impression that the person on the other side would be able to offer you insight into your brother's death. He couldn't because he had another agenda, but I can. I can give you that insight; I just need you to work with me." 

I watch as she struggles to fight the pain that comes from masking her fear. I got to her. 

Why do I feel so guilty? 

Her lip trembles as she begins to speak, "I know he didn't kill himself. That's all." "What makes you so sure?"

She releases a sob and then grapples with composing herself, "B-because he loved his family. He loved life. His girlfriend was pregnant; he was going to be a father. What kind of man who was so family-oriented and had such a bright future ahead of him would do that to himself, to his future child?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize he had a child." "Aren't you guys supposed to know stuff like that? Shouldn't you come in here armed and ready with any ammunition needed to break me down?" She cocks her head. "We do. We try to find out all vital information on our suspects and those connected with them." "That's how you know that I follow the same routine as my brother? Have you been watching me?"

I can feel a bead of sweat drip down the back of my neck; I reach my hand around to pat it off and to buy myself time to come up with a sufficient answer. She chuckles, "You don't have to answer that. I've seen you and Count Dracula in there tailing me."

My heart stops, and I swallow unexpectedly, slightly choking in the process. "For professionals, you sure don't take into consideration the fact that most people are suspicious of black SUVs now...mainly because of tv shows. Black Suburbans with tinted windows are either law enforcement or a celebrity. And judging by the fact that no celebrity would ever willingly set foot in my town, I was quickly able to determine which I was looking at every Monday and Friday from 10am to 5:30pm. You should really try getting some red cars, maybe blue, just try and blend in a bit." 

"Actually," I begin falling back on my knowledge as a way to diffuse the situation, "Any vehicle, when suitably modified, can be utilized as a police vehicle, but the most prevalent are those produced or altered by manufacturers for the role of being a police vehicle."

"Validation and dissemination: am I making you uncomfortable, Dr. Reid?" She raises her eyebrow. I adamantly shake my head, "Not at all. I was merely dissecting your point and proving it to be a failed tactic to intimidate me."

She looks at me keenly, but not in the way she had looked at Hotch. No, she peers at me as if striving to convey a message, an offer to be her ally. While locked into her gaze, I can't help but study her. Contrary to all of the times we followed her, hidden within the shelter of our car, I can now learn her up close. She is attractive in a flawed, approachable way. Her vulnerability camouflages a might that even she doesn't perceive exists.

(Reader's POV)

I study him thoroughly. He baffles me. A man in the station he is, maintaining the job he has, and bearing the weight of both victims and perpetrators on his shoulders, should be coarse, bitter, emotionless, much like the first agent who grilled me. Yet, here he is, eyes lighting up when he starts to spout off facts. His nervous ticks overflow, making it seem like he is incapable of withholding the truth of what this job does to him. He doesn't want to put me in this position. He's not like the standard brute that treats this job, and it's prey as if they are nothing but a bridge to walk over to get appreciation and approval.

"I want to help you," he proposes in a hushed tone.

"I know," I whisper, easing back in my seat. 

Unexpectedly, he offers me a wink and then stands from his chair. Stepping over to the door, he clasps the doorknob but delays for a moment. I look at him in anticipation. Looking back at me, he declares, "I'm going to get you answers. I promise you that." And with that, he's disappeared behind the two-way glass. A feeling of being left alone in an alternate universe overwhelms me. 

Spencer is somewhere out there on the side of the good guys, his reputation untainted, with the certainty that he will be going home tonight. I, on the other hand, have lived in uncertainty since my brother died. Here I sit, on the side of the glass that is riddled with darkness and evil. Spencer lives in a world of heroes. But I have been subjected to the world of criminals. I have a feeling, though, that I won't have to navigate it alone. 

Tag list:

@mcntsee

[mc-critical]

So, I think I've seen you post about this before (apologies if not!) but the amount of "Mahidevran doomed her son by making him think he had a right to the throne over others/was above his father" comments I keep seeing are starting to feel a little wild when I can count any examples of this on one hand (and many of them were fairly innocent, like her interaction with him in the first episode).

I don't recall posting about this in particular (though I did ask here a few months ago when did Mahidevran lie directly to Mustafa except for the three times in E48, because I have seen so many people talk about her lying to him as if it's something she frequently does. If there truly aren't any other cases of this, here's yet another statement blown out of proportion.), but it must be something mostly from the YT comments again, right? Ooof, they drive me crazy. It's not as simple as that.

Mustafa becoming the padişah truly is a belief Mahidevran held throughout the series. Every mother of a heir would believe or would want to believe that in such a system and it was especially understandable when Mahidevran believed that at first - she seemed to enter in an entirely new, advantageous environment where Süleiman became a padişah and Mustafa was the only heir to his throne. The kid certainly had the same expectations his mother gave him in their conversations before their arrival, that it's their castle and everyone would be waiting for them. But these expectations didn't necessarily amount to him being the next padişah or the special hair - what Mustafa was especially distraught at was the fact that he couldn't see his father or Ibrahim, like he apparently so often did in Manisa. Mustafa's motivations were always more familial in nature for the entirely of MC: here, as a little kid, he wanted his father to spend time with him, to play with him, to be next to him everywhere, as seen by his constant innocent child desires to go to a campaign with him and the little shot where he watched him during the divan in E02. It's this what made him raise his voice and try to assert himself. And for what is worth, Mahidevran also tried to ease him into the new circumstances, as much as she herself was struggling to - telling him that his father and/or Ibrahim had work and he couldn't see them at that moment. (also trying to calm him down when he was asking why doesn't his father come anymore, but that's besides the point here.) That wasn't her always telling him he has a special right over everyone, she realizes what's going on in the present despite of all and doesn't always latch onto her beliefs. Mustafa had an "independent spirit" right from the very beginning and there were instances where he didn't listen to his mother, even before he grew up - like him refusing to go to school. He always had firm and clear wants, wishes and ideals outside of anything his mother told him. It's not like she let him do whatever he wanted even in this stage and while she could've told him that he would be the next padişah, it's hardly this what completely motivated his future behaviour, even lesser so "doom" him.

From my rewatches, I noticed that Mahidevran shows the belief that Mustafa is the main heir to the throne more to others (especially Hürrem directly in E17, E45 and E50 and indirectly in their E69 and E75 farewells, to name a few examples.) than to him, but there are times where she tells him that and one could argue this could've impacted him a little. Some remarks were certainly innocent like the E01 interaction you mentioned and E12's "How will you become a padişah if you're lying in bed all day?", but in quite a few scenes she does call him "the first heir" and tells him that he's the future of the empire and that he'll be the one to rule this world one day. (like E07; also in E55, E95, E101 etc.) The entirety of Mehmet's birth comes to mind as this one time the mindset is fully capitalized on: that was a serious blow for Mahidevran and it's when Mustafa began to question how valued he'll be by his father from that point on. Mahidevran immediately began to assure him that he shouldn't worry, that he's the true heir, but it seemed more like she was assuring herself of this fact than she was leading the kid to believe stuff that may not be possible. While she seemed to begin to grapple with another prince being born after her initial bitter instinctive reaction of it which made her immediately cling to Mustafa, the one lion and treasure she has (immediately kicking out the cariye that sent her the news, not wanting to attend the celebration.), deep down, she was as uncertain as Mustafa was; the future wasn't as clear as she may have wanted it to be. Look at what she told Mustafa after he openly voiced his concerns: "You'll be (the) padişah. Ibrahim promised me." She had to move forward relying on a promise, not a sheer conviction. She told Mustafa this as a means to call him down, since she saw how his worries were overwhelming him, not to make him believe he's the center of the world and that he's unstoppable. That goes for almost all cases where she doesn't use this innocently - it's either to calm him down or lift him up. It's more demonstrative of Mahidevran's own train of thought about how one day this whole torment is going to end than the one of her son. This is something additional Mustafa can get motivated by, sure, the belief that he's the future of the dynasty could've helped him make decisions immediately when he thought he should, even if it meant disregarding his father's will, convincing him even more to do what he did, staying silent where people chant "Long live sultan Mustafa!" in E120-1, perhaps being used to hear how he'll rule next. But it's not the whole picture. That belief is not something he capitalized on, either, despite of his moments of little, but never dominating jealousy towards Mehmet, since he tends to go by his own accord and rely on his own judgement, and this is not something Mahidevran approves.

Mahidevran doesn't make him think that everything is going to be handed to him on a silver platter, either. She makes efforts to make him understand that his brothers are also his rivals for the throne as early as E44 and that he has enemies after him in S03 and S04, which is why she wanted to know his every move and warned him to be wary and not slip up when it could be advantageous for Hürrem and Rüstem. She even told him that Mihrimah and Rüstem could put Mehmet on the throne in E103. She sees they have to fight, as shown by E101 especially. Yes, Mahidevran strongly believes in the exit of that fight, but also that they can get there only through patience, carefulness and being there for each other. Mustafa did what he did when his motivations grew into the stubborn wish to prove himself to his father, believing in his love and fairness. Look how throughout the show he addresses him more with "father" than with "your majesty"? That shows how much Mustafa wants to have and preserve the familiarity of his relationship with his father, along with his principles, that's mostly why he's so sure of himself, which helps increase SS's doubts of him.

Additionally, Mahidevran has never ever lead Mustafa to believe that he's above his father. It's quite the opposite- she always tells him not to question his decisions, especially in S03, and clearly and explicitly underlined the difference between them in E75 when Mustafa recalled SS marrying Hürrem regarding his own decision to marry Helena: "Your father is not a prince." Even when she inadvertently made Mustafa stand against his father due to her words in E48, she retracted that an episode after, realizing her mistake and saying that what's done is done and he should forget how SS upset her. (Yes, she was scolded by Valide then and that could be a factor, too, but Mahidevran has grown more confident in herself in this arc of hers and here she can already disregard Valide if she doesn't agree with her, as seen in E53.) Telling Mustafa that he's above his father wouldn't be something she'd be okay with, since it contradicts her view of the traditions and she's well aware of the possible consequences of something like that, as seen by her quick concerned reaction to the scandal between SS and Mustafa in E29. She hasn't done it even in S04 when her feelings for SS were all but charitable. She definitely has told Mustafa not to think of the possible hole between him and Süleiman, but that's reassurance when he's down, not a confirmation of some superiority Mustafa has over SS. She also compared his experiences to SS's Manisa antics in E97, but she stressed their similarities as şehzades, not as a padişah and a şehzade. So yup, such a statement is totally false.

Many factors contributed to Mustafa's demise, the main one for me being Süleiman's increased paranoia and fear of his son (and after all, he made the final decision), so blaming Mahidevran and Mahidevran alone (or only Hürrem, Rüstem or Mihrimah for that matter) is NOT right. It's far more intricate and complex issue to dump it just on one person and I hate this popular and continuous tendency of people doing it. These comments truly become wild because while this whole belief of Mustafa becoming the padişah (nevermind that Hürrem tells Mehmet this, too?) is part of it, it's still such borderline oversimplification it erases the impact this plotline has.

[coffeecaffineandeverythinginbtwn]

Here is my @maribat-secret-santa-2020 gift for @liquid-luck-00

I’m really sorry It’s not finished (i had trouble finishing it due to school and some rough mental health problems) but I will be posting the outline so you can know the rest of what I had planned!

again i’m so so so sorry it’s not done. happy new year! please enjoy!

:readmore:

Marinette and the Runaway Assassin

~

Marinette Grason and the Runaway Assassin

The first thing they could remember was always flying.

Their parents always told them that the first thing a Grayson ever did was fly.

Whether it be him tossing his sister in the air as she did flips, or flying on the low swing trapeze with his mother and father. they were born soaring.

Their family was the best of the best. Humans with the agility and grace of birds. Their family never stayed on the ground for long. Nothing could keep a Grayson on the ground.

Until they fell.

Their wonderful parents never flew again.

~

Dick was trying his best to keep it together, for his sister, but the pain was almost too much. He was just 16. What was he supposed to do now? He wasn’t of age to care for Marinette and he certainly didn't have much money at all.

It was two days after the fall that killed their parents. Dick had cried himself to sleep, so full of grief, stress and uncertainty the night before. He wanted, no, needed to keep his sister safe, but what were they supposed to do? Live on the street? Marinette deserved better than that. Not to mention her schooling. There was just so many things he needed to think about he had no idea if they’d ever even survive -

A knock sounded at the door, startling Dick from his thoughts.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice came from behind the door, “I would like to speak to a mister Dick Grayson.” With those words the pit inside his stomach grew. It was probably some social worker coming to separate him from the only family he had left.

Dick opened the door and saw a large man with dark hair and blue eyes in a suit, “If you’re here to take me and my sister to some orphanage, leave now. It’s not going to happen. Get lost.” Dick, the normally polite boy, ended his statement by quickly closing the door.

“Wait!” The man jumped in, using his foot to jam the door. “I’m not a social worker. Mister Grayson I presume?” Dick just narrowed his eyes and nodded his head, “My name is Bruce Wayne. I was hoping to come to an arrangement that would greatly help you and your sister.

Dick had the urge to scoff, but he let the man, Bruce, continue.

“You see, I lost my parents at a young age as well. I want to make you and Miss Marinette my wards. You two would both get to live in my manor with your own room and have all the things you two would need to live a happy life. And you would not be separated. This can all happen effective immediately, as soon as you say the word. So, What do you say?”

This was insane. It was everything he and Mari could need. They could lead a normal, safe, and good life. There were so many goods that could come of this and yet…

Graysons are never tied to the ground my little robin. We must never be afraid to spread our own wings and soar. We are free spirits and we fly our own way.

With only that thought in his head, his ressove hardened.

“While I appreciate the offer Mister Wayne, I’m afraid I have to decline.” He began, “My parents used to say that we should never let ourselves be tied down. They were free-spirited and loved to travel. I want my sister and I to continue their legacy.”

Bruce looked a little shocked at this, and also a bit put out., but he quickly covered it with a determined look of his own.

“I see. If I cannot assist with housing, please let me help in any other way possible. Money is no issue, I can promise you that.” Bruce looked so ready to help them. And hell, if they couldn't use the help.

Dick was at a loss for words, “I- Mister Wayne- I can’t thank you enough!” Marinette would get to have the life their parents would have wanted for her. He didn’t have to worry about money any more. They could be free and go where the wind would take them. This flood of relief he felt did ease his grief a little for only a moment. It was one weight lifted off his shoulders.

“It’s the least I could do Mister Grayson.” He nodded, looking a bit relieved himself.

“Please, call me Dick Mister Wayne.” At that Bruce’s mouth quirked upwards the tiniest bit.

“Only if you call me Bruce.”

~

Over the next few years, Dick and Marinette went everywhere imaginable, traveling with the circus.

Eventually they decided to travel at their own pace. Marinette instided they spend more time in their favorite countries. They spent a few months in each, both gathering a love for each culture and language. Marinette especially took a bit of every country with her, absorbing each like a sponge.

Without the circus to keep them active in their travels and with barely any means to keep themselves protected, Dick and Marinette accumulated a mesh of different fighting styles. Neither ever truly mastered one, but both fought in a way very specific to them.

~

Currently somewhere in Italy, the two were waiting for one of their mentors to arrive for a meeting.

“Duckie!!” Marinette, now nine, ran to her brother with that particular spark in her eye, “Duckie! Guess what!”

Dick, smiled a little at the familiar nickname, “What’s up Nettie?”

Marinette jumped up and down excitedly. “Look what I can do!”

The small girl smiled and ran a little ways into the field nearby and did three handsprings to the shock, and pride of her brother.

“Good job Marinette,“ A voice that was not Dick‘s called from behind them, “I’m glad to see that you are improving well.”

An overall average looking man in his late 30’s wearing a firm, yet warm expression walked towards them.

Their mentor, Malachi Dobraski.

“Uncle Chi!” The Marinettw siblings voiced, running to him.

Malachi’s mouth turned upwards at the sibling’s outburst. “Yes, yes I have finally arrived. You two are, of course, ever so humbled to be in my presence.” There was a stretch of silence before the three burst out in laughter.

“Wonderful to see you two as always.” He said as he bent down to give Marinette a hug.

“So what did you need Malachi? You never call meetings so early in the month.” Dick said as he turned to face him.

Malachi hummed in an impressed manner, “Very astute Richard. I asked you here today because I wanted you to meet a friend of mine I had mentioned earlier. Gina, If you remember.”

At the mention of the woman Marinette perked up, The one who travels all around the world like us? We really get to meet her?” She topped off her questions with a wiggle of excitement.

“We’ll have to see about that Nettie.” Dick spoke fondly as he smiled at his sister’s antics. He then turned his attention to Malachi, “Will she be in town soon? You’re rarely one to throw out praise for no reason and you’ve spoken highly of her in the past.”

“She is a lady well deserving of my praise, Richard. To answer your question, yes. Ms. Gina will be in town Thursday evening.” their mentor said with another small grin.

Dick hummed while tapping his chin, “That’s about two days from now. Unfortunately me and Mari probably won’t be able to meet with her right away. We’re tied up until Saturday I believe. Will she be in town for long?”

“Gina is a free spirit, so it’s hard to say. However she has been interested in you two since I mentioned I was taking students again. I expect she’ll stay long enough to meet you.”

“That’s great!” Dick said, as cheerful as ever, “That settles it then.”

“Yay! We get to meet aunt Gina!” Marinette exclaimed, jumping up and down.

Instead of correcting his sister, Dick just shook his head with a laugh. Why does everyone we hear of instantly become family?

~

Marinette sat at a tall table in a quiet cafe. Her tiny legs swung eagerly underneath her as she hummed to herself. Her brother was up at the counter ordering their drinks. She was sketching, or trying to. It was really hard to focus when she was so full of jitters.

Today was the day they were supposed to meet Ms. Gina and while Marinette was excited, she was just as, if not more, nervous. She has always been this way with new people.

————————

That is the end of what i have written BUT NOW the outline:

Section One

Dick is older in this 16/17

Mari is 5 or 6

They grow up with their parents, until they die, again.

Dick is old enough to be emancipated/take custody of Mari

(Bruce didn’t adopt them but he helped Dick get emancipated and gave them loads of money)

Their parents were free spirits and loved to travel

Dick decides they should keep that alive.

The two stay with the circus traveling for around a year

And they continue to travel for 1 or 2 years

They meet Gina

Dick kinda wants to settle down Gina recommends Paris

They go to Paris

They get an apartment (thank you plot convenient Bruce money)

(she’s around 10 or 11 now. He’s 19 or 20 now)

Dick wants Mari to make friends or get a feel for regular school so she goes to FD

Section Two

Separately, Damian and the league are in turmoil (the coup happens)

Thalia might die Idk

Damian, not knowing what else to do, flees to Paris?

Tom and Sabine have always wanted children but were never successful

They find this aggressive child on the streets of course they take him in

Damian would grumble about their ‘lower status’ but would of course be secretly grateful and surprised at the unconditional love and care he receives from T and S

Section THree

Back to Mari

Being raised by Dick, she learned to be true to herself and also headstrong

She takes no crap from Chloé

(She eventually learns of her situation with her mother and they become less aggressive towards each other)

(she also learns a lot of different skills and fashion things)

Section Four

Damian arrives at FD

(He’s like 10 or 11 Mari is like 11)

Damian and Mari are both ahead of the curriculum (Both home schooled) same class

She is her kind self, doesn't know anyone else well and Dami is another new kid.

They stick together out of a sort of necessity

He’s cold at first but (go figure) he softens for her eventually

They slowly grow closer as friends

Dick becomes another behaviour mentor and Brother esq figure to Dami

Dick also sees Daminette’s in love right away

He teases Mari about it

Bada Boom they're 13 now

Section Five

Miraculos canon GO

Mari gets ladybug Dami gets cat

Mari doesn't get a crush on Adrien (the gum incident doesn’t happen because Chlo and Mari are on better terms)

Mari and Dami both immediately recognize each other in costume

Mari’s outfit is black with red detailing sans her cape/glider that’s full red with the five black spots. Has deep red boots that go up to the knee. Her ribbons are longer and can detach to use as a makeshift ribbon dance things (she also goes by Ladybird instead of Ladybug)

Damian’s outfit is his assassin outfit but black and tan undertones with cat ears (his pupils don’t change to slits) Damian goes by Leopard

Dick notices a change immediately He confronts Mari, She caves and tells him too

(She consequently reveals Damian’s Identity as well. No one could have that kind of chemistry with Mari that quickly)

He signs her up for many martial arts classes (She already had training in a few, picking up a lot from her travels)

Damian also helps train Mari in some ~Assassin Skills~

Basically, they’re bad asses.

The only thing stopping them from defeating Hawkey boy quickly is the fact that they can’t find where he is

Section Six

Moving on, Salt

Lila happens

Lila still sets her sights on Adrian (he’s got money at this point Damian is just a baker's boy to Lila.

Lila isolates the two from the rest of the class, even more so than they already were

Damian thinks the class are even bigger idiots

Lila is still an awful person and wants to make both Dami and Mari’s live miserable

Lila tries to go to Dick about Mari “bullying” her

He laughs in her face (he choses laughter instead of seething anger. thanks Hawky)

Lila then tries to get through to Tom and Sabine about Damian

This time it works, they have less reason to trust Damian (and he was also a major prick when they first took him in

(this happens over a year or so. Lila slowly gaining the trust of the class and Tom and Sabine)

The environment gets very toxic Dami and Mari decide to leave the school and go to online schooling (like at college level)

Section Seven

Time skip. They are 16 now

The two have had feelings for a while, they now realize them

Dami is less emotionally stunted, having both Dick and Mari around (Tom and Sabine too but they kinda suck now) so he doesn’t panic much

Mari is full panic mode

Dick is just in the corner all smug-like. (“you didn’t know you loved him? I’ve known this for years”)

Que pining

Lots of pining

There’s some angst, Tom and Sabine are negligent towards Damian (not mean but still neglectful)

He ends up staying with Dick and Mari more often than not

Eventually they both confess after a particularly rough akuma battle (the one where mari becomes the guardian?)

Both of them almost watched the other die. That was too heartbreaking for either of them to not confess

So they are together now.

It was an easy transition, they were already married pretty much

They’ve already figured out who Hawky boy is. They just need evidence

They get evidence. They also discover Lila was working with him

They take care of the Hawkmoth situation

Section Eight

Everything is good now right? Wrong

Batman Finally goes to Paris once Hawky is defeated,

(he kept in touch with Dick all these years and knew what was going on, {He practically became their “uncle Bruce”} He only stayed away cuz Hawkmoth)

When Damian sees Bruce visiting Mari’s House he freezes,

Mari: “what's wrong Dami?”

Dami: *whispers in her ear*

M: “He’s your WHAT???”

D; *whispers more*

M: “I- You- Um- WHAT”

D: *walks up to Bruce* “Hello, I know this is an odd way to meet but I am sure you know of Thalia Al’ Ghoul.” *B nods wairily* “Yes, well, I am your son. And unfortunately hers as well.”

“Yes, I’d be perfectly happy to do a blood test.”

Dick and Mari are shook

“Damian, You must come to live with me in Gotham”

Dun

Dun

Dunnnnnn!!!!!

End Part One

Again I am sincerely sorry I was not able to complete this story in time. Like I said before, I will (maybe/probably) be finishing this and planning a part two! I hope you enjoyed! (even though it’s the first fanfic i’ve written)

[aurora077]

The Value of Recognition Chapter 2

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13934252/2/The-Value-of-Recognition

Chapter 2 - Who’s your shufu!????

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” cried mini jiujiu.

“Ahhh please jiujiu, don’t cry!” said a distraught Jin Ling.

“A-niang….a-die” sobbed the baby.

Jin Ling was now close to tears himself.

“Young Master Jiang,” cooed Healer Zhang, “Look what I have here. If you stop crying, you can have some.”

She waved a sweet-cake in front of him.

He paused his crying, peeking at the Healer tentatively. At the same moment his stomach rumbled. He looked very much like he wanted the cake. But then he shook his head and said, “Jiejie said A-Cheng mustn't take food fwom stwangers.” He sniffled miserably. “A-Cheng wants jiejie,” his eyes started watering again. This time Jin Ling’s eyes were watering too.

“It seems like Jiang-zongzhu has not retained his memories,” concluded Healer Zhang, “So it’s not just his body but his mind as well that has reverted.”

Jin Ling nodded in understanding. It would hurt but he couldn’t lie to his jiujiu about this. Though he couldn’t quite say the truth either. “Jiejie isn't here,” he ended up saying. The others were watching quietly and felt their own hearts hurt for the both of them.

“No. Want jiejie. Jiejie won’t leave A-Cheng,” he sniffled, big baby eyes staring accusingly at them as if to say ‘you’re lying’.

No, they were not tearing up. They weren’t!

“Hey look who’s here!” said Ouyang Zizhen, bursting into the room with Wei Wuxian following behind him. The infirmary was now very crowded.

They all turned to look at him, and he stopped short in his tracks upon seeing the somber looks on their faces. “Oh no! What happened? Is Sect Leader Jiang okay?”

“Where’s Jiang Cheng?” said Wei Wuxian, abnormally serious.

“He’s right here,” said Jin Ling, lifting the baby slightly.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. “A-Yuan.. Did you maybe... forget to mention something?”

“No! He wasn’t like this yesterday!” Sizhui defended.

“Huh, well how did this happen then?”

But before anyone could answer him the baby gave a short cry, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Wei Wuxian. He struggled in Jin Ling’s arms stretching out his own towards Wei Wuxian in the universal baby gesture for ‘pick me up’.

“I thought he didn’t remember anything?” said Lan Jingyi.

Healer Zhang looked just as confused as they did, “He shouldn’t… from what we’ve heard so far.”

“But he seems to recognise Senior Wei though.”

“I mean to be fair he might just think Senior Wei looks the least intimidating or something, cuz that’s not usually how he looks when Senior Wei is around,” said Zizhen. To be frank, none of them had ever seen Sect Leader Jiang looking openly happy to see anyone.

Xiao Jiang Cheng seemed to get fed-up of waiting on Wei Wuxian to come get him though and with a burst of strength he pulled away from Jin Ling and tried to hop off the bed to go to him himself.

He seemed to be at an age where he could come off of the bed by himself but he wasn’t wearing clothes in his size, he was merely wrapped in adult-him’s inner robe, which tripped him up and he would have face-planted if not for Jin Ling’s good reflexes.

Seeing as he was thwarted, his eyes began to water again. Raising his arms once more he looked pleadingly towards Wei Wuxian, “Shufu!”

Wei Wuxian choked on his own spit. “Shu… who???”

Seeing fat tears start to drip down Xiao Cheng’s chubby cheeks he hurried over and picked him up. “Alright. It’s okay. You’re okay,” he soothed, as the baby snuggled into him.

His tears petered out and he looked up at Wei Wuxian hopefully. “Wei-Shufu, whewe’s A-die an A-niang? Flower-gege (Lan Jingyi snickered in the background “Flower-gege hehe” “Shut up idiot” “But it suits you”) said jiejie is not hewe. It’s not twue, wight shufu?” he frowned.

Oh. Oh no.

For some reason, Jiang Cheng was calling him uncle and seemed to be okay with his presence, unlike all the other people in the room. But...how was he supposed to answer that question. The guilt hit him acutely because if only this child remembered that it was thanks to saving him that his jiejie was no longer around, he would hate him once more.

But how could he tell this child that his parents and sister were dead?

He couldn’t.

“A-Cheng, do you know why Wei-shufu is here? It’s because your A-die, A-niang, and jiejie had to go on a trip. So Uncle Wei is here to keep A-Cheng company. And all of these friends are here too.”

“Twip? Witout A-Cheng?” And oh no how could a baby look so heartbroken? He’d made a grave mistake.

Jin Ling glared at Wei Wuxian. “They left A-Cheng here because A-Cheng is going to be Sect Leader one day. Do you remember what a Sect Leader does?” he said hastily, trying to fix his colossal screw up.

“The Sect Weader has to pwotect the Sect,” said A-Cheng, as if he had memorised that fact.

“That’s right. And who is the Sect Leader” “A-die!”

“Mhm. But when A-die and A-niang are not here, who will protect the sect?”

“A-Cheng?” he said questioningly.

“That’s right! A-die trusts A-Cheng to watch over the sect when he is not here. And A-niang trusted Uncle Wei to watch over A-Cheng.” Well, that was entirely the truth and way too bittersweet. He pushed down the feeling to focus on the child in front of him, “So will A-Cheng allow Uncle Wei and these friends to help him?” He set his little face determinedly and nodded seriously. An expression that was so Jiang Cheng that he couldn’t help but pinch his little cheeks in response, making the child squirm and pout at him.

His movements made the big robe that was wrapped around him loosen slightly and halfway fall off. Wei Wuxian fixed it but decided they would need a plan of action, especially as the child’s stomach rumbled once more and he blushed, hiding his face in his Uncle Wei’s chest.

“Alright, so here’s what we’re going to do,” he said decisively.

“A-Ling, if I know anything about Jiang Cheng, it’s that he’s really a big sap, and I assume he still has some of your baby clothes lying around here somewhere. See if you can find any. If you can’t, use that nice Lanling gold of yours to go to the tailor’s and order some. We don’t know how long he will be like this and we can’t keep wrapping him in these *he indicated to the huge robe* things. He needs proper clothes.” Normally Jin Ling would protest being given an order by Wei Wuxian, but this was for jiujiu and he didn’t want anyone else poking through his uncle’s things anyway, so he left right away to find some of his old baby robes.

“Have you all had breakfast yet? “No Senior Wei.”

“Okay, right, next order of business is breakfast. This little one is hungry. By now the kitchens must be busy. Lotus Pier has breakfast ready by 6:00am so we don’t have to wait very long. Though I don’t know if A-Cheng can wait, maybe we need to find something for him until then.”

“I offered him a green bean cake,” said Healer Zhang, “But his jiejie rightfully taught him not to eat from strangers. Maybe he will eat it from his Uncle Wei though, to tide him over until breakfast is served.”

“Hmm A-Cheng, do you want the cake?”

He nodded shyly.

(“This is so weird,” said Lan Jingyi. “Yeah… I never thought Sandu Shengshou would have been such a cute child,” said Ouyang Zizhen gleefully. He’d been aching to pinch those cheeks since Senior Wei did it and drew his attention to them. So. Cute. Zizhen was gonna die.)

Healer Zhang held out the cake to him and he took it, bowing halfway from Wei Wuxian’s arms and saying a quiet Thank You.

Zizhen was having cuteness overload. “He’s so polite.” *sniffs*

“Now while the Young Master eats that cake, I’d like to do a checkup,” said Healer Zhang seriously.

“Yes, I was about to suggest it myself. A-Cheng, will you let Healer Zhang do her job? I promise it will be okay, Healer Zhang is a doctor and you can trust her.”

A-Cheng looked sceptical but he nodded and Wei Wuxian handed him off to her. “Uncle Wei is right here, A-Cheng, don’t worry.”

He turned back to the juniors while Healer Zhang did her inspection, “A-Yuan, your message said that he was only unconscious. How did he become this way instead?”

“We don’t know Senior Wei, Jingyi and I were woken up by a baby’s cry. When we came to check on Sect Leader Jiang, we found out the baby was him! Senior Wen and Jin Ling spent the night with him so maybe they will know. We didn’t get a chance to ask before you came because Sect Leader Jiang was very upset. He only really stopped crying when he saw you.”

“Wen Ning?” “Yes Master Wei?” “Aiya stop it with that Master Wei I told you.” Wen Ning blushed, as much as a fierce corpse could blush, he’d gotten better at not calling him master but it was a habit and those were hard to break. “What happened last night?”

“Nothing much at all, but this morning just before 5am Sect Leader Jin woke up and said Sect Leader Jiang felt hot like he had a fever, and he asked me to get Healer Zhang. When I came back with Healer Zhang, we just walked in and there was a huge flash of light and where Sect Leader Jiang was, there was a baby.”

“Huh. I haven’t heard of anything like it. We’ll have to do some research but if it’s related to the night hunt you went on maybe.. Hmm.. A-Yuan after breakfast, if you’re up for it you can play Inquiry and see what the spirit has to say. If we don’t solve this soon I might have to ask Lan Zhan to do it because they can’t lie to him.”

“How come Hanguang-Jun didn’t come with you, Senior Wei?” questioned Lan Jingyi.

“Ah well you know Lan Zhan and I just got back from travelling. Since old man Lan has been doing all of the sect leader duties it’s Lan Zhan’s turn. He couldn’t just leave again, it would be unfair. My core is strong enough now to make the trip from Gusu to Lotus Pier so I told him not to worry about me, I’ll be fine. I should probably shoot him a letter though, he’s probably going to worry until he hears from me.”

“I don’t care if you’re writing to Hanguang-Jun, but Wei Wuxian, this news better not be spread outside of Lotus Pier, or else,” threatened Jin Ling, walking back in with a few robes bundled in his hands. It would be a prime opportunity for jiujiu’s detractors to try and kill him as a defenceless baby.

Wei Wuxian raised his hands in surrender, “I know, I know. I won’t even put what the problem is in the letter. I’ll just say he’s been cursed.”

“Good.”

Jin Ling dumped the robes on Wei Wuxian’s lap. “You can dress him since he seems to like you the most.” He was not salty at all.

Wei Wuxian laughed sheepishly; it wasn’t like he could help that! Not that he wasn’t enjoying it of course, baby Jiang Cheng was adorable and looked even more fun to tease than big Jiang Cheng.

“Right,” said Healer Zhang, garnering their attention. Wei Wuxian’s levity fell away. “What have you determined?”

“Sect Leader is a healthy toddler.” Said toddler was already reaching out for Wei Wuxian, who cooed and cuddled him close.

“He seems about three at the moment. His memories of course, are of the three-year old him. He does not have a core at the moment so it’s likely that the curse actually transformed him to how he was exactly at that age, memories and all. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him, other than the obvious of course. The issue here is that we don’t know if this is permanent or not. I can’t say if this will wear off or if he will have to grow up once more.”

Jin Ling made a wounded noise. As cute as xiao jiujiu was, he wanted his normal jiujiu back.

“We’ll find a solution,” said Wei Wuxian resolutely. “Yeah if anyone can find it it would be you Senior Wei!” said Zizhen supportively.

“Don’t worry so much Young Mistress,” Jingyi poked at Jin Ling’s furrowed brow, “Your pretty face will get premature wrinkles.” Jin Ling turned red and batted away his hand, scowling just like his uncle.

“Alright, breakfast should be ready by now. Let’s go kiddos. We’ll need to eat to keep up our strength. We have lots of work to do,” said Wei Wuxian.

Healer Zhang cleared her throat, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Eh?”

The robe slipped further down the baby.

“Ah hehe, oops. A-Cheng, be good and let Uncle Wei dress you.”

But the toddler took one look at Wei Wuxian’s disheveled robes (in his defense he’d come straight to the infirmary after flying to Lotus Pier okay, he didn’t have time to freshen up!) and screwed up his cute little face.

“Flower-gege help A-Cheng,” he said decisively.

Jin Ling, of course, was impeccable despite being in yesterday’s robes. Wei Wuxian pouted. “Figures he’d want the peacock’s son to dress him,” he mumbled.

Jin Ling was quietly delighted.

“Xiao-jiujiu, you have good taste,” he said, promptly taking the baby away to have a bath and get dressed.

“Well,” he said, overcoming his disappointment, “We should probably find whoever’s in charge while Jiang Cheng is away and brief them on the situation.” There was a twinge of hurt when he realised he didn’t know who that was. He and Lan Zhan had travelled for a while, only stopping for brief periods in Cloud Recesses as things were still a bit uncomfortable for him. The rule against interacting with him was still carved into the stone after all. It was easier to just...not remain there, and since Lan Zhan was known for going where the chaos was, it wasn’t unusual that he himself wasn’t often there. But with Lan Xichen’s seclusion, Master Lan had been running the sect once more. Since at the moment Lan Zhan was the heir, it really should have fallen to him if the Sect Leader was indisposed. As much as Master Lan was upset at his nephew’s choice of partner, he still gave him the freedom to wander about. Master Lan had fallen ill recently, nothing major but still, Lan Zhan had realised how much leeway his uncle was allowing him by taking on all the duties himself and had asked if Wei Ying would go back with him. They hadn’t expected that Wei Ying would be leaving on another trip on his own this time, to face the demons of his past (or in Lan Wangji’s eyes, demon). Lan Zhan couldn’t come with him no matter how much he’d wanted to. It would have been supremely unfair to Master Lan now that he’d accepted the responsibility of acting sect leader, to just up and leave again. But being here on his own really reminded him that this was no longer the Lotus Pier that he knew. Once upon a time he would have been the one who would be in charge if the Sect Leader was indisposed. He would have been Jiang Cheng’s right hand man. But he’s also the one who stuffed it all up so he had no right to feel bitter. It was his idea to defect. Jiang Cheng hadn’t wanted him to. He’d been doing his best to put the past in the past like he’d told Jiang Cheng to do, but he wouldn’t be able to escape it, would he? Jiang Cheng was now quite literally in the past….and Wei Wuxian would never be able to abandon him again. He didn’t want to. He’d find a way to restore Jiang Cheng, and failing that, he’d take care of him as much as possible.

“Indeed. I’ll get our Second-in-Command to speak to you. You should follow me, Sect Leader Jin will know where to find us for breakfast.” Healer Zhang’s voice brought him back to reality.

He nodded and they all followed, the juniors behind him like a row of ducklings.

Healer Zhang arranged for them to meet with the Second-in-Command, who introduced himself as Pan An. “Hehe rhymes with Lan An,” Jingyi joked quietly behind them. Wen Ning wanted to excuse himself since he didn’t need to eat and Pan An was staring at him rather intensely, but they insisted he was needed for the discussion and so he sat down reluctantly.

Luckily, breakfast was set out in a private room so that they could discuss matters freely and keep the mini sect leader with them. “I have already briefed the disciples on the importance of staying silent about Sect Leader’s indisposition,” said Pan An, “However, now Healer Zhang has said there is another problem?”

The aforementioned problem finally arrived and he was looking cute enough to eat in his mini Yunmeng Jiang robes, walking in on his own now, holding Jin Ling’s hand. Both uncle and nephew had taken a bath and Jin Ling had thoroughly enjoyed seeing xiao-jiujiu playing and laughing in the tub like he had no cares in the world. It was bittersweet because as much as he liked it he wished his jiujiu would be able to smile like that as an adult. It hurt his heart to think that this innocent little boy would have to go through so much pain in the future.

“Ah yes, here’s our problem now,” said Wei Wuxian, smiling at the toddler.

Pan An’s eyes widened. “I..is that who I think it is?”

“Yup,” said Lan Jingyi cheekily, “There’s the fearsome Sandu Shengshou in the flesh.”

“Jingyi..” reprimanded Sizhui.

“What,” he grinned, “It’s true. Children can be terrifying.” He shuddered thinking about the baby’s ear-piercing cries. A crying child was almost as scary as a ghost.

Wide-eyed, A-Cheng looked at the stranger and hid slightly behind his Flower-gege’s leg.

Jin Ling pat his head and picked him up. “Don’t be afraid, this is Pan An. Pan An is here to be your second-in-command while A-Die’s gone. You know that Sect Leaders have second-in-commands right?”

Xiao jiujiu nodded.

“Of course he does. A-Cheng’s a smart boy,” praised Wei Wuxian. The tot blushed and hid his face in Jin Ling’s robes. Jin Ling carried him over to the table and set him down in between himself and Wei Wuxian who began teasing the child immediately, squishing his cheeks to see his cute expressions of annoyance.

The juniors looked on in envy; the toddler had not warmed to them yet.

“We’ll debrief you after breakfast,” said Jin Ling, “Xiao jiujiu’s hungry. The rundown is that he’s been cursed and is now a three year old with no memories beyond that time.”

“And Pan-qianbei…” Jin Ling looked at him sharply, “Young Master Jiang’s family is currently on a trip. They have, of course, left him in charge because someone needs to protect the sect while they’re gone. We are all here to assist him.”

“Understood Sect Leader Jin.” The man was quick to catch on, after all Jiang Cheng would not leave just anyone in charge of his sect. Pan An was also secretly proud of the young boy in front of him. He was handling this situation well and sounded every inch the Sect Leader. His jiujiu would be proud, though he would mask it with grumbling if he wasn’t… three.

They all set about eating though Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian both fought to outdo the other when feeding mini Jiang Cheng. One would be spooning congee and the other breaking up buns to feed him...until-- “A-Cheng is big boy. A-Cheng eat like shufu and gege!” And what do you know, he really could eat by himself. That put a stop to their competition and they both pouted. Lan Jingyi didn’t even make fun of Jin Ling for it because...he got it.

Pan An could cry. Who knew his tsundere sect leader was so precious as a child?

Wei Wuxian sighed in pleasure. Yunmeng’s food was the best! It had been so long since he last ate at Lotus Pier.

“Wei-shufu like spicy?” asked A-Cheng, upon seeing him reach for the chilli to add to his already spicy dish.

“Mm. Wei-shufu likes spicy very much. A-Cheng is a good host. The food he serves his guests tastes the best! Wei-shufu has to visit more often.”

Mini Jiang Cheng nodded seriously at this. “Wei-shufu must bwing A-Ying an Aunty ‘angse. Wei-shufu pwomised to bwing A-Ying to play with A-Cheng next time. But now is next time an no A-Ying. A-Cheng want to meet A-Ying.”

And all of a sudden, he felt as if he’d taken a hit from Zidian. Wei Wuxian was struck dumb. Because he’d simply been going along with Xiao Cheng, thinking that some part of the child’s subconscious memory must have remained. But that wasn’t what it was, was it?

Because it was now obvious that Jiang Cheng thought...

Jiang Cheng thought he was Wei Changze.

[threadofdestiny]

Magnolia (Bakugou x f!reader)

Feudal Japan AU

Shogun!Bakugou x Midoriya’s sister!reader

Summery: Her mother, lady Midoriya Inko, had once told her that the gods had predestined a path for every single person. All she had to do was follow the path and trust that it would lead her to happiness. But how could (Y/N) find happiness in a political formed marriage with her brother’s rival, a man known for being brutal and cold hearted?

Warnings: sexual content in later chapters / period-typical-sexism / strong language / violence / Drama / Angst / Fluff / Slow Burn/ political marriage / Reader is Izuku's sister / period-typical-discriptions like vague mentions of longer hair to form typical hairstyles or specific wardrobe / Bakugou is not good at feelings / Bakugou is a mean, explosive boi / third-person perspektive

Wattpad

AO3

If someone wants to be tagged, just let me know ;)

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The life of a lady

No matter what culture you were born into, the structures of the society of the noble born, were always one and the same in their most fundamental form. A life as a noble was blessed with wealth and influence, but intrigues and scandals enjoyed dominance over those who had enough money and power to be part of the emperor's curt.

Only the most important people were powerful enough to receive the honor to get a tailored role in such a glorious play, while the rest served only as cheap, unappreciated extras. However, it did not matter at all whether the nobility was absorbed in their role's descriptions or if they would have preferred to step off that pretential stage. Every single one of them was obliged to play their part. If they did not, they had to expect that it would not only be their own end, but often for their entire family and subordinates as well. In that case, all that could save them was the favor of the crown itself, which usually was as fickle and impressionable as the rough sea.

In a world like this, you didn't decide for yourself who you were...

No, not really...

It was the tongues of the others that had the power to deform the image of your identity. They decided who you were and what was best for you. They defined what was right and what was wrong and were able to destroy you at the slightest misstep. So, bearing a title was a privilege and a burden all at once.

As a noble it was not only important who you were and how well you fulfilled your own part in society, no, it was important who you knew and what contacts you had cultivated. Your connections were what made you powerful. So it was common that unions were closed around various families to secure better conditions for their offspring's or to form better alliances to gain power over the emperor's curt. In a society like this, everyone looked for their own benefits. Compassion was a rare treasure, which could only be found in the fewest individuals. Sons were raised to rule, while daughters were only used as bargaining chips. They must humbly serve their families by marrying powerful men, to obtain alliances. They had to bind themselves to those who were raised to rule over them, without ever getting a chance to decide for themselves.

So... how can anyone romanticize such a morbid spectacle? Why are there such big differences between the rights of various people? Why are the deeds of the powerful always glossed over, while the weaker were oppressed?

Noble warriors, who fought for glory and honor...

Fine diplomats, whose silver tongues could melt every single heart...

Mighty kings, who hold their hand protectively over their people...

Well-guarded ladies, whose beauty and elegance could made a whole hall shine...

Weren't these colorful descriptions only empty paraphrases, in order to be able to hide the cruel faces of reality?

But...

Who told of the blood of the innocent that dripped from the warrior's blade?

Who mentioned the lies the diplomat had spun to achieve his goals?

Who wrote about the wars the king instigated to expand his empire?

Who acknowledged that a lady's supposed beauty and family status was the only means to even have the prospect of a rosy future? And even this was not an indicator that her destiny would not be her downfall, because the rules were set by those who wielded the power and if she was unlucky, they were the ones who took advantage of it without thinking of her well-being.

Yes, even the carefully planned and detailed balls and parties, looked at first glance like dreamlike picture perfect background's. They blinded onlookers to what was behind the scenes, but those who lived in this world for long enough, knew that even these were literally only bloody battlefields disguised in beautiful shining robes. It's was a spectacle full of lies.

True love?

A spark of equality?

Boundless trust?

What most rare wonders they were in her hypocritical society and yet (Y/N), young and unreserved, hoped to find them in spite of everything. What a blessed life she had led until now. She was lucky to be born into a wonderful family. Despite her status, its members were warm-hearted and free-spirited. But she knew that this was not the norm and was wise enough not to take her privileges for granted.

With a wildly beating heart, she stood next to her mother and waited for her call to finally be presented before the Emperor and his guests as a marriageable debutante. Normally, the Empress would review the new young ladies year after year, but she had passed away in her own childbed some time ago, and so the Emperor, bless his suprisingly kind soul, took over this task, with a nostalgic smile on his fragile face.

In the midst of the whole crowd of young ladies and their mothers, (Y/N) stood and called herself to patience while she tried to fade out her competition as best she could. Some of her fellow competitors she knew personally, but only a few she had a closer, more sympathetic relationship with. Somewhere at the other end of the waiting area she had spotted Miss Uraraka with her mother. But unfortunately they had only been able to give each other a fleeting smile before she was already called. Ochako was one of her few childhood friends, but she too was unfortunately on the hunt for a good match and was now in some ways as much her competitor as all the rest of the unmarried girls. So all (Y/N) could do was to hope that this season wouldn't drive a wedge between them and at least one of them would get hitched safely.

However, no matter how much she would like to think about her friendships at this moment, the young girl had to use what little time she had left to mentally prepare herself for her own appearance. Breathing deeply through her chest, the budding debutante stretched her back while pulling her shoulders taut. The stiff, floral-embroidered obi was cinched very tightly around her waist, making breathing a little more difficult, but not as impossible as it seemed with some of the other ladies. Testing, (Y/N) tried to put on a charming smile as she interlaced her fingers in front of her body in a demure pose before turning her frame with trembling lips to her mother, who was already looking at her with affection. "I hope I can bring honor to our family today!" the young girl spoke softly as she gazed hopefully into the green eyes of her counterpart. Lady Midoriya regarded her daughter with a moved expression, raising her well-groomed hands to fix the blooming magnolia blossoms she had personally placed in the elaborate hairstyle that morning for one last time. Satisfied with her work, she let her fingers glide gently down over (Y/N)'s ears, only to finally cup the young girl's cheeks in a delicate manner. "You already do, my child! And I know you will continue to do so!" the older lady replied confidently, while placing her slightly wrinkled, yet still delicate fingers under (Y/N)'s chin to lift it decisively. "You are beautiful, intelligent and kind-hearted! You have inherited your father's strong will! He would be as proud as I am to see you like this. Just like your brother, you put all your passion into your tasks and diligently learn what is expected of you. You, my child, will be able to go your way and overcome any stumbling block. I am incredibly sure of that!" Lady Midoriya added emotionaly before she cleared her throat softly, hoping to catch herself again. Tears glistened in her eyes like raindrops on an evergreen branch. The words of her mother gave (Y/N) the necessary strength to suppress the slight trembling of her lips. Slowly but surely, the nervous lump that had spread in her throat dissolved and disappeared along with her fear.

Yes, her mother was right! (Y/N) had inherited the will of her father and had prepared herself in the best possible way for exactly this moment. She would face the emperor fearlessly and make her family proud. On this day and on each still coming!

"Lady Midoriya. It is now your and your daughter's turn!" the stiff voice of the herald's assistant rang out, snapping them out of their brief emotional moment. Nodding, (Y/N)'s mother started to move and placed herself with perfectly executed etiquette in front of the closed red and golden double doors that would lead them into the throne room. The remaining debutantes and their mothers, who were waiting for their momentto come, gave them appraising looks, but (Y/N) tried to ignore them as much as possible. Each of them knew how privileged the youngest Midoriya was, her own brother being one of the three former students of the current emperor. But she would shine today because of her own abilities. Today she would not stand in the shadow of her talented, kind-hearted brother. Taking a deep breath, the young girl followed her mother and positioned herself half a step in front of her while she waited with galloping heartbeat for the herald's introduction.

This was it...

This was the moment on which everything depended. All eyes would be on her to determine her own worth. As soon as those doors opened, she would take the first step to be able to grab a good match for herself. It would be one of the most important steps that would determine the rest of her life and she could not help but dare once again to let hope for a good future arise in her. Conscious of her duty, (Y/N) lowered herself onto the pillow and took in a bowing posture. With her head bowed and fingertips touching, which hovered in a rehearsed posture stretched out in front of her just a few millimeters above the ground, she took one last look at her beloved mother. Making the final decision to take Lady Midoriya as her role model, (Y/N) set herself for the very last time the goal not only to achieve an excellent match and honor for her family, but also to fight for the oh-so-rare love that only a few were truly allowed to experience. Even if her future could not be determined by herself, she did not want to leave her entire destiny solely in the hands of the gods, for only those who proved virtuous and courageous would be truly heard by those same deity's. She had prayed and pleaded that she would be able to feel for her future groom as her mother once did for her beloved husband, but to achieve this she would have to fight in her own way.

"Your Majesty, honored guests, we now present Miss Midoriya (Y/N), younger sister of the head of the family and distinguished samurai of Shizuoka Province, Lord Midoriya Izuku, one of the three former disciples of the Symbol of Peace. His Imperial Highness, Toshinori-sama. The young lady is accompanied by her mother, Lady Midoriya Inko," the clear voice of the herald echoed through the hall, while the richly decorated double doors were pushed open as if in slow motion. As she had been taught, the introduced debutante slowly counted to three before elegantly rising from her bowing position, only to just as slowly lift her eyelids to cast an innocent glance around the hall. In a culture like hers, aesthetics and elegance were invaluable. They were taught to one from childhood. Like a graceful mask, she wore the delicate, demure garb of etiquette expected of a young girl of her station.

'Do not speak unless you are addressed personally.'

'It is better to be seen than heard.'

'A young girl's weapon is not her voice, but her manners and countenance.'

'Be a work of art that all the world wants to admire.'

Even though (Y/N) wanted to be independent in her deepest heart. Even if she would have loved to use her own voice not only to be seen but also to be heard, she knew that for that she needed a man who was kind enough to give her that very chance. Her gently, encouraging brother would not always be her guardian. In a society like hers, a woman alone was worth nothing. Her status was measured by that of her husband and only that man would be able to shape her further life. He alone would have the right to decide whether to lock her in a golden cage and let her wither away or to give her the wings she would need to continue to develop freely. So she had no choice but to be exactly what was expected of her if she wanted to attract as much attention as possible. The family name she carried could not be her only trump card. She had to portray the perfect, well-mannered bride. A girl that was worth fighting over. Beautiful and quiet. Attentive and discreet. Talented and elegant. For this reason, she had poured her heart and soul and perfectionism into this very charlatanry. She wanted freedom! She wanted to be able to hope! Hope that the seed her family had planted in her would be able to blossom! Hope to be able to attract the attention of a man who would be her blessing and not her downfall.

Without losing her balance, the young girl stood up, while with purposeful flowing gestures, she placed her hands hovering over each other under her chest. When at last the seat cushion was discreetly moved aside, the debutante stepped into the packed hall with shining, soft eyes, closely followed by her venerable mother. A slight implied smile, meant to exude modesty and delicacy, played around her lips as she resisted the need to look around the room.

Look at me. I am everything you have ever dreamed of.

Her gaze rested on the hem of the emperor's multi-layered robe without once losing her focus as she strode past his wealthy guests, who were spread out on either side of the hall and focused their full attention on (Y/N). The young girl knew that somewhere in that crowd was her big brother, Midoriya Izuku, watching her intently just like all the others. By the gods, she hoped that he felt pure pride for his sister, just like their mother. He was probably even more nervous than she was at that moment. Perhaps he was even quietly whispering push prayers into his non-existent beard to give his sister all the blessings in the world. No matter. This thought alone warmed the debutante's heart as she took one step after another toward the emperor until she finally came to a stop in front of him. Without lifting her eyes, (Y/N) curtsied as deeply as her legs would allow and then waited with bated breath for the crown's reaction.

Silence reigned in the hall, so pervasive that one could have heard a pin drop on the floor. Like a mantra, the words, Look at me, I bring honor to my family, echoed in the mind of the youngest Midoriya. The sudden clap of the emperor, which echoed through the room like lashes of a whip, almost made (Y/N) wince, but she had managed to pull herself together. Calmly, the young girl waited while she made sure to take deep breaths through her chest so as not to fall prey to dizziness. Out of the corner of her eye, she could observe the emperor nodding warmly in the direction of his guests. "As one would expect, my student's little sister is shining brightly!", Toshinori's voice loudly and warmly pierced the silence of the room.

"This my honored guests, I call a truly sparkling diamond."

[skyhopedango]

Episode 10!!!

Plot switches into high gear! Baby brothers take focus! They're cute and brave! hooray for baby brothers! But also, Naoto is awesome. Like, Naoto from the drama & novelization thereof will always be my favorite, but 2041's Naoto is pretty damn great in his own way.

Also, damn, two more episodes left? :( I've bought the second part of 2041's novelization but I'm holding out, even though I'm really curious about just wtf is really going on here because even this episode raised more questions than it answered.

And a note on the animation: yet again I really really appreciate the way they pay attention to small things that you rarely ever see even in "traditional" animation. Look at the eye movements! They track what the character is supposed to be looking at, paying attention to, or even when they just look around.

Anyway....

Yuuya is really such a good kid. ;__; ) I guess the two pairs of brothers are similar in their basic nature, and beneath all the military training Yuuya is just as kind as Naoya. (Meanwhile, Naoto and Takuya... :D )

So anyway, hey, Russia arc, kind of! It's Russia, anyway!

I get it now - instead of Naoya moving to hide behind Naoto's back or clinging to his arm at the first opportunity, in 2041 the brothers' thing is Naoto moving to stand in front of Naoya at any opportunity. :D Like at this point it's his first reaction to meeting anyone. :DDD

Also, so basically, the Russian lab is a sort of super-mind made up combining the powers of those psychic kids and Mikuriya, that created "pockets" like Mikuriya's lab or that shrine, and also brings people back and forth from the Awesome Spirit World, right?

Also, OOOHHH I get it now. So Mikuriya took in the Kirihara brothers in 2014, but oops, in that exact time they were quite literally spirited away into the Awesome Spirit World. So Mikuriya was like "well damn, wtf" until 2023 when Shouko showed up, aaand THAT'S STILL 18 YEARS UNTIL 2041 NOT 15!!!! WHAT AM i NOT GETTING??! (it must be something super obvious, also I suck at maths.)

So anyway, how does Misaki figure into this? Sure, he provided the prophecy and then he died, but he's still around as we saw in the previous episode.

Also, wait, so what about the whole reincarnation thing? In episode 9 Misaki told Akiko that she's already reincarnated in this world - originally I thought he'd meant the Awesome Spirit World but thinking about it, he must have meant this Bad Material World, otherwise it wouldn't make sense at all. So technically Akiko was dead and had already been reincarnated, and so she disintegrated because there obviously can't be two of her at the same time...

...which is eerily like the paradox they mentioned re: the Kirihara & Kuroki brothers, and it certainly fits the way they keep telling us that they're essentially the same. So if they're technically the same there can't be two sets of the same people going around at the same time.

And right enough, both Naoya and Yuuya are disintegrating, implying that they'll die? probably? When Miki & Masayuki disintegrated Mikuriya said they "went back" to the Awesome Spirit World. But when Akiko disintegrated she supposedly died, as Misaki said he would've wanted Akiko to see the world he'd seen. The way Naoya & Yuuya are disintegrating though... apparently they're also technically dying, then?

(But also what about the older brothers, why are they OK? ...maybe because the two younger ones are empaths which makes them more vulnerable to this sort of thing? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

...right, I give up. :D I'll just let the story tell me when it wants to tell me.

Anyway, aww, baby brothers connecting! Communicating, even!! Working together!!! Baby brothers save the day! That was so nice. And the older brothers being all "hrrr grrrr hrrrr" about it. :D

So anyway, Naoto is awesome. Missiles? NO PROBLEM. I'm on a mission here. I may die but I did my job. Also I may die doing something actually useful for once. I can see drama!Naoto being pretty satisfied with that, although he didn't really have a death wish... he did hate having this seemingly terrible power though, so he would've liked to go out using it for a greater good, especially if that involved protecting Naoya. But also, Naoya deciding to stay, and the two of them standing there being all against the world and everything was pretty great.

Takuya, my friend. You're so, so dumb. You're very pretty but oh you're so dumb.

Also, look, this is hugging, OK? Sure, Naoto is covering Naoya from the blast but Naoya's arms are around him, so that's technically a hug, OK? Let me have my fantasy.

(Even though 2041 is lightyears better than Genesis about literally everything, I still find it kind of hilarious that it still can't show even a fraction of the physical contact between these two that the drama has... let alone the Tateno Makoto manga that shamelessly wallows in shipping.)

Wait, Miracle Mick is involved somehow? That's one plotline I didn't expect to get picked up again. :O

I'm going to be so sad when this ends. :( Gonna be lonely again... the show doesn't have any fandom that I can see, and with me sucking at drawing or writing, it's gonna be back in my, er, spiritual world of beautiful brotherly love, sigh. Well, at least from now it will come in two flavors. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[our-lady-of-night-ravens]

The Bane of Our Family: His Regret (2)

After a month long wait, it has finally come... the second part of ‘The Bane of Our Family’!

The story is inspired by @tri3tri​‘s Second Wife AU along with the submission from @scorpiris-sideralis​. More to say at the end of the story.

In the Valley of Thorns, lives a fae king, descended from the Great Witch of Thorns. He was feared and admired from across the lands. Whatever he desired, he could obtain through his status or his magic.

But what he truly desired was unobtainable. The love of his Queen.

When the king was a young prince, he attended an academy which proved to be uneventful. That was until the start of his third year when he met a magic-less human girl who didn’t know who he was. She treated him with pure kindness and compassion, without ulterior motives or deceitful lies. The fae prince, who had been treated like a dangerous national treasure since his birth, fell hopelessly in love with the human girl. His thoughts and dreams were filled with her voice, her smile, her kind eyes, her everything.

However, there was a key issue, the girl herself. First off, the human girl was not from this world and had every intention to leave for her world when the time came. The second was the fact that the human girl did not reciprocate his love back. In the eyes of the girl, the fae was a close friend, someone who aided her in making the new confusing world more familiar. But at the time, the Fae didn’t realize that she didn’t hold his affections as he wished for.

So when the prince confessed his heart out to the girl, she hesitated and left him heartbroken. With the aid from his trusted retainers, he plotted her capture so she may never return to her world and stray from his side.

Once he succeeded in stealing her away from the academy, he married her and made her his Queen. However, a large mass of his court was concerned why their king would ever settle with a magic-less woman and as a response, he made an example of the court by showcasing his immense power as a threat.

Eventually, he and the captive Queen sired two children, two lovely princesses that remarkably resembled him. To his delight, his wife’s compassion hadn’t faded over the years as she treated their two daughters with care and unconditional love.

Then there was his eldest daughter, intelligent, charismatic, powerful, mindful, and elegant. She was the perfect heir for the Valley and he knew that when the time would come, she would be an incredible ruler. And for years, he prepared for the day when his precious child would be ready to take the throne.

However, the court thought otherwise. They were insistent that the Valley could only be ruled by a fae of pureblood and that a half-blooded child and a princess at that would only weaken the Royal blood. As much as he would like to be rid of them all for their insolent behavior, his most trusted retainer advised against it, because the Kingdom wouldn’t be able to function properly with the deaths of such a vast number of nobles. His trusted retainer instead mentioned the numeral merits his daughter obtained, backing up her achievements with those of the Queen.

His beloved queen, though he wished to shower her with gifts and luxuries, preferred a more conserved life, she preferred more simplistic clothing and was quite the hard worker, taking the queenship lessons to heart and actively participate in government affairs as the voice of the lower classes, the human residents of the Valley. That was something he was so proud of her for doing.

But even after all that, the court wouldn’t stop and eventually, he relented. His spirit tired from their incessant demand, giving in and agreeing to make a woman of pure fae blood his second queen. As a king, he had to think of his kingdom, and marrying a lady of one of the Valley’s most prestigious households would strengthen the country.

But his mind would be plagued with regret and dismay, he promised himself and his daughter that the one who would succeed the throne would be her but to no avail. Now he stands in his office, no longer possessing the love of his daughters, alongside the love of his beloved queen.

-

There he stood as Renata took her to leave, baring a pleasant smile, back straight, as if the events that took place didn’t even occur, and not once did she bother to care about her father and his guards’ stunned face. Malleus, out of reflex, raised his hand to her as if he was trying to reach out but couldn’t. She had… never addressed him ‘Your Majesty’ before, it was standard to refer the monarch as such, even for the heir, but he never minded. Not when it was his precious daughter. He looked back at his hand he raised, the hand he used to… slap his precious daughter.

“Your Majesty? Are you alright?”, Malleus snapped out of his deep thought by Silver.

“Hmm? Yes, I’m quite fine.” But his face signaled otherwise as it held a grimace before he sat down in his office chair. Sebek approached him, back straightening.

“Your majesty, if there’s any consolation, I believe you made the right decision in removing her as your heir. She’s far too self-imposed and her nature is far too much like her mother’s to-“

“Sebek, you shouldn’t speak about the princess or her majesty in such a matter,” Silver interjected, cutting Sebek off.

“No, I want to know what Sebek was going to say. Finish your sentence, Sebek,” Though his words were friendly, his tone was not.

Sebek flinched at the harsh tone. He took a large gulp, “H-her highness is far too much like her majesty to… to succeed the throne…” He waited for his king’s response, worried about his mood.

“My daughter has proved time and time again that she was a suitable heir to the throne, or did Lilia’s words of praise for her accomplishments in these past few years alone, somehow went through one ear and out the other in an instant.”

“O-of course not your majesty! I deeply apologize for speaking out of turn!”, Sebek bowed his head down, the last thing he ever wished to do was upset his king.

Malleus’s eyes glared down at the back of his head, “Sebek, I want to know something, do you often criticize the queen for her behavior despite her doing her duties diligently?”

“I- I can not lie to you, my king! It’s true that I have directed some hurtful comments to her majesty. I was well aware that it wasn’t my place, especially since she fulfilled her duties as Queen by giving birth to the princesses, giving them unconditional love, and fulfilling her tasks for the people of the Valley. I beg your forgiveness!”

Malleus glowered at him but ended up resigning to a simple sigh, “Sebek, do you know why I asked you to be their main guard?”

“Please forgive me my lord but I can’t say I do.”

“My queen and my princesses are the most important people in my life. I needn’t have to remind you of that. When it came time to pick a guard for my queen, I remembered that you were in the same year back in Night Ravens and spoke with her the most due to joint classes, I thought you would be the best fit to get her to open up to life in the castle. However, it seems that I failed to put into consideration your opinion on the human race as much as I should. You have my apologies.”

Sebek looked up at his king, “Please don’t apologize my king! I should have known why you appointed me the position from the start!” The guard was practically sweating at that point. He should’ve realized that he had been neglecting his duties in keeping her majesty feeling safe and secure. He allowed his pride to get the best of him and in doing so, wronged his master. “I’ll accept any punishment you deem worthy for my impudence!”

Despite his actions, Sebek’s loyalty to him is next to unparalleled to any other retainer in his royal guard. Removing him from his duty would only deplete a valuable resource so Malleus would have to be light on his punishment. “Very well, Sebek. From now on, I’ll be removing you from the first Queen’s guard. You’ll be in charge of the Second Queen’s guards once she arrives but for now, you’ll return to my guard under Silver’s command. But you will have to ask for forgiveness towards the princesses and the Queen. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your majesty!”

“Oh, dear. Could it be that I am interrupting something important?”, heads turn to find Lilia, Malleus’s closest confidant and retainer with a stack of papers in hand.

“Lilia… No, you weren’t interrupting anything. I was just finishing a decision I made regarding Sebek’s station. I’m assigning him to be the second queen’s guard once she arrives...” he trails off before noticing a stack of papers in his hand. Strange. He didn’t recall asking Lilia to bring any paperwork...

“Lilia, might I inquire what’s in your hands?” He stars down on the documents.

“Oh, these. I received these from her highness. She meant to give these to you but understandably forgot due to the recent news. I told her I was more than willing to send it his majesty’s way, so here you go.”

He hands the documents to him. A brief inspection gives him enough context of what the document stated.

“These... these documents go over a plan on how to relieve the long-standing conflicts along with the border villages of the Valley...”

“Why yes, they do. She kindly informed me that the plan she has included small short term initiatives to quell civil unrest among both the commoners and the fief lords as well as a long term directive to prevent and counteract any further unrest in the future. She allowed me a chance to glimpse through it and I must applaud her for such a well-coordinated plan.”

Glancing through her plan over and over he couldn’t help but sigh before sitting down in his office chair.

“Your Majesty, is something the problem? Was the plan not suitable or inadequate in some way?”, Sebek asked.

“No, it’s quite the opposite. This proposal is practically immaculate.” And yet... he shooed off the incredible mind that thought of it. He placed his hand against his face as the face of his other daughter crossed his mind. “Lilia, I have an inquiry for you.”

Lilia’s smile spread, “What is it that you inquire, Your Majesty?”

“How’s Sherrie doing? Is she still participating in swordsmanship?”

“Why indeed she is. Her highness is performing splendidly in the way of the sword. She’s practically running circles around young fae knights and even the more experienced knights as well.”

“I see... it seems that Renata and Sherrie are succeeding in their respective fields... it makes me question why on earth the court can’t be satisfied with those two...”

Lilia tilted his head before sighing “Malleus, I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say that there’s a clear and obvious reason as to why they refuse to acknowledge either princesses.”

He was right. Lilia knew it. Silver knew it. Sebek knew it. They all knew it.

They simply didn’t approve of the idea that a half-fae would be on the throne in the future. Both his princesses were born before her transformation, resulting in the two being half-bloods.

The Fae have naturally low fertility rates, nature’s way of balancing out their exceedingly long natural lifespans. Dragon faces such as himself had an even lower rate than most fae. Because of that, his queen had yet to become pregnant since her transformation. A fact that troubled the court and caused them to badger on and on to their king.

He could only sigh, “Lilia. Silver. Sebek. Could you all leave my office for a moment? I don’t mind if you’re outside the room I just need a moment by myself to collect my thoughts.”

The three turned to each other, nodded, and without any words they bowed and took their leave.

Malleus sat there by himself, contemplating his recent decisions. He’s already the engagement official through royal documentation so he has no choice but to go through with the marriage. But the thing he worries most were his family.

His wife was already distant as it was and the arrival of a second woman would only create a greater gap. His daughters, born from their connection, would no doubt want as little to do with him as possible now.

It feels as though the beautiful scene in his head of his precious family was being torn apart by his own hands. It was frustrating, to say the least, that he, one of the top wizards in the world and grandchild of the Great Witch of Thorns herself, was torn in such a messy predicament.

All he could do was sigh as he hid his face away from the rest of the world with one hand. “This whole ordeal is a mess...”

At least it couldn’t get any worst than this...

~

Part Three is officially in the works. Though I might put it on hold to work on the next chapter of ‘Our Lady of Night Ravens”. If you want to read that, it’s the pinned post of my blog and follows the story of my OC, Marianna.