#which festers into a bitter jealousy when he’s older

[cosmicheartz]

Aaooughh razclem on the brain

[arcanaaa]

PLOT WISHLIST FOR: Natsu Dragneel

THIS IS WHERE I GET EMOTIONAL because the one thing cana wished she could have had with her father was to be treated like she was his daughter and instead he spends that affection on natsu who isn’t even his biological child yet he treated him as if he was his son and that built so much resentment that honestly festered within cana for so long.

I’ll be honest: it took Cana a long time for her to move past those bitter feelings but as a child she felt so alone: here she was, orphaned at a young age and she’s sent to live at the guild where her father resided at and she held the hope that he knew about her and he would provide her with a safe and loving home and environment where she could grow up normally and happily and instead, she is left feeling unwanted and abandoned.

Which is not to say Natsu doesn’t feel the same! He was found by Makarov and basically adopted into the guild, just like Cana, but he knew that Igneel was somewhere out there and he was determined to find him even if no one believed dragons existed. Natsu being the odd child was nothing new to anyone in Fairy Tail because there was Gray, Erza and eventually Mira, Lisanna, Elfman- but Cana was the first to join Fairy Tail (aside from Laxus of course), and so that means she grew up closely alongside Cana, as well as the rest of the younger guildmates.

We all know Cana struggled with her feelings over Gildarts being her father, and we see that she held him on a pedestal, as being someone that was unworthy of being in his presence let alone being related to him. But here comes Natsu easily talking and laughing with him like he isn’t one of the most powerful mages in Fairy Tail! The audacity!

And what pains me more is that Cana only understands when she’s older that her resentment towards natsu stems from how she idolized her father as this being that was untouchable, this unattainable figure that she couldn’t be worthy of telling that she was his kin. She realizes too late that she could have had a better relationship with natsu and by extension Gildarts if she 1) had simply told him she was his daughter from the start and 2) got to know natsu better and became friends easier and bonded over the fact that they were both abandoned and left alone at such a young age.

But that’s after Cana becomes an adult and is able to put her life in perspective lol.

Cana’s relationship growing up would be really distant compared to the rest of the children in FT and that is only because of how close Natsu is with Gildarts. Where it not for that factor and the jealousy she feels, Cana and Natsu i think would have been close friends.

Give me Cana being such a shit to Natsu as a child and Natsu and Cana disliking each other as the years go on.

Natsu not understanding why Cana acts this way but fuck all for asking her about it, why should he when he did nothing wrong? And forget them actually talking about it until they’re older when they’re dislike is practically engrained- at least for Cana.

Years of Gildarts being gone puts Cana and Natsu’s relationship in a tense fashion, but him chasing rumors about Igneel helps Cana sort out her feelings and eventually she grows cordeal towards Natsu- which is a shock for him, but he doesn’t comment on it.

NATSU FINDING OUT cana can tell the future and him constantly pestering her about if he’ll find igneel if he’ll get to see his dad again and just mmmmmmmmmmmm boy cana trying really hard not to look too deep at his future because something tells her she’s not gonna like what she finds and she knows her instincts are always on point when its some serious shit so cana makes excuses or distracts him towards something else because she doesn’t wanna lie to him but she can’t tell him anything she can’t tell him that he will meet igneel but it won’t be happy, it won’t be how he expects it or how he wants it to be and no i can’t tell him i can’t risk changing what is already set in stone or else something worse might happen

but natsu is natsu and he is stubborn and he finally manages to get her and have him tell her why won’t you tell my future and cana just being like I can’t and no further explanation given and he thinks she’s being mean and stubborn and he goes and leaves to find igneel again and she’s just breaks and feels guilty because she knows how important igneel is to him and she hates that she can’t help him but if she did then it would change everything, even if she feels resentment and jealousy towards natsu she knows how he feels about wanting to see your parent again- she understands that better than anyone.

and then when Natsu finally does see Igneel again and the meeting is bittersweet and the battle is won, I can see Cana apologizing to him, because she knew

She knew he would meet igneel and she knew it wouldn’t be how he would imagine and she can only apologize and natsu just

I can see him being so numb because on the one hand he should be angry at her because she knew she could have told him

but on the other hand it wouldn’t have changed anything, as much as he would have wished for it otherwise, cana was only trying to prevent natsu from getting hurt emotionally and god

god that kills me

[spell-cleaver]

Luke Palps AU: Luke stared at one of the few surviving recordings of Anakin Skywalker. There was something familiar about the man behind Vader's mask, but Luke couldn't figure it out it was.

Previous parts on the masterpost here!

Luke stared at one of the few surviving recordings of Anakin Skywalker. There was something familiar about the man behind Vader's mask, but Luke couldn't figure it out it was.

He'd followed Ahsoka's advice. He'd gone snooping.

And he'd found images of his mother.

In all fairness, they weren't particularly hard to find. Nova had pointed him in the direction of an old, unused cupboard which the Naberries had apparently turned into some sort of shrine to Padmé, or a place to keep all their memories of her in one place.

It... was painful. He'd known who Senator Amidala was long before he'd known she was his mother—Palpatine had had a portrait of her hanging in the Palace somewhere, for goodness' sake, though Luke now suspected that that may have been to torment Vader just as much as it was to hold her up as a martyr for the Empire. Ever since he'd learned, walking to and fro underneath that portrait had meant something else—an indefinable feeling, a pressure, but also a sort of quiet faith in himself and in Nova.

And now he'd found a collection of dusty holos of her. He'd taken them from the cupboard to view them in the light, and for the ones taken at Varykino, he'd viewed them where they'd been taken. Here, by the balcony that overlooked the lake, in an off-the-shoulder dress all colours of the rainbow; here, by the main dining room, in a black dress; here, out in the meadows, her hair in buns like Leia's and gold lacing detailing every part of her bodice.

Then he stumbled upon a holo with another man in it, and Luke's heart stopped.

Could... could this be his father?

Could it be, that after all this secrecy, all this hiding the truth from him, Luke could have just stumbled onto a holo that showed him?

If— if it was his father, and Luke didn't want to get his hopes up, he... he could see some family resemblance, he supposed. His face was much stronger than Luke's, he was much taller, and the holo wasn't detailed enough to make out his eyes...

But then, when he went searching for more holos with the man in, he... stumbled upon a video.

And his heart stopped. He barely breathed before he started playing it.

It was taken somewhere in the meadows. The man was approaching a shaak, larger and bouncier than him in every sense of the word, his hands out and an intensely wary expression on his face. But when he tossed a look back at Luke—at the person taking the holo—his grin was wicked.

"Watch me, Padmé," he said brightly. His accent was from the Outer Rim, Luke noted. It— it could be his father, Nova had said that he had had relatives on Tatooine, and you couldn't get more Outer Rim than that— "I'm gonna do this successfully this time."

The person taking the holo—Padmé; Luke's mother—laughed. "And you're sure we won't get crushed-Anakin again?"

Luke stilled.

Anakin—it had to be Anakin, right? They weren't talking about... crushing a person who wasn't there, right?—laughed, and flashed another charming smile right back at her. The eager-to-please sense in his expression... Luke was familiar with that. He wasn't familiar with the sheer adoration in the look that he was giving Padmé.

"Have a little faith," Anakin—Vader—said, and then he jumped.

The shaak bucked him off and Padmé dissolved into peals of laughter as he grunted, trying to run away, and then the holo stopped.

Luke stared. It had frozen on Vader's face.

That was not the face of a tormentor. Of a murderer. Of a Sith. He was only a few years older than Luke—still a teenager, possibly.

That was Vader.

That was Vader.

And he looked really familiar...

Luke shut off the holo, clenching it so tightly in his fist that he feared crushing it. That innocent question he'd posed so long ago—what's a threesome?—and the implications of it baffled him.

Luke's father was not... anywhere, in any of these photos. It was only Anakin—only Vader. Was that why he'd been so hurt when it had been Luke's father that Padmé had ended up loving, so long ago? Was that why Vader had become so bitter about it? All that love and adoration, twisted into jealousy—jealousy and festering emotions that had never been resolved, because Luke's mother had died, and Luke's father...

What had happened to him?

All the Jedi were gone. They were dead. And Luke was all too familiar with Vader's anger, his vendettas; he'd seen it against Ben. Had he hunted down Luke's father purposely, the dark side corrupting his emotions into something vicious and vengeful, and cut him down? He would not put that past him.

Luke bowed his head. He knew Vader wouldn't hurt him. Just as he wouldn't hurt Padmé—not when he'd loved her that much.

But that was all he knew.

That was all he knew about anything.

For a moment he thought about Crown of Stars, and the complex, dramatic relationships there—about affairs, and those threesomes whose theory had been thoroughly debunked, and betrayal. But if Luke was secretly Vader's child, not Padmé's husband's, then Vader would have told him by now. There was no reason for him not to have told him, the moment Luke woke up in that medbay; Vader was inclined to harsh truths and disinclined to political lies. Besides, they had been on good terms for a while by now, so... Surely he would have told him...

But he had not.

So it must not be true.

And if he wasn't telling Luke what had really happened... it must have been ugly.

Luke gritted his teeth, swallowed, and put the holo in his pocket. He had a lot to think about.

Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I might continue it!

Beginning | Previous | Next

[ladywindrunner]

@redeeming-sun ❤︎’d for a starter

The knowledge that the Forsaken wanted to meet with what remained of their families, was beyond infuriating. It lit every undead nerve on fire within the Banshee Queen’s pale figure, to have to endure request after request that she bend to the boy king’s will and permit the meeting. When had such foolishness infected the Forsaken? Where were the yellow-eyed corpses whose hatred for the living was matched only for their grisly tenacity to survive?

           It was as she suspected, the stagnation of peace was polluting her people with weakness. They reminisced of lives they lost, of loved ones who’d abandoned them. Their memories were obscured by history; the pain they’d experienced long ago had scarred over.

           The runt of a monarch had even saw fit to write to Vellcinda and twist her stale heart. It was an obvious ploy, a scheme she, herself may have tried on the hapless living – but for the high king to attempt it? It was laughable.

           Blightcaller hadn’t thought it a plot. He believed the naïve boy to be genuine in his want for unification.

           Somehow that made it worse.

           Sylvanas hadn’t given Anduin any reason to believe that such a gathering was impossible. She’d been ever so careful with maintaining this tiring peace.

           She’d crushed the missive, mocked it.

           It would only bring her people pain. She’d let them cling to their false hope, but the agony of their loved ones turning them away – they’d call her cruel, but she’d be kind enough to spare them. She’d attempted it. The Dark Lady had twice experienced the horrible abandonment that followed meeting with so-called family.

           But the persistence of requests, which were near-to begging, saw her cave. Sylvanas decided to allow it.

           It would permit her the opportunity to truly witness the poisonous Alonsus Faol in the field. She was reluctant but willing to believe the young King of Stormwind innocent enough to offer this without an agenda, but not Alonsus.

           He had a purpose for wanting to sow discord within the Forsaken.

Staring across a wide field at Stromgarde’s battlements did nothing to ease Sylvanas’ frustration. Though she took comfort in the knowledge that seeing she and her most trusted forces brought the whelp ruler unease as well. This strange peace between the Alliance and Horde was standing on flimsy foundation.

           All it would take to turn this gathering into a nightmare was a wrong word, spat with hatred. The Highlands would once again be a blood bath, though sheer stubbornness on the part of the Warchief saw her endeavoring it would not be she who ruined everything.

           No, the heartlessness of the living would do that for her. She had no need for a scheme. These fools wanted to experience the anguish of being called abominations once more, then let them.

           She watched, clenching her jaw, as the undead began to wander into the open field. The wind shifted, and the scent of the living struck her along with their palpable fear.

           Sylvanas wanted to laugh. She imagined the idiots were running back to Stromgarde, cursing themselves for ever entertaining the notion. Her expression shifted from suspicion to contempt. Her lips curved into a malicious smirk.

           But then—

           A figure came over the rise. A hill just irritatingly large enough that it denied her sight of the keep’s gates.

           She took a step forward, hands coming to rest on the old stone of Thoradin’s Wall. Her eyes narrowed.

           A human.

           Then another, and another.

           Her grip on the embrasure tightened. Her amusement evaporated.

           Nathanos undoubtedly sensed her fury.

           “They’ll run,” he assured her, glancing at his queen before his wicked gaze returned to the sight before them. “They’re weak. They’ve never seen the undead up close.”

           Sylvanas agreed with him, she forced her bitterness down.

           “Curiosity,” she stated, “they’ll indulge themselves until our people draw too close. Then they’ll flee.”

           It was a reaction many of those around the Dark Lady had encountered.

           And their expectation held true. A scream of terror rung out and saw a woman bolt away from an undead who reached out for her.

           A young boy burst into tears and clung to his father, he kept pointing back at the Stromgarde. His mother was a corpse now, rotten and filthy. He didn’t want to see her.

           The Banshee Queen’s loathing smile returned.

           She glared across the distance at the form of Anduin.

           The cripple king’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

           “Dark Lady,” a ranger drew her attention back to the field.

           Two women were embracing one another. One alive, one undead.

           Sylvanas scoffed, what was one exception to the rule?

           Only, it wasn’t just one.

           The tantalizing scent of fear, began to fade. Nothing replaced it, as her kind had no need to track happiness, relief, acceptance…

           … Love.

           Her disgust is barely contained. She thought of her sisters, of their cruel words and intentions. Vereesa’s lies that spun Alleria against her. How they were permitted forgiveness for their sins but she’d been spurned.

           ‘the way you did not betray Vereesa when you manipulated her into agreeing to be killed and become undead with you in the Undercity?’

‘I’ve heard talk of just how many voices you’ve silenced during my absence, Sylvanas.’

           ‘Tell me, how long ago was it you silenced what was left of the sister I loved?’

           Her sisters’ absences had not escaped her.

           It was in her mind to strike them all down. To murder every, last soul before her.

           Jealousy was an ugly companion. It bled into wounds and caused them to fester.

           “My Lady,” Nathanos interrupted her thoughts, “look there.”

           Sylvanas hardly thought whatever she might glimpse be worth the agony of remaining here.

           Yet the man who came over the hill with a few others from the Alliance controlled keep was different. He was not a human, he was taller, his hair a brilliant gold. He carried himself as a knight would, with discipline and since Sylvanas had caught sight of them, he’d aided a few older persons towards their undead counterparts.

           Her glare was thankfully unreadable from afar, for it radiated with absolute anger.

           What game was that useless king playing? How dare he permit such an individual on the field.  It was such a blatant manipulation, she wondered if this idea was Anduin’s at all, but rather Genn.

           That rapid dog would love to find a way to wound her.

           “Is that—“

           “Yes,” she cut Nathanos’ off sharply. She moved quickly, flanked by her champion.

           “No weapons are permitted on the field,” he reminded her, his displeasure at the agreement evident. “You will be exposed, My Queen.”

           “I am not some hapless peasant!” She snarled, thankful that her outburst wasn’t seen by her soldiers. They stood in a darkened chamber, having halfway descended a staircase.

           A moment lingered between them.

           “Sylvanas,” he spoke her name softly, “I would never doubt your capabilities. But neither should we doubt the capabilities of our enemies.”

           She knew better than to believe he was reprimanding her in strategy. A small, fanged smile graced her lips as she touched his pale cheek with her hand.

           “Should that fool boy and his pet dog try anything,” she murmured in a silken tone, “end them.”

            She relinquished her bow an instant afterwards.

           Stepping out onto the field, she ignored the startled glances from her own people. Despite her claim to Nathanos that she wasn’t a fool, she certainly felt she was. Though it did not go amiss by the Banshee Queen that the Forsaken appeared to move with renewed confidence that their Dark Lady was with them.

           Perhaps they took comfort that she trusted the Alliance enough not to strike at them.

           She didn’t. If she were Anduin, this would be far too glorious of an opportunity to pass up.

           For once, she found herself hoping the High King was as good as the rumours implied.

           She drew closer to the man who’d elicited such a reaction. Taller than she, wearing knightly armour. He too, was without a weapon. His eyes gleamed a wondrous gold.

           Arator Windrunner, her nephew.

           She stopped a distance from him, for it was she who was wary of him (not that she let that show). She hadn’t seen him since her undeath. She only knew what he looked like from reports and rumours.

           What was he calling himself? The Redeemer?

           It was laughable.

           “Your mother would end you if she knew you were here.” Sylvanas spoke, arms crossing.

[stusbunker]

Known: Two Halves, Three Hearts

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: MOC!Dean x Female OC, x Demon!Reader, Claire Novak, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Crowley

Summary: CC learns to navigate more of the Winchesters’ associates. Meanwhile, Dean crosses the line to end Cain’s reign of terror. He finds her vulnerable, will she let him sate himself in every way imaginable? Can he run from what he is becoming? Is she enough to keep the evil at bay? Crowley finds our Reader and offers a path to redemption, if she can trust what he’s selling.

Warnings: Post murder haze, torture, period sex, blood, blood play, stabbing, dub!con smut, subtle mention of past sexual assault, disassociation, humiliation, and loss of sense of self.

Series Masterlist

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December 11, 2014

The Bunker

           It was nearly dawn when Chloe felt the air tighten against the Impala’s entry into the garage. Something was wrong; Sam was driving. Dean sat in the passenger seat and in the back, Castiel beside a blonde who had cried out a week’s worth of mascara and eyeliner. Dean was bleeding, but that wasn’t what was wrong. He stared ahead, lost and empty, covered in others’ blood. It was human, every last drop, CC could tell just by the smell. An ability she would have appreciated if it didn’t lead to the implications on Dean’s clothing.

           Other than the upset teenager, no one else seemed to have been touched by the fray. Sam rapped on the hood, giving CC his best ‘I can’t explain this away’ eyes. He was worried mute. CC finally moved toward the car, both Sam and she eventually earning swats as Dean came to, silently protesting their help.

           “How many?” CC whispered against his retreating form.

           “Look, they were loan sharks and they were going to use Claire-,” Sam started.

           “How many people did he kill?”

           “Four.” Castiel cut in, glimpsing back to the girl in the backseat.

           CC’s stomach pitched, a phantom whiff of manure and dust drifted past her nose and into her thoughts. She didn’t allow herself to focus on the reality of Dean’s crimes, instead she moved the conversation along. “What are you going to do with the kid?”

           “She won’t stay here. I was going to take her to a motel in town. Chloe, I’m sorry, CC, would you be willing to accompany me?”

           Sam huffed. “Is that really a good idea, Cas?”

           “I just thought that, maybe an older female might be able to get through to her.” Cas looked wrecked, his vessel wearing his worry like a neon sign. He felt more human to CC than he ever had.

           “I’m not babysitting.” CC stared between Sam and Cas and back again. Her annoyance and concern reciprocated in one form or another. She should be checking on Dean, not playing Big Brother Big Sister to Castiel’s ward. Dean didn’t want to see her; he had made that painfully clear. CC fiddled with her knife as the girl’s ghostly eyes challenged them from the backseat. “I’m not ready to leave the wards, not yet. But, if you guys need a minute, I can get some food in her? Keep her out of your hair for a—”

           “Thank you,” Sam mouthed to CC as he and Cas nearly ran out of the garage and the blast radius all she could do was reply with a single finger. CC walked around the hood of the Impala, hands tucked in her back pockets as she watched the girl glare and roll her eyes.

           “What do you want?”

           “I want to go back to bed, but since that’s not happening. Coffee?” CC gave Claire five seconds before walking away, nodding over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. Claire followed CC dejectedly, hunger trumped petulance apparently, if barely.

           “So, who are you anyway?”

           “You can call me CC.” She almost smiled over her shoulder, dropping down into the sunken kitchen.

           “Which one of them is your–?”

“My what?” CC pushed the automatic drip setting from delayed brew to ON and started rifling through the pantry for English muffins once Claire made up her mind to join her.

           “Dean, huh? Figures. Well, your man’s a murderer, if you didn’t know.”

           CC didn’t really look up at the girl while she started preparing their hasty meal, but it was evident that her bitterness was far from fading. CC slammed the toaster lever in place and leered down at Claire, who was sitting on the kitchen table with her feet on the seat of a chair. “Alright, Miss Teen Bitch. First off, you are in their home, so I’d watch who you call what. Secondly, yeah, I did know. Pretty much every hunter has the bad kind of blood on their hands, that includes me.”

           The creak of the muffins’ release broke the silence. There was more eye rolling and tongue tisking, but eventually Claire began to listen for the answer to her more pointed questions.

           “What are you even doing with him?”

           CC shrugged, “I could ask the same about you and the angel.”

           “Gross.” Claire recoiled. “Besides, they came after me! I just swiped his wallet for some spare cash. They should have just let me go! If they had—- Fuck! You know what? Screw you lady. You’re on their side. You’re not gonna listen to me.”

           “Hey, cool it, alright?” Claire threw her fists down at her sides and folded them over her stomach. CC could see she needed to keep prodding because Claire was so close to the next hurdle. “Let’s get things straight. This isn’t a black white, us vs. you scenario. They thought you were in danger and did what they thought was best for you; to keep you safe. Sucks not being able to make the call on your own life, don’t it?” CC waited for Claire to acknowledge the helplessness they shared.

“Yeah, well, I might be Dean’s whatever. But I know all too well about Winchester intentions. For the record, me and Castiel? Not friends.”

           “He’s wearing my dad’s face. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

           CC dropped onto the bench below Claire, handing her a plate. “Just a little weirder than living in an underground bunker with the guys that sent your closest friend to Hell?”

           Claire nibbled on the toasted olive branch, tearing it to pieces before finally relaxing. She was scared and desperate, it came off in every gesture of her defensive attitude. CC started to wonder just what was going to happen with the kid now that she had been brought in.

           “I hate them, all of them. I hate them for what they did.”

           CC’s mouth twisted in sad empathy at the girl, knowing that the grief she wasn’t processing was much more palatable as rage. It was like looking into a fun house mirror of her past: overdone make up and culturally rebellious hair style. All just more things to help in the lie to herself about how empty she felt.

“What?! I do.”

“I know.” CC rolled back up to her feet, nodding toward the fridge. “Let’s see what else there is to eat. There’s one thing that’ll piss Dean off more than messing with his car and that’s eating the last of his pie.”

“Okay?” Claire huffed out an unamused agreement, a reluctant warmth shone from her eyes.

*^*^*^*

February 2015

Dean had gone cold turkey. He stopped drinking, stopping lurking outside CC’s room at night, and started eating egg white omelets, apparently. Fat lot of good it did. The Oz Case with Charlie gave him whiplash, seeing his friend spilt into parts as if she was just the sum of her emotions rubbed him the wrong way. Breaking her arm was something he was never going to be able to forgive himself for; his knuckles still scabbed over from decimating her porcelain face. Her dogged determination and forgiveness still got him in the throat. Ever present, CC had stood, unflinching as the boys and Charlie had their goodbyes.

Now as Sam casually mentioned Tina from the Hansel and Gretel run in, something akin to jealousy flashed in her steely eyes. Something he had no desire to press her on nor any hope that it could lead to getting her back. She had helped out with Claire, had researched the hell out of the Bunker’s stacks alongside them through it all, and she had all but admitted the demon was the one moaning his name, the one that used her body to make his every nerve sing. If that wasn’t enough to drive him to drink again, nothing was.

*^*^*^*

February 16, 2015

A festering cavern, Hell

           Blinding daylight burst from an unseen door to your left. Once your eyes adjusted a figure appeared, breaking through the shafts of light, like a key in a lock. His footfalls were leisurely, the clipping beat of his obscenely expensive shoes barely gaining ground. Crowley walked into your isolated prison like a birder on a Sunday stroll.

           “Oh good, you’re conscious.” His big eyes teetered on compassion as his words fell in a nice noncommittal little heap. You wanted to reply; the empty air loomed as your mouth tried to form words. You couldn’t remember how long it had been since you had used your voice. Your tongue thick and coarse in your throat as it strove to remember language. Crowley squinted, but waited as you grew frustrated with yourself. You sighed, nodding in exasperation before he could mock you for it. You weren’t certain he was real, but the thought of a visitor, even one seeking twisted entertainment, was better than another decade alone. Eventually you decided that you couldn’t have made him up; you had better imagination than that.

           “I wasn’t aware we still used places like these. These rubbish heaps were from the initial days of Hell. The time when the fallen Angels fought for control and some unseen judicial system weighed the disloyal and usurpers’ crimes. You got off lightly, by the old standards. It takes a lot of energy to maintain this kind of torment; it simply isn’t worth the output for a single demon here or there. Then again, we all must answer for our crimes; no matter how seemingly noble the reasoning. Rebels against an outdated hierarchy—”

           He continued to drone on, though your exhausted mind could hardly keep up and when it did; you found yourself unaffected by his rallying attempts. You were too downtrodden to feel any comradery with the man who held the keys to your cage. To all the cages. Hate was a delicious main course that followed the apathetic appetizer. You began to wade out to the swells of emotion. Things that hadn’t reached you in years carving through you until you were ready to swim in the rage as he spoke, eyes beetle black and bulging as he spat his points.

           Finally, you fissured as the sound erupted from your mouth, a frustrated wail that shut the King up well and good.

“What do you want?!” you demanded between staccato breaths. You glared down at him, his human form was nearly a head shorter than you, but the inches of debris locking your ankles in place nearly evened the field of vision. You hoped the words you used made sense; because he was taking his time answering.

           “I need someone to do a little digging on a certain individual. Someone who owes me and who won’t go gossiping to the demon next door.” Crowley tongue worked his cheek. “In short, I am offering you a one-way ticket back, what do you say?”

           “Who?” The confusion began to clear as the delirious hum of hope rang in your ears.

           “Can’t tell you here. Now–” Crowley looked over his shoulder and raised his fist in the air. “Let’s get you somewhere a little more accommodating, shall we?”

           Before you could even nod, he snapped his fingers, freeing you from the slop and stench.

*^*^*^

Tale End of Executioner’s Song

Dean has killed Cain

Dean comes up from the dark with rasping breaths. His tendons are locked into place and his wrist is screaming from strain, a frequency he has yet to process. He doesn’t remember telling his feet to move, but his legs have carried him this far: away from the evidence and back down to those waiting on him. All pretense shrivels as he hears Sammy’s voice close by, persistent but muddled. Then Crowley’s, asking for his arm, no, the blade. Right, it isn’t a part of him after all. He should really let go, he isn’t sure what part of him is making these decisions, but grateful it doesn’t seem to be as hard as it feels.

Dean turns the weapon handle out and passes it to Cas. His eyes have focused enough to see the disbelief on the demon’s face at the gesture. Dean isn’t here to suffer fools; however helpful they had become. He reveals his deceits, unblinking as Crowley disappears. Sam catches him then, before his legs finally catch up to the path that got them there and Dean wonders what God sees in man.

The fog of battle clung to his mind, the Mark dulled, but never silenced. His blood flowed hot and vibrant, pumping through his veins in and out of his heart, that very human organ thumping in his gnawing chest. Dean moved as if he was tailing himself, looking down on his movements from some unimaginable higher ground until he slid into the Impala and drove away. Everything was reflex, instinct, autopilot. The moment the driver’s side door creaked open, he smelled it. Blood, faint and intoxicating. That hot beat inside of him pounded deeper.

He threw his duffel to the foot of his bed and shrugged out of his jacket. The Mark peered beneath the rolled cuff of his flannel, a garish pink against the dark fabric. Somehow, Dean found himself in the kitchen and despite the caffeine and the cheerleading from Sam, he felt hollowed out. Dean’s vision tunneled as he dodged out of further conversation to march down the hall. Finally, he could seek what had been calling to him.

CC froze over the washing machine as he loomed in the doorway. Her eyes closed as she felt him scent her, she didn’t turn an inch in his direction. Her bare legs, plump and smooth, beneath her tiny pajama shorts were just enough exposed skin to do some real damage. She fell back, heavy on to her heels. “How was it?”

“Final,” Dean said after stopping to consider an appropriate description for an assassination.

Chloe finally saw him, torn between shadow and shame. “I was scared you’d—"

“Yeah, well. I did.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hulking as he considered her concern.

“Is there something you wanted to ask me?” CC swallowed more air, the fear and electricity making her lightheaded. She moved to rest her hand on her knife handle, but it slid over the missing weapon. Her oversized sweatshirt sleeve covering her hand as it dangled in unfulfilled habit.

“How you doin’ Cease?”

“What?”

“How are you?” Dean said each word with a step forward, head bowing as he watched her straighten to face him.

“Uh, pretty crabby, but okay, I guess.”

Dean hummed, eyes squinting as she nervously looked to the door and back to space between their feet. “Anything I can help you out with?”

She blushed, a warmth twisting around her eyes and an awkward smile pulled at her cheeks as she centered her ponytail, giving her itching hands something to hold on to. “Dean?”

“Chloe?” Dean’s eyes darkened, the dangerous smirk pulling far enough back to let the overhead lights glint on his impossible teeth. He was gaunt and sallow; yet power continued to radiate from all over him.

“How are you looking at me like that,” she whispered in disbelief, pulling her top lower over her wide hips. “I am disgusting right now.”

“Yeah, well, compared to my butchered mug; you’re as tantalizing as ever, Cease. Besides, I could use a distraction or two, however dirty they might be.” Dean’s voice dropped another octave, an invisible fist clenched inside her. She groaned, letting her head fall in indecision. Dean closed the distance between them, big hands taking her shoulders firmly as he leaned down, earning a grin as she found his eyes suddenly playful beneath lush lashes.

“Seriously, I’m gross.”

“Not to me you’re not,” Dean purred, wide thumb stroking her strong cheek bone. “Let me make you less crabby.” CC’s head rolled to the side; her nose nuzzled into his comforting stubble.

At long last, she caved, her spiced skin slipping beneath his cracked lips as they danced over her collar bone. Dean’s entire body hummed with a need nearly as wide as the void inside him. They collided, grabbing and shoving until Dean started to wonder who was truly strongest. Then CC nipped below his ear and he tossed her on top of the washing machine she had set to HOT. She pinched her knees together, twisting side saddle on the hissing appliance, lips parting as Dean’s tongue took its time riling her up from the inside out.

Dean’s hands widened, tips and palms digging into her fleshy thighs, begging access until he demanded it. She groaned into his mouth before pulling back, her uncertainty crumbled beneath his singular focus. She tasted the iron from his split lip, a bit of coffee and something unimaginable. Even bad decisions need to be made to prove their consequence. Chloe grabbed Dean’s forearms and pushed him back, his gaze slow to move up from his target.

“Shower room?” she asked hopping back down on her bare feet.

Dean barely shook his head, nose buried in her hair. Her arms threaded around his waist as his thumb cocked up her face, his fingers threading into the loose strands at the nape of her neck.

“My room? It’s farthest from Sam’s?” Dean answered with clashing teeth and a fistful of Chloe’s ass.

There was a threatening rhythm to their efforts, hefty pauses ending only after the other started to teeter; to break. They had gotten to CC’s room, clothes shoved and forgotten along the way to the bed. Dean grasped the nape of her neck, his arm locked as he stared through her, eyes unfocused and mouth open against a horror she couldn’t see. She tried to pull him closer, to sit back and take him with her, but he was frozen. She slid her palm under his elbow and pushed up, her other arm braced across his chest to keep him back, in case his reaction was less than friendly.

His jaw worked over all the words that wouldn’t form, eyes dropping closed as he came back from the brink, grip softening as his forehead fell to her shoulder. CC couldn’t stop from shaking as the moment passed, Dean’s mouth finding her pulse point more than conversational again. All that hovered over them: fear, power, destiny and damnation, fueled them until they were desperate and starving, knowing that the other was just as empty. Just as wanton. Dean’s hands pulled her thighs apart and his teeth ran the edge of the faded cotton. The iron sang through his nose as it mixed with her arousal; a signature cocktail he couldn’t refuse.

CC swallowed as his fingers dragged down the last barrier between his mouth and her coated folds. No sound could reach her as she battled the disgust and desire, Dean’s tongue threaded through her lips, nipping and sucking them swollen. He moved in to circle her clit; the heat of her shame began to burn away as yearning eclipsed all custom and ceremony. CC’s head fell back, and when she closed her eyes knots of wood looked back.

Suddenly she was suspended from her every nerve, tucked away from feeling Dean shove three fingers inside her mess. In a bubble of warmth and muffled sound, CC drifted. It was calm and quiet there, a place without resistance or time. She began to wonder if this is what Death felt like, if the veil could manifest itself to tease her. To coax her immortality from her by sheer tranquility. There was something pulling at the back of her thoughts, something she was forgetting, something that demanded her opposition even, but CC couldn’t be bothered to think on that. Not quite yet.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s lost her, he just keeps finger fucking her until the thinning blood is snaking down his arm. His lips pull at her, thirst crazed and blind. The beat inside his head overtakes her pulse, heavy and languid, building. Her breath catches and he feels the gentle trickle, a silent compliment for his efforts. Her body pulls while he pushes, deeper, solid, unmoving as the shuttering of her walls loosen outward in waves.

Dean pulls his hand back and admires it in the light, rust rimmed nails and ruddied knuckles as the skin cools beneath the liquid as it dries and cracks. It’s not enough. His eyes search the desk and dresser, knowing it must be here, somewhere. He isn’t thinking, he is only moving. The battered leather sheath lays across her boots, handle smooth and solid as he grips it in his right hand. It’s smaller than he thought, but the spellworked blade dazzles as Dean pulls it from its case.

She hasn’t moved safe for her chest rising and eyes scrunched against the ceiling. Dean should know that isn’t a good sign, but either he doesn’t register it, or he doesn’t care. He moves to her side, where he can feel her curves against him, her lungs expand as he lets his weight fall against her. Her head lulls to the side and a soft whimper passes her lips as he slides home, blood thick and gritty along every inch of him. Dean almost cums at the sight of the gore he pulls out of CC’s channel. He pushes back in, shoving her knees obscenely against the comforter, letting every ripple of her thighs and ass urge him on.

CC feels the first slice between her breasts. Like a tuft of hair caught in a necklace she is pulled from her weightlessness and placed back in reality. The sweat stings her skin as it opens, her granddad’s knife dangles above her as Dean catches her eye. He thrusts into her with clenched teeth, eyes dark and muscles constricting as he shifts lower. Her legs lock around his waist as he stands, still buried inside her. She tries to sit, but his free hand pushes her back down, rough palm burning against the mangled flesh.

He grunts and gasps, and CC finally sees it, the terror in his eyes. He’s frozen once more. The knife is shaking in his hand, a not so invisible force extending over his forearm. CC needs to do something; Dean’s panicking as his body moves without him. She rolls her hips and threads her fingers around his wrist. Dean’s eyes go wide as she sinks the metal beneath her ribs. She shushes him, nodding and rocking into his body. Dean looks away and moves again, entering her doubly as the Mark takes her offering to free him. She tries to keep breathing, to stay conscious and keep watch on Dean.

Her hand slips up from his wrist and over the cursed brand in his white skin. She focuses on it, stomping on the tendrils of control with her mind; it remains immobile and unnerving. She feels the darkness pulling at her, trying to put her under, to stow her away. Dean’s face falls to her neck, he pulls the knife from her side, leaving jarring pain shooting through her as the wound registers. Dean cries out, clutching her head to his, arms tight and knife falling.

CC thrashes against him, breaking through with a fist through his near headlock; they roll back, clinging to each other like a life raft. His scruff prickles her throat and CC coughs, breaking the stalemate. They pull apart, limbs and groins untangling in guilt riddled silence. Dean clears his throat and sits up, hand hovering over her wounds. He’s mesmerized and apologetic, biting back any sorry when CC inhales against the pain. She waves him off and pops up onto her elbows. Her eyes take in the damage and she frowns in consideration before closing her eyes.

“Cease?” Dean whines a worry as her skin starts to glow.

“It’s okay. I’m gonna be fine, just, uh, just gimme a sec.” CC wills the walls of her organs to fuse, her muscles knit together, and the skin zips closed and clean before Dean’s eyes. She pants from effort and falls back to the bed, a gentle smile twisting on her face before she opens her eyes. Dean’s are like saucers, his slack jawed expression made worse by the patches of blood and slick crusted in his scruff. All CC can think is how his mix of scary and stoned is causing her heart to catch in her throat.

“Hey?” CC whispers, slipping her hand over his, despite the nausea that was creeping back up. “You good?”

Dean lets her question sit unanswered, floating in the space between his guilty hands and her enabling eyes. The world seemed to tilt before he falls into the damp darkness of unconsciousness.

^*^*^*^

Dean woke to the sound of his own screams, his fist jutting up into some unseen enemy. He swung against her as CC tried to pull him back, her hand cool on his left bicep. He smelled soap and felt damp pillows; he couldn’t remember showering. Finally, the room righted itself and he could piece together what little furniture she had accumulated since they’d been brought back to the Bunker. Since the demon inside her had helped Sam cure him. He spotted her empty boots and the images of her knife in his grip flashed in his mind’s eye; his stomach twisted against the memories he forced himself to swallow.

           CC let him work through it, she was sore and exhausted and couldn’t find the words that would bring him back from the brick wall he kept running himself into. His recoil from her every touch set up her haunches as it was, maybe she should have dragged him to his own bed after all. Having him here felt like they were hiding, but the only person she felt any guilt for was no longer in this phase of existence.

He whispered a desperate ‘fuck’ into the early morning quiet. Finding his undershirt; he ducked into the neck before turning to face CC. Whatever he was hoping to find in her face, it wasn’t there. Her tired eyes were set deep atop her full cheeks, her uncertainty and caution bordering on annoyance.

“What?” Her voice warbled.

“Forget it.” Dean closed his eyes as her hand snaked over the sheets to cage his in. “I’m sorry I woke you up, I’ma head back to my room, let you get some rest.”

“Dean? You don’t have to—” She didn’t even try to sell it.

“I know, but, I just keep going through the thing with Cain and, you need to recuperate now, so.” Dean shrugged, left a peck on her forehead and threw on the rest of his clothes before either said another word. Once he was free to the safety of the empty hallway Dean shivered, his bare feet and wet head oddly comforting in the confines of his body and bones.

CC watched him leave, quick and painlessly. There was so much lacking between them that it didn’t even register as a rejection; they were simply saying what they thought the other wanted to hear. They were quite the lop-sided pair: the cursed hunter and Heaven’s bastard’s mistake. Both broken, in very different directions.

*^*^*^*

Next Chapter: The Mark

[extraneousdominomask]

*collapses* I shoulda typed this BEFORE sending the ask. Ah well, live and learn.

Alrighty, here we go.

As we all know, once upon a time, Doctor M served as a planner and technical expert in one of the many incarnations of the Cooper Gang, with Conner Cooper serving as the leader and field agent while Jim McSweeny served as the muscle. Under mysterious circumstances, Doctor M would start to feel slighted by his friend, implying several times that Conner wasn’t as loyal a friend to the doctor as Sly was to his own friends, having a few choice words to describe the Cooper line on the whole while making this clear. Interestingly though, he was quite willing to concede that Sly might indeed have been a better man than his father was, a level of self-awareness and insight that implies that his assessment might just be more than bitterness and jealousy talking.

Notably, he singles out Bentley, a fellow intellectual who serves the same role that Doctor M himself did on the original team, and for a moment is even able to plant a seed of doubt within Bentley before Murray is able to bring him back to his senses. The Doctor’s gambit failed and he was subsequently… well, not really ‘defeated’ per-say, given that he chose to go down with the Cooper Vault, but either way, he met his end shortly after.

Doctor M’s entire interaction with Bentley raises a myriad number of questions, and while it’s definitely possible he’s more than capable of psychological manipulation, one must note that he had no prior research on the Gang before this moment. He spotted Bentley, understood what purpose he served, and then proceeded to accurately poke at the personal doubts Bentley had regarding his friendship with Sly. That’s a VERY intimate level of understanding for someone with no prior contact to have based purely on short-term observation.

So, what am I getting at here? What I’m getting at is that the parallels between Bentley and Doctor M are closer than anyone could have guessed, and it directly led to the destruction of the original Cooper Gang and the death of Sly’s family at the hands of Clockwerk.

Before we proceed onward, we must also do a rundown of a personal interpretation of the character of Sly’s father, Conner.

In-Universe evidence of regarding what Conner was like a person is quite scant. We have only Sly’s childhood memories, the word of Jim McSweeney, and a single flashback in Sly 4 to paint a picture. Sly naturally idolized his father but was willing to confront that maybe he wasn’t perfect. Jim McSweeny spoke rather glowingly of the man, but then that might have been the result of the two being closer than Doctor M was to him. Finally we have the Flashback, which showcases him outwitting Le Paradox’s father and leading to his imprisonment, which is only natural.

And then we have Doctor M’s words, which given the fact that he is objectively a homicidal lunatic need to be taken with a grain of salt.

All of this hinges though on a single premise- what if Doctor M, bitter and warped as he was, was in fact almost entirely correct about Conner?

My theory is that Conner, while not really a BAD guy, could be a much more selfish and jerky person than Sly was, at least during his younger years. The core of this difference is that while McSweeney and Doctor M were his comrades and friends, it was never to the same extent as Sly, Bentley and Murray- those three grew up together and are as close as brothers. Conner met McSweeney and the Doc when he was older, having already had a prolific career as a solo thief. In all likelyhood he encountered them during his adventures and took them along for the ride… but the simple fact was, he was never quite as close to Doctor M as he was to Bentley, and at some level, he took the man and his skills for granted and was ultimately far closer to McSweeney.

Why would this be? I theorize at some level there was a difference of class at work- Doctor M’s refined accent and mannerisms make me feel as if he was from an old money family, and ultimately was drawn to the criminal life because he wanted to make his own destiny rather than follow in the pre-planned footsteps of his father and his father before him. However, his background and education meant there was a slight rift between him and the others- Jim McSweeney was very much a blue collar bruiser, and while the Cooper family defies class distinctions, they’re still closer to the ‘little guy’ than they to anyone who might qualify as ‘aristocracy’. As such, there was always a slight bit of tension over the fact that a ‘rich boy’ was mixing it up with the gang- at some level it might have been suspected that Doctor M was only slumming it up and could easily return to the life he had before, meaning he had fewer stakes in everything than Conner or Jim. Naturally this wasn’t really the case, but people will have their assumptions.

By and large though, the group functioned well enough… until one day, something happened.

Sly’s mother.

The Cooper Vault indicates that Conner was a more technologically savvy Cooper given the computers and microscope kept over at his section. My theory however is that while he DID have something of a scientific education (primarily computers, courtesy of his cousin Bruce O’Coop in an effort to keep him ahead of the curb, as Bruce accurately predicted the impending importance of the Internet), he was not exactly an expert at it in the way that Doctor M was.

My theory though is that Sly’s mother WAS much more scientifically inclined and savvy than Conner was, and it was through her help that he devised his signature ‘laser rail’ move…. somehow.

And this is where the problem started, and where the repetition of history would get its start- before Conner set his eyes on her, Doctor M was already in love with Sly’s mother. That’s right- she was the Penelope to his Bentley. They shared much in common, and Doctor M was entranced by her intellect and her ability to keep up with him in a conversation. The fact that she was quite the looker didn’t hurt none either. Slight problem- Conner was handsome, outgoing, daring and charismatic, and Sly’s Mom (one day I need to headcanon a name for her) found herself drawn to him despite having more in common with M.

This is where the fundamental difference between Sly and Conner comes in- Sly is naturally polite and charming towards women, but he was never really interested in Penelope the same way that she was with him, and he never tried to pursue her affections, nor would he ever have knowing that Bentley was into her. He could never hurt his friend that way. Conner by contrast, as befitting the Rogue Hero of Yesteryear, was something of a serial womanizer- she was beautiful, she was interested, and that was all that mattered. The fact that his friend and colleague was already demonstrating an interest didn’t matter- survival of the fittest is the thief’s game after all, and if you don’t have what it takes to get what you want, then you don’t deserve it.

And so, Doctor M and Conner would compete for her affections, and ultimately, Conner was triumphant… though ironically enough, a funny thing happened during all of that- he found himself genuinely falling in love with her, and suddenly rather than becoming the latest in a long line of conquests, she was something new, strange and frightening.. someone he would want to spend the rest of his life with.

Doctor M, as you can imagine was heartbroken, and this series of events helped to allow much of the resentment and anger that had been building up towards Conner to start festering inside his soul. Doctor M built the machines and made the plans, but Conner got the glory. Doctor M risked his life for the sake of the thief, but was left to fend for himself more than a few times. Conner mocked Doctor M for his interests and mannerisms despite needing him to succeed. Conner could have any woman in the world, but STOLE the one woman that Doctor M wanted. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t any damn fair.

Still, despite all this, all might have ended well. Doctor M might have chose to be a bigger man and accept that Sly’s mom would be with Conner rather than him. M was always a rationalist after all. Focusing on this sort of thing was beneath him. All might have been well.

If it hadn’t been for that one conversation with Clockwerk.

During a job gone wrong, Doctor M found himself in the most nightmarish predicament imaginable- alone, face-to-face with Clockwerk. He prepared himself for the end, for surely the millenia old serial murderer would have little difficulty eliminating an ally to his most hated enemy. Clockwerk did no such thing though. Instead, Clockwerk did something even worse- he talked. He conversed. Bit by bit he peeled back Doctor M’s insecurities, and then found his way into pushing the right buttons- he revealed how he knew that Doctor M felt more like a lackey than a friend to Conner. He told Doctor M that this was a pattern with Coopers- they use people, you see, they pretend to be friends and then they use them until they can give no more. The Thievius Racconus is filled with the glories of the Cooper Lineage, but no mention to the people they depended on to succeed.

Doctor M didn’t want to believe the ancient owl, but so much of what he said made sense. He could recall all the times when Doctor M’s brains had won the day, only for Conner to act as if it had been all him. Most of all he recalled Sly’s Mother. How happy she made him feel, how nice it was to have someone who could talk to him and appreciate him, how nice it felt to not be alone… and how Conner took it all away because she was another pretty face he needed to fornicate with.

Clockwerk allowed Doctor M to live. He knew he had planted the seed of hatred within his enemy, and that one day it would bloom into something great and terrible. All he had to do was wait.

Things continued on for the Cooper gang, but Doctor M was starting to become more and more openly resentful of Conner, and things finally came to a head when Conner married Sly’s mother and had Sly. McSweeny mentioned that things in the gang got ‘tense’ after Sly was born and that they split up afterwards, and this was the reason why. Doctor M just couldn’t contain his anger and hatred anymore, and so, the gang was split. Conner, as a result of his marriage and new life as a father, gradually became aware of the fact that he had been less than stellar a friend to Doctor M, and swore he would make it up to him. To him AND Jim. So, when Sly was very young, Conner contacted his former partners, and revealed to them the existence of the Cooper Vault and gave them clues to its location, as well as revealed that he had made them the legal godfathers to his son if anything were to happen to him.

Conner was certain it was the best way to make up to his friends after having taken them for granted, and perhaps he was correct. But by that point, it was FAR too late for Doctor M. Doctor M was now consumed by hatred, warped by it. Conner thought he could fool him? Claimed he had changed? He saw through the transparent lies in an instant. He was still trying to use him and Jim, just like he always had. Well this time it wasn’t going to work. This time Doctor M was going to get EXACTLY what he deserved. EVERYONE was going to get what they deserved- Doctor M for wasting his life on the Coopers and their nonsense. Jim for refusing to see the truth. Conner for reducing him to a lackey. Conner’s wife for choosing Conner over him. Everyone was going to get what they deserved.

Everyone.

The first move was to eliminate McSweeny. Doctor M framed his old friend for a crime he didn’t commit, and had him sent to prison as a result. Then, after locating Sly’s family, he came into contact with Clockwerk and the Fiendish Five. All he asked for in return was the deed to Cain Island. Clockwerk more than obliged, and you know what happens next- Clockwerk and his gang raid the Cooper home, Conner and his wife die, and Sly is made an orphan. With McSweeny jailed, no other living family left, and Doctor M renouncing his custodial rights, Sly is sent to the orphanage where he will meet Bentley and Murray.

Doctor M meanwhile gets to work- first he finds Cain Island, and using his family money (procured after his father’s mysterious and sudden death) and the earnings from his career as a thief, immediately begins converting it into a fortress and research facility where he conducts his biological experiments, even beginning to experiment on himself as the years go by. Finally he is able to locate the door of the vault, but to his horror, he finds he has made a major miscalculation- it can only be opened by the hook-cane of a Cooper. Despite several attempts to fabricate a cane to bypass the lock, nothing works. Worst of all, he cannot locate Sly- by this point Sly and his gang are old enough to have successfully escaped the orphanage and begin their lives of crime.

Doctor M however does not despair, and instead ramps up his efforts to bust in, reasoning that one of two things will happen- either he will eventually manage to bypass the barricade, or sooner or later, that accursed whelp will endeavor to find the Cooper Vault and *bring* the cane right to him. He’s a Cooper. Those greedy, money grubbing little parasites cannot help themselves and their sticky fingers. One thing that is assured though is that the Cooper Vault and all within it will belong to Doctor M.

It’s just a matter of time.

*wipes brow* Whew! Well, there you have it. A personal take on what exactly caused Doctor M to go off the deep end. I hope that I have managed to convey that this is purely an explanation and not an excuse- Doctor M was indeed legitimately wronged in a very personal way, but that does not begin to justify his actions, nor does it excuse the very wanton sadism he indulges in. I just sorta like the idea that Doctor M’s parrallels with Bentley go way deeper than the surface, and the fact that in the end, Sly really ISN’T his father, despite what Doctor M would like to think.

So, yeah, food for thought- full course buffet in this case, but there you go.

[This is some excellent stuff! I really dig Sly’s mom as a scientist - a nice change from the usual assumed careers of “thief” or, somewhat oedipally, “policewoman”. The idea of both parents contributing to the laser walk is a lovely sentiment, and goddammit, I want her to be more involved in general. I also really like that Clockwerk talked to Dr M just as Dr M tried to do with Bentley - that forms a nice chain. Really, with Clockwerk being immortal, there’s so much potential to see him interact with past characters. Finally, I share your headcanon that Dr M totally Wormtail’d the Coopers and was the one who told Clockwerk where they lived. It just makes sense.]

[saveme-ruinme]

Jealousy & Relief

Time Travel AU pt. 4

Jeongguk x Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: the one where Jeongguk is a petty asshole and Seokjin cooks everyone dinner

Jeongguk wasn't jealous.

He had no reason to be. The newfound friendship between you and Yoongi didn't make him jealous or anything. Even if it did seem like you were spending most of your time with Yoongi, Jeongguk observed, not at all bitter at the thought. He was not jealous, not when the two of you barely knew each other, after all it had taken you a full month to remember that Yoongi's name wasn't 'the scary hyung' even though Jimin talked about him non-stop for that entire month.

Jimin was also not at all the least bit unhappy at you and Yoongi hanging out anytime you guys had any free time together. And if Jimin wasn't ridiculously jealous about it, then Jeongguk figured he would have nothing to worry about. Jimin sometimes got incredibly jealous over Yoongi that it shocked Jeongguk considering Jimin was the kindest person he knew, and he would barely consider Yoongi and Jimin friends. You had explained that it's because he was a Scorpio in Venus that made him jealous like that - whatever the hell that meant. The point was, if Jimin was happy with it, then he should be too.

Unfortunately, did nothing to smother the ugly feeling that erupted in his stomach, making his insides twist anxiously at the thought of you and Yoongi doing things that just friends shouldn't. It did nothing to stop the way that same ugly feeling would close his throat every time you blew him off for Yoongi. Well, that was a strong way to put it. But Jeongguk wasn't a very happy man when he would call you wanting to hang out only to find out that you were already with Yoongi, and it would be rude to just ditch him, saying that you guys could hang out some other time. However, some other time never came, and Jeongguk was left to himself and the ugly bitterness toward Yoongi that festered the longer he went without seeing you.

Taehyung had also felt very left out from the strange threesome you, Yoongi, and Jimin had created, as Jeongguk learned. Without you around, Jeongguk was left to spend more time with his hyung, and the two of them spent more time discussing conspiracy theories about the three of you. Taehyung also had more information concerning the activities the three of you engaged in since he lived with Jimin and could just ask him, not that he was told much. Taehyung had suspected that three of you were hiding something from the two of them, as he had known Jimin for a number of years and could tell when he wasn't being forthcoming with information. Tae had told him that Jimin was jumping around the question, giving vague answers before changing to subject completely, which was something very out of the ordinary for him.

Jeongguk wasn't used to knowing things about you. Actually, that was lie, he spent so long barely knowing anything about you because you were always from different points in your time stream. He had gotten selfish with you since you two had met in your natural point in the time stream, and there were few things you hadn't told him. It was strange, albeit uncomfortably familiar feeling knowing that you were keeping things from him. He tried to give you the benefit of the doubt that you simply hadn't gotten the chance to tell him yet, but it almost seemed like you weren't trying. Jeongguk had been the one reaching out to you for a while, much to his annoyance. He didn't know exactly when it started, just that it was pissing him off.

"Why don't you just ask?" Seokjin suggested, as he stood at the stove, cooking dinner for them.

Seokjin was Jeongguk's roommate, someone whom he was thankful for - not that he would ever say so. Jeongguk would only begrudgingly admit that he was probably still alive and healthy because of Seokjin. He was five years older than Jeongguk, a medical student who still made time to cook decent meals because he knew that the young idiot would not. They had a mutual agreement that if Seokjin fed him, Jeongguk would make sure their place stayed clean. A simple enough arrangement, and one that had kept their home in order.

Hoseok, Jeongguk's other roommate, also pitched in with the cleaning. Together, they split the chores and swapped them around every week. Hoseok was Taehyung's friend who was three years older than he was, and was apparently a dance major, after being undecided for so long. He was also the one who had offered Jeongguk the room in his first year, which he would have eagerly taken, if not for your begging and insistence to live in the co-ed dorms together so he could cover for you when you disappeared from this point in the time stream. After that first year in the dorms, Jeongguk had taken Hoseok's offer that fortunately still stood, and now here they were a year later, laughing at his time travelling girl problems.

"Don't you think I've tried," Jeongguk exclaimed, ignoring the way Hoseok laughed at him. "But I can't seem to get her attention long enough to ask."

"I have tried asking," Taehyung told them, having escaped his lonely apartment without Jimin to be fed by Seokjin. "It doesn't work as well as you think."

"It's probably nothing, maybe you guys are just reading too much into it," Hoseok tried to reassure.

"But why won't they just tell us?" Jeongguk questioned, pouting. "Why don't they invite us to hang out with them?"

Seokjin sighed. "Invite them over," he decided.

"What?" all three males had said at the same time.

"Tell them to come over for dinner, I'm not taking no as an answer, I made too much," Seokjin explained, looking down at pots and pan over the stove that was too much for just the four of them. Not that he doubted they couldn't eat it all, because boy did they love to eat, but it seemed counterproductive somehow. "And invite Yoongi too, I haven't seen him in a while."

Taehyung and Jeongguk glanced at each other before pulling out their phones and frantically attempting to contact you and Jimin. Jeongguk decided that he'd leave it to Taehyung to invite Yoongi along, quietly hoping that he'd forget to ask so that he wouldn't come and he would get to properly hang out with you again, without the distraction of Yoongi. Jeongguk got sweet satisfaction at the thought of Yoongi being bitter about being left out.

Maybe he was a little jealous.

The group was over for dinner, you observed as you walked into Jeongguk's apartment. Taehyung and Jeongguk were sitting on the floor in front of the tv playing Call of Duty while Hoseok had stretched out on the couch, laughing every time they died on screen. Seokjin was still in the kitchen, fussing around all the food he made. Namjoon sat at the table with Jimin, laughing about something as they placed cutlery on the table.

"It's a whole party," Yoongi noted, stepping out of his shoes.

"Should've bought alcohol," you said, stepping past him.

"Not too late," he murmured behind you.

"This is actually supposed to be a nice dinner," Hoseok informed the two of you, being the first one to notice that you had arrived.

Everyone else glanced at the two of you, just noticing you had arrived. You met Jeongguk's gaze and smiled at him, happy to be hanging out with him again. However, you smile dropped when he turned to glare at Yoongi before going back to his game, barely sparing you a glance. You frowned, wondering what his problem was.

"We can drink wine," Yoongi suggested. "That's what people do at dinner, right?"

"Here I only thought you drank hard liquor," Hobi laughed.

"Hyung!" Jimin shouted, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. "You're here!"

You watched Yoongi's ears turn pink as Jimin easily wrapped his arms around him, giving him a good squeeze. When he let go, you noticed that Jimin's cheeks also had a faint blush to them, as he smiled so wide his eyes almost disappeared. Seeing Jimin this happy was one of those things that always cheered you up, no matter what. It was very energising to be around Jimin when he was that happy, as it was very infectious, and he gave really good hugs. Perhaps that's why he managed to get along with Yoongi so well. Even though Yoongi seemed tough and serious, he wasn't immune to Jimin's cute eye smile.

"There was free food," he mumbled, trying not to smile so wide.

"Y/N! You're here too!" Jimin said, turning his attention to you.

Unlike Yoongi, you had no problem returning the bear hug that Jimin wrapped you in. "I saw you yesterday," you chuckled.

"Lucky you," Jeongguk muttered snidely, unknowingly pressing the buttons on his controller with more force than necessary.

No one acknowledged Jeongguk's petty comments, instead choosing to focus on the enticing smell of dinner that Jin was serving up. You glanced over at him, observing how he played with a frown on his face even though he appeared to be winning, wondering why he was being so rude and dismissive towards you. The two of you hadn't gotten the chance to hang out in a while because you had been busy, and now you guys have the chance to at least talk to one another, Jeongguk decides you aren't worth his time. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him, deciding that you weren't going to entertain his petty behaviour. If he's got a problem with you, he can tell you himself instead of trying to make you guess and scramble to fix it.

"Is dinner ready yet? I'm starving!" you asked, heading over to the kitchen to see if Jin needed any help.

"You just got here," Jin observed, checking on the various pots and pans perched over the stove.

"I haven't had much to each all day, and you know I love your cooking!"

"Help me take it to the table."

"Yes sir!" you salute before pulling the oven mitts on your hands so you wouldn't burn your hands on anything.

As you did that, you vaguely heard Jeongguk mocking you by copying what you had just said in an exaggerated higher pitched voice. That made you frown, as once again you wondered why he was being so rude to you. You tried to recall what you had done wrong, but considering the two of you hadn't had much chance to hang out you didn't think there was even anything to be mad about.

Whatever, you thought as you helped place all the food on the table. I'll worry about that later.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair. As quiet as it could get eating with seven males, which meant it wasn't all that quiet, it's just that you weren't participating in all the conversation, and that was predictably because of Jeongguk. He had glanced at you gesturing for him to come to sit next to you, and had taken the seat at the opposite end of the table, childishly refusing to acknowledge your existence. You couldn't help but gawk at him, moving past tolerating his behaviour into getting pissed off at him.

"What's his problem?" Yoongi asked, having witnessed the silent exchange between you and Jeongguk.

"Absolutely no idea," you pouted.

"Maybe he's jealous?" Jimin whispered conspiratorially into your ear, taking a seat next to you, winking at Yoongi who sat across from you.

"About what?" you asked dumbly, wracking your brain to figure out what he could possibly be jealous about.

For a moment, you thought it was because you were spending more time with Yoongi, after all he had been Jeongguk's friend first. But he'd never minded you hanging out with his friends before. Not when you'd ask Namjoon to tutor you - for all that it was worth because tutoring with Namjoon was just him reciting the textbook at you. Not when you'd go over to play Overwatch with Taehyung to help him beat Jeongguk because he was just too damn good.

Jeongguk never really minded when you'd do things with his friends without because as he had told you multiple times his friends were your friends too. Well, there was that one time when Seokjin had driven four hours to an amusement park completely of a whim because your exams had just ended and it was a good way to get rid of all the stress that had built up. Jeongguk had gotten jealous over that, offended that you didn't wait for him because he wanted to go to, which led to him telling the rest of the group, and all of them purposely planning to go without the two of you. Though, in the end they let you and Seokjin go because they were weak and Seokjin threatened to stop cooking for everyone if they didn't take him. They were like brothers to him, and you were his best friend so why shouldn't you get along without him?

You turned to look at Jimin, hoping he'd give you answers. Instead, he just smirked deviously at you before turning his attention to the food Seokjin had made for the group. Confused, you looked at Yoongi, silently pleading him to tell you something, but the other time traveller just shrugs, paying attention to Jimin as he reached over to put food on his plate. Defeated, you slump back in your chair.

"Oh come on! Don't be like that! I'm sure whatever is going on will sort itself out eventually," Jimin encouraged as he started to pile food on your plate as well. "Now eat! Hyung is going to be offended if you don't eat."

"Who's not eating?" Seokjin called from the other side of the table.

Scrambling to shove food in your mouth, you squeaked out a 'no one', pretending to glare at Jimin who had the audacity to laugh at you. You weren't going to risk offending Jin. If you did, he probably wouldn't feed you for the next year, and his cooking was something you'd never live without.

Once dinner had ended, Seokjin had assigned chores to the rest of the group to clean up the kitchen and the huge mess that was made when making all the food you all had consumed that night. There was some mild complaining, as cleaning required physical effort which no one seemed to possess as they all sat around waiting for the food to settle. With the exception of Jeongguk, who had shut himself in his room after he finished clearing the table in record time. You had been exempted from cleaning duty since you helped with serving the food - which apparently was not a real job according to Taehyung who had been stuck with washing all big pots and pans that wouldn't fit in the dishwasher.

You were pacing around in the hallway outside his room, trying to work up the courage to go in and confront him, but afraid to face his anger. You don't remember ever being this nervous to talk to him about something that was bothering either of you. Usually, the two of you were upfront about it, or you could easily pinpoint the cause of whatever had upset him. But this time you were blank. You had no idea why he was upset, and it scared you if you were being honest because it meant that you had done something to upset him, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out what it was.

Taking a breath, you knocked twice of his door. "Jeonggukkie?"

You paused for a moment, straining to hear for any sort of reply. When there was none, you knocked again, more insistently this time. When you realised that he probably had headphones in and wasn't going to answer the door, you opened the door, taking the chance to sort this out now.

"Jeongguk?" you called out as you stepped inside his room.

Startled, Jeongguk turned to glare at you from his computer where he was predictably playing Overwatch. It was much better than accidentally walking in on him watching porn.

"What do you want?" Jeongguk demanded, turning his attention back to the game.

You frowned at the back of his head, stepping further into his room and carefully shutting the door behind you. It always surprised you that Jeongguk's room was clean, but then you were reminded that it was partly because he spent so much time at your place. Today, his room actually looked lived in somewhat, there was dirty laundry in the hamper, and the bed in the middle of the room wasn't made, and the space around the desk he was sitting out had a few empty bottles and wrappers that hadn't been thrown away yet. Other than that, Jeongguk's room was rather clean for someone of his age, his various figurines were still in perfect order on the shelf above his bed.

"Why are you so mad at me?" you asked, moving to stand next to him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he bit out, eyes staring intently at the screen in front of him.

The screen was displaying the stats for the last match, he wasn't even playing yet he still wouldn't look at you. That hurt more than you thought it would. Standing in front of your best friend who wouldn't look you in your eyes, you felt your heart crack slightly, fighting to blink back tears.

"Why won't you look at me?" you breathed, sounding a little more broken than you intended.

With an annoyed sign, Jeongguk finally averted his gaze to you and immediately regretted it. The only reason why he could stay so mad for so long was because he hadn't been around you, and even tonight he refused to acknowledge you, knowing that he'd very quickly lose his resolve to stay upset if he started hanging around you again, and he wasn't ready to give up his anger yet, as childish as the sounded. Unfortunately for him, you had decided that you had had enough of is petty game, and with you standing in front of him, he realised that it had taken a larger toll on you that he thought. Jeongguk thought he wanted to hurt you out of spite, but looking at the dejected expression on your face, his plan was very quickly crumbling.

There was a silence between the two of you as you waited for the other to say something. Jeongguk was holding on the shreds of his stubbornness and refusing to admit to his actions. You were waiting for him to say something, anything, that would give you any hint as to why he was acting the way he was. So you were stuck in a silent stand-off.

A knock at the door broke the endless silence that stretched between the two of you. The both of you turned your attention to the door handle that creaked from being opened. Yoongi's blond hair caught piqued your attention as he stuck his head through the door, with a very uncomfortable expression on his face, obviously feeling awkward at interrupting.

"Uh- I'm going home, and Jimin's catching a ride. Was wondering if you needed a ride back to your place?" Yoongi questioned, nervously jiggling the door handle.

Before you had the chance to answer, Jeongguk scoffed and turned his back on Yoongi, his anger returning with a vengeance. Yoongi looked to you, looking slightly alarmed at the sound.

Suddenly very angry at him, you grabbed the back of Jeongguk's chair and pulled him away from the desk, pushing him around to look at you and ignoring his sounds of protest. "What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?" you demanded, voice rising in volume.

"Nothing, geez, calm down," he rolled his eyes at you, attempting to wheel his way back to his desk.

You stopped him easily by grabbing the sides of his chair, and leaning in close. "Stop lying to me! Will you just tell me what your fucking problem is so we can go back to being friends!"

"Oh, so now you want to be friends," Jeongguk said sarcastically, pushing your arms off his chair but not moving away from you.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means leave me the fuck alone and go hang out with your new best fucking friend instead," he spat, gesturing angrily toward Yoongi, who stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure on whether he should leave.

You were shocked. He was upset that you were hanging out with Yoongi a lot more these days. You almost felt like laughing if it didn't seem so utterly ridiculous. You didn't condone his petty behaviour but you understood why he was so upset, and why it caused him to act that way.

"You're honestly so fucking stupid," you sigh, feeling lightheaded.

"No, I'm fucking not," he defended.

"Y/N-" Yoongi said from behind you.

You turned around, and found that he was much closer than the doorway. You were about to ask what he wanted when grabbed your arm, not that you could feel him grabbing it. If you could move your limbs to look at them, you would. Unfortunately, you were too far gone at this point. You were so annoyed at Jeongguk that you hadn't felt the usual tell-tale signs that you were about to pass through the time stream.

"Fuck my entire life," you cursed, feeling gravity slip away from you.

"Goddamn it, you're taking me with you," Yoongi informed, not very happy at that.

"What?" Jeongguk accidentally said, confused as to what was happening.

He couldn't do anything but watch as he watched the both of you disappear. Yoongi was still holding onto your arm as the two of you vanished into the time stream. All his anger and annoyance had disappeared, replaced with shock at watching Yoongi travel alongside you. As far as Jeongguk knew, you couldn't take people into the time stream with you, and that wasn't from his lack of trying. He had vivid memories of clinging to you as you slipped from that reality, leaving him very alone, and falling over once his pillar of support had gone.

"Have you seen Yoongi?" Jimin asked, peeking into Jeongguk's room for his hyung.

"I- they- he-" Jeongguk was unable to form words, pointing to the spot where yourself and Yoongi had been standing just minutes before.

"Are you okay, Gukkie?" Jimin crossed the room, affectionately ruffling his hair.

"Yoongi can fucking time travel?" he exploded, staring up at his hyung with wide eyes.

Jimin did not seemed at all phased at that information, grinning sheepishly. "So, you found out huh?"

"They just fucking disappeared. Both of them. Y/N and Yoongi. When the fuck- why- who else knows?"

Jimin shrugged. "Hyung didn't want anyone to know about him because he thought he was the only one. But then Y/N met up with him in a different point in the time stream and he figured it out. Then hyung told me, and I told him we all knew. They've been meeting up a lot to talk about it since there isn't like a club or whatever of other time travellers, you know?"

"So that's why they've been hanging out so much. Because they're both time travellers?" Jeongguk suddenly felt stupid. And incredibly self-centred. He knew that you sometimes struggled with being the only person like yourself. You could talk to him about it for hours on end, but he'd never really understand what it was like. Now you've found someone like yourself. "Why haven't they told everyone else?"

Jimin sighed at sat down on his bed. "Hyung isn't comfortable with it yet. He knows that everyone knows about Y/N but he's afraid to admit that he's one to the group. We've been trying to convince him to tell everyone else. Would make our lives a lot easier, I don't like hiding things from Taehyung."

"Wait- why do you know?" Jeongguk narrowed his eyes.

Finding his figurines more interesting, Jimin shrugged and refused to look at Jeongguk. That didn't stop Jeongguk from seeing the way his cheeks went very red. "I guess hyung just trusts me the most," Jimin murmured, playing with the rings on his fingers.

"Uh-huh," Jeongguk acknowledged, very suspicious of his hyung's behaviour. Whatever was going on between the two of them, Jeongguk decided that he wasn't going to ask. He really didn't want to end up with Jimin ranting at him about how great Yoongi-hyung was for the millionth time.

"Don't use that tone with me!" Jimin exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Jeongguk. It was difficult to take him seriously when his fingers were so small, and the blush that stained his cheeks hadn't disappeared. "You're still an asshole for being mean to Y/N. She things you hate her."

"I don't hate her," Jeongguk muttered, feeling guilty.

"I know, we all know you don't hate her. Quite the opposite really," Jimin giggled, ignoring the glare from the maknae. "But Y/N is stupid and doesn't know. So you have to apologise when they get back. And then tell her how you feel."

"I can't just tell her how I feel!"

"Yes, you can! You just make her look at you, and you tell her 'Y/N, I'm stupid and ugly, and you're honestly way too pretty for me, but I'm in love with you. Like I would sell my Overwatch account for you, in love with you.' It's easy!"

"Like I'm going to take advice from the idiot who can't admit he has feelings for Yoongi-hyung."

"Who are you calling idiot? It's hyung to you, brat!"

Jeongguk rolled his eyes. "I still can't just admit it like that-"

"Admit what?" you asked, coming out of the closet on the opposite side of the room from him, accidentally knocking over his laundry hamper.

There was an explosion of sound as both Jimin and Jeongguk yelled in fright at the sudden intrusion. There was the sound of the chair clattering as Jeongguk had fallen out of his chair, he had gotten scared that bad. Then the rest of the group who had gotten alarmed at the yelling came clambering through the door to find out what all the fuss was about. Taehyung was holding a soapy frying pan in his hand, waving in around and getting water everywhere. The other three had shown up right behind him, with Hoseok narrowly avoiding being hit in the face with a wet frying pan. Jimin - once recovered from fright - had collapsed back on the bed, full-belly laughing at Jeongguk falling out of his chair, while you and Yoongi pushed your way out of Jeongguk's full closet, accidentally taking half of the contents with you as you stepped out.

"What the hell is going on?" Namjoon questioned. "Why are you two in the closet?"

"Uh- well- you see-" you stuttered, trying to find an excuse.

"We just got back from four years ago," Yoongi calmly explained.

You hid your shock pretty well, if you did say so yourself. "Yeah, turns out this apartment belonged to someone else four years ago, so we had to hide in the closet so we wouldn't get caught."

"We?" Namjoon repeated, looking between you and Yoongi.

"I'm the same as her," Yoongi said, gesturing to you. "I can time travel time."

There was a brief moment of silence as everyone in the room stared at Yoongi, who stared back at everyone, silently willing someone to say something, or to look away from him.

"So, are we still getting dessert?" Taehyung asked, looking back at Seokjin, breaking the awful silence in the room.

Another pause as Seokjin struggled to comprehend the situation, before shrugging. "Yeah, why not. I'm craving something sweet."

There were numerous sounds of agreement throughout the room, as everyone had started throwing out suggestions on what to get. You couldn't help but laugh at Yoongi's shocked expression, who glanced around the room frantically, trying to understand the situation.

"Wait- that's it? I tell you I'm a time traveller and you guys just carry out like it was nothing?" Yoongi sounded just slightly distraught.

"It kinda loses its shock factor after the first time," Hoseok shrugged. The other boys in the room all murmured in agreement.

"I hide this secret my entire life, and this first time I tell my group of friends they're more worried about dessert," Yoongi commentated.

"Makes sense when you think about it. You're always disappearing when we least expect it," Namjoon observed. "We should get a cheesecake."

"And ice cream!" Tae added.

"You still have to finish washing the dishes," Seokjin scolded, pointing at the wet pan.

One by one, the boys all shuffled out of the room, arguing about who was going to go out and get dessert. Even Yoongi and Jimin left the room, Jimin puling a mildly shell-shocked Yoongi out of the room while delightfully retelling watching Jeongguk fall out of his chair. That left you and Jeongguk, who sat on the floor, nervously fidgeting with the wheels of the desk chair that hadn't been propped up yet.

You moved to step closer to Jeongguk, desperate to end the feud between the two of you, but found yourself face planted on the floor with your foot throbbing slightly from hitting whatever it was you tripped over.

"Are you alright?" Jeongguk asked, scrambling over his bed to get to you, having heard you thump on the floor.

"Yeah, just tripped over that box. Why do you have so much shit in your closet?"

Together, the two of you started putting the contents of his closet back where it belonged. An awkward silence stretched between the two of you as you both struggled for something to say. Jeongguk was embarrassed with himself. He was still a little bit upset over you not telling him about Yoongi, but he understood that it wasn't your choice. You were unable to determine where this left the two of you, as you wondered if your best friend was still angry at you.

Taking a breath, Jeongguk looked at you. "Listen, I'm sorry about my behaviour tonight. I was acting stupid and I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I apologise."

Tears had started to well up in your eyes, and Jeongguk silently panicked. You didn't know why you were crying exactly, only that you were happy that you hadn't lost one of the most - if not the most important person in your life.

"Thank you for apologising," your voice broke as the tears threatened to fall.

"Why are you crying?" Jeongguk asked desperately, scrambling for the box of tissues that rested on the side table next to his bed, gently dabbing at the few tears that had fallen.

"Because I'm happy I didn't lose my best friend," you laughed, grabbing the tissue off Jeongguk after he almost poked you in the eye.

"You'll never lose me, I was just mad that you were ditching me so much. I got jealous you were spending so much time with Yoongi-hyung, I'm sorry."

You gave him a watery smile, forcing the rest of your tears back. You felt pathetic, crying on Jeongguk's floor after face planting from trying to get out of his closet. Satisified that you weren't going to cry anymore, Jeongguk picked up the remaining things and stuffed them back inside his closet.

"Next time, I'll make time for you," you sniffled, noticing how he had paused and stared at a book in his hand. "What's that?"

"An old book," he told you quietly, turning it around in his hands.

The book was an old black notebook, one with his initials on the top corner. The gold engraving had long faded, and now looked like indents on the worn, black faux leather. The pages of the book weren't straight and new like you expect a notebook to look, they were slightly wrinkled and the pristine white had become discoloured from its age.

"Is it a diary?" you teased.  “I didn’t think you kept a diary."

“I don’t know what it is.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why do you own a book you don’t know anything about? Where’d you get it?

Jeongguk turned to stare at you, a serious expression marring his boyish features, making him look older. "From you. When I was 7."

[thedailyjoyfulstruggle]

Criminals and Humans

“How can you work with those criminals? Aren’t you afraid? How can you stand to be around them and teach them? Don’t you want to just punish them? Aren’t they terrible people? Have you been robbed? Can they even read?”

I teach my students and I love them because they are me and I am them. My students don’t want to be “criminals.” They didn’t wake up one day and say, “Man, I want to fuck up my life, be angry, sell drugs and be a general disrespectful human being.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, 

“I want to be good but it’s so hard.” 

This is the human condition. This is the struggle we all face daily. 

Have my students made poor decisions? Absolutely. Am I going to rehabilitate them into model citizens by letting them write in their notebook for 30 days? No. 

I’m working against 16 years of conditioning that tells them that violence is the answer, that “respect” is worth killing for, that they belong in the projects, prison or the NFL; that self-medicating is okay as long as you don’t get arrested, that it’s normal to have been arrested at least once, that all cops and all white people are out to get them, that being nice to people means you’re weak...the list goes on.

I get 50 minutes a day, 5 days a week. Then they go home and resume life. Some days, it feels futile and I just want to cry. Most days, knowing that they have a place in the world to be a student, a child, a human being (rather than a gang member or a “bad kid” or the head of the house) brings me hope. Sometimes all people need is a glimmer. No, I can’t change the world. I can’t change the entire course of their lives but I can change 50 minutes of their day. I can transport them with literature. I can ask more of them. I can see their humanity. I can show them kindness and compassion. I can hold them accountable for their choices in my room. I can ask them to work and think deeply, daily.

These are the things I can do. They seem small but when the tide is overwhelming, just a little bit of air can make all the difference.

For the first two weeks of school, this one kid was stone cold. He didn’t speak to anyone. He sat alone with his arms crossed and listened. He never shared during discussion. Then he started reading a book that spoke to him, a book in which he saw himself and the ice began to melt. He started to smile, to greet his classmates and myself. He changed before my very eyes from this hard drug dealer into the kindest young man I’ve ever known. I learned that he liked the song “Oceans” by Hillsong. He liked soft music and not loud rap. We learned all kinds of stuff about this guy.

On his last day, he came into my classroom before school with the tiniest gift bag I’d ever seen. He held it out, “This is for you, miss. I got you this for your baby.” I took the bag and found that he’d smashed a set of onesies and some baby shoes inside. “I was going to get you roses, too, but I didn’t know if they would let me bring those through the metal detector.” This had never happened to me before and I was completely overcome. “Go to class before I start crying. Thank you so much,” was all I could muster. He walked away smiling. 

He was halfway through his book and was disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to finish it. So, I wrote his name inside and told him he could have it. “You give this to me? Wow, miss. You gonna make me cry.” Pure gift.

The best part came when he said goodbye to our class (on their last day, students are always given a chance to address the class, say goodbye and give advice and encouragement). Rogelio wasn’t a talker but he told his peers this, 

“Thank you for teaching me to be myself. I didn’t know that was okay before.”

Sometimes my students find their dignity in their class community. Sometimes they see themselves, they behold their beauty as they’ve written it on the page. Sometimes they see themselves being seen by someone they thought was their enemy, and that makes all the difference.

Am I saving lives? No. I can’t save anyone’s life but I can encourage them to save their minds. Am I rescuing them from their destitution? No. I’m just walking with them a little bit of the way. Will they remember me when they leave? Maybe. Right now, I’m the crazy pregnant lady who makes them write too much and won’t let them sleep in class. I’m okay with that because I think they know that this crazy, pregnant lady loves them.

But more than ever, the world feels heavy, divided and scary. We’re so busy looking around for an enemy that we forget that the enemy is within each of us. The enemy is all of the hate, jealousy, intolerance, indifference, presumption, pride, violence, rage and ignorance that lives in each one of us. It is precisely this that makes us feel the need to box people up and ship them away.

Those fighting for social justice can forget that taking the rights of any human being is a the very form of oppression against which they are fighting; stereotyping and making blanket statements about people who have pissed them off is the very form of oppression against which they are fighting; committing acts of violence to gain power is the very form of oppression against which they are fighting.

“In order for this struggle to have meaning, the oppressed must not, in seeking to regain their humanity (which is a way to create it), become in turn oppressors of the oppressors, but rather restorers of the humanity of both. This then, is the great humanistic and historical task of the oppressed: to liberate themselves and their oppressors as well.”  -Paolo Freire

Nobody gets free by enslaving others. Nobody changes by silencing others. Unity doesn’t come by demonizing others, nor does it come by allowing injustices to occur. If we all really wanted peace, we’d talk to each other, we’d fight for each other, we’d see each other, really see each other as humans with equal dignity and humanity. Love (and love is tough, not fluffy) is the fight. Compassion, the realest of the real kind, is the fight. Anything else just makes things worse.

One of our former students is facing charges of capital murder (along with his two older brothers and an older accomplice). This student is white and the boy that was murdered was a black boy. The narrative, as told by the public, is one we’ve seen before, “If it was a white boy who was killed, everyone would be in uproar! The black boy would already be charged!” “These white boys are going to get away with it because of white privilege!” The fact is, people should be in uproar, not just because yet another black boy is dead or because a white boy has thrown his life down the drain. No, the reality is that a life, an irreplaceable life, was taken. Someone is dead, a human being no longer breathes. The real tragedy is that the circumstances they found themselves in brought on the greatest form of destruction of the human race.

The facts are simple: The Garrison boys are broken and have done terrible things. X’s life situation wasn’t perfect, he was in a bad situation that ultimately caused him to lose his life. All these young men had already faced some of the ugliest realities of the world because of the circumstances into which they were born. In this case, there is no such thing as one person having more privilege or dignity than the other--unless you consider being in jail, being a convicted felon, or being killed a privilege or a source of dignity.

Kyle threw a desk and cussed out the entire room in the first, and only, 30 seconds he was in my room. My other students cussed him out and yelled back. Nobody changed. Kyle didn’t change at all until someone was kind to him. The last thing he said to me was, “I want to do good now.” Unfortunately, his intentions weren’t enough. He reverted back to his old ways because he reentered the world that made him and continued to make choices he’d made before.

It would be easier to make sense of this kind of violence if we could make statements like, “All white people are rich and don’t face the problems black people do,” or “All black kids commit crimes because they think they can get away with it,” be true. Maybe that’s why we try so hard to make people fit into blanket statements; it’s easier to pick an enemy that way. But, this isn’t the way it is. In fact, looking at the facts is far worse than anything those statements carry. The fact is the three brothers experienced horrors that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. X faced turmoil I can’t imagine. The fact is, both boys were victims of the same problem: the system as a whole.

People think I’m crazy when I express compassion for the culprits of the murder. Like having compassion for them makes me blind to the fact that they have committed horrible acts or callous to the pain they caused an entire family, but doing bad things doesn’t strip them of their humanity, nor does it put them outside of the bounds of compassion. Acknowledging their goodness actually makes what they did worse. They weren’t made for that and yet, here we are. Compassion at its best knows no bounds and it certainly doesn’t create the latest crazy white man monster on the front page news or the black criminal who has met his demise.

I’ve been guilty of reading a horrible news story (there are plenty to go around), seeing the oppressor and thinking, “Man, another white guy killing folks because he can.” Then I have to check myself. Is this making me whole? Is this making me more compassionate? Is this kind of thinking closing the gaping divide that brings about hate and violence?

We need to teach each other how to make suffering--which is inevitable for all of us--beautiful, fruitful and a source of compassion rather than a wound that festers and turns a whole generation bitter.

Preaching the gospel of justice is only radical if you refuse to make anyone your scapegoat. Waving the flag of equality only works if you really mean that every person, even one who doesn’t see you, is worthy of dignity and respect.

We become the oppressors the second we become blind to anyone outside of our cause. This kind of thinking doesn’t make anyone free and it certainly doesn’t make us whole.