#ahhh the cruelty of fate

[fvsm4x]

Hii! Can I request any jjk men with a best friend! reader who wears a mask to hide their face bcs they think its ugly? (its up to u if u want sfw or not!)

#PRETTIEST [Gojo S. and Geto S.]

SUMMARY: Since you were a child, you‘ve always hated the way you look, so- you started wearing a mask.

— C.W: Gojo Satoru x female reader x Geto Suguru , hurt with comfort , insecurity , fluff.

— WORD COUNT: 1.3k+

— TAGLIST: @starlightanyaaa

— A/N: AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST I HAD TO WRITE IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER I FINISHED WRITING MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE!! SORRY IF ITS SHORT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

Since you were a small child, you always hated the way you looked. Your nose, cheeks, and moles were constant sources of self-consciousness, and you despised the way you appeared in general. It was as if a dark cloud of insecurity constantly loomed over you, casting a shadow on your self-esteem.

Around the age of 7, it all began. You were just an innocent child, excited to go to school like any other kid. You possessed a unique ability that set you apart from your classmates - you could see curses, dark entities that others couldn’t perceive.

Every day, as you walked past your classmates, you were subjected to relentless torment. They would push you into the ground, snatch away your books, spill your lunch onto your head, and even steal your clothes during PE. You became a victim of bullying, and the reason behind it was painfully clear - you were deemed ugly.

At that tender age, you couldn’t comprehend the cruelty that surrounded you. You naively believed that this was their way of noticing you or playing with you. But as time went on, the truth slowly revealed itself - they targeted you because of your appearance, because you were considered ugly in their eyes.

It was during this dark period that you began to wear a mask, hoping that it would shield you from the relentless bullying. The mask became your armor, a tangible barrier that protected you from the perceived flaws you couldn’t bear to face. It became a part of your identity, an integral aspect of who you were. With the mask on, you felt a sense of safety, as if you were hiding your true self from the scrutinizing eyes of the world.

There wasn’t a single moment when you ventured outside without your mask. But despite the mask’s protective facade, deep down, you longed to be accepted for who you truly were.

It was during this challenging time that you crossed paths with your best friends, Geto and Gojo. Fate brought the three of you together on a fateful day as you were walking home from school. They witnessed your ability to kill a low-grade curse, and in that moment, they knew that you were like them - you could see curses just as they could.

This serendipitous encounter changed the course of your life. You made the decision to leave your previous school and join the same school as Geto and Gojo, hoping that this new environment would provide a fresh start, free from the torment of your past.

In the same class as Geto and Gojo, there was another girl who exuded beauty effortlessly. Her flawless skin, perfect facial structures, and the charming mole beneath her eye made her the epitome of perfection. Secretly, you couldn’t help but feel jealous of her. You longed to possess the same level of beauty and radiance, but you kept your jealousy hidden beneath a facade of indifference.

As the months passed, your bond with Geto and Gojo grew stronger. You began to address them by their first names, just as they did with you. It seemed like everything was going well, until one fateful day when a simple request shattered the fragile equilibrium you had created.

The three of you were gathered in Geto’s dorm, engrossed in a movie, when Gojo’s curious gaze fell upon your mask. His innocent question pierced through your defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“Say, y/n… could we see your face?” he inquired, his finger pointing towards the mask that concealed your true self.

In that moment, the smile that had adorned your face behind the mask vanished, replaced by a mixture of apprehension and fear. You locked eyes with Gojo, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

“We’ve been friends for quite some time now, and I can’t recall a single moment where you haven’t worn that mask. You even wear it while you sleep!” he continued,

Your gaze dropped, unable to meet their expectant eyes. It was true - you had never once removed the mask in their presence. You only allowed it to come off when you brushed your teeth or washed your face. The thought of revealing your true face to them filled you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You feared that they would be repulsed by your appearance, that they would abandon you once they saw the real you, the one you believed to be ugly.

“That’s true, y/n. If you have a larger injury or something, we won’t judge. We just want to see how pretty you look behind the mask,” Geto chimed in,

Pretty.

The word echoed in your mind, taunting you with its expectations. They anticipated beauty, but what if you took off your mask and shattered their illusions? What if they saw the imperfections that plagued your self-image? The mere thought of their potential rejection was unbearable.

But why do you care so much about their opinion?

The reason was because you had fallen in love with both Geto and Gojo. Despite knowing that you were seemingly out of their league, your heart couldn’t help but beat faster whenever you were around them. You had tried to suppress these feelings, but they persisted, refusing to be ignored.

“I promise, Y/N, whatever you’re hiding won’t change a thing between us,” Gojo spoke, his voice filled with sincerity as he positioned himself in front of you. Geto, too, reached out and gently took your hands in his larger ones.

“Please, trust us,” Geto pleaded,

You found it difficult to resist their pleading gazes. Taking a deep breath, you finally relented, “Fine, but I warn you, it’s not what you expect.”

As the mask slipped away, revealing your face, you closed your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable disappointment and rejection. You didn’t want to hear the people you loved utter the same hurtful words that had haunted you in the past.

But then, to your astonishment, Gojo’s voice broke the silence, filled with genuine awe, “Unbelievable! This is beyond stunning; it’s mesmerizing.”

Did you hear correctly? Mesmerizing? He didn’t say the word “ugly”? You cautiously opened your eyes, only to be met with Gojo’s intense gaze. He was staring at your face, his cheeks flushed with a deep blush. In that moment, you realized that he found you stunning, not repulsive. He was captivated by your appearance.

“I knew you were hiding a masterpiece under there, but this… it’s like you walked out of a dream,” Geto spoke, his hands tightening around yours,

Confusion and disbelief washed over you as you struggled to comprehend their reactions. “I don’t understand… why aren’t you saying I look ugly?” you murmured, your eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Ugly?” Gojo scoffed, his voice filled with disbelief. “That’s impossible. You’re the epitome of beauty, and we’re lucky to witness it.”

“Whoever said that you’re ugly clearly is blind,” Geto chimed in, removing his hands from yours and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “Because you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you widened them in shock. The tears began streaming down your face as a genuine smile spread across your lips. You were overwhelmed by their words and the overwhelming surge of emotions that flooded your heart.

Suddenly, a hand crept around your waist, and you looked down to see Gojo smiling up at you, resting his head on your lap.

“You guys…” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as more tears continued to flow down your cheeks, landing on Gojo’s face beneath you.

A hand gently cradled your jaw, turning your head to the side, and you found yourself meeting Geto’s intense gaze. He brought his lips to your face, tenderly kissing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he murmured,

© fvsm4x do not repost!

#[♡’—𝐟𝐯𝐬𝐦𝟒𝐱‘𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬｡•́] #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto fluff #suguru geto #geto x you #geto x reader #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #gojou x reader #jjk gojo #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo x reader x geto

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

Hi! I'd like to rec a novel-canon parallel where the change is that people take on the physical scars of those they love romantically. It's incredibly well thought out, heartbreaking, and so beautiful! @allow-me-to-speak

Lovescars

by ardenrabbit (E, 35k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: When someone falls in love, their loved one's scars appear on them.

Wei Wuxian isn't certain that anyone will ever think taking his scars would be worth it.

The Lan Clan has an ugly history associated with lovescars, and Lan Wangji has only ever heard about them in the context of the family curse.

There are no scars related to platonic love. For some, this makes romantic love look more painful by comparison; for others, it only makes it harder for them to express their love for their family.

~*~

AHHH WELCOME BACK!!! i just wanted to rec this work in progress but its so good!!

A Price To Pay

by wangxianist (not rated, 80k, wangxian, xuanli, WIP)

Summary: Lan Zhan had always been cold to him, even before their marriage was arranged. On their wedding night, he didn't even remove the mask that had veiled Wei Wuxian all his life, and withdrew into his own, separate room. Two years passed like that. Scarce communication. Going months without seeing each other. Barely even glancing at one another. Lan Zhan didn't even know what his own husband looked like.

It was okay at first—a mutual understanding, a shared desire to be left to their own devices. Wei Wuxian would even say their arrangement was peaceful. But that illusion is shattered when his masks slips off his face.

~*~

'Possession' is one of the absolute best fics I have ever read. It is an unfinished fic but worth it. And RP verse by @sarah-yyy]. Your page has given me happiness. [Thank you!] So if you have time to spare plz do read this.

Possession

by trickanery (M, 52k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: When the Wen Empire launches a bloody campaign to extend the reaches of its borders, their first target is the Kingdom of Gusu. Between the might of Emperor Wen’s army, the leadership of his two biological sons, and the dark, unorthodox powers of his adopted son, Wei Wuxian a.k.a. The Yiling Demon, Gusu is quickly crushed.

As the spoils of war are divided and the surviving Lan disciples are taken as slaves and prisoners, Wei Wuxian shocks the cultivation world by claiming his first and only war prize: the young enemy prince, Lan Wangji.

Both men soon learn that the distinctions between cruelty and kindness, good and evil, and love and hate are hazy and thin — especially when two souls like theirs are fated to meet.

RP verse

by @sarah-yyy​ [This link is to a Tumblr masterpost, because I don't think it's on AO3. Author if there's a summary/rating/word count somewhere, let me know and I'll put it here.]

~*~

#wangxian fic rec #follower recs #wangxian #mdzs #the untamed #follower rec #I HAVEN'T READ THESE YET #author boost #new work by a proud writer

[tossawary]

omg the concept of (canon-esque? i.e. in a complete depressive state) sqh agreeing to come out of hiding to attend sqq/lbh's wedding, knowing 1000% that mbj WILL be there and WILL immediately discover sqh faked his own death, just because sqq asked him to? oof. but for a man so dedicated to avoiding his own untimely demise... how does he play it? does he pretend he has amnesia? does he go in disguise?

Okay, so the setup I was picturing for this (the Real Angsty Version) is that SQH finds out that SQQ is another transmigrator just before he fakes his death. SQQ also finds out that SQH is a transmigrator, but then SQH dies! What the hell! Leaving Shen Qingqiu to be like, “I have NO idea who that other transmigrator was or what they might have changed. Also, I’m not coping well with coming face to face with my fate: getting killed off horribly in service to the plot!” 

Only, SQH secretly gets in contact with SQQ and arranges a secret meeting, in which they discover each other’s past identities (or past usernames, at least). Shen Qingqiu is pissed off that Shang Qinghua is the author of this shitty story and confronts SQH as though this mess is his responsibility to fix. 

But Shang Qinghua laughs in Shen Qingqiu’s face (in the fashion of the asshole we know SQH can be). Like, firstly, if Shen Qingqiu claims that Shang Qinghua is alive and was in service to demons, he’s probably going to look like he’s having the next step in his ongoing breakdown. There’s no proof! Good luck convincing all those overly concerned Peak Lords of your sanity, bro! 

Secondly, Shang Qinghua already wasted his last life on this stupid fucking story he never wanted to write, so he’s not wasting his new one on this stupid fucking story either. Fuck the story! Fuck the original outline too! He’s been held hostage by the System for decades and now that he’s fulfilled his only major plot requirement, he’s done with this shit! Done with Proud Immortal Demon Way! He wants to LIVE. And he wants to live for himself for once in his fucking life! 

So, like, there’s serious conflict between SQH and SQQ. Years of living false lives boil to the surface. But, when it comes down to it, neither of them have anyone else who understands what it’s like. They’re not friends, but SQH feels bad for SQQ, especially after SQQ finally has a real breakdown over feeling like an immature young adult pretending to be someone he’s not, forced to hurt an innocent person he’s genuinely come to care about. SQH is much older than SQQ and he’s like, “Ahhh, fine, I kind of had some plan for my retirement, but I guess I can be this guy’s transmigration mentor for a bit.” 

So they do the whole Sun and Moon Dew Flower Seed thing again, only it works out better because a retired SQH doesn’t have anything better to do than garden all day. They bitch and vent at each other over random bullshit. And eventually SQH gets sick of SQQ worrying over Luo Binghe’s return. 

SQH is like, “Bro, sure, you’re probably going to die. But you have a backup body and a new life waiting for you. Your role is the story is going to end soon. You’ve already changed shit. Say whatever the fuck you want to say to him and then peace out of the plot without a heart weighed down by guilt. Unlike the shit I wrote, you don’t have to draw this mess out into as many extra chapters as possible, so just cut through the bullshit and tell him you fucked up. Mentor characters always die just before or just after big reveals anyway.” 

(Since the SVSSS System is apparently there to make something close to Airplane’s original outline happen, you could go a non-canonical direction and have it remove all secrecy restrictions once Shang Qinghua says he no longer gives a shit about the story or the plot, if you wanted to do a full Identity Reveal. Then SQH and SQQ could have a very funny moment in which they realize SQH had greater control over the System than he realized.) 

So, yeah, Luo Binghe returns, Shen Qingqiu says everything he feels he needs to say right away, and things hit a fix-it AU path from there. If Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang are up to their usual mischief, then Shang Qinghua probably comes back to help deal with that. Everything is resolved! 

And then Moshang angst! SOOOOO much Moshang angst! 

In the Romcom Wedding from Hell Crack AU version of this fic, I was kind of picturing that Shang Qinghua never reveals himself to be alive during the conflict, but Shen Qingqiu really wants him at his scary demon wedding for support! So Shen Qingqiu is trying to persuade SQH to come out of hiding and be his best man, when Mobei-Jun somehow stumbles onto the conversation, probably in the company of Luo Binghe. 

And Shen Qingqiu is immediately like, “Mobei-Jun, you will not murder my friend.” And Luo Binghe is like, “What Shizun says goes.” 

And so I was picturing, in this Romcom-esque Crack AU version of this fic, Shang Qinghua trying (and failing) to politely explain to an incensed Mobei-Jun that he faked his death because he was afraid of being killed for no reason someday. Which turns into Mobei-Jun being shocked and confused and angry, because that is not what was happening! Which turns into Shang Qinghua just outright yelling at him that it WAS what was happening and berating him for all his carelessly cruelty over the years. Big blow-out fight. 

While Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe stand in the corner as chaperones (to prevent any murder from taking place), shamelessly watching this utter disaster unfold with incredulous fascination. Like, “Wow! That could have been us! We’re so glad that we managed to communicate with each other like adults and avoid this kind of pointless bullshit that could have been resolved at any time with one direct conversation. Good thing we’re better than that.” 

SQH then gets involved in the wedding because the cat’s out of the bag anyway, now that MBJ knows. It’s a very big wedding with lots of organization to be done (Luo Binghe is a total Groomzilla and Shen Qingqiu gets Extremely Stressed about everything being perfect because LBH deserves it and also he will not humiliate himself in front of all the VIPs of the Demon Realm), so Moshang keep running into each other and eventually manage to work it out. 

#ask tossawary #tossawary svsss #tossawary updates #shang qinghua fakes his death au #romcom wedding from hell crack au #moshang #shang qinghua #shen yuan #bingqiu #fic ideas #svsss #mobei jun #luo binghe

[little-ideas]

For the game how abt Sakyo and Muku "i wanna be like the prince in this manga someday"

Referring to this post

Thank you~ ^ w ^ I hope you enjoy this little piece >:3c I'd like to think this falls between the banishment of debt and the joining of Guy, so everyone's unaware of Citron's royal lineage (if I'm recalling events correctly.....) Such is the timeframe because there's no dream crushing possible when Guy's actively helping Muku act like a prince lol

"Let the boy dream," they had told him, "What harm's a little wishing?"

But Muku was getting older and the world was not always kind -Sakyo knew this firsthand. Goals were attainable, but dreams? If you did not hold on to them tightly, they would be crushed, trampled, discarded -society loved to mock, sneer, poison that which was pure, and dreams were easy targets, especially ones as sweet as Muku's. Life had given Sakyo a second chance, but such happenings were nothing short of miraculous and there was no telling if the Fates would be so kind again. Let Muku never have to experience life's cruelty like he had, Sakyo swore it in his heart he would make sure of it.

For all his noble thinking, though, Sakyo was terrible with words. Books sat stacked upon his table, pages discoloring but clearly loved. Muku sat curled on his couch, nose buried between the well-worn covers of an older series -one filled with royalty and romance, but tasteful, a classic befitting of such an honor. Sakyo himself knew every line by heart, though he'd sooner incur Mankai's previous debt again than admit such things aloud. He could read the series merely by closing his eyes, but Muku insisted that there was always something new to discover, no matter how many times he had poured over the pages, immersing himself in the world of fantasy once more.

"Ahhh," Muku sighed, hugging the book to his chest, "I wanna be like the prince in this manga someday."

Sakyo cleared his throat. "Sakisaka," he began, "princes are rare -there is very little chance of such things happening. However-"

The thud of books ended his statement. Fury, hurt, and betrayal, glared at Sakyo from moistening eyes. The man tensed, preparing for the barrage of blows that usually accompanied such looks, but was met with a sniffle and the slamming of his door. Footfalls thudded up stairs and across the floor above, sound amplified in the room's silence. Manga was still sprawled across the ground. Muku had left almost immediately, but Sakyo had still glimpsed tears falling.

He sunk onto his couch and swore.

#a3! #act! addict! actors! #muku sakisaka #sakyo furuichi #angst prompt #did the rest of the company make sakyo dress up as a princess to apologize? yes #was sakyo actually intending on shutting Muku down? no but his typical mannerisms and leading with such a statement made it seem like he wa

[happyk44]

He glanced down the long shiny hallway and froze to a stop. Bleeding and hunched over, Nico laid. The nymph at his side stilled, skin growing cold at the sight. Not the blood, not the injuries - just him.

Dumb, Hermes thought as he abandoned their conversation about a bank heist to go pick up the dying remains of his boss's only living mortal son. What was to be concerned about a little boy? A dying little boy at that.

Nico croaked out no words. His lips were nearly blue, his voice cracked. A large gash was sliced up the side of his face. His eyes were lidded but unfocused.

"Hey!" Hermes barked at the staring nymph. "Not a word."

No one on Olympus needed to know he was here right now. No doubt they'd throw a fit about his presence - in both life and on their mountain. She nodded mutely before turning around and rushing off.

He watched her carefully before bounding off to his room in a few short steps. He flicked his wrist. The couch perched against the wall flopped out into a medical cot. He laid Nico down, humming to himself. How many times had he done this before for them? Finding them struggling to apply their own bandages or slather nectar onto a spot they couldn't reach, Apollo's so-called healer children turning them away whether injured minorly or grievously.

Sometimes he understood where Zagreus was coming from. Sometimes he agreed with him.

He stripped Nico of his pants and shirt. A makeshift tourniquet was wrapped around his leg, bloodied and dirtied so horribly he couldn't even tell what the original fabric was, much less the colour.

People looked at him and saw messenger or thief - always running. But he had other qualities too. Medical expertise was something he was both symbolized for and yet forgotten. His caduceus was plastered across hospitals and Red Cross bags and yet people pointed at his image and said, “Oh right the thief guy”.

“Deep breaths,” he said, even though Nico’s glassy eyed stared indicated he wasn’t listening - couldn’t listen.

His knee was popped back into place and he cried, eyes squeezing shut. “Ahhh.”

“Shhh,” Hermes whispered, petting back his hair. He reached into his bag and pulled out some premium ambrosia he’d been saving for a special occasion. He cracked it into little pieces, feeding Nico with one hand while stripping him off his rotting dressings with the other.

This was going to take a lot of time

-

"You're up."

Nico rubbed his eyes weakly, half slumped against the doorframe. He didn't answer or respond back, just took in Hermes' living room with a quiet solitude that reminded the god too much of his father.

"I thought it'd be more cluttered," he mumbled before limping his way to Hermes' side. "Like a dragon's nest."

Hermes snorted. "I'm very organized."

Nico sat down weakly at the table, fiddling with the clean bandage wrapped around his fingers and right hand. "I'm sorry," he said, voice so quiet Hermes almost didn't hear him. "I was just thinking of help and home and-"

"Don't worry about it." Hermes flipped through a SkyMall catalogue. "Don't tell anyone but I do this a lot for you deadlings." Nico's weak face broke out into a tired half-grin. "Not to be morbid, but you're often left for dead. And frankly, carrying you down to the Underworld is just a little bit-"

He faded. There was... a long history of Underworld kids versus children of Olympus. And as Hades took the brunt of the dislike and distrust on Olympus, by other gods and creatures, his children took the brunt of it by demigods and mortals and gods and creatures. He still couldn't tell if was just the cruelty of the Fates or something they took on themselves.

Better to suffer in multitudes than watch others suffer.

Weren't they all a little self-sacrificing?

He dropped his gaze and glanced over at Nico. His sister - Hermes hadn't picked her up and Thanatos hadn't either. Macaria had done that herself and she'd held her little soul in her hands all the way to the Judgement Hall. And Bianca was judged fairly and sent off and as all his Greek children tended to, she wandered aimlessly around her own domain and refused all calls from little brother.

Romans were less inclined on the death side of things. Most of them remained themselves, but they chose to stay where they were. Or observe the mines sometimes. Make sure all the wealth being dug was accounted for.

But they didn't wander. They could care less for the operations of the dead. Opposite that, the Greeks ignored the mines and floundered from soul to soul.

Last he checked Bianca was sitting in Elysium, helping Macaria oversee the work there. And Nico was here, alone, calling out to someone who would never answer.

"What happened?" he asked. A wave of his hand and a fresh grilled cheese sandwich plodded its way onto the table.

"Ambush," Nico muttered. "I-" He faltered. "I was trying something."

Hermes hummed. Nico stared at the sandwich fleetingly before finally accepting it. “You know, our offer to train you is still on the table. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Self-sacrificing and lonely.

“I’m fine,” Nico mumbled around the bread.

“Some of those wounds were self-inflicted, kid.” Hermes glanced down at the catalogue again. “I’m hoping by accident but either way...”

The sandwich was gone in seconds. He summoned another one. Nico took just as long to pick it up as the first one but downed it just as quick.

Slumped out in the alley of some backwoods town. The only reason Hermes even found him was because he’d been keeping track of him. They all had - even as Hades grit his teeth and told them to stop. Too much attention on one little demigod - especially from a gaggle of Underworld gods - was a risk.

Percy had already been forced into the prophecy spotlight following Thalia’s refusal to age and that made everyone squint nervously at Poseidon. Imagine if a child of Hades, situated right above Tartarus, so close, a child always outcasted by the same society he was destined to save or destroy, was discovered.

They’d cull him so quick. Erase the risk before it even had time to become one. Before he even had time to choose.

It’d happened before.

Hermes had made many mistakes in his past when it came to these kids. It was hard being an Olympian and being an Underworld entity. Zagreus may have liked to pretend he was secretly a spy for the Underworld but it was never true. He had to protect the interests of both places - not just one.

He wasn’t like his sister. She craved the darkness. She tried every year, harder and harder, to minimize her time on the surface. During the winters she could go wherever she wanted. During the summers, she was resigned to the spot under her mother’s thumb.

He was not that.

But, for right now, he was choosing death. The dead. The end of all things. Darkness and punishment and endless wandering.

“What would you even teach me?” Nico asked after a few minutes of anxious silence.

“Stealth,” Hermes offered. “The ability to actually bandage yourself up in a way that actually works.” Nico snorted, looking down to his lap. “And that’s just me, kid. Everyone else wants to help. You know who you are. You shouldn’t have to be afraid of what you can do.”

“I’m not,” Nico said but he fisted his hands nervously, his brows furrowed. He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he continued testily. “Um... I’ll- I’ll take a couple lessons.”

Hermes grinned. “Great. Rest up first. We don’t really work at mortal limitations so you’ll definitely need all you got.”

Nico rolled his eyes before clearing his throat, looking away again. “Can I- Can you-” He glanced at the plate. Hermes didn’t wait for him to finish. Just summoned a whole batch of warm sandwiches. Nico exhaled softly. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

#hermes (pjo) #nico di angelo #pjo #pjo fanfic #my writing #my fanfic #happy talks pjo

[homogrimoire-archive]

The Wild Dreams of Despair

As Hazel was drowning his sorrows in a bottle, Qrow just so happened to be around doing the same. They get to talking, and decide to run away from their lives, just for a moment. In that time, wish to have comfort with one another.

AO3 Link

Hazel looked up to see who dared to bother him. Couldn't they see he was moping, nursing a cup of something alcoholic that was best enjoyed alone? Upon seeing who it was, he tensed up, ready to fight. But the other man's expression, the way he swayed, his body language, it all conveyed he was on the same boat, and not looking for a fight either..

Hazel lowered his head and went black to staring at his glass as Qrow took a seat across from him in the bar's corner booth. It was fine by him. He didn't have the desire to care that an enemy was sitting across from him at the moment. His semblance had been slipping up lately, letting him feel things he wasn't sure how to deal with. Trying to drown it away felt appropriate. Let there be numbness once more, as there should be.

"You ever get tired of all this?' Qrow questioned. Hazel let out a sigh.

"… Yeah."

"We've all lost so much. Why can't it end already?"

"Why do we have to go on?" Hazel added and took another sip of his drink, offering it to Qrow after. He obliged, and took a gulp. With a satisfied "ahhh," he handed it back to Hazel.

"Good choice." he complimented.

"So I've heard. Supposed to burn a lot going down."

"No pain though, huh?"

"It's easy to feel nothing."

"Even if it feels wrong." Qrow laughed bitterly.

Silence followed for the next few peaceful moments, a simple quiet. Hazel lost himself in his drink as Qrow did the same. Even if this was his enemy, there was a comfort in being not alone with someone similar. It was perhaps a moment of weakness brought on by drunkenness.

"Life hates us, doesn't it?" Hazel said, breaking the silence.

"Be hard to say otherwise." Qrow reasoned.

"If I could turn back time, I would have run away from that school like we did from our parents."

"I would have followed Summer like I knew I should have. There's about a thousand more things I'd have done.."

"At the very least, you have some family to live for. Should appreciate it more." Hazel advised.

"If only I could." Qrow drawled. "Only another thing to lose and hurt."

Hazel could understand the logic. Suppose Gretchen had children, and then she died. Fear would consume him in wake and sleep, for them and what could happen to them in this terrible world. He could imagine how it was for someone with a semblance like Qrow's.

"No one ever gets what they want, huh?"

"I don't think we'll ever get what we want." Qrow responded, taking a long swig of his drink and ordering another round for him and Hazel.

"And like fools, we still try." Hazel said. A few shot glasses arrived, and Qrow picked one up and held it out for a toast.

"To an unfortunate life full of pain." he quietly said. Hazel picked up a glass and clinked it against Qrow's, the two of them downing their glass after.

Qrow was comfortable to mope about the past in silence as well. So many wonderful things that could have been, snatched away by the cruelty of fate. He at least had something to live for, something that could so easily be taken away. He wanted to forget that, forget how the tribe treated him, how Raven betrayed them, the pain of Summer dying, the pain of simple existence.

"How do you do it?" Qrow wondered.

"Do what?"

"Go on."

"Sometimes, I don't know." Hazel answered after a moment. He didn't need the moment to think about the answer, just for his drunken mind to process the question. "All I have now is hate. It's a fire. And like all fires, it will burn out someday."

"And when it does?"

"Don't know."

He really didn't know. He didn't know who he was without Gretchen. He didn't know who he would be without his hate and the desire for revenge that fueled it. He wasn't entirely sure who he was. There was nothing in the world for him to love, and nothing in the world to love him either. Not anymore.

"We deserve this, don't we?" Hazel wondered. Qrow nodded his head in agreement as he lazily swirled the ice in a half drunk glass of whiskey.

Hazel took a drink from one of the glasses Qrow had ordered, filled with the stuff he was drinking earlier. He set it down, and stared into it, his distorted reflection barely noticeable in the dimly lit bar. He had tasted it earlier out of curiosity after downing about six of those, and found that it was indeed something that was not meant to be slowly savored.

"Do you… ever think about running away from it all?"

"Heh. Done that a few times. No one ever noticed. But I aaalways kept coming back." he sadly informed the colossal man across from him. "Always… always… always…" he dejectedly repeated.

"Tonight… just tonight, the two of us should run from everything, together. I don't want to be alone for once, even if it's for a moment." Hazel could feel an intense feeling of loneliness and sadness that would make one cry. However, his semblance wouldn't let him cry just because of mere painful misery.

"I don't want to be alone either."

They finished their drinks, Qrow got up, and Hazel followed. Hand in hand, like that of former selves in a distant past, they walked through the city in quiet. The setting's sights and sounds passed by. A bright tower that displayed the city's name, a church whose bell rolled as they passed, an empty parking lot as the sun set. Out of sight, out of earshot, out of mind.

Qrow had since begun to lean against Hazel, his mind solely focused on getting to his motel room. It did not bear the excitement and anticipation that once filled him when they snuck into his dorm when his teammates were out on a date. The only thing he felt now was an old, lingering sadness.

Hazel felt similar. His life was also a sad, unfortunate thing. Innocent and simple things such as the giddiness of spending time alone with the guy he loved were long gone, taken by time for one reason or another.

Even with this, there was comfort in knowing they could still bring some comfort to the man they once loved. They could at least give each other a simple solace in a time of pain: to not feel alone. They may be enemies on opposing sides of an ancient, ongoing war, they were still only human.

Qrow unlocked the door to his motel room, Hazel following behind him.

"I'm gonna shower. Wanna join?" Qrow asked, this time with the sultry tone he had used many times before.

Hazel agreed. Back to back, they undressed themselves. Earlier, Qrow cursed having to pay extra for the larger room with a larger bathroom since it was the last one. At least that ended up working out.

Qrow finished undressing first, and fiddled with the shower to get the water running hot, as they both liked it. Hazel joined soon after. Yes, perhaps they could have showered separately, but then they would have been alone. Besides it was nice to have someone wash your hair and help scrub your back.

It was something Qrow and Hazel had done before together, and something that had missed more than they realized. The feeling of touching the man they loved, without ulterior, sexual motive, of helping with something so simple yet so private, the unexplainable warmth of it all. This act of intimacy and its accompanying emotions were another thing lost to time, only happening now as something to lose again.

Eventually, they finished showering and dried up, moving to the room's queen sized bed. It was late now, so they laid next to each other, Hazel curled up against Qrow. How they both missed such a closeness. Knowing this was fleeting made regret and sadness swell. But, for now, they had each other once more. Hazel embraced Qrow tighter, and Qrow did the same.

Why us? What did we ever do to deserve this suffering?

#rwby #qrow branwen #hazel rainart #Unfortunate Pain #Qrow/Hazel #Finally some finished non-smut of unfortunate pain #ive got a whole au with them thats a wip but this will satisfy me for now

[tcheschirewrites]

Hhhhhh and because I am In A Good Place right now, let’s have a little bonus short. You want to know what Justin and Jen have been up to, those two wiliest of snakes, while RC and Dick have been in Japane? Well, let’s find out!

(Considering the length - I accidentally 1.7k - and technically it’s plot-advancing, I guess we can consider this chapter 20.5? lol)

The dim lighting of so many of the gastropubs in the city gave him a headache. Like, sure. He understood the ambiance, along with the pulsing music at just a few decibels shy of a migraine, and yes, all right, he had spent his fair share of time in joints with far lower lighting and beats with far deeper bass, but in his regular day to day, the need to hobknob frustrated him.

Justin adjusted his tie, tugging it further away from his Adam’s apple.

From her seat across the table, texting Richard or checking her emails or scrolling Instagram or whatever it was she was doing when she was pretending she wasn’t paying attention, Jennifer scowled at him. She reached over to him, fussing lightly with his lapels, the creases of his shirt against his slouched posture.

“Stop doing that,” she chided, sliding the knot of the tie back to its position against his throat. “Can you seriously not keep still for two hours? You’re incredible.”

“This is what happens when I don’t have you to take care of me Jen,” he groused, discreetly loosening his tie just slightly when she looked away for half a moment.

“Can it,” she replied, sipping neatly from her water. “I think I see him coming.”

Out of reflex, Justin tightened his tie, running a hand over his hair. “You’re sure we’ve got everything we need this time?”

Jen glanced back at him over her shoulder, her eyes aglow in the low lighting of the restaurant, reminding him so very much of the Jennifer he had met during university, and his chest ached. “Oh yeah,” she said, and her tone was so self-assured he allowed himself a glimmer of a real smile.

His father strode up to the table, seating himself without waiting for a greeting. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Kaiba. His terms are outstanding. I hope you’ve decided as one that this acquisition is well within business interests?”

Justin was practiced at swallowing the dark bile of his father’s reptilian cruelty – Jen less so, though her tenure as a legal counselor had left her well equipped to don the proper mask for the situation. “You know, pops, we have. We’ve spoken with Dick Grant and our Chief Marketing Officer, and we all agreed that a total sale at these terms was an offer we couldn’t refuse.”

“Justin, you know I don’t abide movie references.”

Raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, mostly to field Jennifer leaping across the table to strangle his father, Justin allowed himself a chuckle. “I know, old man, but I think you’ll find it’s appropriate, considering the situation. We nailed that Japanese bastard hook, line, and sinker.”

“That’s wonderful news. I’ve read the proposal, and the extra numbers packet you provided me earlier. Third Star stands to make quite a bit of money from the sale of the market shares.”

“Fuck yeah, they do.” Justin’s lips curled into a grin at the furrow in his father’s brow. He knew exactly what was going through the scaly fucker’s mind – Justin had never been so crass in his presence before, never stooped so low as to be anything but formal in front of James. “As my C Suite are majority shareholders, I’m real happy for the decision they made. Gonna net them a shitload of a nest egg. And you know what? They earned it.”

There was an intense silence, obstructed only briefly by the server swinging by the table to gather a drink order from James only to be met with a brusque wave of his hand; he did not take his eyes off of his son’s face.

The silence lasted a beat longer, then; “You mean you earned it. Second-person plural. As CEO of the company, you’ve invested in the largest amount of shares – “

“Ahhh, yeah,” Justin cut him off smoothly, leaning back against the booth and threading his fingers to a basket behind his head. “About that.”

Jennifer stepped in here, digging into her bag for a brief moment before retrieving a manila folder. “I’m sorry to say, Mr. Carriger, sir, but Justin is actually no longer eligible to his rights as a shareholder in the event of a buyout.”

James did not take his eyes from Justin’s face. “You don’t say.”

“Mm.” She flicked open the folder expertly, spreading a couple of key documents over the table before situating herself back into her chair, taking another dainty sip of her water. “In the company bylaws, section thirteen article D, in the event of a buyout, any shareholder who has brought direct hard to an employee must forfeit the market value of those shares.”

The disgust in James’ eyes was palpable, and here he finally turned away from his son with a curl of his lip, rounding his attention to Jennifer. “I think you must be forgetting section sixteen, article B, that any executive who has lost their shares in the event of an accident will cede the market value of those shares to their next of kin.”

“Accident?” Jennifer batted her lashes at him, playing coy, playing dumb in a way that Justin knew she had learned in her years at law school and had only heard about second-hand. “Which accident are we talking about, sir?”

Verging on the edge of his patience, James replied, “The train accident – now, Justin is not directly responsible for the accident on the KaibaCorporation bullet train, but it can be acknowledged that his decisions as Chief Executive Officer are what led to your fiancé and that poor woman’s injuries. It’s my understanding they did not seek extraordinary compensation, and their dedication to the company is to be acknowledged, but – “

Jennifer let out a cooing laugh, grating and pretty and eminently false. “Oh, no, sir. To my understanding, neither party involved in the train accident in Domino were seeking punitive damages for their injuries. But that has absolutely no bearing on the sexual assault your son was involved in earlier this week with his subordinate, the Chief Marketing Officer of Third Star Gaming.”

Justin had to hand it to her: he had never seen his father so speechless, and even from his position as an observer, he had to crack a smile.

“He what.”

The smile plastered on Jennifer’s face widened, all glimmering teeth and threatening promise. “Oh yes, sir. It was reported to me only hours after it occurred, and I confirmed it with the victim shortly thereafter. Her statement is here, if you care to read it. I had it transcribed this afternoon for your convenience.”

From the mutinous look on James’ usually cool face, he did not care to read it. His cheeks began to spot with red, and Justin thought he saw his father’s pulse jump in his neck.

He retained his composure, though, turning back to his son, who raised his brows and shoulders in a gesture of feigned helplessness. “I find it difficult to believe that you would be so careless as to let your libido get the better of you, Justin. At such a critical juncture.”

The accusation was plain, and Justin said nothing, nodding briefly at Jen.

“Now, as you are aware, sir, pursuant to article 13 section D is the following addendum – “ She cleared her throat before continuing; “’If any executive person or persons from party A – that is, Third Star, as specified in line two of the company bylaws – bring egregious bodily harm or otherwise inflict considerable pain and suffering, then during the event of a complete corporate acquisition those shares would not transfer to next of kin (see: article ten, section K et al), but would instead be split amongst the remaining executives of party A.”

Jennifer smiled prettily at his father, and Justin had to admire the irony of the picture. “Now, I’m sure you’d agree that a confessed sexual assault falls into the category of both bodily harm and pain and suffering, but – “ She paused here to dig into her purse for another manila folder, this time much thicker, and slapped it onto the table in front of James with such force that the silverware rattled. “Even if you don’t agree, it’s all right, because we’ve checked with insurance and HR.”

James did not move, instead staring at the thick folder before him with such intensity that Justin thought it might catch fire. Finally, he raised his sharp blue eyes to his son’s face, and Justin had to wonder at the electricity in those eyes – eyes he had so long been spellbound by, locked into place by some wretched sense of duty.

“You son of a bitch.”

Under any other circumstances, Justin would have seized the other man by his collar, throttled him, laid him out with a cold cock to the nose – but considering the situation, he could only laugh. “Hey, now, I don’t think it’s right to speak that way about the dead. I dunno about Irish culture, but I know for sure mom’s people wouldn’t like you talking about her that way.”

“I’m not talking about her, you raving buffoon. I’m talking about you. You absolutely incompetent monkey. What on earth were you thinking?”

What was he thinking? He’d had a primer on the bylaws when his father had installed him as CEO of this venture, but after the train accident in the spring, Jennifer had sat him down and gone over them with him in depth, and he realized how stupid everything was. How so little was dictated by fate, and how if he wanted to have any say, he would have to seize control of what little he had. There was no evidence to support his deepest of thoughts, of course, the suspicions and conspiracies he’d concocted in the middle of the night when only his bottle of cheap tequila was there to keep him company.

But he’d had a gut feeling like this before.

And this time, he would not allow someone he loved to die for it.

“What can I say dad?” he finally said, spreading his hands wide into a shrug, his grin turning sharp. “I never was good with your money.”

#culture shock #ch: justin #ch: jennifer #i've said it before and i'll say it over and over until i am hoarse: #i love justin's backstory #i could write an entire story just for him #there are some Hints that i am dropping here #that we will go further into in arc three #but i just wanted to get this out and posted

[moonlightwinterdxxix]

Awkward brotherly babysitting or pet sitting with Ichimatsu and Choromatsu for the Bits of my Brothers? (And can I say that I'm LOVING your works so far??? The Ventriloquist Vengeance is a story I never knew I needed ajsdlkasf)

Ahhh! Thank so much for the kind words! It means so much to me and I’m glad you’re enjoying it!

This is honestly the first time I’m writing a request, and I hope you like what I’ve managed to make. So without further ado, Nenchuu up the bat!! 💚💜☺️😒

~~~

When Choromatsu lifted the dirty diaper off his face, his eyes went wide. Any horror he would’ve felt beforehand was now a tidal wave of utmost defeat, and he wanted to collapse and freak out and tear each and every strand of hair off his head. But he held back from the sensation, and gulped instead, tossing the diaper to the ground.

The kitten tilted its head at him.

This was a sign, and a bad one. One worse than Osomatsu humiliating him in front of Nyaa-chan, one worse than being identified fapping when he was certain he was alone, one worse than dyeing his hair brown and having everyone see him. No, it was worse than all of that—so much worse. And if anything was worse than that, it was being dead and in heaven, but being discovered having man-woman privacy with one of the guardian angels. Lucifer wasn’t going to be alone there in hell anymore.

No. This dilemma of Choromatsu Matsuno wasn’t that he had a baby’s diaper that spoke and stunk of turd on his face—it was that there was a kitten in front of him. And where cats were involved, so was Ichimatsu.

Putting one-plus-one together, that meant Ichimatsu was home.

And the reason that Choromatsu even had a baby with him was because he was as sure as hell that he was spending his day at home, on his own.

And as if heaven already hated him and his luck couldn’t get any worse, the baby started crying.

Loudly, like a marching band that had been constructed out of chaos. It flailed its small arms so energetically that Jyushimatsu was given competition. It’s wails were higher than Choromatsu’s voice went when he was at an idol concert. The baby cried like its little life depended on it, but as Choromatsu stood there dumbfounded, he couldn’t blame it. He wanted to wail if it meant his life would be saved too.

Choromatsu flinched so hard that every hair in his body stood. He quickly scrambled towards the baby on the couch and cradled it in his arms, trying to calm it down as best as he could before the devil incarnate himself arrived in the room. But with how fruitless his efforts were, and how much louder the baby was becoming, he was only going to be met with failure. He wanted to accompany the baby in its crying, but knowing that it was Ichimatsu that was going to discover the unfortunate corner he had dragged himself towards, he fought for composure.

He continued to sway the baby with a little lullaby that was off-key. It made the baby cry even more.

Then came Ichimatsu’s footsteps. Choromatsu waited for the comment that would run him to the ground, but it never came. A minute or so passed, but it never came. So in his own curiosity and dread, he urged himself to spin his head to the direction of the door, meeting his eyes with Ichimatsu’s.

Ichimatsu merely regarded him with blank eyes, but his lips told a different emotion. And upon meeting CHoromatsu’s gaze, he quickly turned his heels to go.

Oh no, he didn’t.

“Oi! Ichimatsu!” Choromatsu yelled, and cared less if that worsened the baby’s status. To his relief though, Ichimatsu stopped from what might’ve been his beginning trek to the opposite side of their house. “You think you’re getting off free there? Get back here and take the kitten back outside! It’ll disturb the peace of our home.” Oh, as if the baby wasn’t. It was a completely stupid thing to say, especially from someone like him. It was humiliating in a lot of senses, but he had no other option but to accept it.

Dang, Choromatsu just found himself more and more pathetic as the day dragged on.

Ichimatsu’s face reverted to its normal, lackadaisical state. “Are you really the person who has the authority to say that?” he curtly asked.

Cheeks burning, Choromatsu growled, accepting Ichimatsu’s dominance in the situation. “Fine. Do I owe you an explanation if it means you wouldn’t tell the others?”

The baby was still crying. Ichimatsu eyed in silently and nonchalantly before re-entering the room, grabbing the kitten by its black-and-white belly and bringing it to his lap as he sat on the far, opposite side of the sofa. He began to rub his little pet behind its ears, but he was once more focused on Choromatsu in a sense that made Choromatsu curse himself, yet again.

“Go,” Ichimatsu said.

Such bluntness, and it made Choromatsu sick. Of all brothers to be stuck with, it just had to be Ichimatsu. Ichimatsu, who had proved himself as both the darkest man alive and above all, the most awkward companion Choromatsu could ask for. What kind of boundaries would they find themselves sharing this time, huh? What would the record be of how long their silence between conversation would be this time, huh? How long until the rest of the others came home, huh?

Well, he supposed having one was better than five. So for the time being, maybe Ichimatsu wouldn’t be so bad after all. He was quiet, reserved, and he reflected the awkwardness of Choromatsu at a level that was bearable. Plus, he wouldn’t tell the others about this...Would he?

Ichimatsu’s face gave no promises, but no denial either.

Perhaps this was one of those moments when Choromatsu needed to trust his gut.

As a way to begin the explanation, Choromatsu sighed. “Nyaa-chan. I was watching television, and she mentioned in an interview that she liked it when guys were nice to babies. I dunno if it was her speaking or for the sake of her image, but I believed her either way. At first I didn’t care about it, but then I heard crying outside our house. And surprise-surprise, there was a baby on the road, without parents, without anyone or anything. So thinking it was by a miracle of fate that it was from some game-show of some sort where they’re testing the reflexes of the people, I took it in. I didn’t think you’d come home so soon, so I thought I would be spared at least five ‘you’re pathetic’ teases from any of you.”

Ichimatsu snorted without smiling. “You’re pathetic.”

Yes, there it was. It was oddly satisfying as it was painful. “Thank you.” He collapsed at the opposite side of the couch from Ichimatsu, still trying to rock the baby in his arms, and still finding success far, far away from his reach. He tried to rub his index finger in a circle against its stomach, yet nothing changed, as he expected. He sighed. “Ichimatsu, can you do me a favor and get some milk?”

“Hm? For the baby or for the cat?”

“For the baby, of course!” Choromatsu snapped. “Cod, it’s common sense, Darkmatsu!”

“Ah, but this cat is also a baby,” Ichimatsu stated, moving from the ears to the underside of the kitten’s chin. The kitten leaned in to the touch, emitting a small purr that slightly decreased the anxiety in Choromatsu’s heart. Slightly. “The little one would like some milk too, since it's to make his little bones stronger,” Ichimatsu continued, solace evident in him as he petted the small creature. “They say cats have nine lives, but they might as well have one when they’re still this tiny. The world can swallow them whole.”

Letting the words sink in, Choromatsu glanced down at the cat. When he wasn’t seeing it with an image of horror that represented Ichimatsu’s presence, it really was a cute, precious thing that was fragile when set next to the cruelty of the universe. It’s eyes were a wonderful shade of green, and its body was decorated with patches of black that somehow managed to still look clean. But what Choromatsu liked about it most was the heart-shaped piece of black by its neck, so close to where its heart was, beating underneath its pillowy fur.

Translation into reality. Choromatsu was almost touched. Almost.

“Fine, here’s a deal,” Choromatsu stated, extending a fist to the direction of his brother—it wasn’t easy with the squirming mini-human still on his thighs. “Rock-paper-scissors to determine who’s getting the milk.”

“Eh? That childish game?” Ichimatsu huffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s a very idiot eldest-type suggestion, Chorofappyski.”

“It’s fair play,” Choromatsu argued, more from defensiveness than the truth in his phrase. “Just one go.”

Ichimatsu let the cat curl in his lap for a second, then rubbed its furry back so gently that it reminded Choromatsu that Ichimatsu had the ability at all to be gentle. As Ichimatsu brushed it a bit more, his cheeks rosed a little, barely there, but Choromatsu’s eyes were clear enough to notice it. It faded quickly after as Ichimatsu said, “Whatever. One go.”

Ichimatsu extended his own fist, and waved it twice before ending it with two fingers forming scissors.

Choromatsu’s hand was flat as paper.

Ichimatsu leaned back. “Get the milk.”

“Ugh, stupid luck.” Choromatsu lifted himself off the couch, laying the baby on his previous place. His heart nearly skyrocketed when the baby turned and nearly fell off the edge, but it was swift to redeem itself when it rolled over towards the backrest of the sofa. It was as if the weight of the entire world was lifted from his shoulders—his relief.

He tried not to discern the hint of a snicker at Ichimatsu’s side as he stormed out of the shared bedroom and entered the rest of their house, snagging the milk from the fridge with aggression that peaked to a million. Darn their position in the caste system, turning what could’ve been a normal man like him into a NEET...!

When he returned to the room just as grumpy and his attention on the milk, he was saying, “Hey, Ichimatsu, do you know if Mom and Dad have any spare baby bottles from when we were kids left somewhere?” He stopped at the doorway, the carton of milk stilling as he did. “Now, that’s a sight.”

Ichimatsu remained bland, but it was obvious by his lowered brows that his situation was getting to him. “Which one? The fact that the room is an absolute mess, or that your stupid baby is trying to chew off my ear?”

Actually, Choromatsu was distracted by the room, because it was his first time registering what he and his horrible babysitting has done to it. The diapers from earlier were lying discarded on the floor, the stink of it green as it smoked in an unnatural, visible hue. There were mats laid where Choromatsu had tried to change its diapers on the floor, but with no such luck when the naked toddler had stubbornly shoved him away. And everywhere else was tissues. Tissues for its baby-boy bottom, tissues for its tears, tissues for the pee stain that still coated the side of their bookshelf. It was a miracle none of the books were damaged.

Now sending his attention to Ichimatsu, Choromatsu casually said, “I think it likes you.”

“Get it off me,” Ichimatsu ordered lowly, one of his hands already looping around the baby’s naked half. His kitten sat next to him, watching the situation with innocent, naive curiosity. “I don’t want to be touching this thing if it means the cat will run away from me,” Ichimatsu added.

Choromatsu shook his head, pointing. “No, I think that’s better. It’s no longer crying.”

Now the first sign of irritation made itself present in his little brother’s face, and the instinct to kill could be easily traced on him. “Do you want me to kill you first before this baby, Chorofappyski?” he threatened. And with that specific tone of his, they were a word away from the revelation if Ichimatsu was going to carry out his promise or not.

For the sake of his safety, Choromatsu quickly trudged towards his brother, tossing the carton to the floor, and wrapped his hands around the baby’s waist, muttering at it to stop as it continued to clomp its toothless mouth around Ichimatsu’s slobbered ear. It wasn’t too difficult to extract it, but once Ichimatsu was back to his usual, careless self, the baby had reverted back into sobbing that made fatigue sprout in Choromatsu’s form. He slumped down beside Ichimatsu, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.

But, well, he had to do something else now. He had to feed the baby with this darn milk, if that was going to work, and hopefully, it did. Options were limited at these dark times. That’s why Choromatsu stood—

—but so did Ichimatsu.

“Huh?” they spoke in unison.

Ignoring his brother, Choromatsu took a step closer to the milk on the ground, careful with the baby he had in his arms. He reached out—

—at the same time Ichimatsu did.

Choromatsu retreated—

—and Ichimatsu did too.

They were matching symmetrically, from the motions of their bodies to the youth they had in their arms.

Oh no, here we go again, Choromatsu thought in terror, and by the way Ichimatsu’s features were crumpled, he was thinking the same thing. Neither uttered a whisper as they lingered on their spots, both anticipating movement that they were completely aware was going to be mirrored by the clone in front of them. Choromatsu cringed at the same time Ichimatsu did.

It was just like before. Cod, it was just like before. The awkwardness, the tension, the horror. The only difference was that they had a baby and a kitten to witness their anathema.

“A-Ah, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu stuttered, the smile plastered all fake and fearful, “would you like to prepare the milk for us? You could if you want—I won’t stop you.”

“No-no-no, I-I’d give the job to you if you wanted,” Ichimatsu answered, the wince in his emotions exposed in his grin. “But it’s fine. If you want me to do it, I won’t mind.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll do it.”

It was silence. Silence, and so, so, so much awkwardness.

Cod, it really was going to be like last time. They needed an ice-breaker, now, may it be the arrival of another one of their brothers, or anything that could put an end in the painful awkwardness of their upcoming situation—

The baby vomited.

“Gah!” Choromatsu yelped, staggering backwards and raising the baby away from his body as it continued to release its bile, brown murk that landed as goops on both their floor and Choromatsu’s socks. Choromatsu extended it further, clearing it from killing him more, but not enough for Choromatsu to be safe from the scent of acid that lifted to his nostrils. He turned as green as his track jacket, wanting to puke himself at the horrible-as-crap permutations of food that made up the baby’s bile.

“Hang on!” Ichimatsu called out, running off towards where Choromatsu didn’t bother guessing. He continued to stand there with his arms stretched, one of his sleeves coated in a gross shade matching the current color of the floor. The baby kept going, and Choromatsu wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not to let it keep going, or if it was a better idea to give it water or its milk to get it to stop.

This. This is why he didn’t care a dang about babies.

“Oh, Cod, that smells so horrible!” Choromatsu gritted out, proceeding to yell, “Ichimatsu! Get some tissues and water or something! Forget about the milk for a bit and help me out here!”

“I got it!” Ichimatsu yelled back, returning a moment later with a bottle of water as he ran towards Choromatsu and the wheezing child. Ichimatsu put a hand underneath the child’s chin, tapping the cleanest spot there with a finger, saying, “Oi, kid! Open your mouth and gargle this dang water, huh?!” His tapping went harder, and the baby found itself irritated by Ichimatsu’s ruthlessness when it began making sounds that symbolized the start of another set of waterworks.

“You idiot!” Choromatsu screamed, yanking the baby away from Ichimatsu. “That’s not how you do it!”

“Are you doing any better?!” he retorted, waving the bottle as its insides smacked against the walls of its container. “You’re covered in its puke! Let me do my thing so that I can help get that abomination of a child away from a fappy loser like you!” He made a grab, but Choromatsu used one of his legs to kick him back. This just made Ichimatsu try to jerk and jostle, shaking the three of them in a hazardous earthquake.

“Are you trying to kill it?!” Choromatsu demanded.

“Not necessarily!” Ichimatsu replied, struggling against Choromatsu’s efforts to keep him off the little boy. He didn’t seem to give any care if he was getting too close to the vomit on Choromatsu’s sleeve. “But admit it! You’d rather have it dead than slobber on you the way it did! Cod, it was biting my ear!”

“Yeah, I would! But that isn’t what we need right now!” Choromatsu scoffed, still using his body as a shield, but not having its effectivity determine positivity for the child as it began whining once again. “Ichimatsu, cut it out! You’re making it worse!”

“So stop being stubborn! Give me the brat!” Ichimatsu yelled, slowing down far from a choice for him.

“No! Are you stupid?!”

“Not as stupid as you!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“You are too! So give me the whiny thing!”

Fed up and unable to take any more of the nonsense, Choromatsu nudged Ichimatsu with all the strength he could muster.

Ichimatsu reeled back, but a high-pitched screech interrupted their banter, and Ichimatsu was spun around so fast that Choromatsu had to remind himself that they were face-to-face just a millisecond ago.

In front of him, Ichimatsu’s anger diminished as a candle would on a windy day. Instead, he was suddenly sympathetic and entirely apologetic, a rare emotion that was emitted from the fourth-born Matsuno son on days that were as abnormally-normal such as this one. “Oh crap, I stepped on its tail!” Ichimatsu cried, kneeling down towards the small kitten so tiny and defenseless on the floor. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—!” But he didn’t get to finish as the kitten hissed at him and scrambled towards their open door.

When Ichimatsu faced Choromatsu again, he was absolutely fuming. “That was all your fault, Choromatsu!”

“Because you kept trying to throttle me and the baby!” Choromatsu snapped, and a second later he realized his mistake too late.

Flames danced in Ichimatsu’s gaze, and without another word he had his fingers spread out like claws, and he was pouncing onto Choromatsu with the feral battle roar of a lion. Choromatsu barely had time to breathe another breath before he was tackled to the floor, nearly dropping the baby and wailing out as punches made imprints on his face and body, Ichimatsu’s screaming a blur of words with the agony that blossomed in his skull.

The shock came first before the retaliation, and Choromatsu went just as mad as he stretched out his arms and grabbed Ichimatsu by his neckline and smacked him off. Both were yelling, and soon both boys were engulfed in a battle cloud as they threw punches and kicks against one another, neither of their sentences registering to the other over their own chaos. Bruises marked their skin, saliva spat out, and bodies were doubling over from the unexpected-expected mercilessness of his brother.

This though was so much better than being stuck in awkwardness, Choromatsu decided, and was so much better than having to care for some stupid, left-on-the-street toddler. The kitten though was far from Choromatsu’s priorities. And with that mindset still stable in his conscience, he and Ichimatsu resumed their brotherly battle of the middle sons.

“Uwa!” the baby suddenly exclaimed, and startled, Choromatsu and Ichimatsu froze as they turned towards it. Choromatsu’s knee was an atom away from Ichimatsu’s gut, and Ichimatsu’s grip was white-knuckle tight in Choromatsu’s hair. Their irritation morphed into confusion when the baby pointed towards its filthy mouth indicatively. Choromatsu, for dealing constantly with Todomatsu’s babyish behavior in high school, was familiar with that gesture—it was hungry.

Choromatsu was first to return to his senses as he finished off his kick on Ichimatsu before heading towards the baby, scooping it from the floor and stretching it out in front of him again. It still drooled colored spit. “Ugh, you little...” He groaned, tucking the baby to his shoulder and coming towards the couch, stopping by the fallen bottle of milk before settling down. He spared no heed towards his brother as he popped the bottle open, too tired to bother searching for a real baby bottle with the way things were going down for him.

Ichimatsu just stood there, arms crossed.

“What?” It was more of a statement than it was a question. “Follow your cat. I’ll handle myself here.”

Ichimatsu made a sound between his teeth. “Are you that stupid? It’s freaking pissed at me.”

“Then redeem yourself with this baby,” Choromatsu said, using the back of his sleeve to rub the mouth of the small boy. He continued to try aligning the mouth of the bottle to the baby’s, relieved flooding him when he matched his target. The throat of the baby bobbed as it swallowed down the milk, shutting its wet eyes and relaxing its tense body. There was no use for Ichimatsu in this situation anymore.

“Or not, since I’m doing well. Acting as your true niisan really does to the job sometimes.” He stopped, letting the baby gulp some more, before letting the baby suck again. The milk was draining fast. “Ichimatsu, you’re just standing there. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Well sorry if I’m doing that. You’re making me uncomfortable as well,” Ichimatsu snapped, tone clipped.

“Why? Because I pushed you enough to scare your cat away?”

And that was when he made his second mistake, but unlike earlier, this time he felt bad about it. He watched as Ichimatsu’s nose wrinkled in misery, and he was stomping out of the room before Choromatsu could even apologize. The door slid shut with a mighty clang, and Choromatsu felt the baby flinch in his arms as the last of the milk flicked into nothingness. The baby burped, slumping against Choromatsu’s chest, and shutting its eyes, it yawned.

About a second later it was sleeping, and the sky outside had tinted from blue to gray.

Choromatsu found himself slipping in and out of consciousness as the first drops of a downpour started to approach their hometown. The downpour turned into a pattering that struck against their rooftop, and soon it resorted into a steady rhythm of drumming, the light outside of their window contradicting the time of two-thirty in the afternoon. The cool air that managed to enter the room intertwined itself with Choromatsu’s system, tickling him and allowing drowsiness to climb up him.

He might’ve said that he had successfully fallen asleep when thunder shook him into cautiousness, alerting both himself and the baby that had its scream reverting into wailing. Choromatsu whined and let his back collide against the backrest of the sofa. Was this small creature that hydrated to be able to cry all day? Apparently so, and Choromatsu was too tired to deal with it. But he supposed he had to, since he had given the responsibility to himself.

He prepared to stand—

“Stop. Stay there,” Ichimatsu suddenly ordered, tone low and devoid of all the rage it had carried a few minutes ago. Ichimatsu knelt down on the floor with his brown eyes on the floor, a small redness seeping into his cheeks as he pressed something against the baby’s side. “Here. Take this. Maybe the baby will stop if it hugs this.”

It was a stuffed cat. Specifically, it was a stuffed cat that he had owned for only a few months when Jyushimatsu had won it at the latest spring fair. It was a black cat from a movie Choromatsu had forgotten about over how occupied he was with his latest novel series, but he remembered how often Ichimatsu would hide the toy when any of their brothers was around.

Now it was sitting right in front of him, pressed against the sides of both the baby’s body and Ichimatsu’s palm. Ichimatsu was expectantly silent.

“Ah, thank you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said, taking the plush and inserting it between the nimble fingers of the baby. “Here, hug this. It’ll make you feel so much better.”

Understanding him or not, the baby wrapped itself around the plush, resting its chin on the toy’s neck and finding itself comfortable there. It nestled itself once more against Choromatsu’s chest, gaining its lost slumber as it breathed lightly. Its body rose and fell so steadily in its own harmony, creating dissonance with the pelting of the rain.

“That was nice of you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said quietly as Ichimatsu set himself next to him. “How did you know it would help?”

“I didn’t,” Ichimatsu bluntly stated, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. “It was a hunch. Normally a lot of people feel better when they have someo—I mean, something to hug.” Ichimatsu’s face went redder.

“I suppose that’s true,” Choromatsu mused, pretending he didn’t see it. “But that was a nice sacrifice from you, Ichimatsu. I know you really like that cat, but to give it to the baby after it had finished puking and downing milk...” He shuddered, imagining his reaction if one of his personal stuff got into a similar position.

Ichimatsu smirked. “It’s no big deal. I’ll have Shittymatsu wash it when he gets home, or you so the secret stays about our inconvenience.”

Choromatsu scoffed playfully. “I would, but I don’t think so. I’m not touching baby drool.”

“It’s all over your sleeves.”

“Good point.”

They let the rain and the baby’s light snoring be their sound for a while.

“We should get that child to the police station when the rain lightens up,” Ichimatsu said, putting an end to the voiceless session. “Get it to its parents, if it has any. Eh, the police would do it, as long as it isn’t Officer Yatsugashira anymore.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I agree with you. And before the rest of our brothers get home.” Choromatsu went rigid, his guilt coming back as he said, “Ichimatsu, I’m sorry about what I said earlier, and for pushing you so hard. It was my fault you stepped on the cat. It should’ve been mad at me instead of you.” He let his shame overpower him as he waited for Ichimatsu to answer, to break the chain that had buckled itself in Choromatsu’s stomach.

“I’m sorry too,” Ichimatsu finally said, honesty in his voice. “I was being insensitive about the kid earlier. I suppose that having an ill feeling in his stomach isn’t his fault for vomiting. You were right. I should’ve held back on him.”

Choromatsu smiled at him with his angular smile. “I guess we both get into our own kind of trouble when we’re home alone, aren’t we?”

Ichimatsu dipped his chin with a matching smile of agreement. “Mhm.”

The sky continued to rumble, to weep uncontrollably. To close it out, Choromatsu said, “Did you find your cat after you went out? Is it still mad at you?” He sounded melancholic to his own ears.

“Yup. At the toilet. Managed to get in and shut the door on its own, magnificently. It didn’t let me get close to it at all, so I left it there.” He said it with a bluntness that made his mood indecipherable. Choromatsu deciphered it enough.

“We should get it out of there when we can, and take it back out before Mom or Dad gets back. Do you think it’s as lost as this baby is? Do you think it has a family waiting for it?”

Ichimatsu’s eyes went downcast. “It has to. I wouldn’t want to imagine something like it to be orphaned. But I won’t be surprised. Most of the cats I find in the alleyway are loners anyway, no matter how old. Animal parents just tend to be more neglectful of their offspring than human parents are. Well, some human parents.”

“Yeah. That’s too bad.”

Choromatsu suddenly understood then why babies were so important. Babies signified the creation of a new life, a new mind, a new purposeful thing to enter the world. Some lived to find galaxies in their eyes, to have papers with their names, to have friends and families that made more life that served as hope for thousands of upcoming generations in their cyclical world entitled as life. They grew to become scientists, seeing reality’s codes through intelligence. They grew to become writers, penning lessons that built up the human being into an impenetrable force. They grew to learn love and to give love, when romance, family, and friendship is introduced when they are feeling alone.

Babies became part of the future, and built it.

But not all babies lived long enough to be that. Some parents refused the responsibility of having a child, and killed them off mercilessly with the power of abortion. Some babies entered the world lifeless, miscarriage being the curse that invited them into the breathing world that way they were. Others were unfortunate enough to be caught in nature’s mishaps, fires, storms, and many more calamities taking away their lives before they could be lived. And because of that, there were so many chances of the world’s redemption that bit the dust, letting it flow in its brutal pace.

That’s what made babies special, and why their lives were important. As much as a human he was, so were they, and they held the probabilities to do the impossibilities many people in the present might not be able to accomplish.

And the baby in his arms was part of that crowd.

“Choromatsu-niisan,” Ichimatsu said, bringing him out of his reverie as he got up, “the rain’s lightening up. We should get going before the idiot eldest returns announcing his next Pachinko loss.”

“Right. We should.”

Choromatsu carefully lifted himself from the sofa, careful not to stir the baby from its sleep before accompanying Ichimatsu outside the bedroom. They took a turn towards the bathroom, Ichimatsu flicking the lights on, and Choromatsu saw the cat. It really was a delicate thing, so tiny against the corner of the room. It’s shadow on the wall alone made it look like a monster was looking after it, ready to bite with a single movement. It made Choromatsu’s heart hurt.

“Hey,” Ichimatsu cooed kindly, approaching the kitten with so much compassion that it was barely the Ichimatsu he knew anymore. “We’re going to take you home, okay? We’re going to take you back to your family. Won’t that be great?” Ichimatsu’s hurt from the kitten’s rejection was audible, and Ichimatsu’s forgiveness didn’t do the trick to calm Choromatsu’s shame.

The kitten lifted its vibrant gaze towards them, pulling back.

“Oh Cod...” Ichimatsu whimpered helplessly.

Choromatsu bowed solemnly.

“Uwa?” The baby, awake, shimmied in Choromatsu’s arms. It shook until Choromatsu had to bring it down to the floor, where it crawled towards the direction of the kitten after leaving Ichimatsu’s doll on the ground. Neither Choromatsu nor Ichimatsu made a move to stop it when the baby started petting the kitten’s back with the same kindness and love that Ichimatsu gave it. It was a touching sight as the kitten leaned into the baby’s hands, purring and meowing in a splinter of a pitch.

It was a cute sight that brought the two speechless for a while. Speechless because it was heartwarming, it was adorable, it was unexpected, and it was innocent. The baby laughed as the kitten purred.

“I don’t know what to say,” Choromatsu said, awed. “Only that today I have seen too many things I never thought I would see.”

“Mhm,” Ichimatsu hummed, voicing his agreement.

“Should we wait a little before going, let them play with each other for a little longer?”

Ichimatsu’s answer to that came in variations, and he was stuck without a proper answer. “Won’t we be awkward together?” he asked instead.

Choromatsu smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly in a solid reply. And Ichimatsu grinned at him in return, placing his own hand on Choromatsu’s back.

Maybe spending the day with each other wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

#osomatsu-san #choromatsu matsuno #bits of my brothers #choromatsu #ichimatsu #nenchuu #fan-fic #osomatsu san #anonymous #fanfic #ichimatsu matsuno #i accidentally tagged jyushi instead of ichi and realized it so late IM SORRY

[twistedxsobriety]

&& I JUST CAN'T WALK AWAY—

Tales of love and renaissance were not quite his thing. Instead, he saunters the murky harbors of stale pipe dreams. Solitary it was, knowing in the midst of the lot, he lacked that special thing to love, coax, adorn—an exclusive treasure to call his own. Neglecting the scornful spats beckoned to his wake, dejection hadn't consulted any allaying to the seeds he sown. Once upon a tale, there was one thing that struck blares of hope and prospect on cloudy days; him. Perhaps melancholia been the culprit to the ailing each annual July 4th; some mental trauma fixated him the inability to steer away. "'Allo, Angleterre~ moping t’e day away like t’e hermit unwilling to change. 'ow sad to be so unattractive, ohn-honhon !" It all comparable to the rubbish he tossed away, to make an end of his uses; England had nothing to rebut to the banters of his rivaled France. Lips pursed, stifling what he could of a breaking down. His coping mechanism reflected with venom as toxic as a pit of vipers. "Don't get me wrong, my seclusion is by all means intentional. I'd rather it be so that I not waste my moments frolicking to every failed interpretation of love that sets off your pocket rocket. Should you know what's best for you, you best belt up before you soon regret it!" A brandishing of an elbow ensued the preferred distance he so reluctantly longed for. "Ahhh, you brute! T’is is why you're a Black Sheep! You're fated to be alone with t’at attitude!" Yelped the Frenchman in retreat, leaving Britain bothered by his words: his curse. Truth be told; jealousy aged him bitter. No one to convey these emotions to, he cloaked himself with a starch and ironed face. No one will judge you, if you're strong. He humors himself to the same fib, muddled by the phantoms of a smiling male: cerulean orbs like the Atlantic which set their worlds apart. Sometimes, he sought the refuge of his magical kin to nurse away his guilt. However, no amount of grimoire or knowledge of alchemy could sate his inner turmoil. He yearned to reach him, to touch the youthful shine of his hair with a sincere ruffle—context evolved without his permit. This pang striking his chest cavity worried him at times. He chose to forego attending it. Each memory lapsed of America drifted them further; no longer England's esteem, he was born solely to be liberated ... to be free. From that day forth, he decreed to never give his heart to anyone. He didn't know how to use it. 178 years advanced; and his eyes set glimpse onto she. A woman of radiance behind a mundane physical comprehension. Unable to depict the charms which abide to her strive, the Glory of Wales, prided her the name: Diana. Feelings he vowed to hinder from submerging crept back into fruition. He found his days marveling her growth, her delights, her eyes. A smile left his lips, shy of this blooming. Visage of him ebbed away gradually. The relationship flowered until Fortune turned a folly of him. Who were he to entrust that he could let go? August 31st, 1997. The media roared and rolled; presses fighting tooth and nail to get a parcel of the unforeseen event that transpired. In the Land of the Free, a young man lowered a partially consumed burger, gazing at the breaking news which struck the world by storm. Apprehension stirred his adrenaline—musing him to spring from his seat; he refused. The pride in him didn't want to come off as concerned ... yearning. Instead, he sought for the receiver of a polished black phone. Each string of rings shifted his confidence into a fear of failure. Why wouldn't he answer, damn it!? He took a breath and reached out for his world map; a tender brush of fingertips along the stationary, he dismisses it and takes up an older article eroding with age. The sepia still faintly legible on the papers fragility. He contemplates; eventually, making up his mind. Seven hours felt like an eternity, whisking him away in the cruelty of a deaf labyrinth. Voices reached for him, but none connected; only one mattered—the source of his anxiousness. Never before did he sprint from an air dock without surveying the concession stands. His arms, albeit toned, stamina robust—his body felt the heave of lead; denial, panic, dread. Pandemonium housed his ration, bearing a strengthened fist to bang upon the quaintly painted wooden door—naive to the buzzer set beside him. Recklessness was rewarded when the door opened. Silence as frail as it was, ceased the moment their hues met. What's a SEA to an OCEAN? Both avast bodies of water, except... "B-Britain?" His voice staggered in the moment he learned his expression. One; you can actually reach its FLOOR. The breath pillaged the British male, pummeled by the skeletons he long thought buried. His world contorted in the loss of Diana, downright came to shambles to see the first man to confide him being the one he hated losing the most. London bridges falling down, he shields his anguish behind closed eyes. Turning heel to retreat his presence—request him away, a tug of the arm halted his motives for refuge. Anger—no. Something else shook him entirely. It wasn't the whimsical loud mouth he'd grown to deplore. Without obliging his glance, he felt the gelid stare pricking daggers upon him. He quivered, hating the next that that took place. One thing he'd been given at birth, but absolutely the one thing he didn't entitle the American to receive. "A...Arthur...?" Damn the tears that welled and flooded over. Curse the warmth of burly arms coaxing him for better days. He didn't like this—he refused to resign! His heart veered on autopilot, desperately trying to pick up the pieces and mend them. Enamel picked down onto his bottom tear, frightened of the whimpers he stifled. He could feel his breathing kiss the senses of his nape; his heartbeat flowing through and patting his back. The throbbing migraine numbed his defenses, pacified all the fight he had left in him. Rebellion meant failure; the more he shoved and weaved, the deeper he sunk in. That voice strumming chills down his spine, and heat to his lungs. It was agonizing to withhold, his body took upon instinct and surrendered the devastation he held under lock and key. "GOD, TELL ME WHY!? GIVE HER BACK TO ME!!!" He exclaims, losing power in his tone. Choking upon the tears he for so long ignore. "I ...I LOVED HER!" He exclaims, losing strength in his knees. They buckled but the embrace of something he hadn't entirely abandoned gave him reason to stay. ... and I can't go back to loving you. __________________ POST NOTES:   This is a relatively old sample of mine.  Long story short:  England is learning to cope from America’s liberation.  He does so in finding true love, all for it to be snatched away from him... Upon study, I’ve learned that with French accents “th” does not exist; sounding more like a singluar “t” sound - which is why I wrote France’s dialog in that manner.  I wanted to reflect on a historical event.  In this case being the death of Princess Diana and reflect how England reacted to it. I personify England as the SEA - despite his behavior, you can reach through to his feelings. America being the OCEAN - much more complex; you think you know, but you can’t grasp it. SAMPLE TITLE REFERENCE:  “Brakes” by Royworld.

#♚ // ʜᴀɪʟ ʙʀɪᴛᴀɴɴɪᴀ ﹗ ( drabbles ) #♚ // ʙʟɪᴍᴇʏ ﹗( trigger warning ) #tw: death #aph usuk #USUK #unrequited love

[longhaunted-blog]

ooc:

I just saw this and wow @moon-of-mewni

This is super interesting. 

I imagine the whole matter is complicated and the whole backstory isn’t revealed yet, but I still lean toward the Monsters’ side of things, and think the Mewman system is screwed up--and this:

Banning trade with monsters, protecting the kingdom’s crops from starving beasts that had no homes or food, allowing her husband to charge into the forest for his monster hunts.. All of it kept fear and weakness at the forefront so that future rebellions could not have the strength to rise.

Gave me chills. The idea that Moon is making this calculated decision to keep the Monsters too weak and afraid to rebel...just disturbs me. And rings true to me. This all actually generally fits my headcanons about Moon’s darker character--which may be an unpopular opinion, but it’s one I have. I just headcanon Moon as, though she dearly loves her daughter, as ultimately very much a product of the Mewman system that oppresses Monsters. (And this may become an AU that will continue to interest me, depending on what “The Battle for Mewni” TV movie reveals OMG I am looking forward to that.)

This too also disturbed me:

Monsters and Mewmans would soon find their deaths in a world where each came together again. It seemed easier- simpler- for them to exist separately. It was not the answer the queen liked, however as ruler it became necessary to make decisions that were not always favourable in order to protect those around you.

I may not be seeing what you meant, but I interpret this as--again like what I was getting at above--Moon still being largely warped by the system that keeps Mewmans in power, and it just raises a bunch of questions in me and skepticism in me, and ah ha I think this is a part of my Toffee muse I can really write because I really feel it. Like who is she really protecting? What is she really protecting? (It seems like mostly Mewmans, and she could tell herself Monsters too, but to a lesser degree; Mewmans getting priority of full protection, Monsters suffer but are protected from what she considers a worst fate, outright constant warfare and death. But are these scare tactics she’s using, even if she does have this genuine fear? Is she using fear of a worst fate--of a ‘world where Monsters and Mewmans find death when they come together’--to maintain the status quo and remain in power and maintain what she considers “order/peace?” ) Is this really peace she’s preserving, when using segregation, and choosing to do whatever it takes to crush rebellion to maintain it? (It does not seem like peace when a people suffer. This seems more like Mewmans keeping control and enjoying their own order at the expense of others. It seems with all options being shut down, warfare is the Monsters’ last resort, unless other options open up. That a “peace” that keeps them suffering deserves to be broken, and ultimately replaced with something else.)

This was also interesting, and leaves me wanting to learn more--again, that indication of not everything’s been revealed yet (what were those “poor circumstances?”)--but also still unsettles me:

How could she make Ludo understand what poor circumstance led to her informed decision to shut out his kind? To justify it felt cruel. It was not the queen’s intention to do so, instead she sought to explain. A shared degree of understanding would do no harm- it was not a discussion of right and wrong, it was a discussion of choices.

I find this unsettling--Moon mentions cruelty, but she still seems to largely shut out the moral aspect of this when focusing on this as a matter of choice. Also just unsettling that she was driven to shut out Monsters, even if I don’t know the full context; it still just feels unsettling that she ultimately decided to do that, and still continues to do it. Again, this is my interpretation, I may not have completely got your original intention. But I think part of why I’m interpreting it like this is because it does fit my headcanons about Moon (like these thoughts keep occurring to me--just the idea that Moon’s idea of morals may actually be very different, that is, they’re not as important as the issue of power--who has it, who doesn’t, who can maintain their power/order and do what it takes to accomplish that--and just, she’s not that overt about this, but it’s there and morals aren’t actually her priority--but that’s really another meta entirely). 

Just ahhh this is really interesting writing, and it reminded me of other things I’ve been thinking about, and it got me thinking even more, so thanks for that. ^_^ I really do love how your Moon just freaked me out.

Also, your tags!:

Yes, Ludo is indeed asking the real questions. Ah and just after I wrote that, and re-reading, I realize that to me, Moon doesn’t actually seem to directly answer all of Ludo’s real questions and instead gives him some actually really vague responses. Like she goes into the matter of “bad guys,” but doesn’t actually address his accusation that Mewmans hate Monsters. And tbh I’ve always thought of Moon as capable of being very manipulative. She struck me as someone prone to using manipulation as queen; I’ve just been struck in general that the Mewman royal court seems like a place that normally fosters and expects manipulation to be used. Also I’ll admit visually similar expressions between her and Toffee made me think that too; just the fact that they had similar expressions and seemed to have some similar natures in season 1 made me think of them as sort of parallels to each other, and that like Toffee, Moon would use manipulation when ruling her kingdom, as he did when gaining control of Ludo’s forces.

I can see Moon being truthful and genuine here, but she’s being calculated with her words, and I think the stuff she is being truthful and genuine about is coming from an incredibly warped perspective (like this is what she believes as the truth, but her truth is screwed up).

Also re-reading this, I just got unsettled again:

Perhaps we do not think the best of people anymore- not truly because we believe them to be bad, but because we must do what we can in order to be safe.

Moon prioritizing safety, but at what cost? (Is she doing something terrible for safety’s sake--and in the end, it’s not worth it? Again, is she using safety as a goal just to ultimately maintain control? Sacrifice other people’s freedoms and well-being for greater safety?) I’ll admit, I like how this all does seem to fit very well with the Monster-Mewman themes of racism, prejudice, discrimination in canon, because this part in particular really does remind me of that, makes it ring even clearer. Because I do think, though it’s not explicitly stated, it’s supposed to be about Monster-Mewman relations or lack thereof; it feels like that to me. Because it feels like though prejudice may not  make Moon see Monsters as necessarily bad, prejudice still makes her fear them, and think them a risk to safety. That prejudice still leads to this sort of thinking: that their moral character doesn’t matter, who they actually are doesn’t matter--what matters is that she still fears them, they’re still a risk to safety, and that’s enough reason to shut them out. It seems like Moon is still discriminating, just in a different way. Though this is another of my interpretations of your writing, how I understood it. (Also it’s just another headcanon I have about her--Moon does have her own prejudices about Monsters too.)

Anyway, this was a really fascinating read, thanks for writing!

(Also thanks for actually giving me a boost of confidence in my Toffee muse. Because sometimes I wonder if I can get him right, because I feel like I can be prone to more optimistic views and softer characterization, and while I don’t actually think that’s a con and feel like I can actually argue for such choices--I just think Toffee is very complicated--I also want to do more of the clear bite to Toffee’s character; but this piece you did here really got me into the part of Toffee muse that would completely challenge everything about Moon here.)

#moon-of-mewni #moonofmewni #ooc