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wincore · 4 years

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wasted nights | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x reader

words: 5.5k

summary: firstly, you don’t think you should have survived this long. secondly, this might be the zombie apocalypse but your survival doesn’t feel as threatened by zombies as it does by liu yangyang. thirdly, you’ve chosen the worst time to develop a crush.

genre: zombie apocalypse!au, fluff, humour(?)

warnings: mention of injuries & blood, violence (against zombies), dumbassery, do not attempt during an actual zombie apocalypse

song rec(s): wasted nights - one ok rock

a/n: october birthdays get halloween specials~ although this one is just full of unnecessary appearances by cats. also campfires because october campfires hit different. (i’m definitely saying this because i was born in october) also not me writing this as a joke and reaching 5.5k words </3

It’s two hours till sundown.

What would you be doing on a day within the ordinary? Likely getting back from after school activities, chatting with a friend or feeding the stray kittens by the school building, or maybe pretending Liu Yangyang doesn’t exist—the possibilities were endless. Now there’s only one.

“Yangyang,” you call, more worried than not.

On a day out of the ordinary, you wish you hadn’t prayed for your exam to get cancelled the day all of this broke out. You wouldn’t be scavenging like some sort of rodent and you wouldn’t be standing at the gates of an abandoned shrine, though now is undoubtedly a better time to pray. It’s not the best of situations (especially not with a certain little rascal attached to your side).

And understatements are definitely your thing now.

“Yangyang,” you call a little louder this time, eyes shifting around the shrine area.

Should you step in? He asked you to wait, the stone steps now looking a little glum without him skipping over them. The only signs of life you’ve seen around has been a family of raccoons looking rather smug and a single spotted dove preening itself atop a branch. The lack of visibility into the forest surrounding the shrine bothers you, like something could jump out any minute and you suck your teeth, growing annoyed. Where is that boy?

You tap your foot against the ground soundlessly. What if a zombie were to pop out? They might be slow but the sight of them is still gross enough to paralyze you. Yangyang has his baseball bat with him, which leaves you defenseless in terms of weapons. Still, it’s not like the bat would have done you any good. You are, in the truest sense of the word, average at any sort of combat and freezing at the limbs comes to you more naturally. Zombies are not fun; whatever nonsense Yangyang has been trying to explain to you for weeks is optional, as is every other suggestion that comes from his mouth. It’s quiet and quiet, creepy shrines have never been your favourite place in the city.

You hear a low growl behind you, stiffening at the sound. Best case scenario, it’s a big rat. You’d rather not think of the worst case. Eventually, you gather some courage and turn slowly only to jump back with a short scream.

Yangyang takes the old festival mask off to reveal a giant grin on his face, urging you to knock it right off. The anger that follows is natural and he should be used to it by now. Yangyang continues smiling, as if he didn’t just pull your soul right out of your body, and when he opens his mouth to say something, you’re quick to land a swift punch to his gut. He lets out a pained cry, dropping to the ground in a squat.

“Don’t do that,” you seethe. “Why can’t you greet me normally?”

“I’m okay!” He signals a thumbs up while the other hand clutches his stomach.

“I didn’t ask.”

He moves his hand to place it over his chest. “Ow. Oh, and to answer your question, it’s because you don’t want to do my special handshake with me.”

“Hm. Get up. You said there were supplies here. What did you find?”

He pouts, finally getting up. “I can’t believe you’re just using me for supplies.”

You cross your arms. “Just get up already.”

Yangyang springs up despite the (admittedly) strong blow to his stomach and presents to you the plastic bag he’d been holding. In any other circumstances, it would spark some disapproval on your behalf but it turns out, those things do outlive most everything. For a moment, the ridiculous image of pulling a plastic bag over a zombie’s head crosses your mind.

Yangyang finally responds, taking out whatever items he recovered. Not everything is useful however; he’s simply taken to collecting knick-knacks.

“I found toothbrushes! Maybe your breath will stop stinking—”

You raise your clenched fist as a threat.

“—I was kidding. Obviously. You have lovely breath.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to contain your exasperation.

“Also, I found clean water so I filled up some bottles and yeah, I couldn’t find much else but oh! There was this huge cat and I mean huge like a big chonk kinda guy, you know? And I’m sure he was, like, trying to tell me something, like, he kept hissing when I went near him but…”

You wonder if Yangyang ever gets tired from speaking so fast, his words fading out of your comprehension. You shake your head, clearing your throat.

“Can we leave now?”

Yangyang raises an eyebrow, almost smirking as the gears in his head turn.

“You’re not… superstitious, are you?” he asks. “I heard there’s a lot of reported sightings of ghosts here.”

“No,” you blurt, quick to deny. Yangyang might have seen you crying after getting lost in the dark, almost fainting after encountering a zombie for the first time or even in deep sorrow after you lost your friend—but there’s still part of your dignity to protect before you can admit your fear of ghosts. There’s just something about this abandoned shrine; there are no visitors apart from the caretaker and if loneliness is responsible for anything, it’s making lonely things seem a whole lot scarier. You’d rather leave before the sun sets.

Yangyang laughs. “Who do you think would win in a fight? Zombies or ghosts?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s so stupid. Obviously ghosts.”

“No. Okay, maybe. I just think…”

There he goes again.

You wonder if he was always this way—when you passed him by in the hallways, when he shot you a polite smile at club meetings or when you saw him being loud with his friends blocking part of the sidewalk. You’re sure he couldn’t have been entirely sane.

“Oh my god.”

Yangyang’s voice jerks you back to the present. You follow his line of sight to a cardboard box beneath a particularly dense shrub; it's a large one—quite possibly a carton of some commercial product which doesn’t matter anymore. However, it’s not the details of the box itself so much as it is the contents that grab your attention.

You can almost see the sparkle in Yangyang’s eyes as he views the cats huddled together inside the box. They don’t seem to mind each other within their personal space—you count four of them, tightly packed and eyes closed in a late afternoon nap. How the box hasn’t ripped apart yet is quite a mystery, and what’s more troubling is how at ease they seem to be with the entire human race in disarray.

You grab Yangyang by the collar before he can make his way to them.

“Don’t harass them,” you say, massaging your temples. “Jesus, it’s like they’re glued to each other. Do they have to be in the same box?”

“It might just be the last cardboard box left on earth.” Yangyang shrugs.

The cats mind their own business, grooming their fur or closing their eyes in an odd sort of bliss. You wonder what it would be like to be so unbothered by all the chaos. It reminds you of someone.

“Come on,” you urge, thinking back to older times. “Don’t think I forgot how much you used to bother old Louis back then.”

Louis was the university cat, fed with so much love that he eventually started avoiding people like the plague. You wonder how he’s holding up for a brief moment.

“Don’t think I forgot how you were back then too.”

“What do you mean?” you snap, glaring at him.

“You were already a zombie,” he says before engaging in a cheap mimicry of you, drooping his eyelids and taking slow steps muttering, “I… must… maintain… gpa… grr.”

You almost take off your shoe to throw it at him before deciding it’s not worth your time. Ah, if only you had done that during club meetups, perhaps you’d have felt better about him joining. Everyone treated him so differently, and you hate to admit you now understand why.

Everyone loves a good troublemaker.

And there happens to be another thing special about your sole competitor for the debate club’s president position. Apart from his strange antics (charms, he says), even this virus—this fuckall literal killer virus can’t infect him. He’s immune—an occurrence with a possibility lower than you finding him attractive. (There, you said it.)

You look at Yangyang still talking about Louis and a small smile crosses your face. You’d feed your right arm to a zombie before you admitted it but it’s nice having him around. You furrow your brows at the sudden familiar bubbling in your chest and shove it away in a flash before your conscious decides to tell you what it is.

Your heart jumps to your throat when you make eye contact with Yangyang, turning away in a rather awkward manner. Oh, the end of the world does awful things to you.

“Are you listening?” Yangyang raises an eyebrow. “Oh my god, you weren’t listening at all.”

You roll your eyes. “I was distracted.”

“By me?” he offers in a sing-song voice, prompting a smack from you. It’s easier to pretend this way.

Yangyang massages his shoulder with a huff. “Why are you hitting me so much today? I’ve counted like eight and the day’s only just over.”

“Sorry,” you mumble before clearing your throat. “I mean, you’ve also said something annoying, like, more than eight times today.”

“I’m not annoying.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.”

The sun starts to lay in rest by the time you reach the city. Compared to the green, red and yellow of the yet standing shrine, this place is in dull monochrome with the occasional coloured signs that flicker to life. You force yourself to think but have a hard time remembering if it was always this way. Was it any different with the rushing cars or apathetic crowds? You can’t tell. You were part of them, after all.

“Hey, how about a bottle flip challenge but with traffic cones?” Yangyang thinks aloud, walking backwards as you pass by a particularly well-lit alley.

You roll your eyes in response. Is it the lack of people making him that way? Your unflustered companion looks at home among neon lights, all of them seeming to point towards him as an answer to a question you haven’t quite figured out yet.

You glance at the alley just a second longer. The electric lanterns still glow red, and although dim, there are many. The shops almost look like you could enter and be greeted with a crowd of university kids or a group of office workers drinking away in celebration of the weekend. You sigh. It’s most certainly deserted inside; there’s no doubt. At the most, the tables are still arranged neatly and the meat grills aren’t completely rusted. You wonder if it’s a Friday.

There was never much grass in the city but whatever growth there was has withered into a mustard yellow or a lamenting grey. An empty city is hardly appealing, but you can’t deny the ill-favored things you’ve done the past few months in the absence of people—a part of you questioning whether breaking into supermarkets is still against the law when no one’s around to keep it. You smile at the memory of Yangyang pushing you around in a shopping cart, though you’d gotten drunk off the (stolen) liquor prior. The neon lights hanging as a banner over sketchy shops sometimes spark alive before dying down over and over again, and to be fair, you don’t think they ever shined too bright. Ironically, they’re the liveliest thing about the city now.

The sky’s soaked in ink at a time you assume to be around seven in the evening. You walk closer to Yangyang without realizing; it’s not often you’ve been out this late the past few months.

“Hey.” Yangyang snaps you out of your daze. “Be careful.”

The words are strange coming from him but you understand why. You look up ahead with caution and a shiver runs down your spine as you stare at the intersection, a lone, tattered figure droning aimlessly. It’s only one, you tell yourself. And they’re slow.

The memories of your previous encounters send warnings over your skin, shivers begging you to run as fast as you can. You would if it weren’t for Yangyang’s grip on your hand, tugging you forward gently and though it’s something he does every time, you wonder if he knows how you’re really feeling. His footsteps are soundless, with the same red sneakers he’s worn since the beginning of this but something tells you it’s not the shoes that give him a cat’s footfall. The purple lights flicker on and off over the shop on the opposite street, the suddenness of it making you latch onto Yangyang for a short-lived moment. You’re quick to let go, throat too dry to make any sound.

You curve around what would be a straight path, careful not to be in the creature’s line of sight when you cross. The streets seem wider when they’re so empty, and somehow it feels more unlawful this way. Yangyang signals to you to stay closer, and you follow before bumping into his back when he stops abruptly. There’s absolutely no sound, the feeling in your gut much worse than at the shrine.

“Something’s wrong,” Yangyang whispers.

A strangled shriek erupts from your mouth when something launches itself onto the two of you, making you land on your butt. You would’ve placed your hands over your eyes, but you’ve learned how to be less of a coward these past few days.

A shaky breath leaves you. A cat. It was a stray cat. The little asshole looks at you with almost twinkling eyes, tail swishing from side to side before deciding you’re not worth its time. Your shoulders sag, a moment of relief despite your stiff muscles.

“Uh, (name)?”

You look up only for your stomach to fill with dread. The zombie from before is staring directly at the two of you, the same vacant look in its eyes that has haunted you for the entirety of the apocalypse.

“It’s okay, he’s too slow,” Yangyang reminds you, voice barely a whisper as he helps you stand.

“We can just take the other street—it’s a little longer but it’s mostly safe and there’s no way he can—”

Yangyang is interrupted by a sickening growl from behind you and you jump back. There’s another one. And another. You count four more before holding back a swear. Yangyang grabs you by the shoulder and the two of you take a step back, onto the sidewalk. There’s a shop behind you; you read a smeared sign above the plastic door curtains indicating a dumpling place. Even if you were to hide in there, there’s no guarantee you’d be safe.

But if you’ve learned anything in these months, it’s that anything is always better than nothing.

The night has settled in completely, you realize. You’re about to tug Yangyang to the inside as you turn around, only to freeze up in your spot. A pale woman emerges from the store, her makeup still fresh but you know that look, the look in her eyes. How cruel.

“Please,” she mumbles, taking a step towards you and you think you might just cry. It’s not long before she turns, you think with dread.

You stumble back to Yangyang when she emits a blood curdling screech, lunging at you and to either your alarm or worse, relief, Yangyang pushes you back. You watch with wide eyes as the woman sinks her teeth into his arm, nausea growing at the sight of blood. He moves fast though, his arm swinging the baseball bat to meet the woman in the head, hard enough to knock her out. In these few moments, one of the zombies is close enough to reach an arm out towards you and you swear you can hear the horrid sound of his bones cracking when you step back. The longer you remain in this state, the slower you are. You suppose you should take comfort in these words but when you look at it, you still see a man.

Hollow. They’re all hollow.

You take a deep breath.

Just as the thought crosses your head, you see Yangyang swing his bat again, meeting the zombie on the head and much to your wide-eyed horror, the head flies off into the dumpling shop and the body reacts with just about as much confusion as you do. It wildly waves about its hands in the now vacant spot before crumpling onto the road with a quiet realization.

Yangyang makes a face, pressing his knuckle to his mouth to prevent himself from what you presume is gagging. However, when you look closely, he seems to be holding back a laugh instead and very painfully so. You know he has a habit of laughing at the most inappropriate times but this, it really takes the cake.

“Home run?” he suggests, turning to you with a sheepish half-grin. There’s no hint of malice in his voice and you think that it’s probably not that he enjoys swinging his baseball bat at zombies.

“You’re disgusting,” you reply, shaking your head.

“Maybe I should leave you here then.”

You can’t believe he has the gall to be cheeky with blood running down his arm and four of the undead drooling at the sight of you two.

“Do you think we can find ingredients that aren’t stale here? I miss having dumplings.”

“Yangyang.”

“Okay, okay.”

The other ones are still far enough and the two of you take this chance to run off towards the street Yangyang mentioned earlier and safely out of view. You notice him panting heavier than before, and your eyes scan over his arm in worry. The bite is ugly, red with oozing blood, and you hold back the urge to ask him if he’s anaemic.

Yangyang follows your eyes before an ‘ah’ leaves his lips. He spins his head to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the wound in the same manner a dog chases after its own tail. He puts the bat down to try and twist his arm to see the injury but you stop him, clicking your tongue at his silly behaviour.

“You’re not twelve, Yangyang,” you scold. “Let’s get back to the hotel first.”

He shrugs, and you think some provoking words are ready to leave his mouth when he simply picks up his bat and walks off. You blink before quickening your steps to catch up with him. The blood dripping down his forearm makes you feel a little unwell but you know better than to touch infections.

It takes around fifteen minutes longer than usual to reach the hotel—Yangyang was right. It is safer here, with no zombies lurking around the corners. He must have been out late when he was scouting, you think with distaste.

You reach the now-rusting gates of your haven without trouble and the moment you reach, Yangyang falls to his knees, heaving a breath he seems to have been holding. You rush to him, eyes frantic when you reach your hand out to him, and he flinches, moving away from you.

“Don’t,” he mutters before getting up. “You turning into a real zombie would be my personal nightmare.”

It’s not enough to curb your worry but you follow him nonetheless, the stupid, wavering grin on his face making you unable to decipher what he’s really feeling.

The familiar smell of honeysuckle washes into you as you pass by the entrance, locking the door behind you as Yangyang falls onto one of the chairs in the lobby. Kunhang happened to be passing by, a muffled swear leaving him when he sees the blood on Yangyang’s arm.

“You didn’t touch him, did you?” he asks, pulling on his gloves to further see the wound. A former med student is the best you have here, and somehow, you’ve never seen him complain about having to take care of someone as bothersome as Yangyang.

You shake your head in reply to Kunhang and watch as he runs from shelf to shelf to procure more bandages than you’ve ever seen in your life. You’ve been seeing an awful lot lately.

“We’re going to run out of bandages in a week if he keeps this up,” Kunhang says with a frown, moving so fast you can barely see his hands. “He’ll be okay, I guess. The virus just makes him dizzy.”

He’s probably thinking the same thing you are. Something serious happening to Yangyang is a little bit of a miracle. Maybe he’ll finally be set right in the head.

Even so, you know Kunhang is worried despite his quick response, his frown lines deepening once he’s done wrapping up. He sighs before waltzing off to discard his gloves.

It’s not that you aren’t impressed by Kunhang; you’ve just seen him do that too many times to count. And of course, it’s mostly Yangyang on the receiving end. They might be good friends but this also happens to be the only time they're serious together. Moreover, Kunhang seems to beat Yangyang in the talking-for-twelve-hours-straight department. You have to admit though, being in charge of first aid for the few people stuck in this hotel is not an easy business.

You take a seat opposite to Yangyang, dozing off in his chair and wonder if you should wipe the drool off his chin. Disgusting, you think to yourself, but another part of you dares to offer the word cute.

The best thing about barricading yourself in a hotel during the apocalypse is not having to worry about beds. There’s at least five hundred rooms in this skyrise, more than enough for, what, sixteen people? The place is so big that you hardly run into the others. The only rule around here is regarding the pantry—to write down who’s taken what on the notepad stuck to one corner. Despite what movies show, people are far more helpful to each other in times of need, more so than usual even. You relax into the chair, the velvet cushion feeling comfortable against your back.

There’s a nice communal feeling in this place.

You frown. It’s not like you can stay here forever.

At the very least, you can pretend each sundown and sunrise is ordinary here. You close your eyes, and slowly, thoughts of why you’re trying so hard to remember life before this drift away.

Yangyang wakes up before you do, grinning like crazy as he shrugs you awake. You stare at him through groggy eyes, untangling your limbs from yourself. The cold seeps into you and you shiver, hugging yourself.

“We found the keys to the lounge,” he rushes, albeit in a gentle voice. “Guess what?”

“Unh?”

“There’s a campfire spot over there! The others already started but I thought I should wake you up.”

It’s just like him to be excited about something like that. You get up nevertheless, Yangyang pulling you through the stairs and onto the only elevator that seems to work around here. There’s quite a few things about this hotel left to be figured out. You’re going to have to start worrying anyway when the power from the generator runs out.

Kunhang and an older man, Mr Kang, are the only ones there once you reach. You had expected it but the lounge is gigantic and a small part of it provides the artificial campfire area. There are paintings of wild animals and trees for children, you assume, on the walls only cut off by a large vent on the ceiling. The fire burns bright over the large circle of soil and firewood, whose authenticity is debatable. You sigh at the warmth, having grown tired of the autumn weather’s mood swings.

Kunhang greets the two of you with a grin before delicately poking Mr Kang to at least acknowledge your presence. It’s funny, the lot of you.

The place is a little small, considering there’s a literal fire in the middle of the room. You almost sit on Yangyang because he shifts too suddenly at Mr Kang’s disapproval of proximity, a small yelp leaving you whereas Yangyang, for the first time, looks like he’d rather die. He mutters an apology, and two of you manage to sit a good two feet apart, sudden awkwardness rising in the air—all of it unnoticed by Mr Kang. You heard he was a banker but if Kunhang and Yangyang had a polar opposite, it would most certainly be him. You can’t even remember the man’s voice.

You think you should say something but Kunhang’s laughter breaks the silence. There’s an unspoken exchange between him and Yangyang, piquing your curiosity though you aren’t sure what you should be asking. You just assume it’s one of their stupid inside jokes.

“I left your gift on your table. You can add it to your dumb shoe collection,” Kunhang tells Yangyang, smiling before standing up to stretch. “I’m going to bed. Mr Kang, won’t you accompany me?”

Mr Kang gets up begrudgingly and you’re about to ask them to stay longer when Kunhang turns to you enthusiastically. “Good night, (name). Don’t have too much fun. Although, I suppose there’s no better time to have too much fun either.”

You watch with furrowed brows as the two disappear into the doorway and down the stairs. You spend a couple of moments in silence before clearing your throat. When it goes unnoticed, you turn to Yangyang despite the warmth on your face.

“It’s not dumb,” he mutters to himself, a little zoned out.

You stare at him for a few moments and the familiar feeling rises in your throat, now with a little voice to accompany it.

Cute.

You cough, distracting yourself with any and all thoughts you would rather have, even of the zombies. Now isn’t the time—or is it the perfect time? You shake your head, calming yourself.

“Does it… hurt?” You ask, eyeing Yangyang’s arm.

He looks up as if broken from a daze, the campfire lights still dazzling in his eyes. You hold back a laugh. He really is a child; if he’s so easily mesmerized by fires, that is.

“Probably not any worse than the lady I whack-a-mole’d. Now that must’ve hurt.” Yangyang puffs his cheek before looking straight at you.

You stare back. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s said.

“What? I feel bad beating the crap out of zombies sometimes,” he says, scratching the back of his head.

You hum in response. The thought of Yangyang developing a conscience is almost as bad as having to think about zombies. Though, you’ll have to admit, it does give you a strange relief. Zombies can’t really feel pain—they are, after all, numb in every possible sense—but some part of you wonders if it’s alright like this. Morals and survival aren’t meant to overlap.

You feel the need to distract yourself with something.

“Hey,” you call, moving closer to Yangyang such that your shoulders almost touch. Before you know it, you brush the hair from his face, trying to style the mess into something more neat—a thing you’ve been wanting to do since the first time you saw him. Every time you’d see the messy mop of hair at an official event of the debate club, you’d have this strong urge and an almost putrid form of annoyance. You still don’t know how he managed to get in.

“You don’t look terrible with parted hair,” you muse. “You could’ve looked more decent at the debates.”

You look down from his hair to see Yangyang frozen, eyes wide as if a deer in the headlights.

“Are- Are you not breathing?” you ask.

Yangyang sucks in a large chunk of air, fast enough to choke on it and break into a coughing fit as he turns away from you. You reach out to pat his back but he waves his hand at you, indicating he’s fine before he can turn to you.

You look at him with no particular emotion, the night breeze having worked its way to you.

“What was that about a gift? Are you and Kunhang getting things for each other without telling me?” you say, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

There's a short pause, filled with the crackling of fire.

“It’s my birthday,” Yangyang says with a small smile as the campfire lights dance across his cheeks.

And yet, the words come out sad as if he’d been waiting for an occasion to tell you. You look at him, eyes widening ever so slightly accompanied by the loss of words and take a sharp breath.

“I’m not going to ask for a gift,” Yangyang teases. “Don’t look so worried.”

You open your mouth and close it again, unable to explain the gentle wash of sadness overcome you when you see just a boy. For all the talking he does, he never asks for much.

“I mean, I- I liked spending the day with you. Why do you look so sad? Did I say something? Again?”

You look over his features, from his brow bone to his wide eyes to his lips and the conclusion arrives as gently as the end of the world. What’s the worst that could happen?

You quickly pull him into a hug, still careful of his injury, and a vaguely embarrassing sound escapes Yangyang, something akin to a sheep’s call. He clears his throat which turns into coughing before he can wrap his arms around you, his breathing soft against your shoulder.

“I’m- I’m alive, you know? I don’t think I’m dying any time soon. I- I can’t even get infected! You know that.”

“That’s not why I’m- I…” You pull back, steeling your eyes so you don’t feel the warmth of embarrassment.

Just like you prepare for debates, you think to yourself. Maybe Yangyang was right about you being a zombie—the way you follow the same drudging formula.

“I like you,” you say, your words more of a strained whisper but they’re out before you know it. You can fake confidence, you tell yourself. It’s horrible timing and spending your (potentially) last days with someone who rejected you is just another way to shoot yourself in the foot.

But part of you has been wanting to do this for so long that you almost don’t mind.

Yangyang sucks in a breath, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as he straightens.

“That was- Wow. Okay. I- Uh. Wow.”

You let the heat grow stronger in your cheeks, racking your head for an explanation or even a lie. Maybe you can say it was a mistake.

“I- I meant…” You lose track of your words. You can’t lie.

“I’ve never been confessed to,” he blurts, and if you squint, you swear you can see him blushing.

“Huh?”

Yangyang coughs again, followed by the same embarrassing sound. “That was- That was the first time.”

The silence between you is accompanied by the crackling of fire and the soft path-making of wind. You’re at a loss for words, something that you should be used to by now—they clearly belong to someone else.

“Oh my god, that was so stupid,” he says, pulling a horrified face as he frantically waves his hands about. “I meant to say I like you too but I- I guess I forgot to say it out loud. Ah, crap- I sound even stupider now, don’t I?”

Your lips twitch, trying to contain your smile but you’re seized with uncontrollable laughter anyway. The mortified expression on Yangyang’s face makes you burst into another fit of giggles before you can somewhat compose yourself.

“I think that’s the longest you’ve been quiet for,” you say in between recurring laughter. “Did anyone ever tell you being able to talk fast doesn’t get you ahead in debate clubs?”

Yangyang frowns.

“Oh, I just joined because I thought it’d get on your nerves,” he says, not a hint of jest in his voice.

You straighten away from him, the smile dropping from your face.

“You can’t be serious.”

He grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his head and offering no explanation. You huff in exasperation, getting up abruptly to avoid another oncoming headache. It’s a little difficult, considering you have the human version of it right beside you.

“Wait- Where are you going?” Yangyang scrambles up to his feet. “It’s my birthday, you know?”

You turn around and put your hands on your hips, a small smile on your face at the sight of him. “It’s midnight already.”

“Oh. How was I supposed to know?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Maybe the little rascal is special.

“Hey,” Yangyang calls. “You know, since this is the end of the world and all…”

You stare at him, heartbeat erratic at the lack of distance and despite the fading of teenage fantasies. Yangyang shifts nervously, glancing here and there while simultaneously trying to keep eye contact with you, an action which makes you hold back a chuckle. There’s a particular twinkle in his eyes but he can’t seem to be able to look at you straight.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, finally.

And what a daring end to the world it is.

#yangyang x reader #wayv x reader #cznnet #yangyang scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang imagines #wayv imagines #yangyang fluff #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #moonwrites #if you think the header is stupid thats bcs it is #graphic design is my passion <3 #you can pry the troublemaker x good kid trope out of my cold dead hands :)

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witch-psychedelia · 4 years

Text

Cage

Yandere Jhin x fem!Reader content warnings: kidnapping, confinement, implied physical abuse

Essentially a plot bunny involving a pit fighter darling and Jhin. Enjoy!

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With a groan, you open your eyes to a tiled floor.

The dull pain in the your head tempts you to close your eyes again, but as your vision slowly refocuses, you notice the iron bars in front of you, rising up from the floor. Immediately you wonder, did you get in trouble with the law while drinking last night? Or perhaps someone ratted you out for being a pit fighter, or...

There’s a burning in your shoulders. Your arms are tied behind your back with crisscrossing ropes. Something isn’t right.

You widen your eyes a bit more. Taking in a deep breath, you haul your upper body to sitting position. The iron bars form a circle around you, like they would surround a bird in a cage. There isn’t any furniture in this cell, or in the room beyond the iron bars. Just the monochrome blue patterned tiles on the floor, and the walls painted in the colours of a sunset sky.

A gloved hand brushes past your neck, and presses its fingers under your chin. Your breath catches, and before you can react, your face is turned around to look towards a man in an ornately carved white mask, kneeling to meet your gaze, his one visible eye wielding a piercing gaze.

“You,” you growl, jerking your head away from his grasp, turning it to the side instead.

He responds with a low chuckle. “You didn’t miss me, darling? That’s a shame,” the Golden Demon replies, his tone casual and light, as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. Twice now.

You’ve had a sinking suspicion for the past few days that you were being stalked. A gut feeling, as you walked home after a night at the arena or at the bar, often. Sometimes you swore you heard footsteps behind you. You looked over your shoulder – more often than you normally did, after the first time. Checked and re-checked every lock in your house uncountable times. Clearly, you still weren’t careful enough. Khada Jhin caught you anyway.

Pressing your lips into a line and furrowing your brow, you stay silent, looking away from your captor. He stands, and walks around the cage, to where you’re facing.

He breathes the word “beautiful,” as he looks down at your form. The way the ropes cut into your skin, the way the light hits your eyes as you glare up at him.

You plant one foot on the ground and support yourself on your other leg’s knee. Pushing off the ground, you haul yourself up so you’re standing.

“I escaped once,” you say, looking Jhin in the eye, trying to ignore how your own voice wavers.

He scoffs. “I learn from my mistakes. I cannot, in good faith, say the same of you.”

You open your mouth, but Jhin cuts you off. “Really, it was far too easy to catch you off guard after a night of drinking. You ought to moderate yourself more.”

The bastard just loved to hear himself talk, didn’t he? “Shut the fuck up.”

“Ah, watch your tongue,” he lightly scolds, raising a finger. “I’d hate to cut it off. You remember what I’ve told you about your voice, hm? You know it’s so very pleasing to listen to when you’re not wasting breath like this.” He sighs, and continues. “Such as when you said you loved me. It was like mu-”

“I only said that because I thought you’d kill me!” you exclaim. “I’d be crazy to actually-!”

Jhin suddenly raises his voice. “Do NOT interrupt me!”

Instinctively, you flinch. Things like this usually preceded punishment of some kind. Or worse, a performance as he called it.

There’s a gleeful, malicious glint in his eye, seeing you react like this. “I see you remember something from your training,” he notes, his voice back to normal. Clasping his hands together, he took a few more steps around the room to see you from another angle. “Other than your attitude, really... you’ve only become more beautiful since we were last together.”

You feel Jhin’s eyes scan your body, its curves and edges, your toned arms and legs, how your hair frames your face, the scars barely visible on the nape of your neck and back...

“Truly fit to become a masterpiece,” he declares, looking back to your face.

Turning your head slightly towards him, you begin to think. You’ve never gotten into a fight with Jhin – he never gave you the chance.

Perhaps wisely.

In terms of simple physical strength, you figure you’re roughly equal. He was somewhat taller than you, maybe that gave him the upper hand. But you’ve fought many people who were taller than you, and you’ve won against almost all of them. You’ve fought people who certainly had more raw strength than you, and won. Both of you are well aware strength is not what wins fights.

But in your eyes, Jhin took the coward’s response to that knowledge. Hiding behind his traps and his manipulations, as though he was afraid of being dragged into the light for an actual fight, that had the potential to prove him unworthy.

Hiding behind ropes and cages to avoid you.

“You’re a coward,” you tell him. “If I got into an actual fight with you there’s a non-zero chance I’d win. And that scares you, doesn’t it? Your precious masterpiece being superior to you in that way.”

There’s silence between you for a moment. Jhin tilts his head, before bursting into laughter. You draw in a sharp breath. It reminded you of his performances.

“Don’t flatter yourself, puppet,” he responds, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Can you even hear yourself? Do you think your lines through before you say them at all? You never could keep quiet when it would do you a service to, but I digress.”

He reaches through the bars and grabs your jaw, his nails pressing into your skin as he pulls your face forward. Leaning in towards you, his voice drops to a low, quiet drawl.

“There’s much I admire about pit fighters like you – the theatricality, the visceral physicality, the visual flair – but at the end of the day, there’s no artistic heart to any of it. Merely mindless violence for the masses. I am above such things. You know this very, very well, darling. But by all means-.”

You hiss, as his thumb suddenly digs into your cheek.

“Keep deluding yourself, for as long as you want, into thinking there is any other ending to your tale. You will become my masterpiece.”

#jhin lol #yandere jhin #jhin x reader #yandere jhin x reader #yandere lol #yandere lol x reader #lol x reader #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #fem!reader #kidnapping tw #confinement tw #phsyical abuse tw #[jhin would totally be into shibari don't at me]#[fun facts: in an earlier draft I had darling bite Jhin's hand but wasn't sure where to go from there]

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queen-scribbles · 3 years

Note

Micro story prompts: senseless

Heh, this didn’t exactly stay micro, but what else is new?

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Everything was grey.

The stone that rolled in sometimes-jagged hills around them. The buildings and ruins that dotted her peripheral vision. The flash-petrified shapes that used to be trees, flowers, crops. The ashen remnants of people, twisted and crumbling in a brittle echo of their last terrified moments. Before their own Emperor consumed them.

Keme’s hands shook as she lowered the macrobinoculars, rage building until it escaped in a single low hiss. “How?!”

The barrel of Jorgan’s rifle dipped toward the ground as he turned to look at her. “Hm? You say something, boss?”

She shook her head, jaw tight, as she secured the binoculars to her belt and took her own rifle in hand again. Not that there was much left to be an immediate threat. “Just wondering how anyone could do... this.” She swept one hand angrily toward the landscape. “'Specially deliberately. And to his own damn people, like they’re kriffin’ fodder.” That’s exactly what they were to him. “It doesn’t make sense.”

He briefly flicked his attention to distant movement; a wandering monolith that nearly blended in with the bleak surroundings, the only sign of life aside from them, before looking back at her. “I’d say that’s a good thing.”

Keme arched a brow, trying not to dwell on what was quietly crunching under her boots as she turned to look at him. “Do tell.”

Jorgan shrugged as he stepped closer. “If it made sense that would mean you could think like him. And I don’t think either of us want that.”

She snorted sardonically and scanned the monochrome horizon, jagged ruins poking into a sky that nearly matched. “Good point.” She gravitated toward him as well, until they were almost shoulder to shoulder. “When you put it like that, I’m glad I can’t wrap my head around it.”

They walked in silence for a minute, both scanning for threats out of habit more than necessity. But the silence was oppressive. Smothering. Heavy with the weight of lives she hadn’t been able to save. They passed another set of ashen remains, larger figure curled protectively around a smaller one against the base of a wall. Keme looked away, grip shifting on her rifle as she let out a quiet, irate huff. Add them to the tally....

“Keme, don’t.” Jorgan said it without looking at her, his gaze sweeping a hill in the direction they’d seen the monolith.

“Don’t what?” She didn’t mean to snap, not really, but it had been a long day and the words came out sharp.

“Don’t take the guilt for losses that aren’t your responsibility. You fought like hell for them, and their deaths are not on you. They’re on him.” He jerked one thumb toward a looming, Force-blasted monument of Vitiate, lording faceless over the broken and empty landscape.

“I know, Aric,” Keme sighed, weariness and rage swirling as she looked at the statue. She wished she could throw one of her plastique charges high enough to blow away what remained of the face. “Hell, this is enemy territory. Logically, the people here are the farthest thing from my responsibility. But stopping him” --she jabbed a shaking, angry finger toward the statue-- “is my responsibility. I made it my responsibility. And we- I failed, and people died, and I don’t give a monkey-lizard’s back end whose citizens they were, those deaths are on him, and I can’t wait to make him pay in full for every. last. damned one.”

He paused, caught her eye. “We will.”

“I appreciate the confidence,” she laughed, sharp and humorless, spreading her hands in a gesture at their surroundings. “Especially after today.”

“Anytime, Major.” Jorgan held her gaze, unwavering even though she knew the fatigue had to be getting to him, too. “It’s you, Keme. I’ve never seen you set your sights on a goal you didn’t accomplish. You’ll get him.”

“Thanks.” She sighed, the fading adrenaline starting to settle in her bones. She believed him, hadn’t really doubted in the first place, but it was impossible to not wondered about the how against a force like this “We should finish up, call it a day. I’ll take point.”

He nodded, let her walk a few paces ahead. “Got your back, boss.”

I know it. She couldn’t smile at the thought, not after today, but it did help her press on, through fields of ash a dozen showers wouldn’t wholly wash off. Somehow, someday, Vitiate was going to answer for this, for everything, and by all the stars, she hoped she was there to make it happen.

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And now I go run Keme through Echoes so I can grant her wish :D

#queens fic #micro prompts #kementari rand #aric jorgan #keme/jorgan #otp: got your back #first fic of 2021 :D #storyknitter

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soveryanon · 3 years

Text

Reviewing time for MAG186!

- First episode not starring Jon this season! It had been precisely 30 episodes since the last time – Martin recording Adelard’s statement in MAG156.

… It’s the first episode only starring Martin, if I’m not wrong? In seasons 3 and 4, when he had recorded statements, there had always been a character at the periphery, pre or post-recording. Martin, you’re reaching protagonist status…

- I love that one of Martin’s first reflexes was still to call for Jon, in case!

(MAG185) MARTIN: Yeah, “my domain”, yes, right, I get it. Dream logic, and timing, heh, apparently! [STATIC FADES] [FAINT EERIE WIND SOUNDS] … Jon? Jon? [BAG JOSTLING] Oh… Shit.

(MAG186) [FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL OR DIRT, AS A LIGHT RAIN FALLS] [BAG JOSTLING] [FOOTSTEPS STOP] MARTIN: [SIGH] … So this is it, then. [SIGH] … How dreary… [FOOTSTEPS RESUME] [CALLING] Hello? Anybody? Jo–on? Hello! [FOOTSTEPS STOP] … Big surprise.

… And the small Martin commentaries make me fall in love with him even more, every time.

- Martin impacted by the Lonely house, uh.

(MAG186) MARTIN: Well, at least I can still remember everything this time – and no more of those bloody chairs… It’s weird, though. Never actually been anywhere like this. That said, it is kind of… Huh… […] ALSO MARTIN: Well… if you don’t count “memory manor”, when was the last time you were even on your own? […] “They sat around, on old chairs, comfortable chairs in the warm.”

I love that Martin remembered that place as: a loss of memory, a place he was truly on his own, and…

(MAG170) MARTIN: [CHAIR SCRAPES] Not a comfortable chair, of course…! No–none of them are, here, I’ve, I’ve been all over this house looking for a nice place to sit! I… think. … Is that what I was looking for? […] This… [CREAKING] This chair, oh! [CHAIR SCRAPES] Really isn’t comfortable. I had a look around for better places to sit. Did I… tell you that? [CREAKING] But it’s, it’s a big house. My house, I… think, eh! And nowhere comfortable. […] I just… [CHAIR SCRAPES] I wish I had comfortable chairs…! [INHALE] Would be nice to have somewhere relaxing to sit down…! […] All the cool poets love a bit of tape hiss, right? … Maybe find somewhere different to sit, though. [CHAIR SCRAPES] I hate these chairs…! I don’t even know where I got them. […] What was I saying? Ah, s–sorry. [CREAKING] [CHAIR SCRAPES] [GROAN] It’s just this chair, it’s so hard to concentrate when you’re uncomfortable, isn’t it? [SIGH] […] I, I had to go and have a sit-down, okay? I just… [SHUFFLING] [CHAIR SCRAPES] I just wish I had thought to buy some nicer chairs…!

… THIS DAMN UNCOMFORTABLE CHAIR.

(I’m pretty sure that Martin and Also Martin sat down a bit later, sound-wise, so it means that a random rock or a trunk or the plain ground still was most comfortable than those, given that Martin… didn’t complain.)

- Cries about the fact that Martin had never seen this place, yet it felt familiar:

(MAG186) MARTIN: It’s weird, though. Never actually been anywhere like this. That said, it is kind of… Huh… [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] [THERE IS A SLIGHT REVERB ON ALSO MARTIN’S FIRST WORDS AS HE APPROACHES] ALSO MARTIN: Wuthering Heights. MARTIN: Yeah…! God, I hated studying that. It was all just so… ALSO MARTIN: Overblown? MARTIN: Yeah…! [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION FADE] ALSO MARTIN: But that cover… those wide, empty spaces. It felt right, didn’t it? MARTIN: … So, what? That’s where we are? ALSO MARTIN: Right down to the monochrome. MARTIN: Hm! … D’you have an umbrella? ALSO MARTIN: No. But… you don’t want one. We like the rain. MARTIN: True. ALSO MARTIN: Because it makes the sadness feel at home. It turns it from a burden into… MARTIN: [SIGH] … an indulgence. ALSO MARTIN: That’s right.

* It was his feelings from Wuthering Heights.

* CRIES about the fact that Martin mentioned it as “studying”: it was back when he was in middle or high school, then… and it made him sound so young? (It wasn’t a book he had picked and read for himself; it was something imposed when he was still studying… I mean, it’s absolutely normal to have memories of stuff you hated studying fifteen years later? But in Martin’s case, given that his studies were cut short, it felt like a forbidden peek at his forbidden, ephemeral past from before the Institute, and his reaction was so raw, so genuine…!)

* I’m noting that the Scotland safehouse honeymoon didn’t feel like this, if this place didn’t remind Martin of it! It wasn’t “monochrome” at all~

* Not surprised at all that Martin Kerosene Blackwood likes the rain. (Whispers in Patreon: there is a Martin poem about it!)

- The use of the “you”/“I” and “we” were delicious! Technically, it’s Martin who used “we” first (as a collective), but Also Martin used it to refer to a personality trait (“We like the rain”). I like how they finished each other’s sentences, how it was a back-and-forth between them while being slightly different through how they dealt with Martin’s overall situation (same things happening… but conflicting emotions about them), until they seemed to reach a consensus at the end, being more peaceful with each other? Martin ultimately taking a decision, and Also Martin being satisfied with it.

- Loving that the presence of Also Martin was partially due to Martin’s resistance to The Lonely:

(MAG186) MARTIN: So… what is this? You’re a part of me so you… know everything about me, is that it? ALSO MARTIN: … Yes. MARTIN: Because you’re part of my domain? ALSO MARTIN: Also yes. MARTIN: [SIGH] Some sort of… cosmic joke about “being alone with my thoughts”, I assume? ALSO MARTIN: I’m here because you’re trying very hard not to be alone. To resist the comfort. MARTIN: … So, instead I get to talk to myself. ALSO MARTIN: Apparently.

* I… love… Martin’s snark… (even if it tends to be a bit self-deprecative, and that part breaks my heart.)

* Martin had agreed with Jon that he wasn’t “lonely” anymore!

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] … Okay. Okay, good. I, I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew what this place was. MARTIN: It’s The Lonely, Jon. It’s me. ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Not anymore. MARTIN: Hm! No. [LONG INHALE, EXHALE] No…! Not anymore.

- Aaaah, I love how Martin was cautious about what the heck was this Also Martin, and why Jon was absent from this place!

(MAG186) MARTIN: [SIGH] … Okay, so, if I’m so desperate not to be alone… ALSO MARTIN: [EXHALE] MARTIN: Why isn’t Jon here? Hmm? He can find me anywhere. ALSO MARTIN: … I don’t know. MARTIN: [DUBIOUS] Oh, yeah? ALSO MARTIN: Look. I know what you know. Maybe I’m just a bit more… open about it. MARTIN: And what do you mean by that? ALSO MARTIN: Like how you don’t actually want him here? Maybe that has something to do with it? MARTIN: You’ve no idea what you’re talking about…! ALSO MARTIN: I mean, you can argue with me if you like. Seems like a bit of a waste, though. MARTIN: I… No, a– [STRAINED CHUCKLE] ALSO MARTIN: It’s all right. It’s hard to be vulnerable. MARTIN: [RESIGNED] No, it’s, it’s not that… ALSO MARTIN: No? MARTIN: No, I just… I’m ashamed to let him see this place, all right? To see what… I don’t know, what feeds me? ALSO MARTIN: Sure. That’s part of it, but… it’s not the whole thing, is it? Not really. MARTIN: What do you mean? ALSO MARTIN: Well… if you don’t count “memory manor”, when was the last time you were even on your own? MARTIN: W–well, I… Hmm. ALSO MARTIN: It has been a very long time since the Institute. MARTIN: That’s… a good point…! ALSO MARTIN: It’s okay to want a bit of space now and then. New romance is hard, and Armageddon makes it even harder! Never mind the fact that you’re metaphorically joined at the hip thanks to the whole “Eye-lord” thing. It’s okay to want some space. MARTIN: … Oooh, I see. ALSO MARTIN: See what? MARTIN: I get it. So that’s your deal: you tell me what I want to hear to try and get me to stay.

* Last times Martin had been isolated from Jon in a Lonely place, it had been because the Lonely was preying on him. Peter had thrown him into it in MAG158-MAG159, and the Lonely house had tried to make him stay in MAG170. It was very logical of Martin to be suspicious of Jon’s absence, and of what Also Martin’s intent was, when he knew from experience that The Lonely had tried to appeal to his desire for self-isolation:

(MAG159) ARCHIVIST: Yes! Yes, I–I am, c–come on, we’ve got to get out of here. MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] N–No. No, I don’t think so. ARCHIVIST: … Why? MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] This is where I should be. It feels right. ARCHIVIST: Martin, don’t say that. MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] Nothing hurts here. It’s just quiet. Even the fear is gentle here. […] Oh, hello, Jon. ARCHIVIST: Listen – I know you think you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer and w– … well, maybe it is… But we need you. I need you. MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] No, you don’t. Not really…! Everyone’s alone, but we all survive. ARCHIVIST: I don’t just want to survive! MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] I’m sorry.

(MAG170) MARTIN: Sometimes, I… wonder if I forget things on purpose….! Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just… let them slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them…! They can’t shout at you or call you names. […] I… I’m scared…! I think this fog is doing something to me, I can’t… [SHUFFLING] I’m losing myself, and I… and I don’t know if I mind? … Maybe I deserve it. So much of what’s behind the fog hurts. So much of it just makes me wanna curl up with pain and embarrassment and… Maybe the fog’s here because I want it here. Is that why I opened the windows…? Maybe I asked the fog to come.

* I love how Martin and Jon are similar on some aspects… Jon mentioned his own shame of being Beholding’s favourite in this new world:

(MAG166) MARTIN: Sure! Okay, that’s… I mean, that’s really not that complicated, Jon – I don’t see why you were being so coy about it! ARCHIVIST: [OVERLAPPING] Because I’m ashamed, Martin. MARTIN: … “Ashamed”? ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]

… Just like Martin himself is ashamed of feeding on people’s suffering (and how Jon, himself, had felt guilty and ashamed of hurting people in season 4).

* I love that the episode highlighted all the complex and intertwined feelings inside of Martin? He was both stopping Jon from being there because of his shame, and because despite it all, it was a safe space, somewhere that Jon could access. Martin had already expressed his desire for privacy (asking Jon to not know about his thoughts), and I like how there was also this part of him wishing to be alone from time to time – especially since he went from roughly one year of isolation (season 4) and dealing with The Lonely to being around Jon almost all the time. Wanting a bit of space usually would be healthy, when reasonable! But the apocalypse is indeed not ideal for a new relationship, doesn’t leave them with an ideal option anymore; Jon&Martin have been together almost all the time, and they’ve done what they could given the circumstances… (And as a new couple, given said circumstances, they’ve objectively been doing amazing: sometimes conflicting, but able to talk things through.)

- I Worry about the few mentions of time this episode:

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: It has been a very long time since the Institute. […] “And it is this that she is so deeply afraid of. Not the ache of her flesh from the bitter cold, not the cloying dampness of the rain, or the crushing fatigue from uncounted days, or weeks, or years without sleep.”

Were these hyperboles? Time feeling long, and thus being long? Or has that much time “objectively” passed since The Change…? We’ve seen in Salesa’s bubble that there could still be an objective time with the light changing due to the sun, I wonder if it’s still possible to count the days in there…

- Forget the “You don’t have to fear The Hunt to be trapped here… but it helps!” mug, I want a “New romance is hard, and Armageddon makes it even harder!” shirt.

- I love how the statement did such a good job at showing the conflicting things forming Martin? Not liking Wuthering Heights, but feeling like the scenery resonated with him; feeling disgust when discovering the Oolong tea and associating it to bad memories, but still sipping and asking for refills; having conflicted emotions about his mother…

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: … It wasn’t your fault. MARTIN: Yes it was. ALSO MARTIN: That’s just the guilt talking. MARTIN: Oh! You think? ALSO MARTIN: She was awful. MARTIN: She wasn’t well! ALSO MARTIN: Both things can be true…! MARTIN: She was still my mum! Or, “our” mum… Whatever! ALSO MARTIN: [EMPHATICALLY] And we’re glad she’s dead. MARTIN: Jesus…! ALSO MARTIN: Too much? Like I said, I’m a bit more open.

… And having one Big Certainty still, something both Martin immediately agreed on – that he loved Jon.

(MAG183) MARTIN: … I’m sure I love you. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: I love you too. [FABRIC RUSTLES] Let’s go.

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: Between us, that guy’s got some real issues. MARTIN: Hey! Pretty sure we love “that guy”…! ALSO MARTIN: [EXHALE] Yeah. And all his many, many problems.

Martin(s)!!!

- I’m SO glad about the “She was awful.” “She wasn’t well!” “Both things can be true…!” exchange because… yes!! She was sick and got abandoned by her husband! She still forked her child over! (And the biggest problem, as far as the system goes, the fundamentally messed up thing… is that Martin had to care for her as a teenager, and find a job to help them survive when he was 17.)

I love that Martin was aware of both things – that she didn’t treat him well, that she deeply hurt him… and also, well. That she was sick. And that despite her sickness he doesn’t have to forgive her for any of that, that he can be vindictive and relieved of her death because it removed a weight from him. He had vaaaaguely mentioned it to Jon back in season 4:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I, er… I heard about your mother. MARTIN: … Yeah. ARCHIVIST: I am… so sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Thank you. [INHALE] It’s… [SHAKY EXHALE] It’s better, this way. ARCHIVIST: If–if you do need to talk, I– MARTIN: I can’t.

(Still: “Jeeeesus.” indeed because Also Martin was ABSOLUTELY savage.)

- Sobbing that Martin’s tea was… also such an ambivalent thing:

(MAG186) MARTIN: There’s nothing wrong with comforting people. ALSO MARTIN: A cup of tea isn’t a resolution. At best it’s a… a plaster; at worst… a muzzle. MARTIN: Yeah. Yeah. … Even so, I could murder a cuppa. I doubt you’ve got a kettle out here though. ALSO MARTIN: As a matter of fact, I do have a thermos. [A BAG IS UNZIPPED] [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: You’re joking! ALSO MARTIN: This is our domain. You’re not supposed to suffer here. Well. Not like the others. [A METAL FLASK IS UNSCREWED] You know what I mean. [ELONGATED SOUND OF TEA POURING] Here. [FLASK IS RESEALED] MARTIN: [SIPS] [DEEP SIGH] Wait, that’s… Wait, is that…? ALSO MARTIN: Yeah. Sorry about that. There’s only so much we can do, what with the “new world” and everything. Even the good things get tinged with memory. MARTIN: [SIPS] Urgh! Oolong. Oh, of course, of course! Whenever I asked a question she didn’t like, or she wanted to stop the conversation… ALSO MARTIN: … off you’d go to put the kettle on. MARTIN: And it always had to be that bloody oolong. Urgh! [ANOTHER SIP] Bleurgh. [SILENCE BUT FOR THE RAIN]

Back in season 3, Basira had accused Martin of trying to keep the status quo through his offers of tea… and welp, Martin was already aware, from personal experience, uh. Sobbing a bit that tea was associated with silencing, deflection and trying to avoid unpleasant situations in Martin’s mind – while for Jon, in season 4, it was associated with Martin, meaning comfort.

(I wonder if we’ll hear about Martin’s teabags at some point? He had mentioned packing some in MAG162…)

- Aaaaaah, it felt SO GOOD to finally hear what Martin had been bottling up ;_;

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: Don’t lie. You don’t need to, not here. It’s just us! MARTIN: [HEAVY SIGH] If we’re glad, why do I feel so… ALSO MARTIN: Guilty? Because you feel guilty about everything. MARTIN: That’s… That’s not– ALSO MARTIN: Your mother. MARTIN: Stress is a proper factor in a stroke– ALSO MARTIN: Everything that’s happened to Jon. MARTIN: I brought Jane Prentiss to the Institute! ALSO MARTIN: The end of the entire world? MARTIN: If I’d done what Peter had asked… If, if I’d not chickened out, and just killed Elias when I had the chance…! ALSO MARTIN: Really? Really, that’s how you’re choosing to remember it? “Chickening out”? MARTIN: I remember it was the wrong choice…! ALSO MARTIN: You choose to remember it that way, and so the guilt– MARTIN: [SIGH] I–I get it, all right? But I need it, I, I choose the guilt, because… ALSO MARTIN: [LEADING] “Because”? MARTIN: Because it motivates me to do better! ALSO MARTIN: … Does it though? Or… does it just keep paralysing us, make us shrink back and wait, hoping things work out? Like with Jon when we thought the worms had got him. MARTIN: Hey, to be fair, he still kind of hated me back then. I’m really not sure it would have been the best time to take my shot.

* We now know that Martin’s mom died from a stroke… shortly after Elias had told/made Martin known how much his mother hated him and why, so of course Martin would connect the dots and link it to the stress of… Martin’s existence reminding her of the man who had abandoned her.

* ;_; Jane/The Hive had explicitly mentioned Jon as her/their target once Martin had left his flat:

(MAG022) ARCHIVIST: [PHONE BUZZES] Hang on. MARTIN: What? ARCHIVIST: I just received another text message. From you. “Keep him. We have had our fun. He will want to see it when the Archivist’s crimson fate arrives.”

And it had been Jon’s first mark at the Institute, Jane had deeply traumatised him for most of the series (Jon was still mentioning her in season 4!), and Martin had felt like he had abandoned Jon when he had lost Tim&Jon behind during the attack…

* !! Confirmation that Martin’s obsession with killing Elias… is likely due to the fact that he felt like he picked the “wrong” choice back in the Panopticon, and that it directly led to the end of the world – it caused Jon’s last mark, thus making him ready for Elias’s ritual, while if they had killed Elias back then, no more Elias, and no big apocalypse unless someone else figured out how to achieve that. I’m so glad that we finally got a look at Martin’s thoughts regarding those events? That Martin feels like he made a mistake back then?

(* I’m noting that Martin keeps going with “Elias”, never “Jonah”, these days.)

* I love that, same with Jon in season 4 regarding his victims, “guilt” appears in two ways: motivation for improvement (thanks to the acknowledgement that there was a wrongdoing), but also… restraining action (with the fear of doing wrong again). They’re not mutually exclusive!

- SOB IN MARTIN’S FANTASIES:

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: But also, you know that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s this… this fantasy that you have, that, that whatever you find at the top of the Panopticon is just going to solve everything. MARTIN: I don’t– ALSO MARTIN: You do though – you daydream about it! The big climactic showdown with Elias, and then the two of you kiss, and push a button that just magically saves the world and makes everything better. MARTIN: … It’s actually not a button, so… ALSO MARTIN: Stop. Deflecting.

So: Martin is aware that it’s probably not going to be this easy! That they have no certainty of succeeding! That it’s just a “fantasy”! And yet, he chose to appear optimistic in front of Jon, making them focus on the Panopticon as a solution.

(Also, Martin has kissing fantasies involving Jon, Martin please.)

- I! Love! Martin’s snark!

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: [WEARILY] Seriously? [INHALE] Fine. If you don’t want to engage, if–if you want to pretend I’m just some… “temptation ghost”, you go ahead. Knock yourself out. Like I said, I’m not your enemy. MARTIN: [ARCHLY] Oh really? I thought you said you were me? ALSO MARTIN: Right, yes. Very clever. MARTIN: We have our moments. I guess. […] MARTIN: … I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that? ALSO MARTIN: Oh yeah. […] MARTIN: Thanks for the tea. ALSO MARTIN: Hm! We’re welcome. MARTIN: Ha!

But also: aouch for the first one, MARTIN…

- I’m so glad about Martin confronting potential scenarios, and how likely it is to be unpleasant…

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: I’m saying there aren’t any easy solutions. We have no idea what’s going to happen. Even if we make it to the tower, we don’t know there’ll be a fix. And if by some miracle there is, we both know the price will be awful. Just look at Melanie. MARTIN: I… [RESIGNED SIGH] ALSO MARTIN: We are completely out of our depth. We’re responsible for everyone everywhere, and we have no idea what we’re doing. The last thing we need is self-indulgent guilt on top of that. […] MARTIN: So. This price. What do you think? Are we going to have to kill Jon? ALSO MARTIN: … I don’t know, because you don’t know. But… it seems like something we should at least consider. MARTIN: … I… have thought about it, and… I won’t. I, I don’t think I could…! ALSO MARTIN: Mmhmm. MARTIN: But anything else? Any other price? I’ll pay it. ALSO MARTIN: Even dying? MARTIN: Yeah! ALSO MARTIN: Jon’s as bad as we are. He wouldn’t let it happen. MARTIN: It’s not his decision. ALSO MARTIN: Fine. So flip that round, then. What are you going to do when he tries to sacrifice himself, because you know he’s going to try? MARTIN: I don’t know all right? [SIGH] I don’t know. ALSO MARTIN: And that’s okay for now, but I just want us to have thought about this stuff properly before it comes up. Because even if that’s not it, chances are it’ll be something else you don’t want to do, and we need to make a proper choice. We can’t just react out of shame or fear or whatever.

* I wonder how Martin lived Melanie gouging her eyes out? She had mentioned leaving a resignation letter on Peter’s desk, it’s likely that Martin actually was the one to find and read it. Jon initially had offered Martin the possibility to run away with him through cutting their connection to The Eye, and Martin had refused, arguing that Jon didn’t want to do it; I wonder if Melanie carrying that action… made Martin realise that he wasn’t ready to do this to himself?

* Mmmm, with that Melanie mention and Martin making a choice of his own at the end of the episode… I wonder if it’s installing Melanie’s return very soon…?

* SOB over the fact that Martin is absolutely ready to self-sacrifice, no hesitation.

* … And that his personal limit is that he can’t kill Jon.

* … Meanwhile: it’s likely the same for Jon; would agree to die if it can turn the world back, and absolutely refuse to kill Martin. Aouch.

- I loved how overall, the episode was about the fact that Martin was aware that he had choices and options, and trying to establish which things he would absolutely refuse, and what he would prefer? And given that Martin had to acknowledge (with himself) these things, say them out loud, and that Annabelle was clearly waiting for something from him… Was she waiting for this? For Martin to be clear that his limit would be to have to kill Jon, but that he would be ready to grab any other option? It sounds like it would be the best moment for her to come back with another option requiring Martin’s sacrifice, then… (And they’re heading towards the Panopstitute, and Peter had explained to Martin how to take Elias’s seat in there – killing him, and then Martin, as double Eye&Lonely, would be able to become the new centre. I wonder if we’re heading towards that…)

- Jon had already warned Martin that he wouldn’t be able to see his victims:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Do you want me to tell you about it? MARTIN: No. … Yes. N–no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know. [SIGH] [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely. Inhabited by a few lost souls whose fear is not of their isolation or their agonies, but that no-one… will ever know of them. That they shall suffer in silence, and be mourned by nobody. That’s why you can’t really see it. It’s why even if we do travel through it, you won’t be able to see… any of the people trapped there.

(MAG186) MARTIN: … What about the people here? ALSO MARTIN: What people? MARTIN: I don’t know. My… “prisoners”, I guess? ALSO MARTIN: What about them? MARTIN: Why haven’t we talked about them? ALSO MARTIN: Because you didn’t want to think about them. So, we didn’t. MARTIN: Yeah? Well… I want to now. Consider it a “proper choice” if you like. ALSO MARTIN: Okay. MARTIN: Can I see them? ALSO MARTIN: No. This place is about hidden, unnoticed suffering. MARTIN: I can feel them though. ALSO MARTIN: Sure, you’re aware of it, dimly. A sort of far-off, lonely terror. But there’s no way for us to actually see or hear them. MARTIN: … Hmm.

I like how Also Martin was more straightforward when summarising the domain (“hidden, unnoticed suffering”). It… immediately felt like, ah. Yes. This is Martin’s domain indeed. Martin, who lied on his CV and felt like he couldn’t confide to many (he had only told Tim), who couldn’t really talk about his mother, nor about her death, and who got more and more isolated when Jon was in his coma, who continued isolating in order to manage Peter during season 4. That’s indeed a place tailored for him…

I was wondering how Martin’s domain worked as a “swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely” (MAG183) given how Jon’s description made it sound like a very Lonely domain, so I was wondering about The Eye part. I get it now – it’s because the domain relies on the victims being crushed by the knowledge of what is happening. Jon himself had highlighted how The Eye and The Lonely could be working closely in that regard:

(MAG159) ARCHIVIST: The Lonely and The Eye aren’t too far apart, are they? Not really. What good’s being alone if you don’t know how alone you truly are.

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: “The rain pricks his skin though there is no comfort in it. Because he knows he can never be warm and dry again. The wall is too high. […] She could reach out her hand, touch his arm, his face, his heart… and would feel nothing. Neither would ever know. Because at their core, they are alone, and nothing can release them from that absolute knowledge. […] And it is this that she is so deeply afraid of. Not the ache of her flesh from the bitter cold, not the cloying dampness of the rain, or the crushing fatigue from uncounted days, or weeks, or years without sleep. It is the sure knowledge that nobody remembers her existence enough to even wonder idly where she might be, or ponder at her suffering.

… And usually, it would feel like it’s The Lonely deceiving the victims, making them think that their situation is hopeless? But in the new world, it’s also… a reality, since nothing can be changed as of now.

- Jon has kept hammering in that there is no “better” in this new world and we got another reminder, when it comes to the relationship between rulers and victims:

(MAG173) ARCHIVIST: I don’t know what you want me to do! MARTIN: I want you to use your power, I want you to help them, I want you to make things better! ARCHIVIST: There – is – no – “better” anymore. MARTIN: You keep saying that, and I hate it!

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.

(MAG184) ARCHIVIST: I’m still not sure what to do about Jordan. MARTIN: I mean… What can we do, really? You’ve been pretty clear there’s no way for us to help the people who are trapped here as victims so… so we leave him here like all the others, and eventually we save everyone! […] ARCHIVIST: I helped you. JORDAN: “Helped me”? I don’t feel right, I, I just– [HISSING SOUND] [GASP] No, I don’t– [HISSING SOUND] I don’t want this!

(MAG186) MARTIN: … Hmm. But… if this is my domain… can I fix that? Like, can I change things? ALSO MARTIN: [EXHALE] If you wanted to start actively tormenting them… I’m sure this place would oblige. But “fixing” things? Making it easier on them, or freeing them… probably not. MARTIN: Fine. […] I can’t live on the misery of others. ALSO MARTIN: … They’ll suffer either way. MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it?

Glad that Martin still asked whether he could change something for the better, even if the answer was negative. Back when the Spider had referred to Jon (MAG172: “Oh, Francis… It’s such a shame, but I couldn’t do such a thing even if I wanted to! The man in the audience saw to that! [CHUCKLES] I am no more free than you are, little puppet.”), it had felt like absolute cruel gaslighting, but there was still a bit of truth to that in the sense that Watchers… are playing a role, “performing” for The Eye (MAG166: “But The Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object.”). Once again, the core of the problem in that apocalypse is not even the localised rulers; it’s the whole system, the domains and the Fears themselves.

- I love that Martin still wanted to ask about his victims, to know what was happening.

(MAG186) MARTIN: Why haven’t we talked about them? ALSO MARTIN: Because you didn’t want to think about them. So, we didn’t. […] MARTIN: … Can you tell me about them? ALSO MARTIN: I can. Deep down we do know what’s happening to them. MARTIN: … Do we know who they are? ALSO MARTIN: We never met them in the old world. […] MARTIN: … Tell me. Please. Like Jon would. ALSO MARTIN: Why? Just so you can torture yourself? MARTIN: I want to know the exact limits of my guilt. ALSO MARTIN: … Fair enough.

He had accepted his journey (MAG183: “What, what? We could, we could dodge around it? Take the path of denial? I guess, but… what is it you keep harping on about? ‘The journey will be the journey’? [SIGH] I mean… It’s pretty obvious that this one is my journey.”), so he accepted this unpleasant part of it, too. And I like how it’s a part of himself who explained what was happening to them, not Jon? Because fundamentally, it was Martin’s domain, with victims who were partially his responsibility (he didn’t want them, but it’s a fact that they’ve been sustaining him and their suffering has been protecting him from all the other horrors). I like the use of “we” from Also Martin, to point out that deep down, Martin knew about it already, that it was just about putting into words, that Martin wanted to understand what he already felt guilty of?

And Martin not only stayed for a statement, he asked for it! Last time had been in the Dark domain (MAG173: “Tell me about this place. … I need to know.” “I thought you hated listen– … [INHALE] Are you… sure that’s what you want?” “Of course it’s not…! But I need to hear it.”): this time again, it felt like Martin was agreeing to stop running away or trying to ignore what was happening around him… and at the same time, it’s true that it’s a difficult balance to establish. Where are the limits between voyeuristic tendencies (seeing pains and sufferings exposed, while aware that you won’t do anything to make it stop because you can’t do anything in this world anyway) and accepting to face the horribleness of the world (needing to listen and see, to know what is truly happening in order to make an informed judgement, or get the motivation to try to change things)?

- OOFT, the victims mentioned sounded like a very Martin’s-subconscious thing indeed? Also Martin highlighted that for a “Tim”:

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: We never met them in the old world. Although… one of them is named Tim. [BAG JOSTLING] Just a coincidence, I think. Unless it was a subconscious thing on our part.

… but seriously, all of them. We had:

* A “Tim”. Given Martin’s complicated relationship with him in season 3, the fact that Tim had ultimately established he couldn’t trust Martin to be Martin because he didn’t “know Martin as well as [he] knew [Sasha]” (MAG114) even though Martin had been comfortable enough with Tim to share with him that he had faked his CV (MAG162: “Okay, but seriously, you cannot let Martin know. He’ll think I told you, and I swore to keep schtum.”), the way Martin had interrupted himself when thinking about him in (MAG138: “Tim said the tunnels under the Institute were all that was left of it, but… Jon said he’d checked them pretty thoroughly. [SILENCE] [SIGH] I’m not the one who knows all about this stuff…! I wish– … No. No, it’s fine, I’m… fine, I… [EXHALE] I can do this.”) and had stopped Peter when he mentioned him in (MAG158: “I’m sure– … what was his name? … Tim! Tim would–” “I’d really– … rather not talk about it, Peter.”)… everything about Tim had hurt.

* The woman in the statement was someone who was forgotten by everyone else (“And it is this that she is so deeply afraid of. Not the ache of her flesh from the bitter cold, not the cloying dampness of the rain, or the crushing fatigue from uncounted days, or weeks, or years without sleep. It is the sure knowledge that nobody remembers her existence enough to even wonder idly where she might be, or ponder at her suffering.”)… which sounds like what happened to Sasha when she got killed and replaced by the Not!Them. Dead, and nobody to notice that she was dead, nobody to remember her.

* The man in the statement had a “cold” family, liked to walk the streets at night (“He would walk the streets of the city at night and wish the world away”) just like Peter in his youth (MAG159: “By the time I arrived at whatever destination I had arbitrarily picked, it would usually be night. I would walk around the darkened streets, drinking in the sodium orange, looking at the lit windows of the tower blocks that surrounded me, each one a small cosy den of warmth and humanity, and revelling in my distance from them.”). Even the mention of “taking” someone as a partner (“Sometimes, when the emptiness inside began to bite, he reached out for people and took a friend or a lover. But when he did, it was only to watch them beat themselves again, and again against that wall, until they finally relented, and he was alone once more.”) reminded me a bit of Peter “taking” victims to sacrifice them to The Lonely? And Martin’s victim used to self-convince himself that it was better this way (“He told himself it was for the best. He told himself he liked it like that.”), just like Peter was groomed into becoming a Lonely avatar by the rest of the family.

Martin has Types of people, uh.

- It was a terribly beautiful statement, imagery-wise, with feelings and sensations becoming real under nightmare-logic: the man’s own voice not being answered and instead increasing his pain and isolation, the woman’s memories rewriting fond moments into proof of her lack of connection (“The carefree chatter of her friends surrounded her, and soothed her. Or did it…? She wasn’t talking, wasn’t engaged with any of the bright and happy people. Her smile was fixed and deliberate, and it didn’t quite match her eyes. She was among this joy, yes, these sparkling friends, but she was not a part of it, not really. She tried to be, wanted so desperately to be a part of their easy warmth, and maybe they thought she was…! But they hadn’t known her, not really.”)… I was in this domain, too :<

And once again, it really felt like Martin: desperate for connection, usually not taken into account, not heard, misunderstood, just like he had hid parts of himself at the Institute…

- Martin still pointing out that he didn’t “deserve” this didn’t feel anymore like he was clinging to a form of innocence like last episode:

(MAG186) MARTIN: … Thank you. ALSO MARTIN: I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. MARTIN: … Yeah. [SILENCE BUT FOR THE RAIN] ALSO MARTIN: So. What are we thinking? MARTIN: [EXHALE] I’m thinking that I didn’t ask for this. It’s not my fault they’re here…! ALSO MARTIN: True. MARTIN: But I can’t keep existing like this at their expense! It’s not… it’s not right. Whatever happens with Elias, wi–, with the rest of the world… I can’t live on the misery of others. ALSO MARTIN: … They’ll suffer either way. MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it? ALSO MARTIN: [SIGH] MARTIN: … I’ll get Jon to destroy me like the others.

I like that it was both treated as a valid feeling… and also not the endgame: this time around, Martin fully accepted the situation and reached a conclusion regarding it. He could have chosen to accept it, but no, he chose to reject it and to make his own choice, what he felt was his best option.

I love the various decisions we’ve seen, and how it doesn’t feel like there is a Right One to make? Jordan chose that he preferred to be a ruler rather than being turned back into a victim – and we can’t blame him! And Martin chose that, if there is no solution to this world, he would rather stop being there than living with the knowledge that he’s fine-ish thanks to other people’s pain in this special case in which they can do nothing about it. Once again, I’m reminded of what Martin had told Simon (MAG151: “I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.”), of the impression that… tiny choices, tiny decisions, still have their importance even if they don’t change anything on the cosmic scale.

- I love how we could indeed hear Martin’s resolve in the evolution of how he was mentioning his status, from reject, disgust, laments and sadness, to… his choice and decision:

(MAG183) HELEN: I can’t believe you would deny him the choice to see his own domain. MARTIN: My… my wha– Jon, my what? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I was going to bring it up at the crossroads. Inside. I only just realised we would be going this way. MARTIN: I have a domain? ARCHIVIST: Yes. […] MARTIN: Are there people, Jon? ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: Are there people in my domain? ARCHIVIST: Not many. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you need to do your… your thing? Make a statement about whatever’s going on in there? … I could use a moment to think. […] How do I have a domain? That doesn’t make any sense. ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means… MARTIN: [QUIETLY] That one of them belongs to me. But that’s… Ho–how can I be a “Watcher”? I, I didn’t even know it existed! ARCHIVIST: But you’ve suspected for a while now, haven’t you? MARTIN: Maybe? But that’s not “watching”! ARCHIVIST: Do you want me to tell you about it? MARTIN: No. … Yes. N–no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know. [SIGH] […] But I’m not an avatar!

(MAG185) MARTIN: [INHALE] And this is all because I’ve been given a domain? Because, apparently, I somehow have people’s fear feeding me? ARCHIVIST: Well… feeding The Eye through you, but yes. MARTIN: Even though I didn’t ask for it? Did nothing to deserve it? ARCHIVIST: “Deserve”, huh! Now there’s a word that always causes trouble. MARTIN: [HUFF] Don’t be patronising. ARCHIVIST: I just mean that nobody here deserves the position they’ve found themselves in, not really. I suppose a few may have asked for it, sought it out even, but far more didn’t. They just made the wrong choices for the… right reasons, or even the right choices. But ones that still led them here in the end. MARTIN: … I hate it. ARCHIVIST: On balance, that’s… probably a good thing. […] MARTIN: … I guess we should get used to it. Knowing that all these awful things are happening for our benefit…! ARCHIVIST: Maybe it’s better if it never gets comfortable. MARTIN: Maybe.

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: So. What are we thinking? MARTIN: [EXHALE] I’m thinking that I didn’t ask for this. It’s not my fault they’re here…! ALSO MARTIN: True. MARTIN: But I can’t keep existing like this at their expense! It’s not… it’s not right. Whatever happens with Elias, wi–, with the rest of the world… I can’t live on the misery of others. ALSO MARTIN: … They’ll suffer either way. MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it? ALSO MARTIN: [SIGH] MARTIN: … I’ll get Jon to destroy me like the others. ALSO MARTIN: You don’t really believe he’d do it? MARTIN: I don’t know. Maybe? ALSO MARTIN: … This took a dark turn. MARTIN: Yeah, but… this time it doesn’t feel like despair. [BAG JOSTLING] It feels like resolve. ALSO MARTIN: Well… hopefully it won’t come to that. MARTIN: Hopefully.

Martin tried to manoeuvre around the concept first, wondering whether he could alleviate the suffering for his victims, and being told no because the world doesn’t work like that (“But… if this is my domain… can I fix that? Like, can I change things?” “If you wanted to start actively tormenting them… I’m sure this place would oblige. But ‘fixing’ things? Making it easier on them, or freeing them… probably not.”). I’m glad he did wonder about it first – but since it’s not a possibility… he reached his other conclusion, that he would rather ask Jon to annihilate him if there is no option to save the world, rather than living on their pains.

It’s interesting that Martin didn’t consider another option: to be turned from Watcher into Watched. That process was what killed Not!Sasha, Jude, Jared and Breekon (MAG166, Helen: “And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.”) but Jon had mentioned the option to Jordan (MAG184: “I can put you back if you want. You could become a victim again? Rather than complicit.”), so… is Martin too deep in as an avatar to survive that process, or did he just not mention that option because he didn’t think about it or didn’t want it anyway? I would understand Martin refusing to be turned into a victim for eternity because he deems it the worst possible option, I’m just a bit curious that he didn’t even mention it at all, even to immediately reject it.

- … Martin making that choice and accepting to die rather than being complicit… reminds me a lot of Melanie and her decision to stop feeding The Eye, and then to sacrifice her eyes to free herself from the Institute and Beholding.

(MAG150) MELANIE: Look. [INHALE] I’m not going to do my job anymore. ARCHIVIST: … I am not sure I follow, you–you know we… we can’t… quit, we’ve all tried. MELANIE: I didn’t say I was going to quit. I said: I’m not going to do my job. No researching; no filing; no… field trips. Nothing that is going to help the Institute in any way. I’ll still be around, I just… ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MELANIE: I can’t be a part of this anymore. If, if I get sick, I get sick. And, and if I die… […] Well. If I’m… just another cog, er… Maybe I can’t leave the machine, but from this moment? I–I–I’m not turning. I’m… jammed. [SIGH]

(MAG155) MELANIE: I’m… good, actually. [INHALE] Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. ARCHIVIST: You… sound like you’ve made a decision. MELANIE: I have. Yes. ARCHIVIST: [HUFF] Right. MELANIE: [INHALE] Thanks for… telling me, by the way. [INHALE] I–it didn’t look like it was easy for you. […] I’m going to do it. [BREATH] I’m quitting. ARCHIVIST: Oh… [PAUSE] You’re… sure you’ve thought it through? I–I don’t know if we can look after you, you know? MELANIE: [BREATH] ARCHIVIST: A–afterwards. MELANIE: You don’t need to. I’ve… I’ve made a few arrangements, and… [SHAKY INHALE] It’s going to be okay. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MELANIE: Ho–honestly. I–I think it is. I, I can’t… be a part of this anymore, and if this is the price, then, I think I’m okay to pay it. […] I’ve left a proper resignation letter, on Lukas’s desk. It was quite satisfying to write, actually. Almost made me wish it was Elias! ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLING] MELANIE: He would have hated me not serving out my two weeks-notice, huh! Not sure… Lukas even knows who I am…! … Probably for the best.

(MAG186) MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it? ALSO MARTIN: [SIGH] MARTIN: … I’ll get Jon to destroy me like the others. ALSO MARTIN: You don’t really believe he’d do it? MARTIN: I don’t know. Maybe? ALSO MARTIN: … This took a dark turn. MARTIN: Yeah, but… this time it doesn’t feel like despair. [BAG JOSTLING] It feels like resolve.

Both of them aware that it wouldn’t change the system they were trapped in, but that they could still assert that tiny bit of willpower and choice, and both preferring the extreme way out (dying) rather than remaining complicit.

But given that parallel… Well: back in MAG155, it was noticed that Melanie’s decision already had an effect on her status – she had been able to say “I quit” (while Tim was unable to say the words in MAG065) and to write her resignation letter (while Martin had been unable to do it even if he had considered it when he was living in the Archives, as he explained in MAG039). It was absolutely owned up in the Season 4 Q&A that Melanie’s choice, her resolve, had an effect on her situation: because she was absolutely sure and certain she would do it and that she would gouge her eyes out, that she would take that measure to reject The Eye, then she was partially free already. (There was a bit more in that discussion, but if I remember that additional bit is Patreon-only… and potentially spoilery, but I’ve kept it in mind, mostly when it comes to the tape recorders popping up for relevant moments…)

So: we have Martin going through the same process of deciding he would agree to a drastic measure in order to not be complicit anymore. Could that then already be having an effect on him as a Watcher/ruler? Jon had pointed out that he was protected from the overall apocalypse thanks to his domain – is it possible that, once Martin comes out of it, that protection would waver a bit because Martin has made the absolute decision to reject it…?

- ;; The biggest question, and Also Martin was right to ask it, is whether or not Jon would accept to carry through the action… and at the same time, if Martin asked, I think Jon would? But at the last moment, would Martin accept to leave Jon alone? In their cases, and with that previous discussion of mutual self-sacrifice (that Martin would be really to sacrifice himself if it meant saving the world, but that his only limit would be for Jon to have to die, and Also Martin pointing out that it’s probably the exact same thing for Jon), the less enviable fate would be for one of them to stay alive and alone.

………… Which means that Jon could accept it, knowing that it will hurt him the most, but would Martin agree to die (whether through sacrifice or as a smiting, to stop feeding from his victims) while knowing what that would mean for Jon…?

- I’m so glad about this episode and these discussions! They were heavy and sad, indeed, but I love that we took a peek into Martin’s head, the thoughts he hadn’t been voicing aloud and the hypothetical scenarios he was aware of but didn’t want to fully face either. It’s questions I had, so it’s pleasing to hear Martin having thought about them too! And I love how both Martins… well, were parts of Martin. Also Martin had less filters, was blunter, sounded like he was Martin’s desire to confront what is happening and the potential darker outcomes; it was also Martin’s desire for “self-care” in a broad sense, the actions that can be comforting or poisonous: he provided tea, he pointed out that Martin wanted a bit of rest and isolation, that a new romantic relationship would have been hard to handle for Martin anyway, apocalypse aside, because of his own traumas (his mother’s neglect and death, the Entities-related business, the deaths around them, Peter’s grooming, The Lonely’s clutch). But the filters are also part of Martin – the things he thinks but doesn’t voice, the person he wants to appear to be, etc.

We’re used to Jon confessing his thoughts to the tape recorders; he’s been doing less of that this season, sharing his thoughts with Martin instead (and we don’t know whether he’s still hiding things right now!), but I like this reminder that what we hear of Jon and Martin is only an aspect of them and their thoughts-process – that they’re considering and noticing way more things than just what we hear, just because they don’t want to share these thoughts. (I usually don’t like unreliable narrators much when it’s supposed to be a twist, but this? I love it, it makes me so soft for characters!)

- I love how the “we” felt… less confrontational at the end, as if Martin had fully reconciliated with his own thoughts and contradictions?

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: Well… hopefully it won’t come to that. MARTIN: Hopefully. [SIPS REFLECTIVELY] Thanks for the tea. ALSO MARTIN: Hm! We’re welcome. MARTIN: Ha! [FLASK IS RESEALED WITH THE LID] So. [BAG JOSTLING] How do I leave? [SHUFFLING] [FOOTSTEPS] ALSO MARTIN: I think we just keep walking. MARTIN: And Jon? [BAG IS ZIPPED UP] ALSO MARTIN: I kind of expected him to have interrupted already…! MARTIN: I’m sure he’ll find us eventually. [FOOTSTEPS HEAD OFF]

* The little joke of “We’re welcome” because it’s Martin thanking himself, because they “both” contributed to this! It also contrasted with the previous thanks when Also Martin had apologised for the pain (“Thank you.” “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”): that “we’re welcome” was, this time around, making the act a shared action instead of separate ones.

* It was Martin back to being himself and thinking of himself in term of “I” (“How do I leave?”), and being reminded that Also Martin and him were part of a whole (“I think we just keep walking.”): Martin entered the domain alone but, now that he’s faced the things that he wanted to conceal or ignore, the two Martin are reunited and acting as one (“I’m sure he’ll find us eventually.”). And likewise, there was only Martin’s footsteps when he arrived; at the end of the episode, there were two sets.

* I love how the episode highlighted so much the different thoughts forming Martin? The last two sentences aren’t contradictory: (Also) Martin had considered that Jon would interrupt them, and Martin also knows for certain that Jon would still be able to find them if/when necessary. The two are not mutually exclusive! (And I love that it also shed a light on how Martin has a better grasp on how people work than what he shows on a surface level; indeed, it made sense to notice that Jon hadn’t interrupted, that he could have done it… and at the same time, it’s way more difficult to point out an absence of something unless you’re reaaally on the lookout for it.)

* I overall love how Martin’s domain made sense as a demonstration of Lonely/Eye, as itself… and for the exchange we witnessed with the two Martins. It was Martin proving that he’s actually pretty self-aware, that he’s suspecting that things will go down badly, that it’s weighing on him, and only agreeing to show that part of himself when alone in his own bubble, even separated from Jon…

- Regarding Jon, it is true that he could have interrupted… and it does make sense that he didn’t. We’ll see, but I’m guessing that Jon did his damn hardest to precisely not infringe on Martin’s safe space, because Martin didn’t want him there because of shame (“I’m ashamed to let him see this place, all right? To see what… I don’t know, what feeds me?”) and desire to be alone for a bit (“Because you want to stay. Because you want to have a real rest, to just breathe and… be quietly sad I guess…!”), and Jon desperately wanted to respect his privacy. Same thing as when he swore he would refrain from taking a look into Martin’s mind this season, and only tried when Martin was absolutely lost to him – and Jon still felt bad about it and apologised right after even though it had been to save Martin (MAG170: “I, I didn’t want to… look too ha–, I–I–I promised I wouldn’t… know you, and, and with the fog in all–all the rooms, I’ll, I just, I lost y–, I… I–I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” “… No, I… I tried to use the… to know where you were, but… it was… You–you were faint. It was so strange, i–it took me so long just to find you…!”)

If it was season 3, I would have definitely thought that Jon had been kidnapped in the meantime, but I think he probably is safe. Annabelle seemed to be mostly waiting for Martin to be in better dispositions, so I don’t think she would pester Jon himself. Helen, however…? She could have been visiting Jon in the meantime while he was alone, just to twist the knife and try to confuse him…?

I wonder how MAG187 will begin: will Jon and Martin be together already, having reunited off-screen? Will Jon see the two Martins for a very brief instant? If they’re separated, which POV will we follow as they’re reuniting? The tape recorders can and have spawned everywhere but it’s still interesting that MAG185 ended with Martin on his own with Jon’s (it had been a continuous recording all episode long, Jon had done his statement alone with hat one, but it was with Martin at the end) – will Jon be hidden from us for a little while or will a new one pop up as usual, and will Jon comment on it? Will Jon see Martin emerge from the Lonely? Will Jon give a new statement in another domain before Martin reunites with him again? Did Jon go on ahead after Martin’s disappearance, where will they reunite if not inside of the prison? How much time has passed for Jon? I know it’s not quantifiable anymore in the new world, but if waiting feels like an eternity, maybe time would stretch through dream-logic, too…?

I don’t expect them to be on their own for long but it would still be interesting if, say, they happen to be separated for a few episodes! Martin knew that the destination was the tower, it’s been stated that they can see it from anywhere (MAG163: “You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between.”); he would be able to get there like Basira is doing (MAG179: “You said follow the Tower, right?”), and Jon confirmed to Martin that he was protected by his domain, not by Jon (MAG185: “Either way, even if I wasn’t here, I don’t think you’d be in any danger. Not anymore. I wasn’t sure when we first started out, I hadn’t properly, uh… looked into it, as it were. But now I’m certain.”). Unless, as mentioned previously… Martin might have lost a bit of that protection since his decision that he refuses to be a ruler.

MAG187’s title makes me things of various things, all for different reasons: Helen, Tessa, Rosie… but given how Jon had announced that Helen’s domain would be coming soon-ish (MAG183: “It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen.” “I thought Helen was her domain, wi–with all the doors and that?” “She is, but she has a… position within this pseudo-landscape, like any other.”) and the overall thematic of avatars being bound to their domains that we’ve seen lately (Jordan unable to leave the tunnels and the ants, Martin inquiring about whether he could transform his domain and getting the confirmation that it would only be possible to make it worse), I’m strongly suspecting that it will be Helen’s? With either Helen dying, either someone entering/leaving her corridors…?

#mag186 #tma liveblog #tma season 5 #long post/#the magnus archives

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himarifuruya · 3 years

Text

Diamond Light [ That's the Tea ]

Preface: Diamond Light is a non-linear series of stories based around my OC Himari Furuya and her relationship with Tamaki Amajiki or Suneater.

TW: Chapters may contain Rated M [18+] content, such as graphic sexual content, canon typical violence and gore, body horror and explicit language.

Chapter Summary: Tamaki catches up with his friends and gains some unexpected insight.

Tamaki was in burnout.

Over these past weeks, he had been so exhausted. Ever since his work study had begun, he wanted to do nothing but go home and sleep. If he wasn’t on patrols, training, or studying for his classes, he was a living vegetable. His tired, aching body didn’t want to do anything besides lay in bed and waste the hours away.

It hadn’t been an unpleasant time though, working in Fat Gum’s agency had been a highlight in many ways. Though his mentor could be a tad overwhelming for his taste, he couldn’t have asked for a better one. He especially didn’t mind the partnership he formed with the ghostly hero, Wraith - who had despite her eccentric nature, provided valuable support during their missions.

Still, he could use a break.

On one of his free days, he agreed to go out with his friends. Nejire opted that the three of them should go to her favorite tea shop, saying that they have some of the best and most flavorful blends. He couldn’t deny that it sounded refreshing, especially after such a demanding week.

Lately, their schedules hadn’t been matching up, which had made hanging out difficult. Even at school, it seemed like they were always on the go. For Tamaki, it had been a little lonely, but he was happy to know that his friends felt the same. When the opportunity rose for them to get together, they immediately took advantage of it, like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

Once seated at the booth with their drinks, they began to play catch up.

He listened quietly as his friends chatted animatedly about their progress in their work study. Despite the hard work they endured, they both sounded happy with their respective agencies. Mirio spoke proudly of his mentor that he called “Sir,” with high enthusiasm, while Nejire couldn’t keep herself from gushing about the dragon hero Ryukyu. It made him smile fondly, knowing that they were having such a good time.

“How about you, Tamaki? How’s your work study going?” Mirio asked suddenly, nudging him with his elbow, causing the chimera hero to gulp on his drink loudly,

“It’s been okay…I guess…” He wanted to stop there, but he could feel his friends’ prying eyes on him, expecting further exposition.

Letting out a reluctant sigh, he continued. “Fat Gum is great and has been really helpful over these past few weeks. He’s always giving advice and loads of encouragement...perhaps a little too much praise from my perspective, but I─ really shouldn’t be complaining. We’ve been learning quite a bit.”

“We?” Mirio questioned.

A wave of warmth rose to his cheeks. “Uh…yeah, th-there’s a-a really nice girl there too she’s uh…um…o-oh no…” He face-planted into the wall beside him miserably. “…I’m such an idiot that I-I never got her real name.”

Mirio and Nejire exchanged sly looks.

"Is she cute?" they blurted in unison, catching the young Amajiki offguard.

“Don’t ask me that…” He grumbled. “All I know is that her hero name is Wraith…”

“Oh, you mean Himari Furuya?”

Tamaki’s head lifted. “Wait… You know her?”

“Yep! She was at the Sports Festival, don’t you remember?” Nejire asked

“E-eh - I g-guess I should, but I - well - I was kind of busy having a panic attack,” he mumbled.

“Oh yeah…” Nejire hummed softly with a tilt of the head, her laissez faire tone and relaxed expression easing the discomfort of admitting such a thing.

“Isn’t she also the daughter of Monochrome?” Mirio inquired.

“Monochrome…?” Tamaki was vaguely familiar with that name from some tabloids. If he recalled correctly, Monochrome was one of the more elusive heroes that stayed out of the public eye for the most part. Very few have ever met him in person.

Nejire bobbed her head. “Yeah, crazy right? They look nothing alike too, like night and day.”

“There’s a lot of rumors about that guy too...like really morbid ones.” Mirio remarked, scratching his chin. “I don’t know how true they are, but even some heroes are leery of him.”

“Why’s that?” Tamaki asked.

Mirio’s brows drew together, trying to find the right words to explain. “His quirk…he can absorb negative energies and use that to manipulate the things around him.”

Tamaki leaned in, growing more curious. “That’s quite the ability.”

“But how is that a bad thing? If he’s removing negativity, isn’t that beneficial? Wouldn’t that make any bad occurrence into a good one?” Nejire wondered aloud with her teacup held between her hands methodically.

“It does sound like a positive thing, doesn’t it? But, sadly, it isn’t that simple.” Mirio’s smile weakened as he went on. “Unfortunately, he can only store so much of that energy, so if he isn’t using it consistently, there can be some severe consequences if it leaks out. To put it simply, he isn’t exactly a lucky charm.”

Tamaki frowned deeply. “That’s pretty awful… I don’t even want to imagine the burden that could bring…”

Mirio hummed in accordance. “As long as he keeps it in check, there isn’t much to worry about, but that liability is always there.”

“I guess that makes sense, there’s pros and const to every quirk.” Nejire said, lowering her cup from her lips. “One way or another, we all have to figure out how to use the cards we are delt.”

"Oh!" Mirio suddenly blurted. "He can levitate, too."

"O-oh," Tamaki uttered in response. He glanced away for a moment, before a thought came to mind. He turned back to the blonde, uttering, "how do you know all this?"

"I heard about it at Nighteye's agency," Mirio replied brightly.

"I see," Tamaki replied softly, looking down at his tea again. It seemed that Nejire had refilled it while he wasn't looking.

"Does..." Tamaki began, trailing off as he mentally debated if he wanted to utter such a thought aloud. Furuya was a peer, someone he admired in her heroism, but who he barely knew. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder-

"...that mean he's often away, o-on missions?" Tamaki finished softly, glancing between his friends.

Nejire hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose so..."

Mirio added on more firmly, "I've heard he works a lot."

Tamaki looked back down, his lips pulled tight. So, then, did that mean Furuya was alone a lot...?

As if reading his mind, Mirio raised his cup and continued. “But, there’s a lot of unknowns, so we should be careful not to jump to conclusions.” There was a liveliness beaming in his blue irises, he looked at Tamaki, saying pointedly. “It’s better to get the information straight for the source.”

The color in the hero’s face drained. “L-Like – ask her d-directly? I-I don’t think I have the courage to do that…”

“I think he’s implying that it would be good to befriend her,” Nejire suggested kindly. Her expression lit up with a jovial smile. “Seems like it could be fun.”

Mirio nodded, following her statement with, “she’s in the other class, so it might not be as easy to meet up, but I’m sure we could work around it. What do you think, Tamaki?”

“I-I don’t know, I do like working with her…but – but I don’t want to m-make her feel uncomfortable - or think w-we only doing it out of p-pity.” While he appreciated their eagerness, he didn’t want to take Mirio’s warning lightly.

“Hm, that’s true too…” Nejire mused aloud, she leaned back into the cushion of the booth, twirling a periwinkle curl around her finger. “But, it doesn’t have to be forced either.”

“Exactly, it can happen organically – I mean, you want to be closer to her, right?” Mirio drawled.

The suggestiveness in his tone sent a blistering heat to Tamaki’s face. “E-Eh …? W-Well…y-yes, but w-why do y-you have to make it weird, Mirio!”

The blond chuckled, “sorry, but you left yourself open, dude.”

“Anyway…,” Nejire began, bringing them back on topic, “I’ve been wanting to get to know more people from class B, so this will be a great way to do that!”

“For sure, they are our future comrades after all,” Mirio agreed. “So, don’t think too hard about it, buddy.”

Tamaki’s shoulders slumped, pressing his lips together into a wobbly line. “Urk…w-when you point it out like that, i-it only makes it harder not to… - b-but, I’ll try.”

The trio polished off a few more pots of tea before going their separate ways. On his jaunt home, Tamaki could feel the brew sloshing in his belly, but he had to admit, he came out of their meeting feeling rejuvenated. If he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn his friends had a superpower for restoring energy on top of their established quirks.

Although he was still pretty worn out, he was more prepared to face the new week ahead.

In the back of his mind, he was still thinking about their discussion about the ghostly hero, Wraith. He wondered about the rumors that circulated around her family. Mirio hadn’t gone into detail about them, which left plenty of room for mystery, but maybe that was for the best.

For now, he was fine with not knowing – he was in no rush and there was no need to tarnish a clean slate.

#tamaki amajiki x oc #suneater x oc #oc x canon #bnha oc #mha oc

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smallcrystals · 4 years

Note

17 SCIFLASH PLZ

JSHDJSJ YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND

———

The sound of fingers hitting the keyboard slowly grew more apparent to Flash’s ears as he stirred awake. The boy caught himself drifting away from his dream and turned his head the other way in an attempt to fall back asleep. Though, unfortunately for him, the sound grew louder and he furrowed his brows, a silent, breathy groan escaping from his lips.

He blinked again to clear the blurriness, only to squint when a bright light pierced his sight. Flash whined, lip curling in frustration as he covered part of his sight. The room was dark, lights turned off, but there was a low purple hue painting the room instead of the usual monochrome colour. Flash rubbed at his eyes with his left hand, gulping down a shiver from sleeping shirtless, and he narrowed his eyebrows even more when he spotted Twilight sitting by her desk, typing away at her laptop with her hair in a mess, glasses slightly wonky on her face.

“Babe?” Flash said, pausing at how hoarse his voice sounded.

Twilight shot her head to him, eyes adorably wide, hands freezing on the keyboard. “Oh! Y-you’re awake!” She squeaked, putting on a smile, one Flash knew was a tired and forced one. Twilight turned to her laptop, slightly baring her teeth in regret. “Sorry… did I wake you up?”

Flash wet his lips. He went with: “You kinda did.” He jerked his right shoulder a bit since he had it under the pillow ever since he fell asleep. “What time is it?”

Even with the room being so dimly lit, Flash could see his girlfriend’s face going a little red and he wasn’t really sure why, but he had a number of guesses.

“Um…” Twilight stole a glance at the bottom corner of her laptop screen and bit her lip. “Twelve am…?” She said with an awkward smile. Flash cocked his head, arching a brow, sitting up on the bed. He slipped his right arm out from under the pillow, leaning on it. Twilight blushed more.

“Don’t lie to me, Twi,” Flash said with a slightly smirk. He knew her too well; it was most definitely not twelve am. “What time is it?” he asked again.

Twilight’s shoulders sank in defeat. “Two thirty-four am.”

He sighed loudly, running his free hand through his hair. “Twi…”

“I know, I know,” she started, wincing. “But I need to get this done!” She gestured to her laptop’s blaring white screen. Flash moved to see what was on it and it was the damn Chemistry project they were assigned to do in pairs.

Flash rolled his eyes playfully. “That’s due for another three weeks!” he yelled in a whisper.

“Do you know me?” Twilight scoffed, fixing her glasses, much to Flash’s misery. She looked cute, he pouted internally.

“Twi, come on,” Flash shoved the covers off with his foot and pulled himself up, sitting at the side of the bed. He stirred a bit at the sudden movement since he was still half-asleep, voice deeper than normal (especially since they had to keep it down, Twi’s parents were home), and then shot her a look. “Just finish the sentence you’re on and come to bed,” he said.

“Flaaaaash,” Twilight whined, tightening her already knot-filled ponytail. “It’s just a little bit! I can finish it, you go back to bed.” She returned to clicking on her laptop.

“Twilight, come on, we’ve got school tomorrow,” Flash groaned. He stood from the bed, lifting his sweatpants further up his hips, and walked over to her desk in the corner of her room. The light from her screen grew brighter, annoying Flash’s already crappy eyesight. “And you need sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

She said, in a struggling, exhausted voice.

“Twi.”

“Don’t,” Twilight said, grasping the top of her laptop and pulling it away from Flash even though his hands were nowhere near it. “I can finish it in time!”

“In what time?” Flash’s shoulders dropped. He honestly just wanted to be back in the comfort of Twilight’s bed covers, not standing by her desk which was by the window, meaning he could feel the night breeze coming through the gaps. He rubbed his bare arms. “Twilight, we can do it tomorrow during our free period. I know you’re tired.”

The girl looked up at him, taking in his concerned expression. Flash watched her façade fall under his eyes, the confident grin collapsed to a fatigued smile, eyes cascading down to the ground.

“Hm?” Flash rested his left hand on her shoulder, the other coming up to cup her jaw. He gestured to her bed.

“I…” Twilight looked at her document. “I just want us to get a good grade on this.”

“And we will! I trust us, Twi, and I trust you. You've never gotten us a bad grade on any of these projects and that isn't going to start now. But you need sleep, baby.”

She gazed between him and the Chem project. “Only if you promise not to leave it until last minute, okay?”

Flash smiled and nodded, shaking some sleep off with that. “Pinkie Promise.”

The end of Twilight’s eyebrow rose at that and she pouted. “Do it properly.”

“Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye. Happy?”

Twilight nodded cutely. “Very.” She nuzzled her cheek into Flash's hand, planting a light kiss on his palm before glancing at her screen, checking if her file had saved before shutting her laptop off to sleep. Flash took a step back as she packed away her resources, slotting them into their correct and original places. His eyes darted back to the BTS posters he got for her on her birthday and smiled at the way she quickly checked to see if they didn’t fall off.

“Did you go to the bathroom?” Flash asked in a soft voice. Twilight took off her glances and placed them on the bedside table, wandering towards Flash.

“Yeah, I did,” she said, resting her head against Flash’s bare chest. In his hold, she felt so heavy already. She definitely needed sleep.

“Okay, good.” He let her go first, watching her slide gingerly into the covers, trying to keep her balance. She sat on the bed to fix her hair and Flash giggled at the way she cringed at the mess. “Dealing with that tomorrow?” he asked.

“Dealing with that tomorrow.”

He crawled into the covers with her, sighing at finally returning to the warmth – that now doubled due to her with him. He loved holding her, Twilight holding him, just feeling her body warmth radiating onto him. Everything about her was warm.

Twilight made grabby hands at him, to which Flash had to control the urge to coo at – God, she was so adorable – and he moved closer.

She touched her nose with his, giggling ever so lightly, before leaning in and kissing him on the lips. Flash’s fingers found their way to her soft jaw, holding it as he deepened the kiss a little. After three, no, wait, five kisses, he nuzzled his nose against her cheek, reveling in her giggles.

Her hand came down to Flash’s waist, and of course Flash didn’t miss the way she slid her hand up and down the side of his torso (the girl took a massive liking to Flash’s slightly hourglass figure), and rested on the dip, pulling him to her so there wasn't a gap between their bodies.

“Goodnight,” Flash whispered against her lips and he felt Twilight smile in the dark.

“Goodnight.”

———

sooo uh i got a little carried away with this one, it’s literally 1.2k words SKDKSKD but i hope you guys enjoyed this!! sorry it's a little late 🥺 ♡

#flash sentry #sci twi #sciflash #shipping drabble #drabble #writing #equestria girls #eqg #mlp eqg #ask tag #THESE TWO ARE SO CUTE PLS 🥺

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pingo1387 · 4 years

Text

Monochrome

Written for @rudimentaryflair for @opvalentines 2020! Canonverse, Soulmate AU ZoSan, side Frobin, mention of aroace Luffy

The left eye held your eye color, and the right eye held your soulmate’s. When you first made eye contact with your soulmate, your right eye would change to its own color. That was what Kuina had told Zoro long ago. He never questioned it at the time, didn’t ask what that word “color” meant, but he did check his eyes in a mirror after that. They were identical as always.

Kuina died with heterochromia. Somewhere in the world, her soulmate would live on with two brown eyes, one lighter than the other.

“Sensei,” Zoro said one day after a frustrating training exercise. “What’s color?”

Koshiro was taken aback by the question, and struggled to answer, eventually standing, leaving, and then returning with two large leaves. “Do you see the difference between these?”

“Sure.” Zoro pointed to one. “This one’s darker.”

“Yes. This one is red, and this one is green. Red and green are two colors.”

Zoro was stumped. “Then, is everything just different shades of red and green?”

Koshiro let the leaves flutter away in the wind and placed his hands in his lap. “Zoro, you may be color blind.”

“What’s that?”

Zoro only sort-of understood after Koshiro did his best to explain it to him. Afterwards, he looked at his eyes in the mirror again. According to Koshiro, colors would almost always have different shades of lightness and darkness, even in his “monochrome” vision (Zoro struggled to pronounce the word, even in his head), but his eyes were both the same shade as always.

And that was fine. Zoro knew some people didn’t have soulmates, something else Kuina had whispered to him, and that was fine. He put down the mirror and folded his arms. No soulmate meant no one getting in the way of his dream.

When Zoro locked eyes with the dark-eyed boy wearing the straw hat, he narrowed his eyes. Those eyes, full of youth and optimism, had changed to a lighter shade, the same one Zoro always saw in the mirror.

“Hey,” he said while they were sailing away. “I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot,” the boy, Luffy, said.

“Your eyes, they changed color, didn’t they? But mine are . . .”

“Oh, that! Don’t worry about that.” Luffy grinned. “Someone told me it means I don’t have a romantic soulmate, but I have a bunch of platonic ones. My eyes change color all the time if I make eye contact, and they change back after a while.” He stretched, flopping around in the boat. “It doesn’t make anyone else’s eyes change. Yours didn’t.”

“Okay,” Zoro said, staring up at the sky.

They picked up two more, a navigator with an eye for money and a sniper with a mouth for lies. After bumping into some old friends, they reached a seafaring restaurant called the Baratie, and Zoro was itching for a fight. When a waiter with hair covering one side of his face started to serve them, he made eye contact with Zoro, and his eyes widened. Usopp and Nami looked between them, mouths open.

“What?” Zoro said, scratching his head.

“Oh, fuck this,” the waiter said, glowering at Zoro. He seized Luffy around the neck. “Come on, chore boy, back to the kitchen.”

As soon as they left, Nami and Usopp rounded on Zoro.

“What was that about?” Usopp demanded.

“What was what?”

“Why didn’t you say anything to him?”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you see . . . ?” Nami shook her head. “You’ll figure it out. You poor soul.”

“Figure what out?”

“You are a tragic, tragic man, Zoro,” Usopp cried.

“You looking for a fight?”

The cook Sanji ended up joining their crew, somehow, and he seemed to love picking on Zoro. Every time Zoro so much as tried to speak to him, Sanji would snap and badger until they were sparring, scowling, and seething. During one of their strange matches, Sanji’s hair flew up, and Zoro caught a brief glimpse of a matching set of eyes.

“Do you not have a soulmate?” he asked. Sanji stumbled, caught off guard, and Zoro pinned him to the ground with a sword next to his head.

“I wish I didn’t,” Sanji spat.

Zoro frowned. “So . . . you do. You met them, and you didn’t get along? Isn’t that strange?”

Sanji narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about? Don’t you know?”

“I don’t know. I know I don’t have a soulmate.”

Sanji brought his legs up to his torso and kicked hard, sending Zoro flying. As Zoro sat up from the railing, rubbing his head, Sanji yanked his sword out from the deck and tossed it to him. “Yeah,” Sanji said, turning away as Zoro caught the sword. “I guess I don’t, either.”

It had been a perfectly reasonable thing to do. His legs had been stuck in wax. The wax was unbreakable. His legs were breakable. Therefore---

“You’re an idiot.”

Zoro winced as Sanji stuck the needle into his flesh again. “That’s my business,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It becomes my---our business when it affects the crew.” Sanji jabbed the needle in again, perhaps a bit harder than he needed to. “I hate you.”

Zoro folded his arms, staring at Sanji. Sanji looked up again, meeting his eyes, and looked back down.

“I hate you,” Sanji repeated.

“Yeah.” Zoro wiggled his toes, regaining feeling in his feet. “I know. I don’t know why you do, but I know.”

Sanji flinched and snapped off the string, standing. “Rest, and don’t fucking try anything stupid,” he said. “Scratch that. Don’t stand up for at least an hour. I’ll bring you soup.”

Zoro stared after him, and for once, he listened.

“What’d you do to get hurt this bad?” Zoro said, tapping Sanji’s back and making him wince in pain.

“None of your goddamn business,” Sanji said through gritted teeth. “The mountain climb was tougher than it looked.”

Elsewhere on the deck, Luffy and Usopp were throwing their new crewmate, Chopper, into the air. Zoro and Sanji watched them in silence.

“Hey,” Sanji said. “Did you . . . growing up, did you want to meet your soulmate?”

“I told you, I don’t have one,” Zoro grumbled. “But I never wanted one, either.”

“You don’t make any sense, moss-hair,” Sanji said, folding his arms.

“Moss . . . ?” Zoro rubbed the top of his head, his hair smooth and silky and not at all like the rough moss he’d felt on trees. “What are you talking about?”

“Boy, you really are dumb. What were you saying?”

Zoro glowered at him. “I never wanted a soulmate. I didn’t want destiny getting in the way of my dream.”

“That’s---”

“Falling in love is a different story, though. That’s my choice. And I won’t let the person I choose to love, if anyone, get in the way of my dream.”

“Hm.” Sanji shifted, wincing again. Nami and Vivi chatted with Chopper, pulling him away from Luffy’s hyperactivity.

“What about you?”

Sanji sighed “I wanted to meet my soulmate more than anything,” he said, scowling. “I wanted to meet that beautiful lady who I was destined to be with. But then everything went wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

“You’re just winning the prize for biggest moron today, aren’t you?” Sanji snapped, standing. He fell down and tried to cover up his pain when Chopper looked over in concern. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t.”

Sanji scowled, but his face softened as he met Zoro’s eyes again. “I hate you,” he said, yet again.

Zoro’s chest hurt. “I know.”

Sanji was silent. He soon stood again, using the ship railing for support this time. “Want something to eat?”

“Booze.”

Zoro didn’t hate Sanji, but he hated the way Sanji spun hearts around women, and acted so stupid with them. He hated how Sanji spoke to him, and refused to make eye contact, and did his best to put contempt behind every word. Even now, Sanji was crooning over Robin, the suspicious woman who was their newest crewmate.

“Oh, Cook-san,” she said as he melted before her. “Have you met your soulmate?”

For an instant, Zoro thought he saw Sanji look at him.

“Yes, unfortunately, it hasn’t worked out,” Sanji said sweetly. “And you haven’t, Robin-chan, my dear?”

“Correct. But that’s my business.”

“Of course, of course, forgive me,” Sanji crooned. He turned, Robin watching him go with one dark eye and one light, and he bumped into Zoro.

“The fuck do you want?” he muttered, avoiding looking directly at him, as always.

“Nothing,” Zoro said, rolling his eyes. Sanji pushed past him and went into the kitchen, slamming the door shut. Zoro spotted Robin staring at him and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, looking away.

Zoro didn’t hate Sanji, but he hated that Sanji didn’t love hated him.

There Zoro was, waking up from Enel’s lightning blast, and there Sanji was close to him, still unconscious. He stared at him for what must have been too long, because suddenly Usopp was saying, “He got hit twice. He saved me and Nami.”

“Oh,” Zoro said. He scooted towards Sanji and pressed his ear to his chest, sighing when he heard the arrhythmic heartbeat. Looking up, he saw Usopp staring at him, and said, “What?”

Usopp rolled his eyes and looked away. Zoro looked back at Sanji’s face, and brushed some ash out of his hair, his fingers lingering on his cheek.

Something happened during the Davy Back Fight. Something happened to Sanji. The way he looked at Zoro when he asked for his help during the Groggy Ring battle, with that stupid ball strapped to his head. The way he slapped Zoro’s shoulders and back during the following celebration party. The way he gave Zoro tentative smiles, as if testing the waters, and the silly way he grinned when Zoro smiled back.

“I hate you,” Sanji said that evening, joining Zoro in the crow’s nest that evening with a bottle of wine.

“Yeah,” Zoro said, looking away. He and Sanji were still covered in bruises from their battle, dark and light patches across their limbs and torsos.

“But I also don’t hate you.”

“Oh?” Zoro’s heart lifted as he looked at Sanji, his chest hurting again but in a completely different way.

“Yeah. Do you hate me?”

“No.” Zoro took the offered bottle, taking a drink straight from the mouth. “I never did.”

“Huh.” Sanji looked down, blinking hard, and brought a hand up to his suddenly bright eyes. “Huh. Is that so?”

“What’s up with you?”

Sanji looked up, swallowing back tears. “You’re just a grade-A moron, aren’t you?”

“I’m not psychic. What are you talking about?”

“Keep the bottle.” Sanji stood. “I’ll come to relieve you in time. See you.”

He vanished down the ropes, and Zoro lifted his head, staring up at the dark, dark sky covered in pale, pale dots.

With their journey through Enies Lobby and Water 7 complete, the Strawhats had lost three treasured crewmates, one for good, and gained three, one brand-new. It wasn’t long before Franky and Robin were performing public displays of affection, nothing more daring than pecks on the cheek and yet things that once would have surely driven Sanji to tears with jealousy. As it was, though, he merely gave them thoughtful glances at most.

“Aren’t you soulmates?” Usopp asked them one day as Zoro lingered nearby and Sanji served them cold drinks, setting Robin’s down lovingly upon a coaster and slamming Franky’s into his hand.

“We’re not sure,” Robin admitted. Her eyes hadn’t changed from the moment she had threatened them in the glow of the remains of Igaram’s ship: One was light, and one was dark.

“I had to rebuild my eyes while modifying my body,” Franky explained. “It’s a shame, but I don’t remember the exact colors they were. In any case, since they’re super-artificial and the same color, they wouldn’t change with eye contact.”

“So, we’re not sure,” Robin repeated. “But we love each other, and if he’s not my soulmate and I meet them one day, they’ll have to put up with him as well.”

“What do you mean, put up with?” Franky demanded.

Zoro stared at Sanji from across the deck, looking away as soon as he noticed.

Thriller Bark brought them a zany new member of the family, a talking skeleton who was older than dirt and far too cheery. Thriller Bark brought them a dangerous new enemy, a Warlord with the ability to repel just about anything. Thriller Bark brought them a Zoro who claimed to have lost his memory of his fight with Kuma, but who remembered the sleeping face of his captain, the cold eyes of his enemy, and the desperate, pained face of his . . .

Zoro thought he had finally escaped. Between Chopper trying to mummify him in bandages and the others badgering him to take it easy, he thought he had found refuge in the library, where no one would think to look for him. He lay on his back, pedalling his feet in the air to stretch his legs, as he’d been unable to sneak his weights into the room without drawing attention to himself.

“There you are.”

He groaned and dropped his legs as Sanji entered. “Can’t I have peace for one minute?” he said, sitting up. He frowned, seeing Sanji’s face. “What is it?”

“I don’t hate you,” Sanji said.

“Oh,” Zoro said, his chest hurting in that good way just hearing the words. “Right. And?”

“I tried to hate you, Zoro. I really did.” Sanji sat next to him, staring at the floor. “I didn’t want to feel this way about you. I wanted to feel this way about a pretty girl. But I can’t help it. Zoro, I love you. You’re a fucking callous moron, and I don’t know if you love me, too, but---fuck, you have every right not to after the way I’ve treated---”

“I do love you.”

Sanji looked up at him, lips parted and breath shallow. “But you---”

“I love you,” Zoro repeated. “You’ve always been a bitch, but that was the only thing---I can’t help it.” He looked down, wiggling his toes on the floor and staring at the scars on his shins. “I think I’ve loved you for a while. Maybe since I realized the only thing I really hated about you was that you didn’t love me.”

“But I do love you. I really tried not to,” Sanji repeated, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I can’t help it, either. Especially with you spouting off those nasty words about not having a soulmate---”

“I don’t have a soulmate.”

“Fine. Whatever you say. But you love me, right?”

Zoro nodded.

“Then that works for me.” Sanji touched Zoro’s shoulder. “When you were . . . just lying there, unconscious . . . I realized I had to tell you as soon as you woke up. We live dangerous lives. I had to tell you as soon as possible.”

Zoro smiled, placing his hand over Sanji’s on his shoulder, his heart soaring through the sky. “No regrets, right?”

Sanji held Zoro’s cheek in one hand, looking him in the eyes. “No regrets.”

Sabaody brought them turmoil, and a crew torn apart. The war brought them pain, and news of a bloodline with an early demise.

The next two years brought them patience, and forced it upon them, day by day.

Zoro spotted a familiar head of pale hair in the distance, and grinned, jumping off of the broken ship to stride towards him.

“I liked you better without the goatee,” he said, stopping in front of Sanji.

Sanji looked him up and down. “I liked you better with both your eyes.”

They seized each other and hugged, hoping to never let go.

It happened on what should have been an ordinary morning during their trip to Dressrosa. Kin’emon and Mononosuke were having what they called a “Private Father-Son Meeting” in the aquarium room, so everyone else was banned from it for the time being. Zoro and Sanji were sparring on the deck, testing their skills and banter honed after two years, and Luffy was hanging out next to Law on a railing. Nami was drawing maps in her room, Usopp was in his workshop, and Robin and Franky were at the bow, keeping an eye on the ship’s course. Chopper and Brook were cheering on Zoro and Sanji, alternating the names every so often, to their annoyance.

Luffy leaned over to Law and whispered something, holding up something in his hand. Law took it, nodded, and raised his hand. In an instant, Zoro and Sanji fell over, caught off-balance.

“What did you do?” Chopper exclaimed as they sat up, shaking their heads.

“Oh me, oh my, we’re stuck in this situation again,” Brook remarked. “Why did you do that, Law-san?”

“I got paid,” Law said, flashing the coin at him.

Two yells echoed across the deck. Used to this, no one was drawn out from inside the ship, and Robin and Franky stayed at the bow with barely a glance behind them.

“Why is it so bright?!” Zoro in Sanji’s body yelled, covering his eyes. “Do you guys see this all the time?!”

“Law, swap us back right now,” Sanji in Zoro’s body snapped. “I think I gave this idiot a concussion. I can’t see any color.”

“Of course you can’t, I’m color blind,” Zoro said. He rubbed his eyes, staring at Sanji in his body. “Is that what I look like?”

“Wait, what?” Luffy said, coming over with Chopper and Brook. Law hung back, folding his arms and leaning against the railing

“Is that what I look like?” Zoro repeated. “What color is my hair?”

“Green,” Sanji said.

“Wait, that’s besides the point!” Chopper exclaimed. “You’re color blind?!”

“Yeah,” Zoro said. “Did it never come up?”

“No!” Sanji exclaimed. “No, it didn’t!”

“What’s the big deal? I’ve never needed to see color to get by.” Zoro stared at his hands and stood, looking around and taking in the colors of his crewmates. “Someone get me a mirror. I wanna see the cook.”

Brook dug around in his pockets while Luffy laughed. “No wonder you never got why Sanji calls you moss-hair!”

“Why?” Zoro said.

“Your hair’s the same color as moss!”

Zoro gave Sanji a look as Brook passed him a small handheld mirror. As he studied himself (or rather, Sanji) in the mirror, Sanji stood and stared at him, blinking.

“Zoro,” he said. “Pass me that mirror when you’re done.”

“Sure. What color are your eyes?”

“I’m going to talk to you about this later,” Chopper threatened. Luffy wandered away again to bother Law, Zoro too absorbed in the new spectrum available to him to pay much attention.

“They’re blue,” Sanji said. “Light blue. And my hair’s yellow. Blonde.”

“Huh.” Zoro twisted the mirror this way and that. “It’s pretty.”

“Give it!”

Zoro handed him the mirror, and Sanji stood next to him, staring at his (Zoro’s) one eye and his (Sanji’s) one visible one.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, Zoro.”

He passed the mirror back to Brook and pulled Zoro by the hand up to the stern to have more privacy. As soon as they were alone, he looked at Zoro, opened his mouth, and started laughing.

“What?” Zoro said, annoyed.

“Zoro,” Sanji said, his eye starting to tear up. “I thought this whole time you were just obtuse, or plain rude. But you literally didn’t see it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your eyes---rather, eye, is silver. Grey,” Sanji said, pointing.

“Huh,” Zoro said, staring his body in the eye. “Looks the same as before.”

“Exactly.” Sanji wiped at the tears threatening to spill down his cheek. “Zoro, I used to have one blue eye and one silver eye. Before we met, you had one silver eye, and one blue eye.”

“Before we met?”

“Zoro.” Sanji took his hands, grinning. “We’re soulmates. You didn’t notice because my eye color looks the same as yours in monochrome.”

“I . . . what?”

“I was so angry. Not just because I wanted my soulmate to be a girl---I thought you were pretending to not notice, or you were really that stupid. But you just didn’t see.”

“Oh.” Reeling, Zoro stared at Sanji, staring at that one grey eye. “Oh. That. Does that matter?”

“You had no idea we were soulmates. You didn’t see it, and also, you’re an idiot.” Sanji leaned into Zoro’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. “I knew, and I tried to hate you, but I couldn’t. I think I would’ve fallen for you even if I was color blind, or just blind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Right.” Zoro hugged Sanji back, and they stood in silence for a minute. Then---

“Let’s get that dick to change us back,” Sanji said, pulling away. He grinned, the wide smile odd on Zoro’s face. “It’s weird hugging myself. Are you going to miss colors?”

“Nah. It’s too bright.” Zoro held his hand. “And I’ve never needed color anyway.”

#opvd 2020 #zosan #frobin #opfanfic #writing adventures

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t4t-lumpygrab · 3 years

Text

Rose

Woop here’s Fluffember number 2! I haven’t been crossposting my most recent fics but I’m doing it now :) (also pssst I drew fanart for this one here)

The coronation ceremony had gone smoothly and all according to the weird royal protocol of Lumpy Space. Lemongrab hadn’t got a chance to see LSP before she appeared on the raised cloud with her parents. She’d been so high up, overlooking all of Lumpy Space and its inhabitants Lemongrab couldn’t help but think she looked like an angel. She was so serene and beautiful as she daintily held the sceptre and took her vows- or she was until she saw him in the crowd and waved at him. The entire congregation turned to look at him and he was so embarrassed he nearly ran to the edge of the cloud and jumped off.

Fortunately LSP didn’t seem to notice the bouquet he’d hidden behind his back. He’d read in books that you were supposed to get your girlfriend flowers, which was understandable, flowers were pretty and they smelled nice- he would like to get some too. But there were so many different types he hadn’t known what to get. And LSP deserved the best, prettiest, nicest flower in existence.

Fortunately Treetrunks had found him glaring at a lily in a flower shop while the florist looked at him in terror and helped him. Apparently red roses were the best. A symbol of love. He’d wanted to get her something purple but according to Treetrunks the redder they were the more love they symbolised, so he chose the reddest he could find. He pulled them out as he stood waiting for her near the food stands people had set up to make money off the crowd. He touched one of the flowers, tracing a finger round the pattern of its velvety petals. Each one so red, red, red…

“Red red red-” Marceline flew over the crowd in a panic and cursed herself. How could she have left her apples at home! She was starving and if she got any hungry she’d turn into a feral beast for sure. And with all these innocent lumpy people around… she shuddered to think what she’d do if she didn’t find some red soon.

Her eyes darted around. Every inch of Lumpy Space was purple- why was it so purple! Didn’t these people get bored of looking at the same stupid colour all the time. The other Ooo royalty that had come to watch the coronation were standing in a group together and maybe it was possible to drink the red from Flame Princess? She thought about how badly Finn had burned his mouth kissing her and decided not to.

She looked down despairingly and then she saw it. A vibrant scarlet splash. She flew down to it and pulled up next to Lemongrab. He clutched his roses tighter and acknowledged her with a “Nnnngh… Stepmother.”

“What’s that you got there?” She pointed at his flowers, already salivating.

“This is myyyy precious gift… for myy princess. Though I suppose she is my queen now. Hm.” Marceline felt almost bad drinking the red from his present, but it was that or massacre innocents.

She pointed at something over his shoulder. “Dude! Look! Some guy is selling lemonade isn’t that like, sooooo offensive to you? You know, since you’re a lemon.”

Lemongrab gullibly turned. “I like lemonade! Is there lemonade here?” There was a slurping sound next to him and when he turned back Marceline had sucked almost all of the red out of his roses.

He screamed. “EVIL! EVIL! UNACCEPTABLE! YOU WICKED VAMPIRE I WILL SMITE YOU FOR THIS-” Marceline flew back before he could take a swing at her with his clenched yellow fist.

“Sorry dude but a girl’s gotta eat. Sorry about your roses, I’ll make it up to you later- I’ll buy you like, I dunno, a goldfish or something. Bye!” With that she vanished.

Lemongrab looked down at what had been his bouquet in misery. The sucked out colour had left a dull monochrome grey behind, the only red left was around the edges where Marceline’s hungry teeth hadn’t reached. It had gone from something beautiful and deserving of her to something ugly.

He’d thought about how happy she’d be when he gave them to her but now she’d probably be weirded out, or even worse, upset. And he'd been so careful to put on his best suit (technically t was the first earl's best black suit and the second earl's best whit suit cut in half and stitched together) and spent ages tying his lime green tie to look nice for her. But it would all be for nothing if she felt insulted. Would she even want to keep dating him?

“Heeey Lemmy~” oh no. He hadn’t had time to get rid of them! LSP had taken her crown off and she floated over to him with a smile. He tried to stash the ruined flowers behind his back but wasn’t fast enough. This time she did see them. “Wait are those like, flowers? For real.”

Lemongrab sadly produced the black and white bouquet. “They were supposed to beeee red… my wicked stepmother ate all theee colour. Unacceptable behaviour...”

LSP wordlessly took it from him and stared at it. He fidgeted anxiously to see her reaction but instead of getting upset she smiled. “They’re pretty.”

"Really?" he asked hopefully and she nodded.

LSP buried her face in the bouquet. The petals were velvety and cool against her hot, blushing face and she smiled as she nuzzled them. They smelled really strongly so it felt like she’d submerged herself in a sweet scented world. She’d never smelled roses before. Because no boy had ever loved her strongly enough to gift her them. Ne had ever loved her as much as Lemongrab did. Tears pricked her eyes and she let out one small sob.

“AAAA!!! NOOOOO PRINCESS DON’T CRY! IF YOU HATE THEM THAT MUCH I WILL BURN THEM!” Lemongrab panicked and she quickly scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I like them. I like, lumping love them.” She told him, “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before… You’re the first.”

“Oh? Oh! Ha ha I see!” Lemongrab grinned, “I am… very happy to be theee first!”

“You don’t have to be like, lumping cocky about it." She muttered, hiding her face behind the flowers, "You’re also the first guy I’ve seen get knocked out by a manticore on a first date.”

Lemongrab frowned and pouted at her. “I did not mean it in a cocky way… It’s just, um," Lemongrab got flustered as he tried to explain, "you are myyy first g-girlfriend.. And my first kiss, and-and thiiiiiings like that. You’ve showed me lots of new things but I haven’t shown you anything. It hurts me sometimes. I am not even the first Lemongrab. Everything I can give people… they’ve already seen...” he said sadly.

“Iiii did not know it felt so nice… to be the one who first shows someone something beautiful.” Lemongrab was smiling at her. She’d seen him happy before, even really happy. But now he was just glowing. He really had shown her something beautiful.

She couldn’t take it anymore. LSP grabbed his tie and yanked. Lemongrab’s eyes widened at being jerked towards her and widened even more when she kissed him. LSP gave him a soft kiss and teasingly ran her tongue over his bottom lip. She felt him shiver. She let go of his tie to touch his chest and felt the excited thumping of his heart as she slipped herself into his mouth.

His trembling hands traced the curves of her body and it was her turn to shiver as he wrapped an arm around to pull her close to him. They made out. It wasn’t like the nasty, wet, aggressive makeouts she’d had with Brad in the past that left her feeling wrong and objectified. It was soft and gentle, like the smell of roses. When they pulled away, breathless and smiling, Lemongrab cupped his hands around her face and lent in to kiss her soft and deep and good.

He kept his hands there as they looked at each other. “You know,” she said eventually, “your flowers aren’t the only thing changing colour around here.”

“What?”

She poked his cheek. “You’ve gone bright green.”

Lemongrab let go of her to cover his furiously blushing face and she couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he was.

“Maybe I should call you Limegrab I mean, you’re literally the same green as your tie.” she quipped and dug her elbow into his as she floated past him, “Anyway imma go put these in some water, you coming or what?”

“I-I need tooo go clear my head!” Lemongrab yelped and then practically ran away to go scream behind a food vendor.

LSP smiled at him and looked back down at her flowers. Despite the splashes of red on some of the petals they were mostly grey, and she hadn’t told him this but they were the same colour as Lemongrab’s work uniform. So she didn’t mind the colour.

She touched the squishy petals again and thought about other similarities. A lot of people might be put off by a rose’s thorns. They might think that just because it could cut them or because they’d been hurt by one in the past that it would hurt them. People might even say that they took too much effort to look after and not bother with them. But thorns and all, roses were so beautiful to her. Just liked Lemongrab was.

He sheepishly came out from behind the stall and came up to her. "We can go now."

To his surprise, she nuzzled his shoulder and buried her face in his chest. And even though Lemongrab's lemony scent was very different from the smell of the flowers, it was just as sweet. Her rose.

#adventure time #atimers #lemongrab #adventure time fanfiction #fanfiction #lumpygrab #lumpy space princess #earl of lemongrab #fluffember #fluffember 2020 #my writing #writing #fluff #fluffy fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #cartoon network #cartoon fanfiction

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ellewidogast · 4 years

Note

prompt: ok but what if mr spider DID come back for jon (and also martin is there and realizes why jon hates spiders so much)

Jon frowned at the package in his hands. It had been waitingfor him just outside his door when he had gone outside for a quick morningsmoke. It was thin and flexible, wrapped in plain brown paper and twine. Martinleaned over his shoulder with two mugs of tea.

“What’s that?”

Jon shook his head and took one of the mugs.

“I don’t know.”

He tugged at the twine, a strange, familiar feeling in hisstomach. Something fluttered to the floor. An equally plain envelope. Martinbent and picked it up.

“It has a note.”

“Hm.”

Jon slipped the twine the rest of the way off and slipped afinger under the seam of the wrapping, while Martin opened the envelope,pulling out a single sheet of folded stationary. Martin cocked his head, alittle furrow in his brow.

“It doesn’t really explain anything.”

Jon turned the package over, unwrapping. Martin smoothed thefolds in the letter a little as he read it aloud.

“Jon. I think you lost this.”

What did that mean—Jon froze as he revealed the corner of amonochrome cover.

“See you soon. Or maybe I won’t. Annabelle.”

The book slipped from his fingers and landed with a softthwack onto the floor. Martin moved around him to pick it up. Jon grabbed his arm,fingers digging in.

“Don’t—don’t.”

Martin looked at him, a concerned frown on his face.

“Are you alright—”

KNOCK KNOCK.

______________

Send me prompts

#jonathan sims #martin blackwood #the magnus archives #Anonymous #elle writes

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student-yuki · 4 years

Text

this chat gave me a little idea in my head on how this would go with my mc that wouldn’t get out until i wrote it so here we go

word count: 1,014

Why. Why, why, why. Why? Why did they say they’d help Leviathan pick out normie clothes? And why didn’t they try to get Asmodeus to come along? Sure, they could say they were a little bit fashionable, they were the child of a long line of fabric makers after all, but all that meant for them was that they could fit clothes and know their way around a needle…but throwing colors and patterns into the mix made their head sink in hazardous waters. Yet, when confronted by the demon, there was no way they could say “no”.

Their first impression on Leviathan wasn’t the greatest. They were put-off by him calling himself an otaku, he wasn’t Japanese, and found his behavior to be too brash. But as they got to know him their opinion changed almost drastically. First, there was no point in being upset with him saying he was an otaku, he was a demon and demons probably didn’t nationalities so that wasn’t anything to get caught up on. And while they still found him to be a little harsh at times, they found his quirks to be unique and fun.

His smile when talking about TSL? Stunning. The way his words rushed out when explaining the plot of his new video game? Astonishing. When he used internet speech in real life? Endearing. Leviathan went from annoying to one of their closest companions much faster than they thought possible. Not to mention all of the new media he introduced them to from the Devildom, especially Mononoke Island; those nights where he dragged them out to catch rare spirits may have left them sleepless but that didn’t matter when facing that dumb grin Leviathan would wear while showing off his D.D.D.

And sure they could face down Lucifer, Avatar of Pride, fire burning in his eyes as his wings beat rapidly in anger with only minimal violent shaking and dizziness — that wasn’t as intimidating as facing down the glittering aura of Majolish, even if the excited vibrations coming from the awkward demon were enough to encourage them before it sure wasn’t anymore.

“So,” Levi’s words startled them out of their mind, “where do we start?”

“Uh,” they trailed off, glancing around the sections of clothes, taking their time in inspecting almost every single article hanging on the racks. Levi continued to look down at them, a fact they barely registered until their eyes finally met his.

Answer. Answer. Answer you idiot! They could feel the blood vanishing from their face as their forehead and cheeks chilled. Words tried to form in their throat but fizzled out by the time they reached their tongue. How much time had already passed? Oh, god, they needed to say something now!

“Wh-what color do you want to wear?” IDIOT.

“W-well, I guess ideally I’d like to stay with the colors I normally wear, so, oranges, yellows, and blues I guess.”

Well fuck.

Then again, there was probably no answer that they would be able to handle. But they could turn this around, they had to, there was no other choice, they had to say something. Say something. Say something. Say something!

“What kind of style are you looking for?”

“Uh, normie style?”

“Okay, well,” oh there was work to do here. “Let’s start with some general questions about the venue. Do you know how big it is?”

“Uh, big?”

“Do you have any idea on how many people might be there?”

“Too many,” Levi grumbled, a dark look passing over his face. Time to move on fast.

“Well let’s say it’ll be a full convention then. Do you know if the place in air conditioned? Or if you’ll be waiting outside for any time?”

“It should be air conditioned, and I don’t think there will be any outside waiting.”

“Perfect! Then we can start with looking for long sleeves or light jackets!” With that, they grabbed his hand and started to drag him off. “Stop me when you see something that looks good!”

Oh god.

—

“What do you think of these together?”

“Maybe?”

So…things weren’t going very well. They were wishing that Asmodeus, or even Mammon, was there to help. Was that an orange shirt with a blue jacket or a yellow shirt with a green jacket? The style was the same, the two of them had narrowed it down enough to be able to stay in the same area and not wander around much; but colors remained to be chosen.

It was their most challenging battle yet.

“Wh-why don’t you j-just go with what you, you want?”

“But I want your opinion!” Levi’s whining would have been cute if it weren’t for the fact that they wanted to entire building to just…combust into flames? Collapse inwards onto them and bury them in the rubble? Have a complete electrical failure? Whatever.

“I-I know! B-but you’re-re the one who will be wearing them! An-and I-I don’t think it’ll ma-matter too much! Choo-choose what you, you want!”

“Hm,” Levi held up the clothes to inspect them, taking the pressure away for a relieving, breathable moment. At least until he looked back at them, eyes pleading. “But what do you think?”

“Honest?” Confidence, where did you go confidence.

“Honest!”

“If you’re too concerned with colors, just go with black and white.” Good old monochrome never let them down.

“Like you do?”

“Y-yeah!” Aaand they were probably blushing now, nice! “I mean, that way you don’t have to worry about matching colors and wear whatever you want.”

Levi seemed to think about it for a bit, then put the clothes back on the racks. “That’s not a bad idea, I guess.”

And there was that sweet rush of relief that they craved so much as Levi went to pull out some black, white, and gray versions. The two of them went from there. It seemed like smooth sailing to the checkout. Until Levi asked about accessories.

“Do I look like I know anything about accessories?”

#obey me #swd obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me leviathan #obey me mc #obey me fanfic #my mc #my writing #they're colorblind btw #thinking about making a sequel with asmo where the demons find out #yuki ch #mywriting

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octopineslime · 4 years

Text

First Date

Last Order was nervous as hell as she stood perfectly still against a giant lamp post in the bustling avenue. The longer she stood there, the more rattled her nerves became as she started to twist the material of her dress with both hands.

This was her and Accelerator first official date and it would not be like the kind of play dates she used to initiate back then, where everything were just about her dragging the esper around and did whatever she like. Nope. If Onee-sama ‘s words and the information Last Order herself had gathered from the network and TV dramas about the things couple did on their dates were true, then she swore she could literally feel all the butterflies fluttering around her stomach.

Trying to keep her imagination and the giddy feeling that was currently flooded her soul in check, Last Order took a look at her watch and was relieved to find that it was nearly the time for her date to be here. Checking herself again to find if anything were out of place, the girl felt grateful to have had all the back-up that were Yomikawa and Misaka Worst to help her out.

Just after hearing about her plan on having this date, her guardian had gotten pretty much enthusiastic on getting her all dolled up. The simple but beautiful French braid and the natural makeup look were all Yomikawa doing after all.But where fashion was concerned, the Anti-skill member were pretty much clueless on today’s trends, and that was where Misaka Worst came in. Though the busty girl’s taste in fashion leaned more on the sensual and mature side, her Misaka Sister from German really did have an amazing eye on colors and styles. The form-fitting, two straps checkered dress she was currently donning hugged all her development curves in right places . Though she did show a bit skepticism towards it at first, not really used to showing so much skin, but Misaka Worst insisted her on wearing it while going on about how Boss would totally dig it. But they ended up pairing the dress with a light beigh cardigan, much to Last Order relief, and a pair of knee-high boots which boost her height a little. All in all, Last Order was definitely confident in her outer appearance.

So lost in her thought, the chestnut-haired girl didn’t notice a pair of gangly looking guys approached her from afar, only acknowledged when their statues loomed over hers. Dreaded flood her stomach as she realized no one could really see what happened due to her being corner against the guys’ tall bodies.

“ Hey pretty girl, what are ya doing here all alone? Seems like some douchbags stood you up ay? Ya know it is dangerous for a girl to be out here in the dark without anyone with you. So why don’t you come with us, we promise we will take good “care” of you.” . The blonde one spoke up, hair obviously dyed with black root showing up, his tone and the intention behind it clearly set off all the alarms in her mind.

“ Misaka is here with someone, he just hasn’t arrived yet but he will be here any minutes now. Misaka said as Misaka trying to politely decline your offer.”. Last Order inched herself backward, clearly pressing against the pole right now as she tried to find a way to alert someone. If not, she could always shock those guys a bit as last measure.

“ You sure speak weirdly, girly. But you’re cute so we could go pass that. Now com’on, we don’t want to waste any more minute on all the “fun” waiting for us, do we?”. The other guy, this time spotting a shock of green hair with piercings littered on his lips and nose, grabbed and yanked her arm forward, nearly made her lose balance and tumble forwards to the guy’s chest.

Anger and fear laced her mind as she prepared to send a bolt onward, only to be stopped by a can that flew straight into the green-haired’s head, knocking him out cold. His companion looked baffled at the event as he angrily turned to face the culprit.

“ Well, well, isn’t that some little shits trying to pick up a girl, hm? Make me cringe at your piss pour attempt, let alone that was my brat you trying to take with you. Why don’t I rattle that head of yours to see if there is any ounces of intelligence left in it?”. A voice drawled out, oozing with disdain and bemuse as footsteps echoing closer.

“ Who the fuck are you?! You dare to attack my friend, I’ll make you fucking pay for it.”. The blonde charged forward, fist readied to make contact against the other’s face.

“ They never learned,do they?”. Just as the guy was about to close in, his fist was bounced back with such force that made his entire body fall back on the ground. The arm was displayed in an angle which was painful to look at, like he just punch a concrete wall.

“ Listen here you dirty shit, if you dare to come near her again, I’ll make pay double for it, understood?” Dragging the guy’s head up by hair, Accelerator didn’t care that the guy was moaning in pain as he carried his threat across.

Last Order was stunned to say at least. She couldn’t imagine how her date would start out like this, just like some cliches that often happened in the TV dramas. Half of her wanted to swoon as his come to rescue act, but the other half was awared at the attention they started to attract.

Dragging the albino away by the arm, Last Order started to weave through people, while hoping desperately that no one would call them out. And after making sure they were far enough, Last Order took a breath of relief and turned to the male whose annoyance was barely concealed.

“ Misaka is really grateful that you showed up on time and help her. But was violence really needed? Misaka said as Misaka tried to reprimand Accelerator action without being ungrateful.”. Last Order shook her head like she was scolding a child, though that child was technically an adult and was 6 years older than her.

“ Fine fine, whatever, I swear next time I’ll go easy on those dickheads okay? But what with arriving so early.Wasn’t it you the one who told me to come at that time? What if I came late huh, shitty brat?” The esper deepened his scowl, tone laced with sarcasm but not with a tinge of concern, something Last Order could subtly pick up by now as warmth filled her inside up.

“ Well, Misaka just wanted to come early so she could surprise Accelerator with her outlook, she didn’t think that things could get out of hand Iike that. Misaka said as Misaka sheepishly scratchs her cheeks.”. Last Order tried to justify her action when she suddenly took notice of the albino’s outfit.

The esper’s wardrobe had always been simple, consisted only those of monochrome colors in term of sweaters and jeans. Though now older, he occasionally threw in some dress shirts and slacks, still in either black or white, suitable for his job. But what really surprise Last Order was that the navy blue button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up to elbows, which was initially one of her gifts when she complained how bleaked his wardrobe looked, clung to his wiry form just right. The hem was tucked in his snugged black denim jeans with leather belt held it in place, then cladded his feet was a pair of military boots to complete the look.

“Misaka thought Accelerator had to stay all day in the research lab? So when did he get the time to change in this outfit? Misaka said as Misaka took appreciative glances at his handsome outlook.”. Last Order unabashedly let her eyes roam over the male’s body that she didn’t see a hand chopping down her head.

“Oi, you’re drooling you stupid brat. It’s disgusting. Now why don’t we get going to the goddamn restaurant you were busy blabbering about the past week. I’m fucking starving.”. Accelerator took no notice of the girl holding her head in pain as he walked past her and onward with the aid of his cane.

“You’re so mean. You haven’t even compliment Misaka yet and all you could think of is food. Misaka said as Misaka sulked while rubbing her forehead.” The chestnut haired girl turned to catch up the esper as she whinely looped her arms around the male’s elbow and swung it back and forth.

“ Damn it. Stop it. You’re not a child anymore, act like a fucking grown up already. And you want compliment? Fine. You look nice. Now would you let go already.” Accelerator tried to snake his arms away but couldn’t, cause the girl held on tightly while looking at him with those big puppy brown eyes like she was asking for more.

“ Goddamnit. Sure. Whatever. You look beautiful okay. Enough for me to pummel those bastard bloody if you haven’t stop me. There, I said it. Now can we fucking go already?” The esper pinched in between his brows as if he could felt a migrain was forming, while pointedly ignored Last Order’s squeals as she led them on.

———————————-

The restaurant they dined at was a quaint and lively one, which Last Order happened to discover by chance when she had gone out with Onee-sama the previous week. The couple was then escorted to a secluded booth that had been reserved beforehand and was asked to filed their orders. While looking at the menu, Last Order couldn't help but notice how unsubtly their waitress-a cute brunette who looked only a couple years older than her, was eyeing at Accelerator.

The Misaka's network administrator had to admit that although Accelerator was the kind of guy you wouldn't normally find attractive at first glance due to his frail appearance and unkempt hair. But upon a closer look, his androgynous face with straight nose and long eyelashes was a score. And now that he was in his 20s, some of his features had sharpened up along with wide shoulder and tapered waist, given him a hint of masculine underneath.

Just the thought of some women took interest in the esper irked Last Order to no end. She couldn't help but felt some jealousy creeping up her heart, which she then transferred by loudly given out her order, resulted in a startled waitress who immediately took their orders, and a lone eyebrow's raise from the albino.

" Oi brat, you don't have to shout you know? That woman can hear perfectly fine. And what with that sour look on your face, ya suck on a lemon or something?"Accelerator stared blankly at the sulking girl across him, puffing her cheeks stubbornly.

" Nothing is wrong. Misaka said as Misaka tried to hide her annoyance on how oblivious Accelerator was to the woman's eyeing.". Sometimes, Last Order just wished she could erase the honest way of speaking that had been ingrained in her system. The thing had frustratingly proven to work against her on many occasions such as one right now.

" That's what make you all grumpy about? So childish.". The esper crossed his arms and leaned back heavily against his chair, while spotting his usual scowl and a sigh to indicate his exasperation.

" And before you could even argue, yes, I did feel the her fucking eyeing me. God knew how that woman just wanted to undress me already, which was definitely disturbing. But I didn't want to troubled myself by telling her off, let her stare for all she want, not like I would return any of her attempts. So don't try bothering yourself over something that likely would not happen, ya hear shitty brat?" Ended his rant, the albino watched as the expression on Last Order's face shifted from irritation to giddiness as she came to an understanding.

Affection bloomed in the girl's heart as she recalled his words, all of her worries seemed to disappear at the esper's assurance. So when the food arrived, Last Order didn't even bother to watch the failed attempts of the waitress at trying to flirt with Accelerator, who was spotting an annoying look in his crimson eyes then eventually rudely shooed the waitress off so he could eat. The brunette looked taken aback, much to Last Order's triumph, as she silently left and didn't even tried anything else when they paid the bills afterwards.

---------------------------------

After leaving the restaurant, Last Order walked hand in hand with the white haired esper, something she stubbornly made him do until he relented. They silently walked down the road with no destination in mind, with Last Order occasionally broke the silence by pointing out some celestials she happened to know from books, and Accelerator either lazily agreed or corrected her.

Feet somehow automatically carried them back to their shared apartment, a gift from both Yomikawa and Yoshikawa which, of course, was equipped high security system and was both close to their workplace and school. Before entering, Last Order turned to face the male as she excitedly asked him:

" So how was the date? Did you like it? Misaka said as Misaka trying to gauge your reaction while feeling a little nervous.". The chestnut haired girl stared earnestly at him, imaginary tail seemed to appear behind her with back and forth wagging motion.

"It was okay. Could be better without hormonal douchebags and waitress though.". Accelerator softly patted the girl head, finding himself out of energy to be sarcastic.

" Then would it be okay if we arranged a second, third, or even more than that? Oh, Misaka had thought up a lot of places she wanted Accelerator to go with her. Misaka said as Misaka dreamed about all the romantic couple gestures she wanted to try with Accelerator at those places". Last Order beamed while swinging their connected hands out of excitement, and again, failed to notice a chop landed on her head.

"Oi, don't get so ahead of yourself, brat. I haven't agreed to any of those." Accelerator walked ahead, effectively pulled the girl behind him along as well, while trying to covered the small quirk-up at the corner of his mouth with his hair.

"Whatever you said. Misaka said as Misaka knew she had already got Accelerator into the idea.". Last Order smiled widely as she hurried up to match the male quicken pace as they entered the building, signaled as an end to their eventful first date.

#accelerator #last order #Accelerator x Last Order #aged up!Last Order #to aru majutsu no index #my writing #fluff

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cinnbar-bun · 5 years

Text

What Makes the Sky Blue (Sandalphon x Reader){Soulmate Au}

Anon said: *inhales deeply* Okay, so, I love WMTSB series and I love Sandalphon. And I suddenly thought: Soulmate AU where people can’t see a specific color (which is their soulmate’s eyes color) until they meet. Sandalphon, and blue-eyed reader (I don’t have blue eyes myself but it’d be cool). Title: “What makes the sky blue”. Ahem, sorry and, uh... pretty please? I apologize if it’s bothersome! PS. Apart from Sandy, I love you and your fics too <3

A/n: Of course I’d do this dear! No need to apologize, I love soulmate Au’s a lot and I love Sandy a lot too. I hope you like this though!

Warning: Contains some spoilers regarding Sandalphon and GBF. Also AANNNNNGGGSSSTTTTT

Red.

There was always the age-old fairy tale on why nobody could see the color of their soulmate’s eyes until they met. Some say the gods had punished a pair of lovers and cursed everyone to be unable to see some spectrum of color. Others say the gods felt pity and wished for humanity to find their fated lovers.

You haven’t really thought much about it, but what you did know is that it stunk not being able to see certain colors.

Yours happened to be a color called, ‘red’. You didn’t know what red looked like, and most didn’t know how to describe it. Lyria would usually say, ‘Vyrn is red!’ While you would’ve loved to see what color your childhood companion was, he only came out in shades of monochrome and slight white. Lyria was a colorful myriad of blue, and you were thankful you could at least see how she looked.

Some struggled with telling you what red was.

“Red is like fire, ya know?” Rackam said, lighting a match. You could not see it.

“Red is like apples!” Io would smile, holding one out to you. They tasted sweet, but unless they were other specimens, you could not see it.

“Red is the color of roses.” Rosetta would pitifully smile, gently holding the flower to you. They smelled nice and looked beautiful, but still, no idea of what red was.

It frustrated you sometimes. Most of the crew members had found their soulmates-or simply didn’t care- and they sometimes forgot what it was like to not be able to experience the beauty of the world.

But you had a job, you were a captain first and foremost, not a lost wanderer. You would not allow this slight annoyance to take over your mind.

You looked thoughtfully out into the sky, seemingly an endless stream of blue. Many had commented that your eyes were the same shade as the sky, some also saying they couldn’t see it until they met their soulmate. Seeing the sky everyday, you thought it was pretty, but you would like a change of scenery. What did red look like? What did fire look like under a night sky?

Blue.

Sandalphon could not see color. Pandemonium was an awful, hellish nightmare, and it stripped him of whatever sense of justice and humanity he had left. He wanted revenge. He craved destruction.

What good was a world that did not want him?

He was no replacement. He was the end all-be all. If humanity-if Lucifer- couldn’t even see that, then he’d be the reason for their downfall.

A single pulse echoed in his heart, and in the heart of Pandemonium.

Finally, escape.

It was a surge of power unlike any other he had felt.

The fated meeting of the girl in blue and the red dragon.

This was the power that was practically unknown to all of them. Lucifer probably could not even comprehend it. He smirked, it was no matter if Lucifer couldn’t understand it, he’d finally show him what he was capable of. All of them would pay for trapping him in Pandemonium, for denying him of a purpose, for leaving him behind, for even thinking of scrapping him.

He crawled out of Pandemonium and felt power.

The air was fresh, unlike the suffocating atmosphere of his prison. There was color. He finally could remember what color was. Grass was green, flowers were yellow, trees had brown bark. But still, the sky remained as cloudy and dark as ever. Water was also gray.

No matter, he’d paint the skydom red by the time he was through.

Chaos, chaos everywhere. People were screaming and all you could hear was destruction. Crumbling buildings, burning market stands, everything was getting destroyed one by one.

All from this strange man.

He had been fascinated with you since the beginning, whispering how you were the singularity.

He was more than happy to plunge the skydom to the bottom, and the sick pleasure he got from hurting your friends made you angry. How could someone be this hateful?

It was no use thinking over why he was what he was. He had nearly acquired all the primarch’s wings, save for Gabriel’s, and had become an insane monster possessed only by the thought to destroy, destroy, destroy.

You had to fight him. You had to stop him before he ruined your home.

You felt your strength waning as you desperately swung at him, hoping he would stop this senseless fighting.

Hope had finally been born again when you finished him.

Reduced to the power of a mere mortal, he was on the ground, laughing loudly at how you of all people managed to defeat him.

“Of course the singularity does it! Of course they do! You must feel so proud right now, so happy that you have a purpose! You have meaning and the power to change this world! Lucky you!” He rambled on before laughing even more.

So that was why.

You looked at him, and a sense of pity began to form inside. All he wanted was a place, a purpose. He looked up at you, his smile still there but showing something more...bitter, perhaps jealous?

“Don’t look at me like that, mortal.” He spat the last word out like it was poison inside his body. “I don’t need your damn pity. Why don’t you just kill me, huh? Why don’t you just throw me back to Pandemonium? Why don’t you just make me suffer!”

“I...I...” You stumbled backwards and fell on the ground, shaking at how angrily loud he was yelling.

“You don’t know what it’s like to suffer alone! You mortals die so quick, you’d never understand what a primarch goes through!”

“Enough, Sandalphon.” A voice cut through his screams with a serene presence you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Lucifer.

“Lucifer...” Sandalphon murmured, and he seemed shocked he was even before him.

“Old friend...this was my fault. I had waited to see when I should come down to put an end to you. It seemed the Singularity handled it.” Lucifer gazed down at you softly, then turned back to Sandalphon, a mixture of pity and regret in his eyes.

Sandalphon didn’t seem to be happy that Lucifer was there, in fact, he had begun shaking even more violently.

“Y-you didn’t even think I was that big of a threat? You didn’t see me as nothing more than a nuisance that a mere human could stop? You didn’t even take me seriously? You...” Sandalphon gripped the dirt in anger and screamed in anguish.

He was even more pitiful than he thought.

“I thought of you as a friend. My only friend, who had looked to me as an equal, not the supreme creation.” Lucifer responded.

“Equal? Equal you say? We will never be equal! So long as you’re alive, you’ll be praised! I was nothing more than your damn replacement, and I failed at the job before it began! I am not- and will never be- you! You have purpose, you have meaning! This god damn Singularity has more influence than I ever will!”

“Accept your failures, primarch.” Michael’s harsh voice cut through. She stared in disgust at her enemy, joined by her other siblings.

“Heh...yeah...I guess it was foolish from the start, right? To think that I, of all things, could ruin this world. Then punish me as you see fit.” He heaved a sigh and seemed to relax, accepting his mistakes so calmly and sadly.

“We will see to it, Sandalphon.” Lucifer responded.

“Before I’m sent away forever, allow me one more request.”

“What is it?”

“Allow me to thank the Singularity. For having been enough to put an end to my destruction.” He looked at you and smiled, his brown hair disheveled and knotted after the vicious fighting.

The primarchs did not object, and he got up slowly and walked over to you, his hand outstretched. You stared at it in confusion and debated whether or not you should go through with it.

“Come now, won’t you fulfill this last wish of mine?” His voice teased. You decided against listening to your subconscious and extended your hand back to him.

Before you made contact, you looked at his eyes and saw they were a monochrome color.

So they’re red, then.

As your fingers touched, a jolt of electricity ran through you and you gasped. His eyes had turned a marvelous color you couldn’t begin to describe. They shown beautifully under the shining sun, twinkling like gemstones. You wanted to get lost in them forever.

“Ah... my enemy is my soulmate, huh?” He chuckled darkly before his face turned serious as he leaned towards your ear.

“Your hands are so soft...” he whispered, “This is what the sky looks like, hm? Thank you for showing me one more beautiful sight before you go. Have a safe flight.” His frown had turned back into a large smirk as he grabbed your wrists and flung your body off the cliff.

You couldn’t begin to process it as your emotions and thoughts swirled into one.

“(Y/N)!” You heard your friends scream and the echoing laughter of Sandalphon.

“In the end Singularity, you’re just mortal! Just flesh and breakable bones!” He yelled.

“Why you-” Michael lunged for him and knocked him to his knees, making him double over in pain. “Uriel, come with me now!” She screamed and tried to rescue you.

You couldn’t hear anymore. You couldn’t scream.

All you thought of was memories.

Meeting Lyria, becoming a captain, traveling around the world.

How unfortunate it would have to end by the hands of someone who was supposed to love you. Perhaps this was your punishment for thinking about it too much. Your death would serve as a reminder to never let your selfish desires overtake you.

Time seemed to slow down as you fell, and you looked at the massive horizon all around you. You smiled serenely, this sight alone was enough to make you accept your untimely end.

The sky below had turned a pretty shade of red, signifying the day’s end. And you finally got to see it.

Red was a wonderful color, indeed. This was what you had desired, and now seeing like this felt surreal. There was no more regrets. There was no more hate or ill will. Peace. Peace was all you felt as you plunged deeper into the end of the sky.

And then black.

That event had served as a new beginning for you. You don’t remember much, Bahamaut roaring for you to wake up, to sweep the world into its new evolution. Lyria and Vyrn huddling over you, weeping over how they thought they lost you for good. But one thing haunts you to this day.

Sandalphon’s eyes.

The other things may have been a blurry fragment, but you could never, ever forget his eyes. After learning of red, after seeing how much emotion and desire he displayed from his eyes alone, it had stuck with you.

Some part of you even wished to see him again. You’ve thought of what it must be like if you had been born in another world. Another world where he had a purpose, where he was not confined to Pandemonium, where you could meet him once more.

Some times you cried over it. A bond with a soulmate was irreplaceable, and the event of being broken apart made you feel so utterly alone. Like a part of you had been taken along with him.

You wondered how stupid it would’ve sounded to the others. You cared for a man who wanted the plunge the world into chaos? You cared for a man who sent you flying off a cliff? You hadn’t told them he was your soulmate. You sometimes kept up the act you could not see red, but pretty soon, you knew they would catch on to you hiding something.

You looked at Vyrn, now a red dragon instead of the gray he once was. Was this worth it? You wanted red so bad, but at what cost?

After another day of pondering over useless what-ifs, you stumbled onto your bed and fell asleep quick enough.

“Singularity...” You recognized the voice.

“L-Lucifer?” It had been months since you last talked to him.

“Yes, (Y/n). You are still troubled by what had occurred long ago, correct?” of course he would know, you sighed.

“Yes...it’s so stupid of me! W-why do I care so much? Why do I want him so bad?” You wept.

“That is the curse of the soulmate link.” You’ve never heard used in that way.

“Soulmate link?”

“Yes, the link that binds you to Sandalphon. The chain that is your connection to him.”

“Then why do I feel so bad about him not being here?”

“You see the color red now, right?” You nodded. “When you touched, it was like the chain finally connected. And him being away severs that chain slowly. It hurts, unfortunately, and I cannot guarantee that the pain will ever go away, so long as he is still being reborn.”

“T-then what can I do?” Your disheartened voice made Lucifer frown slightly.

“There is nothing, unfortunately. I know he suffers as much as you do, but I cannot awaken him when he’s still in this cycle. You’ve stopped him once, but I cannot allow another disaster to happen.”

“How long will this cycle take?”

“However long it needs to be.”

He sees only black.

He’s not fully conscious yet, but he has enough awareness to think. The cocoon is as dark as Pandemonium, but unlike that hellhole, it feels warm. He snuggles in closer to whatever that warmth may be.

But he feels a slight pain in his heart. All he can feel is regret, regret for turning on the world, for betraying Lucifer’s trust,

for hurting you.

Sandalphon clearly recalls that day as if it were yesterday. The pain he caused you for his selfish desires is something he will always punish himself for. You were his soulmate, you were supposed to be the one he was fated to meet.

The meeting (quite literally) nose-dived into utter madness.

Being in the cocoon makes him wish he could take back his mistakes. He wants to be let out, to be free again, and to finally do his purpose, to make the skydom better.

Most of all, he wants the chance to see you again. To support you like he was supposed to. He wants to remember the blue of the sky and your eyes, he wants to be a part of something with you.

Would you even accept him? Would you even forgive him for what he has done? He has no idea. He wants to be better, but he understands his mistakes were not exactly tiny ones.

He reminds himself of the tiny fragments of dreams he has had while in the cocoon, and some of them consist of seeing the blue sky. Before, he had thought he would never get to see the vast atmosphere in its true form. That day, when he made contact with you, it sparked something within him.

The sky was gorgeous. It held a light so unlike any other thing, and he was glad he got to witness it at least once. As much as he loved the sky, he could never forget about your eyes.

He huddles himself into a ball until he feels his consciousness drifting away.

It had been a painful year for you.

You had loved and lost during that period, and you wonder just what will happen in this coming year.

You stare somberly out on the deck of the Grandcypher, watching the sun rise to form hues of red and yellow on the horizon. It always reminded you of him.

You start to wonder if there’s a point to even holding onto him. How do you even know if he isn’t going to just kill you? You feel your exhaustion from waking up too early start to creep in, your eyes slowly closing until you drift into sleep.

A loud noise rings through the Grandcypher, and it jolts you up immediately.

“What the hell...doing here?” You hear slight pieces of what sounds to be like Rackam yelling. You sigh and walk to where all the commotion is and rub your tired eyes.

“What’s going on?” You yawn and scratch your head.

“This guy was insistent on-” your gasp cut Rackam off as you stepped closer.

“Sandalphon? I-I thought...” You can only stare. He was here, right in front of you. His red eyes looked surprised, almost hesitating in how he should react.

“Yeah, I guess I finished.” He awkwardly laughed and gave you a small grin, but one that instantly rose your spirits. You tackled him in a hug and almost felt the tears build up again.

“I thought I never would’ve been able to see you again! I’m so happy to see you here!” You say, although it becomes muffled in his chest.

“A-ah, I, yeah I’ve missed you too.” He lets out a sigh and smiles, wrapping an arm around you. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“I forgave you long ago, you’re here now, so that’s what really matters.” You look up to him, and he sees those precious blue eyes that he missed so dearly.

“Thank you.” He whispers, only for your ears. The other crew is gobsmacked by the whole exchange, and some still don’t fully trust him.

He understood this was what he was signing up for, but he quickly comes to realize that you still love him so unconditionally. You put your faith in him, and he wants to be the man you always knew he could be.

Funny, he never thought a mortal of all things would be the one to make him feel invincible. The blue sky above is even prettier just by your presence alone, and he can’t help but feel like this was what he had been missing all his life.

He thinks back to when Lucifer talked to him about the blue sky.

“What makes the sky blue?” He’d ask. Hearing Lyria ask that again made him ponder that thought once more.

Whether it was created by the gods, the Astrals, or some unknown scientific experience, he had an answer that he felt could explain it.

Your love.

#soulmate au #Sandalphon #Granblue Fantasy #GBF #Granblue fantasy imagines #Sandalphon (gbf)#sandalphon x reader #writing

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perahn · 5 years

Note

Also realistically you could do all of AE and I wouldn't cry about it

I am spending an evening doing this instead of writing baby Khem and it’s a fun change of pace.

SO LET’S DO… Katy

favorite thing about them

She has so much love to give. Just SO much, offered so freely.

(also I’m grateful she takes the rap for jumping us into so many situations that the more cautious members of the party would never touch)

least favorite thing about them

It’s a kirin not a unicorn!

(shush, Khem)

favorite line

Again, there are just so many. Any time @bettydice opens her mouth, genius nonsense comes out. Claiming to be allergic to water? The first time she called Harper her brother-dad? Explaining to Khem that all she needs to do to win an argument with Harper is to tell him to go shave?

brOTP

Apart from the party members (especially Harpy), Katy and Celeste is TOO CUTE

OTP

I don’t think she’s ever had eyes for anyone except Shay, and it’s pretty cute. But I refuse to call Kayazi an OTP until I have seen some fic from Betty and @dakoyone, hop to it.

nOTP

It’s really funny to remember that when we began this (there’s still a reference to it in the first codex) we thought she was crushing on Harper, her asshole won’t-say-I’m-a-boyfriend.

Also Vigo was hitting on her pretty hard before she pimped Harper out to him.

random headcanon

She still sometimes misses Bob and feels a bit guilty about exorcising him, even knowing that she had to.

unpopular opinion

This is tough to come up with. hmmmmm… She should stay blonde, because when I draw the party, I get tired of all the black in her goth look and Shay’s monochrome look.

song i associate with them

I mean, Tangled is already the Harpiest movie ever (disregarding the romance) so it has to be When Will My Life Begin?

favorite picture of them

Thiiiiiiis

SHAY’S TURN

favorite thing about them

The contrast between the steadfast patience of her usual demeanor… and the way she runs headfirst into a fight, then jumps on top of the giant monsters to punch them to death.

least favorite thing about them

Her bag must stink to high heaven with all the trophies she’s taken, and our garden is probably completely overrun with screaming mushrooms by now. WHYYY

favorite line

I mean, it’s a cheap shout, but…. “You don’t have to be alone, Harper.” She meant it so well, and it landed so badly.

brOTP

Thay buddies ftw!

(also I think she should see Jeremy Bonk again)

OTP

I stand by what I said. No Kayazi shilling until I have actual fic, thank you.

nOTP

So @codenamecynic mentioned that the first time Shay called Khem ‘ahket’ in-game, she had no idea what it meant, and she started wondering if perhaps Shay had feelings for Khem, if they’d been a little closer on the road than we’d said previously. (for the record, it means ‘sister’, and I nope right on out of Khem/Shay)

also SHART

random headcanon

Katy has definitely cut her lip on Shay’s broken tusk while kissing at least once.

unpopular opinion

She hasn’t been cooking fantasy meth in her room all those days, but don’t ask me what she has actually brewed up.

(this one probably is unpopular… I don’t think she’s as attracted to Katy or as invested in the relationship as Katy is)

song i associate with them

I am kind of drawing a blank here, but Stand Up Be Strong, maybe?

favorite picture of them

lookit, abs

AND FINALLY KHEM

favorite thing about them

She’s a robot who was programmed to be a bitch and is slowly learning to love, and I’m so proud of how far she’s come.

least favorite thing about them

Never again will I create a character who is supposed to be a Machiavellian genius that I have to play at 3am.

But to be a bit more fair, the paranoia. She’s her own worst enemy about 90% of the time.

favorite line

I am still pretty fond of ‘Know you are not disposable.” On one hand it’s a very dry assessment, but in context it seemed to be exactly what Harper needed to hear. Those moments are rare but they’re great.

brOTP

Thay buddies! (even if that’s a little more complicated than it used to be). To look outside the party, though, I also think Khem and Celeste are shaping up to a great teacher/student relationship.

OTP

So here’s the thing, previously alluded to when I did this for Harper: I don’t think Khem’s in a position to be in a relationship with anyone. I find it really difficult to imagine a time when she might be. But if ever she was, the person I come closest to seeing her with is Harper.

There’s just nobody else on the board at the moment who has her attention and respect in the same way, nobody else who she’s opened up to quite as much, nobody else she thinks about and worries over and takes up half of her journal as Harper. And, as I said, there is something there, which she will ferret out at some point. Don’t ask me yet what she might do about it.

I get the Khem/Jorran shipping, I really do. He’s adorable and he’s obviously head over heels for Khem, and she’s been pretty pleasant to him overall (plus Kherran portmanteaus so nicely, and every permutation of Khem and Harper’s names so far sounds dreadful) But she’s never going to take him seriously if he doesn’t take those clownshoes off, and it would take him a very long time - if indeed it’s possible - to win as much of her trust as Harper has.

nOTP

So many. So very many. Highlights include Khem/Gerald, Khem/Valas Daevin and Khem/Banelar Naga.

random headcanon

As recently mentioned to Cynic, her back tattoo is the source of her ‘Lucky’ feat (which is actually flavoured as extra divinatory insight), and represents a coautl. One of the reasons it’s on her back is that a winged-snake-Celestial was a slightly embarrassing choice of tattoo, but the magic encrypted in it was powerful enough that she said yes to her ally’s design and just asked her to put it somewhere hidden.

unpopular opinion

um hm hmmm she doesn’t need actual clothes, Katy, the hooded potato sack robes do just fine

song i associate with them

If non-lyrical counts, the Rachmaninov C Sharp Minor Prelude. Otherwise… Fallen, Dirt Poor Robins?

favorite picture of them

There has been some lovely art of her, and some silly things that I’ve done

but I think I have to share this Very Important Egg

#d&d #alternative ethics

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mlpdestinyverse · 5 years

Photo

“Approach”

Worried for his sister after her school incident, Astral Dusk jumps on a chance to check on Eventide.

Feat. Astral Dusk, Eventide Twister

Story and Description Under The Cut

Astral Dusk's pencil - attached to the writing glove his mother had kindly made for him - scritched across paper as he hunched over his Canterlot High workbook. The colt was focused, brain churning and eyes locked on his schoolwork as he worked math problem after math problem. In the silence of his room, Astral felt he would've normally appreciated the solitude. He was free to think and work on what he wanted or needed to without interruption.

But as things stood, this silence was nothing but unsettling.

Astral paused every few minutes, tensely listening for the return of his family. In the past he was almost never left alone in the house. If one parent wasn't home, then the other was certainly present. If both were out for any reason, then...there was his sister.

Eventide Twister would always drop by his room without fail, whether to ask him about what he was doing, happily ramble about her day, or invite him to some sort of activity. While he would sometimes have the time to stop and listen, he more often than not found her intrusions and chatter to be a bit...annoying. It was a natural occurrence between an older brother and a younger sister, he once believed.

His past self would have loved this silence, at least as something temporary. Yet this silence had been his reality for his past five weekend-visits to Equestria, ever since...Eventide's bullying incident.

The colt had grown accustomed to staying at the Sparkle-Spruce household in the human world for Canterlot High, only visiting Equestria on the weekends once or twice a month. While the same routine was going to be followed for his second year, Astral had made a conscious decision to return home at the end of each week. It was the least he could do to support his parents and sister through what had obviously caused more damage than he would have imagined.

Though...Astral also wondered if he was really making a difference. It appeared that his parents appreciated his presence as they tirelessly planned appointments to help the young filly. And yet, he hadn't held even one viable conversation with Eventide herself, aside from attempts at supportive words that were met with little to no response.

The colt exhaled slowly, filling the tense air with taps from his pencil. It was then, from the corner of his eye, that Astral's attention was caught by the familiar glowing and faint shaking of a certain brown magic journal of his, one that had a decorative design of his cutie mark displayed on the front.

Astral pulled the journal closer, opening it to where he had bookmarked it last. There, he found a new message scrawled out in green ink:

"BOI WHAT CHU DOIN"

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. Like past messages, the sentence ended in a small flower doodle, signifying that his friend on the other end was done writing. In one swift motion, Astral replaced his pencil with his red pen and responded, ending his answer with a small diamond.

“Homework??”

“Wow nerd...”

Astral snorted, skipping a line to write.

“Terra, I’m willing to bet $5 that you’re also doing homework. You just messaged me because you’re bored.”

A long pause followed, causing the colt to smirk. A few seconds longer and magic shimmers revealed green ink as words yet again formed on the page.

“I feel attacked...”

“Who’s the nerd now?”

“Still you~”

“Ah, denial. Must be nice.”

Not long after he had finished his diamond, he watched as Terra Rosa quickly drew the biggest, most aggressive frowny faces she could manage, taking up almost all of the latter half of the page. Laughter escaped Astral, the colt shaking his head at his friend's...would you call this a response? He watched where he wrote, careful to avoid Terra's pen.

"Terra Rosa Spruce, you need to calm down."

"Hm. You mean you want me to...hold my horses?"

"Oh my God"

Astral could picture the girl having a snicker fit in her room. He waited, but for some reason, there was another long pause.

"...did you fall off your bed again?"

"WOW. Firstly, rude. Secondly, nah. Just hoping you got a good laugh?"

Things added up quickly after that, a light smile gracing the colt's mouth. She certainly knew how to help put him at ease.

"Thanks for trying to lighten the mood, Ter."

"Of course! So how's Eventide? Is she doing any better?"

....

"She's still not talking. It's hard to say if she's improving."

"Gosh, sorry Dusky...if you guys need anything, just let me know. We're here for you."

Astral's smiled softly to himself. He knew that. Miss Twilight Sparkle and Timber Spruce would probably do anything to help out family friends if they could. Terra Rosa was no different.

"Thanks. Really."

Astral's head jerked up at the sound of a door shutting down the hall. Straining his ears, he could faintly make out the sound of movement downstairs, as well as faint chatter. Standing up from his chair, he quickly scrawled one more message.

"I think they're back from therapy. I'm going to check on them."

"Okay! Tell Eventide that I miss her and to take it easy."

"I will."

With that, Astral strode out of his room. For a moment he paused at the top of the staircase, eyeing the closed door nearby, before he descended. At the bottom he found his parents in the living room, his mother Sunset Shimmer noticing him just as she was about to step into the kitchen. Although she smiled, Astral didn't miss how worn it was.

"Hey hun."

"How'd it go?"

Astral wasted no time in getting to the heart of things, carefully watching his parents. Valiant Heart joined them then, exchanging weary glances with his wife.

"Well..." Sunset began slowly, her eyebrows drawn back. "Not...well. The therapist still can't get a word out of her..."

His mother trailed off, staring at the floor quietly. There was no mistaking the exhaustion and concern practically etched into her features at this point. "...I'm thinking if this keeps up, we'll need a new approach. And I have ideas, but...I'll need to really look into it first."

Valiant Heart nodded solemnly, placing a hoof on the mare's furthest shoulder and pulling her into him. That earned him a gentle smile from her, one he returned with something soft, yet uneasy in its own right.

"Don't worry. We'll handle this."

Valiant signed to his son, offering a comforting look. The colt could only nod despite his own concern, and not only for Eventide.

'I've never seen them this uncertain about anything...'

"Anyway, I'll start dinner. You two sit tight."

With that, Sunset Shimmer trotted into the kitchen, leaving Astral with his father. While contemplating on whether to offer his help anyway, Astral noticed an audible pause beside him. Glancing over, he saw his father staring at the very top envelope in a pile of mail he had picked up. Astral couldn't help his curiosity.

"What's that?"

"Mail for Eventide."

Seeing that, Astral moved to peer over his father's arm to read the sender's name:

Monochrome Dashielle.

"Oh...that's Eve's friend."

Admittedly, the first face that had come to mind was not of Eventide's pegasus friend, but of the tall human teen that was Terra's friend back in the human world. He had to mentally remind himself that the two were, in fact, two seperate people.

Glancing back at the stairs, another contemplative thought flicked through Astral's mind. Maybe...this was the opening he needed.

"I'll take it up to Eventide."

Valiant scanned his face, the stallion's gaze softening upon reading his son's intent.

"I'll leave it to you, then."

With one last nod, Astral lifted his hoof to reach for the letter. Watching the appendage bump uselessly against the envelope, Astral blinked.

'...oh. Right.'

He supposed living in the human universe for a whole year would mess with his perception. It already changed how he chose to do certain things. Such as...writing. Or picking objects up. The colt found himself avoiding the use of his mouth, preferring other methods. Holding out his hoof, Astral allowed his rather amused father to balance the letter there. He then held the letter against his chest, turning to make his way back up the stairs.

Soon Astral was sitting before his sister's door, nervously hovering his other hoof in front of it. After a few more seconds of urging himself on, he knocked. It took a few beats. First there was silence, and eventually it was followed by rustling and creaks. Eventide was laying in bed, he guessed. It was what she usually did now. Standing back up, he waited. The knob turned and ever so slightly the door was pushed open. Eventide peered out from behind the door, and at the sight of her, Astral winced. Her now disheveled hair only seemed to highlight her dull, tired eyes and the dark circles forming under them. She quietly stared at him. Waiting. The colt felt nervous under her cheerless gaze. It was...uncanny, and disheartening. It was almost like he was facing a pale remnant of her once vibrant self. "Hey, uh...welcome back. You have a letter." He held the envelope out to her. For once the filly appeared confused, reaching out with her wing to take it and read the envelope's face. Almost immediately the pegasus sharply inhaled. Astral watched as what started off as shock morphed into something else. Something stressed or anxious. "Are you okay?" he hesitantly spoke up, scanning the filly's stiff stance. Eventide quickly snapped out of whatever daze she had been in. Looking away, she awkwardly tucked the letter under her wing. "Thank you." she signed with a hoof, not even meeting her brother's gaze. Like previous times throughout the month, her choice to sign over speaking...unsettled him. "You're welcome..." Astral jerked a bit, seeing Eventide begin to retreat. "Ah, wait!" Eventide paused. Awkwardly, Astral shifted the weight on his hooves. When it wasn't related to geology, he was always so used to his sister doing the conversing between them. "Why don't we do something together. I don't know what, but just...anything you want." Astral wasn't sure if it was his desire to lend a helping hoof in the situation, or maybe it was guilt for all the times he had ever turned down her genuine offers to hang out together. Either way, he felt it was about time he made some sort of effort to spend time with his sister; time spent not because his parents forced him to or because he gave in to Eventide's prodding, but because he actually wanted to. And perhaps it would come off as insincere, with how he was only trying now, but...

Unfortunately his offer failed to stir her. With a droop of her eyelids, Eve feebly shook her head, staring distantly at the floorboards. But Astral couldn't bring himself to simply quit there. There had to be other things he could do, or suggest. It came to him then. "Well, what if...we didn't hang out here." Astral took a step forward, managing to regain her attention. "Mom's human roots are just as important as our pony roots...and you haven't been there in years. Maybe you just need to get away. You could take a break from Equestria and visit the human universe with me for a while. Terra misses you and I know her parents wouldn't mind having you as a guest too." Without realizing it, Astral was staring off into space, his mind rolling through the fond memories he had gained over the past year. "In just a year I managed to make a group of friends there...thanks to Terra of course. I think you'd get along with them. Though...Sky and Summer would probably fight me over sibling rights to you." Astral chuckled to himself, hoping his joke had gotten across to her. "Not only that, but there's another Monochrome on that side. I couldn't say how different or similar they are to the Monochrome you know, but-" Looking back at Eve, Astral cut himself off. He discovered that the filly was staring at him wide-eyed. Still half-hidden behind her door, she appeared very much stiff and distressed by the very suggestion. His ears flattening, he realized she looked even more stressed than she was just moments before. "Eve-" "No thank you." she tensely signed. The sight of the movement had Astral pulling his head back. Despite his concern, a tinge of frustration began to spark within him. He could understand her being stressed. He could understand her being hurt. But this silence...her refusal to talk. He couldn't understand it at all. ...it was time for him to step up and be firm with her. "Eve, you don't need to sign," he insisted, brows drawing inward. "We're family. You can talk to us. It doesn't even have to be about how you feel or what happened, just...speak." Astral roughly ran a hoof through his hair, his gaze imploring. "Look, your silence, it's...it's freaking us out, Eve. We want to help you, but we can't if you keep doing this. If you can't speak to us, at least talk to your friends. Like Monochrome or Heather or-"

Astral stopped in his tracks the moment he saw the look of deep guilt and anguish on his sister's face. The filly's head and ears drooped. There was nothing but misery reflected in her eyes, and to his alarm, he noticed her brimming tears. "Eve wait-!" "Bye."

It was a quick, weak sign. In seconds she was closing the door, and Astral could feel a pang in his chest as he heard the sound of a lock. With the silence that followed, it was as if Eventide had stilled on the other side, just...waiting for him to leave.

Astral knew he could do nothing but relent, somberly turning to retreat to his room.

'Wrong approach, you idiot...'

he mentally cursed to himself. Astral didn't know what he had expected. There were few ponies he could understand, or be on the same wavelength with enough to respond appropriately to them. And as unplanned as that approach was...

The colt sighed, shooting one last regretful look at his sister's room before entering his own.

Buckle up, got some notes for you guys:

Astral Dusk and Eventide Twister were siblings who didn’t have much in common and required a bit more effort to connect and understand one another. While Astral is observant and does care about his sister, he also lacks the level of empathy his mother has and in general can be unintentionally insensitive. Present-day, Astral and Eventide are too preoccupied with their individual lives and conflicts to see each other much.

Monochrome’s letter was nothing but sweet and encouraging. It touched Eventide, and yet...it also pained her. An anxiety-ridden mind has a way of being cruel. She wanted to respond. She really wanted to see her dear friend again. But after such a horrible falling out with someone she had called her best friend, she was also just so...deathly afraid. She was so afraid to be an embarrassment to Monochrome too. If she wasn't already one. Eve held off on responding, even as two other letters came. She held off for weeks...months...she held off until so much time had passed, responding felt like an insult. So with a guilty, lonely conscious, Eve deemed the friendship lost but kept Mo’s letters stashed away safely.

There were many levels to Eventide’s anxiety. A paralyzing fear of speaking, of judgement and public humiliation. Most of all, she just...loathed the very sound of her own voice, tied to vivid memories of her old friend and pain and humiliation. In the face of Eventide’s unceasing silence, it wasn’t long before Sunset panicked and tried to get her troubled daughter the help she needed. Unfortunately, despite the weeks of therapy sessions, a mental block had Eventide unwilling to speak, even before her therapist. Any insistence or prodding to use her voice by anyone would only raise her stress levels until she shut down. Sunset later tried other ideas. Speech therapy came first, with the idea that if Eventide could resolve what she didn’t like about how she spoke, maybe it would allow her daughter to find the confidence to speak again. For her parents' sake, with Astral’s words in mind, Eventide tried. She really did. But the sessions, with no signs of improvement, only ended with miserable tears and eventual requests to stop. Sunset ended up pulling her out of those sessions. In time, there was finally one therapy that Eve responded well to. Art therapy, or more specifically, poetry therapy. After months of having no motivation to do the things she once enjoyed, Eventide finally had a reason and way of letting out her internalized emotions through poetry assignments. Those sessions managed to help soothe Eve enough for her main therapy appointments. That, coupled with medication, eventually had Eve willing to speak short sentences around her family again. She also reached a place where she could walk around in public without facing crippling anxiety everywhere she went. Though...even in present-day, there’s still so much that Eventide internalizes.

#astral dusk #eventide twister #My Little Pony #mlp #mlp art #mlp oc #destinyverse #story

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