#sorry i disappeared into the void. adulthood got in the way

[cassimopeia]

[emerges from the bog] i am here. and i am going to make a post 👁👄👁

#** talks #sorry i disappeared into the void. adulthood got in the way #now my life is literally falling apart and all i want to do is play sims so i don't have to think about anything else #also i'm making my way through all of james turner's lets plays to distract myself #hope yall are doing well 🤪

[secretbangtnn]

Love Lies | kth I

➤ summary : You never had it easy. From the first day of your life it seemed like fate was a big joke, making every effort to make you feel miserable. Shortly after taking the first step into adulthood, you are convinced that childhood doom follows you like a shadow. On the verge of being broke without any help, you take your friends advice and try your hand in industry you have no idea about.

➤ genre : CEO! au, prostitution but not really au, strangers to enemies to lovers, Smut, fluff, angst

➤ pairing : Taehyung x reader ft. Jimin (This chapter Jimin x reader)

➤ ratings : 18+ NSFW

➤words : 10k

➤ warnings : swearing, prostitution, sex for money, mentions of mental health, toxic household, mentions of violence, explicit sexual content, mxm, fxm, family problems, dishearitance, toxic relationship, Taehyung is bad at feelings, reader is lost, soft boy jimin, sexy hot taehyung (couse that will need a warning) - more to be added

notes ~

I finally did it! I'm so sorry for the wait and how the chapter came out - it's a little more messy than I predicted but i wanted to give you something before the big story. I promise the next chapter is going to start with the big action and main plot and finally with Taehyung. I really hope for some feedback, I worked hard for it to be done before the next week and even though it may seem boring i really hope it’s okay.

taglist:

@jinssexytoe @danyxthirstae01 @alwaysasadaesthetic @luvmingyu @chimincubus @minshookie29

Underneath the sunrise

Show me where your love lies

Relationships that are based on lies never last long and everyone who found themselves in artificial feelings, knows of the truth of those words. Although that sweet sinful lie sometimes replaces that thing we could have never got.

You never thought about yourself as someone low, at least not that low to kneel to beg of something so materialistic like money.

You respected yourself at the same time being sure that you would fight everything alone. Just like a good fighter - you didn't need a good sword in a big war. Even once in your whole life you wouldn't have thought of stepping that low to actually work as a cleaner in old school or supermarket lady, that couldn't even use the calculator right.

How ironic, we love when inevitable doom falls on people that did not deserve it.

You were taught from the beginning, how to live, what to do, how to look, and the most important who to listen to. It's so weird when we find a character that's not extremely bad or good, not the shy mouse of the school, also not the hot rebellious cool girl with too big ego, and mouth so unbelievable that you actually start to think if you have ever met someone without such basic manners.

Fact is that you are bland, your life never yours to live, as someone recorded it with a script in their hands, and a plan for an ending and second part. It was frustrating knowing how many people never cared about you, however you could not say that you indeed did too.

Lessons were taught, those made you somehow resistant to disappointments in life. First happening in early stage, not even first year of your high school, people started to know - know about this and that, about family of yours and how privileged they would be if they had you on their side.

But you did not have a problem with it, mindset so set that you liked to think about money as a guarantee of friendship. And with this thought you let the first people use you, not minding their motive of only getting part of your prosperity.

So you believed to those days that your childhood indeed was normal.

You never tried to run from your life, you never saw yourself as a hormonal teenager in need of attention.

In the end only those who were born in respecting families, where work and pride is placed higher than blood ties, knows how upringbing really looks in such a household. Your standart always high, doing that to not need to put it higher again.

Parents instilling you dreams that were not yours, making you believe in something they always wanted. Like it was written, your whole life does not belong to you, and realization over it came in the moment when it was a little too late. Happy smiles never real, friends you swore would not leave you, disappeared within a night.

However let’s not impose that your parents were monsters, killing you on the inside with their cold demeanor or making your life miserable.

The first problem began when you had enough, when a virus in your mind told you about your own desires.

You remember this day like it was yesterday. Invisible mark on your check is still pulsating, with a wound much deeper inside screaming at you that it is still not healed.

“I want to study medicine.” Those were the exact words you first told your mother, freezing her in place and scarring inside with the power and destruction they held. She did not hold back with ignoring you, acting like the sentence was a mere passing wind, just fluffing hair in a not nice type of way. You expected that, nothing new from a shell of a person your mother has become, money and power empowering her mind, probably killing the young woman you are now, in her.

So the first step of actually making a point of how you processed to cut your family ties, were with your mother, kind of preparing you for what has to come.

Dark room, with marble accents and a woody smell that came straight to your nostrils. Mahogany desk, big enough to contain tons of papers scattered over it like some kind of nto important rubbish. You however knew better, and those innocent stock of inked pages held more value than maybe you yourself.

It was so hard to breathe in this tiny space, now feeling ever more closed up, dark and not welcoming. You tried to believe that the reason for it was not really a man sitting just before you, not minding your presence in a slighlets, but a stress and emotions on your back, you were trying to bear by yourself.

“I’m busy.” Short answer, not even directed to you - not that the man ever looked at you with those dark eyes. Predictable, exactly like you guessed. Cold feeling with a hot flush over your cheek, not knowing where the previous patience had gone.

Maybe you finally had enough. You were too tired to try to understand.

“Dad, please listen to me.” Ice cold bucket over your head, a void eyes now on you, not really expecting them to stay on you for so long, or even look up. Pupils a little blow out, stirring the dark color pallet of his eyes, similar to the tone of the bags under them. What a wrack of a man he really was, lanky hands under the suit, scribbling over something not even a minute ago, now lying lifelessly on a brownish desk.

“You really couldn't find better time for your whining? Go on, I still have a lot of work to do before I need to actually go.” Unconcern, you could even feel the unitresment oozing from him, hitting you with those eyes. They were looking at you, but at the same time it felt like they never were there. Black holes, no feelings found, gaze scary for those who never met someone so indifferent.

“I dropped out.”

“What?” Words came after some silence, piercing straight your beating heart. Hands in fist, just beside your thighs, so white that it could even be a little concerning for those looking from the side. You were nervous, even after you told yourself that this conversation was not going to be easy. Smooth information that it should be, your own life choices never discussed so openly.

“I dropped out of college”

Not a breath was heard, a heavy hand landed on the desk with a smack, knocking in the process some of the scattered pens.

“You did what?” Too calm, his voice was too calm for such information. Nerve wracking feeling once again welcomed you inside, making you take one step back. Soft material of the shirt creased under your hard grip. “It’s not the time for such a jokes Y/n”

“I’m not joking dad, I took the papers yesterday. I'm tired of wasting my time on something I never wanted.”

“Oh? But are you really? What are you going to do then? I'm getting really curious” Tone momocking you in every kind of way. You clench your teeth, an annoyed expression came over your face, just to disappear within one glance of the man.

Questions were rhetorical, laughing at your whole being in the cruelest manner. He knew about your every vulnerability, molding your persona from the beginning. So it must have been funny for him, seeing a little girl, someone he treated not entirely equally, however putting some kind of hope and dreams he himself could not reach, standing before him like a scared puppy asking for a treat.

“You yourself know the best how important those studies are for you. You prepared your whole life to go there and take my place one time, so don’t joke about it like it’s some kind of dish you are bored of eating.”

“You forced me to do it! I never wanted to take your place, study the stupid law.”

“And you decided that this is the time to suddenly realize that? Y/n from the beginning, we always gave you what you wanted, fulfilling your every wish, buying everything you wanted, and even after that you can’t be grateful. We only asked you for one thing, one thing Y/n, there is not such a thing like your dreams, there is only our family.” You wanted to laugh, those stupid exucess, only making you annoyed and wroked up. Manipulating you into believing you were selfish, that you are the problem, and you owe them right to living.

“Don’t be ridiculous father, you are not in the place to talk about family or do I need to remind you of Na-”

You heard it before you felt it. Burning feeling right in your left cheek, head on the side from the harash contact it made with the ringed hand. It was not the first time you saw or experienced such an act. Father being the man that loved to lose his temper rather fastly, hiding on the outside behind the calm demeanor and innocent smile.

Blood on your tongue, the metallic taste in your mouth like a forbidden flower you just tasted.

“You really want me to get mad today hm? “ You really wanted to nod, looking straight at him from your hair that fell after the slap. Hand on the cheek, trying to stop the pulsating ache to echo so much, however you know the best that the hot feeling is only building up and it's the only matter of time till the beautiful tones of purple show on your soft skin.

His own hands now begin viped over the handkerchief, a little blood over the white fabric, likely from the little scratches the rings were able to make.

His back to you as he went back behind the dark desk, sitting on his chair like nothing happened. And you knew, secretly that it was the end, that the conversation was done and nothing else could be said.

You closed your eyes, not even noticing you did it, realizing it after the first salty tear fell to your mouth, giving you a taste of sorrow. Head down, not in shame but in anger, with a pulsating cheek not letting you forget about the consequences your every word bears, you turned around going to the door that before somehow gave you so much hope.

“Oh and Y/n, there is no you without this family, but there is family without you. It won’t be the first time when I lose a child.”

Those exact words hunted you till this day. Rather heavy feeling, three years not long enough to make you forget, or let you accept a new life.

Loud noise of passing cars just outside the dirty window with a pounding of heart echoing in your ears. It was one of those bad days - you liked to say, those however started happening a lot of more. Breaking was never something you wanted to do, working so many jobs you could not count on your fingers, living in shitty apartments for no longer than two months just to end up on someone's couch.

That is the life you chose, the life you barely lived, everyday wishing for a miracle.

Harsh paper under your fingers, weighting your hand weirdly down - maybe it was the words that made the letter so heavy, maybe the truth you needed to face. Fact is that you do not know what to do, trying for the last months to make a living for yourself, get better pay and settle down for a longer time.

Words of your father echoing once again, making your eyes squish with the feeling. It was so hard to accept a defeat, something that you worked so hard for and for so long. You could not beg, you could not go on your knees again, and even if it was an option, imagines and memories of life in such a household keep you in the place you are now.

Head resting under your arms, shielding bright rays of sun from your eyes, long locks falling down in waves just over your pale face. You pulled them with a strength you did not know you possessed at the moment, as if it was because of them you needed to deal with all of this.

“Think Y/n, think” Mutters fell from your mouth like a mantra, supposed to make you cheer up a little. Void in your head, not ending emptiness that scares you as much as the strings of unpaid numbers on this goddamn paper.

An late hour struck on the side clock, hanging on one of the grey walls of the run down apartment you lived in. Sight itself is depressing, leaving you in wonder if maybe it is not one of the reasons for your current mood.

Who you wanted to trick.

A little knock once again echoed in the quietness of your home, reminding you of the late hour. Looking from your thick locks of hair, you sighed seeing how little time you actually got to get there. With one move, you left the scrap of paper on the side, and stood up from the ugly green couch, taking in the process bag of the crookedly hanged hook.

Fast footstep as you nearly run over one of the olders ladies living in the same flat, trying to messily wrap an apron over your waist, which is not as easy as it seemed to be earlier. Bluish fabric holding on to you with all the power, hanging a little on the too long strings, that untied themselves with each step.

You tried not to think about all those stares, looking at you as you run past them, not minding where your feets go, or if you accidentally push someone on the side. Let people think what they want, it's not like your opinion matters, and being a disgrace to your whole family disappears.

Familiar neon letters came to your sight forming the greenish title of caffe you soon found yourself in. A little bell rang as the door opened informing everyone about your presence. Calm atmosphere, everyone was busy in their own word, you loved this, a quiet place which you often found yourself admiring.

You wished that working there was not such an obligation, the only thing that let you stay in your current apartament. Rosy cheeks, and cheeky smiles as people got their morning coffee, thanking you quietly for the drink with such a pure impression, that you could not hold back the smile you gave each one of them.

“I’m so sorry for being late, I hope you didn’t need to run too much.” You said between heavy breaths, still trying to catch remaining puffs of air, head tilted to the side, hands on knees as you looked at the little blonde behind the counter.

Said boy only laughed a little, shaking his head from the embarrassment after the statement. Ringed hands cleaning some cups, quiet melody living his plump lips.

“Am I suppose to feel offended? I’m not an old man you know.” He asks, knowing that the answer will never be given. Voice on the lighter side, something you would expect from such a soft looking boy, warm and sweet to listen, and you indeed do, always keeping quiet when the boy talked about his own day to fill the quietness of your workplace.

You knew the boy was one of the things that made you feel normal, with his bright persona and angelic personality, you liked to believe he was one. He did not ask, knowing some things should stay in the dark, and you repaid him the same, being fully aware of the boy's secrets.

“Not at all. Beside we all know that it's not about you, but about who will get in trouble from your whining - and yes, it would be me. “ You say, patting his back on the way to the other side. Confused gaze now on you, as you smirk at the questioning boy waiting for some kind of elaboration, only getting from you another cup to wipe.

“Should i remind you of a certain person, which came to me with a complaint of how his favorite boy was tired - what was his name? Oh yeah Yo-”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

You laughed at the squeaky voice that came in a form of fast spoken answer, a little too fast to understand every word completely. Pretty blush came over his round cheek, soon appearing on tips of his lears, hidden by mop of blonde hair.

Not a piece of judgment in your gaze, but rather sweet caring look over the embarrassed boy next to you, trying so hard not to look bothered by your everyday teasing, that he was slowly getting accustomed to, liking how your voice gets a little lighter, your eyes light up and a pure giggle leaves your mouth.

Yeah he definitely could live with it if it means he can see the sparkle pops out in the dark of your pupils.

Cup in his hands a little heavy with the next thought that came over him. Melody coming with the pleasant wind of the early monday morning, his eyes however discreetly gazing over your figure. He knew when the times were worse, when your collarbones stood out more, welcoming i'm from the collar of an old shirt, you probably needed to wash by hands, and he hated that even if he tried to explain it, not care so much, he simply could not stop the worry seeking of him.

You were a sweetheart, never judging him, understanding his reason even after he told you about the second job he needed to take. You simply smiled, wishing him all good, and getting excited about dreams that were not your own, laughing with him and talking about his future plans as if you had place in them.

Thanks were never enough to pay off all the hardship you helped with. He respected you, admired so many things about you, how you don’t need a reason to give an arm to cry on, always taking a piece of burden on your own shoulders, whispering promises and talking about a better future that comes with hardships.

“Don’t be so embarrassed~ “ You sing to his ear when you pass him, going over to the coffee machine, big bag of beans in your hands. “I dare to say I got a little jealous when I saw him for the first time.”

“Gosh I hate you sometimes.” He whines, throwing his head back, closing his eyes to remain calm. Smile now on your lips, little giggles leaving your busy persona, trying not to be too loud in such an early hour.

An enjoyable silence came over once again, only sounds of working machines and knocks of cups, that were cleaned and wiped, mind automatically getting fuzzy from the fresh brew of coffees and autumn wind. Not a person in a shop, being still a little too early to welcome customers or get a morning drink, subtle music playing a little louder at those times filling little breaks of silence.

So how surprising it was, when those little giggles tickled your own ears suddenly and strong arms, clothed in white shirt, sneaked around your waist, making you lose the focus on filling the cup with beans. Blonde hair over your cheek, stroking the soft skin with a funny feeling, only pushing you to squirt more.

“You know if you liked him so much, you could have just said. I would think of something.” He whispers mockingly, smacking his lips in the end. Shiver comes with his next move, hands on your hips, keeping them from stirring so much, hot and on the smaller side however still noticeably bigger than your own. “Sadly I do not share my clients.”

With those words, he quickly detaches himself, hitting your bum with a cheeky smile that you soon could see right before you as the boy grabs one of the fresh croissants, putting the whole thing into his mouth.

“It must be big for you to say that.” You laugh, looking at the choking boy with the same expression he was giving you not even a minute ago.

“That was totally inappropriate.” Says blonde, chugging a glass of water you gave him out of pity.

“Now, don’t play an innocent Jimin, I see how you look at that one girl that comes here every friday. Didn’t you even memorize her order - gosh i heard you repeating it so many times that I know it myself.”

“Okay, okay maybe you are right, but it doesn’t mean you can judge me.”

“Would I ever?” A dramatic sight from the boy's accusations leaves your lips, you touch your heart looking at him with the most hurt eyes you could manage to do, a little tear spins in your eye. Mouth full of baked goodie, he laughs showing a little of non eaten food, with a proud expression to it. Your own smile now noticeable on face, happy feeling over your whole being, loving how this short amount of time with the bubbly boy let you forget about some problems. You take one of the left rags of the counter and throw it at his face, hoping to get him to work. “Stop eating! We are opening soon and I don't want to listen to how the coffee machines should be ready before the first client, because someone didn’t want to move his ass.”

“Just say you don’t want to deal with that old raisin.”

Nobody did, but Jimin had some superpower you sadly did not possess, and could at least shut the old businessman that somehow always comes first. Coming back to an earlier job, you pour black beans in the measuring cup, trying not to let the weight of the bag swoop you.

Place once again in a nice atmosphere, Jimin singing somewhere in the back, probably preparing syrups and goodies, sorting eveyrything on the displae plate. You two fell in a pleasant rhythm, doing your jobs like robots, knowing where things should go, and how not to disturb each other in the middle of action.

And it was something you really enjoyed, that piece and order, making you feel secure at least in such a place. Like you had power over your own life, your hands did what you wanted, your mind clear with tasks to be done.

Peace.

You both knew that this place was a mere act in the theatre of lies, you played in. Cafe such like that one, a happy place for two broke students, that tried everything in their power to make a living, pursue dreams so far away, still hoping that they are not going to disappear with all the hardships.

You could just drown in this lie of beauty picture you painted yourself, pretending your lifes do not look as bad, and even though you did not know the boy so well, you could tell from his eyes that he indeed is a player in the same game as you.

The truth being you did not know each other, you were not close. You knew about his job, about his own problems - some of them left unsaid, but who could you judge when you acted exactly the same.

Understanding from each other was enough.

However the boy tried to help you, offering sum of money or better paid jobs in times when you were too tired to hide it, those although - he learned after some time, never were an option for you.

And so with the next passing wind, the first client came welcoming you with kind of a grumpy smile, wishing for you to just make him the coffee. It was as always, a busy morning on the first day of the week, that always seems a little more crowded than any other, with business men and middle aged women trying to get over their morning sickness as fast as possible.

You saw the girl you talked about some minutes ago, looking from her covering eyes bangs, squashed from pink beanie on her head, nevertheless still laid perfectly. A little wave, hand hid under the panda mittens she liked to wear every other day the temperature goes down.

You smiled at the interaction, the excited smile on Jimin's face he tried so hard to hide, not doing a good job with his nearly nonexistent eyes that disappeared just because of it. She was pretty, a student in a university you both go to, however you were not sure what exactly she was majoring in.

Her funky style makes you take a shot at something related to fashion, but that might be completely wrong and the girl could just like wearing such bright clothes.

“Love the mittens, they look nearly as cute as you.” You heard, looking back from your busy hands, to gaze at the flustered pair. Adorable giggle soon leaves her mouth, covering lips with the said gloves as her own eyes disappear from weirdly similar eyesmile.

Jimin was a sweetheart, someone who deserved a happy future. And so you did everything to make that happen, wishing him the best and trying to help him even if it means your own happiness goes on a second plan.

“I'm sorry but could I order.” Coming back to your own job, you look up immediately, catching the gaze of one of the clients you did not recognize.

“Oh yes of course, I'm sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”

----

A loud noise of a closing locker echoes in a quiet room in the back of the coffee shops. Night air chilling from the open window you opened some minutes ago, to get rid of a smell so many people.

The calm of the room soothing your buzzing nerves and shaking hands, that always seems to do it after a hard day of work. Your attention now somewhere else as you try to take off the blue apron, laying it somewhere on the lonely bench next to you.

It was a busy day, helping you forget about what waits for you at home, and what person will probably visit you in the meantime. You didn’t like those times, the quiet after such hard working hours, leaving you with anxious thoughts rotating around the same problems you tried so hard to run away from.

So you tried once again, silence your mind with your hands, taking every job you could, now wiping lockers that never needed to be wiped before. The same rug from before in your hands, sliding over an uneven surface.

“Y/n?” You jumped from the sudden voice, swearing that Jimin was in the other room just a second ago. Turning around, you try to look unbothered, clenching the old rug in your hands with such interest. A little noise comes from your mouth, hum to let him know you are aware of his presence.

“Everything alright?” He asks a little unsure of the question, looking at you from the other side of the room, close to the door connected to the main room.

“Yeah, why would there not be?

“You were cleaning the lockers like not even a minute ago.” He says without thinking. Voice somehow suspicious, full of hidden concern as his suspicions from before seem to be true. You were not alright, and Jimin knows exactly what it may be. “If you need hel-”

“I'm alright! I'm really alright there is no need to worry, I'm just stressed because med major is harder than I thought.” The sigh is enough to let you know that he is not buying it.

Hard steps as he comes closer, opening his own locker situated right next to you, eyes glazing back at you from his clothes is started to put back. Tight lipped smiles is the only thing you are capable of answering with, catching his dark stare for a second.

“Im worried, and I know what you want to say, but I can’t help it. You are always the one that takes my burden so why can I not do the same?” He closes the locker with too much strength, making you jump again from the loud noise.

“It’s different.”

“How is it different? You help me with everything, you let me cry, you let me crash at your apartment when my parents try to make a mess again, so what’s the problem with me?! You don’t even want to tell me what's wrong dammit.” His eyes glassy from all the emotions, hands in a fist as if he tried to hold himself back. He turned completely to you, cornering you to the lockers behind, not letting you leave this time.

“Is it because of my work? Are you ashamed to take dirty money from someone who can’t earn normally and needs to sell themself. Is it this?! Tell me Y/n, I’m tired of seeing you in such a state, you are my friend.”

“You know it’s not that.” You tried to argue catching his watery eyes.

“So tell me, tell what is going on.”

Your own mouth in agape, words lost somewhere in the back of your head. So many years going alone, keeping everything to yourself shows itself with such a hestation of saying easy words that could let you breathe easier at night.

But would they really?

Giving someone your own burden was something you were taught as a shame. Problems should stay in family, and even there your father always told you to fight them alone.

“I - “ Eyes hopeful, looking at you with new found desperation. Big and different from the ones he was giving the sweet girl with panda mittens, and that alone made you sick knowing that the sparkle left because of you. “I’m sorry Jimin I just can’t.”

And you broke. With the remaining energy you mustered, you fell onto Jimin, him nearly not catching you on time. First tears fell, with such a power, rolling down your cheeks, wetting the soft fabric of Jimin’s shirt. You did not know why, why now you decided to just let go, sobbing so much, hoping the boy will understand that you only need someone to hold you.

And he did, wrapping his arms so securely around, letting you hide the red face in a crock of his neck. Fresh smell of flowers and perfume he always wore with a noticeable hint of coffee, you probably possesed yourself. Quiet whispers of comfort, tickling your scalp a little, hands patting your hair with care, brushing them with such a delicacy, like he secretly knew how breakable you are now.

“It’s going to be okay.” Void promise, his lips close to you kissing your forehead, with shaky hands trying so hard to gather every tear that fell down. With a little move he sat on a bench, an apron which you earlier left there dropped on the floor, a quiet thud ran in the small room, you on his lap, trying so hard to become smaller nearly molding in the bigger body of Jimin’s.

Sorry’s fly through your mouth, realizing it after Jimin's starts to rock your body. He peels your face from the safe space of his neck, wiping your running tears with both of his thumbs and trying to smile a little.

“I know it’s hard, but sometimes we need to let someone in, let them help put broken pieces together.” Eyes shining in the dim light of the room, your mouth ready to disagree quickly however quieten by his own speech. ”I know what you want to say Y/n” He starts again taking a big breath. “Being helpless doesn’t mean being weak, asking for help is not something to be ashamed of. Being strong however - is letting someone in, taking they hand and standing up with them - you have to have courage to do it, and I know you do to - but whoever put such a toxic mindset in you, keeps you from it and you need to realize that there is no longer people who will judge you for falling down a litte.”

Eyes falling down, sore from all the crying that has no plans to stop. You wipe the snot with your sleeve as well as wet cheeks, laughing a little after it, sniffles in the room as you try to calm yourself a little.

Jimins gaze still at you, now softer still brushing your hair in a calming manner with the second hand drawing circles on the side of your waist. It was shameful, hearing such words, knowing deep down they were true, but too prideful to agree with them.

“Gosh If I knew you cry like that, I would take a bucket with me. I wouldn’t need to pay water bills for like two months with it. “ He laughs as you smack him with your hand. Smile on your face, you tilt your head leaning on his arm with all the weight, a small sigh leaves your mouth. Smell of coffee now is more prominent with his own perfume, which he wears everyday, pushing your mind into own fuzzy feeling. “You know that I will always be there for you, right?”

A silent nod is enough, not too much to say after such an outbreak from your side still buzzing inside you. You know it was true, with how much you both came through together, it would be stupid to leave someone who become somehow a safe heaven.

“What are you going to do now? You won’t take any money, I guess you either are not going to be too willing to crash in my apartment.” Your head immediately shots up, eyes searching those of Jimin. A look of confusion cross your face for a second, with the words repeating in your mind once again. His face however is still serious, not leaving your surprised gaze.

“W-what how do you kno -”

“Your landlord called, I didn’t want to disturb you on your break - by the way I saw you sleeping you are not as sneaky as you think.” He interrupts you in the middle of talking, brushing his hair.

You frown, looking in disbelief at the boy, a little upset from the news. Touching your phone was okay, but taking a call and not saying anything, it just fell wrong.

“So why were you trying so hard to force me to talk?” The questions came a little more aggressive than intended, but who could you blame when your private life was exposed so easily. Truth being that you felt not as angry as embarrassed, never sharing such information before leaving them in the dark.

“I know you would be angry when I tell you about the phone - which I was right about.” He pouts looking somewhere in shame, like a child that was caught with sneaking sweets.

“But it doesn’t matter, what are you going to do without help? It’s not like our boss will gave you a rise from nothing, and do not even think about starting another job - we have studies, it would be plain stupid unless you ask your family for help, you never mentioned them but they would understand right?.”

“They sure would.” You sneer, standing up from the comfort of his lap. Your smile turned down on the mention of those people, it's not like you want to have something going on with them, it would be asking satan for help and that always comes with a price. “Thanks for everything Jimin, but I will be alright.” You add walking back to the hatstand where your hoodie hangs, grabbing it with your free hand, second one carrying the bag. Jimin's eyes follow you, surprised by the sudden movement and innocently big, like he waited for some better explanations - which he won’t get.

“B-but wait! Where are you going, don’t leave me like that!” You heard the shouts, desperate movements in the previous room meaning the boy tried to catch up, however you were long ago outside the cute coffee shop, starting the journey to your quiet apartment. Maybe it was mean, and maybe Jimin was too good to be treated like this, but your own mood was now too fragile to stay in the same room as the insistent boy.

Autumn wind welcoming you once again, cold weather sneaking inside your clothes, the light hoodie not doing any justice with such temperature - still it was the only thing you owned with better quality. Head full of thoughts a little overcrowded with a starting headache, not letting you walk in a peace you somehow needed just now.

Walk to your house - at least the recent one, was not one of the long one, rather passing as a nice stroll. And even though your shifts ended in night hours, the quiet and calm way never made you feel scared of any sudden dangers awaiting you on Seoul's streets. It was a nice neighborhood, one where families that were a little lower than middle class tried to make a living, keeping their kids in a safe environment. Happy smiles and laughs welcoming you sometimes in the morning, kids rushing to their own school, greeting you even after those months you stayed there, only making you nostalgic at the thought of leaving such a safe haven.

So it was more than surprising when a quick footstep rang in your ears, soon nearing you even faster. Your beating heart now rapidly knocks in your chest, as your eyes try to search for the reason for those sounds.

You didn’t need to search for loong, soon hearing the screech of a voice not so far from you. “Y/n! Wait for me!” It was even worse when the little man started to dramatically draw his hands to touch, however your concern only lay in the thought of waking up the whole neighborhood. Eyes slitted, an annoyed expression crossing your face at the sight of the panting boy, soon stopping before you, not without tripping and nearly taking you with him. “You… really want to kill me.”

Heavy breath hitting your face, his voice strained and tired from the miles he needed to run to catch up to you. You however were more than a little shocked - yes Jimin is stubborn, and yes he is the person to run after someone just because the said person lost a penny, but his appearance here was different. It was crossing the invisible line you both draw, accepting each other's bubble of comfort.

So the question still stayed, your face hard with a thundering gaze waiting for the boy to calm a bit.

“Why did you suddenly leave?” Seriousness leaked out from his tone, however the way his eyes scrunched only meant that he indeed felt a little hurt from your previous action. And you don’t even wonder why, knowing how your choices could wound the innocent boy. “Is it about your family? If its a soft topic we can never talk about it ag-”

“You want me to walk away again?” His eyes got bigger at your cold tone, his foot taking a step back. Your family, the topic you did not want to bring up today, explaining the harsh demeanor you suddenly took. Eyes however softened as fast as they met the boy’s hurted ones, a gulp of remorse sliding down your throat. “Look - I appreciate your help but I don’t need a person to be helpless with.” You took a step forward placing your hands on the boy's arm, squeezing it in reassurement. Looking him straight into eyes a sight left your mouth soon forming in a little awkward smile - the only one you could force yourself into. “You helped me enough, there is nothing else you can do, It’s not your battle to fight you have your own problems and asking you to take mine would be cruel.”

And how awful it was to turn back leaving him again, you did just that, giving him the last pat with a smile. His own mouth opening and closing, agape from the schock you probably left him. And you were sure that this time he will let it go, your words full of coldness not leaving room for arguments.

“But what if I do?” His voice stopped you in the middle of the step, freezing your form with a new squeeze in stomach. You did want to hope for nothing, feeling how your eyes got bigger in surprise, being so close to turning back to face the blonde boy. “What if I can do something?”

“Jimin we are over it - I won’t take any of your mo-”

“I didn’t mean that. I’m not that stupid to not understand first hundret times you made it clear.”” You turn at his clear voice, full of seriousness and unsaid promises. New thoughts fell over your messy mind, Jimin’s voice still ringing in your ears as well as the hot gaze he kept on you, fixated on your weirdly sluggish posture. You were more than confused, his help however not new for you, the sudden change of demeanor was like a bucket of cold water maybe pushing you into admitting that the boy indeed had some kind of solution. “Please try to listen to me first and please try to be open minded.” He adds taking a big breath making him close his eyes for a second, only to stare at you even more firmly, nearly hiding his shaky hands. A silent nod from you lighted once again the enduring fire of his eyes.

Now you were even more curious.

“What if I get you a client?” Innocent question, firstly confusing you even more with the weird words, the realization came with your mouth opening a look of disbelief crossing your eyes for a second even if you tried to remind yourself that you situation it's not the one to be judgy.

“You do-”

“Let me finish, please?” And you could not find the power in yourself to not give in. Looking straight into his gaze you closed your mouth, still hanging from the previous schock you experienced. “I was in the same place as you some years ago, a broke student without any help or hope - and I know what you want to say, but it's not as bad as it seems. You don’t even know how much I wish that at that time I had better option, but there was none and probably won’t be if I still want to chase my dreams The job is really not that bad, people don’t know, they do not need to know - even if they wanted the community of them would not allow it cause they want only that - discretion.”

You winced, the cold brushing your cheeks even more from the chill night, moon being your only source of light shining at boy’s figure like in some kind of movie. And to be completely honest, you indeed feel like in some kind of drama, emotions oozing from both of you in waves crashing in the middle with a tension to it. You didn’t want to seem rude, your face trying to stay some kind of neutral, however you knew that Jimin saw the first pull you unconsciously did, decided to let it slip instead looking at you with even more solemnity.

Yeah you knew about his past, history he one time told you in the middle of breakdown, then seemingly crazy and full of hardship, now you started to see yourself in the boy, his place now taken by you in the most awful way.

“It’s really not that bad Y/n” He whispers, voice full of softness you were thankful about. You felt breakable, the thought of actually doing it scaring you with how probable it really is. “I’m so sorry I can't do more, but it’s the only way I can help.”

You didn’t even realize when he came so close, touching your arm with his little bigger hands clenching it. Your eyes squeezed as your hands fell to your sides lifelessly, emotions now once again leaving you a little too suddenly, the grip you always had on your life slipping from your grasp with a gasp. It was hard, facing something you worked so long for only to ruin it because of such a thing as money. It was so funny, your own younger self laughing at you probably, telling you how your choices led you to that state.

“It’s really the end huh?” You didn’t need to look to know about the sad gaze he momentarily gave you. Arm sneaking around your shoulders, your posture seemingly smaller than normally, bringing you to the warm body of the blonde boy. Not a word said, only the silence being louder than aggressive shouting.

There was no need for a better explanation, your mind was already processing the idea of selling yourself to someone, and how shocking it could be that it never crossed your mind before. You can’t say the job disgusted you, you can't say it did not leave you with a sour taste on your tongue, like something is wrong with the image of you in such an environment again.

Again.

Well that was something that did not sit right with you, running away your whole life from it, now going back to the cave of a tiger - conscious suicade.

Face plastered on the surface of the brown coat, fluffy fabric brushing your face with every breath he took. The gesture leaves you with a heavy heart, not understanding why Jimin wanted to help you so much. Was it an obligation? Did he feel like he owed you something?

You just couldn't grasp the idea why, why was he so insistent, it’s only you in the end, a friend from the same coffee shop he worked in, someone who is not important in his life, someone who he will leave when the time comes. So why?

And maybe with the next gust of wind, a quiet whisper in your ear you realized deep down, that he was the first person in your life which genuinely cared for you. However the musky scent and heavy thoughts still repeated the same question, but you knew somewhere in your mind that it’s only a matter of time when the quiet suggestion will be proven.

“It’s getting late. You should go home.” A silent nod, your head still leaning on his shoulders, too tired to move. His hands petting your hair, a quiet hum leaving his mouth while he did it, melody not familiar, dancing in the silence of the night. You sighted taking one step back, immediately feeling a cold breeze hitting you, the source of heat now gone, making you shiver in the lighter clothes. Little smile screeching on your lips after you saw his worried gaze, sitting on your figure not planning to move.

“You too.” Sticking your hands into the big pocket of your hoodie, you turned your head in the way he came nodding. None of you moved, gaze met in the middle as you tried to not show how cold you really wera, body shaking in unnatural ways wanting to move for some kind of warm up.

He did not smile, even after your own stretched into a larger one, you decided not to pry and just turn around with a silent wave, head ahead of you eyes looking in the dark depths of the street where you lived. He knew you were not alright, gaze piercing you through every layer you tried to put in a situation like this, a copy mechanism you were not that proud of. And so with the head lowered you took the first step away not minding the still lingering stare on your shoulders.

The main worry now being the cold weather and little clothes that shielded you from it, the idea of the whole conversation put somewhere on the side.

However, he and you were pretty well aware of what is going to happen the next day.

In the end it's you who soon is not even going to possess own body.

----

Sleepless nights were not new, the feeling of tiredness you could not just wipe with the piece of the fabric a familiar one, the eyes trying to stay focused on things even though they were so hard to close themself for some sweet time, just to be forcefully open. Two words were enough for you to not hide the utter ache, you so perfectly masked in the middle of the coldest night.

And so maybe it was the cold keeping you awake in the dark, the blanket not enough to warm up your lifeless limbs, or maybe the lingering touches of the blonde boy that stayed even after so many afters after the whole conversation.

You felt weak, blinking in the grey room watching the wall like it would show something incredible, the scratches on it similar to the one you did when the stress was too much, decorating pieces of your skin like an art. The night was a big blur, hours now looking at the nonexisting stuff passed with a blink of an eye only to put you in another of the memories.

Blonde hair somewhere there scrolled in the side of your mind. Oh yeah, the said boy came the next day, look on his face too hard to forget as the next wall you built was just ruined.

He looked at you from behind his eyelashes with eyes dimmed with a sort of fog. Silence being the only comfort in the moment - early morning helping with it. He knew that this time the situation did not have many options, not any without any loss.

However he came, with a mind to let you help with thinking of any other ideas to help you, the conversation from the other night forgotten after he stepped in the gloomy apartament. And it doesn’t surprise you, the look you probably carried spoke for himself.

In his hands soon layed inconspicuously looking scrap of paper, tempting with his appearance like the most loucioust sin. He read it with squinted eyes, not needing a lot of time to find out what exactly the letter applied to.

What surprised him after such information is, how really the girl hid behind such an innocent facade, the new wave of respect crashed on him with the thought how strong you really are to not ask for help. The human thing was to linger, searching for attention so long to have someone finally do everything for us.

He had money, he had it so much that he could easily help her for next month, but he knew how every proposition like that would end up.

In the end they were really similar.

“Maybe there is another way.” He cut the silence, after a while regretting the action. Eyes met somewhere in the middle and both of their gaze was meaningful enough to answer his void of hope. “Have you tried to talk with the flat owner?”

Grimace on your face once again was enough, you shook your head remembering not the best meeting with the older man. “Many times. The guy is purely business oriented, he doesn’t care about your private life but if you pay everything - which as you can see I have a problem with.”

“I know that it’s a hard topic, but what about your family. There needs to be at least one person.” You looked down, carpet under your feets still fluffy and soft under your feet, the silence embracing you both. Jimin awkwardly scratched his arm, biting his lips in the process, the topic one again making your mood even worse. “Im sorr-”

“There is no need, it doesn’t matter anyway. My family is off limits when it comes to those types of things.” You cut him off, looking from the side at the little embarrassed boy. A sigh leaves your mouth as you lean on to your old couch, ruffling your hair after. “Jimin there is really no other way. Your option is the only thing I can do, even if the idea scares me.”

He looked at you with a small smile, the memories from his past coming back to him, when it was him who was sitting at your place, maybe with a different situation, but the fear in the eyes remained the same. He sat next to you, hand catching yours latching fingers with yours, as if that small gesture was supposed to pass everything.

And maybe it was like that, however how sweet and calming the motion wouldn’t be, nothing has been solved, and your decision it's going to change your life completely.

“You start to accept it with time.” He whispers tightening the grip on your head, the sentence seemingly had a bit more to the story. You guessed he tried not only to convince you both himself too.

Idea still fresh in your mind, hard to process it actually is going to happen, eyes meeting once again with the dark ones of the boy, millions of heistations flowing in the circle of your pupils.

“What If I don’t want to accept it? Jimin, I'm going to sell myself like some kind of animal.” You started, soon seeing how every word pierced the boy, a hurt crossing his face for a while. However he himself knew how his job was not something to brag about, something that should be kept to yourself.

“First - you are not going to be a prostitute, it’s their job. Second - you are not selling yourself, your body maybe, your time - yes. This whole messed up business, which no one truly understands, it's not only based on pleasure and successful bargain. The people you are going to provide services will require more, however you too will be able to demand - and that’s the difference.” He instinctively stood up, turning his back to you to hide his face for you.

You decided not to question that, the topic probably being equally hard for him. Following his figure, you listened to every word which could calm your buzzing nerves.

“Mone-” You started trying to guess about the demand he was talking about. The cash suggests itself in your mind. The boy quickly turned back, dark eyes catching your breath in the middle.

“Respect.” He finished, taking an earlier abandoned cup of tea to his hand. You were confused, your gaze spoke for himself, the utter questions building with every quiet minute he left you with. “Do you know why so few people are able to survive in such a business, or why so few people know about it?” He asked knowing fully he won't get any answer from you. He sighted brushing his blonde hair back, a little oliy from the last day of work, he came to the other side of the room sitting on one of the smaller tables just before you.

“You will need to play a role, you will become an actress in real life without the power to question your own character. People that are directors in fact are going to be your clients, giving you the script you will need to act on. In the beginning it’s going to be hard, but with time you will understand that you can either love it or you are someone who is not suitable for such a job.”

So many questions, which only bundled up with the said words. A weird twinge in your heart, forcing you to stop thinking about it like a sweet temptation, however the beautiful words he wrapped everything with stronger. The idea seems so easy, so free and so good, too good to be true.

You looked at him, the tiredness hitting you suddenly but so many not arranged issues kept you on your toes, so with the remaining power you sighed rubbing your eyes. You decided, your last way out.

“How i'm even going to start?” The question filled him with a relife, not understanding exactly why, the thought of having someone close in the same job loaded him with unanswered happiness. He gazed back, the look making you sit more comfortable forcing your attention directly at him.

“The clients are mostly the people you least expect to. Although they are not people which can afford a whore - lame millionaires or self-proclaimed gangsters. Don’t get me wrong but if they were them they could have just bought the random first person that is willing to do everything they want, for them however the most important is discretion and loyalty.” He started, stopping for a while to take out his phone and quickly search something on it.

With one move he showed you a picture of a man, you strangely knew. Black hair, similar to the blackness of the sky so different from the boy sitting just before you and a beautiful porcelain looking skin. He looked proud, even as a imagine the frozen photo oozing of confidence and power.

You knew those people pretty well, a little too well. Too proud for their own good and too proud to admit their wrongs, making money in such a way to not get attention if they are dirty or not. Familiar contempt towards others. You tried so hard to run away just from people like that, you hoped the clients Jimin was talking about are just the little CEO’s, not that important or dangerous.

And how ironic it was that you yourself are going to willingly put yourself in such a toxic environment again, people that are more influential than politicians and authorities. Next question popping on the side, how the blonde boy survived there without any knowledge.

“I see you can guess about who i’m talking about, and It’s not your first contact with them, right?” He started, brushing his hair once again, a habit you noticed. He needed to admit that your expression put him in uneasiness, look on your face nearly scared like a child that watched horror for the first time. He didn’t want to annoy the topic, leaving it in the air with the restless tension, instead he closed his phone hiding it back into his pocket.

His eyes still on you, your mind somewhere else as the quietness of the room started to spin around. The unanswered question lingered on your tongue, kept in the end of your mouth like some kind of secret. And as you thought it’s the end, the little ping came from the pocket he put his phone into.

“Well, I don’t know If you are interested but there is someone who is willing meet.”

#yandere taehyung #taehyung #taehyung angst #bts #bts fanfction #bts fic rec #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic recs #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyng x reader #namjoon #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung x you #taehyung imagine #jungkook fic recs #jungkook x reader #seokjin #yoongi x you #jimin x reader

[iamanartichoke]

Congrats on the 1+k followers! I've only recently found you but I enjoy your opinions and the way you write <3

I was wondering if, for the prompt fic ideas, you would be interested in writing Sylvie and Loki exchanging magic lessons in an enchantment for enchantment kind of way.

I imagine them bickering each other with "Pff... That is too easy." and "Come on, that didn't take me so long to learn...", but they would also encourage with some "I know you can do it!". (oh god, now I picture them teaming in some prank against Thor... xD)

Thank you so much, @enabi-seira. Sorry this is a few days late, but it took me awhile to get going. Also my intention was to have something kinda cute and snarky but it ... didn't really end up that way, bc of who I am as a person. I hope you enjoy, regardless.

Summary: Sylvie gives Loki a lesson in enchantment Word Count: 2340 Author's notes: More or less inspired by the blanket scene, but with less awkward and more soul-bearing, bc well, why not.

*

It wasn’t until she let him into her mind that Loki saw himself in Sylvie.

At first, he thought it hadn’t worked, because all he felt was nothing. There was no sound, no air. But when he opened his eyes he found himself in what, at first glance, was Idunn’s orchard on Asgard. He stood at the center of the orchard, underneath the shade of one of the largest trees. In the distance, he could clearly see the golden spires of Valaskjalf and, looking up, Loki felt a twist of homesickness so strong it nearly knocked him off of his feet.

It took him a moment to get ahold of himself and, when he did and began to take a closer look, he realized that he wasn’t on Asgard at all. The orchard did not have enough trees and no golden apples swung from their branches. Valaskjalf’s spires did not glint in the sun; the gold was instead dull and flat. Everything, in fact, was much too dull and flat.

A chill broke out across Loki’s skin because while he was not on Asgard, he did know this place. He’d built it himself, had begun planting the trees and laying the foundations of deadened grass and dirt when he was still just a child. It was his in-between space, the pocket between dimensions into which he retreated when everything else was simply too much.

“How do you know this place?” he asked. His voice, rough with confusion, seemed far too loud with nothing to anchor it. “It’s mine.”

“It’s ours,” Sylvie corrected. Her voice came from somewhere to his left; Loki turned and saw her approaching, dressed not in the black and green attire he’d grown so familiar with but in a deep purple gown traditional of Asgardian formalwear. Her hair was longer, the top done up somewhat elaborately in several slim braids.

“I thought your enchantment would bring me to a memory,” he said.

“What makes you think this isn’t a memory?”

Loki opened his mouth and then closed it again, choosing instead to merely gesture at the void surrounding them. “Because this place isn’t real. I created it. As an -”

“An escape,” she finished for him. She’d been looking out over the orchard but now she turned her gaze on him, something sad and knowing behind her green eyes. She nodded. “So did I. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. It’s as real as you and I are, and I remember it.”

Goosebumps tickled his arms and the back of his neck. Loki looked away, turning in a half circle as he took in the sight of what he used to simply call the gray place, a place he’d thought had been lost; he’d not thought of it in years, could no longer remember quite where it was. The grey place had all but collapsed into the recesses of his mind, along with countless other memories he’d collected and subsequently lost along the way.

Loki looked up at the tree that still shaded them from the sun, although the sun itself was not very bright, nor warm. Everything was so still. Absently, Loki reached out and swiped his fingers along one of the lower branches. “No apples,” he said.

“Nothing grows here.”

“The space grows,” he countered. He plucked a few leaves from the branch and curled his fingers around them. “Grew. Each time I came here, it seemed bigger. It stopped being Asgard and grew into somewhere else.”

“It didn’t really, though, did it,” she said. She walked around him, circling the tree trunk. “Get bigger. It was only that we got lonelier.”

Loki looked at her sharply, but found he couldn’t refute her words. “You were much lonelier than I,” he said instead.

She shot him one of her Sylvie looks, her expression both indignant at what she perceived as a slight, and annoyed at his being right. She disliked when he figured things out about her, but he’d seen that expression more and more as the days passed, which meant that he was getting closer to her core.

Either that, or he was just annoying her more frequently.

“What makes you think so?” she challenged.

He gestured vaguely at the space around them. “Yours is farther along than mine was.” Now that he was getting used to this - both being inside of her head, and grounded firmly in the gray place - he could see the differences. There were more pathways in the orchard, fuller tree branches. In the distance, past the palace, he could make out the beginnings of a rainbow bridge. All things Loki had thought of bringing to the gray place, but adolescence grew into adulthood and Loki created new hiding places, buried deeper in the spaces between worlds.

Sylvie’s gray place felt like a place that had been visited often. Perhaps she even still visited, escaping through dimensions as easily as she slipped through apocalypses.

Her features looked pinched as she dug her fingers into the trunk’s bark, pulling at a loose layer. “When did you build yours?” she asked, instead of answering directly. “Start building it, I mean.”

Loki shrugged, leaning against the trunk. “I don’t know. I was young.”

“Tell me,” she pressed.

He glanced over at her and, despite himself, smirked. “Are we exploring your mind, or mine?”

Sylvie arched an eyebrow and then her features relaxed. “Beats me,” she admitted. “Seems they’re one and the same, doesn’t it?”

Loki’s nod was slow, thoughtful. He looked up, toward the endless gray sky. “I remember having nightmares as a child,” he said, and wasn’t sure if he was answering her question, or simply speaking in order to fill the silence. Her presence seemed to have that effect on him, regardless of whether they were together in the world or together in her (their?) mind.

“It was always cold in those dreams,” he went on. “Bitter, the kind of cold that gets under your skin. It was cold and it was dark, and there were never any monsters or dragons or - not the kinds of things children tend to have nightmares about. For me, it was that there was nothing. Just myself, and the cold, and the dark, and this intimate knowing that no matter what I did or how loudly I screamed, no one would ever hear me.”

She’d circled around the trunk again as he spoke, and now she leaned against it next to him, sliding down until she was settled on the grass at the base. “I don’t think I had nightmares, not like yours,” she said, “but I always had the sense of being wrong, somehow. When my parents told me the truth about what I was, and where I’d come from, I thought it would make the wrongness stop.”

“But it didn’t,” Loki guessed as he sat down on the ground beside her.

She looked over at him, meeting his gaze directly before she shook her head. “It’s in me still. At least now I know why.”

Loki didn’t say anything. They were sitting close enough together that he’d only have to lean in a bit and their shoulders would be touching, but Loki let the observation go without acting on it. Instead, he pulled at a few blades of grass, gaze settling out toward the far end of the orchard which, were this the real Asgard, would have led directly into Frigga’s gardens.

Instead of lingering on that thought, Loki turned his attention to the enchantment itself. It was very strange, the method she’d learned. Their bodies - their real bodies - were out there in the physical world, holding hands to establish the physical connection they’d needed for the enchantment to work, but they were also in here, and he could feel the ground beneath him and the the tree bark digging into his spine and the solidity of the space she took up beside him. He would have assumed that sliding into someone else’s mind would feel like a dream or a vision - not quite real.

“That’s when I began creating this place,” he said, realizing that he’d started telling her about his nightmares for a reason. “To escape after the dreams.” He’d chosen the warmest, safest place he knew then, which was the orchard, and he’d begun creating his duplicate.

“I don’t even really know where it was,” he admitted, with a short laugh. “All I had to do was think of it and, suddenly, I’d be there.”

It had started with the nightmares, but somewhere along the way it had become much more than that. Loki could remember disappearing into the gray place after arguments, or when he was frustrated and felt lost, or even just when all of the things inside of him - the dark things he’d never been able to firmly identify - became far too much and he felt like he would explode from the sheer force of them pressing against his skin from the inside, seeking a way out.

In Sylvie’s mind, all of the details were exact and clear, just as he remembered and more. Loki felt something hollow and cold in his core as it sank in - really sank in - that he and Sylvie were variants of the same person. The same soul, with the same dark things inside. What’s me is you, and what’s you is me.

The full weight of the realization should not have made him feel so lonely, but it did. For the first time since he’d met her, looking at Sylvie felt like looking in the mirror, the way one did when he was examining himself from every angle, identifying and hating every flaw he discovered.

“I know that look,” she said, and Loki blinked. He’d been staring at her, he realized, and felt his cheeks warm. “It’s hitting you, isn’t it? How we’re the same.”

Loki nodded. “It’s this place. I was remembering why I made it, and what drove me to disappear here. It must have been the same for you.”

“Let’s see.” Sylvie drew her knees up a little, adjusting her skirts so that they wouldn’t drag against the grass. “The wrongness of existing. Falling short, no matter how hard I tried. Always found wanting, compared to my brother. And, yes, loneliness.”

“Thor,” Loki said. His voice sounded so flat, even to his own ears, that Sylvie shot him a strange glance. He tugged at a few more blades of grass, pressing his lips together. He’d never asked her about her Thor, because he didn’t want to talk about his - the one who had ceased to exist when the TVA first arrested Loki in the desert and erased his reality, along with everyone he’d ever known and loved. Versions of them existed, of course - the ones who walked the sacred timeline, exactly where they were supposed to be, but those versions belonged to another Loki - a far away Loki.

He had his reasons for not bringing up Thor, but he didn’t know why Sylvie, likewise, had kept her Thor to herself. “Tell me about him,” he heard himself say, dropping the blades of grass from his hand. “Your Thor.”

“I don’t remember much of him, either,” Sylvie admitted. “More blips, like my parents. He’s more of a feeling than anything else - a presence. He took care of me; he pushed me to be better. I could never measure up to him, but I remember he wasn’t the one who was comparing. He loved me.”

“Yes.” Loki was hardly aware of speaking until he heard his own voice. “Mine, too.”

They exchanged a long look, and then Sylvie cleared her throat and turned her attention to the grass. “Could do with a bit more green,” she remarked. “It’s awfully dull, isn’t it?”

“I could -”

But she was already pressing her fingers into the dirt and, as Loki watched, the blades began to darken and bloom as lush grass sprouted outward, rolling from the palm of Sylvie’s hand to stretch in every direction until all of the dead grass had been made new again. Only then did Sylvie pull her hand back.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not bad,” he agreed. “Still feels very plain, though. I’d have added a little shading, a little variety. Perhaps a few more shrubs or rose bushes.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

The corners of Loki’s mouth tilted upward. He extended a closed fist, focusing, and then spread open his hand to reveal a tangled ball of colorful magic, blues and greens and yellows and reds all flickering and shimmering. Wordlessly, Loki tossed the ball; it landed several feet away and dissolved into tiny, colorful flowers, which spread swiftly over the grass.

Loki glanced at Sylvie, quickly enough that he caught the awe on her features before she realized he was looking; immediately, boredom swept over her face. She lifted one shoulder, carelessly. “Where are the rose bushes?”

“You are impossible,” Loki informed her.

“So you keep telling me. Come on.” She pushed herself to her feet and extended a hand, which Loki took without pause. “Lesson’s over for today.”

A split-second later, the gray place was gone entirely; once again, there was air to breathe and tiny sounds in the distance. Loki’s head throbbed; he opened his eyes and let go of Sylvie’s hand in order to press his against his temples. “Ow.”

“Yeah, return trip’s a little rough until you get used to it.” Slyvie - once again looking like Sylvie, draped in green and black - leaned back, watching with some amusement while Loki squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his temples, and tried not to throw up. “Maybe next time we’ll journey into your mind. Probably’ll pack less of a punch for you.”

“I can handle pain,” Loki countered, finally letting go of his head. “My mind is off-limits. We’ve been over this.”

“For now,” Sylvie agreed.

“For always.” Loki arched his eyebrow at her. “Now. What lesson shall we tackle next?”

#various disclaimers: i'm basing my interpretation on how enchantment works on sylvie and c-20's scene #where there were clearly existing in *a place* together from c-20's memories #no idea if i've gotten the whole of it right or not but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #also be gentle i'm rusty re: writing quality #charlotte writes #follower celebration prompt series #loki+sylvie(bffs) #loki pokey artichokey #loki fic #loki series spoilers #loki spoilers #loki tv series spoilers

[nypmphetsbastard]

PARADIS ISLAND

Genre: slowburn fanfiction, college!au

Pairing: yelena x fem!reader

Summary: college becomes a whirlpool of new people and emotions once you meet a woman by the name of yelena manages to weasel her way into your once perfect life and tear down everything you ever thought to be true. From religious views to friendship, she builds something new. Now, she introduces you to new world she likes to call Paradis Island.

Warnings: angst, smut, hurt/comfort, struggles with Religion, homophobic comments/people

A/N: this story is posted on ao3 {NYMPHETSBASTARD} as well as wattpad {SUGACODED} because wattpad is acting a fool and I need another place to save this story👍

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Leaving home was always a rough time for both parent and child. Anybody who grew up in a loving home tended to stick to that home like glue, not wanting to separate from it and instead choosing to go to schools and jobs closer to home, closer to family. Those without however, preferred their freedom. When the clock struck 12 and everybody went to sleep was the only time they'd have to themselves, the only time they'd ever have to feel safe and relaxed — leaving home wasn't as hard on them.

You...well you were a different story. You didn't like a lot of things, being grabbed, having things snatched out of your hands, people taking your food without permission, somebody talking to you when you're clearly trying to avoid them — the list could go on. But growing up leaving you home never seemed to cross your mind. For whatever reason you felt like things were fine at home, not perfect but not terrible either, nine year old you didn't stop to think that one day you'd have to make the decision to move away from your friends and family. The small town you were in had a lot of older people, ones that never separated from their high school popularity phase and believed that the world revolved around them and them only, the others were newly young adults seeking any way out. You hoped you'd be the ladder.

Your parents had never spoken to you about leaving the house, meaning you grew up only learning what was taught in school. World War One and two, Pearl Harbor, slavery, and other shitty thing America did and or went through throughout the course of centuries on end — all only ever learned or discussed in school. The main focus in your household was religion and religion only. It's what you grew up to be right, nothing else existed in your mind besides that.

There was nothing wrong with that. Well...until around the time high school hit. Senior year was the year stressed to you since you were a freshman, you could barley fathom the fact that you'd have to apply for colleges, work on a bunch of different essays and possibly move away when you were young and you could still barley understand it now. But it was only then, then when they had handed you that slip of paper of which colleges you were going to apply to did you realize something; you didn't want to end up in a boring old relationship with a guy from your sophomore geometry class, get married, have a couple of kids that would send you to a nursing home and never live the life you dreamed of having.

You wanted that Disney channel teenage life, teenage adventures that would give you enough memories to last a lifetime and successfully say you lived your life to the fullest. While your teenage years had been spent in a church every weekday, your nose in school books and your bedtime forever stuck at the time 8:30, you swore your adulthood would be different.

Everything would be different.

"Are you sure you're not missing anything, hun?" Your mother asked nervously watching you pack the trunk up with your suitcase and extra bags. You yawned into your hand due to the more than early hours you guys were beginning the trip in order to make it early to your destination.

"You made a list mom, I don't think there's anything I could miss." She smiled your small joke and got in the passenger seat of the car, "You know, you guys really don't have to come. It's nearly a 4 and half hour drive over there, not including the drive back." You mentioned

"We already told you we're going to stop by my mother in laws and stay for a while." Your father explained, you sighed and got into the backseat of the car.

You brought your favorite stuffy and laid your head on it against the window as you prepared yourself for the 4 hour drive from your old childhood home to a new place where new memories could be made. It felt almost nostalgic watching your entire childhood fly by from behind a window. The blue slide you loved going up and down on till you felt like throwing up. The metal pole that always terrified you trying to go down. The monkey bars you taught yourself to climb because of the lack of friends you had that could teach you. It all seemed to disappear behind flashes of trees and road as the car drifted further and further away from the place you called home.

"Morning sunshine! We're here!" Your father exclaimed, waking you out of your slumber. You groaned quietly and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, taking a moment to look out the window at the large building in front of you. Gawking at the size, you shook your head and stepped out of the car to get a closer look.

"This is much smaller than the one I went to." Mentioned your father, squinting up at the building and helping you pull your suitcase out of the trunk.

"That's because you went to community college, honey." You chuckled at your moms observation and rolled your suitcase up to the sidewalk.

"Well I'll see you guys—" you started until your words were cut off by your mother slapping her hands down on your shoulders and giving you a firm look.

"I better not come visit you in a few months and see you with a purple Mohawk, piercings and a girlfriend, you hear me?" You nodded at her dramatic remarks and felt yourself internally cringe at her words.

"Hopefully we come back to you with a kind little boyfriend and a college degree we can show off to the rest of the family." Your father said, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders and gave you a tight lipped smile.

"Call us when you get settled and show us your roommate."

"And if they're anything we told you to not look like or if they smoke, drink or are sexually active in public, please change roommates."

They listed off, you internally rolled your eyes but still managed to give them a nod.

"Okay, I get it. Bye." You waved them off and stayed on the sidewalk till their old beat up grey car pulled away from the university.

Sighing, you rolled your shoulders back, grabbed all your things and walked the 10 minutes all the way to your side of the dorms. Personally, you had no clue who your roommate was besides their name but you knew even if you got a wild one you wouldn't change rooms. It didn't matter to you wether or not your roommate had purple hair, while your parents and nearly everyone in life tended to stick their nose in the business of others, you had no care in the world about anybody else.

From the moment you stepped into your new room, your nostrils were immediately being wrapped in by the smell of vanilla and incense. You looked around the room and noticed that only half of it was done up while the other was plain and void of any decoration.

"Hello, who are you?" A soft voice asked politely and there in front of you stood one of the prettiest girls you'd ever seen. She was a short young woman with long, disheveled shoulder-length black hair, a Greek nose and relaxed dark eyes.

"Oh sorry! I'm your new roommate, you're Pieck Finger, right?" You greeted her, shaking her surprisingly soft hands and placing your bags down on the floor next to you.

"Sorry about the smell, I'm lighting some incense to cleanse the new room. I just got here last night."

"Mhm, are you religious?" You asked, pointing to the black leather notebook in her hand. She looked down at it but smiled and shook her head.

"Ah no, I'm Agnostic. Although my childhood friend practices Hinduism and I guess I pick up on some things." She explained, you nodded at her words and made a mental note to ask her what the hell agnostic meant at a later time. Her eyes went down to the bags in your hand and reached out to grab your suitcase.

"Here I got this, I'll put this on your side of the bed and let me know if I can help with setting anything up." She offered kindly, you nodded at her offer and the two of you immediately got to work.

As you folded your clothes into a drawer and hung them up in a closet and Pieck finished wrapping your bed in it's covers and blankets, the two of you talked. Talked as if you'd been friends since birth. Pieck felt like someone you could truly se yourself being friends with in the long run of college, she was also someone your parents would most likely accept and allow you to stay with. The two of you bonded over certain interests, Pieck had a knack for writing — poems, full books, it didn't matter; you were the artistic one. Always doodling on something or recreating famous art paintings in your room, usually religious paintings as your parents always told you that if you were going to have painting as a hobby you might as well paint something useful.

"Finally, we're done." You sighed, exhaustedly throwing yourself onto the newly made bed. Pieck chuckled and stood up, grabbing her belongings and putting them into a small book bag.

"Hey, me and my friends are meeting in the library later, would you like to come?" She asked, you mulled over the idea for a quick second and nodded your head.

The walk from your dorm and the library gave you and Pieck even more time to get to know each other. She explained how most people from her old high school had come to the nearest college, it being this one which is why she never worried about not making any friends. Your eyes nearly popped out of your eye socket as you stepped up to the large library building, it being much bigger than any library your town had to offer. Pieck held the door open for you as you stepped in and took a moment to admire the large area.

"Psst, Pieck!" Whispered a voice, you looked over to see a brown haired woman in big round glasses waving the two of you over with a wide grin on her face. Pieck waved back and walked over the round table with the two other people sitting and you following behind her.

"Hey guys, this is my new roommate. This is—"

"Hange Zoë, nice to meet you!" The glasses wearing woman exclaimed excitedly taking your hand in her and shaking it vigorously. A nearby librarian glared her way and hushed her, she smiled and apologized to the old woman.

"I'm Porco." Replied the blonde boy on the other side of the table dryly.

You waved at him awkwardly and sat down next to Pieck, yet it was only after they began pulling out their books did you realize you had nothing with you. Tapping the dark haired girl on the shoulder, you motioned towards the bookshelf's and stood up to leave once Pieck nodded her head.

You walked around aimlessly with no true destination or book in mind till you came across a bookshelf, this one different than the others and tucked away in a little corner. It was old and basic but it still had integrity. The wood was straight and it hugged the wall. On closer inspection you could see scratches, the wood a little more pale where it had been dinged. You touched the roughness, not minding one bit and looked at the books inside. The fiction section had always been your favorite growing up, your parents believed books like Harry Potter were some sort of books that demonic and plaguing words hidden within them so you only ever grew up reading them in short amounts of time in the library before they could find you.

A small gasp made its way up your throat as your eyes landed across a book titled Alice in Wonderland, one of your top favorites. The ladder that usually came along with each bookshelf was currently being occupied yet this specific bookshelf seemed to take up nearly the entire wall of the library — this might've been one of the first things you couldn't successfully grab with ease. You reached your hand up to grab the book, your fingertips only slightly touching them before the book suddenly disappeared from your grasp and a warm presence creeped up behind you, towering over your frame.

Looking up, your eyes met a pair deep dark eyes staring down at you, the book now forgotten in your mind as it was now clouded with the face of the person in front of you. It was only after a couple seconds that you blinked out of your trance and stepped back, falling straight between the bookshelf and the person. You felt...intimidated. The person in front of you was more than taller than you, a height you thought was nearly impossible. They tilted their head to the side, bent down a bit and held the book out in their hand as your eyes stayed trained on theirs.

"Do you want it?" They asked, you nearly jumped in your skin at the sound of their somewhat deep voice.

"Huh?"

"The book." You looked down and finally registered the fact that they'd picked up the book you were grabbing at and now held it out to  you.

"O-oh right, thank you." You stuttered, mentally cursing yourself for acting this way. While your eyes strayed away from theirs, they went downward to the person's appearance.

They wore a dark green turtleneck sweater paired with high waisted black pants, accentuating their long legs and black lace up Oxford shoes — their entire appearance intimidated you. The center of their nose pierced through with silver piece of jewelry.

"I..." you regretted opening your mouth the second the words came out, "gotta go," the words spilled out of your mouth as you immediately walked around them and towards your table, the interaction still replaying in your head on loop. It wasn't until you rapidly sat yourself down next to Pieck that you felt like you could breath.

You weren't the most social person in the world but you also weren't the most nervous, but they...their presence, their height, the look in their eyes, it all seemed to send you into frenzy. Ignoring the slightly worried look you got from Pieck, you open the notebook given to you and tried to let the interaction seep away into your memories. Yet it didn't work. Every word on the paper seemed to fly over your head, your mind never sticking to the sentences given to you. Hell, you could barley read about Alice's shitty life without comparing it to what had just occurred. It was all too fresh. Too new. Too...interesting.

"Mornin' Pieck." Greeted a deep voice from behind you, turning around you were faced with a tall blonde haired man with small circle glasses resting on his nose.

"Good mornin, Zeke." Pieck responded kindly, the man looked around the table greeting everyone till his eyes met yours.

"I don't think I've met you before, and who must you be?" He bowed down respectfully and held out his hand, you looked at it confused for a second before sliding your hand into his and watching as he leaned his head down to plant a kiss at the back of your hand.

Before you could protest, a different hand gripped Zeke's shoulder, he pulled away and turned around to find his female companion standing above him with a blank expression on her face — one he'd gotten used to over the course of their friendship. Meanwhile your breath was caught in your throat at the sight of the intimidating person you'd met only moments before.

"Your book, Zeke." They said plainly, Zeke pulled away from you and took the textbook of their hands, thanking them and skimming through the textbook as both of your eyes never left theirs.

"Good morning, Yelena." Pieck greeted her with a smile, finally, Yelena's eyes drifted away from yours and were now on Pieck, the sides of her lips quirking up into a smirk for a second.

"Good morning, Pieck." Your eyes went back and forth between them in confusion until another person popped up behind Zeke.

"Hey guys, hey hange, Pieck." The dark haired man bun wearing boy said, leaning his arm against Zeke's shoulder despite them being the same height.

"Guess I'm just invisible then" spoke up Porco with an offended look on his face, the dark haired boy simply looked at him and blinked.

"Oh no I knew you were there, I just don't care. Anyways, are you guys coming to my big party tonight?" He asked excitedly, Zeke scoffed and pushed his glasses further up his face.

"Tch, we're not children, Eren. Why would we go to some teenage party?" Eren scoffed at the blonde mans response.

"Yeah obviously not you, old man, you're fucking ancient. I was talking to Pieck and..." he looked at you with a confused expression before shrugging and pointing at you, "and her."

"I'm not even that old—"

"Sorry, Eren but you already know my answer." She apologized, Eren pouted and groaned.

"Oh come on, please, Pieck? The last time you went everybody loved you, please?" He begged Pieck, placing his hands on her arm that was leaned against the wooden chair she sat at.

"Aw sorry, kid. I love them all too but I gotta tutoring session today." She apologized sympathetically, patting the boys head and turning to you, "what about you?"

You jumped at the sudden spotlight on you but shook your head regardless, "If Pieck's not going then neither am I." Eren groaned again and tried puppy dog eyes on the long haired woman in front of him.

"Look Pieck, you're deriving your new friend here with the experience of a fun college party." She smiled at his explanation which apparently told Eren enough that he stopped bugging her and stood up to his full height, slamming his shoulder into Zeke's as he walked away and mumbled something under his breath. Zeke almost turned around to go after him until Yelena outstretched her arm to stop him.

"He's a child." She pointed out

"He's a little shit, is what he is." Zeke complained, you looked over at Hange for information.

"They're brothers." She stated, your mouth made an o shape as you finally came to understand why the two seemed to have so much beef between them.

"Half brothers, Hange. Don't associate me with that brat." Zeke huffed, everyone chuckling at the mans clear discomfort with him and Eren being in the same room let alone sentence. "Anyways, we've gotta go, me and Yelena have business to take care of." Zeke said.

"Jeez, you make it sound like the two of you are hooking up." Porco mentioned with a disgusted look on his face,

"What if we are?" He joked playfully until he looked up to see Yelena towering over him with a straight look on her face, Zeke cleared his throat and shook his head, "Kidding, kidding."

The two of them walked out of the library and the three other people at your table continued on their reading while your mind was racked with a bunch of questions of the new characters you just met. You tried to avoid eye contact with Yelena when she was leaving but could still feel her piercing gaze stay onto you until she couldn't anymore.

"So are they?" You inquired with a whisper, leaning over Pieck's shoulder

"Are they what?"

"Zeke and Yelena. Are they..." you raised your eyebrows as the words clicked in Pieck's mind and the other two at the table began laughing into their books.

"No, sweetie, they're not sleeping together or dating." She denied

"Pfft, the day we see Yelena with a man is the day pigs fly." Chuckled Porco, you looked at them confused at their jokes.

"Yelena's a lesbian, babe." Pieck finished your thought and your eyes slightly widened at her response, not expecting it. Embarrassment silently creeped into your mind as you groaned and tucked your head into your arms.

"Well now I feel stupid." The three of them laughed and Pieck rubbed your back.

For some reason, those words felt like a small weight lifted off your shoulders. You couldn't understand why you felt so...happy that she wasn't with Zeke in that way. Maybe you just wanted to her friend. Yeah....that had to be it....her friend.

#yelena #yelena aot #attack on titan #pieck x y/n #pieck finger #pieck x yelena #hange zoë #porco x reader #snk season 4 #eren yeager #zeke yeager

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @furubazine! I wanted to give Kyoko her dues, I just love the snippets of the past we get in the series.

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When she was younger, Kyoko hadn’t been big on traditions. Customs like that had to be taught at childhood, had to be given importance and love to carry through to adulthood. There had been no one to teach her to care and so she hadn’t. Birthdays were just another day to trudge through, holidays an extra day to sleep in, and gifts were always given by oneself.

Then came Katsuya and his sly smirks, Tohru and her big eyes, and now all Kyoko had were traditions. There were big ones, like birthdays and test results, where they’d grab a special treat from the bakery nearby. Small ones, like the morning goodbye and the bedtime kiss. There were so many, many ways to let a person know I love you and Kyoko never tired of finding a new one.

Even a visit to her husband’s grave was one steeped with routine. Standing at the gated entrance to the graveyard, she waited patiently as her father-in-law ambled toward her, a soft smile on his face. Dressed in a suit, he looked more put together than the absent-minded grandpa who liked to cuddle with Tohru in the kotatsu.

“Kyoko!” Noticing her, he waved as he came to a stop in front of the gate. His sleeves were slightly wet from cleaning the grave. “Right on time, I see.”

“What, is he taking appointments now?” Kyoko asked, raising a brow. If the dead could talk to the living, she could picture him doing it too. He’d probably even ask for money.

Her father-in-law chuckled, a raspy sound. She’s only ever known him for his kindness, for his soft edges, and it was strange to think that at one point, Katsuya couldn’t bear the man. “No, nothing of the sort. He’s grateful for any visitor, I’m sure.”

“That’s not the man I married.” Kyoko snorted, shaking her head. It wasn’t hard to remember how much he teased her, his lips curling into a playful smirk as she fumed. While she wasn’t sure where Tohru got her naïve personality, she was grateful she hadn’t picked up anything from her father aside from his polite speech. It would have been hell having two Katsuyas.

She wished she still had one.

Forcing a smile, she crossed her arms and asked, “You know, you could always come with us. You don’t have to visit alone.”

Perhaps reading her mind, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “After all those years apart, I need a little alone time with him. Though, he’s as talkative as ever.”

Kyoko guffawed. Her father-in-law was a riot, and she could see the traces of her husband in him. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Smiling, he stepped away. While he was getting older, Kyoko was certain that all of his wrinkles were from laughing. She could only hope it would be the same for her when she grew old. “I’ll see you for dinner?”

Another tradition. Kyoko nodded. “My cooking’s improved since last time. Maybe not as good as Tohru’s, but nothing is.”

Her father-in-law laughed as he headed away. “As long as I don’t join him today, it’ll be fine.”

She almost didn’t want to wave goodbye. Really, in that cruel honesty, he was just like his son. Would Katsuya have looked the same if he’d reached that age? Grey-haired and balding, his sides round from eating too many of Tohru’s dishes. Before she could linger on the idea, on the image of her husband as anything less than handsome, Kyoko heard a familiar voice calling her name. Turning around, she smiled brightly. “Tohru!”

“Mom!” Tohru waved back eagerly, her long skirt swishing around her heels as she trotted down the street. In her hands was a wicker basket, filled to the brim with this morning’s cooking. All as usual.

What was different, however, were the three people following her. Hanajima, Uotani, and Megumi trailed after, all dressed casually as they looked around curiously. Well, Kyoko assumed it was casual wear—it was hard to tell with Hanajima and Megumi sometimes. The siblings looked like they’d stepped out of a Victorian funeral and it was impressive on so many levels, not the least how hot it must be in the August heat. “You just missed Grandpa.”

“Oh no.” Tohru’s jaw fell open. Her eyes darted everywhere in a desperate attempt to catch his back. When she didn’t see him, she hunched over, depressed. “I should have come earlier,” she moaned.

“It’s fine.” It was impossible to resist the urge to hug her adorable daughter and Kyoko immediately gave in to the impulse. As she wrapped her arms around Tohru, she glanced at the others and smiled. “I’m glad you all could make it.”

Uotani brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, looking awkward. Maybe it was the way she held herself, her gangly body looking like it wanted to curl up and disappear, but Kyoko felt like she was looking at a younger version of herself. While she had no idea how Tohru came to be, she knew intimately what it took to make an Uotani. “Are…are you sure we should be here?” She peeked at the graveyard, then back at Kyoko. “Shouldn’t this be a family thing?”

“Are you saying you aren’t family?” she asked, raising a brow. Uotani flushed, looking both pleased and flustered, and Kyoko chuckled. “It’s about time Katsuya paid attention to Tohru’s life.”

Tohru nodded happily, still buried in Kyoko’s arms. “I want you to meet him!” she chimed in, her voice muffled.

“See? Not a problem.” Kyoko paused. “Unless, you don’t want to come?”

“No, that’s not…” Uotani was a bright red now.

While she floundered, Megumi pushed forward. “I’m in the company of four gorgeous ladies. I’ll stay.”

“Are you sure you’re in elementary school?” Kyoko asked, finally letting go of Tohru. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the wink he gave when he said that or the way that his expression and tone stayed flat the entire time.

“He’s very wise for his age,” Hanajima explained, looking as cool as a cucumber as she entered the graveyard.

“I could say the same about you,” Kyoko replied wryly. Tohru’s friends were an odd bunch. Katsuya would have loved them.

“Ready, Mom?” Tohru asked, grabbing her hand.

Kyoko felt herself melting again, but this time she resisted the urge to hug. She had to have some semblance of self-control, otherwise, they wouldn’t get anywhere today. “Yeah.”

The Honda family grave was already clean, the stone gleaming in the sun. Several white lilies were laid in front of it, a gift no doubt from her father-in-law. Setting down her picnic basket, Tohru dashed toward the buckets. “I’ll get the water.”

“Should I help?” Uotani asked, uncertain as she turned from the grave to her friend and then back again.

“The water isn’t that heavy.” Kyoko knelt in front of the grave, her fingers brushing the stone lightly. How strange. They hadn’t had that many years together, in the end, and she was now more familiar with the feel of stone than her husband’s hand. Tohru must remember even less, if she even remembered anything at all, and Kyoko’s heart ached. Lost time, lost chances, a void that never had the chance to exist.

Setting out three incense sticks, Kyoko slowly lit each one. Standing up once more, she said, in a stronger voice than she’d expected, “Katsuya, these are Tohru’s friends.”

“Hi?” Uotani mumbled, even more bemused. Gingerly she lifted her hands, looking like she wasn’t sure if she should wave or pray and she’d tried to do both.

Megumi nodded his greeting. “Hello.”

Looking up, Hanajima stared at the sky for a few minutes. Her smile was mysterious before she finally nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Was it? part of Kyoko wanted to ask. It was impossible to speak to the dead, but that didn’t feel like the case with Hanajima. The more she learned about her waves, the less she understood.

“I’m back!” Lugging a heavy bucket, the water spilling over the top, Tohru struggled toward the grave. “Sorry I took so long.”

“Tohru!” Uotani scrambled toward her, quickly taking the bucket out of her hands. “I’ll take that.”

“I can’t let y…” More water splashed over the edge, hitting the bottom of her skirt. Biting her lip, Tohru reluctantly handed the bucket to Uotani. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Uotani grinned as she held the bucket with a hand. “See? It’s nothing, really.”

Kyoko watched as the pair sprinkled water over the grave. There were very few things she could deny Tohru, so it hadn’t even been a question when her daughter had asked if her friends could tag along. It had been a good idea. “You know, you should pray to him for your marks.”

“What do you mean?” Uotani asked, looking over her shoulder curiously.

“He was a teacher, after all. And very smart. Maybe he’ll slip in your dreams and give you all the test answers,” Kyoko explained, trying hard to keep a straight face. Her husband had never been that kind, and any help he gave would be trapped inside a riddle. “And looking at your grades, you need it. You have to get into high school, after all.”

Stricken, Tohru gulped. “That…we can do that…”

Uotani already had her hands clasped, her lips silently mouthing out many, many prayers. Kyoko covered her mouth, forcing her laugh to turn into a cough. Only Hanajima and Megumi didn’t move and when she turned toward them with an inquisitive look, Hanajima only smiled. “You can’t cure my stupidity.”

“She’s actually really smart,” Megumi added, hands in his pockets. “She just has to be motivated.”

“And he’s always very smart,” Hanajima fondly added, her eyes soft as she looked at her brother. “Besides, we’re not good at riddles.”

“Oh.” Had she read her mind? Kyoko wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer to that question. Instead, she pulled out a blanket from the forgotten basket and spread it out on the stone ground.

“What are you doing?” Uotani hissed, glancing around furtively.

“Setting up for lunch?” Kyoko answered slowly, her lip twitching slightly as she bit back her laugh.

“Here?” For an ex-gang member, Uotani was surprisingly serious sometimes.

“Yeah, we’re eating with him. We’re celebrating his memory, after all.” Kyoko knelt next to the basket and pulled out Tohru’s carefully prepared bentos. When Uotani still looked troubled, she patted on the blanket. “You don’t want Tohru’s hard work to go to waste, do you?”

Having no such qualms, Megumi already grabbed a bento and opened it. “Wow, you made all this?”

“Yes!” Tohru sat eagerly next to him and grabbed another one. “And there’s some karaage in here if you want.”

“Your cooking is as tasty as ever,” Hanajima complimented, sitting on her other side and effectively sandwiching Tohru between her and her brother.

It was a lost battle. Grumbling, Uotani sat down and held out her hand. “I’m hungry anyways.”

The graveyard was filled with sound, a stark contrast to the usual silence when it had just been her and Tohru visiting Katsuya. Kyoko liked it better this way. Maybe this would become yet another tradition, a lively one that kept friends and family close no matter what boundaries separated them.

“As you can see,” Kyoko murmured to her husband, “Tohru’s made some really good friends.”

And though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was smirking at her, the bastard.

#tohru honda #kyoko honda #arisa uotani #fruits basket #furuba #saki hanajima #megumi hanajima #fanfic

[cheetahsprints]

Smiles

@heckyeahharrisco

harriscofest 2019 prompt: void

“Smiles Through the Void”

This one point of comforting light keeps him tethered, keeps him bound so he would not float away into unreachable space.

~2k words

[   Be my friend, hold me Wrap me up, unfold me I am small, I'm needy Warm me up and breathe me   ]

[   Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found Yeah, I think that I might break Lost myself again and I feel unsafe   ]

The world is big. Every day he shrinks. Invisible walls grow until he has no hope of scaling them. There are questions without answers. There are answers without questions. He can’t reconnect the threads unwinding around him.

Existing is painful. It's confusing, exhausting, and difficult. Was it this way before - or has it been the same forever? He can't recall. He can't even try. Something in him claws at the hollowness, searching and searching, a futile endeavor. His anger and sadness are trapped inside, unable to be expressed. He can copy others, but he can't comprehend them in any way beyond basic surface level.

"What's my name Harry?"

Name. He doesn't know name. He doesn't know Harry. The frustration swirls in him, but it's trapped like a tiger pacing in a small cage. There's a beat, a mist that passes through, reminding him of someone who threw things. He stares at his palm.

"Harry?"

That sweet voice. It digs into his chest and makes a home there. He continues staring at his appendage, stuck in his loop.

"It's okay. If you can't - if you don't know. You can tell me."

"You're the. You're. One. The one... with." 

He's the one with the hair. The one who can do anything. The one holding his heart. Something about the hair - curly, soft, thick, strong, scented, tickling hair. He knows it in his gut, even though he can't form the - the what? His mouth doesn't move further. The one with the hair leans forward and makes noises into his chest. He touches the hair and curls his fingers into the strands.

Smiles. 

He likes it when the one with the hair looks at him, talks to him, smiles at him. Sometimes, his own lips twitch upward in an imitation. He feels hot inside, and his heart beats faster. This one point of comforting light keeps him tethered, keeps him bound so he would not float away into unreachable space. What does it mean?

Cold.

His hands are always cold. He rubbed his palms together, ineffectively, and wonders what’s missing. The marker is a comfort. For as long as he can still grip the marker, he writes on the board. The one with the hair will hand him the marker when he drops it and smiles at him. One day, he can’t grip it again. There’s no smile. It gives him a chill.

In quiet moments he wants to give into the force collapsing his mind. He wants to let the dark matter run rampant. He wouldn’t mind if the speed force consumed him. The one. He is always there to pull him out. There’s a smile, a glance, or a touch that prevents him from falling into nothing. 

The fast one is too loud. He’s too something. His skin prickles around the fast one. Get away. He walks away. The one with the hair wraps a hand around his elbow and guides him in a different direction. Even if he wanted to, he would be helpless, unable to struggle. Yet, he is not afraid.

Blue swirls. He likes them, coming into existence so sudden and just as quickly disappearing. He doesn’t know what they are, exactly, or how they happen. He does see that the one with the hair makes them. He pulls him through them into a new place.

People look at him. He looks back. What do they want? What do the lines in their faces mean? They do not smile much. When they do, it isn’t the same as the one.

He reaches for the one. In response, fingers slip through his. He can’t tighten his hand, but the one holds him tight enough for both. 

“Pretty,” he says.

“Huh? What’s pretty?”

The one with the hair looks at him, no smile. There are lines bunching up in his face, around his eyes and mouth, that shouldn’t be there. He failed. It takes him a long moment to remember how legs work. He walks over. His hand twitches, wanting to smooth them away, but he can’t force his arm to move. Slowly, he drops his face into the other’s hair. He can’t think, he doesn’t know, but he can feel, feel, feel. The one strokes the back of his neck. He doesn’t move until the one makes him. He’s smiling, but something isn’t right about it. Why?

He runs into things. It hurts. He can’t stop. He plucks at objects that often have the one with the hair rushing to take them away. When he bleeds, the one helps him keep it inside. The one helps him eat, shower, get dressed. He can manage finger foods, even after he can no longer manage the drinks. He can push blocks around and press buttons. The one will smile and murmur encouragement that he can’t understand, but he can feel it, fuzzy in his chest.

He breathes. The one with the hair smells good too. He stares at his fingers. The one tries to show him how to hold things. He can rarely manage it. Wait. Was he good at it once? His eyes burn and feel heavy. There’s wet heat sliding down his cheeks. The one rubs it away and puts his lips there. 

The one says, “Thank God you remember how to use the bathroom. If I had to change you I think I’d cry. Not that I haven’t been… nevermind. It makes sense, since it’s one of the earliest skills you learn. God. No one else seems to give a fuck beyond pitying you… I know they have other pressing issues but still.”

The rumble of the one’s voice is soothing. He doesn’t comprehend what the one is saying, but he smiles and nods. He doesn’t know what crying is. The one should smile. He should always smile.

“You. Need. Smile. More? No cry,” he pleads. The one smiles in response. He’s successful. He adds, “So - saw - so - saw - so - sorry.”

“It’s not your fault Harry. I mean. It is, kind of. But. We’ve all been desperate and made stupid mistakes.”

“Not.”

The one sighs, “Yeah.” 

The one pats him on the shoulder. He mimics the action. His palm feels warm after. He holds it against his face and closes his eyes.

He wants to do it again the next day, but he doesn’t remember how. Eventually, he forgets why he wanted to touch the shoulder of the one with the hair. He feels like he shouldn’t be allowed.

“I can feel,” he blurted out of the blue one day. 

There’s a jolt. Stars and light dance around him, and he can distinguish shapes. He knows what they are, what they mean. What it all means.

“Tell me what you feel,” the one insisted. 

“You.”

“Can you… possibly be more specific? I know it’s hard but -”

He had enough control of his fingers to brush them on the one’s on the table. 

“I feel you. All you.”

“Got ya. I mean that - I can’t make sense of that - but thank you for sharing it with me.”

He gasps at the information onslaught, the absolute flood of knowledge and memory. As his memories reach his mid-adulthood, it starts to slow severely. He distantly relives events he would’ve rather kept pushed into the deepest parts of his mind. Memories return, the science, math, physics, language, lags behind more and more down the line. It’s there, he can feel it, as of yet lacking the stimulation to be unlocked.

In any case, he gasps and drinks it in like a dehydrated person escaping the desert. He remembers his name. Harrison Wells. Harry. Nicknamed so they could avoid calling him Dr. Wells, actually Thawne, the conniving thief. He remembers Tess, Jesse, so many others from his Earth, Barry, Iris, Wally, Joe, Cecile, their adventures, everything. 

Some parts are not so good, like the war, losing his wife, his daughter’s independence, the horrifying aspects of fighting evil.

He remembers Cisco. He remembers being in love with Cisco.

Cisco’s brilliance shines through the darkness and reaches for him. Harry reaches back across the formerly endless void and finds balance again. Perhaps, it’s proper balance for the first time in ages. Cisco. He reaches for Cisco. They talk, they touch, and Harry feels so warm and at home with the skin contact. His genius hasn’t fully returned. It’s not ready. He’s not of a mind to care yet. He needs to process.

Cisco is his life, his heart, his air. Without Cisco, he’d still be nothing. He quickly understands there are other factors involved. It doesn’t matter. He has to say it. He didn’t have the words before, not even before, before. They wait to be unfolded from his tongue.

“I love you too.” 

Technically, Cisco didn’t speak of love, not in the words. Harry can see it in Cisco’s eyes and heart it in his voice, but he could always feel it in his touch. Even when he knew nothing else, some part of him could feel it and depend upon it. Home. I feel you.

Cisco reacts in a nervous manner, silent and stiff. It isn’t the reaction Harry wants or expects after everything that’s happened. His heart aches. His mind whirls. Harry considers leaving. He has a memory flash of Cisco wiping his tears and kissing him tenderly on the cheek. He doesn’t know what holds Cisco back now. Harry just wants to hold Cisco. He can’t go, not now. 

Cisco does breach him to see Jesse. They have dinner. Cisco reaches to help Harry before correcting himself. He blushes and tucks his hair. Jesse raises an eyebrow, and she wisely doesn’t ask or comment. They talk and laugh, and it sparks hope.

Weeks passed, Harry spending most of it Cisco’s Earth. 

When they’re alone, Harry repeats, “I love you Cisco. Don’t forget that.”

Harry forgot. He never wants to forget again, a single thing about Cisco. He wants to have his center, his gravity. Else he would become lost. 

“Right.” Cisco fiddles with his tools. Harry yanks it from his hands, his soft, warm hands, and throws it across the room.

Cisco whines. “I was using that!”

“I meant it. I know I’m not alone in this -”

“Is this you? Or is it because I - I was the only one who really took care of you. So this -”

“You were the one. But I fell in love with you long before I was brain blasted, Ramon. It merely took being stripped of every single thing except feelings for me to accept it for the beautiful thing that is and stop being terrified.”

“Oh. Okay.” Cisco chews on his bottom lip.  He abruptly changes the subject, “How’s relearning coming along?”

Harry realizes he’s not, out of the two of them, the one truly most scared.

“My brain is surprisingly receptive,” Harry replies, playing along for the moment. “Snow says it’s got more active, open pathways than I probably had as a teenager. I’m breezing through the coursework. It might never be the exact same, but in some ways it’s almost exciting.”

“Nice.”

Harry stares at him with impatient expectations. Cisco doesn’t move. Harry takes Cisco’s hands in his own. He strokes the knuckles, focusing on the sensation of skin. He wants to kiss where his fingertips make contact, but he hasn’t yet received permission for that kind of behavior.

“You don’t have to speak the words if you’re not ready. Just let me know, in some way.”

Cisco takes a shuddering inhale. His eyes are shiny. Harry may not like it when he cries. Regardless, if he does, Harry will be there for him. Cisco was there for him, too. 

One of Cisco’s hands slides free. His fingers lightly grace Harry’s cheek. They card through his hair. Low he murmurs, “You’re the one.”

Harry smiles. A smile forms on Cisco’s face a second later, brightening the room and his heart. Cisco kisses the corner of his mouth. Cisco rests for a moment, his breath gusting across Harry’s chin. Harry waits patiently until Cisco surges upward, and they claim each other’s mouths. Cisco plunders him slow, prying his mouth open with his tongue. Harry grinds his fingertips into the warmth of Cisco’s shoulders. Harry feels cherished and grounded. 

He rolls the memories of the progress of his relationship with Cisco through his mind over and over, from the tense animosity to the all-consuming love. He wants to tuck them away into a box where they’d be safe from harm. Cisco sucks on his tongue and bites his lip before he completely pulls away. 

“Damn.” Harry mutters, “This... this connection we have... is amazing, Cisco. What were we waiting for?”

“Tell me about it.”

“I will. In detail, because I can,” Harry responds. He tucks his face into Cisco’s neck. His hair tickles Harry’s cheek. “If you want me to do that.”

“Oh God, yes.”

He moves to wrap his arms completely around Harry, and they just breathe.

Together.

#harrisco #my fic #harriscofest2019 #the flash S4 #i know i'm going backwards in time #S5 who? I don't know her TT_TT

[impishnature]

Please Let Me Wake (P.2)

AO3

Rating: T+

Summary:  Some nights I don’t want to sleep for fear of nightmares… But at the same time I can’t seem to wake from them either. Sometimes the monsters from the past and present are indistinguishable. And unfortunately for Stan and Ford- nightmares aren’t always picky.

AN: I promise at some point there’ll be comfort in this fic but... not yet. Sorry. As before: I’m not sure what to tag warnings as but this is to do with nightmares/bad memories and the fallout from them so- I hope that’s warning enough. They’re partially based on real life nightmares so you know. I tried to do them justice. (Warning again: This ones probably a lot worse than the first, it was to me at least. Body horror.)

Part 2: It crawls across my ceiling

.

He'd never really liked sleeping.

He couldn't put words or apply reason to that knowledge, couldn't say why or when exactly that feeling might have started.

All he knew was that something deep inside of him told him that sleep wasn't always kind and that if he could get away with as little as possible and still run full steam ahead the next day then really that was the best way to live his life.

That simple, strange 'fact' had left him puzzled that first night. When he had been confused and left staring at an unfamiliar room that he had been led to and told was his own. His eyes had skimmed an unmade bed, a myriad of unremarkable and unrecognisable items scattered across the slightly broken floor, and had no urge nor want to try and rest.

The kids that had led him there had told him he was lucky the room was still intact enough to use, eyes wide and searching as if hoping for some spark, some wordless noise that somehow proved he knew what they were talking about.

Unfortunately, he didn't.

He had no idea who they were, or what they were talking about. There were familiar names, familiar snippets fluttering around his head, but when he went to grasp on tight to them, they were snatched abruptly away again, disappearing back into the ether for him to struggle to find once more.

It was exhausting, a constant to and fro, a mix of knowing and not knowing and everything in between.

And yet still- he knew that some part of him did not want to sleep.

He had ignored that knowing but unknown voice in the end, dusted debris from the bed, shoved all the meaningless trinkets and clothes aside without much thought, no sentiment bubbling up as he glanced over them, and promptly passed out, curled up amongst the blankets as if the warmth would keep the world at bay if only for the night.

He almost wished he'd listened to the voice, in the end.

But the kids, and that man who looked so like him, were already upset enough at the fact that he didn't remember them. They were doing everything they could to try and coax those memories back, as well as look after him. It was almost frustrating. The amount of coddling they were doing... but he couldn't really say that he wasn't enjoying it.

That same voice, the one that beat in time with his heart, seemed to ache at the loving nurture they were raining down on him, even if he didn't understand why or think he deserved it in anyway.

But if they were willing to try so hard- then the least he could do was try his best as well.

He'd remember them if it was the last thing he did, if only to see the smiles that the small twins gave to their scrapbook photos of him, to the real him instead.

If only to see the old man stop looking at him quite so sadly, a look that didn't truly fade even when the kids told them of their summer adventures, almost as if the stories were new to him too instead of reminiscences.

And if that meant making sure he got a good night’s sleep to keep himself awake and fresh for the next day of memory hunting- then he would just have to do that.

Even the strange voice inside his head that seemed to know things without giving him the context, didn't seem familiar with where that notion had led him.

His nights so far had been filled with fog, flitting creatures and people- silhouettes that turned away from him whenever he ran to them. They slipped through his fingers like water if he managed to get hold of them, or burst into blue flames whenever he tried to get close enough to connect the dots.

Sometimes they just walked away from him into the white fuzz that seemed to engulf his brain throughout the days and nights, left him running and running to catch up to shadows that he would never fully grasp. There was a painful yearning in his chest, a deep pang of remorse whenever they walked away from him, steps slow but unfaltering, forever out of reach, as if his memories were abandoning him all over again, night after night.

It hurt to wake up, his eyes burning and his throat closing up against the wave of emotion that engulfed him, arm still outstretched and a yell of a name he couldn't quite remember resting on the tip of his tongue never to be released.

He was glad when the kids became more than just 'the kids'. When the words 'Mabel' and 'Dipper' surfaced from the fog and stuck like glue to the inside of his skull, bringing forth small snippets of memory, like half second video snapshots, everywhere he looked within the house. He was even more grateful when the smallest shadows that had seemed so hurt and betrayed by him vanished from his nights from that point on.

The memories came in waves from then on. The looming building that materialised when the fog grew thin, soon became the Shack, where the shattered remnants of his memories lingered and so far had held themselves together. He felt like he had Soos to thank for that, in life and in dream, keeping things in order, each night’s sleep a patchwork print of what he had achieved in real life, trying to make the Shack whole for him once more.

His brother came next, though not in his entirety. He was sure that there were still younger versions of him milling unseen inside his dreams, an edge to them that reminded him of the older man but couldn't quite be fully grasped like the fresher memories, their emotional states not in keeping with the man that now stood by his side. He knew that something had happened, something big that the voice inside of him told him he didn't want to know about, and Ford seemed to emanate a similar air whenever he tried to bring it up, and so there was still a void, a large gap between childhood and adulthood that had yet to be discovered.

He knew that he had been alone at one point, knew strange facts about strange places across the country, knew he was banned from states but shrugged when asked what he had done or how he knew about the underbelly of many a city across vast expanses of road. He had no words or stories for the random facts that slipped from his lips, usually late at night when the kids were already asleep and a filter he hadn't even known about fell away. But more than anything- what he didn't know was how he had gotten himself into those strange circumstances in the first place.

The voice in his head had laughed at that.

How? It's what we do best. Getting ourselves into terrible situations.

He couldn't say he disagreed with that sentiment.

After all, he'd somehow managed to forget everyone and everything important to him- and if that didn't sum up how terrible he probably was at making decisions, he didn't know what was. ​

He didn't say any of this out loud though. That sad faraway look always came back to Ford's face whenever he half jokingly blamed himself for his lack of recollection. Not to mention if he even so much as hinted at negative thoughts about himself around the kids they looked scandalised and took it upon themselves to prove whatever point they felt needed proving again at that moment.

Like he said... it was nice, really, all this coddling. Even if he didn't always believe them.

But their words didn't stop his mind from stumbling over what should be easy memories. Didn't stop that lurch of guilt and confusion at not being able to visualise his parents faces or where they had lived as kids. He remembered the beach. He remembered the boat. He remembered the smell of the sea, the sound of rushing waves and squawking gulls and feeling of sand between his toes.

But their home? The place he grew up in and must have lived in for many years?

There was just a cold, dark hole in the street where he was sure it was meant to sit.

He remembered shouting, and a slamming door. He remembered the cold burn of pavement beneath his palms and a lurch in his gut like the world had fallen apart around him.

...He didn't tell anyone about any of that and usually by the morning, with the warm glow of dawn flickering through the gaps in his curtains, he wasn't even sure whether it was really a memory or just a dream trying to tie the strands of his life back together into something cohesive and easily understandable.

And so instead, time and time again he chased after the ghosts inside his head, yearning for answers to questions he didn't even know he had. He found himself running rings around the Shack or sprinting deep into the woods until he became too lost to find his way back out again, let alone continue following whatever spectre had led him out so far.

It was infuriating, desperate fear and bitter anger racing up to greet him as the fog vanished for barely a moment, casting his mind and the world in stark relief-

Only for him to wake up before he could make heads or tails of it.

And then there were the other figures, the ones that didn't always appear like the others every night. The ones that didn't seem hurt by him, didn't turn away as if saddened that he didn't remember him. They almost seemed... indifferent, uncaring. Colder too, an ice cold shiver slipping down his spine whenever he noticed one of them was there with him and couldn't be sure just how long they had been there, quiet and still, in the gloom.

They loomed in the distance. Dark shadows that seemed to stand just on the edge of his peripheral, always watching, always observing. Most of them, whenever he turned to try to see them better, continued to stay just out of reach, visible only in fleeting glances on the fringes of his consciousness. They let him spin himself dizzy, superimposed on his eyelids when he blinked but never truly there, never actually caught, locked in his sights where he might be able to recognise them.

Others were just as unnerving, clusters of individuals that scattered to the winds when he turned, slipped between trees for him to catch sight of later only when he felt that eyes were watching him once more. They followed him, whispered strange words that he couldn't quite catch, and stopped whenever they knew he was trying to listen in.

They almost seemed amused by his torment, a malicious air about them that made him tug his coat around him, made the fog feel like snow that tugged and pulled at his feet.

Sometimes it felt like the figures didn't want him to remember, that this had been inevitable in their eyes and for the better. They fed the voice inside his head that told him this was all his own fault and stirred up that ever present lingering feeling of shame and guilt that didn't quite make sense to him.

Other times they felt like they wanted him to keep trying to catch them, wanted him to finally beat them at their games, only for him to realise that the victory wasn't something he'd ever wanted in the first place. That knowing was actually worse than this fog of forgetfulness.

Both notions didn't help him in the midst of his dreams, their very presence making him want to flee from them, to run as fast and as far away as possible. Another push pull against the aching yearn to know everything he could even if it hurt him.

The coldest spectre was the worst though. Disapproval and scorn radiating off of it in equal measures.

He could admit, that with that particular figure, he hadn't even had the courage to try to turn and face them, eyes cast down as he felt it pulse at the corners of his mind, daring him to come close.

And through it all, he couldn't be quite sure whether they were even memories, or whether they were just figments of his real, usual dreams, poking through the cloudy haze.

The demons that he had carried with him all along but were never truly there. Not real in the same sense as Mabel, or Dipper, or Ford.

...He wasn't sure which interpretation he preferred.

But either way, they seemed important, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to greet them just yet.

He'd rather stick to chasing the figures that seemed to spark a desperation deep inside his core to remember them, hoping that the urge meant something concrete, and wasn't just a fool’s errand to forever have him chasing impossible dreams and hopes every night.

Hoped the fact that most of his efforts had been futile didn't also mean that he would be forever stuck knowing there were important people in his life he would never remember, ever again.

That thought always had him shaking, just a bit, had Ford asking him if he was OK and distracting him without even knowing what it was that terrified the man so much. He was grateful that he didn't ask, didn't know what he'd do if the man confirmed his fears that it was a plausible possibility.

He just... tried not to go down that trail of thought anymore, especially not when he was alone.

It didn't lead him anywhere good.

Somehow the dark shadows brought that thought on more and more whenever they appeared though. Spectres of times he might be better off without, if they even existed at all. But he knew, deep down, past all the nervous fear and hesitation, that even if he didn't want to remember them, all his memories were important in making him the man that he was today.

The man that his family seemed so desperate to get back.

And it was with that thought, that his dream self made a split second decision that night.

He had fallen into bed, exhausted and disappointed at himself. Irritated by his uselessness, of being unable to help or answer questions no matter how hard he tried without the help of photos or hesitant probing stories. They were happy with him, they were congratulating him and pointing out how far he'd come but he still didn't remember.

Not everything.

He couldn't help them with the memories that none of them were present for.

And they said it was OK. But it wasn't.

It wasn't OK that he still had gaps in his childhood. It wasn't OK that he didn't remember family members or where each and every scar on his aged body had come from. It wasn't OK that he had seemingly lived a long strange life but had less memories than the youngsters.

...It wasn't OK even if all the memories he had were full of warm summers days with the kids, not when that voice in his head still told him he didn't deserve them, and he didn't know why.

And so, with those thoughts spinning around and around in his head until he'd finally sunk into an uneasy sleep, his dream self had taken the initiative.

A lone shadowed figure stood at the edge of his peripheral once more. Without a thought he kept it there, in the same spot, never turning towards or away from it.

And he started to walk.

He didn't know if it was a worry or a relief when the silhouette stayed put, got closer and closer as he walked towards it without looking at it face on.

It was only when he was within reaching distance that he lunged forward, grasping on to solid flesh and bone.

He snapped his gaze up when he was close enough, met a suddenly familiar face and a similarly terrifyingly familiar twisted grin.

And within an instant the memories flooded back, his mind lurching into wakefulness in a stutter of fear that for once left his mouth in the shape of a name.

"Rico?"

~~~

A lead ball settled in Stan's chest as his eyes opened, his heart sinking darkly through the bed. A now familiar room spread out before him, the ramshackle assortment of barely held together furniture overlaid with wobbling piles of items that were apparently his own, now split into things he recognised and things he didn't. None of that really mattered though, not in that moment. There was no gratifying sentimental muffling to the particular recollections that now infested his skull. His focus remained inwards, tired bleary eyes dancing across the room, but in truth, following his winding trail of memories, lost in a daze that fell between sleep and wakefulness, struggling through the quagmire he had unwittingly sunk himself into.

He shook himself, trying desperately to pull away from the dismal. disturbing thoughts. He gave a soft relieved sigh that at least he was awake and didn't have to relive those memories without a choice in the matter, mused over whether he should talk to Ford about the memories in the morning or whether that was worse than walking through the memories alone in the daylight hours.

Either way- it wasn't something he should try and think about now, not unless he wanted the memories to spiral out of control and for the darkness to seep in through the cracks they created.

Instead, he rolled over on to his back, debating whether to try and go back to sleep-

Every thought abruptly curdled, slithering down his back in streams of shuddering fear. Any notion of relief was washed away by ice cold dread as his eyes locked to the ceiling, the air in his lungs forced out in a burst of frost.

A terrifyingly familiar face stared back at him from high above the end of his bed.

The grin was as sharp and dangerous as he remembered it in life, the eyes bright and narrowed as if deciding what best to do with him.

He remembered that expression all too well, from memories he now wished he'd never had the misfortune of recalling.

"Ri-"

The word refused to be forced out of his throat again, strangled before it could be completed. His airways constricted to a straw that made it hard to breathe through, let alone speak, as his body froze in place, locked defencelessly staring up at the monster above him. He couldn't find it in him to move, couldn't find it in him to look away. His mind blanked out on him, a frantic buzz of fear and adrenaline that refused to assist him in fathoming the horror before him.

Everything about him screamed wrong, the only coherent word running through Stan's mind, a distorted and nauseating mix of a distressing creature from Ford's journal and his shattered age old memories, twisting and bubbling beyond belief.

Rico loomed coldly above him, half hidden in darkness, his eyes glinting like shards of glass in the moonlight cast from the window. His body was more broken and twisted than his grin as he somehow crawled across the ceiling unimpeded. He scuttled and shifted, twitching not unlike a spider, hands and feet flat to the ceiling, becoming more visible as he moved. The joints of his shoulders and legs poked through his clothing strangely, as if dislocated or removed where needed, so that his head and chest pointed downwards towards Stan.

Whatever it was above him, he wished it hadn't chosen Rico's face.

The thing shuffled ever closer, each step sending a strange jarring motion through his entire body, bringing with it the creaking, cracking sound of broken bone and groaning ligaments, making Stan unwillingly flinch. Rico, or perhaps what used to be him, still grinned his trademark toothy grin in response, one filled with pure malice, eyes shining gleefully at his obvious terror.

"Miss me, Pines?"

The words came out in a hiss, a grate of venomous yet jovial energy.

The sound set Stan's teeth on edge, like fingernails on a chalkboard, like the sudden inescapable urge to shudder.

He tried his best to ignore the urge, tried his best to school his face and jut up his chin. But the shudder still came, whipping through him like wildfire and Rico's grin grew impossibly wide, stretching and stretching as if the skin had torn from mouth to ear, exposing teeth and gum. "You can't be here."

He would have been impressed, proud even at his voice coming out without a quiver, if not for the fact that the words were barely uttered above a whisper.

The stillness to the air, the cold hush, luckily lent itself to him in that moment, Rico tilting his head to one side as if musing over his statement.

"Oh? And why's that?"

Stan gulped at the almost curious rasp, the innocent question that both of them knew the answer to and wasn't innocent at all. "Be- because you're dead. You died."

There was a quiet pause as Rico seemed to ponder his response, Stan's heart returning to his chest to beat painfully against his rib cage.

His heart stuttered, threatening to lodge in his throat as Rico's grin morphed into a vicious grimace, filled with sharp, pointed anger, his voice dripping with dark disdain.

"And whose fault exactly is that?"

"I-I-" Stan felt his throat close once again as the thing shuffled right over his bed, pulling to a halt directly above him, it's features cast in sharp, unwanted relief. There were too many teeth, visible when they shouldn't be, they glinted in the half light from the doorway, sharp and unnaturally white, saliva dripping from between them and down his chin. The strange impossibly wide grin from before now made disturbing sense as his eyes caught on the gaping hole in the side of his face, rotten flesh melting away from visible bone, leaving stark white teeth and bleeding gums for the world to see. His eyes held a dead gaze, even whilst filled with hatred and malice, like they no longer held a light of their own and could only reflect the ones around him. They were sunken into what was left of his sallow grey skin, pulled up tight from his jawline.

He looked even less like Rico with every passing second, each new discovery another lead weight in the pit of Stan's stomach. His skin seemed to stretch across the bones of his hands and feet. White ribs, to compliment his teeth, poking out from the cavern that was once his chest, a maw that crawled with a host of things Stan did not want to contemplate. He pressed back into the mattress and wished he could find his voice enough to scream, dignity and pride be damned.

"You did this to me."

The words were snarled, inhuman and deadly as the creature bore down upon him.

He couldn't find his tongue to argue, couldn't find the words.

He had been told that his silver tongue had once been his forte, that he could talk himself out of any bad situation he found himself in.

...Maybe trying to argue was just too much of a lie even for him in this moment.

He remembered.

He didn't want to, but he did.

And no matter how much he wished, no matter how much he desperately needed for the creature above him to be nothing more than a monster from Ford's fairy tales-

He knew deep down this was all that remained of his former associate.

No matter how broken and deformed he had become, the memories surfacing couldn't help but connect the dots, drag his eyes over the details he wanted to shy away from most.

His clothes, though bloodied and marred by yawning rips and tears, were the exact same as their last fateful meeting.

He could feel it now, that sinking dread, that heart stopping realisation that the man before him meant for him to die that night.

He had only been trying to protect himself.

That's all he'd ever done when it came to Rico. First getting in with him to save his skin, then trying to leave for the exact same reason. He had known the man was bad news, but you did what you had to to survive, even if it meant gambling on risks that didn't always pay off.

Regardless, Rico had found him. And he'd had to protect himself once more.

He could feel the fabric of Rico's clothing yielding under his frantic hands, eyes following the flapping material as the memory took over his other senses. He could feel the cold press of metal against his palms as he rushed him, tried to wrestle the gun from his hands and took them both to the ground instead.

The gunshot echoed through his ears, loud and ringing it ricocheted around the room, his breath wheezing out of him in another burst of frosted fear.

He had thought he was going to die that night.

He had thought he'd sealed his own doom when he heard the gun go off, thought he was so pumped full of adrenaline and shock that his body had yet to catch up with the fact that he'd been shot.

And then Rico had slumped on top of him, trapping him with his sudden dead weight.

It had taken everything in him to push the man off of him, taken so much to squash down the rising bile as he saw the life drain from the man who had moments before been determined to kill him.

There was no relief in the moment, only cold, hard reality, shaking him to his core.

He'd killed him.

He'd never meant to-

He hadn't wanted to-

Stan swallowed, a wave of nausea surfacing to the present as his eyes caught back on the gaping hole in Rico's chest.

It was larger than in his memory, spreading out and out until half of his chest cavity was exposed.

The notion led to dark thoughts he had had many a paranoid, lonely night afterwards. Waking, covered in a cold sheen of sweat to dart frantic eyes over empty car parks, ever fretful that someone else would be sent after him next. That someone would have found Rico and be coming after him for his now even more grievous crimes. As the days stretched into weeks, and then into months, with nothing at all other than the expanses of open highway before him, the nightmares didn't fade, only shifted. Tormenting him with the knowledge that he might not have been found. That his body was still in that old abandoned warehouse where he had chased him. That all manner of other things, uninterested in alerting authorities or his associates, might have found him instead. Might have feasted. The haunting image of his body took an age to slip from his nightmares, each night slowly rotting further and further into the cold stone floor, his every action leading to the horrific moment that he could never take back.

"And now..."

Stan's eyes snapped back to Rico's face, the vicious grimace sharpening back into a smile that made his skin crawl.

"Now it's time I returned the favour."

The creaking clack of bone returned to his ears, louder than before as Rico moved away from him. Stan found that he really couldn't move then, fear overtaking his senses as he found his gaze locked to where Rico had been instead of where he was going, paralysed by some broken and childish sense of self-preservation.

If he couldn't see it then it didn't exist.

It didn't stop the sounds, the shuffling of every footfall, the groan of unused ligaments along with that ever present clacking, a noise that grew to a crescendo as Rico quickly scuttled out of view.

He could feel him in his peripheral, could gauge whereabouts he was as he continued up and over him, his presence cold and cloying in its intensity.

The world went quiet for a moment, a pregnant, stagnant pause as Stan held his breath in fearful anticipation.

And then came a solid, dull thud, directly behind his head.

In an instant Stan's body became charged, danger ripping through every particle like a fizzling drug. He shot up, propelling himself forward towards the end of the bed, stumbling quickly off of it and towards the door without a moment’s hesitation.

It was only when the bright warm light flickered on above him that he spun around, arms raised and ready to fight the thing instead of letting it any further into the house.

This thing wasn't getting anywhere near his family-

The room was empty.

Stan heaved out a lump of air, not realising he'd been holding his breath until it burst out of him in a gush of noise. His heart hammered in his eardrums, beat painfully through his neck as he tried desperately to listen for that familiar voice, for the slide and shuffle of long unused arms and legs crawling across the floor.

He bit his lip, trying his best to breathe as a cold, dispassionate laugh rang through his ears.

"Sorry, Pines. I'm sure you understand."

The silence ate away at him, the voice in his head ringing through clear as day. He needed the thing to appear, he needed it to get this over with, to stop hiding like a coward now that he was ready for it.

He couldn't help the pinprick of recall, the fizzling notion that made logic fly out the window as he waited, freaked out and shaking.

Because that's what Rico did. He didn't come out into the open when the playing field was fair.

He waited until just the right moment, when you least expected it- when you were finally sure that you were safe, that you had gotten away-

"This is just business after all, nothing personal."

Stan swallowed, the lump in his throat growing bigger as his insides squirmed. His skin seemed to crawl, ice dripping cold and wet down his spine as every minute detail about the man he had once known was thrown into sharp relief.  

It all seemed so easy to see now, a stranger looking in. A different set of eyes, finding out about Rico for the first time and pointing out all of his obvious flaws in quick succession.

How had he ever believed a word that came out of his mouth? How had he ever fallen in with him?

Just another one of your terrible decisions. ​

Stan closed his eyes for a second, the overpowering sense of self-deprecation pulsing in a wave that took his breath away.

He quickly pushed the thought away though, eyes snapping open once more as another louder, more primitive part of his brain shouted at him not to look away, not to give Rico the opening he was obviously waiting for.

He paused as his eyes opened again though, doubt winding its way through his head as the blurry outline of his bed resurfaced once more, as the piles and piles of items became blobs of colour vaguely shaped like things he once owned.

I never put my glasses on. ​

He stood up taller ever so slightly, hands lowering minutely but not enough to lose his defensive stance. Everything was still quiet, still that ordinary hush that accompanied the darkest hours of the night as his heart slowly began to sink back to a normal speed. He hesitantly shuffled forwards, followed the bleary outline of his cabinets, head tilted to peak around the edge of the bed as one hand reached for where he hoped he'd left his glasses.

Nothing.

He gulped, the empty space on the floor where he was sure Rico had dropped still seeming venomous and suspicious.

His hands caught around cold metal and glass, a heavy sigh of relief escaping him as he quickly snatched them up and slipped them on.

Still nothing.

Stan gulped, the empty air dangerous and filled with purpose as his eyes swept the room for the monstrosity from before.

He almost didn't want to look up.

He did anyway, checked the ceiling, grabbed a weapon and checked under the bed- all for nought.

There was nothing in the room with him.

Just his own wild and twisted imagination.

He couldn't help but laugh, the sound hollow and dismal, echoing darkly off the quiet walls, as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "J-Just a nightmare. Just a memory..."

He felt like this was the moment his mind should agree with him. Should mock him scornfully for believing that thing was real, for not realising sooner that there was no way he'd have been able to see what had hung above him, let alone in that much detail.

But honestly, his mind seemed as hushed as the house was, cold and apprehensive and unable to relax even with the knowledge that there was no immediate danger.

"I should try and sleep..."

The words, though meant to be determined and nonchalant, came out more nervous, as if even by speaking them out loud he couldn't make the notion any more believable or his body any more willing. His feet refused to move, the bed now the most menacing piece of furniture in the room, his mouth dry and no longer willing to fake confidence as he tried and failed to push himself back to sleep.

He needed to rest. He needed to sleep, the kids would not be impressed if he couldn't keep up with them in the morning.

They'd figure it out, they were both so smart- Ford too. All three of them smarter than him and they'd realise something was the matter, probably realise he'd remembered something- and then there would be questions and fussing and- he couldn't do it to them. He couldn't let them see him like that, couldn't let them know-

I killed a man- oh my god I killed- I didn't mean to. I didn't have a choice but still I-

He didn't want to know what they'd think of him for these memories, he didn't want them to know how messed up his head was that even when he thought he was awake there were strange creatures scuttling around his room like they owned the place.

Dipper would probably start looking for supernatural creatures and illnesses that caused bouts of hallucinations, probably start asking for more details that Stan wasn't up for giving. He might even blame it on the memory flair up, drag that strange guy round who looked like he lived at a dump but apparently owned the biggest home in town and ask him if he'd had any similar occurrences.

He wondered abruptly, if Ford would humour the boy or whether he'd softly pull him aside and tell him that something was wired up wrong in Stan's head.

Because this was reality. And as much as his family had proved that the weird things in Ford's journal were real- this didn't feel like any of that had.

This felt terrifying in a far more... normal sense. A figment. A phantom of his own shattered mind.

He wasn't even sure if this was the memory's fault or not, if there was something underlying beneath the recent events that gave credence to this moment.

Regardless- he shook himself, trying and failing yet again to take another step forward- none of that would matter if he could just get himself back into bed and fall back to sleep. If he could rest then the kids need never know, if he could at least have a good night’s sleep he could pretend that everything was as it should be. Sure, Ford might see through that- he seemed to be getting better at seeing through him- but he never asked until it was just the two of them, knowing full well apparently that some of his memories might not be appropriate for small ears.

So that just left the rather monumental of task of getting back into bed.

A fizzle of shameful irritation bubbled through him as his body continued to not co-operate. It was like a switch had flicked, a warning bell that his bed was no longer the safe haven it had once been.

The shame was flushed out by cold watery fear, his body taking a much wanted step back as his brain finally caught up.

After all, now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure what was worse. The kids finding out, asking questions-

Or subjecting himself to slipping back into bed, staring back up at that same place Rico had crawled above him.

Maybe the fear was irrational, maybe it wasn't. Maybe as soon as he flicked the light back off, as soon as he slipped back into bed and took his glasses off- the thing would be there again.

And even if it wasn't, it was still there in the back of his mind, ready to slide, slimy and cold to the forefront and remind him of every single detail he had seen.

He shuddered, taking another step back and another.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe sleep really wasn't an option tonight.

His foot caught the door frame, the door swinging invitingly behind him that he grasped as an anchor as he continued to stare suspiciously into the room. It wasn't until his feet were out in the hallway that he slammed it shut quickly, let the light glow out of the cracks without a thought.

Just this once, the electricity bill be damned.

His feet took him down a familiar path, his mind tired and blank as he shuffled on autopilot, not sure how his body knew what to do in this situation but letting it take over as he made quick quiet work of the stairs. He fumbled next through the entryway, missing the groaning floorboards that might not even be there now that Soos was fixing up every breakage the Shack had after whatever disaster had torn it apart in the first place.

He finally made his way over to his familiar chair, the first thing that had caught his eye when they had brought him here and the place where they had dragged out his first few memories. It felt safe there, surrounded by family, surrounded by affection- so much better than the cold, lonely room he had entered every night since.

This room spoke of days together, of quiet moments alone and shuffling life.

The room above spoke of long sleepless nights, of overthinking and the sad dismay of time ever slowly moving on.

Suffice to say, he'd found his refuge for the night. He flopped down into the seat, sighing with relief as he sagged into it. He dragged over a blanket that had been put close by, when Mabel had decided they were stopping for the night and they should all relax for the evening, curling it around him like a safety net before without thinking his other hand grabbed the remote, turning the tv on and quickly lowering the volume to a soft hum.

His shoulders sank further, relaxing like a weight had suddenly been lifted as the tv droned, the soft sound gloriously welcome in the otherwise silent house.

He found his hand flicking through the channels, pausing on a period drama that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes dart around to make sure no one was watching him. Still, it seemed perfect for the time being, the kind of show that if anyone asked he could state there was nothing else on at this time of night, when really, if he was honest with himself, it felt like a welcome distraction from the nightmare upstairs.

What better way to combat the bombardment of memories than getting fully immersed in a frivolous story where the only problems the characters seemed to have were lavish parties and who to marry?

...OK, he wasn't sure where the logic in all that was, but it was holding his attention, filled with life and colour, so frankly he wasn't about to complain when the dramatics slowly became less amusing and more consuming as he wondered what the leading lady would do next.

In a commercial break, when the spell of the show broke and the twitching nerves from before crept up on him once more, he found his eyes seeking out the doorway. Found himself debating whether to walk down the hallway and to the door where he knew his brother slept.

Wondered about knocking, about stuttering out the truth and asking him to keep him company.

He couldn't do it, he knew he couldn't, the guilt would eat away at him, even with the knowledge that Ford had told him to come to him if he needed help, that nothing was too big or too small an ask.

He'd told him that first night, when they'd shown him to his room to rest for the night, leaned in close so that only he could hear him, that if he ever needed to talk then his door was always open.

None of them had known what to expect of his memories returning, no one knew what would happen when the floodgates opened and his world went sideways.

He was sure that Ford would want to know about this. That he'd want to help.

He was sure if he went and knocked, his brother wouldn't mind in the least.

But deep down he also knew... that he did.

He minded.

And as much as his heart called out for comfort- for physical contact and a warm voice that told him everything would be alright- he squashed the notion down, turning back to the tv as the adverts ended and willed his mind to zone back into the pleasant bright show.

Because between the options of coping with this alone or telling his brother about Rico-

He'd rather deal with this particular nightmare alone.

.

AN: Sooooo- that happened. I feel mean to Stan for giving him this one.  For me in real life - this was a zombie’ish thing crawling across my ceiling. I actually maybe made the visual... less in some instances? Maybe? Maybe not, I just added to it with sounds. I’m still not a fan of the spot on my ceiling.  Definitely did the crawling where I couldn’t see it and making a loud thud as it landed behind my head though 8D thanks brain. Love you lots for that one.

But it was also the moment that after I sat up for a while getting my breathing back on track- that I have terrible eyes and theres no way I’d have seen anything on my ceiling other than a blur, let alone all that detail.

So yeah you guys get to share because I might as well use the horror for something mildly worthwhile xxx

I also promise that comfort is coming for these broken teacups - just not until the last chapter.

#gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls #stanley pines #grunkle stan #please let me wake

[annieoftheshitposts]

this post used to be a link to the old canons page but i’m turning it into a text dump of the revised one for people on mobile [or who have bad wifi/computers that the fancy schmancy script on the canons page wouldn’t play well with.] theres a lot sorry not sorry. here we go.

Canon Info

 Much more is said about Annie in external sources than the game itself, here's copypastes of all I know of and go by.

From the 3rd DLC Character Voting page:

As popular figures in nationwide folktales, a children’s television adaptation of Annie and Sagan’s adventures was inevitable. The show’s success lies in its pair of live action hosts, who are as convincing as their cartoon counterparts. Though what the public learns about the real Annie might surprise them. Annie is a seasoned fighter who has been around for a long time, acquiring many skills and powers along the way. Her sword is forged from a meteorite and can channel the power of the stars in its sweeping cleaves. Her right eye bonds her to her Remote Parasite and partner, Sagan, who grants her powers of a galactic motif. While some of her abilities carry more of a sparkly magical girl motif, Annie tries to execute them with the same sternness.

From "The canon info thread" on Skullheart Encore forums:

-Annie is several-century-old. Her immortality was gained when her parents wished on the Skull Heart so that Annie would never have to experience the hardship of adulthood, thereby making her forever a child. -She has had many different weapons and abilities throughout her life. - Sagan, her remote parasite. keeps her right eye in his mouth. - She’s physically not able to swear due to her condition - She is familiar with Double due to her experience fighting Skullgirls - Annie has encountered a lot of Skullgirls and has killed a lot, but not the same a lot. She’s seen the cycle multiple times and seen how they become stronger each time and is looking for the underlying source now. - The Annie of the Stars show is very similar to the Super Mario Bros. Super Show with live action segments with cartoons and PSAs and commercials in between. - Sagan can talk. Somehow. - Annie hides her immortality by getting a new hairstyle every few years. The show tells the audience that they have simply changed the actress. Eliza also pulls a similar trick

and finally some other misc. scraps that weren't covered above:

-annie has some kind of "super" or "powered up" form, in which she seems to fuse with sagan. it can be seen on her

move concept sheet, in the end of robo-fortune's story mode, and as a very tiny feature on one of robo-fortune's merch posters, but to my knowlege it's never really been talked about.

-she's been depicted with an "incognito outfit", presumably for going out in public and not being recognized by fans.

-sagan is named after renowned astrophysicist carl sagan. this isnt really relevant to anything but it's not on the wiki so i figured i'd share :b

-and this random pic of annie in the past with a different look, plus gun and minus eyepatch, apparently official art from the "digital art compendium". i haven't seen the source for this one myself though, and count this one more as speculative canon since that ingame image up there with her eye uncovered doesn't show a scar or any kind of damage from this.

-another canon fact about annie is she is strong and brave and i love her.

Headcanon (Annie)

this is pretty disorganized bc i come up with and revise random shit on a fairly regular basis, but the very least it should be all here and up-to-date. [though on this text post version i may forget to keep it updated oops.

she can still only normally see from the one eye in her head [and likewise probably has terrible depth perception lmao], but she can “project” her vision into the one sagan has if need be, during which time both he and her main eye are blind.

even though sagan’s vision is his own and she doesn’t actively “see” through that eye most of the time, the stuff he sees still becomes part of her memory and she can recall it if need be, though it’s far less tangible and kind of a surreal experience trying to do so.

the space where her other eye was is now just...space. like empty starry void stuff. yes, TECHNICALLY, you could put stuff in it but why would you. sagan can feel when something interacts with it and it’s really just weird and uncomfortable for both of them.as sagan is the source of their powers, the strength of her abilities is slightly dependent on her distance from him. something like long sustained flight is really only capable if they’re touching, but she still has ample firepower and ability to zip around for a pretty good range otherwise.

Not interested in anime

absolutely hates being called her full name; hasn't gone by anything other than "Annie" for longer than anyone that should be alive today should know.

part of her curse of eternal youth is remembering everything up until the point it kicked in and she stopped aging [i.e. when she was Actually a kid] exactly as well as if she hadn’t aged.

from that point however, a lot of it is hazy as shit aside from more recent times [as you’d expect from someone who’s been around hundreds of years]. this one's gonna be angsty as shit when i address it and you can thank @sandstriker for that. fucker.

also hates being restrained. by the concept sheet and beo's story, her fighting style is very kinetic and relies heavily on mobility; take that away and you get one very uncomfortable and very angry starchild. [this one's 'cause of y'all with the handcuffs asks. this is part of why she's so agitated rn.]

what's in the pouch? whatever is alternatively convenient. is it snacks? is it a quick incognito disguise? is it her whole entire sword? who knows. i think it might be infinite hammerspace in there.

i haven't put much though into this side of her story yet, but i've decided part of the mythos of the "annie of the stars" character as a figure of legend is that she literally lives, among the stars.

if there's enough folktales about her to base an entire show off of, i'm willing to bet she used to be less elusive when she was just about fighting skullgirls before dedicating herself to the whole "looking for the underlying source" thing.

Headcanon (Sagan)

tl;dr: as far as things go here, he's essentially a cat and/or younger sibling.

Sagan's canon information and characterization is basically nonexistant, so i got to do pretty much whatever i wanted with him lmao.

simply put, he's a little gremlin of a partner, but he is genuinely good-natured and a happy-go-luckly little dude. mischevious, loves to get up to Shenanigans, go off and hide/disappear to fuck knows where for several hours, climb and sit on tall things[or failing that, annie's head], etc. @sawkinator has described him, regrettably accurately, as "the Token Disney Animal Sidekick". he has a lot of mannerisms like an animal, but is still very much a being of at least average human intelligence. he's also surprisingly indestructible. far from invincible of course, but in canon he's been shown to be quite stretchy and...possibly have minor shapeshifting capabilities?? he's pretty much immune to being squashed and feels very little [if any] pain from most things. really, as far as i can tell he's pretty much a weird sentient plushie. like, if it's not going to damage a plushie, it's not going to hurt him; examples being: getting knocked back really hard or falling a long way? not a problem. fire? problem.

Sagan tends to be somewhat nonverbal and generally only uses a few words or short phrase at a time when he does speak, which sounds something like the voice clip below. that being how it is, he can be kind of inscrutable and more than a bit jarring to most people--though at this point annie's been with him more than long enough to be completely desensitized to it and doesnt quite get why anyone would be perturbed. fortunately, with that familiarity also comes understanding, and she can easily "translate" and articulate more from his expressions. this understanding is a two-way street, and on its other side is sagan's sensitivity to her moods. annie's not particularly...communicative of her emotions, but sagan can always tell when she's having an off day or something's bothering her, and is far better than anyone at helping her feel better. all things said and quirky antics aside, he and annie are exceptionally close and fiercely protective of eachother the moment it comes to it. they don't make a big deal of showing it outwardly, but they know they've always got eachother's backs.

he's taken quite a liking to beowulf as well, and beo defintiely shamelessly enables sagan's shenanigans.

as i see it, annie may be the passion and power of their operation, but sagan is the heart and soul. beowulf is like....comic releif and emotional support. not entirely necessary, but certainly welcomed to have around. yeah. listen im a big sap i just want them all to be good friends ok. i love them.

also sagan does like and watch a lot of anime.

Blog Canon

miscellaneous happenings that either have continued relevance/significance, or y'all just won't let die. there's not a overarching plot to this thing at all, but geez we’ve kinda gathered some history here huh?

taught sagan to say fuck [and other swears, in her stead]. he used to have to do it on command but he's gotten really good at filling in for her.has a

stoat fursona that beo helped her make. she thinks it's neat/cute but has no real attachment to it.

attempted to sue the crystal gems for ripping off her entire shtick [it didn't go well]

beowulf also taught her how to dab.

@sparkeletran is a nuisance and must be stopped

the 70$ pile of high school musical merch. sagan and beo both wear the t-shirts sometimes. she hates it. don't let her attitude fool you though this is actually the best and most important ongoing joke in this whole damn thing.

the first handcuffs stint. they’re gone now but they had a good ~30-post run, and she did take to learning lockpicking because of it.

this.

hey. guess fucking what lads. handcuffs ROUND TWO 'cause y'all just don't fuckin' quit. the first mini story arc sorta thing, in which she visits the cirque des cartes and has an aggravting encounter with taliesin. [currently ongoing][hopefully soon ending]

[[redacted for ""spoilers""]] due to said encounter with taliesin

sparkeletran is a nuisance,

"the official annie of the stars instagram is just cat memes but with sagan" it's canon but i haven't decided whether it's something she would have had already or a recent thing. [either way, hasn't been touched on yet due to the arc taking so long]

badart annie is sorta like her own thing at this point but nothing that happens with her is canon; she p much just shows up for exceptionally dumb posts. we did give her noclip though which is terrifying. on that note i may as well include the things that are Not canon but y'all won't let me forget

beo's animated belt thing. look. it doesnt talk.

spray-on boots.

the lawnmower weapon

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh homestuck

#not annieposting