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hey-kae · 2 years

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hi bestie! i’ve been MIA from requests for like a month because of my mental health and i was feeling so bad. can i request a comfort fic with pierre and charles? (the reader dating pierre pls) 🥺👉🏻👈🏻🥺

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x female reader

Warnings: nothing i think

a/n: i hope you’re feeling better and i’m sorry it took so long to write this for you🫶🏻

It was already night when Pierre’s flight home touched down in the city that would reunite him with the person he loved, eleven in the evening to be exact. Usually, you’d be the one waiting for him impatiently at the gate but this time, he insisted you wait at home. He didn’t want you to drive the long road to the airport alone at this time. Therefore, he dragged himself into a taxi, choosing one driven by an elderly woman to reduce the chances of being recognized. He was simply too drained for any unnecessary interaction.

An hour later, the silver car came to a stop in front of the apartment complex and as he paid the lady, retrieved his luggage and stepped out of the car without any suspicious remarks from his ride home, he could deem his plan as successful.

Soft and repetitive elevator music kept him company as he pressed the floor’s number, leaned against the wall behind him and shut his exhausted eyes for the few seconds it took for the elevator to come to a stop.

Pierre’s hand dug through the deep pockets of his sweatpants, grabbing the metal object he recognized as his key while he marched down the hallway, the low rattling of his suitcases’ wheels echoing against the walls until it was joined by the jiggle of keys and the click of them turning in the keyhole.

His foot pushed open the door and his luggage was immediately disposed of by the entrance, his jacket also being abandoned on the back of a couch as he made his way inside of the quiet and dark apartment.

He flicked on a flight and watched it flicker to life, faintly illuminating the living room in front of him. Deep down, he expected you to be on one of the couches but there was still no sight of you.

“Baby…” He called as he started looking for you, “Je suis arrivé. T’es ou?” I’m here. Where are you? His voiced echoes around the room, toured the house, and came back with nothing but utter silence.

Even seconds later and after yet another call to you, he received no replies and that is when he knew to head straight for the bedroom since you were probably asleep.

Pierre creaked the wooden door open and poked his head into the pitch dark room, the only light source being the singular ray of street light that penetrated through a miniature opening between the curtain but even that wasn’t enough for him to get any insight about whether or not you were in the room. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight on the lowest setting, using it to guide him to the button of the small lamp on the vanity in the corner, the soft warm light immediately flooding the space with enough luminescence for his eyes to be able to see you hair poking out from under a pile of blankets and pillows.

“There you are.” He whispered to himself, now leaving his phone aside and getting rid of his shoes.

“Bébé… » He cooed as he crouched down by your side of the bed, his hands putting themselves to work, pushing away the thick duvet so he could see your face. Your hair was tied in a loose, messy bun that defeated its entire purpose since strands of it were draped over your features. Pierre also pushed those away before calling your name a few times, attempting to wake you up.

Usually, you were rather a light sleeper. Anything would wake you up, sometimes even Pierre moving in bed while asleep so it was quite weird the fact that you were still asleep. It must mean that you were quite exhausted.

While attempting to wake you up, Pierre allowed his eyes to scan the room. It was rather messy but he wasn’t exactly entitled to judge. However, it did concern him, the amount of empty coffee cups and energy drink cans. It was no secret that you enjoyed caffeine but he also knew you to drink it moderately.

It was ironic, though. Despite all those caffeinated drinks, he was struggling to interrupt your heavy sleep.

“Hey, baby.” He softly caressed you cheek. “I’m home. You told me to wake you up when I arrive.” Pierre tried talking to you but to no avail.

“Chérie, tu m’inquiètes.” Darling, you’re worrying me. He said while lightly tapping your cheek, “Allez… Lève-toi.” C’mon… Get up.

All he received in return was a groan and a frown as you attempted to turn to the other side, only to be stunned by a strong arm preventing you from doing so.

You fluttered your eyes open, vision still unclear and tried to understand what was happening. For a second there, you were scared because as far as you can recall, you had fallen asleep alone in the apartment and now, as you were waking up hours later, there was someone preventing you from moving about freely in the bed. It took a moment to register that Pierre would be home tonight and while your mind rediscovered that fact, your boyfriend was staring at your confused expression, waiting for you to realize what was happening.

He also continued to watch as you sprang up into a sitting position, you hand flying to your mouth in what seemed to be horror and now, it was his turn to be confuse because he didn’t quite understand your reaction to his presence, especially when you knew he was coming home.

“Shit, shit…” He heard you repeatedly whisper to yourself, making it even harder for him to understand what was happening right now.

Before he knew it, you were trying to get out of bed in a hurry like you were taken back by his presence.

“Hey, hey… Relax, it’s just me.” His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he felt how tense you were in his hold. Therefore, it was practically instinctual, the way his hands began tracing comforting and soothing patterns on your back.

“What wrong, bébé?” He asked with a soft, low voice and you couldn’t help the way your shoulders dropped in surrender, the tears already welling up in your eyes.

Amidst all the chaos in your mind the past few days, between all the conflicting thoughts and emotions and messes of ideas, the important detail of Pierre arriving home tonight completely slipped your mind, hence why you were in deep sleep. Guilt was tugging at your heart as you thought of Pierre coming into the apartment to find it dark, cold, messy, and pretty much lifeless.

All throughout your relationship with him, one thing you always made sure to do was to make sure he had something to look forward to when returning from a trip abroad. Sometimes, it was as simple as you waiting for him with his favorite food ready and sometimes you went all out, but the bottom line was that he never came home to nothing, not even a hug.

Your arms wrapped tightly around him, his scent already invading your senses, easing up the hell that was the past few days, your head nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Your behavior was really starting to worry him, sparking a little fear in his heart, but it wasn’t much time later when he felt a tear run down onto his skin. Only then, Pierre realized you were crying.

“Tu pleurs?” You’re crying? He pulled back, “Are you okay, baby? What’s wrong?” He asked, his tone heavy with concern, his hands moving to cup your face delicately, his thumbs swiping over your burning cheeks, wiping away the rolling tears that he hated seeing so much.

“I’m sorry… I forgot.” You sobbed, your lips quivering as you pushed out the words, “Fuck, how did I forget?”

Lately, this was an often repeated sequence of events. It would all start with a tear or two then quickly escalate into a sob session that you had no idea how to control, let alone stop.

This episode of your life was hectic and difficult. The job you were currently in felt like being trapped and every other vacancy you applied to hadn’t worked out. Your closest friend that you always confided in had left the country with no plans to return and now the time difference made it incredibly difficult to have a proper conversation. The small things were majorly affecting your mood, like dropping your metal straw when putting it in your cup and the clatter it produced against the floor, your favorite series being taken off Netflix, the internet lagging while you were sending out a message… All these things had put tears in your eyes when they happened. To top it all off, you were spiraling down that road of countless unread texts on your phone that you saw but never bothered opening, irregular sleep times, excessive caffeine in all the ways you could get it, bad nutrition, forcing yourself to do things as simple as brushing your teeth, aking the bed or sometimes even charging your phone.

You knew that gray area and state of living. You revisited that dark chamber every once in a while, every few months when everything would feel overwhelming, when you felt like nothing was going your way, that you weren’t getting anywhere anyway, like all your efforts were practically useless.

“You forgot?” Pierre’s confusion snapped you out of your reminiscent thoughts, “You forgot what, baby?”

It felt wrong when you imagined telling him the actual truth but what were you gonna say instead?

“I forgot that you come home today... I’m sorry.” You clarified while refusing to meet his eyes, and as the words slipped out, you came to the realization that this wasn’t the only forgotten memo. Charles was supposed to come along with him, accompany him home so the three of you could hang out together for the first time in a while for old times’ sake.

The three of you were lifelong friends. You met when you were all really young and instantly became friends. Karting was one of your hobbies and even though you saw it as nothing more than that while they saw it as a future and a dream to pursue, you, Pierre, and Charles bonded over it. Eventually, a tight-knit, honest friendship formed and grew up with you.

“That’s it? That’s all?” Pierre asked with a small, comforting smile while his eyes watched you nod.

“Cherie, you’re human. It’s normal to forget things sometimes. It doesn’t upset me.” He reassured and climbed into bed beside you, instantly holding you close.

He expected for things to get better from that point on. He really did; but you were sniffling into his side, sobbing and gasping for air within seconds. Your hands were clinging onto his shirt and your tears were dripping onto his neck as you sheltered your face in the crook of his neck.

You absolutely loved being in his arms but it was so comforting that the contrast between how you felt now and how you’ve been feeling recently was shattering you completely. Maybe, atop of everything, you missed the warmth of having someone you loved and trusted around, within reach.

Before you knew it, Pierre was sat up against the headboard, pulling you with him and cuddling you into his chest, letting you cry it all out, more than willing to comfort you through whatever it was that was bugging you.

“I’m right here for you. Tu peux me parler de n’importe quoi.” You can talk to me about anything. Pierre reassured and you instinctively held him closer.

“It’s just a few bad days. I’m overreacting a little.” You straggled, struggling to speak without gasping for air between the words.

“Don’t say that. It’s okay to be upset.” He soothed, his hands rubbing up and down your back as he softly kissed your temples, “Tu veux m’en parler?” You wanna tell me about it?

Right then, the words came flowing out as if you had been craving letting them out. You told him about everything all while he comforted you through the conversation. You told him about the hatred you had for the job, about the declined applications, the distance causing you and your bestfriend to drift apart, the mood swings and the tendency to get overwhelmed and irritated quickly… He listened to everything you had to say with meticulous attention, delivering occasional kisses to your forehead.

“I just hate it so much. I feel like a whiny kid sometimes when I cry over stupid shit that I would easily breeze past on a normal day and I hate how suffocating everything feels. I don’t know what to do.” You fumbled for words, fidgeting with your fingers as you spoke.

“Let’s start step by step, okay?” Pierre pulled you back to him, taking the hairtie out of your hair and brushing through the locks with his fingers, “Tomorrow, Charles is getting here so we can spend time with him. I’ll call in sick for you, tell them you lost your voice or something, we’ll spend the day just relaxing and recharging, then maybe you could take a small vacation? We could go visit your bestfriend and I could meet her and when we’re back and after you’ve distanced yourself from your job a little, you’d be able to know if you actually wanna quit it, and if you do and be right there helping you apply to other jobs and sending your resume.” He smiled at you, “Ça marche?” Okay?

You hesitated for a second there then nodded.

“Perfect.” Pierre grinned and briefly kissed your lips, “For now, what do you want to do?”

Your eyes teared up again, “Just wanna hug you. I missed you so much.”

“Oh, baby. We could cuddle for as long as you want. Tu m’as manqué tellement aussi.” I missed you so much too.

Following that, Pierre quickly slipped out of bed, changed into something more comfortable then eagerly came back to you, joining you under the sheets and holding you protectively while you continued crying. It was undeniable that he absolutely despised seeing you in this state, but he was well aware you needed to let it out and as long as he had you between his arms, comforting you, he would bear with the pulls on his heartstrings he would feel with every sob of yours,

“Let it all out. Je serras toujours là, à tes cotes, chérie.” I’ll always be by your side, darling. He made sure to reassure you.

“Je t’aime, Pierre.” I love you, Pierre. You replied, your tone showing thankfulness.

“Je t’aime aussi, bébé.” I love you too, baby.

The morning came and with it came noises originating from the living room. Checking your phone for the time, you realized that you had slept in.

You dragged yourself out of the empty bed, into the room alive with the two voices you recognized as Pierre’s and Charles’. Pierre probably picked him up at the airport earlier while you were still asleep. Quite frankly, you were glad he didn’t wake you up since that was the best sleep you had gotten in a while

“C’étaient quelques jours difficiles pour elle. Je veux qu’elle se sent mieux alors j’ai organisé quelques choses pour qu’on fait aujourd’hui. J’ai aussi acheté ses snacks préfères.” These were a few difficult days for her. I want her to feel better so I organised a few things for us to do today. I also bought her favourite snacks. You heard Pierre explain with a strict tone.

“Ouais, ça roule. Tu sais bien que c’est n’est pas un problème de ma part. Je suis toujours prêt pour aider.” Okay, that works. You know i have no problem with that. I’m always ready to help. You could hear Charles’ tone change, “Quand t’es devenus un petit lover-boy?” When did you become a little lover-boy? And just like that, he was teasing Pierre.

That’s when you stepped into the room, greeting them with a simple “bonjour”. Both their heads snapped towards you, bright smiles on their faces.

Pierre got up and gave you a quick kiss then Charles hugged you briefly, telling you that’s it’s been too long.

“You slept well?” Pierre asked with concern when you took a seat next to him.

You nodded and gave him a genuine smile, your eyes shifting to the center table that was filled with bags and a box of what looked like donuts.

“Donuts?” You asked with delight and raised brows.

“Yes.” Charles beamed and handed the box to Pierre who immediately put himself to work, practically ripping off the frail lid before putting the box in front of you for you to pick first.

If anything, that was a perfect description of how Charles’ stay played out: him and Pierre being the dream team in getting you out of the bad mood you had been in.

Practically all your favorite movies were played at least once. Chocolate, ice cream, noodles, pasta, pizza… all your favorite foods were involved. At some point, a racing competition on the sim came up, what was extremely reminiscent of the karting days and the battles the three of you would have over a prize that, at most, was a few euros or a candy bar.

You were grateful for their company and how good they knew you.

A few days, after Charles left, you and Pierre took off to go visit your best friend and as the days of the trip sequenced, you realized how lucky you were to have Pierre as your boyfriend, simply because it was safe to say he knew you enough to know the key to making you feel better and loved you more than enough to make sure you were feeling your best.

It was becoming clear to you that as long as he’s by your side, supporting you, you’d always be safe and sound.

#pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly oneshots #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly drabble #pierre gasly oneshot #f1 x you #f1 fluff #f1 oneshots #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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tamerahardy · 6 months

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Spiraling 2017-2021

These were some of the hardest times of my life. I had gotten chartered out the military in 2017!yes shortly after I got married, my new coworkers were not so nice to me and of course I had a history of not standing up for myself I ended up giving up and letting them chapter me. By then it’s 2020 me and Damian have separated, I’m living with my mom completely devastated, working at Walmart trying to raise my child.

Me and my old friend were not talking anymore and she had made it apparent that she didn’t want me as a friend anymore. I was at the lowest point of my life just watching from the sidelines all the evil things she said about me.

It actually took me a few years to get over Monifah. I was there for her and because I had experienced my own marriage in the military I could understand that she was really sad because of the territory that comes with all that. She was one of my closest friends in which i shared everything with but when I reached a low point she wasn’t there as I was for her.

She used people and things to make me jealous in which I already peeped. All of the ppl she initially turned her back on me and deemed me worthless and lame they did the same to her.

It took me some years to recover and get over her completely, and it feels great over the years I felt it was my fault for us not working but I believe she intentionally did things to get a certain reaction from me. I think that whatever she experienced that traumatized the free spirit she use to be it changed her and took her down a path to where she views ppl as actual pawns.

The girl who I thought was my sister who lied to me about Quad was also involved. She insisted back then that I was jealous of her.

But let’s not ….

How can you be jealous of someone you genuinely admired at the time? You cant. Because that’s not what ur feeling. You’re feeling genuine love and wanting the best for them.

I think it’s the opposite way around. I think that Trenisha was jealous. I believe that when I had sex with somebody she loved that hurt her, I believe that back then whatever she had been going through and seeing me flourish with her friends and ex while she was away going through her own thing made her see me different and I felt that.

I think that she has a side of her that she’s ashamed for others to know about and see it. I knew deep down she didn’t view me as a sister anymore because she changed towards me and didn’t even say anything. It’s because I felt genuine emotional support from her I was able to identify the difference in how she treated me after all that happened.

And I knew eventually she would want to get me back for it. She initially went through with her plans of “getting revenge” and making me feel what she felt when I was at my lowest. I had even reached out and apologized but now that I look back how was I wrong? Especially when I asked her about these things. Mind you most bitches don’t even ask they don’t even care if they fucking on someone you dated..trust me it’s more ruthless bitches out there. Back then she couldn’t give me an answer back then I learned who she really was and if I were nasty spirited behind closed doors like that I would be ashamed for the world to know especially when everyone thinks I’m sweet and kind.

That revenge scheme she had towards me did nothing and it got her nowhere. But again these two. These two both are the same but very different. One doesn’t hide who she is because she doesn’t care especially after the traumatizing things she’s been through. Everyone is temporary and a pawn and must be TESTED to prove themselves worthy to be in her life or to get close. The other one is scary. Avoids confrontation and hard answers. Scared for the world to see what she really thinks and feels because it would make people view her different. The side that everyone gets attached to and loves. She superficial relationships that sway her from her REAL reality. They make her feel good for the time being, somebody like that can’t be held on for too long or tamed and she doesn’t want to.

And until they can keep those demons intact they will fail each time. Karma will revisit and hurt them each time and things will always feel “OFF” like an ongoing loop.

I learned a lot though from those two. Pain changes the most pure and free spirits, and I saw which path I wouldn’t want to go with leading to these moments.

Living in superficiality and delusion or viewing everyone as a pawn in each phase of my life. I choose to walk a different path.

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rrandomtthings · 3 years

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Bakugou Katsuki and his development throughout the series (Part 1 of 2)

His fall

Note: none of this is excusing things Bakugou has done in the past. He was completely in the wrong for that. Explanations ≠ Justifications.

There will be no manga spoilers in this part, but in part 2 there will be!!

Part two link: (will be added)

Bakugou Katsuki is a very hit or miss kind of character. He is brash, loud, and everything in between. If that is not your type of character, then the chances of you liking him are very low. Hence why his character has been deemed as very controversial.

Not to mention, Bakugou was a bully.

The first scene of the series starts with younger Bakugou bullying a kid with younger Midoriya Izuku, his childhood friend, protecting said kid. This is the first impression that we are given of not only Bakugou as a character, but as society as whole.

People are not created equal

As we continue through the beginning of the series, we find out that Bakugou was a huge bully, especially towards Izuku. With the two being childhood friends, they were really close when they were younger, as they were shown to hang out relatively often.

However, as soon as Bakugou got his quirk things changed for the worse.

It’s important to recognize what quirks mean to hero society. The better your quirk is, the more you’re looked up to. The worse your quirk is, the more you’re looked down upon. This is something that has been ingrained in children at the young age of 4, when they receive said quirks.

Bakugou was born with the jackpot quirk of Explosions while Izuku was born with nothing.

From the young age of 4, your place in society has already been drilled in.

Continuing on from when they were just children, Bakugou already having his quirk and Deku still not knowing what his is (at this point Izuku didn’t get himself checked out), the two head to a lake with their friends. Bakugou, having the best quirk out of all of them and being the “leader” as they walk on a log and he falls off and into the river underneath them, his friends watching as he falls in the water, expecting him to get up all on his own because of the power he holds.

All except one.

In this moment, because of societal standards, Bakugou was expected (even by himself) to be able to get up on his own after that fall. Seeing someone like Izuku, who he calls “Deku,” which to him literally means “worthless,” who is seen as weak and not-powerful by societal standpoints wanting to help someone as powerful as Katsuki, it made Bakugou feel like Deku was looking down on him.

He refused Dekus hand, he refused Dekus friendship. He didn’t like that this “attitude” that Izuku had that Katsuki was so unfamiliar with.

As years go on we are not informed about how consistent Katsukis bullying was towards Izuku. We can only assume that it was something that was somewhat common, however that is only an assumption. This is not canon.

One day, Izuku gets outed out by his teacher about wanting to attend UA. This being Katsukis dream school, it’s interesting to note that while everyone in class was laughing at Izuku, Bakugou was not.

Almost as if he considered Deku, “a quirkless nobody,” a threat.

However, he took that threat and turned it around and bullied Izuku for it, leading to the infamous “swan dive” scene where Bakugou tells Izuku to khs.

This is arguably the worst, if not one of the worst things that have been shown that Katsuki has done. As mentioned at the top of this post, there is no justification for this. Bakugou was completely in the wrong. Just because he felt threatened does not in any way shape or form excuse the way he treated Izuku, especially in this scene.

Then, the sludge villain attack happens.

Here, Bakugou is shown to be in a vulnerable state as he is being consumed by the sludge villain. After Izuku comes in and save him, it is said that Katsuki had’nt bullied him since.

Now Bakugou is in UA. He was used to being the highest of the food chain. Being at the top of everyone so easily. However, when he entered UA, reality hit him like a ton of bricks after realizing that he is not special.

Starting off with one of the most prominent fights, Deku vs Kacchan (1).

The teams are Deku & Ochako (the heroes) vs Iida and Bakugou (the villains) as they fight with each other with their own respective tasks.

Throughout the fight however, even though they were in teams, it was mainly Deku vs Kacchan (as the title suggests.)

In this fight, we see Bakugou at a bit of a breaking point. He practically panics as he comes to a realization that this kid infront of him who he thought always looked down on him could possibly be on the same level as him. To him, the “worthless Deku” was starting to shine through and past the negative connotations of that name.

After he aimed his quirk towards Izuku (NOTE: in this scene he did not try and kill Izuku. He even states that he purposely aimed away so it wouldn’t harm him. However, this is still not an excuse) and saw that Izuku did and could take him after he had one, Bakugou went into full panic mode.

Note: it’s also important to recognize that he showed fear for Deku. He was scared to see how far he was willing to go.

Later on, we are shown Deku spilling the beans to Katsuki about his quirk, to which Bakugou does not believe and continues to claim that he is and will be stronger than him as he walks off, completely vulnerable and with teary eyes.

The next time we are shown Katsuki in a vulnerable state, it’s at the sports festival.

After his fight with Uraraka, who he claimed to be a worthy opponent (wooo some sort of development!!), he immediately put the blame on Deku, thinking that he was the reason why she had such a great plan (aaaaand there that development goes) to which Izuku replies with him not being involved in the plan.

Then, he has his fight with Todoroki to which he starts getting mad about as Shouto was not using his full power on him. Bakugou wants to be shown that he was best with Todoroki using his full power, so he felt like he was being looked down upon and seen as weak in his eyes.

They had to chain him up because he was so furious about the fight, this fight only adding to his very prevelent inferiority and superiority complex.

The sports festival ends and they all go off into internships and Bakugou has chosen to go with Best Jeanist. Here, he grows to respect Best Jeanist, even going as far as to making sure that he is the first one to hear his hero name when he comes up with one.

Now after they come back from their internships, the students are tasked with fighting one of the teachers with a partner not of their choice.

Katsuki and Izuku were paired together.

At first, this was hard. Bakugou was not interacting with Izuku. He wanted to do things his own way, even going as far as to say that he would rather lose than work with Deku. To which led to Izuku punching him to snap him out of it.

Bakugou eventually let up and attempted to start working with Izuku. He even goes as far as using himself as bait so Deku can turn around and win for them (however, Izuku being himself didn’t leave Katsuki behind).

They both beat All Might bc Katsuki had pushed away his pride and finally allowed for them to start working together.

This was arguably Katsukis lowest point in the series. He was so full of distrust, non-compliance, and just,, wanting to stay away from Izuku that he was willing to lose this fight. The same guy who always wants to win was okay with losing.

Then all of class 1A goes to the training camp and it’s being attacked.

Their target? It was Bakugou.

Izuku and others desperately try and protect Bakugou as they try and take him as far away from the attack as possible to avoid any mishap.

However, they failed and Bakugou was taken.

In the moment as Bakugou was taken, we see him show genuine concern for Deku as he runs for him, telling him not to come after him at that moment.

Dekus scream after this scene in the anime will never not make me teary eyed,,

While held in captivity, it was revealed that he was kidnapped because the villains thought that they could turn him over to their side after seeing how upset and unfairly treated he was at the sports festival. However, Bakugou confirms to the viewers that he has no villainous intentions whatsoever.

After he was kidnapped, there was a rescue team created by some of the students so they can get him back.

As they created a last minute plan, they devised a strategy to which they would use their quirks and Kirishima would be the one to reach out and grab onto Bakugou and save him, to which they go through with and succeed in.

This, as revealed by Horikoshi, is a very bittersweet scene. It shows that Bakugou was starting to trust and become friends with others. However, it also showed his stubbornness in knowing that if it were Izukus hand being reached out then he might have not taken it.

After they get out of the spot they were in, they find that All Might was currently fighting AFO and it was being live broadcasted. After AFO, and ultimately, All Mights defeat, All Might sends a message “to the world”(it’s directed at Izuku) saying that “you’re next.”

Bakugou looks over to Izuku, confusion and concern on his face, seeing as he is the only one crying in a sea of cheering people.

Once they get back to UA and time has passed, Bakugou starts doing smaller things to show his appreciation (i.e. trying to pay Kirishima back, etc.)

After All Might and Aizawa come to his house to talk about dorming with his parents, Bakugou asks All Might his relationship with Izuku, to which he didn’t get the response we wanted and brushed it off as he thanked All Might for saving him.

At this point, the students are out to get their provisional license. Bakugou being bakugou failed in the saving part of the exam and failed to get his license.

After they get back, Bakugou confronts Deku and tells him that he wants to meet with him outside. Deku complies as Bakugou takes him to where they first fought, at ground beta.

This fight is full of emotions. With years of anguish and confusion from Bakugou, trying to understand why and how Izuku was slowly rising up to his level. How he feels guilty for being the one to “end All Might.”

Years upon years of emotions are being fought out as Bakugou tries to seek some sort of comfort and understanding about everything that had just recently happened.

Izuku was the only one in Bakugous eyes to be able to accept and understand his feelings.

After they fight out for a little while and get pulled apart by All Might, the secret about OFA is officially revealed to Bakugou.

When asked to keep this a secret, Bakugou claims that he’s not doing it for All Mights sake (hmmm,, Dekus 👀) and goes as far as to encourage Deku to be better so they could be proper rivals.

Bakugou looks over to Deku and tells him that things will be different between the two. That Katsuki will change and accommodate for this new knowledge that he has.

This is the start is his rising.

[end of part 1]

#bnha #bakugou katsuki #mha #katsuki bakugou #bnha meta #bakudeku #??? kind of ish I’ll just add it lol

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lightsupinthenorth · 4 years

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Would you do 48 and 65? 🥰🥺

Thank you so much for sending these <3 I hope you like what I came up with ;)

48. “Why are you crying?” + 65. “That’s not gonna happen”

TW: child abuse, blood (minor), alcohol.

Billy’s grounded because he failed to bring Max home on time. Again.

The thing is… there’s a party he really needs to get to. Because Harrington is going to attend that party, and Billy can’t pass on an opportunity to see the guy, even if he won’t do anything more than “see” him from the other side of a room. Billy’s pathetic like that.

So, he sneaks out. There isn’t much else he can do. It makes his heartbeat skyrocket and his whole body shake from the adrenaline when he climbs out of his window, trying to make as little noise as possible. Once he’s on the ground below, in one piece, he thinks he’s made it, that it was that easy to slip past his father.

Big mistake.

He hears the front door open and he instantly knows he’s screwed. It could be Max or Susan. But it’s not. Of course, it’s not. Billy is never lucky like that.

“Where do you think you’re going, son?”

And, see, that’s a trick question. There’s no right answer to that question. Because Billy is not supposed to go anywhere. He’s supposed to stick to his room like a prisoner in his cell. Whatever Billy says, it’s probably not going to help his case. It can only worsen his father’s wrath, which can already be seen in his bulging eyes and reddened face. Billy still tries, though. Let it not be said that he’s a quitter.

“I… I was just out for a smoke.”

“Oh, and you deemed it necessary to sneak out by the window, because?”

“I… uh… I just didn’t want to disturb your movie night” is Billy’s lame attempt at a justification.

Neil is far from impressed.

“Give me your car keys.”

“I don’t…” Billy starts, aware that it’s doomed already.

“Don’t take me for a fool, William.”

His father’s tone brooks no argument, so Billy digs the keys to the Camaro out of the right pocket of his leather jacket and comes forward reluctantly to hand them over.

He’s parked the car down the street when he came home from school, close enough not to seem suspicious, but far enough that he could drive away without being noticed. And now, his carefully thought out plan is ruined.

Instead of just taking the keys from his son, Neil takes a hold of his wrist and squeezes so tightly that Billy can’t help but let the keys go. They clatter to the ground a second later, making Billy flinch.

His father then seizes his shirt collar with his free hand and pulls roughly to get Billy’s face close to his.

“Don’t ever try to lie to me again.” Neil’s voice is low, which usually means trouble.

“I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again.” Billy says in his best meek voice.

He’s had many, too many, occasions to rehearse the act of contrition, but it’s still not enough for Neil. Nothing ever is. He lets go of Billy collar and punches him hard, right on the cheekbone, sending him sprawling.

Billy tries to break his fall and ends up hurting the palms of his hands on the gravel covering their driveway. The sting of it lessens the smarting of his cheekbone, where the skin has split open against his father’s ring.

“Pick up the keys.”

Billy obeys and gives them to his father. This time, Neil takes them without trying anything else. Thank God for small mercies.

He’s not finished punishing Billy yet, however.

“And since you needed to be outside so much, I’m not expecting you home until tomorrow morning.” He says, before going back inside and slamming the door behind him.

Billy is momentarily paralyzed, as he hears Neil lock the door, effectively locking his son outside.

Having no other choice, he decides to walk to the party. Carol’s house is quite far from his, but it’s not as if he had anywhere else to go.

He’s not even left his street yet when it starts raining: the universe really does hate Billy Hargrove.

It’s no small rain, either: it’s fucking buckets of water flung from the sky by some vengeful Higher Power.

A tear rolls down Billy’s split cheek, mixing with the raindrops. Soon enough, he’s sobbing and, yes, the weather might seem like a trivial thing to cry over, but Billy’s got many other reasons to cry: the rain is just the last straw.

It’s dark, and Billy’s sight is blurred by tears and rainwater. He can barely tell where he’s going. So, he hears the car that slows down next to him before he sees it.

“Hargrove, what the hell are you doing?”

Of course, it’s Steve fucking Harrington. Just Billy’s luck that the other boy would find him during one of the lowest moments of his life.

“What does it look like, princess? I’m walking.”

Billy means to sound annoyed, but his breathing is ragged and his voice hoarse from all the crying.

“Yeah, I can see that, genius. Why though?”

“Car troubles.”

It’s not technically a lie. Harrington doesn’t nee to know all the details.

“Oh… You going to Carol’s party?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, hop in.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine, Harrington.”

Billy’s still crying wave after wave of warm tears, and he really doesn’t want Steve to notice that.

“Come on, you’re not going to walk all the way over there. It’s dumb. You’re gonna be soaked.”

Billy is soaked already, but he doesn’t argue any longer. He’s too tired to let his pride control his decisions right now. So, he gets in the car. It’s fine at first, because his face is mostly hidden by his wet hair, and the tears aren’t that noticeable because of his overall drenched state. However, nothing can be done about Billy’s red eyes and his suspiciously shaky breathing.

“Why are you crying?”

Where is the dumb clueless Steve that Billy has heard of? Did he choose that day to develop observation skills? Is Billy that cursed?

“I’m not.” Billy denies. It’s a lost cause, but at this point he can’t be bothered.

“Right… we don’t have to talk about it.” Harrington placates.

And Billy hates it.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Harrington.”

He’s getting mad, because he’s got to let his anger out somehow. As always, Steve’s there to take the brunt of it. And, even though it’s convenient, Billy’s gotta stop letting him take it. Because, apparently, Steve is all too willing to.

“Okay, sorry, there’s not.” He agrees, or pretends to, as he makes a U-turn.

“What are you doing? Carol’s house is that way.” Billy says, pointing in the direction they were driving in before, as if Steve didn’t know where his childhood friend lived.

“We’re not going there.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“I don’t feel like going anymore.” Harrington says, as if it wasn’t an obvious lie.

“Well I do, so either turn back or let me out of your car.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“What the fuck? Stop the bullshit, Harrington.” Billy growls.

“It’s not bullshit, it’s a kidnapping. I am kidnapping you.” He replies calmly.

“So that’s it, you’ve gone wacko… you’ve finally lost it.”

“I’ve lost it a long time ago, man. Do keep up.”

Billy rolls his eyes and admits defeat. It’s all he’s able to do tonight, apparently. He lets Harrington drive them to his big empty house, and then he lets him clean the cut on his cheek. Steve doesn’t ask him what happened, but Billy still ends up blurting the truth out.

He’s in dry clothes that Steve lent him, sitting next to him on the couch, in front of the fireplace. He’s feeling warm from the fire, and Steve’s thigh against his, and the whiskey they’ve been drinking, and he ends up spilling his guts, unprompted. Once he’s done telling Steve about Neil, he holds his breath, already regretting his confession. He regrets it a lot less once Steve pulls him into a hug.

Billy’s stupid body flinches, not expecting the contact, and Steve withdraws, mumbling an apology and saying he should have asked if it was alright.

He doesn’t make it very far, though, because Billy recovers from the surprise and prevents him from retreating by encircling Steve’s waist and burying his abused face in his neck.

He’ll probably be very embarrassed about this display in the morning, but right now he feels too comfortable and safe to care.

#asks #prompts #bronskiibeat #Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #ficlet

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newstfionline · 3 years

Text

Monday, September 20, 2021

Biden’s Entire Presidential Agenda Rests on Expansive Spending Bill (NYT) Biden’s entire presidential agenda is riding on the reconciliation bill being crafted in Congress right now. No president has ever packed as much of his agenda, domestic and foreign, into a single piece of legislation as President Biden has with the $3.5 trillion spending plan that Democrats are trying to wrangle through Congress over the next six weeks,” Tankersley writes. “It is almost as if President Franklin D. Roosevelt had stuffed his entire New Deal into one piece of legislation, or if President Lyndon B. Johnson had done the same with his Great Society, instead of pushing through individual components over several years. If he succeeds, Biden’s far-reaching attempt could result in a presidency-defining victory that delivers on a decades-long campaign by Democrats to expand the federal government to combat social problems and spread the gains of a growing economy to workers. If he fails, he could end up with nothing. As Democrats are increasingly seeing, the sheer weight of Mr. Biden’s progressive push could cause it to collapse, leaving the party empty-handed, with the president’s top priorities going unfulfilled. … If Mr. Biden’s party cannot find consensus on those issues and the bill dies, the president will have little immediate recourse to advance almost any of those priorities.

Child care in the US is a ‘broken market,’ Treasury report finds (Yahoo Money) A Treasury Department report this week characterized the U.S. child care system as “unworkable” as Democrats push reform that experts say is an “overdue and critical investment.” The average American family with at least one child under age 5 uses 13% of their income to pay for child care, according to the report, nearly double the 7% that the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services considers affordable. Additionally, less than 20% of the children eligible for the Child Care and Development Fund—a federal assistance program for low-income families—are getting that funding. “Child care is a textbook example of a broken market, and one reason is that when you pay for it, the price does not account for all the positive things it confers on our society,” Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen said in a statement on Wednesday. “When we underinvest in child care, we forgo that; we give up a happier, healthier, more prosperous labor force in the future.”

Inspiration4 Astronauts Beam After Return From 3-Day Journey to Orbit (NYT) After three days in orbit, a physician assistant, a community college professor, a data engineer and the billionaire who financed their trip arrived back on Earth, heralding a new era of space travel with a dramatic and successful Saturday evening landing in the Atlantic Ocean. The mission, which is known as Inspiration4, splashed down off the Florida coast at 7:06 p.m. on Saturday. Each step of the return unfolded on schedule, without problems. Within an hour, all four crew members walked out of the spacecraft, one at a time, each beaming with excitement as recovery crews assisted them.

Haitians on Texas border undeterred by US plan to expel them (AP) Haitian migrants seeking to escape poverty, hunger and a feeling of hopelessness in their home country said they will not be deterred by U.S. plans to speedily send them back, as thousands of people remained encamped on the Texas border Saturday after crossing from Mexico. Scores of people waded back and forth across the Rio Grande on Saturday afternoon, re-entering Mexico to purchase water, food and diapers in Ciudad Acuña before returning to the Texas encampment under and near a bridge in the border city of Del Rio. Junior Jean, a 32-year-old man from Haiti, watched as people cautiously carried cases of water or bags of food through the knee-high river water. Jean said he lived on the streets in Chile the past four years, resigned to searching for food in garbage cans. “We are all looking for a better life,” he said.

Three Weeks After Hurricane Ida, Parts of Southeast Louisiana Are Still Dark (NYT) For Tiffany Brown, the drive home from New Orleans begins as usual: She can see the lights on in the city’s central business district and people gathering in bars and restaurants. But as she drives west along Interstate 10, signs of Hurricane Ida’s destruction emerge. Trees with missing limbs fill the swamp on either side of the highway. With each passing mile, more blue tarps appear on rooftops, and more electric poles lay fallen by the road, some snapped in half. By the time Ms. Brown gets to her exit in Destrehan 30 minutes later, the lights illuminating the highway have disappeared, and another night of total darkness has fallen on her suburban subdivision. For Ms. Brown, who works as an office manager at a pediatric clinic, life at work can feel nearly normal. But at home, with no electricity, it is anything but. “I keep hoping every day that I’m going to go home and it’ll be on,” she said. Three weeks have passed since Hurricane Ida knocked down electric wires, poles and transmission towers serving more than one million people in southeast Louisiana. In New Orleans, power was almost entirely restored by Sept. 10, and businesses and schools have reopened. But outside the city, more than 100,000 customers were without lights through Sept. 13. As of Friday evening there were still about 38,000 customers without power, and many people remained displaced from damaged homes.

Favela centennial shows Brazil communities’ endurance (AP) Dozens of children lined up at a community center in Sao Paulo for a slice of creamy, blue cake. None was celebrating a birthday; their poor neighborhood, the favela of Paraisopolis, was commemorating 100 years of existence. “People started coming (to the city) for construction jobs and settled in,” community leader Gilson Rodrigues said. “There was no planning, not even streets. People started growing crops. It was all disorganized. Authorities didn’t do much, so we learned to organize ourselves.” The favela’s centennial, which was marked on Thursday, underscores the permanence of its roots and of other communities like it, even as Brazilians in wealthier parts of town often view them as temporary and precarious. Favelas struggle to shed that stigma as they defy simple definition, not least because they evolved over decades. Paraisopolis is Sao Paulo’s second-biggest favela, home to 43,000 people, according to the most-recent census, in 2010. Recent, unofficial counts put its population around 100,000.

The barbecue king: British royals praise Philip’s deft touch (AP) When Prince Philip died nearly six months ago at 99, the tributes poured in from far and wide, praising him for his supportive role at the side of Queen Elizabeth II over her near 70-year reign. Now, it has emerged that Philip had another crucial role within the royal family. He was the family’s barbecue king—perhaps testament to his Greek heritage. “He adored barbecuing and he turned that into an interesting art form,” his oldest son Prince Charles said in a BBC tribute program that will be broadcast on Wednesday. “And if I ever tried to do it he ... I could never get the fire to light or something ghastly, so (he’d say): ‘Go away!’” In excerpts of ‘Prince Philip: The Royal Family Remembers’ released late Saturday, members of the royal family spoke admiringly of the late Duke of Edinburgh’s barbecuing skills. “Every barbecue that I’ve ever been on, the Duke of Edinburgh has been there cooking,” said Prince William, Philip’s oldest grandson. “He’s definitely a dab hand at the barbecue ... I can safely say there’s never been a case of food poisoning in the family that’s attributed to the Duke of Edinburgh.” The program, which was filmed before and after Philip’s death on April 9, was originally conceived to mark his 100th birthday in June.

Relations between France and the U.S. have sunk to their lowest level in decades. (NYT) The U.S. and Australia went to extraordinary lengths to keep Paris in the dark as they secretly negotiated a plan to build nuclear submarines, scuttling a defense contract worth at least $60 billion. President Emmanuel Macron of France was so enraged that he recalled the country’s ambassadors to both nations. Australia approached the new administration soon after President Biden’s inauguration. The conventionally powered French subs, the Australians feared, would be obsolete by the time they were delivered. The Biden administration, bent on containing China, saw the deal as a way to cement ties with a Pacific ally. But the unlikely winner is Britain, who played an early role in brokering the alliance. For its prime minister, Boris Johnson, who will meet this coming week with Biden at the White House and speak at the U.N., it is his first tangible victory in a campaign to make post-Brexit Britain a player on the global stage.

Hong Kong’s first ‘patriots-only’ election kicks off (Reuters) Fewer than 5,000 Hong Kong people from mostly pro-establishment circles began voting on Sunday for candidates to an election committee, vetted as loyal to Beijing, who will pick the city’s next China-backed leader and some of its legislature. Pro-democracy candidates are nearly absent from Hong Kong’s first election since Beijing overhauled the city’s electoral system to ensure that “only patriots” rule China’s freest city. The election committee will select 40 seats in the revamped Legislative Council in December, and choose a chief executive in March. Changes to the political system are the latest in a string of moves—including a national security law that punishes anything Beijing deems as subversion, secession, terrorism or collusion with foreign forces—that have placed the international financial hub on an authoritarian path. Most prominent democratic activists and politicians are now in jail or have fled abroad.

The Remote-Control Killing Machine (Politico/NYT) For 14 years, Israel wanted to kill Iran’s top nuclear scientist. Then they came up with a way to do it while using a trained sniper who was more than 1,000 miles away—and fired remotely. It was also the debut test of a high-tech, computerized sharpshooter kitted out with artificial intelligence and multiple-camera eyes, operated via satellite and capable of firing 600 rounds a minute. The souped-up, remote-controlled machine gun now joins the combat drone in the arsenal of high-tech weapons for remote targeted killing. But unlike a drone, the robotic machine gun draws no attention in the sky, where a drone could be shot down, and can be situated anywhere, qualities likely to reshape the worlds of security and espionage.

Israeli army arrests last 2 of 6 Palestinian prison escapees (AP) Israeli forces on Sunday arrested the last two of six Palestinian prisoners who escaped a maximum-security Israeli prison two weeks ago, closing an intense, embarrassing episode that exposed deep security flaws in Israel and turned the fugitives into Palestinian heroes. The Israeli military said the two men surrendered in Jenin, their hometown in the occupied West Bank, after they were surrounded at a hideout that had been located with the help of “accurate intelligence.” The prisoners all managed to tunnel out of a maximum-security prison in northern Israel on Sept. 6. The bold escape dominated newscasts for days and sparked heavy criticism of Israel’s prison service. According to various reports, the men dug a hole in the floor of their shared cell undetected over several months and managed to slip past a sleeping prison guard after emerging through a hole outside the facility. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip have celebrated the escape and held demonstrations in support of the prisoners. Taking part in attacks against the Israeli military or even civilians is a source of pride for many Palestinians, who view it as legitimate resistance to military occupation.

Jaw-dropping moments in WSJ's bombshell Facebook investigation (CNN Business) This week the Wall Street Journal released a series of scathing articles about Facebook, citing leaked internal documents that detail in remarkably frank terms how the company is not only well aware of its platforms’ negative effects on users but also how it has repeatedly failed to address them. Here are some of the more jaw-dropping moments from the Journal’s series. In the Journal’s report on Instagram’s impact on teens, it cites Facebook’s own researchers’ slide deck, stating the app harms mental health. “We make body image issues worse for one in three teen girls,” said one slide from 2019, according to the WSJ. Another reads: “Teens blame Instagram for increases in the rate of anxiety and depression ... This reaction was unprompted and consistent across all groups.” In 2018, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg said a change in Facebook’s algorithm was intended to improve interactions among friends and family and reduce the amount of professionally produced content in their feeds. But according to the documents published by the Journal, staffers warned the change was having the opposite effect: Facebook was becoming an angrier place. A team of data scientists put it bluntly: “Misinformation, toxicity and violent content are inordinately prevalent among reshares,” they said, according to the Journal’s report.

#headlines #news

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seoulnotes · 4 years

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23. “I’ll wait.” — jjk

Full masterpost here

⇢ Pairing ; Jeon Jungkook, princess!reader (y/n)

⇢ Genre ; angst, fluff (if you squint), reincarnation au, PG-15

⇢ Words ; ~ 2.8k (fudge, it got so long but plot > wc)

⇢ Warnings ; character death, no explicitly described, but its there

You seldom believed in myths or anything you couldn’t see for yourself. If it doesn’t have proof or evidence to back it up, you would probably not believe it.

One of those things is resurrection or a second life especially the ones in those cheesy novels of soulmates that met again in a second life.

That was until you found yourself in the impossible you never believed before.

Originally, it was just your dreams.

In those dreams, you met a young man who worked for your family. He had chestnut hair and doe eyes that charmed anyone once paired with a smile on his lips.

In your dreams, you were the forgotten princess of the royal family, a fifth born daughter of a low ranked concubine. You were just a daughter yet you were a threat to the crown. The day after your birth, the royal astrologer read your stars and deemed you born under misfortunate stars.

The message was clear: you would only bring an event of calamity to the family and its throne if you were to ever ascend on it. In other words, you were a curse to the throne. Your father wasn’t too cautious since you were the fifth in line to the throne, but it didn’t help that your siblings never took you as their own due to the astrologer’s readings.

You only ever had your mother who was demoted by the queen after birthing such a child. The concubine status stripped from her, only allowed to live in the palace by your place in the family.

The child with misfortune became your reputation before you could even walk or speak a single word.

You weren’t allowed to be tutored along with the rest of your siblings and often had no one to play with as a child.

Your first real friend was at the age of sixteen when you met the stable boy Jeon Jungkook. He was that young man with the chestnut hair and doe eyes.

“Why do you come for your own horse rather than ask the staff to?” He had asked after learning of your title on the first day upon meeting you. Why did a princess of the royal family do this herself? His brows furrowed slightly.

“It must be your first day,” you mused, the corners of your lips turning up.

He didn’t know who you really were, especially the bad fate you carried with your title.

Your title meant nothing; you rarely had the staff serve you.

“It is, your highness.” You could tell he was trying to make up for the embarrassment he felt with formality in his tone. He barely met your eyes while he spoke.

“No need to call me that. I’d much rather go by my name, y/n,” you waved off his formality, placing the saddle back onto the rack as Jungkook followed you aimlessly. You were doing his job for him.

You really didn’t want to be called your title which meant virtually nothing. You were just a girl who lived in the palace.

You stuck your hand out to the man who was ducking his head, still unsure whether or not to keep up the formality. He did want to keep his head on his shoulders after all.

“And you are?” You asked, peering at him and waving your hand gently to capture his attention.

“Jungkook,” he finally raised his head. He took your hand in his, a shy smile on his lips.

From that day forth, Jungkook called you by only your name. He wasn’t cautious around you and grew to treat you just as you had asked. There were no formalities whatsoever.

He was an odd man who adjusted to being your friend so easily. Odd, but you liked it.

And with friendship came comfort. He was your comfort; he became your person in this unfair world.

“I never said thank you.” You allowed your arm to casually hang over his middle as you tucked up to his side and placed your head on his chest.

You felt his chest vibrate beneath your head as he spoke. “For?” There was a question in his tone; he didn’t know why you suddenly needed to thank him.

“I never told you this, but you’re probably the only decent person in my life besides my mother,” you said, lips curving into a smile. “You were my first friend.”

“Don’t thank me for that. Any person should do the same and it’s a shame they do not,” a pout on Jungkook’s lips.

He doesn’t believe in the stars to tell you what you were destined for. When you work for it, you’ll achieve the results. He would know since he, himself, started with nothing in life.

You knew all the stories of how he was the lowest status in the kingdom, living in a cramp shack with his entire family and sometimes wondering if he would even have dinner on certain nights.

Jungkook didn’t believe in fate you were born with; you simply make it up as you continue to grow.

His fingers brushed against your arm, tracing along it.

“I think you might be everything that I have in this world,” you said truthfully. It caught him off guard; the words making his heart skip inside his chest.

“You’re my everything too,” Jungkook thought out loud. Those words came out as a whisper and he didn’t think you caught them tumbling from his lips. His confession that would never surface.

You heard it though, his low whisper and you smiled again.

You two would be each other’s everything, something to have when the world you were born in gave you nothing.

Three months later, you found yourself at the will of your entire family as your eldest brother, the crown prince, found poison in his dinner.

A servant who was deigned to test his food before he, himself, would consume it, fell ill, collapsing right next to the crown prince after taking a sample from the tray presented to him.

Consequently, a few hours later, in the royal kitchen where his food was prepared, they found your ring on the tile floor.

It was just so conveniently coincidental.

“y/n, why was your ring in the kitchen?” asked the queen, nothing but accusation in her tone. Her eyes filled with disdain as she finished her question with a sneer.

You already knew they suspected you, but you couldn’t do anything. You didn’t know who wanted you to be exiled for treason and gone from the palace. You didn’t have anything to prove your innocence.

It became guilty until proven innocent.

“I-I don’t know,” you cursed yourself for stuttering. It only made you more guilty. “I didn’t go in there today, I swear.”

“You must be jealous of your brother. Do you wish to rule that terribly?” She stated bluntly. At this point, she didn’t even care to uphold the regalness she usually had. She could project all the resentment she felt towards you at this very moment.

“I do not want the throne,” you responded, eyes flickering to your father and begging for an ounce of him to side with you. He must know that your stars were unlucky when you were born; why would you want to bring misfortune to the throne?

“You have to know that I don’t have any reason to do this father,” you pleaded.

“You will have 24 hours to find out why your ring was in the kitchen and we’ll handle it afterward,” your father responded, tone cold as ice. The door of hope slammed in your face.

Afterward, otherwise, they were the same words; it meant you would be tried for treason.

He didn’t even try. He just agreed and you concluded that he wanted to get rid of you too. He didn’t want something tied to the destruction of the royal family

You now knew how truly alone you were in the world.

Jungkook was there to catch you when you nearly collapsed as you exited the throne room. You begged and begged, pleaded with your hands and knees on the ground and your head bowed to the cold tile.

You begged for them to believe you.

You were only told in response you were wasting your 24 hours.

“I didn’t do it,” you whispered repeatedly, throat sore from the crying you had already done. “I have 24 hours…”

“I’ll help you,” Jungkook said firmly, hands still on your arms.

“Who would want me dead, gone?” You couldn’t believe what was happening. Was it one of your siblings?

You never meddled in the family business and affairs, only attending the balls that were required of you. You didn’t even dine with them for meals. You were determined to have melted into the background of their lives.

In 24 hours, you found absolutely nothing, nothing to prove you innocent.

The staff didn’t say anything when you asked and you knew they were paid well. You tried to speak with your siblings who simply either said they couldn’t help you or they knew you had done it because you were always scheming.

So you and Jungkook sat in your bedroom, knowing in a mere few hours, you would be at the will of your family again with no evidence to prove your innocence.

That’s when Jungkook decided how to save you. For you, he would.

At sunrise, defeated, you walked, head low, into the throne room. You were ready to plead once more, but a familiar head of chestnut hair was below you.

Jungkook sprawled on the ground, on his knees and hands with his head bowed.

“Jungkook?”

He didn’t lift his head.

“You’ve confessed to treason,” your father continued to speak, disregarding your presence.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I wanted to poison the crown prince and frame it on the princess so I stole her ring and left it in the kitchen after I placed the poison in his dinner.”

“Why did you commit such a crime?” Your father questioned, hands gripping his throne, knuckles turning white.

“I couldn’t stand the crown prince being someone who was inadequate. He will lead our country into its demise,” Jungkook’s voice was firm, leaving just enough space for his tone to present his hatred.

You knew better.

“What are you doing?” You rushed to his side and grasped his arm to pull him up. “Stop saying those things.”

His only response was to push you away with force. The shove left you a few feet away and in shock.

“Since you’ve confessed, there will be no investigation. You are hereby guilty of treason. The punishment will be death by hanging.” Your father’s voice was calm, yet you knew he was burning fury behind the stillness of his tone.

Before you had a chance to speak, guards entered to place Jungkook into chains and take him away.

“No, no,” you shook your head.

“Why would you just take his word?” You felt your voice raise as your eyes burned into your father.

“He confessed, y/n.”

“There’s not even evidence. It was my ring!” You were shaking. The thought of Jungkook facing the punishment in your stead.

“He said he put the ring there. What is there to question or investigate? Would you rather be the one hanging on the platform tomorrow?” Your father bit back. “A princess with treason on her name?”

“What’ll be the difference,” you spit back.

You already see me as that and treat me as so.

“Why did you confess Jungkook? You know you didn’t do it.”

In broad daylight, you went to see the prisoner. There wasn’t an ounce of care in you of the princess that went to see the criminal.

You reached your hand between the steel bars and grasp his, evident tears making their way down your face.

“Because I did it, y/n. I couldn’t stand your brother mistreating you.” Jungkook’s eyes softened at the sight of your red nose and hurt eyes. He allowed his hand to caress the side of your face, his thumb running over your cheek where he could catch the tears from falling.

You shook your head, your hand reaching up to cup his. “No, you didn’t,” the words barely making their way passed your lips in a whisper.

He was lying. He wasn’t a good liar.

He was with you that entire day when the poison was found.

“Why would you be so stupid?” You whispered over and over again.

You were defeated; how could you save him from this?

When morning came, you were leaning against the bars separating you from him. You slept there, keeping your hand in his and was awoken by the sound of guards returning with keys.

“I love you, y/n.” He rose to his feet as the guards unlocked the cell.

You couldn’t bear to follow him outside; you didn’t want to watch. Instead, you fell to your knees, a hand at your mouth in horror and agony.

“I’ll wait,” you cried, “I’ll wait for you.” Even if it’s in the next life, I’ll wait for you. In the next life, you’d have to be born to protect him. If you couldn’t do so in the next life, you will try again and again until you get it right. You would make sure of that.

You should have tried harder; you shouldn’t have let him take the blame.

Jungkook’s own heart shattered having to leave you in such a state. He would rather you be upset then to be the one tried for a crime you had committed. God knew what kind of evidence could be created by the time of your trial.

You should live. He wanted that. He would rather himself, someone with no name and no status and no family left, to be hung for treason than for you to be exiled from your family, your mother.

He’ll wait for you as well. Even if it took him centuries, a Millennium to meet you again, he will wait.

The last thing you said at the end of the dream stuck with you.

Because you simply believed those things were impossible, you found it ironic that you said those words.

You wondered a lot about those dreams, how often they reoccurred, and how every time the story ended, you woke up with your heart aching and your eyes puffy as if you had cried in your sleep.

Your heart yearned for a face you wanted to see.

In an effort to try and put your heart at ease, you looked up the person you had been named after.

Your mother told you that she had named you after the princess that became queen after the great war many centuries ago. She had led her country out of turmoil after the previous king allowed the country to enter war.

Your mother was a history enthusiast and thought the name represented a strong woman. She liked it.

There was not much history of the queen prior to her coronation, only facts and biographies written after she was titled queen. Although, the mere fact that she was the fifth youngest amongst her siblings had you sucking in a sharp breath in surprise.

You fell down a rabbit hole of researching the queen as much as possible from reading different biographies to historical records.

You wondered if the name Jeon Jungkook was written anywhere in the records.

You found yourself standing in front of a portrait of the queen herself, given to her as a gift for her coronation. A part of a collection for the royal family history on display at the museum.

She sat, back straight and regally, a crown above her brow. Her eyes were sharp, powerful, even her gaze reminded you of an ounce of who she was. Yet, her lips pulled into a gentle smile. She was a strong queen, never taking a king consort at her side.

“Heard she was pretty badass,” a voice remarked beside you.

“I think she was,” you agreed with a nod. You turned your head to the stranger at the same moment he did allowing you to meet his eyes.

Your heart froze, you froze and your breath hitched in your throat. A wave of emotions washed over you, so strong it knocked you from your senses. Your eyes felt the familiar sharp pricking in them as they grazed over the stranger’s face, the tuft of chestnut hair and the all too familiar doe eyes.

You had a strange feeling that he knew exactly why tears suddenly ran down your cheeks and your eyes only could see him in the entire room of people.

How for him, time seemingly stopped, everyone blurred in the background, and his line of sight only had you in it.

a/n

h o l y, this one was so long and idk how it got that long. i had this plot originally and didn’t mean for the plot to be soooo complicated. it made me s a d and :(

-selene

#bangtanarmynet #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts angst #bts jungkook #bts scenario #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts x you #bts x reader #100 ways to say i love you #writing

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ashenburst · 4 years

Text

Diffido

Fyogol angst! 4553 words. Something that happens to be largely liked by the audience, and honestly, for a story that’s almost a year old - this aged well.

This is probably the only BSD oneshot that I genuinely like as well, so I’m transferring it here. BSD is what originally got me into diving deep into fanfiction. It would be only right to share some of my works here. Anyway:

'tis but despair. Sickness unto death. The illness of the worst kind.

His will was strong, resolve unfaltering; his health, however, was not.

Blame it on the poor constitution, on the years of neglect, and the current numerous diseases his body was burdened with. Fyodor's state was horrendous, such that the doctors of the modern would certainly get cold feet from treating this ailing man. No matter his mental strength, he would soon crumble, ill, bed-ridden - maybe even dead.

What good is a brilliant brain left with no power supply? He was aware of his condition. This was a pending task, to have his health improved - but other assignments were due, and they were more important than his very life.

Numbers and codes, and the goddamned malfunctioning. Displayed on those low quality displays whose radiation marred his nerves. All of it tired him, yet all of it was essential to his plan - and he had to keep his focus unwavering, his gaze searching for any error or pop-up that might appear on screen. He had to make sure everything went smooth, thus fast. Time was little, and luck was none.

He was still in the race, although they believed to have long surpassed him - he was still there, he was on his feet. And as long as he could move, he would! He would without any doubt crawl his way back, and reach the goal. Others may had mocked him - no, others certainly were laughing at his failure and celebrating their delusional victory. The man in the back did not care. The goal was one, the goal was his purpose, and the goal was good.

However, he was betrayed. His senses slowly abandoned him, one by one - at first it were the eyes that couldn't focus. Curse them! The tiniest specks of his willpower were now redirected to that one problem - his dying sight. He could no longer see clearly, everything became a pleasant blur that he sinfully enjoyed - it invited him to close his eyes, take a moment of rest, ease his strained optical nerves...

But he couldn't! Even when his typing began to cause many mistakes in the codes, the bones of his fingers aching, he didn't want to rest. Even when the faint sense of balance abandoned him, when his head slowly fell closer to his shoulders - he did not, for even a moment, think of taking a rest, much needed rest.

He ignored his bodily cravings and continued the work, sloppily, in some slurred haste. He would soon pass out, he knew, and he intended to make good use of his consciousness while it was still present. He had to think to himself at one point: "Yes, yes! Look at me, those who try to stop me! Look at me! Fear me! Dedication booming, defying desperation. I would cause the envy of -"

And then the inspirational thought would get forever lost, reduced to naught. His concentration would bolt to some rampant mistake that occurred on screen, or simply - die off as well. Now, both his mind and body were screaming murder, ready to kill their owner and put him to sleep. He was somehow still up, but struggling, soon to succumb to these mortal forces.

So it came as no surprise that one blink later, evening became noon. And Fyodor was deeply disappointed.

Having been hit by that awful stench, he was quick to come back to his defective senses. The odor, evidently, originated from him - and although he was used to it, now, it began suffocating him. The dense air of the room was pressing him. There was little to no oxygen left.

He felt as if he was underwater. The restriction placed on his lungs caused his entire body to be perceived as mush by his nervous system. Then, the inability to move struck him as a sign to stay put. He had to gather faith before he'd once again make sense out of his surroundings. For he needed his mind to wake up first, before his body, as it was lulled by the inert predicament. It would take him more than mere devotion to get up, rather - an introverted, silly pep talk.

One would say he had fallen low, and one would certainly be right to some point, but so long this pathetic monologue remained unheard, nobody could deem him broken.

And it remained unheard, and it served its purpose.

The dim lights of the computers broke through his eyelashes, hurting his bloodshot eyes. More and more red lines filled in the white - no, the yellow of his optics. An unsightly sight indeed, such that it forced him to move his head around, and stare at something more pleasant, more... calming. He made sure to place the entire room under solid darkness. That was what blessed his sore eyes.

Yet, as some hair strands fell over his face, he once again was at trouble. Once again, he was reminded that he couldn't breathe. These hairs that tickled his nose with each exhale and inhale... tickled him - and as he took in a deep breath that would turn into a sigh, he reached a realization, more profound than any other.

He had to move. Some deep instinct told him to go out, or he'd die, right then and there. As if death herself took his breath away - he got alarmed, and at last, did something.

Legs wobbly, he stood up - a bad move, as he got dizzy and almost fell. He found some leverage on the table, his elbow almost hitting the burning desktop. And he groaned - the closest thing to a wail that could be heard from him.

Per se, overworking wasn't bad for this young man. He always had someone to take care of him, at least one servant to make sure he had his meals and some normal sleep. He couldn't take care of himself - as if he were handicapped of the ability, God knew why, let alone how. He was now at his lowest, mere moments away from blacking out. This "rest" he snatched did not help him one bit, and in his mind, in those colorful Russian curses, he cursed, for he wasn't productive for hours and did not gain anything from it. Why was the organism so difficult to please? He did not know, and he did not try.

So if sleep couldn't help, he'd have to do something else to bring his state back into... normal, so to speak. But what was it that he wanted, no, that it, his body wanted - he couldn't deduct. He closed his eyes, a long sigh making his aggravation audible, and he slid down to the floor. His arm, once on the table, now covered his face. He breathed into it, into the sleeve of his shirt - and the air there too was sickening, musky. It reeked of stale. Just like everything else in that cursed chamber.

What was he hoping for? This touch he bestowed himself with, what was the meaning of it? He'd laugh if it were actually funny, but - he was hoping to comfort himself.

He opened his eyes to be met with the same black. Comfort? All he needed was to get himself going, and the comfort would be found right there. The demands were clear - he had to get his body in shape, just for a bit, and get back to work.

He barely got back on his feet, the support once again found on the table. His head was held with his other hand. It did not quite throb this time, but he hissed nevertheless. Illness was all around him. The air itself - one great pestilence that poisoned his lungs, the darkness blinding his already awful vision, and the room, a trap, a trap from which he had to escape if he were to continue living.

Strangely, once he felt his forehead, he sensed his body temperature was alright - he believed he had a fever, but nothing was out of the ordinary. But the motion itself tired him, and he moved his hand away, interested to see if it would tremble. If he were to play doctor, then he might as well examine some other body parts. And as the sight was illuminated by the monitors, he gave himself a wry smile: his spread fingers, ah, the entirety of his hand was shaking, and he, as the patient, felt much pain.

A chuckle was what should have come out of his mouth, but his dry throat turned the sound mute. He did not know what was so amusing about this diagnosis, but so long it livened his soul, may he laugh, and may there be a hand to cover his smile, just like that very instant.

He delved deeper into movement, and began walking. Somehow he did not fall. The wall was there, but he tried to venture on his own, arms free by his side. He had always been independent. That word could easily define him.

Because, during work, the forming of ideals and ideas, he was be independent. During dismissing his well-being, he was independent. And even as he kicked some unfamiliar, heavy rubbish, he was independent. He would pride on that one trait of his more than any other.

The object he almost tripped over was some bottle he did not remember bringing in. He ducked, but oh, he was supposed to duck, he however ended up falling on his butt - and examined it. With his both weak arms, he brought the bottle closer - the liquid was transparent, apparently. He couldn't deduct what it was, as he was unable to focus on the kanji. The strokes began dancing right in front of his eyes. And he, he grew agitated.

He lifted the bottle just a little, comparing it against the light of the monitors. And he hoped that, what he laid his gaze on, was water, for he opened the bottle and drank all of its content.

The gamble was fruitful - this clean, pure water gave him life. Filling up his dry throat, then his empty belly, he found another strength to fuel him. Refreshed, with his mind a tad more explicit in thought, he was ready to venture forward.

Rags that covered the windows didn't offer much light to come in, but enough to reveal him his position, along with the position of the door. Next on the door, on the floor, laid his coat, and inside perhaps all of his current material worth. His phone, shut down, the keys of the apartment, and some money. That was what he remembered, at least.

He put on the heavy coat on his shoulders, the unfamiliar burden making his back arch just a bit. This only added more pain to his already hurt spine. The keys were taken by his trembling hand and used to open the door. And Fyodor was met with another dimension he had probably forgotten existed - the life outside this cavern of his.

It was the fresh air that tempted him to move out, forced him to step outside with much rush. He greeted it with a frown, shyly glancing around the hallway. He did not allow his excitement to be shown.

So as he walked, his steps long, calculated, and above all - slow, he thought of what to do, where to go, what to take - ordering food was out of question for sure, since he had to move himself. So why not connect the two, make it both sweet and profitable. He'd go sit down in a restaurant somewhere and order whatever. Something healthy for sure. A salad, perhaps? With a fruit smoothie. Proteins and vitamins combined. Yes, a great pick.

He then walked outside, and the Sun blinded him without holding back. He lifted his hand and winced at its harshness, his eyes rolling upwards to meet the blues and the whites. Could a simple stroll get that unpleasant? He hadn't even started yet, he hadn't even started yet...

He hadn't even started yet, and he was about to fall. A single gaze directed up was what caused him to feel uneasy, light-headed. His head followed the motion of his eyes, swinging backwards. Nothing was felt underneath his feet - the floor disappeared, no - he no longer felt his legs in entirety. He lost control, he was falling, he barely realized - and once he finally immersed himself in that fleeting moment, he was glad.

But his relief was interrupted, of course it was, as a pair of arms yanked him from behind. He let his body weight rely on them, as he closed his eyes, letting his consciousness drift far, far away... and he was, without any remorse, happy. The satisfaction of learning this one fact soothed him, the very fact he came to understand, through which he met himself better, and discovered, he was indeed no more than man. Name him a God, a Demon, or any eternal deity you may figure, but he remained a human being.

He was mortal, and he was weak. He couldn't bear the weight of the world on his sickly chest. He did not surrender to his responsibility, no - he decided this for his own sake, for once, he thought of himself. His grand heart turned selfish - he was no God to love eternally. What a preposterous realization! This fact, that emerged at the edge of his existence, this fact stated:

Fyodor gave up. Fyodor wanted to die. Fyodor wished nothing else but to abandon this horrid world.

"Dos?"

He smiled at the Sun, and the Sun smiled back.

Fyodor couldn't even fathom the scene he presented to Nikolai. He was far more than a sorry sight - to name him so would be an understatement of the worst kind.

If only he could peek into Nikolai's mind, he'd discover a shocking mess. Thoughts running about, rampant, unable to connect with each other. No sense could be made in such a fuss, yet Fyodor would know: he was the one to cause it.

And he loathed it, with the remnants of emotion that were left inside of him. He loathed to look up, and see and feel the rays on his face. He loathed that he wasn't alone, when death seemed to have taken him by his hand. Nobody was supposed to disturb his final waltz into oblivion!

Because, after experiencing attraction to suicide, in that one bleak moment, he got bored of it, and he knew, he would never again sense it that way. He was jealous of those who could keep this ideal going, for he, he would never belittle himself to worshiping death, and he would never be able to view life from that angle.

His thoughts could simulate it, but his emotions couldn't. He tried to grasp that sensation once again, his fingers twitching, barely moving - yet nothing reached them but still air. His smile did not abandon his lips, no - it seemed to curl up even more in self mockery.

The man in the blonde's arms was no more. The smile Nikolai was welcomed with was a sorry sight, and it brought even more sorrow unto Nikolai's heavy heart. This weight inside his chest forced his breathing to a halt - and as a choke captured the words of worry in his throat, he too, much like Fyodor, went mute due to problems with respiration.

Again, how ridiculous, but they were the same.

But unlike Fyodor, Nikolai could move, he still had life - and he was vigorous to use it for his friend's sake. Had he lost consciousness, he couldn't tell, but he knew he had to do something soon.

"Dos?" He once again called out, his voice broken with a single crack. And his dear friend responded with a faint nod, dreary gaze lost in something above, but most certainly not Nikolai. At that particular instant, the Sun seemed especially warm to Fyodor.

Nikolai brought Fyodor back to his feet, his arm wrapped around his friend. Truth be told, Fyodor could black out at any given moment - and he wouldn't be aware of it, he was sure that if he were to blink, the black would swallow him for hours. So long he was awake, Nikolai would help him, and he would be there to witness. Eventually he was carried back into that sullen apartment of his.

The blonde was appalled by the silence. Fyodor would usually acknowledge his presence in... a dull manner, yes, but at least he would be greeted properly. Now however, Nikolai knew, something awful had happened, for he had never seen Fyodor in this state before.

Hands nervously moving around, he opened the door, brought Fyodor into the stench of that darkness. He searched for a futon, for any kind of bed, but he found none. The apartment was a single room, and the room was comprised of three things: the desk with the laptops, the abused curtains, and some sickening stench.

"Why did you pick this place, out of all the hideouts we have..." Nikolai mumbled, disapproving of his friend's methods in vain. Fyodor responded with a sigh and a petite shrug, and the blonde rolled his eyes. He took off his jacket and threw it on the floor. "There, lay on that."

Fyodor didn't object. Nikolai was glad to see that happen, but along with that, he couldn't help but notice - the speed and direction of Fyodor's movements, they were abnormal, characteristic to that of a man under fever or any other severe pain.

It shouldn't have happened. Fyodor would never allow himself fall this low. Both of them were aware of the fact, yet the impossible happened, furthermore, devastated. Both of them had their own flux of emotions streaming through agonizing disbelief.

The weary man cradled himself. Ill vision did not aid him. He longed to look at his old friend, but his eyelids turned into lead, threatening to murk the scene before him. That which he had seen, appeared as an illusion - a young man whose coat danced along his firm movements. That was supposed to be Nikolai.

It could be, a disgusting film of exhaustion did not let him see better. But he heard clearly those mutters, vexed proclamations and horrified realizations, all directed to Fyodor, all concerning him. He was found guilty in front of Nikolai, and he for once felt remorse.

Now would be a good time to sync with his thoughts, and reveal his confusion at all to which happened. It was disbelief that was expressed so: some detached wandering through his memories and scarce connection with reality. The manner forced Fyodor into concluding that he was indeed in a process of sorts, and the more he tried to turn on his consciousness, the more he was horrified.

Physiological reactions followed. His heart contorted in grotesque he did not deem possible.

He would call it a farce and resort to reason to lull him back into apathy, but the present moment was far from farce. Not even once had his friend, the both sad and joyful jester, shown outright spleen.

"Do you have any idea what were you doing?! You literally look like a corpse, you -"

Yes, Fyodor knew, he knew he hadn't eaten for days, he knew he had only water in the apartment. He knew he certainly didn't leave the apartment. He knew he overworked himself. He did not know, but he felt, he pushed himself beyond boundaries. Fyodor let Nikolai number those assumptions, one by one, each and one of them followed by a harsh question.

Fyodor had no intention, nor energy to deny. There was nothing to go against, after all - Nikolai was right in every sense. He could only do him the honor of listening to his tirade.

All that Nikolai accused him was stained with despair, and this deep emotion did not go unnoticed by Fyodor. This Russian's mind worked on the lowest frequency possible, yet it was more than enough to pick out Nikolai's concealed wails.

Whenever the blond's voice would pitch a tad higher, Fyodor would twitch, and his crucial organ would bend and twist more in hopeless attempts of escape. It was far too beaten up, both physically and emotionally, to withstand any more blows.

And as if Nikolai knew, and as if he knew Fyodor's turmoil, he had to grab him by his shoulders, bringing his horrified expression right in front of Fyodor's, and he had to emphasize the one thing his friend did not understand:

"How could you do this to yourself?"

Fyodor was thoroughly arrogant, but strangely, he did not care about what happened to him. That was why his existence was reduced to saving the world, and that was why, when asked that question, he bothered not to respond in any other way than: "It had to be done."

A croak - he shouldn't have spoken up, for his throat itched, and the answer did not seem to satisfy his friend. Then Nikolai certainly shouldn't have asked:

"Do you know how much I care for you?"

Fyodor did however have a heart. Its content wasn't meant for anyone in particular, no - although Fyodor seemed to have lacked the responsible organ, it ticked its pulse for mankind only. It was a strange love, one could say, or a grand lack thereof, but he wasn't selfish, and his apathy was no ordinary.

If he was apathetic, he wouldn't care. If he was at peace with death, he wouldn't see the living. If he had no heart, he wouldn't feel it break. None of it would have happened if he didn't hurt Nikolai.

Yet it happened. He was falling apart from the inside, just like Nikolai was falling apart from the outside. Throughout this senseless torture, Fyodor finally felt alive.

"I do." Fyodor's lie came in form of a wheeze.

"You're lying! You have no shame, you really don't, do you? If only you knew how much you mattered! If only... if only you..." Nikolai fumbled his words rather clumsily. "If only you knew how much you mean to some people. If only you realized we're selfish and that we value some things more than humanity itself! If only you knew how much I care for you. Do you... do you not understand, Dos?"

One wipe later, and the glass was washed off his eyes.

"Your sacrifice isn't worth it."

"Worth what..?" Fyodor smirked in defiance. "I'm fine with losing myself for a better world."

"Well I'm not! I'm not!" Nikolai pounded the fact into Fyodor's blank face, although all of his hits probably missed the point - there was a possibility, terrifying but existent, that Fyodor's empathy wasn't meant for Nikolai.

"I thought we agreed on this... a long time ago," the man beneath began, "that we would be willing to die... for this cause."

"Yeah, yeah. But you don't get me, do you?" Nikolai shook his head. "No, you get me. You do. You just act oblivious." That, yes, and perhaps Fyodor didn't care for him, but the blonde did not wish to inquire. He did not wish to hear the answer.

A huff came, an angry huff, and nothing else. Fyodor surrendered.

Nikolai cupped his cheeks, fingers almost retracting from the dryness of the white skin. "You can't do this to yourself. You simply can't. There's another way. We'll go through this together, I promise. I promise we will."

"Does it matter..?" Fyodor started, soon to be cut off.

"It does! You can't do this alone. You can't expect to... build the organization from ashes on your own. That's too much, even for you."

"It..." He exhaled loudly as Nikolai's words sank in. "It is."

"There, you see? You made a mistake. But, but! Everything is going to be okay. I'm here now. I'll help you get better..."

Fyodor's relief manifested as a softened expression. Nikolai's thumbs caressed him, each and every movement like bliss. He was undeserving of this care, yet it came, yet it didn't abandon him. Fyodor had his very own angel to protect him! And he neglected him!

Who was selfish there, he wondered - he, for ignoring this pure love Nikolai offered him, or Nikolai, for loving a monstrosity Fyodor presented? He couldn't decide, but he knew one thing for sure. The both of them were clowns in this maddening folly, but they were together, and they would be together.

And Nikolai's apparition turned pleasant to Fyodor's bleak gaze; a comforting smile, that was indeed the right picture to fit the frame. A single sympathetic act, rustling his senses, bringing him the warmth of fondness - he did not know it, but he craved it.

The turmoil was gone! The Sun shone upon him, and if only he allowed himself bask in its light earlier, he wouldn't hurt this feeble heart before him, this indeed fragile soul that sacrificed its freedom for him. Fyodor would never ask for a better companion.

"Kolya," he dared whisper, furrowed eyebrows from the strain of his thoughts. Kolya listened, he listened carefully, only to hear, "thank you."

"You're welcome," he responded, moving away from Fyodor, who in turn closed his eyes. He had to take a rest, even for a couple of seconds, even that much. He had seen all he needed, after all.

"I'll go get you something tasty to eat. Something I know you'll like for sure," Nikolai informed Fyodor, then proceeded to open the window. Once he moved the curtains, a splash of dust filled the air around them, dancing around like ghosts of snowflakes.

Strangely, they pleased Fyodor. He looked upwards, and right in front of Nikolai, through the newly introduced sun rays, he discovered some better times. Be they of the past or the future, they did not belong the present, yet they brought him delight. In their background, stood his dearest friend, he too a bright scene.

"Until then, don't forget to breathe. Pretty please!" The man in the light then chimed, trying his best to amuse his friend on the floor. He succeeded, for he lured out a weak, however sincere smile.

"I'll get going... and, Dos, Dos, remember this!" Nikolai stood by the door, his cape fluttering around as he halted his movements. Fyodor peered at him with interest - now what else would he offer, besides this endless love he possessed ?

"I love you," Nikolai announced, hand on his heart as he bowed just a little. Ah, so it was nothing else but a public exclamation.

"I know. I love you too." They exchanged smiles before abandoning each other all over again.

The Sun had a cataract. Another day would soon bleed by, soon to leave a dry corpse. Its sockets gaped at the star, jaw wide open, hollow skull directed to the sky ever since the carcass laid down. It awed, mute, at the celestial wonders above. The Sun could only warm it, for its vision was faulty. It could not see the decaying meat it heated. Its eye was long diseased by the Earth where he died.

#fyogol #fyodor x nikolai #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodor dostoyevsky #bungou stray dogs #bungou gay dogs #nikolai gogol bsd #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #bsd fanfic #bsd oneshot #angst #death #hah #omg i actually like my writing #nikolai x fyodor

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kathyprior4200 · 3 years

Text

C.H.E.R.U.B. Slice of Life

Several weeks before the events of Helluva Boss’ “C.H.E.R.U.B.”

Cletus, Collin and Keenie were hanging out with their families in the cloudy Cherub Towne in Heaven. After hugging their parents, they went for a flying stroll around the town. The buildings in Cherub Towne were curved and decorated in pastel oranges, pinks and blues. Greek pillars supported many of the buildings which were supported by clouds. No citizen was at risk of falling due to the angels all having wings. The structure, too, never fell as the clouds and area were enchanted to support a perfect peaceful, stable city.

Well…almost perfect. Beyond a wrought iron golden gate lay a sparkling city of teal green, reminiscent of the city in The Wizard of Oz. Holy City; the place where the elite angels and saints/former humans resided.

Even in paradise, cherubs were still the lowest of the low, like the imps were in Hell. Keenie and Cletus in particular often longed to go there to live a better life. Tired of being treated like cute gullible servants, Cletus formed C.H.E.R.U.B. as a way to spread love to humans, make ends meet, but mostly to prove themselves. It may have been less than legal for the cherubs to enter earth and influence human lives, but the three members thought it was a reasonable plan. After all, they were just spreading love and the word of God to the living world. Humans were made in His image, so what better way to show support than to bless the creations He loved so dearly?

Of course, many of the elite angels thought it was undignified that God would suddenly favor humans over his very first creations. Angels were immortal and perfect in every way…but they could not reproduce. Though no one went as far as Lucifer, they were still resentful. It was no wonder the Heaven-Born deemed former humans and the cherubs as nothing more than background characters in their spotlight-driven lives.

Only guardian angels or angels on special missions could interfere with the lives of humans. But that didn’t stop those three cherubs.

To many of the other cherubs, Cletus, Collin and Keenie were great friends, but also prone to rule-breaking. Collin was the most passive and kind-hearted of the group but was often a doormat as a result. Keenie prided herself on her appearance, niceness and charm. And Cletus was the leader; always doing nice things to later brag about it.

“Look what our company did today!” Cletus bragged. “Blessed twenty people in one week. Prayed for the lost and gave hugs to all our cherub friends. I think we’ll break a record of our fifty client number we served per week. How I’d love to earn more money soon!”

“Modesty is a heavenly virtue,” Collin had explained to them. “It’s unnecessary to boast about your accomplishments. Just do your daily duties like everyone else.”

“But what good is that if no one appreciates what we do?” Keenie had argued back. “Surely we’re just as worthy and mature as every other angel.”

“Another reason why I founded C.H.E.R.U.B. in the first place,” said Cletus. “If more people know of our beneficial actions,” Cletus added, “Then we won’t be pushed off to the side like invisible babies.”

Cletus sucked on a spiral rainbow lollipop in the air. Keenie smirked and leaned toward Cletus playfully. “Who’s the sweet little baby again?” she cooed, pinching his cheeks and batting her large eyes.

“Quit it, Keenie!” Cletus barked, shooing her away as she made kissing noises. “All of us are innocent. Anything too intimate is wrong.”

“I was just playing around,” Keenie flirted. “Besides, aren’t we like hundreds of years old?”

“Maybe we’re the same age as those young adult imps down below,” Collin answered.

“Who cares about them? I care about me…erm us,” Cletus finished, sliding back his short fluffy pink ginger hair. “Our company will eventually be known all throughout Heaven! Just think of all the good we could spread to Heaven and Earth!”

All the cherubs smiled in imaginative thought as they pictured themselves being loved and praised by the other angels.

“I wonder if I could eventually take Deerie’s place,” Keenie thought. “Then I could wean out all the bitches and heathens...”

“Hey, no swearing!” Collin cried, covering her mouth and looking around. Thankfully, no one else had heard her. Collin removed his cloven hand.

“What can I say? I’m a bit of a rebel,” she grinned with a shrug.

They flew onward and reached Christ Circle, a miniature town version of Times Square. Cute winged animal cherubs and a few child-like beings flew around carrying groceries, offspring, clothing and belongings. Some of the animals drove miniature flying cars to their destinations. Churches with stained glass windows were everywhere, many of them run by bi-pedal sheep. Several young deer children got to work cleaning a bronze statue that looked like a smiling Bambi. Fluffy yellow duck children wearing pastel colored bathing suits rolled around in small fountains that were spurting up from holes in the cobblestone ground. They laughed and splashed each other with water. Brown feathered mothers watched as they played, quacking, “No running!”

A small toy shop nearby, “E. Gull’s Joyous Creations” sold the famous “Gabriel’s Truth Telling Trumpet Toys ™” (That didn’t really force people to tell the truth), plastic harps, plushies of Jesus, balls, jacks, books and a lot of stuffed animals. A few wind-up lambs and lions slowly wondered along a counter, much to the delight of several young fox siblings. Several toys near the back had been hand-crafted by E. Gull himself, manifesting as friendly robots. His stores were found in many Halos and districts.

Collin briefly skimmed a plaque that read about the store founder:

“E. Gull. An eagle angel formerly a human who died in 1888 in the Industrial Revolution. Instead of using his machinery for evil and domination, he used his contraptions and toys in London to benefit the common-folk and aristocrats alike. Unlike his evil serpent counterpart Sir Pentious, E. Gull is modest, a bit insecure and prefers to keep to himself. But his technology has earned him a great place in Heaven among his fellow pre-human saints. He currently lives in a blimp with his serving robotic Nestling Eggs. He likes modern technology and soda and dislikes cats, tea and fads.”

“Oooh!” said Collin as he turned to the window and admired one of the trumpets on display.

“Oh no, Collin,” Keenie chided, pulling Collin away from the window. “You’re much too old for that stuff.”

“But we’re cherubs!” Collin protested. “We never grow up.”

“Figures. You’re always the baby of the group.”

“Am not! I believe I’m older than you. You’re not my sister.”

“And I’m not your baby-sitter. Now let’s go!”

Collin groaned as he was pulled away toward the leading Cletus.

They continued their walk, passing by the large honey factory. The building was white and gold with rainbows emitting from the tall smoke stacks instead of pollution. Several hexagons of golden-orange glass appeared like honeycombs and hovered around outside the building. Several bees were working in their offices or in small labs, creating honey. The warehouse was full of bumblebee cherubs who were busy loading jars of honey into crates. A tall lady bee in a business suit and wearing a small black crown on her head, scrutinized the area, keeping careful watch. Collin waved happily to one of their fellow cherub friends, Honey. Honey waved back at him before focusing on work.

For the next stretch of their stroll, they discussed their families. All of them had grown up to families who instilled Christian views to them from a young age. The rules were simple: Love the Lord, do not sin, care for others and the community, and be sure to sing/play music well. (A unique unwritten rule existed in Heaven and Hell that required/encouraged all characters to be proficient or show an interest in musicals and the arts. No one could explain it, it was just natural for many to follow.)

Many organizations existed to promote different cultures and faiths: Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Paganism (no Satanism of course) and even atheism. Christianity was still the dominant faith though, similar to earth. Strangely enough, classism and discrimination still existed, though it was sugarcoated and easier to hide than on earth. But judgement was always there…even in paradise. C.H.E.R.U.B. could feel the subtle effects of it every day. Racism, sexism and homophobia were less of an issue than on earth. In Heaven, status was mostly based on one’s status as either Heaven-born or being formerly human, similar to sinners and Hell-born in Hell. Archangels were the higher class, similar to the Overlords in Hell. It was one of the few commonalities between the two opposite realms: the promise of more freedom and self-exploration in the afterlives.

And then there were some rules that many angels in Heaven did not follow. They were quite bizarre: avoid things like evolution theories, sex, swearing, rock music, Marxism, Tarot cards, Vox media, and strangers (mostly LGBTQ and promiscuous females according to the more conservative angels). All the different branches of religion existed in Heaven…and it became more complicated due to trying to maintain people from all walks of life…and time periods! No matter where one was, every civilization of beings fucked their partners, drank, sought after wealth and raised children their own way.

At the Divine Diner, Cletus snuck sips of Cloud Nine Wine from a nearby bottle while Collin and Keenie munched on glowing juicy fruit. It was so tasty that it made fruit on earth appear dry. The cherubs sat at a booth, looking at a dazzling orange sunset through the open window.

“Life can’t get any better than this,” Cletus sighed happily. He gazed at a menu that advertised all sorts of heavenly food: angel food cake, gold leaf casserole, angel hair pasta, pineapple pizza (gotta meet others’ needs), holy bread and wine, first fish, medieval roast beast, and several Passover-themed dishes.

“We are lucky,” Keenie agreed. “While we may not be the most appreciated, we can still spread love from our comfortable world!” She turned to Collin. “Crossbows still working?”

Collin briefly summoned his golden bow in his hand before vanishing it. “Always ready to go!” Like Moxxie, Collin specialized in holy weapons and like Millie, Keenie could create portals.

As they enjoyed the sunset, Collin slowly took hold of Keenie’s cloven hoof hand. Although she briefly looked at him in confusion, she had to admit that it felt…nice.

“Do you think our company will officially be endorsed by the Lord someday?” Cletus asked.

“We haven’t been disbanded yet,” Keenie said. “After you formed it, it was sponsored by our government. They make sure we don’t step out of line when we go to earth.”

“I thought going to earth was illegal,” Collin added.

“It technically is…” said Cletus, “but as long as we do our duty and don’t cause trouble, they allow it. They want more worthy people to go to Heaven and convert. I think they want to test us.”

“Right…” said Collin, unsure.

They stayed through the evening before flying back home. The cherubs sat in their respective rooms, with comfy beds, pictures of their families in cloud frames and elegant fountains with cupid figurines on top. Their PJs had halos and stars on them.

They soon slept soundly like…well, sheep. But what did they count in their sleep? Their blessings, of course!

Several days before the events of Helluva Boss’ “C.H.E.R.U.B.”

Cletus, Keenie and Collin lounged in their spotless office in a giant harp-shaped building. The skyscraper building with a golden harp and strings as part of the design was C.H.E.R.U.B. headquarters. An exhausted Collin sank back on a nearby sofa, massaging his cloven wrist after several hours of completing paperwork. On a nearby white board, “God loves you,” “Be a sheep, not a creep,” and “Live a Life of Love” was written in various colored marker. Keenie had written “Damnation to all demons” in cursive on one corner of the board. The ginger-haired Cletus drank quietly from a white mug that read “God’s Faithful Disciple Is Also Your #1 Boss.” Keenie fluffed up her yellow frilly dress and straightened her red hair bow.

Collin smiled and handed Keenie two white roses. Keenie smiled back and took them, thinking about how adorable Collin looked.

“Why…do I have to fill out…all the paperwork?” Collin asked between breaths as he rested.

“Because you’re the best at it and you’re also pretty much a wuss everywhere else,” Keenie replied with a grin. Collin’s face turned red.

“That’s n-n-not very nice,” Collin replied with a stutter. “I may have been a recorder of the faiths and sins of humans for a while but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get old fast…which it does!”

“Oh stop it with your jittering,” Keenie replied with a roll of her large eyes. “Count yourself lucky that you’re part of a group dedicated to bettering the lives of those humans!”

“Indeed I am,” Collin said. He recited one of his favorite passages, one that he lived by daily:

“’Love means living the way God commanded us to live. As you have heard from the beginning, his command is this: Live a life of love.’” John 1:6 (NCV). I do love humans…Except when they’re mean and s-s-sinful and stuff.”

“Either way, it’s our job,” Cletus said as he slurped his mug of iced coffee. “Don’t forget about our recent assignment we completed.”

“Dolly Dolores was the woman that angel requested us to bless,” Keenie said. “Thankfully it was easy to do. She’s been donating to Evangelical churches all across the U.S. Now she will live a good life and be guaranteed access to Heaven!”

Cletus added, “And Samuel Hawkins, inventor of modern technology to help with inter-dimensional communication. We thought global communication on Earth was impressive enough. Now we can easily call and chat with anyone in Heaven, Earth or Hell…at least, God and a few elite can in regard to the inferior realms.”

Collin pondered. “Does that explain why Heaven commercials sometimes appear in Hell?”

Cletus nodded. “Yep! Gotta bring hope to family members, even to those who have sinned. One of his inventions, Vivoom (Our online Zoom communication) was sponsored by a technology demon named Vox. He was always a fan of V names.”

Collin looked uneasy. “Why have I heard that name before…”

“We angels are given lists of dangerous demons and their traits so we can briefly study them in case they decide to attack,” Keenie said. “Of course, they’d have to go through the Exorcists first; they wouldn’t dare. One shot from angelic weapons and they’re devil dust!”

Keenie rammed her fist against her palm.

“We also bless the poor, right?” Collin asked. “I don’t recall her being very nice to the homeless.”

“Not as often,” Cletus said. “Usually the ones we get requests for are white human males who are family members or role models for said angel client. Often times they’re famous…and sometimes stupid.”

“So…we can’t just go down and bless those who truly deserve it?” Collin whispered.

“Nope,” Keenie declined with a wave of her hoof. “A mission is a mission. Whoever our client says we need to bless, we do it. No matter how selfish or stupid they may be. It not only keeps our clients happy but it also (hopefully) encourages the human to do good so that one day, they may arrive here in Heaven, ready to love and cherish God. Thus our civilization can thrive and grow, and all those filthy demons down below can eventually meet their end in divine hands.”

Her eyes briefly glowed and small eyes appeared on her wings before she quickly returned to her regular self. She smirked at Collin’s fearful face.

Collin shivered. “I hate it when you go to your Angel Form.”

“You should try it sometime. All types of angels and demons can do it. Perhaps it’ll make you less of a soft coward.”

“D-don’t you call me a coward!” Then he added, “I don’t think that’s how it works. Only saints, sinners and the elite can fully transform.”

“Hmph. Says how much you know.”

“That’s enough guys,” Cletus spat at his employees. “You’re interrupting my contemplation of paradise and life.” Cletus stared at a picture on the wall of a smiling white man dressed in a white top hat with a gold cross on it. His eyes were obscured under his hat. A plaque down below read, “He watches us, always.”

“Is that God?” Collin asked.

“Who else would it be?” Cletus shrugged.

“Doesn’t look like him. Isn’t he just dressed up? Surely that’s not his true form.”

“You don’t know what his true form looks like,” Keenie said.

“Neither do you.”

“I don’t care what form he takes,” Cletus replied. “As long as we follow his Word and the Word of our Lord Jesus Christ, things will go smoothly. Remember what he said recently: “Surround yourself with people who’ll lift you up…’”

“’…so ditch the ones you cannot use,’” Keenie finished. “Makes sense to me.”

“Hold up!” Collin said, flying up in front of them. The other cherubs stood up and hovered in place. “I don’t think God would encourage us to ditch friends who won’t help us get to the top. He’d surely want all of us to love one another and live simple lives. Plus, that’s not even His actual quote! I read the Bible a bazillion times!”

“But it was explicitly stated on the sign,” Keenie argued. “With an orangeish face to prove it!”

“I think it was a prank,” Collin stated, crossing his arms.

“We’ve all learned that to glorify God, we must support and beautify our community,” Cletus explained. “Back in the 2000s, I founded C.H.E.R.U.B. on behalf of God to bless his favorite creation: man. Plus even though we live in a comfy cloudy Cherub Towne, we still need to get by. Money is money. Extravagance and respect is our ideal.”

Collin narrowed his eyes.

“A pretentious, showy life is an empty life; a plain and simple life is a full life.” Proverbs 13:7 (Msg)

Keenie looked in approval at Collin.

He continued. “Technically, our Father hasn’t formerly endorsed our organization,” Collin reminded them. “In fact, I think it’s illegal for angels to interact with mortals unless it’s a divine mission or an emergency...”

“It’s always an emergency here!” Cletus declared, flying into Collin’s face, causing the periwinkle sheep cherub to flinch back, flying into a chair and knocking it over. Bobble heads of Keenie and Collin spun around on the large white table as it briefly shook. Cletus quickly picked them up and put them in his large overall pocket.

Cletus blushed a bit as his companions gave him looks.

“Oh come on, Collin,” Keenie said. “We’re cherubs! No one would automatically suspect any lower-class citizens sneaking off to earth. That was also Cletus’ idea.” Cletus beamed with a thumbs up at Keenie and Collin.

“Besides,” Keenie added, “It’s only natural for us to want the best in Heaven. Recognition, money, wealth, glory. For our happiness will result in God’s joy.”

“Well…if you say so,” Collin said. Then he muttered, “But it still feels like greed…and if we were to get caught making a mistake…” He shuddered again.

“C.H.E.R.U.B. never makes mistakes!” Cletus declared. “It’s in our name: Cherishing Human Existence, Releasing Unlimited Blessings.”

“I don’t think that’s what the acronym…”

“No one cares what you think, Collin!” Keenie added, elbowing Collin who winced.

“Oh God, Keenie…”

“And don’t use His name in vain!”

“Enough!” Cletus bellowed. “Your petty arguments are getting us nowhere. For once, let a seasoned cherub have some peace and quiet!”

“Says you, whiny baby,” Keenie said. “You’re not even a proper animal cherub!”

“Oh yeah? Then what are those strange visible lumps on your chest, Keenie?”

Keenie briefly looked down at her breasts and turned light red. “So inappropriate, Cletus!” she seethed with a “baa.”

Cletus smirked. “I know, but you still got a kick outta that.”

“Oh, you want a kick? I’ll show you…”

Before Keenie could kick her companions in the groins (she was looking at Collin too), a large computer and screen on the table flickered to life. “Incoming call” was displayed on the screen as the Jesuskype (Jesus themed Skype) logo appeared. Cletus tapped the “accept” button.

A white sheep cherub named Rachel appeared on the light blue screen, a black cross necklace around her neck, her hands folded in prayer. The three cherubs stood in front of the computer screen and folded their hands. They did little respectful bows as signs of greeting.

“Greetings, fellow cherubs,” Rachel smiled. “How are you all today?”

“We’re doing good,” Keenie said, delighted to see their fellow friends.

Another sheep, Beau, appeared on the screen, licking a rainbow lollipop that had been grown like a tree. “Baaaack to work, I see?”

“The usual,” Cletus remarked, puffing out his chest in pride. “’Need someone to bless and love in the living world? Come to C.H.E.R.U.B.!’”

“You don’t need to memorize the words on our billboard, Cletus,” Keenie whispered in his ear.

“It never hurts,” Cletus whispered back before turning back to the screen.

Beside Rachel, two yellow and orange bumblebee angels appeared with smiles on their faces.

“Bea! Honey!” Collin exclaimed to the two bee angels. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy, busy!” Bea buzzed happily. “My siblings and I are flying to and fro to different heavenly flowers, making sure they stay pollinated and healthy.”

“And I work with a special group to create heavenly honey to help feed families,” Honey explained. “Every bee works in their own honeycomb section. We send the substances we make to our Queen Bee CEO for review and then it gets sent off to the other Halos (districts like the Hell Rings) for the denizens to enjoy.”

Cletus was glad he didn’t have to worry about any production or farm work. Although many cherubs enjoyed doing their services to the higher up saints and angels, it was still tedious (and not enough desired pay to begin with).

“Sounds very productive,” Collin mentioned.

“It keeps us on our wings, that’s for sure,” said Bea. “So happy to be able to meet with other amazing cherubs.”

“You ever feel lonely?” Collin asked.

“Sometimes,” Bea said. “I love my heavenly family a lot. One of my friends Bumble is a bee angel, a former human.” Bea leaned in and whispered, “I heard his cousins got sent to Hell. That’s why God won’t let him see them ever again.”

The cherubs gasped in horror, hooves and hands covering their mouths.

“How awful!” Keenie whimpered.

“It’s true,” Bea said, flying back. “Bumble told me that Stinger, Wasp, and Buzza turned into wasp and hornet demons in Hell! Stinger was a murder hornet…literally. Wasp was greedy and kept everything for himself, and Buzza? Well, she’s what many called, a ‘whore-net.’”

The cherubs gasped again…Beau fainted in Rachel’s arms. Rachel comforted her companion and laid her down on a cloud. She turned back to the camera and laughed nervously. “She’ll be fine, she’ll be fine.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Anyway,” Rachel said, “My boyfriend Jacob and I are doing alright. Interesting story: one of Jacob’s old friends decided it would be funny to test his shapeshifting abilities. His friend is a mighty lion named Solael who likes to carry little cherubs around. Anyway, this angelic lion transformed into a sheep and offered himself as a sacrifice to a bunch of royal guards. (This was so he, Jacob and myself could sneak into the palace and try to catch a glimpse of Metatron at work. Jacob’s a bit of a fanatic.) Any-who, the plan didn’t work very well and we were kicked out before we could reach the doors. Solael transformed back into his Aslan form and scared off the guards, allowing us to escape. Solael bellowed, ‘Behold! My revived and true form!’ He appeared to be poorly imitating Jesus to many bystanders. As punishment, Solael was made to turn invisible every time someone looked at him (though God and a few others could see him.) Thus, he’s not as prideful anymore.”

“Whoa,” said Cletus with a laugh. “And they say I’m full of myself.”

“Last I heard of Solael, he had solemnly stated, ‘I wish I could’ve worked as secretary for C.H.E.R.U.B.’”

Cletus, Collin and Keenie burst into laughter. “Likely story!” Cletus chortled, his halo swaying from side to side as he caught his breath. “Being invisible doesn’t allow you to keep a job!”

“Ah,” Rachel sighed in content. “Good times. Say, C.H.E.R.U.B., wanna hang out with us at Christ Circle in Holy City? The Laughing Lambs will be telling jokes.”

“Lame,” Keenie yawned. “And don’t get me started on all those bands that feature sheep and babies playing on harps and trumpets. Gets old fast.”

Rachel grinned. “For the edgier types, there’s the Seraph’s Wrath. They do rock music and White Metal, and they swear behind the curtain. Perhaps Jacob can smuggle in some Cloud Nine Wine for us.”

Keenie grinned, “I’m in!”

“Ooh, ooh!” Collin beamed, light purple eyes shining, pushing slightly in front of Keenie. “I can bring angel food cake and God-opoly! Or if you’re into cards, I have the classic Go Ichthys!” Then he said in a sing-song voice, “We could even do a sleepover!”

He looked at Keenie and blushed with a wink. The yellow winged sheep merely raised an eyebrow at his ridiculousness. Just then…

“Yeeeaaahh no! No, no, no.”

“Oh no!” Rachel groaned at the familiar voice, looking off to the side. “Deerie’s coming back!”

“Gotta look prompt, look prompt!” Bea exclaimed, going into a quick salute.

“Oh, her?” Keenie rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Naysayer doe-doe deer is just jealous of our many accomplishments.”

“She should write in her records, ‘C.H.E.R.U.B. saves mortals again, kicks the divine derriere of patronizing Deerie,’” Cletus said.

The other cherubs snickered.

“Rachel!” Deerie called. “Be sure you’re doing your rounds and not talking to those trouble-making wannabe sheep! Our reports must be perfect as usual. Wouldn’t want anyone, especially me to notice any slacking off, hehehehe!”

“Ahhh, we gotta go!” Rachel cried, her eyes wide. “Don’t want to make our other friend mad. Can you make it later? Saturday?”

“Saturday’s a holy day!” Collin said.

“Only for Jews,” Cletus said. “Sunday’s our holy day.”

“Sure it wasn’t Friday?”

“Collin…”

“We’ll do a sun-check,” Cletus replied.

“Don’t you mean rain check?” Collin asked.

Keenie slapped Collin in the face a few times as hearts briefly appeared in his eyes.

“May God bless you all! Goodbye!” Rachel called before the screen went blank.

The office was silent once more.

“That was…interesting,” Collin said, straightening his white bow tie. “Anyone wanna listen to my ‘Human Happiness Should Take Priority Over Our Material Benefits’ speech?”

“Get back to work, sheep!” Cletus and Keenie bellowed in response.

“O-okay…” Collin stuttered, sitting at the desk and rummaging through the last of the paperwork stacks.

“Don’t forget, we film our new commercial tomorrow,” said Cletus. “On Earth at 7:00AM sharp. Be prepared to sing our jingle.”

“And try not to get mauled by wild animals,” Keenie added.

Collin groaned, his head banging against the desk.

#cherub #helluvaboss #cletus #keenie #collin

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 167 prt 1

167

Having Coran come, both Lance and Curtis were now asleep on the sofa. With a little quintessence manipulation, Curtis was asleep in moments, Coran feeling it the best option in light of his episode during the night. Lance’s quintessence had been manipulated too, though Coran had done that for pain reasons. Massaging Lance’s lower back, the sounds the vampire made verged on pornographic as the pain was eased leaving Lance falling asleep naturally against him. Keith cuddling him close, knowing he was going to be sad about Curtis leaving with Shiro and Coran after what Lance would deem a short visit. It was enough to make a man’s head ache, though that might also be due to a lack of sleep and paint fumes from getting a bit carried away with his brother and their quest for perfectly painted walls.

Sitting on the coffee table, Shiro had his head in his hands. Matt hadn’t teased him at all, and without Matt’s teasing things felt tense. Keith wished he knew how to break the tension, yet he also knew Shiro might just snap if one of them tried to. Rieva had gone for a run to work off her anger over the situation. Like him, she wasn’t so much mad at Curtis, just more shocked none of them had heard him make such a mess. The blood had stained, ruining Lance’s kitchen table. Lance assured him it’d happened before and he’d take care of it, but they wouldn’t have to take care of it if the demon wasn’t so close to the surface thanks to fucking Honerva. She was just the gift that kept on giving, even from the grave.

Curtis blamed himself entirely, yet remembered nothing about being in the kitchen and destroying anything. Krolia had it from Lance, but everything in the fridge had been coated with blood, the only things surviving were the things inside the containers. Forgetting that she’d made Lance a cup of tea, his boyfriend was spared as Keith’s caffeine deprived brain had him scull back the tea. It wasn’t until he’d drained the mug that he found it was both tea and salt had been added instead of sugar. His mother needed reading lessons from what he could tell. The sugar lived in the sugar canister that clearly read “Sugar”. She would have had to move away from the sugar to find the cooking salt in the spice rack. Keith couldn’t be completely angry at her. She’d totally stepped up. Calmly they’d cleaned the kitchen to as close to Lance’s standards as they could get it, happily pottering around in a way that reminded him of Mami. When he thought like that, it only made sense that Lance would turn to her for maternal comfort. Part of him absolutely hated cleaning up Curtis’s mess, but for him to be there doing it really did show him that Lance could turn to him and that’s all he wanted.

“We should leave”

Shiro’s words hurt. His brother sounded defeated. Manipulating Curtis’s quintessence had been at Curtis’s request. The man didn’t trust himself to be awake, though Lance kept trying to tell him that these things happen. Matt backed him up over how easy it was to let your ego slip and do something you didn’t mean to, but for Curtis it seemed to be the ultimate betrayal to ever do anything against Lance. Lance hadn’t had the best start with Curtis, they both thought the other one hated them and Keith clearly remembered how upset that made his boyfriend. Now the pair were as thick as thieves. They’d both tried to protect each other in an impossible situation. A situation he still hadn’t brought any closer to a resolution for Lance as he still hadn’t let him go to the house.

Maybe it was the time with him mum spent cleaning, but it stirred up the memory of his first kill. He’d wanted to go back. He’d forgotten about it seeing how many times he’d had to kill since. Or maybe it was the way Lance looked at his kitchen once it’d been cleaned, relief like a burden lifted making his boyfriend smile.

“I think that is a very good idea number one. To think the demon would act so violently in the presence of kin. Had I known, I would have come myself with you”

Keith didn’t get the “kin” bit. Was it because demons came from hell and Lance had a close connection with the darkness and death? Sighing to himself more than anything, he replied

“You didn’t. None of us did. Look, Lance gets it, and if he wasn’t pregnant I would be okay with you guys staying... but when I think about him hurting Lance I can’t. Not just because of Lance and our twins, but because Curtis would never forgive himself. I’m sorry, Shiro. You’ve been so patient with Lance...”

“I get it. I wouldn’t want a demon around my pregnant boyfriend either”

Shiro sounded bitter, Keith’s heart hurting a fresh for his brother

“It’s not... you guys are never not welcome here. Curtis isn’t in a good place mentally and I don’t want him going through something worse. Coran, will the summoning still happen?”

“Three days time. I’ve cleared the lowest level of VOLTRON. The seals and charms are in place, yet there’s an ingredient or two that are still brewing”

“Can we be there?”

Coran shook his head

“I’m sorry. The only ones allowed in the chamber will be Allura, myself, Curtis and Shiro”

His brother hadn’t told him that bit

“Shiro?”

“He will anchor Curtis’s soul to the realm as the demon is summoned. For someone like you and Lance to be there would upset your bonds with each other. You may stay on an upper floor during the summoning, but I cannot allow you down to that level”

“Is that because you keep saying Lance and I are soulmates?”

“Yes. Your souls are so tightly linked it is very remarkable. I do not take manipulating his quintessence today lightly. Even though it alleviated his pain, there is a still a slight disturbance. You surely noticed the physical changes you have gone through by his side”

“The physical?”

“Increased stamina. Overly protective. You notice his scent that others would miss. The love you share is woven down to the base of your very being. All of you are remarkably connected with your quintessence. Even you Shiro. The demon’s own quintessence is leaking freely. We will grasp it by this quintessence and pull it into our plain before banishment to the demon realm”

Hang on

“Is it safe to do that? Won’t Shiro be hurt?”

Coran huffed, hand coming up to brush his long orange hair back from his face with a smirk

“A low level demon holds nothing against a fae”

Did Coran just totally brag about being a fae? Keith didn’t know what to say about that. Coran was cooky and hooky, but all he ever bragged about was Allura and Lance... and his adventures in his youth

“No need to stare, number two! We’ll get this pesky demon dealt with, then start planning the wedding!”

“Who’s wedding? What?”

“Shiro’s and Curtis’s of course! Now, we really should leave. I estimate Curtis won’t rouse for several more hours, plenty of time to get located in VOLTRON, all nice and snug as a bug. Oh, I have something for Lance the next time you two pop in!”

Coran stated Shiro’s sudden up coming wedding with such certainty that Shiro gaped at him. Keith felt like saying “Welcome to the club”, where all their friends were off in la-la land and people suddenly got married after ridiculously short spans dating. Instead the hunter carefully shook Lance’s shoulder

“Babe, Shiro and Curtis are leaving. You wanna say bye, right?”

Lance nodded as he yawned. His boyfriend tangling himself in the blanket as he moved suddenly to hug Shiro, half falling off the sofa as he did. Sucking his lips in, Keith bit the top one lightly to keep from laughing as Lance all but climbed up Shiro’s legs before wrapping his arms around his waist. Shiro’s expression was a kind of resigned sigh if a sigh could be an expression

“Lance?”

“He’ll be alright... I’m not mad at him, but if you need anything you better call me or I’m going to be sad”

Shiro’s moves were jerky as he placed his hand on Lance’s shoulder

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t you dare apologise. He didn’t mean to and I won’t have anyone saying he did on purpose. We’re a pack and our pack mate just needs a little more attention right now”

Shiro tilted his head, Keith snorting at his brother who seemed a few moments behind as his brain short circuited over “wedding”

“He means we’re family. And family rely on each other. He’s right though. If you don’t ask for help or call me, I’m throwing all your bobble heads out”

That got Shiro kicked into gear. Sliding his hand down, his brother leaned forward to hug Lance the best he could

“Thank you”

“Curtis is “Dude-bro” for life. So are you. I wish you guys could have stayed longer, but right now Curtis can’t handle the stress and paranoia. Make sure you tell him I won’t watch any of our shows without him. We’re going to have a marathon once that demon fucks off”

Shiro chuckled

“I’ll be sure to”

“And make sure he knows that I’m not mad. I know I told him and I’ll keep telling him, but it’s really important you remind him that none of us are. I know from personal experience”

“I’ll make sure he knows”

“And make sure you eat. And shower. And sleep. And call Keith. Like three times a day”

Lance was getting bossy in all the right ways. His tone taking on the tone he usually used when scolding them for their misbehaviour

“I will. You make sure you get some rest”

“I’m gonna. Gonna make Keith take a nap too. I want to work on the nursery with you guys properly... and get photos of uncle Shiro hard at work”

“Sounds good, kiddo. We’ll see you in a few days”

“I really wish you didn’t have to go”

“I know. Next time we’ll stay longer”

“Good. Okay, babe, I think I’m stuck between your brother’s legs”

That wasn’t happening. Lance was his boyfriend and he wasn’t sharing. Shuffling forward on the sofa, Keith pulled on Lance’s shoulders, Lance letting himself be pulled up as he put a little vampire strength in it, winding up in Keith’s lap suddenly. Leaning back, Lance sighed at him

“Sorry. My strength is playing up again”

“Don’t be sorry. Aren’t you going to say goodbye to the others?”

“Yeah. Thanks for coming out Coran, and Krolia, thanks for helping with the kitchen. You’re welcome to come stay any time you want to”

“Don’t tell her that, she might never leave”

Lance giggled at him. His boyfriend was definitely the wrong side of sleepy

“That’s okay with me. She’s part of our pack too. And so’s Coran”

Patting Lance’s leg, Keith felt he should probably be polite

“I know. Let me up and I’ll show them to the door”

“No need, number two. We’ll see ourselves out. Make sure you two take it easy. You’ll be back at work next week, and I’m afraid you’ll have to hit the ground running”

Keith groaned deeply. Work. Ugh. Lance shook his head at him

“None of that. I’m proud of you, babe. The world needs a hot grizzled manly hunter out there”

With his heart going stupid, Keith blushed hard. Mouth opening and closing as he didn’t know what to say. He was having a thought and having a thought that meant having to do a thing that wasn’t doing the do. He just knew it felt like the right thing to do... but first he needed to do the sleep.

“Baaaaabe. Babe, wake up...”

Scrunching his eyes tightly closed, Keith tried not to be awake. He’d been awake with his eyes closed for a little while now. Hand resting on Lance’s belly as his boyfriend kissed his cheek. Tomorrow was the doing day. Feeling Lance’s hand slide down to his underwear, being awake didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore. Wrapping his arm around Lance, he hugged his boyfriend close, Lance laughing softly at him

“Having fun?”

“Mmm... I want to suck your dick. But only if you’re down for that”

“I think I’m up for that”

They’d both felt down with Shiro, Curtis, Krolia, and Coran leaving. Rieva apologised for her aggression, but the mood kind of felt somber all day. Writing off the day they’d gotten pizza from Sal’s before both couples curled up in the living room for some mindless TV in the middle of the night. The following morning Lance was on the phone to Hunk when Keith finally forced himself out of bed. Somehow the pair had managed to spend the last two hours on the phone. Hunk had everything explained to him, Lance’s mood much better for it. Their walking ray of sunshine had brought comfort food, the day spent having some seriously serious gaming in which Lance took no prisoners murdering zombies, while Keith seemed to only get himself murdered in game. Keith knew most of it was for his benefit, seeing he really couldn’t stop thinking about Shiro, and appreciated the thought. Thinking about what he had planned, Keith had coaxed Lance to bed early, now he seemed to be paying the price.

Smiling at him, Lance moved to straddle his waist. Normally he was the one initiating things, when Lance wasn’t in heat, but Lance could be a horny little shit and he loved when he was. God. This was most definitely the best way to wake up. Moving his hands to his boyfriend’s hips, Lance leaned down to kiss him, Keith having to lean up thanks to his boyfriend’s belly. Deciding three quick pecks were enough, his boyfriend drew back with a smirk. Running his finger down Keith’s chest, Lance pouted at him

“Babe, if I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against me?”

“I don’t know... Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got fine written all over you”

“I hope you know CPR, you’re taking my breath away”

“Babe, you’re already dead”

Lance sighed as he shook his head, that pout coming back

“Here I was trying to be alluring. Now you’re saying I’m a stiff with a stiffy?”

“Yep... but your arse is seriously out of this world”

“Keep that up and you’re going the right way for a spanked bottom, Keith Kogane”

Raising an eyebrow, he could kind of support that

“Do you promise?”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Suck me off?”

“Maybe I’ll eat you out... take my time to enjoy this meal beneath me”

“Oh, so now I’m a snack?”

“I’ll snack on you!”

Leaning down, Lance bared his fangs. Keith laughing as his boyfriend pretended to be a mindless vampire, nomming at thin air

“Babe! Babe... I thought you wanted to be sexy”

Pulling back, Lance nodded at him. Keith trying to compose himself

“I do. I’ve wanted to do this for a while now”

“What?”

“This. Us. You beneath me...”

Oh. Keith blinked, not sure he was getting what Lance wasn’t saying. Did his boyfriend want to fuck him and was settling with sucking him off? Or was Lance content with sucking him off? He didn’t bottom because he didn’t enjoy the sensation. Lance was pretty content bottoming... more than content, yet he also knew his boyfriend had other needs. Not to just be fucked but to be the one doing the fucking. That’s why the pocket pussy lived within hands reach. It was their compromise. Silently agreed upon to help Lance cope with his vampire ego’s desire to be on top.

“Babe, there’s no need to look so confused. If you’re not into it, that’s fine”

“No. No... I’m definitely into it, and I’d like to be in you... I just... Do you want me to do anything?”

His words failed to say what he wanted them to say

“I want to touch you. That’s what I want”

“But what about you?”

“I want tonight to be about you. I want you to fall apart and I want to taste you...”

Keith liked when pleasure was a two way street. Sometimes it was about just scratching that itch, yet even then they never left each other wanting. He didn’t feel ashamed in loving Lance, nor ashamed of loving Lance. Unlike Coran he couldn’t believe in soulmates. But he did believe that Lance was the only one he wanted for the rest of his life. And shit if his brain power hadn’t shorted out at his boyfriend’s words

“I better not keep you waiting then”

“Thanks for the meal!”

His boyfriend was an idiot.

His boyfriend was an idiot with a very skilled mouth... and Keith was an idiot lost to his skills. Tearing off Keith’s underwear, literally, Lance hooked his legs over his shoulders and buried himself between them without a moments hesitation. Lance might be a good God fearing vampire, but the things he did were utterly sinful. Starting off by sucking him, Keith moaned as Lance hollowed his cheeks, taking him right to the base like he was born to. His lover’s hands on his legs, lulling him into total bliss before his eyes were shooting wide at the thumb rubbing against his opening. Chuckling around his dick, his boyfriend pulled off leaving a trail of saliva and precum the tip of Keith erection to Lance’s perfect little lips

“Relax for me, baby. I’m going to eat you out”

That didn’t require a thumb there. For a moment Keith wondered if he should maybe be ashamed with his legs hanging open, leaving everything on display... but this was Lance, who’d seen it all before. With a single stiff nod of permission, his boyfriend smiled down at him

“Don’t worry, babe. I’m going to eat you out then suck you off for dessert. You taste so fucking good... just relax for me and let me take care of you... look at you... you’re so damn beautiful, babe”

Fisting their sheets, Keith lost it. The heat pooled in his belly was bordering painful. His dick dribbling precum that pooled at the bend of his body. Lance’s tongue working the taunt rim of his opening, no where he ever expected to enjoy a tongue so much. The pleasure building so badly that he knew a single touch against his straining erection would have him coming apart. This was what Lance did to him. He drew out all his deepest carnal desires and stripped his human form to that of the hungry beast inside. Damn... that tongue... he didn’t care that Lance’s teeth would occasionally press against his skin when that tongue was magical

“Babe... fuck... I want to come”

The hunger in Lance’s eyes sent a shiver down his spine as his boyfriend pulled back

“You can come any time you want”

He was wired too, but that wiring wasn’t quite there with being eaten out tonight. Underneath the fog in his brain, he kept thinking about Lance’s needs. His wishes... how maybe if his tongue felt so fucking good that he could cry, then maybe something bigger wouldn’t be bad

“I want you...”

“You want me to do what?”

“Touch me more...”

Lance nodded, moving Keith’s legs apart a little more before sinking his mouth back over Keith’s dick. Keith’s hand shot to grab Lance by the hair. The muscles of his inside thighs and stomach jumping and twitching as he tried not to come

“Not like that... in me... I want to... try”

Lance backed off completely. Keith’s orgasm still so damn close that it hurt, but his boyfriend’s behaviour had him confused. Did Lance not want to try... that?

“Babe?”

“Sorry... I’m... you want to...?”

“I know you get urges too...”

Those were the wrong words. Lance immediately frowning at him. Why did his scent have to be damn addictive? And so very telling?

“I want to make you feel good... I don’t want you forcing yourself because you some how think I want it”

“It’s not that... I think I want to try that again with you”

Lance didn’t seem convinced. Running his hands down Keith’s thighs, the movement nearly pushed him to coming

“Not tonight. Tonight is about you”

“I think...”

“No more thinking. Let me make you come”

“But...”

“I know what you like, babe. Let me make you come in my mouth”

Shifting back, Lance lifted his legs again, sinking down around Keith’s erection with his eyes closed. He only got as far as drawing back before Keith was coming. Orgasm smashing through him as his toes curled as he grunted in pleasure.

Sucking him dry, Lance used his tongue to make sure he was completely clean before lowering his shaking legs. Climbing up to slump beside him, Keith’s chest heaved as he caught his breath, totally ready for a nap now. Staring at the ceiling, his left hand came up rest on his chest, heart racing like he’d run a marathon

“Shit... that... mouth of yours...”

Lance snorted at him, his baby bump pressing against the hunter’s arm. His bump... he loved that bump

“Feel good?”

“Criminally”

Lance sighed lightly as he kissed Keith’s shoulder

“I love you. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met”

Moving his arm, Keith wasn’t sure what he was trying to do with it seeing it was trapped against him. His hand brushed over Lance’s tenting sweats, but his boyfriend didn’t react

“Lay back...”

“‘Nah, I’m okay like this”

Lance was turning down a blow job? Not to brag but his boyfriend loved his blow jobs

“Babe...?”

“Not tonight. Tonight I wanted to touch you”

“Maybe I want to touch you?”

“It’s fine. I want to snuggle with you”

Okay. He could snuggle... he could also down a litre of water right about now. He was thirsty as heck

“I’m thirsty... I don’t know if my legs are going to hold me up”

“I can get you some water... I don’t mind. Actually, hold on and I’ll be right back”

Walking around with an erection didn’t feel great. Keith had plenty of experience with that... as Lance moved away from him, Keith propped himself up. He didn’t want to force Lance into anything, but he didn’t know why he didn’t want him to touch him too. His lover hadn’t even taken his pants off. Even when Keith’s lavished attention on Lance’s body, his boyfriend then insisted on lavishing him as much in return... unless he’d fallen asleep right after coming. Now he had a conundrum and no dust bunnies to run the wheel until a logical thought was churned out.

Coming back to bed, Lance smiled at him as he passed him the glass of water. Keith had heard the toilet flush, his boyfriend never got a break from having to pee

“Thanks, babe”

“You’re welcome”

Leaning over, Lance kissed his forehead. Keith very much naked on display, yet Lance wasn’t looking. Getting up from the side of the bed, his boyfriend walked around, rather than simply climbing over him to get to his side. Pulling the covers up, he left Keith to cool. Still heated and sweaty from being blown into the next dimension. Wriggling himself into place, Lance wrapped his arm around him.

Placing the glass on the bedside table, Keith slid down into his spot, kissing the top of Lance’s head

“You good, babe?”

“Mhmm... brushed my teeth”

Lance tilted his head up, blowing across Keith’s face, before nuzzling into his chest

“See, minty fresh”

“I can tell... you sure you’re okay?”

“Mhmm...”

Keith tried to let it slide, but he couldn’t

“Babe... why didn’t you want to do me?”

Lance sighed at him, fingers sliding up to sit lightly curled on Keith’s stomach

“I wanted to make you feel good. You don’t like bottoming and that’s okay”

“But I wanted to try it”

“And I wanted to focus on making you feel good... did I not make you feel good?”

Shit. Abort. Things were going sideways

“No. No, babe. It felt very very good. It felt so good that I thought maybe I wouldn’t mind something bigger”

“Mmm, I know one finger is your limit... I don’t mind”

“But you didn’t want me to...”

“Keith, I love you. I love you and I’m sleepy. I wanted to touch you. I wanted to make you feel every bit as loved as you are”

“But I love sucking your dick”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncestupidtwicestupid #ashratherose

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zahneundklauen-retired · 4 years

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Mutually Assured Destruction || Mina and Alcher

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable and @zahneundklauen SUMMARY: A fated encounter in the woods leads to a fight for life. CONTENT: Gore, Blood

The hazy grip on her mind had not lifted since she’d exited the fog but a week ago. Alcher’s mind was still trying to process what she had seen, what she had heard, what she had felt. It shook her so thoroughly to her core she had holed herself up in her room for days afterward and refused to come out. Stark had stayed thoroughly by her side, despite his inherent need to run and be free. He would not leave, curled up on the bed next to her, whining softly each time she moved, as if the sound of his cries would stir her from her spot. She had lost more than herself in that fog, in the weeks before that had all happened. Her pack, her friends-- her sense of direction in life. She’d always known what her life was for, what her duty in life was, her destiny. But it was gone now, floating off in the ether, just like her mind.

But tonight was the full moon, and whether she wanted to or not, she needed to leave her home. She could not put Stark or any of the creatures that lived here in danger, she would not. And so it was with a hefty burden that she lifted herself from her bed and hooked on her leg and hobbled out of the room, the cast around her flesh leg dirty, grimy and black with unwashed soot. It would break when she transformed, but she supposed that mattered little right now. If at all. Perhaps it was time for it to come off. Zinnia could make her another, if she needed, anyway. Thoughts of the other woman warmed her chest just enough to make leaving Stark alone despite his crying bearable. She closed the door behind him and headed off towards the forest, limping her way along.

When she found a spot she deemed secluded enough, she sat in the middle of the clearing of trees and began to undress herself slowly, painfully, moving with rigid motions that did not mirror her ferocity anymore than her wincing. A familiar scent drifted into the outcrop and she paused, not bothering to look around. Though the sun still sat on the horizon, not quite ready to set, the trees blocked much of its light. There was no point looking around when she could not see. “Faery child,” she called lightly, remembering the musky-sweet scent of her seawater skin and metal accessories. “Have you come to fulfill your promise?”

There was an itch crawling under Mina’s skin that she couldn’t fix, no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn’t go to the lake, a problem she hadn’t figured out how to fix. She’d been without going into her source of water for far longer than this, but something would have to give, and soon. She spent most of the time that she wasn’t in class in the tub, as submerged as she could be, only to get out a few hours later to repeat the process. Panic was setting in, thick and visceral. And through it all, she was haunted by images of her father, his torso nothing more than ragged flesh, his blood spittle on her face as he called out for vengeance, redemption, duty. She must do her duty. She must do her duty. If she couldn’t uphold her promise to him, then at least she could give him this.

So, as the full moon came, Mina prepared herself, her skin on fire with nervous energy. She dressed herself for the chill, a hood over her face and boots fit for the terrain. She was prepared for a fight, a battle, a war, a set of throwing knives strapped to her thigh and a long, wicked silver dagger she’d found in her father’s car when she’d had to take him out of town. For the first time in the many years she’d gone out to hunt, she didn’t have any sort of iron on her, though the fresh burns on her skin from a full day’s practice probably meant that the smell clung to her still. It felt odd, leaving her home without iron, but tonight wasn’t about Fae. Tonight was about a wolf with golden eyes and blood, so much blood, Mina’s father’s blood, on her skin.

Mina was careful as she stalked the woods, remembering all the wolfhunts she’d been on in her youth. Now, though, she was an active participant, not just a child watching the adults at work. She knew she’d have to be careful; Ariana could be out here, and Mina refused to harm her friend, even if she was so similar to the creature that killed her father. There was only one wolf that Mina was hunting, and it was by pure accident that she found her. As the woman called out, Mina stepped forward, one hand tightening on the hilt of the silver dagger as the other reached into the pouch on her thigh for a throwing knife. “I told you that the next time I saw you, I wouldn’t let you walk away.” She was shaking, just a bit.

Rising stiffly, Alcher turned to look the fae child in the eyes. She could feel her tension, her anxiety-- it hung thick in the air, almost something palpable. Alcher wanted to reach out and squeeze it, but she was glad she could make this child feel that fear just on sight, narrowing her eyes. She was holding a knife, silver. Alcher could smell it and it made her face scrunch. So she had come here to kill her. Eyes observed the other hand, moving slowly towards a pouch. “I see you’ve come prepared,” she said, beginning to crouch. She could not change before whatever blades were thrown her way, but she could protect her vital parts from them as she did. The little fae would not be able to react quickly enough to a lunge, and if she angled herself right, the silver blade she wielded would not find any vital place to dig into. She looked up at her, eyes flashing. “Was it me you were looking for? Oh, how you should be so lucky,” she mumbled, planting her hands on the ground. She could feel the shift coming. “Very well. If that’s what you’ve come for, then I shall keep my word as well.” Took in a deep breath. “I will send you to your father.” And let the shift begin.

In twenty-four years, Mina had never felt like this. Even at her lowest, even at the moment where she’d thought she’d been the most dedicated to her dad’s cause, she’d never hated another supernatural like she hated the monster in front of her. And Mina hated her. She hated her so, so much. Even if the thought of hating her, hating anyone, turned Mina’s stomach. If she told herself that it was a fact over and over, it’d stop being a lie and start being a fact. She did not dare open her mouth, didn’t dare to grace the wolf with a reply. It had nothing to do with the way she felt her teeth sharpen, the way her nails wanted to shift and change into claws. She couldn’t be a Fae right now. She couldn’t. Mina had to be a hunter, and hunters weren’t like that. Instead, she kept herself at a distance from the monster in front of her as she watched the shift take hold. While the wolf was vulnerable, Mina threw a knife, though she didn’t aim to kill. The other woman was already injured; it was evident in the way she moved. If Mina played this smart, she might be able to do this quickly and without much damage to herself. She willed herself as still as she could, the nervous energy pumping through her making it a bit hard as she stayed on the balls of her feet, but she was ready to dodge and jump away should the wolf charge at her. She readied another knife, just in case.

The pain of the change overwrote the pain of the single blade the hunter threw. It lodged into her shoulder, but Alcher did not mind it. The wolf was here. It bristled with anger and rage, blood already tinting the air. Hands turned to claws, her claws tearing through the cast, the remnants of the plaster still clinging to her leg. As it stretch and the bone shifted, she howled in pain, but used that to fuel her march forward. Ripped the knife from her shoulder with sharp teeth and threw it aside, before declaring her hunt with a loud, angry roar. The beast tore across the clearing ground at the fae child, gold eyes glaring just as bright as the day they had killed the child’s father.

“Scheiße!” Mina snarled, her teeth bared as she dived out of the way of the charging werewolf. She tucked into a roll and got back to her feet as quickly as she could. Mina aimed another throwing knife at the leg with plaster hanging off of it, recalling the pain it seemed to cause the wolf as her transformation had started. She couldn’t let the pain she was causing get to her, though knowing what she was doing almost made her want to stop. Almost. Almost. She couldn’t though, couldn’t stop the fight that she’d so desperately started. She had to avenge her dad. That’s what her duty was in this moment, not protecting people or looking for kindness. It was to rid this place of a monster, a killer, for her dad. She could do that, at the very least. She would. She stood on the balls of her feet, awaiting a chance to move. “Come at me, then!”

The wolf growled, low and guttural, as teeth snatched around air and claws dug into dirt and dead leaves. The fae was quick, but she was quicker. Another blade flew her way, but she was fast enough, now, to move out of its way as it whizzed by her leg. The shift had helped it almost heal completely, the full moon energizing her. Snapping jaws in Mina’s direction, the wolf turned, and began circling her, watching her bounce on her heels. Waiting for the next move. But the fae stayed put, waiting, as well, for an opening. The wolf decided she would act first, then. She swiped a claw in front of herself, splashing up dirt and leaves, obscuring the fae’s vision, before lunging straight through, this time head ducked, ready to ram the full force of her body into the small fae.

Trying to blink dirt out of her eyes, Mina was unprepared for the weight of the wolf as she crashed into her. She forced herself limp, trying not to tense up in such a way that she would end up in more pain. The impact to the ground knocked the breath out of her, and she struggled to find it. However, the proximity to the wolf and her gnashing teeth had an advantage. She kicked out at the wolf’s hind leg and butted the hilt of her dagger into the wolf’s nose, trying to get the beast off of her. She wasn’t going down this easy. She wasn’t. She may have been Fae, but she was her father’s daughter, and-- and that meant something, dammit. She had to make it mean something.

The wolf howled in pain as foot connected with still healing bone. The hilt of the fae’s dagger smacked into her nose and she stepped off, shaking her head widely, disoriented for just a moment. She could taste blood, but it was not sweet. It was her own. Anger roiled through her limbs like dirt and lead and she erased the pain from her mind, used it as her focus. This time, she went for the fae’s legs, teeth ready to gnash flesh and bone and rend her as limp as she was herself. She had told the fae that next time they met, she would not hold back. And this time, she would not. Not for her, not for the hunter boy she’d spared in the forest. Not for her father. Teeth went to close around her ankle, paws reaching out to hold the rest of her down. Rip and tear, the voice inside her said. Rip and tear.

The pain was excruciating, and Mina screamed as it radiated out from her leg. She was dizzy from it, sick with it, her body sick from being unable to go in the lake and still a bit battered from her encounter with the Sandman. But the pain had to be secondary to everything else. Baring her own sharp teeth at the wolf, Mina no longer held back, lashing out with the silver dagger, looking for anything she could hit, aiming for the mouth. She needed to free her leg, needed to be able to get up, to move. Mina was not human. It was a fact. A hated fact, but still a fact. She could use it to her advantage. There was no more playing this smart as she felt scales break out against her skin, finger turning to claws. So she couldn’t do this as a human. She could still do this as a hunter, and she’d always been taught to take advantage of her abilities. With her hand that was free of the knife, Mina dug her claws into one of the paws that held her down.

Pain radiated through The wolf’s face as the knife jabbed into it. It burned and tore but she held on as much as possible to the fae’s ankle, even as scales rippled across her skin and came loose in her mouth. Nails dug into her paw. She shuddered, yanking it away, feeling them tear the flesh straight from her skin, before thrusting her head, teeth still around the fae’s ankle, and letting go to toss her as hard as she could towards the rocky cliff. Stumbling for a moment, the wolf tried to right itself, vision fading quickly, black eating away at the edges of her vision. Smell, sound would have to guide her. Turned in the direction of the rustling, the smell of sweet blood. She righted herself, and charged.

Honestly, relief and pure fear warred inside Mina as she was flung from the wolf’s mouth. Relief because her leg was finally free. Fear because she was so close to falling. She slid, her claws desperately trying to find purchase on the ground. She dropped the dagger in an attempt to get more leverage, but she still ended up barely hanging on. Her good foot scraped for something to stand on, but it was no use. None. The waters below were tumultuous, and Mina could smell the salt coming from it. It would kill her if she fell in. There was a wolf charging at her. That would kill her, too. In a split second, Mina regretted everything. She regretted seeking out this wolf, she regretted asking her dad to wait for her outside of town, she regretted not fulfilling her promise when she was about to die anyway. She was about to die anyway. Her good foot found something to push up against. Mina hoisted herself up and stared the wolf in the eyes. Then, when the wolf got close enough, Mina allowed herself to be pushed over the edge. But she took the wolf with her.

Alcher barreled into the fae. Good. This would be the end of that, then, wouldn’t it. She would watch the fae tumble down into the waters below and never surface again. Except, that’s not what happened. Claws dug into her sides, and suddenly the wolf was tumbling over the cliff, too. They tumbled, flipped. Limbs askew, her side slammed into the rocks. Then her back, then her head. She didn’t have a lot of time to think about much, so she thought about what she might regret. Letting her family die, failing them. Letting that hunter go. Perhaps even killing Cain. She could still remember what he smelled like, how he felt. The softness of her fur. The calmness of his voice. She missed him. No...she missed what he could have given her, been to her. She missed the opportunity to have a family. To have a pack again. To have a love. She regretted all these things, but she was not sure she regretted this. Tears welled in her eyes, mixing with blood. Then both of them hit water and sunk below the waves.

#chatzy #chatzy: mina #wickedswriting #mutually assured destruction #mina #short but sweet #and soft #and fine #;);)));))

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theshadowofme · 3 years

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Well, it’s Bell’s Let’sTalk day, the day where we are suppose to talk about mental health and encourage people to come forward and seek help if needed. It is also a time to share our own stories about our battles with mental health. Today, I will share some more of my journey.

Well, I started my journey into policing back in 2004. Graduated from Depot, and was posted to Northeastern BC. This is where I learned policing, an oilfield town where the government employees were on the low end of the pay scale. When people asked me what policing an oil town was like, I always would say, “it was a great place to learn.” And it truly was. As a new officer, you got exposed to everything. Which was also a negative, as you got exposed to EVERYTHING.

My final year there was my first exposure to an in custody death in the summer of 2007. We received a complaint of a person acting erratically and attempting to smash windows. The long and the short of it, upon arrest, involving five officers, the person went into medical distress, ultimately passing away at the local hospital. From this, I got to be the subject of an investigation, and experience a Coroners Inquest. The outcome of the inquest was that the person passed away from excited delirium, something at that point in time, officers were not trained how to deal with people suspected of suffering from excited delirium.

Shortly after these events, I transferred to my next post, a three person post in the interior of BC. Two weeks after trasferring to this post, the organization changed their policy on on call and what was suppose to be only on call between shifts every once in awhile changed to being on call for probably 5 out of every 7 days of a week. Ultimately I was on call for three months straight at one point. I know that there are members that have gone longer, but this was my reality at the time. Unable to leave town, even when I wasn’t scheduled to be on shift as I was on call for the member that was working that day. Between dealing with no down time and having not processed having a person dying in custody, I started a downward spiral to the lowest point I have ever been in my life. At this point there was no talking about trauma in the organization or PTSD. I still remember the part of training where the mental health discussion was “you’ll have bad days, but you will get over them.”

At my lowest point I seriously contemplated suicide to the point that I had my pistol out one night at work wondering what it would be like. My life was so out of my control at that point that I felt that the only thing that I could control was whether I lived or died. Ultimately I did not do it, but at that point, I saw no other way out and just didn’t care anymore. A week later, I was off work as I couldn’t deal with the stress anymore. It is very disheartening as an officer when your supervisor takes away your service weapon and sends you home.

I started the process of recovery and was diagnosed with PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder. This started the journey of medications and treatments. Medications always seem to have interesting side effects for me. One I didn’t sleep, one my symptoms got worse, and one had other umm... side effects. Sleeping pills either didn’t work or made me into a drooling mess at their lowest dose. After six months I was deemed fit to return to work, which I did. After another year in that office, I transferred to Northwestern BC.

With my transfer to Northwestern BC, I made the vow to myself that I would talk about my experiences to the people I worked with to hopefully prevent anyone from going through what I did. Ultimately, by helping to remove the stigma within the office I worked, it helped others trust me to come to me with their problems and ask for help. I continued this through the rest of my career.

As I have written about in my previous posts, this lead to the week of hell. This time I was better able to read what my head and my body was telling me and deemed that once I was done two commitments I was going off again. Ultimately I was off for two months before I returned to work as I actually enjoyed my job there. Once back from being off, I transferred in the fall of that year to Southeastern BC, my current home. This also involved having a new family doctor.

After two years here, my doctor started to ask me if I wanted to be put off work due to all the things that were going on in my life. She just kept saying to me, “I don’t know how you keep going.” My psychiatrist was also saying the same thing to me as well. At this point, reading my own body and mental state, I was confident that I could continue on. I was able to continue this until another trauma event happened, followed shortly after by becoming the person in charge of the office that was short staffed. I fought through this until I wasn’t able to anymore. I decided that when I was driving to work in the morning and feeling like puking on the way that I shouldn’t be there as I was a liability to the public, my co-workers, and ultimately myself. As the person in charge, I didn’t have anyone to report to locally, so this time around, I locked up my own service weapon, turned the keys over to the exhibit clerk and called the district officer and advised them that they needed to have someone come and run the detachment. I have not returned to work since.

Approximately 5 years ago, I got really sick of being told I had a mental illness and started telling people I had an injury. Most people that I tell this to agree with me and it helps remove the stigma of the source of our problems. As it is Let’s Talk day, I will advise all three of my readers to talk about it. Whether you are suffering, or you see someone else suffering, talk, but remember, sometimes the best way to help someone isn’t by talking, but by listening. Or it could be as simple as giving a recommendation of a psychiatrist. Providing a ride to someone to their appointment because they aren’t able to at that point. So lets remove the stigma and tell our stories. Let the world know that we need the help and let our coworkers know that we are there for them. If you need to talk, PM me. If you already have my number, call me or text me. I would rather talk to you than talk about you at your funeral.

My song selection today is very appropriate as sung by JT and CS. Justin Timberlake and Chris Stapleton. I fell in love with it when I first heard it as it is very true, the greatest way to say something is to say nothing at all. This has so many meanings today. It could mean that when I was at my lowest, by not saying something, I was saying a lot. But coming out the other side, I decided to put myself in the middle as the song says. So without further ado, it is “Say Something.”

Cheers all, and remember, Let’s Talk About it.

#Spotify

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dc81600 · 4 years

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Groups Of Interest

File Overview: The Foundation is not the only group with an interest and investment in the paranormal and metaphysical. There are many other groups in existence who possess, use, or attempt to create SCP objects, either for their own personal gain or for the protection of mankind. Some are rival organizations, some are splinter groups of the Foundation, and some are trusted associates of the Foundation. In any case, it has been deemed necessary to create and distribute a brief on what agencies the Foundation knows about, and our stance towards them.

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Table of Contents

Alexylva University

Ambrose Restaurants

Anderson Robotics

Arcadia

Are We Cool Yet?

The Black Queen

The Chaos Insurgency

The Chicago Spirit

The Church of the Broken God

Church of the Second Hytoth

Deer College

Doctor Wondertainment

The Factory

The Fifth Church

Gamers Against Weed

The Global Occult Coalition (GOC)

GRU Division "P"

Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting

The Horizon Initiative

IJAMEA

Manna Charitable Foundation

Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.

"Nobody"

Office For The Reclamation of Islamic Artifacts (ORIA)

Oneiroi Collective

Parawatch

Prometheus Labs, Inc.

Sarkic Cults

The Serpent's Hand

Shark Punching Center

The Three Moons Initiative

Unusual Incidents Unit (UIU), Federal Bureau of Investigation

Wilson's Wildlife Solutions

Alexylva University

Overview: Very little is known about Alexylva University or its motives. Evidence appears to suggest that the organization exists in some sort of alternate universe in which Latin and Greek cultures maintain dominance at least over the Western Hemisphere; nothing to date is known about any other part of this world. All University-related objects have been found in the Mid-Southern United States, and more specifically in Tennessee, leading Foundation researchers to believe the University itself is located in that geographical area.

Many objects associated with the University (which is not believed to have built the objects) are recovered during postal transit via an agency known as "Phitransimun Combine" and accompanied by relevant paperwork, which has helped shed light on the objects and the place from which they came. To date, all that is known about the methods that transfer the objects is that the technology uses principles similar to that of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, a concept considered purely theoretical by contemporary science. A particular section of the University known as the Department of Natural Philosophy is considered responsible for the transferences, possibly without the knowledge or consent of the rest of the organization.

To see all documents tagged with alexylva, click here.

Ambrose Restaurants

Overview: Ambrose Restaurants is a large-scale chain of fine-dining eateries, located in various public locations across Earth along with several locations in anomalous or extra-dimensional locations of interest. These restaurants specialize in anomalous food and culinary practices, and vary widely in variation and style. Despite the scale of the Ambrose Restaurants chain, they are generally non-hostile and will instead flee from threats directed towards them.

Ambrose Restaurants is currently believed to be jointly owned by persons of interest "Chaz Ambrose" and "Marius", but due to lack of public appearances this is unconfirmed. Notably, several groups of interest have engaged in relations with Ambrose Restaurants, including Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. and Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting, though the extent with which they collaborate is unknown. As the Ambrose Restaurants chain continues to expand beyond anomalous markets, any new locations are to be shut down and valuable information on Ambrose Restaurants saved.

To see all documents tagged with ambrose-restaurant, click here.

Anderson Robotics

Overview: Based in the Pacific Northwest, Anderson Robotics first came to the Foundation’s attention in 2007 with the capture of SCP-1360. Lead by Vincent Anderson, and specializing in the sale of anomalous androids, robots, artificial intelligences, and cybernetics, Anderson Robotics has quickly gained a fair amount of traction in the realm of paratechnology. The group’s small size, remarkable espionage capabilities, and surprisingly large resource base has made apprehension of any Anderson employee difficult, with only a handful of Anderson products currently in the hands of the Foundation.

To see all documents tagged with anderson, click here.

Arcadia

Overview: Defined by its highest highs and lowest lows, Arcadia was a drug-fueled rampage through the video game industry. Their occult fixation led to the exploitation and damnation of their customers. After the video game crash of 1983, Arcadia entered an era of decline from which they still have not recovered.

Although it may not be the powerhouse it once was, the former members of Arcadia still live among the general population. The remnants of their empire can be found in thrift stores and at garage sales across America. They're still out there, snorting pentagrams of cocaine off joysticks to this day.

To see all documents tagged with arcadia, click here.

Are We Cool Yet?

Overview: A collective of anomalous artists, or anartists, members of Are We Cool Yet? are capable of either obtaining or producing anomalous objects and entities, and using them to create art installations. These installations are placed for maximum public exposure, and have been fatal to bystanders; the phrase "Are We Cool Yet?" is always present in some way.

To see all documents tagged with are-we-cool-yet, click here.

The Black Queen

Overview: Very little conclusive information has been recovered about the person of interest called the Black Queen. She claims the given name "Alison Chao", the name of the daughter of researcher Dr. ██████ Gears and ██████ ███ Chao before Gears' recruitment by the Foundation.

The Black Queen possesses unusual knowledge of Foundation structure and activities, and contained anomalies. The reason for this unusual knowledge has yet to be conclusively identified, but it appears to be gained partially through anomalous means (including the possibility of extra-universal information sources). She has repeatedly been able to breach Foundation security utilizing this information, in addition to classified anomalous means.

Conflicting reports exist of the Black Queen's activities and motivations (likely due to multiple individuals or deliberate counter-intelligence). Initial reports characterize her as malevolent, murderous, and destructive. Other reports characterize her as neutral or benevolent. All intelligence indicates her hostility towards the Foundation.

There are reports of the Black Queen's involvement with most major Groups of Interest known to the Foundation, along with several world governments. Unverified sources claim that she is the same individual as L.S. of the Serpent's Hand, and that L.S. stands for "Little Sister". The reason for this unusual close connection is possibly due to the Black Queen's use of the Wanderers' Library.

Intelligence indicates the presence of multiple other individuals also calling themselves "the Black Queen". The nature and origin of these individuals is inconclusive.

To see all documents tagged with black-queen, click here.

The Chaos Insurgency

Overview: The Chaos Insurgency is a splinter group of the Foundation, created by a rogue cell that went A.W.O.L. with several SCP objects in 1924. Since then, the Insurgency has become a major player on the world stage, using the anomalies that it obtains for its own benefit and to consolidate its global power base. The Insurgency not only deals in anomalies, but also in weapons running and intelligence gathering.

It makes use of authoritarian regimes in poor and developing countries, often using their populations in the same manner as the Foundation does D-Class personnel. It helps to maintain the extreme poverty and war that is suffered by these countries, so that it can continue its radical experimentation, easy conscription of forces, and lucrative business deals with various opposing factions.

Most of the anomalous objects possessed by the Insurgency are unknown. Among the most notable items are the "Staff of Hermes", an item capable of warping the physical and chemical properties of any matter it touches, and the "Bell of Entropy", an object that can cause a variety of destructive effects depending on where it is struck. Both of these objects were originally obtained at no small cost by the Foundation, and were stolen by the original founders of the Insurgency.

The SCP objects and other anomalies stolen from the Foundation typically possess high potential for direct utility, but the Insurgency has also made use of anomalies with less direct applications, such as SCP-884.

The main base of operations of the Insurgency is unknown, as are its current leaders. This organization is directly antagonistic to the Foundation, using deadly force to attempt to prevent Foundation containment of multiple anomalies. The Foundation has also been infiltrated by agents of the Insurgency in the past, resulting in the loss of valuable scientific data, theft of a number of anomalies, and deaths of personnel. Personnel are made to be aware of possible raids, terrorist action, and spies from the Insurgency, and are to notify their superiors about any activities from fellow personnel fitting the Insurgency behavioral profile.

To see all documents tagged with chaos-insurgency, click here.

The Chicago Spirit

Overview: During the early 20th century, the Chicago Spirit was the largest anomalous criminal organization in the Western hemisphere. Based in Chicago, Illinois, the group's influence extended to most major cities in the United States, particularly New York, Boston, New Orleans, and the extradimensional city-state of Three Portlands. The Spirit was known for recruiting individuals with anomalous capabilities, as well as creating and exploiting anomalous artifacts for use in its criminal activities.

The Spirit was founded in 1895 by Chicago resident and bar owner Richard D. Chappell, who was himself an anomalous individual. Despite years of efforts, the Foundation remained largely unsuccessful in its attempts to suppress Chappell's rise to power, due in part to its limited resources at the time as a result of an ongoing internal crisis. In January of 1919, the Foundation officially suspended all opposition against the Chicago Spirit to ensure their cooperation in preventing the spread of SCP-2680. Once allowed to operate unimpeded, the Spirit flourished into a nationwide syndicate and eventually became a driving force in the illegal distribution of alcohol during the Prohibition Era.

Thanks to the success of its bootlegging businesses, the Chicago Spirit continued to amass power over North American markets and politics throughout the 1920s, and the Foundation was eventually forced to terminate its truce with the group in order to prevent the complete dissolution of scientific normalcy. On July 11th 1933, Richard Chappell was finally apprehended by Foundation operatives following a raid on the Spirit's base of operations. In the absence of its leader, the group gradually destabilized, and most of its members and assets were acquired by other organizations. As of 1938, the Foundation officially considers the Chicago Spirit to be defunct.

However, rumors of the Spirit's continued survival have persisted in subsequent decades.

Various artifacts have been discovered which imply the group's involvement, though a conclusive link has yet to be proven. Furthermore, recent evidence has revealed the emergence of a new syndicate calling itself "The Chicago Spectre", which seems to operate primarily in anomalous underground communities. Investigation into this group and its connections to the original Spirit (if any) are ongoing.

To see all documents tagged with chicago-spirit, click here.

The Church of the Broken God

Overview: Shortly after the discovery and containment of SCP-882, several members of this "church" came forward and demanded the return of "the heart of god". Led by one Robert Bumaro, they are a group of zealots, believing many of the SCP items to be parts of a "god" that was broken after the creation of the universe. By restoring it to its whole state, they will also gain godhood. Since first contact, three other key components of the "god" have also been tentatively identified: SCP-217, SCP-271 and SCP-1139.

They are extremely hostile to Foundation operatives, branding them "heretics", and will attempt to kill operatives and break containment of SCP items. It is unknown how they are able to detect these items, but they have shown their ability to do so with frightening accuracy. In addition, they have shown a remarkable ability to resist the mental effects of SCP items, notably SCP-882 and its "mental lure".

The Church is viewed as a threat to both the SCP Foundation and mankind. Members are to be detained by force, or eliminated by whatever means deemed necessary by Foundation agents.

To see all documents tagged with broken-god, click here.

Church of the Second Hytoth

http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/groups-of-interest/2ndHytoth

Overview: The Church of the Second Hytoth is an occult organization of human and alien entities that adhere to the extraterrestrial Ortothan religion, aiming to aid a universal guardian deity ("Rakmou-leusan") in combat against extrauniversal threats (known as "Voruteut"). The central beliefs of the religion are that the current universe, the "Second Hytoth," was preceded by a different universe, which used to exist until it was consumed by an extrauniversal entity. A group of survivors fled to the newly created Second Hytoth, our reality, with seven of them choosing to ascend to godhood to ensure the universe's safety. Six of these gods died over time, leaving Rakmou-leusan as the last survivor.

Operations taken by the Church are performed underneath the veil, likely to avoid heavy scrutiny from normalcy organizations. The main language of the group is the Ortothan Extraterrestrial Language (OEL), which has been anomalously kept unchanged despite the distances between Ortothan sects — group members attribute this to acts of divine intervention. Human Ortothan belief systems are known to have existed by ~11000 BCE, corresponding to the formation of the ancient Ortothan Kingdom civilization, though modern branches have only been developed in the past century. Ortothan groups separate from the Church exist, all being significantly smaller in comparison and tending to have differing moral beliefs.

Beyond the Church, the Ortothan religion has an interstellar and intergalactic presence, having initially emerged among extraterrestrial civilizations. Numerous such Ortothan civilizations are known to exist, with their full extent not yet ascertained. Among the largest of these is the Terzan 2 Ortothan Coalition, a collection of Ortothan entities residing in Globular Cluster Terzan 2 at war with the hostile "Twelve Stars" civilization. The only Ortothan civilization known to have entered the solar system is Species of Interest-002; it is presumed extinct.

To see all documents tagged with second-hytoth, click here.

Deer College

Overview: Deer College is a coeducational liberal arts and occult sciences college in the heart of scenic Three Portlands, an extra-dimensional city-state located adjacent to the American Northweast and Southern England; with a curriculum that focuses on the marriage of mundane and occult disciplines and a well-regarded Anart program, Deer is often seen as the liberal arts counterpart to its GOC-sponsored rival across town, ICSUT Portlands. A number of prominent figures in the anomalous world are Deer alumni, including Vincent Anderson, the CEO of Anderson Robotics, and Esther "lesbian_gengar" Kogan, one of the co-founders of Gamers Against Weed.

As the Foundation's operations in Three Portlands are heavily restricted by a number of agreements with the FBI's Unusual Incidents Unit, Deer College itself is relatively free of Foundation intervention; however, all Deer alumni are automatically marked as persons of interest, and may be subject to increased Foundation scrutiny.

To see all documents tagged with deer-college, click here.

Doctor Wondertainment

Overview: Doctor Wondertainment, whether an individual or collective entity, is capable of producing anomalous artifacts and entities which thematically resemble children's toys. The nature of these objects and devices varies, although all were clearly intended to be utilized by children. In addition, Doctor Wondertainment is responsible for the creation of the Little Misters, anomalous humanoids altered for collectability. Dr. Wondertainment is known to have targeted Foundation personnel in the past and their feelings towards the Foundation appear to be ambiguous. See the entry of Isabel Wondertainment on the Personnel Dossier for more information.

Links to the Factory have been speculated but are unconfirmed.

To see all documents tagged with dr-wondertainment, click here.

The Factory

Overview: Little is known about The Factory. Excursions into facilities purported to be operated by them have yielded limited results, and no concrete conclusions have been reached except that they seem capable of manufacturing anomalous artifacts — and that they use mass-production techniques to do so.

To see all documents tagged with factory, click here.

The Fifth Church

"This church is to other churches what clowns are to people. There are some superficial similarities, but all the wrong things are being emphasized and exaggerated so you can't quite put your finger on what is wrong… Sure, it isn't out to get you, but what does it mean? Why is it there? What happens if it calls to you?" —Dr. █████

Overview: The Fifth Church, also known as the Church of Fifthism or the Fifthist Fellowship, is a highly secretive religious organization which possesses ties throughout the entertainment industry. Despite repeated investigations, culminating in the 2007 nationwide sting known as "Operation Stargazer", no further details regarding its doctrines, its practices, its number of members, or its goals have been confirmed, although a watchlist is maintained of 100 confirmed and suspected Fifthist celebrities and other prominent personalities. Its origins have been placed in varying points in the mid-20th Century and various locations in North America and Asia, but some sources have dated it to centuries earlier.

The Fifth Church has never communicated directly with the SCP Foundation, but is to be considered a hostile force.

To see all documents tagged with fifthist, click here.

Gamers Against Weed

Overview: "Gamers Against Weed" is a loosely-organized confederation of anomalous individuals, as well as associates thereof, that produce or procure anomalies for satirical purposes and/or for their own amusement. More recently, however, they have also been implicated in supplying anomalies to left-wing political organizations. While Gamers Against Weed organizes its activities primarily over internet channels, several real-world locations associated with the group have been identified and raided. Current intelligence suggests that Gamers Against Weed is in the process of creating and distributing a set of anomalous humanoids to parody Dr. Wondertainment's "Little Misters" series, and that it is aware of the Foundation's operations, if not its exact nature.

Detainment of Gamers Against Weed's members has proven more difficult than anticipated. Some of the group's organizers are believed to possess reality-altering capabilities, either in their own right or through access to outside resources. Current operations are focused on the containment of related anomalies and the identification and analysis of Gamers Against Weed's most dangerous members.

To see all documents tagged with gamers-against-weed, click here.

The Global Occult Coalition (GOC)

Overview: The GOC was created in the aftermath of WWII, from the remnants of defecting occultists, psychics, priests, and scientists from Nazi, Soviet, and Allied states, brought together and formed by the Allies. As the world stage broadened, so too did the number of countries that had their hands in the GOC, until it became what it is today.

The GOC are a largely political force, seeing themselves as the police of the paranormal world. They pride themselves on destroying supernatural entities, and make use of the most high-tech experimental technology possible, obtained from their benefactors. Many potential SCPs have been destroyed by them before the Foundation could obtain and contain them.

They have been both on the side of the Foundation and against it at times, depending on the situation. They largely hold the Foundation in contempt for their use and containment of SCP items rather than their out-and-out destruction. The GOC has respected the Foundation's formidable might enough to leave it mostly alone, although there have been some questionable incidents with which the GOC have strictly denied involvement.

Agents of the GOC are to be treated with suspicion.

To see all documents tagged with global-occult-coalition, click here.

GRU Division "P"

Overview: Originally known as the ЧД АКН ("ChD AKN", or Fourth Department Abnormal Occurrences Commission), it was established in early 1935 by direct decree of J. V. Stalin, its first task being the investigation of the murder of S. M. Kirov.

During WWII, the Commission expanded into the newly reorganized GRU as Division "P" - Psychotronics, working to counteract anomalous threats from the SS, Ahnenerbe, and the Vatican, and to capture and study anomalous artifacts both at home and abroad for the benefit of the Soviet government. Division "P" has carried on with this role throughout the Cold War, making Foundation operations in the countries of the Comintern difficult.

After 1991, rapid restructuring, coupled with budget cuts and the decommissioning or sale of significant assets, resulted in numerous defections of their personnel (A significant proportion of both Chaos Insurgency and MC&D operatives in Eastern Europe originated from GRU Division "P" ranks) and the flooding of the European black market with anomalous items formerly in their possession. Currently, this Group of Interest poses little direct threat to the Foundation.

To see all documents tagged with gru-division-p, click here.

Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting

Overview: Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting is purported to be a circus of anomalous origin and purpose. Currently, there is no evidence that this group exists beyond the allegations of various sapient SCPs and a handful of damaged non-anomalous artifacts. Most related objects typified by humanoid status utilize anomalous deformities for the sake of performance in some way, such as SCP-1884 and SCP-2902. Others appear to be typical fairground objets d'art, such as SCP-1921, or take the form of 'attractions' for the show, such as SCP-3717 or SCP-1695. Typically, objects related to Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting are found at fairgrounds where the show is said to have 'performed.'

To see all documents tagged with herman-fuller, click here.

The Horizon Initiative

Overview: The Horizon Initiative is an organization created in the late 1960s by various influential sects in the main three Abrahamic religions as a response to the growing number of anomalous activities and groups which they perceived as threats. Though the full extent of their goals is uncertain, the Horizon Initiative is known to target SCP objects, either with the intention of retrieving or destroying them, depending on each item's perceived place in their dogma.

The Initiative is led by a tribunal composed of leaders from the three largest sects involved in its creation, though a large amount of internal strife often leaves the official leadership in less than full control of the organization. The HI's main combat force, Project Malleus, is generally deployed in anti-cult operations and in SCP retrieval operations.

The Initiative's relations with most other Groups of Interest and the Foundation seems to be in a state of constant flux; while all parts of the HI perceive the Church of the Broken God and Fifth Church with a great degree of hostility (and at times engaging them in armed conflict), sentiments toward the Foundation and the GOC vary greatly, from open hostility to a limited willingness to cooperate, depending on the internal affiliation of individual members.

To see all documents tagged with horizon-initiative, click here.

IJAMEA

Overview: The Imperial Japanese Anomalous Matters Examination Agency or IJAMEA (not to be confused with the Foundation precursor IGAMEA, the Imperial German Anomalous Matters Examination Agency), was Japan's official and primary anomaly agency in the period from the Meiji Restoration in 1868 until the end of World War II in 1945. IJAMEA was founded with the purpose to bring Japan up to speed with Western esoterics research, acting as a modern counterpart to pre-existing so-called "primitive" groups. In this capacity, the IJAMEA catalogued hundreds of different anomalies spread throughout Japan and her colonies, conducted extensive research on these, and undertook numerous projects aiming to utilize the anomalous for the greater good of the fledgling Empire.

IJAMEA saw its most significant role during WWII, when it attempted to weaponize several anomalies to assist military forces in the war against the Allies. Rushed planning and insufficient funds, however, resulted in few of these programmes bearing fruit. The IJAMEA was formally disbanded with the Treaty of San Fransisco in 1951, and most of its assets were either transferred to GOC control or covertly acquired by the Foundation.

However, imperial loyalists and Japanese nationalists within it kept IJAMEA alive in the post-War years, this time as a clandestine organization, during which it's main focus was checking the spread of communist influence in Japan and East Asia. Today, it primarily serves to care for the well-being of Japan's diverse but faltering anomalous ecology, and supports various nationalist agendas with its ties to prominent politicians, businesspeople and cultural personalities throughout Japan. It seeks to return some political power to the Imperial family and return Japan to great power status, and actively seeks to exploit the various anomalies in its possession for this purpose. The Foundation is seen as a foreign rival at best, and agents are to exercise due caution when interacting with IJAMEA personnel.

To see all documents tagged with ijamea, click here.

Manna Charitable Foundation

Overview: Established in 1971 as an interfaith humanitarian relief agency, recovered documents describe the Manna Charitable Foundation's mission as "sharing all of God's miracles with the least of His children". Funded indirectly through associations with various charitable groups and religious organizations, and on occasion publicly endorsed by wealthy philanthropists or academic institutions, the MCF's primary agenda since its founding has been the free distribution of anomalous objects, or their by-products, to civilians living in poverty-stricken regions in the Third World or in areas afflicted by warfare, famine, or natural disaster.

The MCF is currently recognized as a non-governmental organization by the United Nations, and is known to operate legally and illegally in several hostile or isolated regions outside the Foundation's sphere of influence. While no SCP objects known to have been distributed by the MCF to date have caused intentional harm to human beings or communities (and detained MCF operatives tend to demonstrate strong pacifist beliefs), containment breaches associated with the group have often resulted in human casualties or severe threats to the global status quo due to unforeseen consequences of the object's release from containment, and/or a zeal to distribute potentially "helpful" objects immediately without rigorous scientific study of their long-term behavior.

To see all documents tagged with manna-charitable-foundation, click here.

Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.

Overview: A “club” based in London, England. Catering to the super-rich and with extensive political and financial ties worldwide, this group has caused extensive problems for the Foundation. Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. is known for collecting rare and obscure items, along with providing its members the most exclusive, expensive, and rare experiences available.

These activities have resulted in conflict with the Foundation on numerous occasions. The group is not known for the use of force; they prefer to apply extreme financial and political pressure to achieve their goals. When forced to use more direct means, Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. employs outside agents, and it is very difficult to connect said agents to the organization.

Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. has caused several SCP containment breaches, primarily through the use of money or social pressure. Several reports, records, and even items have been leaked by Foundation personnel who had been approached with large amounts of money, or threats of extensive jail time or torture. Notably, two containment sites were almost brought to public attention after the Foundation refused access to members of Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.

Information pertaining to Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd., such as the name of the director or even a list of members, has proven very difficult to acquire. Agents encountering members of this group are advised to maintain a cover story and not, for any reason, reveal Foundation ties or SCP information.

To see all documents tagged with marshall-carter-and-dark, click here.

"Nobody"

Overview: Little is currently known about the person, entity, or group known as "Nobody". First sighted in 1954, they have had numerous appearances since. There has only been one person seen at any given time, typically described as a male Caucasian dressed in a grey suit and a fedora. If asked his identity, he replies that he's "Nobody". However, it is not known if this is the work of a single person or multiple agents of a single, unknown agency. Their agenda is currently unknown, sometimes helping the Foundation, sometimes hindering it. Caution is recommended if any field agents encounter an operative identifying themselves as "Nobody".

To see all documents tagged with nobody, click here.

Office For The Reclamation of Islamic Artifacts (ORIA)

Overview: The Office For The Reclamation of Islamic Artifacts (ORIA) is a paramilitary force, answerable only to the Supreme Leader of Iran, dedicated to the collection and utilization of anomalous artifacts throughout the Middle East and Central Asia. Following the 1979 overthrow of the Imperial Iranian government by revolutionary forces, and subsequent creation of the Islamic Republic of Iran, all Foundation personnel were expelled from Iran as "agents of colonialism." Attempts at maintaining a clandestine presence in the country met with failure, with the majority of Foundation personnel either captured or killed and Sites ██, ███, and ███ being captured by Iranian forces. To prevent Iran from being left behind in the field of extranormal research, the ORIA was created by a secret decree of Supreme Leader Khomeini in 1981. Despite its name, the group has not limited itself to the pursuit of anomalous objects of Islamic origin.

Although the ORIA has access to considerable resources, its effectiveness is hobbled by infighting among numerous factions within the organization. Some of these disputes center around philosophical differences, such as the weaponization of anomalous objects, while others appear to be personal in nature. The proliferation of factions appears to have been intentional, as the organization of the ORIA often leaves multiple commanders with overlapping areas of responsibility. It is theorized that the reasoning behind this arrangement was to prevent any one individual from accumulating enough power to pose a challenge to the Supreme Leader.

With the spread of Iranian hegemony throughout the Middle East and Western Asia, the ORIA has expanded its reach across the region, becoming the foremost paranormal organization in the Middle East. The ORIA is to be considered a hostile force, and Foundation personnel are advised to use extreme caution when engaging.

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Oneiroi Collective

Overview: Information about the Oneiroi Collective has come to the Foundation only through analysis and interviews or the anomalous objects they leave behind. It is believed to be a collective consciousness of dreaming persons and dream-based entities.

Intelligence has shown that they have been documented by other Groups of Interest, usually to a degree similar to the Foundation's interaction. The Oneiroi Collective is apparently capable of contacting even highly isolated entities (e.g. "Nobody"). Their goals, if any exist, are currently unknown.

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Parawatch

Overview: The Parawatch Wiki is an online web forum of conspiracy theorists, paranormal enthusiasts, and amateur writers, operating with the intent of investigating and exposing anomalous phenomena. The group primarily compiles short stories on their forum, detailing encounters with paranormal phenomena, historical cases, and any unusual events users have experienced. Further operation and any potential impact on normalcy is hindered by the geographic spread of the userbase and the lack of central coordination.

Despite investment in the paranormal, Parawatch has no knowledge on the nature of anomalous phenomena, the Veil, and the Foundation's existence. This in tandem with public obscurity has prevented them from potentially endangering the Veil. The group is currently being left active as a means of misinforming and misleading other investigations into the anomalous.

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Prometheus Labs, Inc.

Overview: Founded in 1892, Prometheus Labs was dedicated to researching anomalous objects for use in developing new technologies. Over the years, Prometheus Labs developed into a multinational conglomerate selling advanced and anomalous technologies to governments, militaries, and Groups of Interest. Throughout its history, Prometheus Labs displayed a nominal amount of cooperation with Foundation efforts to protect normalcy, and at times even collaborated with the Foundation, but refused to cease its study of anomalies and resisted Foundation oversight.

In 1998, following a long period of financial decline, the Prometheus Labs conglomerate was dissolved, resulting in the creation of numerous successor companies formed from its subsidiaries. The breakup of the conglomerate was fraught with technical and administrative difficulties, resulting in the loss of many products and the layoffs of numerous personnel. Most of the former projects of Prometheus Labs now in containment were recovered during this time, and many of its former employees were hired by the Foundation.

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Sarkic Cults

Overview: Sarkicism is a religious/philosophical system that encompasses a variety of traditions, beliefs, and spiritual practices largely based on teachings attributed to “Grand Karcist Ion”, its deified founder. Adherents practice ritual cannibalism, human sacrifice, corporeal augmentation, thaumaturgy, and dimensional manipulation. Highly secretive, the general public appears to have no direct knowledge of their existence; the one exception being the CotBG, who views them in apocalyptic terms. Organic manipulation has allowed certain Sarkicites to achieve anomalous states of being, transcending the physical limitations of baseline humans. Disease is viewed with reverence and Sarkic shrines have been discovered with offerings of swollen lymph nodes and tumorous growths. Sarkic cults treat contagions as consecration, a means to "cull the weak" and purify the masses, and thus actively seek to ensure their spread.

The Foundation divides known Sarkic cults into two distinct strands: Proto-Sarkic and Neo-Sarkic. Proto-Sarkic cults can be found in insular communities throughout Eurasia's most isolated regions, its followers generally poor (if self-reliant) and hostile towards outsiders. Such groups eschew modernity, display acute technophobia, and are bound by superstition and taboo. In contrast, Neo-Sarkic cults are cosmopolitan, publicly embracing modernity and showing no apparent qualms with technology; their public lives differing little from others of their culture and social status. Adherents are primarily affluent families, rich in history and scandal.

Ultimately, it is believed that the Foundation only knows a fraction of what Sarkicism is and what its followers intend. Based on the available information, the speculated goals of Sarkic cults represent an SK-class dominance shift, including the possibility of an XK-class end-of-the-world scenario.

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The Serpent's Hand

Overview: The Serpent's Hand is a small but formidable organization responsible for several security breaches. At least three different individuals have been encountered, all of whom used possible or confirmed anomalous items for infiltration purposes (including SCP-268, which was stolen from the Foundation, who had in turn recovered it during a raid of a Chaos Insurgency facility). The total number of members belonging to this organization is unknown, as is their level of technology, number of possible SCPs held, or total level of threat. However, it is clear they are highly coordinated and possibly dangerous. One of their leaders is thought to be a figure known as "L.S.", who is considered to be personally responsible for two security breaches in Foundation sites.

The Foundation currently has very little information about the Serpent's Hand, and almost all known information about the Serpent's Hand has been leaked from the GOC intelligence. The group seems to embrace the use and existence of paranormal items, and in particular seems to embrace humanoid and sentient SCPs. The Serpent's Hand has been highly vocal in criticizing the containment and destruction of these SCPs, especially those which are fully human and are not particularly destructive.

The group seems to have unfriendly relations with the Chaos Insurgency and the ORIA, and an extremely hostile relationship with the GOC. The only recorded cases of unprovoked violence by Serpent's Hand members have been against GOC agents.

The Serpent's Hand seems primarily based in an anomalous location called the Wanderers' Library, a building accessed through portals found in many different parts of the world. Direct assaults on the Library have so far proven unfeasible, even when entrance could be found. However, initial intelligence seems to suggest the Hand has little understanding or control over the place.

Attempts to infiltrate the Wanderers' Library are ongoing.

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Shark Punching Center

Overview: The Shark Punching Center (also known as the Selachian Punching Center, The Shark Punching Centre, Selachiosk Pungix Combin, among others) is an organization located in one or more parallel universes, apparently acting as an alternate-universe counterpart to the Foundation. While the Foundation has known of the Center for several decades, the structure, documentation, and general tone taken by the Shark Punching Center varies wildly, suggesting one or more universes are in a state of flux.

Documents pertaining to the Shark Punching Center have been recovered, and indicate a much more militaristic and unstable tone than a Foundation document. As the name would suggest, the SPC is mostly focused on furthering hand-to-hand combat as a means to neutralize selachian entities, though some documentation fails to differentiate between "selachian" and "aquatic".

It is unclear if the Shark Punching Center has any knowledge or concern of or with Foundation activities.

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The Three Moons Initiative

Overview: The Three Moons Initiative is an extradimensional human military organization based in SCP-2922-C, an afterlife also known as Corbenic. Through a partnership with the Corbenese deity JALAKÅRA, they act as a multi-dimensional security force for the protection of the human race.

While Initiative personnel believe that they're operating in humankind's best interests, military overreach, poor communication, issues with internal bureaucracy, and other factors — combined with their disproportionately high military strength to our own — have made them a potential liability to public safety in our dimension.

As such, they maintain an unstable peace with the Foundation. Operatives of the Three Moons Initiative are to be treated with extreme caution.

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Unusual Incidents Unit (UIU), Federal Bureau of Investigation

Overview: The Unusual Incidents Unit was formed after the onset of the Cold War, when many aspects of the American Government were focused on utilizing the anomalous and preventing the communists from doing the same. This led to the creation of a special FBI division devoted to rapid response to paranormal events and crimes. Director J. Edgar Hoover was personally involved with their creation.

Although initially given significant funding and resources by the American Government, following the end of the Cold War and the dissolution of enemy organizations such as the GRU-P, the UIU had been in a state of decline for many years.

Disparagingly referred to as "X-Files" and "UIUseless" by the larger anomalous community, the agency is generally well meaning, but due to a lack of financial resources, little manpower, and bureaucratic obstruction by the US Government, it is often perceived as ineffective. The influence of the Foundation and Global Occult Coalition in the United States Government has stopped the UIU and other USGOV entities dealing with anomalous activity, such as US Air Force's 616th Squadron ("Roswell's Revengers") and US Navy SEAL Team Bravo Papa Romeo Delta, from being dissolved entirely.

FBI Agents and Special Agents who join the Unusual Incidents Unit often have backgrounds in psychology, STEM fields, and art studies. As part of the PATRIOT act, agents of the unit are required to be administered Personalized Memetic Silencing Agents (PMSA, colloquially referred to as 'gag orders' by agents of the UIU) to avoid leaks.

The Unusual Incidents Unit has been known to engage in combat alongside and against various anomalous organizations in the past, including participating in several combat operations under Foundation supervision in the 1950s and 1960s, and the "Black Mamba" incident in Afghanistan in 1976, an infamous skirmish between UIU agents and members of GRU-P.

Currently, a division of the Unusual Incidents Unit oversees the autonomous anomalous state of Three Portlands. An example of underfunding and understaffing in the Unusual Incidents Unit can be seen in its sole remaining division in the Midwestern United States.

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Wilson's Wildlife Solutions

http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/groups-of-interest/WWS

Overview: Wilson's Wildlife Solutions is a paranormal publicly funded wildlife service based in Clackamas County, Oregon, specifically in the town of Boring. Although the Foundation has known of Wilson's Wildlife Solutions' existence and anomalous affiliations since 1999, it took nine years until the Ursus Maritimus Incident in 2008, for their existence to be officially recognized and a relationship established between the two groups. Currently the Boring Agreement outlines that Wilson's Wildlife Solutions should be supervised by MTF Beta-4 ("Castaways"), local to Site-64, and that they may handle containment of Safe or Euclid fauna based anomalies with varying degrees of Foundation intervention (on a case to case basis). Amendments to the Boring Agreement can be, and have been, made to account for grey areas or new policies as necessary.

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So, You Have An Idea For A Group of Interest.

#SCP Foundation #scp #group of interest #scp au

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makapatag · 4 years

Text

A Silent Night Wind, a short story

A silent wind caressed the corpse of Sanlibutan, the All-Chief, and bellowed mournful cacophonies.

It was the night at its darkest. So dark that one wouldn’t be able to recognize the person standing before them. In this time, within the shadows between the trees and the calming winds that sighed through the boughs of bamboo, lived Igsinagan, the demon-god of the Silent Night Wind.

Igsinagan would, time and time again, take up the form of a dog. This dog’s hair would bristle and look as if constantly blown by winds, even if there were none. Its eyes burned bright red, even in the night’s unrecognizable darkness.

The Silent Night Wind roamed through the forest, even as corrupted earth spirits leapt out of the ground to scream with the voices of women and clawing at Igsinagan ineffectually. Even as bull-headed horses, with flames licking out of their noses, would charge at him. Even as long, humanoid beings, jaws dislodged, eyes hollow pits, skin stretched over black bones, tried to gather him for the slaughter.

Each of them made a sound. The sound that one would hear if one were to stay awake until the littlest hours of the night.

Igsinagan silenced them all.

The commune the forest flanked was home to at least fifty families, all living in the safety of a warrior lady, a Kapitana. The great lady of violence protected them from dangers, such as malevolent spirits called sitan and bandits called tulisanes. This is the way of every commune upon Kalagitnaan. The Demon Wind Dog bounded through the leaves, leaped over fallen trunks, and turned into the wind to cross raging rivers of the black forest. As the dog ran, he ruminated, and he remembered a time when things were not so fractured, were not so small. He remembered a time when mortals would live as gods, upon palaces among the stars. A time when great sorceries would lift entire chunks of Sanlibutan’s body out of the sea. A time when powerful chiefs warred, lasting for thousands of years, and it was glorious.

That was a time so long ago that not even demon-gods like Igsinagan would remember them. Now all of that had changed. Three Periods of Decline followed before today, which is the lowest of the low in the history of the Archipelago. Even as Igsinagan flowed through the forest, he remembered them all, for he had lived through them.

In the Northern Isles of the Pearlescent Archipelago, those men of the lions, who wield rose and sword, staff and pentacle, bringing with them their Tortured God, colonized the northern isles in the name of Dyosveta. A hundred years later, the Northerners rebelled, with the Wielder of Gods accompanied by the Great Supremo of the Brotherhood, they overthrew the Captain-Generalcy of San Lazaranya and called themselves the great Republic of Lazaranyas.

Of course, that didn’t last long until the imperialist Gunmetal Kingdom, with their huge machines of war and spirit-driven mecha, conquered the isles. They united all of the islands, both North and South, under their barbaric command. They named the archipelago The Pearlescent Islands. That lasted for half a century, before the horrid Steel Flower War, where the Chrysanthemum Empire to the north swept down and conquered the capital, Salurung.

This ended in the joint forces of the Gunmetal Kingdom and the Pearlescent Injos repelling the occupying Chrysanthemum forces. The Gunmetal Kingdom then eventually relinquished the colony, and the injos were finally free once again, now named the Pearlescent Republic. Not all good things last, however, as the power-hungry Panginoon, named Panginoong Duruya, took all of the republic under him and turned himself into the Emperador of the Pearlescent Empire. He granted his closest allies special rights and land and money and power, and cared not for his own people, sinking the Empire into decadence and violence.

This was the land Igsinagan lived in the current. Once, before the Dark Ages, Igsinagan would’ve been revered, for the Silent Night Wind is something that gives and takes. He was a diwata, an elemental god in nature. However, the doctrine of the Tortured God taught that the diwata were simply nature nymphs and, if a certain diwata didn’t fit that description (as most diwata did not, for divine spirits do not simply have form and simply live within nature, for they are the soul of nature itself) then they were to be called demons and devils. And so, upon this broken land, he found himself called Demon. And he decided that if he were to be called a demon, then he would be a free one, and one not chained by the usual definitions of that much-maligned word.

Igsinagan leapt over a stream that was streaked with red, a river already blemished with blood. There, Igsinagan ventured upstream, until he arrived at the waterfall which the nearby villagers revered as Sijopoan. Upon that clearing, upon the pond where the waterfall crashed, there was a clean bank. And upon that bank, there was a boulder. And upon the boulder was a woman, stripped naked, but with her hair strewn about the air as if she was underwater, and her skin bright blue. The same color the pond glistened when the corpse sun laid its bleached eyes upon it.

Igsinagan knew that it was Sijopoan herself, the spirit of the pond, unmoving, eyes frozen with fear. And there, above her on the boulder, was a muscled ruffian, smelling as if he bathed with the boars. In fact, that’s what Igsinagan decided he was--a boar man, for his broad neck and broken teeth and shaved head did nothing to offer any other interpretation of his frame.

Igsinagan found the man, in his repulsiveness, to be of utmost attraction. The folds of his fat, his musk emanating from him like pheromones… the dog Igsinagan writhed in arousal and presently turned into a dark voluptuous woman by virtue of his demonic thaumaturgy.

Igsinagan, now a woman, crept up to her would-be lover and ran a sensual finger down her spine.

At that, the man whipped around, and Igsinagan sent a whispering into Sijopoan’s ears by letting wind pass by them. The whisper was thus: Leave this place and find the commune to the west, only then will you be safe.

Sijopoan scrambled away, without any regard for covering herself up, and disappeared into the brush. The man who smelled like a boar, who by her touch, Igsinagan knew to be named Pablo, cursed. Dumb though he was, he chased after the girl, even as she disappeared into the darkness.

However, Igsinagan’s sorceries were one fed by desire, and thus, at her touch, the man turned to her, and he smiled with sensual pleasure. As a snake would stare proudly at a rat about to be caught in its fangs.

“You fucking witch!”

Igsinagan put a finger on her lips, and invited him, and said, “Let worthless wenches fall away, like leaves when Habagat comes. I, your servant, your maiden, am the only one you deserve.”

And then, sent to flight by the soul of arousal, grabbed Igsinagan’s now womanly form in by her stringy hair and laid her down upon the stone, and he entered her. However, even as they wrapped around each other, as a leviathan burst into an undersea cave, Igsinagan felt no love. And even at the height of her pleasure, she was yet greatly displeased. Her lust was great, but it did not overwhelm her, in the way demons loved to be overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” Igsinagan moaned.

“Huh?” said the man, dumbly, as he was. “What—” And upon that utterance did the woman of the night wind pulled him into her, and as his seed erupted, so did the wind from the trees suddenly burst. The winds had turned razor, and a single gale sliced the boar man into many pieces, so that he would never gain a good afterlife.

Igsinagan, seeing her new form upon the water and being pleased with the form desire had given her, decided herself different in this human form, and thus took up the name of Nagsi, for she was anew. Then, she took up the man’s leftover clothes--for he had taken them off when he deemed to violate the spirit of the pond--and would’ve made her way back to the pond… if she hadn’t felt something stir within her womb.

“Oh, a strange turn of events,” she said, and then thus decided to sleep within the ruins of a church that lay beside the moonlit lake, and there she promised that she would take care of the child that was to be born from her.

Now as Igsinagan performed his demonic coupling, so did Sijopoan manage to venture into the deep forest, only to find that she was deadly lost in the darkness, which was not her friend. Slowly, eyes erupted from the dark, like frog eggs, clustered together and burning with velvet flame. With nothing to hold her hand but despair, she surrendered to the darkness.

A warm hand suddenly held her. She looked up to see a young man, strong, with the clothing of a farmer, and salakot atop his head, the broad rims of the wooden hat shading his face. He pulled the pond spirit up, and the girl couldn’t stop staring at him, even as he lifted the torch up above his head.

“Are you okay? Come on, let’s get out of here.” His voice was soft, soothing, and it allured Sijopoan, and until now she never thought she could fall hopelessly for someone. His land-colored eyes begged her to rest, his strong arms promised safety. Being a spirit, she even saw the color of his heart, and saw that it was pure.

He brought her to his solitary home, which had no other beings within.

As she lay with him, she found that her skin’s blue hue had turned into a more human brown, similar to the color of the banks of the pond, and her eyes burned the turquoise of her pond. And there they stared at each other, and to Sijopoan it was strange, for it was her that felt bewitched by his soft and simple loving gaze. As she slowly healed from the assault, the man worked tirelessly to afford her safety, and even let her sleep in his bed, while he slept in front of a low wooden table. She negated that, and asked him to sleep with her, and he—with a smile as soft as the moon—acquiesced. It felt like butterflies lifted her clothings from her as he came upon her.

She smiled, and dimples blossomed. “Hi, Sijo.”

The man smiled as well, although he only had one dimple, and it was on the cheek that was pressed against the pillow, like a hidden cave. “Hi Sijo. I’m Isidro.” And flowers of affection and lust blossomed in her heart, and she knew, as she stared upon his eyes, that they blossomed in his as well.

And under their roof, they became as one, diwata coupling with a mortal.

And then moons passed, and eventually, that night borne twins. Dakul was the son of Igsinagan, who had taken upon the name of Nagsi, to the boar man. Dakul was not dark-skinned like his mother, but his hair was the darkest of dark, and his eyes burned with the orange of the setting sun, as if unsure whether he was a child of the day or of the night. Dakul then proceeded to live in that church-turned-home, living a blasphemy to God.

Within the village of Kapitana Unduya was born Cristina, to her mother Sijo (as was the mortal name she took up, to ease the strangeness and to hide her true nature, for the commune was Dyosvetan, and the diwata to them were cunning nymphs) and her father Isidro, whom the Datu thought would never find love. They were even more overjoyed when they realized that Cristina bore pure silver hair, like the scintillating spray of the pond on a hot summer day, and had eyes that took after the azure of her mother, albeit this one was turquoise. Taking this as a sign, they celebrated this birth with a great fiesta, a feast fit for the gods, for they said: “Surely, Isidro has been blessed by God!”

However, the priest of the commune, Padre Anselmo, did not take a liking to this omen. He preached in his seventh-day mass that the silver-haired one was an illegitimate coupling of man and demon. However, Fray Anselmo himself had his eyes, glinting and rapacious, upon the girl when she grew older, and years later changed his preaching to saying that even the children of the demons—anak ng sitan—can be led and purged of their demonic nature.

A few years passed by, and the young Dakul and Cristina grew up to become fine younglings.

Cristina found her love in exploration, finding that she couldn’t stop herself from venturing into the forest. “I belong there!” she would always say, face dirtied with dead insects and muddy soil, her skirt and shirt torn by clawed branches. She always wrote upon palm leaves, recording what she saw during her expeditions into the forest, cataloging what was poisonous and what wasn’t, the birds that flew to and fro, and whatever strange animals she could find (of which she would always ask her mother the name, and her mother would reply with the perfect name every single time.) Due to this, she grew into a spritely young girl who had a tome--a gift from her father--kept to her side with a body sling made of gold.

Meanwhile, outside of the commune, Dakul held a certain curiosity, but for the most part, kept with his mother. His mother loved him dearly, and pampered him, although when he reached the ripe age of 12, she began teaching him in the ways of violence and harshness. There was even a time when, once, Dakul fell off a cliff, and had had his spine shattered. Nagsi wept, only to find that Dakul was alive and breathing, and was full and well after only a few meals of the largest thighs of the chicken. Afterward, Nagsi was not scared for her son and taught him how to fight, and how to use witchcraft, which she called the Black Secret.

However, Nagsi realized that Dakul hadn’t inherited her ability to harness the Night Wind… that is, until she taught him the blade. Through sword forms and drills, he unconsciously summoned the Night Wind to carry his attacks, leap great distances, ans avoid inevitable strikes entirely. Thus, Nagsi taught her beloved son the ways of the sword, and he crafted his own martial art, the Night Wind Blade, which he honed until he became an undisputed adept of the sword, by his teenage years, after having lived through seventeen harvests. Thus, with his skill with the blade, knowledge of the occult, and uncanny ability to sustain the most mortal of injuries, he became a great fighter, and would regularly beat back the sitan, the malevolent spirits, that would plague the land.

Cristina, who grew up beautifully, like a flower blossoming, was then courted by most of the village boys. She brushed them off, as she wasn’t keen on relationships—or boys—during that time. She would usually ask them to search for her in the forest. She, having been there since she was a child, would always get them lost, and then tell them to turn their shirts inside out because a tikbalang has led them in circles. Eventually, however, she was called upon by Padre Anselmo into the church. There, within the stone walls, he gripped her hands and tried to kiss her, but her being of sturdy upbringing, pushed him away and ran. Padre Anselmo cursed her in the name of the Tortured God.

The next day, Padre Anselmo was gone.

One day with the clouds hiding the bleached sun’s rictus grin, Sijo grew sick.

It was a time when Cristina had grown up, cut her silver hair short so that it didn’t snag upon the trees as she ventured (even as the Datu herself gnashed her teeth in regret). She wore clothes that didn’t drag her back, leaving behind the shirt and skirt for a vest and pants.

After she had returned from her daily ventures into the forests, carrying with her a strange crystallized beetle, she saw her mother splayed on the floor, a cup of melted chocolate seeping through the bamboo slat floor.

Cristina dropped the beetle and rushed to Sijo’s side. “Mother? Are you alright, Mother?” Cristina was frantic, but much to her terror, her mother wouldn’t answer. Her father Isidro arrived late that night after farming the fields and found what had happened to Sijo, with Cristina crying beside her.

Unlike Cristina, however, Isidro spared no tears, for knowledge had kept his tears. He hurriedly scooped Sijo up into his arms and told Cristina to follow him.

They ran through the forest, and Cristina, who hadn’t seen her father go through the forest before, was surprised at the speed her father dashed. He missed no beat, leaping over fallen trunks and not stopping for any shallow stream. It was as if he knew the very lay of the forest. As if it was drawn magically upon the backs of his eyelids.

Presently, they arrived at a narrow river, which flowed blue-green as if painted with verdigris, and they ran up it, their feet barely touching the ground at the speed of their strides. Eventually, they arrived at the pond that was the river’s head, and Cristina saw for the first time the wonderful waterfall that had made the pond.

And in the midst of it, a bathing boy. Of the same age as Cristina, albeit with hair the opposite color and orange eyes seemingly crafted to combat her blue.

Isidro ran up to the pond and laid her down upon it, and she drifted across the pond and did not move, although she began breathing once again. The boy leaped out of the pond as Sijo’s body was laid down upon the pond. As he leapt out of the pond, the woman walked out of the church ruins.

Cristina had never been to this part of the forest. However, she knew of the Mad Priestess in the forest, who was said to have saved her mother when she was younger. When her fulminating dark eyes met Cristina’s turquoise, Cristina couldn’t help but look away.

“Priestess,” said Isidro. “I see that my wife was not wrong.”

“Do not doubt her,” said the Priestess. “We are rarely wrong.”

“Women?” asked Isidro.

The Priestess took a longing look at Sijo, with a wistful smile. “Spirits.” She then turned to the rest of them and smiled and said, “Isidro, I am Nagsi. Unfortunately, I am no priestess, but a witch.”

“I revere them all the same,” said Isidro, bowing by the waist. “Powerful one, I have been told by my wife to bring her here when she would feel ill. However, she refuses to tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” Nagsi pondered, and eventually, she was before Isidro, arms crossed across her chest, dark eyes still pondering and staring upon Sijo. Beside her was her--what Cristina thought, at least--son. Coming up to her, she found that she was taller than he, even as his own muscles bulged. While presently she wore a long-sleeved shirt and balloon pants, the boy wore square shorts and a vest that only served to show off his dark physique. His hair was cut short, unruly. “The truth about your wife?”

The man nodded, and something flamed within him, staring at the woman wrapped in dark robes and animal furs.

“Do you pay fealty to Dyosveta, the Tortured? To God?”

Isidro nodded again, slower this time. He wasn’t sure what that amounted to.

“Yet you believe in the spirits that dwell within everything?”

Isidro nodded again.

“Then the answer must be simple. Your wife is a diwata. In truth, the spirit of this pond, of the waterfall, which you have named Sijopoan.” Nagsi smiled. “Huh, what a cheeky name.”

“I have lain with a diwata,” said Isidro, falling to his knees and hugging Cristina close. “Does this mean I will lose my daughter?”

Cristina blinked. Me? A daughter of a diwata? What does that mean? She looked down upon her hands, and then noticed a stray strand of her hair across her face. Silver.

The dark witch raised an eyebrow and examined the man. She wondered if it would be nice to trick him, to feed into his superstition… but then decided against it. “No, of course not. Your wife will heal, and you will not go anywhere.” She looked at Cristina. “She has grown to be a beautiful woman.”

“What shall I do? Shall I leave my wife to be here?”

“Range from her domicile, as the pond is her home, her altar, has caused her to weaken over the years. Give her a night and a day to heal, let her be, this is nature taking its course.”

“Oh, thank you, oh witch. You have saved my wife twice in her lifetime!”

“And not once will I suggest some sort of present for it. Come, I have cooked dinner within my abode. You may rest within and wait for your wife to heal.”

And they did, for the father was tired after a long day, and the corpse sun was descending into its coffin and letting the broken heaven rest after its unending vigil, letting way for a single serene moon, which was blind and mad and lonely.

As the darkness overcame them, Nagsi set a green witch-light to guard the body of Sijo. The same green witch light served as their torches in the church ruins.

Cristina made sure to stay by the side of her father, who kept staring at Sijo, for he was hopelessly in love with her. Cristina, on the other hand, was endlessly drawn to the boy, whose name she did not know, even as he ignored her.

Within the church, she saw that they had somehow turned it into a comfortable enough living space. A second floor had been built, and the first floor was wide enough to fit a living room, a dining area and a kitchen, each overlayed with hand-embroidered drapings and decorations. From the corner of her eye, Cristina saw little imps bouncing away and hiding in the shadows, leaving behind their knitting tools.

The boy started preparing dinner. Cristina found that it was chicken and rice. The chicken was extravagantly spiced, with condiments and herbs she saw from the forest but never thought to put it upon food, much less chicken.

Once that was done, they sat around a table, with chairs molded from the trunks of the surrounding trees of the pond. As they ate, the witch—Nagsi—couldn’t help but stare at Isidro, enraptured by his entirely too human appearance. Land-colored eyes, skin the color of clay, hair shaved so as to not get in the way of farming… she felt that the budding pain and flame in her heart was a curse laid upon her by the invisible spirits of affection.

They ate mostly in silence, and then when they were all done, Cristina offered to wash the dishes. “I cannot in good conscience let you do all of this for nothing.”

“Then be my guest,” said Nagsi, and she set about helping. The boy, who might have been dumb for he hasn’t spoken, grabbed her by the wrist.

“Let me,” he said, and his voice was deep and sweet like chocolate.

Cristina’s cheeks burned hot, but her principles were steadier than the strongest shield. “No, I must.”

The boy replied, “Then let me help you.” And he took some of the plates and brought it to the makeshift sink. Cristina used the pond water from a wooden bucket to rinse the wooden plates.

As they washed, Cristina said, “I’m sorry, I never quite got your name….”

“Dakul, Silver One, Spirit-kin,” said the boy.

“I… Dakul, right? Nice to meet you. Why do you call me those names?” she suddenly wondered if she was some sort of child of destiny. If she was a prophesied babe meant to save the world, as she was apparently a child of a strange nymph. Or was she meant to destroy it?

“I know not your name.”

“Ah,” she said, managing a smile and soaping the rest of the dishes. “Well, you may call me Cristina.”

“Cristina.” He looked up at her, despite their height difference being nary but an inch. “Your beauty captivates the soul, silvered one,” said the boy.

“O-Oh—”

“Your welcome,” said Dakul, returning to finishing his task. Cristina put a hand upon her round cheek and scrunched her nose up. Her chest fluttered.