#`p

@cckento

he’s barely feet away from the body of the beast when he glimpses the scene, the familiar frame defending one he doesn’t recognize, losing his shield in the process and becoming suddenly so incredibly vulnerable in a split second. time stops. taeyong didn’t even know he would be here, not when events like this were frivolous in his family’s eyes. but he’s darting in the direction of the vulnerable heroes nonetheless, because they’re hurt and unarmed and even if he’s not an actual hero, he’s sure as hell not letting anyone else die on his watch-

taeyong shouts at him, the only quick warning to brace himself to get out of the way, before he puts himself between kento and the monster, deflecting a pair of pointed wax limbs with the blade of his greatsword. he glances back over his shoulder just barely, opens his mouth to ask if he’s okay, then hears a sound akin to the world preparing to open up and swallow them whole, a sound like the one he was expecting before.

“LOOK OUT!!”

the building collapses from above them and all he thinks to do is shove kento out of the way.

only he doesn’t, he can’t, he can’t move, his feet are glued to the ground, and when he looks down to see how that can possibly be, he sees grotesque wax hands pulling him below the wax surface of the ground, the blurred, distorted faces of his mangled team attached to them. it’s the last thing he sees before he’s pulled further under hot wax, his airways filling with the scalding substance-

he woke with a start, sitting up so quickly it made his head spin. he caught his forehead with the heel of his hand, shutting his eyes against bright white flourescents and letting the steadily slowing beeping of his heart monitor lull him into a clearer state of consciousness. then he realized it was a heart monitor he was hearing, that the blinding lights were not the dimming yellow of his bedroom overhead, that the flimsy feather-light fabric clinging to sweat-dampened skin was not a cotton t-shirt or well-worn sweatpants.

tw: hospitals, blood, ptsd, brief mention of needles just to be on the safe side

@cctaehyung

the only reason he’s at the expo in the first place is because his manager gave him a discount voucher for the angelic layer dolls software exclusive to chobotics employees. the man seemed way too excited about it for someone his age, and taeyong did not hesitate to point out his creepiness to his face, disappointed at how immune to the insult the man seemed to be. but he gets the day off for the event, which he can’t complain about, and being a fan of angelic layer, one of a very small handful of games in the arcade that he hasn’t yet grown bored of (in fact, he could safely be called a fan of it), he at least has that much to look forward to.

but when he arrives he doesn’t miss the strange energy hanging in the air, like a veneer of invisible electricity that he recognizes as magic, and it occurs to him that this is far too strong of a feeling to be anywhere near an event as hugely populated by unaware humans as this. it makes him angry, because even his precious video games aren’t untouched by the world he keeps trying so hard to escape. but he tries his best not to let it ruin his day. 

the magic doesn’t have time to ruin his day because the lines already do that the second he gets to the angelic layer booth. it’s an eclectic mix of people, whiny children and their parents, young adults here for leisure, hardcore fans, including the creepy ones carrying around body pillows of underaged anime characters and drooling over the persocom prototypes only hundreds of feet away. taeyong feels vastly uncomfortable in the crowded place, and is starting to contemplate giving up on angelic layer’s home system entirely when he sees them, the impossible-to-ignore group of what are undoubtedly league heroes. as if his day couldn’t get any worse.

they’re approaching, and he considers ducking into the crowd to avoid jaebum’s inevitable scrutiny, should the president make an appearance. but he doesn’t, and all taeyong gets is a pushy line shoving him unwillingly into a certain redhead he’s only familiar with because of a few brief and less than pleasant run-ins. the league’s very presence there irritates him, and if his day wasn’t ruined before, it is now. and ricky just happens to be the one he’s zoned in on as the personification of that very irritation.

@ccjaebum

once upon a time, taeyong used to daydream about what being in the league was like, back when he was younger and naive and unscathed, back when he was excited to sign his life away to be like the superheroes in his comic books. he had visions of seamless formations and combinations, like something out of a video games, of sleek hidden underground headquarters and training facilities and sparring matches akin to the ones his favorite movie heroes frequented. he’d never questioned out loud why he and his brother had formed a team outside of the league, why they’d never approached the official teams he only knew about in passing. but he did wonder internally, unaware of his brother’s own cynical and suspicious disdain for the system.

he was far more aware now, now that he understood the implications of signing his soul away for a few magic tricks, a few short-lived moments of glory. all the league was to him was a nicely labeled organization of puppets, of heroes doomed to do aku’s bidding until the day they would slip up and become just like suyeon, just like his brother: dead, or worse. all the league teams did was adopt clueless children wrapped up in literal ribbons and bows and brainwash them into thinking they were making a difference, saving the world, when in reality all it was was an endless cycle of destruction. and, like his brother, taeyong did not bother masking his own disdain for the league, not even a little.

he didn’t know why someone like jaebum would insist on having lunch together, though taeyong was starting to notice a trend of magical heroes lining up to be his friend, as if the glaring ‘leave me alone’ sign he thought he had stamped across his forehead didn’t even exist. he only agreed to humor the other hero, to get him off his back, but something told him he wouldn’t much enjoy the meeting, as he stepped into the mcdonalds the other male had designated for it. so he decided early on that he’d make a point of getting in and out as quickly as possible, so as to avoid letting jaebum get too comfortable thinking they were anything but acquaintances. 

@ccsubin

he’s not a hero. not really. alright, so, technically, by title he is but by lifestyle, he’s far from it. well, yes, he does spend his evening fighting the occasional monster to keep it from creating utter chaos and leaving destruction and death in its wake, but, that doesn’t make him a hero. heroes are obligated to fight on teams, to be gracious and righteous and admirable, good to the very core of their being and selfless in every sense of the word. heroes save people, and he hasn’t saved anyone in a long time. he couldn’t even save his own team. he couldn’t die with them either. he’s no hero.

and it’s good too, because he doesn’t want to be a hero, not anymore (that’s a lie. he’s never wanted anything more, especially when it was impossible, especially when he found out his brother was one too, especially when he saw his brother in action, especially when he felt his brother breathe his last breath in his arms). he doesn’t want anything to do with saving people or being a role model or joining up with a bunch of brainwashed self-righteous elite dressed up in pastel colors and over-sized bows. he doesn’t want to wield magic weapons or wear magic clothes or destroy magic monsters. he doesn’t want to rescue kittens from trees or help old ladies cross the street or beat up baddies and leave them all tied up and ready for when the cops arrive. he doesn’t want it. he doesn’t want any of it. he doesn’t care if throwing it away will paint a target on his back he doesn’t care that it’ll bring down the wrath of aku upon him he doesn’t care he doesn’t care he doesn’t care.

but the problem is that he does. it runs in the family, caring too much. it’s what destroyed his brother and eventually his team. it’ll probably destroy him in the end, makes it impossible to shed his deep down desire to be the hero he always dreamed of. it’ll probably destroy him. and it almost does, when he sees a girl walk out into the street, apparently completely unaware of the blind motorcycle beaming full speed at a direct collision course with her fragile frame.

“hey!” his feet start moving before he even consciously realizes he’s going to save her, and he drives himself against her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling them both out of the way, his back hitting the pavement as he takes the brunt of the impact. he groans as the motorcycle whizzes past in a split second blur, a few passerby stopping to point and gawk and mutter about whether or not they’re okay. he can already tell where he’ll bruise ugly blues and greens, and the back of his head throbs in a way that reminds him concrete and skull aren’t exactly symbiotic materials.

he doesn’t want to be a hero. and yet, here he is, being just that. inescapably. undeniably. in front of all of these people. 

he hates people.

@ccxarin

he’s trying to kick a glitching machine back to life when it happens. he’s always said these pac-man machines are old and decrepit and ready to kick the bucket at any moment, but the managers insist they’re good to go. he’s cursing his managers and the creator of pac-man and the ten year olds who should probably be home studying all at once when the whole building jerks violently, tossing him against the very game he was trying to fix and causing the power to flicker once before everything powers up in a cacophony of sound.

most of the patrons brush it off as a small earthquake, nothing to be concerned about. but with the way the tremor resonates as lingering vibrations in the bracelet around his wrist, he reluctantly accepts the fact that it was no earthquake. it’s something far worse, something he wants absolutely nothing to do with, because he swore off fighting the moment he escaped from the scaly grasp of what had once been his brother. and yet somehow the battles, the fights, the monsters, the ever-growing number of impossibly perky magical heroes, they seem to find him no matter how hard he tries to hide.

he considers ignoring it. someone else will deal with it. it’s not his problem. he has job to do here, scrubbing snot off of joysticks and squeejee-ing sticky colorful handprints off of the windows, kicking old machines until they work again and showing customers how the new machines work. he has no time for being a magical hero, and no one’s paying him for it.

@ccxanthea

the doors to the arcade locked with a small click, a sound that resonated through the eerie quiet that always settled into place when the machines were muted or shut off completely for closing, the building completely empty of any other signs of life save for himself. there were no excitable middle schoolers shouting across the room or ice cubes clattering into paper cups. the arcade was asleep, as he would be soon enough, if he was lucky. sleep didn’t exactly come easy to him the way it used to. every time he closed his eyes, he risked seeing the ghosts he was still grieving. no, sleep wasn’t likely, not nearly as likely as his staying up until the sunrise playing video games he didn’t even know the name of anymore.

he hung the key’s lanyard on its proper hook and made his way to the door, with some haste to avoid lingering in the unsettling quiet for too long. he tugged his hoodie on over his head and immediately regretted it the moment he stepped out into the muggy lukewarm air of the night, the doors shutting and locking behind him. it only confirmed that it’d be another night of his tossing and turning under uncomfortably damp sheets, catching hardly a wink of sleep before he’d give up once again and sleep the day away instead.

the weather did make for a pleasant walk home, however, though a group of ominous-looking clouds in the distance reminded him of the imminent threat of summer rain. maybe then he’d actually be able to put the hood on his sweatshirt to good use. he drowned out the rest of the night’s quiet with earbuds playing whatever his alternative pandora station decided to play next, the electricity in the air a sure sign that the incoming storm would be a big one.

it wasn’t the flickering of a light or the rumbling of distant thunder that caught his attention in the dead of night, but the bizarre sight he happened to catch when glancing up from his phone. if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was hallucinating, because people didn’t turn into cats in the middle of deserted streets. but if two years of magic taught him anything it was that, not only was such a feat possible, it was probably a sign of impending doom as well.

he would much rather be at home, battling insomnia and sweaty sheets, then dealing with this nonsense right after work.