#( she does not walk; she runs instead // introspection )

[teethsteakinc]

Im kinda new to tumblr I know im late lol, but I wanted to post my writing and one of my friends said tumblr was the place. So here’s one of my shameless introspective set in season three after episode six.

—x—

I didn’t want this to happen. I thought a sleepover would’ve been fun, progress, a way to get some alone time. A confirmation that he had liked me more than anyone else. A confirmation that I was more than a warm mouth; that somewhere along the way I had gotten through. And I think I genuinely did, I did break through and that’s what’s scariest for him, that he cares. But my breakthrough wasn’t the issue, the breaking down of the door as his father broke in, the drop of the needle, and the start of the storm, Terry’s loud voice.

He knew.

He had just walked in on his son getting fucked by another man. A fate unimaginable: Terry Milkovich was watching his son leave a dirty stain on the Milkovich name. The chaos was quick, though it felt like forever. A beat down, an attempted escape, and a gun being pulled to my head with a threat to sit down and watch. So I sat, blood running down my face, watching my almost-boyfriend avoid my gaze, as his dad called a Russian hooker to fuck the faggot out of him.

But it’s been a week now and I haven’t seen him. It’s not surprising, Mickey had always tended to run. He was always scared of me in a way, of what I represented. Because to love me, is to accept his sexuality and that just wasn’t a possibility. But the world doesn’t stop turning when you need a break, so I went to school and I went to work, and when the want got overwhelming I smoked to fill his absence. I smoked because smoking is his and I miss his flame. I smoke and think of how I want to crawl into bed with him, how I want his warmth, but it will only make it colder when he leaves, so I cry instead.

I smoke again when I overhear someone saying he’s getting married and having a baby with the same Russian whore from that night. I smoke knowing I was there when she got pregnant because it’s only been a week. I smoke because my world is ending, and I know he doesn’t want to see me because I know my image reminds him. But when the cigarette fizzles out, I need to see him, so I seek him out anyways. I find him at an abandoned building slumped and throwing empty beer bottles at decaying walls. He reeks of booze and spurn. He ignores the call of his name until I throw one of his bottles back at him.

“So your dad beats the shit out of us and you’re just gonna get married no conversation, no nothing?” I’m yelling because he won’t listen, because I’m tired of giving him his way, and because I’m tired of waiting patiently.

“Jesus Christ, calm down.” The tone feels degrading, as if I’m overreacting. As if he doesn’t care that he’s marrying a Russian skank, or that he’s been ignoring me. He gets up to leave like this conversation is over, but it’s barely even started.

“Which piece of trash are you screwing to pretend I don’t matter to you” I can’t hide the hurt in my voice, this has been building too long.

“Fuck you.”

“What? you need to fag bash to feel like a man?”

I mean it to be pushy, I want him to hit me. I want him to leave his mark and let his anger out on me. If he needs to be mean he can be mean to me. My skin is full of fragile bones waiting for him to get tired of throwing bottles against walls. He swings and knocks me down to the floor–he turns to leave but this isn’t over.

“You love me and you’re gay, admit it.” My words are sharp, I want him to turn around, I want to hear him acknowledge what we have. Just this once I wish he’d admit that he loved me. That this was real and that he cares. But I let him beat me up, I let him bash me and pretend he doesn't care.

“Does this make you feel better?” I spit out blood.

“I do now.” This time when he turns I don’t stop him, I watch from my spot in the dirt as he leaves.

Even though I know he’s lying, it hurts, and I can’t tell if the ache in my chest is real, if the punches are setting in, if I’m feeling the after-effects, or if I just need a smoke. But I don’t quit, I can’t quit him. I go to the wedding, and I meet him in the back room of the dingy place he rented. I look at him knowing his answer but hoping that maybe he’ll follow. I hope this isn’t goodbye but even if he got married I’d throw my shoe at the altar and object until they dragged me out kicking and screaming. I build up the courage to finally speak:

“Don’t do this.”

The silence is deafening.

“Do you think I have a choice; do you think I want to marry her? Get out of your own fucking head man I don’t have a choice.”

“Come with me, run away, we’ll make it–just come with me.” My voice breaks off in a whisper, I’m desperate. I’m pleading. What he doesn’t understand is that I need him, even without legs my world runs for him, without his arms the clock stops, without him my heart stops.

“Please–” I fear I’ve given too much of myself away, and he can hear it in my voice, but if I’m not his, what am I?

“Come on man, doesn’t mean we can’t still bang” he laughs even if it doesn’t reach his eyes, this is his desperate attempt to keep me here. But I can’t do this. I kiss him for the last time, raw and desperate because I love him, and I know he does too in the way he grips my hips desperately, but I can’t give in. There’s no pain like watching your love get married to another woman, watching unconditional love go to waste, and I’m not strong enough to bare it. Wasted unconditional love, I can’t just stand here anymore. I can’t watch him kiss the bride and kiss me goodbye. I’ve stood in the way of the door too long, and I need to go.

“Don’t do this man, don’t leave.”

I can hear the hurt in his voice, this is goodbye. He won’t follow me but I can’t keep following him; I can’t keep filling this hole in my chest with smoke, waiting to feel whole. I can’t keep trying to remedy withdrawals with cheap tabaco. I’m tired of wanting more.

The love of my life just told me goodbye.

There’s nothing for me in this town, but in every crack, in every turn, I'm reminded. I see you in everything, the breeze whispers your name in my ear, the sky has your same blue, the mountains have the same slope as your nose and the clouds hide your face. I watch as my three-year relationship crumbles. Despite his denial, even if he never accepted his truth, the past three years were real to me. He can deny but I remember soft kisses and lingering touches, late-night meetups with the promise to see each other soon, and quiet exchanges with favors gone unsaid. I know that every I hate you was a hidden I love you and that his love was loud and disruptive but also sacred and quiet. He was angry but oh so soft because if nothing else he loved me. So even if he never let me hear it or call him my boyfriend this is the worst breakup I’ve ever had. So, for the last time I smoked, before I quit.

—x—

That’s the end of it any critique or commentary is welcome also any help on how to properly tag if I’m doing it wrong.

[avionvadion]

Rewatching Diluc scenes and he’s just…

He’s so sweet??? Like they animate him with such a deadpan expression but he’s genuinely one of the nicest characters???

Klee legit burned down half his vineyard chasing butterflies and instead of getting angry or upset with her, he just gifted her some free bottles of grape juice and walked her back to the Knights of Favonius to make sure she arrived safely. But because his face is so deadpan he’s the only one she says isn’t “the best” because he’s “looking so grumpy all the time”.

Like, baby girl, come on, you BURNED DOWN HIS VINEYARD, and HE GAVE YOU GRAPE JUICE.

He even jokes about making Venti pay for all the wine he’s drinking as “only the knights drink for free tonight” before retracting his comment because he doubts Venti could afford the bill. And in the teapot he even makes a new non-alcoholic drink and offers to name it after you, because it was made with you in mind.

Like????? Excuse me??? Sir???

He’s just so misunderstood, like 😭 when he commented that your teapot abode was “not bad” he immediately apologized and said that he didn’t intend to come off insulting. He just meant that it would take some time getting used to staying there. He then apologized again because the conversation was going downhill, proceeded to say that he’d have to do some “introspection”, and that he would also try to find some “conversation topics that align with your interests” so that you two can actually talk together.

My heart can’t, he’s so freaking sweet. And even in his voice lines he generally only ever has good things to say about the other characters (save for his warning to not trust half of what Kaeya says) though heartbreakingly the other characters only ever complain about him because he’s “always frowning” or “is a lot different than how he used to be”.

Like excuse me, his dad was practically murdered by using a delusion, and had his death covered up by the Knights of Favonius. Then he found out his adoptive brother had been lying to him all along, nearly blinded him during their fight, and then went on a revenge mission for about three years to avenge his dad.

He isn’t gonna be as cheerful as he was before! It’s a miracle he’s as sweet as he is now.

He and Kaeya still have a rocky relationship, but they don’t HATE each other. That much is clear. They’ve mended their relationship to the point where they’re able to send letters and team up on missions. And based on recent updates, they genuinely miss each other.

(Kaeya having that Diluc card is both so sad but also kind of hilarious. Dude is legit just drinking away staring at a picture of his brother. Jean, please get this man some therapy I beg of you. He’s the Calvary Captain, he can afford it.)

Anyways, Kaeya harbors too much guilt and keeps pushing Diluc away by making comments he knows he doesn’t approve of, being genuinely insufferable almost as if to punish himself by trying to get Diluc to hate him, and Diluc has a hard time bringing himself to try and mend the rest of that gap without outside forces helping because he attacked Kaeya in a fit of rage and nearly blinded him, thus giving him his own guilt to harbor as well.

(Adalinde is doing the Archons’ work to pull these brothers back together, I swear)

Diluc even has a hideous vase Kaeya gave him as a present out on display in his manor. He could have trashed it. Could have shattered or donated it. But he didn’t. He kept it and decorated the manor with it. Despite everything, he does still care about his brother. He wants to mend things, but doesn’t know how, and Kaeya keeps pushing him away.

…Holy frick, this was not the direction my ramblings was supposed to go to.

AHEM. Anyways…

My point is, Diluc doesn’t come off as a very friendly person, but he’s literally one of the sweetest characters in-game.

Sassy and sweet.

Man’s been through some shit and he’s only, what, 22? He’s gonna look grumpy. His dad is dead, his brother is a brat, he’s got to run an entire wine business on his own with only his butler for help- specifically, the largest wine business in all of Mondstadt, he works part-time as a bartender at his own tavern, and is also trying to take down the Abyss/Fatui during his free time.

He’s probably so tired.

But Diluc ain’t the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt for nothing, y’know?

[onewmin]

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 11 | bangchan

Pairings: Bang Chan x Fem!reader, Kim Yugyeom x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, mentions of verbal and physical abuse, descriptions of a toxic relationship, mentions of s*icidal thoughts, profanity, descritpion of a fire, the reader loves her cat very much, another day of the reader and Chan being annoying (the latter especially), jealousy, the reader is going through major changes (good for her), another bunch of Taylor Swift references, the reader has yet another traumatic experience; typos

In the parts with the cat it's very much self-inserted. Shout out to my cat and all other kitties and doggies <3

'Dal' stands for 'moon' :)

Word count: 5411

Author’s note: welp, there's a lot to read lol. Idk why this whole work lacks happy moments so much, I'm trying my best to make it more positive, but in the end... We get this lol. Still, hope you enjoy another part! I'll try posting part 12 in a couple of weeks, but, as my summer vacation is over, I'll have a lot of work to do, so I cannot promise you an exact date. Again, thank you fro reading and supporting 'the perfume on the shelf' and enjoy the ride! (put ya seatbelts on)

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 10 | Part 12

Another day to cry in the bathroom of your therapist’s office. 

Wiping your red cheeks, you took a deep breath in, trying to calm this sudden outburst of pain down. Talking about your unsuccessful attempt to go back together with Chan resurfaced in something deep, something that has affected you too much to even be able to handle it on your own. Your fear of rejection has finally become real - and instead of feeling calm after so many years of being scared of it, you found yourself utterly broken. 

As long as you could remember yourself, this fear of being rejected has pressured you into staying out of the picture, of never saying what you truly feel. You were shaking at the thought of confessing to Yugyeom, when you were a teenager; your breath was hitched in your throat when you decided to join that writing club at university; the idea of asking anybody out made you sick to your stomach. And finally, all the mess with Chan was partially launched by your inability to ask direct questions, to come clean eventually. However, your initial choice was to live a lie, to let yourself have dust thrown into your eyes, to rather have smoke and mirrors than an honest relationship. What does this say about you? 

“I don’t know”, you muttered, looking at the reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know”, you repeated, sniffing and exhaling once again. When you were nineteen, everything seemed so easy. When you were nineteen, you seemed to know everything. 

“What would nineteen-year old you say about this whole situation?” Your therapist’s question was left unanswered, rather as introspection for the next two weeks. What would she say, really? That’s a walk in the park for her.

“Dump his ass”, the advice you used to give all of your girlfriends popped up in your head. “Find a new hobby, work more, go out more - do anything to forget him. He’s not worth your tears and time”. Easier said than done. 

You sighed once again, before collecting your lip gloss back into your purse. It’s time to go home and prepare for going out; even though you try following your own advice, the thought of Chan is a lingering memory, a signature left right on your forever restless brain. 

Running up the stairs on your subway station, you checked your messages to find Yugyeom and Eunjoo discussing art in the chat. Two weeks ago, after the airport incident, when Yugyeom was dropping you off at your apartment complex (the conversation with your parents about your early departure from the countryside was guided by Gyeom perfectly), Eunjoo caught the sight of the two of you while she was waiting for her best friend on the bench. For some reason she decided it would be a great idea to start going on ‘double dates’ - although, you could barely call them dates at all. She was unsure about her relationship with Minho, so she needed you to check up on him. You didn’t want to be the third wheel, so… So she invited Yugyeom. And now the four of you had a group chat. Was it a nightmare? Absolutely. You found out what nerds Gyeom and Eunjoo were; discussing everything - even rocket science, are you kidding me? - while you and Minho intervened in their intellectual conversations with memes and ridiculous videos to watch. For instance, when you sent a Tarot reading video, just for shits and giggles, just to send a follow up message, “This woman said I’m gonna have a billionaire husband in a couple of months” - only to get bashed by two absolute smartasses for your silly little hobby, as they threw in their pieces of mind on how Tarot is a scam, and it doesn’t work, and people like that woman are a fraud - et cetera, et cetera, blah-blah-blah. Minho, on the other hand, was pretty supportive (and a pain in the ass for Eunjoo and Yugyeom) when he sent in ten more videos of that same creator, chiming in with his comments about toxicity. Yeah, this chat was a shit show; however, it was bringing you too much joy to hate it.

In your apartment your cat greeted you with irritated meows and sweet purrs when you took her in your arms as if she was a baby. “Mama’s sorry, Gaeul”, you said, kissing her in between ears, “but I promise I’ll be back sooner than later. Just a couple of hours, okay?” She started gently biting your hand as you tried to scratch her tummy. “And you get to be the boss of the house. Not just for a few hours”, you kissed her nose and she put her paw on your cheek, “but forever, Gaeul”. She jumped from your arms as soon as you heard a loud stomp and a screeching curse - ugh, your neighbours were fighting again. How could a family that looks picture perfect hate each other so much? Well, you knew the answer to the question, but still, it never failed to arise every time you heard these two fight.

“You’re a piece of shit, Hajoon!” You sighed as you heard the man’s voice. “A piece of shit wife and mother!” This was the unfortunate reality-TV-turned-real-life program you had to listen to; the walls were rather thin not to hear them constantly fight over stupidest things in front of their little girls. When you saw the two of them ride their bikes and laugh, you always wondered, how they managed not to lose their innocence yet - with parents like theirs, who trapped themselves in a toxic marriage, the innocence of a child being saved was a miracle. 

The drama continued as the woman cried out harsher curses, accusing her husband of cheating. Is that the life that awaits everyone in a marriage? Is that the life you’re going to have too? That’s what your parents have; constant fights, verbal abuse, toxic apologies with flowers and luxury candy, and no words uttered. No resolution of those conflicts, no rethinking of the life choices they’d made to get to this point of no return. Nothing. And this family, a family so similar to yours, was the same. Only the girls were lucky to have each other and not to be alone. However, calling the kids ‘lucky’ for lulling each other when their parents scream all types of insults, calling the children they created with ‘so much love and affection’, as the mother posted on her stories, ‘mistakes’ when they were in another room - calling them ‘lucky’ was a direct insult. 

Accompanied by curses coming from a wall away from your living room, Gaeul was circling around you the whole time you were collecting your things. When you looked at the wrist watch, it was already ten minutes past the time you should have left the house. “Shit”, you mumbled, rapidly taking the bag in your hands and giving Gaeul a couple of more scratches, while she was meowing and standing in front of the door. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, sweetie”. 

You were supposed to be drinking as the four of you were going for some type of party one of Minho’s friends was throwing - so taking the car wasn’t an option; you didn’t know much about Changbin, but you were willing to get out of your shell and meet new people. “Maybe you’ll finally find a boyfriend there”, your mom told you over the phone, “you’ll be thirty soon - not really soon, though - and your father and I are waiting for grandkids. Your cousin is already a mother”. Ugh, yeah, whatever. Some nonsense that your mother confidently states is out of this world sometimes. 

Running up to a bus stop, you conveniently saw your bus pull up; jumping in it, you paid for the ticket and sat down on one of the many empty places, staring out of the window. As the music took you to another dimension, your thoughts flew by, pictures of your mother nagging you about the prospect of marriage, Chan putting his arm over Micha’s shoulder, Gyeom stuffing his mouth with a sandwich in one bite, Eunjoo and Minho holding hands ran in your mind with a uncontrollably rapid speed. You were thinking about Chan less each day, the images of him being replaced by your friends, new people you met and surprising revelations you made about this world and, first of all, yourself. 

Every bus ride that lasted more than twenty minutes - just like this one - got you hooked on rethinking and reflecting on every little thing that had ever happened to you. Sometimes it would be sappy, rainy autumn day like memories: Chan holding your hand while driving, bringing it to his lips to leave a small kiss on your knuckles every time the car stopped at the red light; you and him lying in bed, face to face, heart to heart, having those rare sincere conversations, filled with laughs and kisses. Whereas sometimes you’d lose yourself to cheerful moments, those July bright yellow afternoon days memories, with Yugyeom watching you chase after his golden retriever Dal; with you watching some happy kids fly kites while on a picnic with Eunjoo; with you writing your earliest stories in your old diary, sitting behind the desk in you sunlit childhood bedroom. The happiest that you were, in all of those memories you couldn’t even find the ghost of Chan; as if he had never existed in the most joyful moments of your life. As if - no, no ‘if’s’ - he had only brought you pain, and tears, and gut wrenching disgust towards your own self, towards the little girl, singing along the radio songs in her parents’ car, towards the fifteen year old girl, who wrote her stories on her old laptop and squealed after getting her first likes on the web, towards the woman you’d become. The woman who made stupid mistakes one after another, noticing but not seeing the pattern she had with every lover of hers, not seeing Chan being the same guy like the rest of them in her history. The woman you’d become, the woman you’re still thriving to be - she doesn’t deserve the slander you put her through. 

There might have been happiness during him - his jokes, warm hugs, car rides to his parents’ country house, him playing with Gaeul, his voice, his soft curls, his late love confessions. But there would certainly be more happiness after him, after this whole mess you yourself created. No acid rains burning your cheeks anymore, no scratching yourself so much you start bleeding anymore, no gray colors during the brightest sunny summer mornings. Is this what the phase of acceptance looks like? Is this where you stop blaming Chan for the pain he caused you? Nah, you’re not there yet. But close. Definitely close. 

Receiving another text in the group chat, your thoughts suddenly led you to the anxious search for your ID in the handbag of yours. “Shit, shit, shit”, you muttered under your breath, when you realized it was nowhere to be found. Did you lose it on your way to the bus stop? Or did you lose it here? Oh no. You rolled your eyes at the clear memory of seeing it on the kitchen counter before you rushed out of the apartment. How could you be so irresponsible? You’d never forgotten your ID, ever in your life, even taking it to the convenience store at 7AM to get a snack on your day off. And now, when you clearly needed it to get in the club, you’d left it at home? Super responsible, girl, just awesome. 

Having jumped off the bus at the nearest stop, you caught yourself feeling absolutely shameless about the fact of being late. After you moved almost to the outskirts of the city, not being on time has become your signature mark. Now you were texting your friends, explaining the whole situation, while getting in an Uber - just to shorten the forty minutes you’d already spent on the bus to twenty-five. And as the car started off, your friends couldn’t leave you alone. 

“Gyeom, I’m sorry”. The first words you said to him after picking up, annoyance recognizable in your voice. Yeah, you were the one being late, but Mr. Punctuality didn’t have to remind you about it as well. 

“I’m actually late too”, he let out a breathy chuckle. What? Kim Yugyeom coming late? 

“What happened?”

“Nothing”, he sighed, “I just spent too much time on the phone with my dad”. You hummed in response. “I can pick you up, by the way”, Yugyeom added. 

“You don’t have to”. 

“Ah, it’s not like I’m goin’ to be on time anyway”. The yippy notes in his voice made you reflect the smile he was probably wearing on his face. “So it’s not a problem, really”.

“Thanks, Gyeom”. 

“I’ll be at your place in, uh, around ten minutes”. As you ended the conversation, you heard the siren sounds in the distance. It wasn’t an unordinary occasion: the song of the sirens was playing almost an unstoppable tune every minute of the day, as the ambulances were rushing through the busy streets, or the firemen were driving to stop the fires. It was not unusual for a city like Seoul; however, the closer you were getting to your apartment complex, the more the clump of fear inside your chest grew. 

The first thing you saw when the car turned to your building was the blinding light of the fire truck. Then it was the group of firemen. After it was the crowd, surrounding the fire engine. The last thing was the smoke coming out of the apartment on the fifth floor. From the apartment right next to yours. 

Jumping off the car, you rushed through the crowd, forcibly pushing apart the nosy neighbors and bystanders, only to be stopped by a firefighter. You couldn’t think of anything else, of other people, of the party you were late to, of the things in your apartment - the only image in your head was of Gaeul. How scared she must be, how she’s probably sitting in the corner of your room, far away from the strange and dangerous smell. The clouded vision of yours, the tears in your eyes were invisible to you. The only thing you needed was to get your baby out of there. 

“Miss, you cannot go in there”, the voice of the firemen echoed in your ears. 

“My cat’s in there”, you mumbled, but he heard you, “I need to get her out. It’s an apartment right next to that that’s burning”. 

“We’ll get her out, no need to worry”. The calm notes in his voice had awoken some primal rage in you - how could he even say that? You couldn’t not worry, for fuck’s sake! 

You quickly disappeared in the crowd so that the firefighter wouldn't recognise you if something was about to happen. There was an emergency exit, but they were probably evacuating people through it, right? What should you do to get in? 

As the thoughts were rapidly running through your head, you saw smoke coming from another window. Your window now. Your heart sank; everything around started spinning slowly and you grabbed your chest in order to calm yourself down - at least, a little bit, at least, before you took Gaeul in your arms. 

Fuck it. You hastened your steps through the crowd, away from the main entrance, in hopes to get lost amidst those being evacuated, in hopes to get through the emergency exit without being caught. In the inner yard of your building your restless, teary eyes noticed one fireman guarding the entrance; and over there, on the bench was your neighbour from the fourth floor, a fourteen year old, holding her brown dog close to her heart. 

“Hello?” She picked up her phone, the shaky voice of hers bringing more blood to your already jolting heart. How smart it was to exchange numbers with her all those months ago.

“Could you distract that firefighter for me, please?” You uttered, while looking at her. She turned her head and found your eyes. “My cat’s still in there. I can’t… I can’t wait till they save her. Please”. The girl nodded and quickly rose up to her feet, probably coming up with an idea of taking the fireman’s attention. 

She ran up to the man, still holding the dog in her arms, and started rambling something loudly, the hysteric condition of hers being the direct result of this horrible evening. “What was she up to?” You thought to yourself as you moved from a tree to a tree as fast as you could. “Was she walking her dog when the fire started? Was she at home?” 

How convenient it was to have a bunch of trees to grow in the inner yard of the apartment building. “I should thank the managing lady after it”, you watched as the firefighter turned his back to the entrance - now. The adrenaline in your stomach felt like a fuel to the fire of anxiety and fear; as you leapt up the stairs, two, three steps missed, your heart was pumping somewhere in your throat, bringing the inevitable, horrible thoughts to your brain. You brushed them off before you reached your floor, running in the corridor, which was filled with smoke, with an empty head. The door to your apartment was being broken down as you ran up to it, right on time - maybe, the first time you were not late in the last couple of years. The firefighters weren’t pleased a resident was out in the dangerous area, but you quickly opened the door - having promised you’d let them in without getting inside yourself - breaking the recently made promise immediately when the lock was open, dropping the keys to the ground. If the building management had fixed the electronic locks on time, maybe the whole building wouldn’t have to use keys; maybe, the fire issue would have been resolved earlier, had the firemen had an easier access to the apartments. 

Gray. Choking color gray - that's what your apartment was. You could get suffocated in here just for breathing in the smoke, but was it even a priority? You would die but get Gaeul out of this place.

“Gaeul!” Your voice came out quaking, eyes getting watery with every step you took. “Gaeul, baby!” Almost flying into your bedroom, you noticed her scratching the window in hopeless attempts to get out. “Baby, you’re safe”, you whispered, swooping her in your arms. She let out a weak meow as you covered her chubby face with a palm of your hand. The firefighter was quick to escort you from the apartment, having thrown a blanket from the couch over your shoulders. You wrapped Gaeul in it when you got to the hall; she was meowing as you ran down the stairs, telling you how scared she was. “I know, honey, I know”, you kept on repeating, “you’re safe now”. 

The fresh air hit both of your faces abruptly, making you gasp and cough. Holding Gaeul as close to your heart as it was possible - perhaps, if you squeezed her tighter, she would be inserted in your heart directly - you sat down on the grass next to the girl with a dog sleeping on her lap. 

“Is she okay?” You nodded, leaving a kiss between Gaeul’s brown ears. She started purring, exuding that velvety purring of hers that signaled of her finally feeling safe. After finding her in a pouring rain, as her dirty little paws left marks on your white hoodie and her squeaky voice notified you she wasn’t pleased with being carried by some stranger, after washing her up and taking her to the vet, after making sure she felt comfortable in every corner of any of the places where you lived, after teaching her to use the litter box, after buying her the most expensive and delicious food she liked, after having her sleep in between your legs every night since the first one she spent with you, after building up your whole life around her when you needed someone to give your unconditional love to, after having no suicidal thoughts the moment she took a step in your apartment, after having her as the only living creature who loved you unlimitedly - how could you sit and wait till they save her? How could you leave her little figure in the hands of fate? 

“Mr. Choi set his apartment on fire”, the girl said while petting her dog. “That’s entirely his fault”. 

“Tell me about it”, you mumbled. 

“Why didn't the police do anything when they were called on them last week?” She questioned. “He literally threatened to burn the house down”. You shrugged your shoulders. No one really did anything when he threatened to jump off the window, no one took his threats seriously when he promised to burn the apartment if his wife got on his nerves again. Yeah, like it’s a reasonable excuse for a possible homicide. What a scumbag. 

“He ran away though”. She sighed. “But they’ll find him in no time, I guess. Mrs. Choi said he broke his wrist trying to hit her, so he won’t be far away”. You nodded absentmindedly, eyes still focused on Gaeul. She already seemed peaceful, only her yellowish eyes still being completely overtaken by the dilated pupils. She was lying on your legs, covered by that blanket. “Isn’t it your phone buzzing?”

Oh, that was the annoying feeling in the pocket of your jeans. “Hello”. You responded in a monotonous voice. 

“Where are you?” Yugyeom sounded panicked. “I’ve been calling you for the past ten minutes! Are you okay? Where are you?” He repeated. After muttering a few words you hung up, putting the phone on the grass. The autumn nights started to get chilly; but you were willing to stay seated on the cold ground as long as it took for Gaeul to fully calm down. 

In mere seconds Yugyeom appeared in the inner yard, dashing to you. “Are you okay?” He observed you carefully, and then the gaze of his fell to Gaeul, curled up on your lap. “Are you okay, sweetling?”

“She ran into the building to save her cat”, your neighbor proudly proclaimed. Yugyeom gave a look - not the ‘Are you crazy?’ or ‘You’re insane’ one, but the look, striking as… Worry? Pain? Hurt? Love? 

“I think the two of you need some warming up”. His soft voice impinged upon your indifference to everything but Gaeul; it seemed as if the part of you that was scared started to heal as soon as he helped you get on your feet. For the first time in the last half an hour you shivered under the cool wind, and Yugyeom took his zipper hoodie off to put it on your shoulders. 

“You’re wearing a T-shirt”. You stated, looking at him. He gave you a small smile and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I like the cold. I’m like Johnny Storm, y’know that”. You let out a breathy laugh - the first one after pulling up to the building. Your cat was already napping in your arms - the safest place for her, as it turned out - so you and Yugyeom slowly moved to his car. 

The windows of your neighbors had ruined the whole front of the building - now the gaze of any person would fall on black frames around them. “I wonder if my landlady is here”. You said, when getting on the passenger seat. 

“D’you want me to find her?”

“Gyeom, no”, you answered in a soft voice, ‘you’ve already done enough”. His brows knitted as he looked at you with utter confusion written all over his face. 

“I didn’t do anything except for panicking and calling Minho and Eunjoo”, he noted, “and not like it’s hard to help you. Especially now”. 

You gave in rather quickly. “Alright”. 

“Give me her number, so I-”

“Just take my phone”, you shoved the device in his hands, “she doesn’t pick up if she doesn’t know the number”. He nodded before getting out of the car. 

And as you were petting your sleepy cat, you felt the tears being finally let go from your eyes. Gaeul woke up when the salty drops fell on her side and, after staring at you for a couple seconds, started to licking herself up. You laughed through the choking tears and caressed her head and back, thinking how much your life had changed since the moment she magically appeared in it. It became… Brighter, funnier, sweeter. Even when she would wake you up at three AM ‘cause she was hungry; or when she would try to eat the yarn whenever you crocheted; or when she would sit on the kitchen counter while you were cooking. The thought of losing her made your heart hurt even more than it already was. 

“We’ll be fine, right, baby?” You murmured when she started snoring quietly; you turned your head to look out of the window and noticed Gyeom in the distance, still talking with someone over the phone. A strange feeling of being absolutely safe around him had arisen in your chest the moment you saw his worried face tonight; maybe you shouldn’t push him away too hard - he’s one of the few people you can trust, after all. 

Gyeom was right; he cannot certainly save you like he used to when you were kids. You can come up with a rescue plan yourself, like today, when you couldn’t wait for anyone else to save the most loved part of you. Anyone but you. Gyeom cannot save you; but he can give you  the sense of comfort after you help yourself get back to life. 

“Gaeul”, you muttered, “how long it’s been since we called him ‘Gyeom’?” A short version of his name, and he hated being called that. But when it came to you, his first love? He blushed whenever you said ‘Gyeom’. And why did you start calling him that again? Maybe that’s a sign, you thought to yourself, leaning your head back, maybe I do need him around.

“So you mean to tell me”, Jisung was talking with his mouth full, “that you and Micha are not together? What’s the point of bringing her here then?”

Chan let out a deep sigh. It was only a matter of time when Han found out. “We are together. But we just don’t like labeling it as a ‘relationship’ Just give us some more time”. 

“ Are you kiddin’ me? It’s been two weeks, Chan!” He gnashed his teeth. “Every media outlet is calling me to confirm whether the two of you are together. What am I supposed to tell them?”

“That it’s none of their business”. 

“It doesn't work anymore. Is she your girlfriend or not?”

“She is, technically”, Chris leaned in his chair, “we’re in an open relationship”. Jisung set his palms down flat on the table, the heavy breathing of his sending shivers down Chan’s spine. He loved riling his friend up, but sometimes he seemed to forget Han was also his manager. A scary one at times. 

“I swear to God”, Jisung hissed, “I’m gonna kill you and replace you with another dude. No one will see a difference”. Chris chuckled and went back to his dinner, leaving Han’s question unanswered. 

Him and Micha had a lot of history; but when he showed up at her door, drunk to the bone, she was more than shocked. He kept on complaining, crying about you, cursing you, proclaiming his love for you. Micha was impressed only by him being that emotional - nothing like that ever happened when they were together. A couple of days later one thing led to another and… Some time after that she was already packing her bags to go to Melbourne with him. Was it a smart, calculated decision? Absolutely not. But Chan, for whatever reason, promised to support her financially before she’d find a job there; alright, to be honest? He wanted to hurt you. To hurt you the same way your reconciliation with Yugyeom made him feel. Chan wanted to see you suffer as much as he did, to see you try to beg for him to come back to you. Spoiler alert: you never did. 

Except for the airport incident. He almost caught the slightest glimpse of you, almost canceled his entire flight, almost called off all the business he had in Australia. If only he could delve into your features one more time, he would’ve put everyone aside. ‘Cause if you were there and he saw you, he wouldn’t need anything else. But he didn’t see you, so it was all settled as it was supposed to be. 

Han was grumbling something under his breath while Chan was scrolling down the latest news; some of his friends had a comeback coming up, the other was starring in a new drama, the third proposed to his girlfriend… Everyone seemed to have their life put together but him. When he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, Micha’s head resting on his arm, Chan would only think about a life he gave away. He could’ve been lying in his bed now, with his head snuggled into your neck, inhaling that sweet scent of yours right into his system. He could’ve been waking up to your leg lapped across his. He could’ve been with the woman he’s in love with, not the one he pretends to love. Micha doesn’t deserve this; but something tells him that she knows - just pretends not to notice. 

‘Hey, doesn’t this house seem familiar to you?” Han shoved his phone right into Chan’s face; when his eyes could finally focus, he recognised the building immediately. “They report it’s been a fire, they’re still locating it”, Jisung continued, “and the guy who started it wanted to kill his family. What a piece of shit”. 

The only thing Chan could see was smoke coming out from the apartment scarily close to yours. He was unable to forget the window of yours, the window he would always look up to just to see your smiley face. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Jisung swallowed his food, looking confused. “What for?”

“I need to call her”. Han rolled his eyes but obliged, lending the phone to his friend. Chan practically jumped from his seat, running from the second floor of the restaurant they were in to the street. Chan was aware of you blocking him everywhere; so he hoped you’d pick up if Han called. What was that logic? Why would you even pick up?

If the fire was still being located, how big is it? Were you home when it started? Were you not? Is Gaeul okay? 

Long beeps only fueled his anxiety. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Please. 

“Hello?” The voice on the other side of the phone wasn’t the silky one Chan was hoping to hear. 

Chan asked for your name. Was it a cop? A firefighter? A doctor? “She’s okay, she wasn’t home when the fire broke out”.

“Who am I talkin’ to?”

“Kim Yugyeom. I’m a friend. You?”

Another tingling in his chest, every little blood cell of his running to his head, fueling his rage and pain, mixing them altogether. So, Yugyeom is there? After all of your claims he meant nothing to you? 

“Hello?” Yugyeom asked once again. “Say your name at least, so that she’d know whom to call back”.

“Don’t you see the name on the screen?” Chan’s words came out harsher than he planned. “Sorry, whatever. Don’t tell her anything”. Chris hung up the phone and let out an exasperated sigh. Rubbing his face with his hands, Chan couldn’t even comprehend what he was feeling. Why was the mere thought of you and Yugyeom in the same space bringing him the worst pain of it all? It was jealousy. It was all the love he couldn’t properly give you resulting in that horrendous feeling of envy. The feeling that Yugyeom might give this love to you. The love that you deserve. 

How long will he continue pining over you? Maybe he should just start paying more attention to his actual girlfriend rather than the dream woman of his?

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis @amaranth-writing @itstorimf @tenshimara @whyyougottadothatbro

The story's masterlist <3

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

Final preview of the year

Seeing as doing these have motivated me in the past, here's the final preview of the year for a fic I'm hoping to get out before the end of December. It's shaping up to be an introspective piece for Momo (with Hitsuhina sprinkled in of course); a warning though that this section contains violence and descriptions of injuries:

The boy’s sobs make Momo's chest clench, and glancing at his face makes her bite the inside of her lip. Her blood pumps harshly in her veins, heating the backs of her eyes and the tips of her fingers. She thinks to look over at Toshiro, standing almost a yard away in her periphery along with a group of Shinigami, but chooses the boy instead.

“I-It’ll be okay,” she tries to reassure. “We’ve called for some people to come help you.”

The boy only whimpers and tilts his head down at the bite mark in his leg in horror. She can’t be glad he can’t see the full gruesome detail while he’s lying down, because it’s likely what he can see is bad enough. He’s getting too pale, much like his bedraggled mother, who clasps his hand in a death grip between her own. Momo can’t ignore her any longer, and says to her as she prepares for a healing kido, “I-In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Save him!” she begs. “He’s losing so much blood!”

“I-I don’t –”

“You’re supposed to save him!”

It’s like a bucket of cold water thrown over her rising panic. She holds her hands over the bite wound and stammers out the kido chant. As the green glow engulfs his limb, the boy yelps and his leg jolts.

“I-I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” she says to him, “but you’ll have to keep your leg still. This won’t take long.”

His bottom lip quivers, but he does as asked. It likely won’t be enough as the spell works deeper into the injury. Momo nods to his mother. “I-Im afraid I’m going to have to ask you to…” For some inexplicable reason, she can’t get the words out. Wasn’t she trained to handle situations like?

The boy’s mother whimpers when she realises what Momo wants her to do. She releases one hand from his and shakily brings it to his calf, pinning it down.

Another wounded Soul hisses in pain, but Momo doesn’t look away from the task at hand. Around her, Shinigami are trying to do the same she is with Souls who are injured to varying degrees. This boy is one of the more severe; aside from his injured leg, he has lacerations all over his body and internal wounds she suspects are in various places across his chest.

Considering the destruction caused by the Hollows in this area – from the snapped trees to the destroyed homes – it’s a miracle he wasn’t killed in the chaos.

His small face is scrunched up, his teary eyes focused on the sky.

She needs to distract him. “What’s your name?”

Before the boy can wince out an answer, his mother flatly replies, “Arai Tomohito.”

“Ah, that’s a really nice name,” Momo compliments.

Tomohito’s mother doesn’t respond, keeping her gaze on her son. The boy, however, shifts his attention to her. A tear falls down his cheek and lands in the dirt, but Momo can only take in how wide his eyes are. He wants assurance from her.

She finds some strength to smile. “I know it hurts a lot right now, but you’ll be all right. After I’m done, there will be other Shinigami that’ll heal you completely. You’ll be able to walk and run again before you know it.”

Tomohito blinks, looking both uncertain and hopefully.

“After I’m done, is there anything I can get you? Water? Or maybe something from your home?”

The boy’s eyes light up. “Kei-chan.”

“Huh?”

“M-My --”

“His toy,” his mother murmurs.

“Oh, I see.” She nods to her. “Maybe after I’m done, we can go get Kei-chan and –”

“Our house is gone.” The woman’s voice cracked, the flatness edging closer to something raw.

Momo can’t look away as Tomohito’s mother finally raises her head to her. Stands of dirt caked hair fall from what’s left of her bun, landing on her torn yukata. Her lips are parted, as if to say more, put they only quiver with a repressed sob. Momo’s gut churns; she knows this image will be burned into her memory for years.

[singdreamchild]

Roses on Gravestones

Timing: Early August

Location: Eluria Cemetery

Parties: Cassius @singdreamchild & Xochitl @vanishingreyes

Summary: Cassius goes to leave the crypt, only to run into Xochitl visiting her friend's final resting space. An introspective conversation takes place.

Content warning: Topics of death and grieving

By all accounts, she should have hated graveyards, and she did. Usually. She hated the idea that Mackenzie had been alone for so long, even though Xóchitl was fairly certain she didn’t believe in life after death. There was no way her friend was still walking around anywhere.

Still, there was a weird sort of comfort to cemeteries, and at least there, people weren’t likely to bother her too much. It was a welcome antidote to the sheer amount of talking and solving of others’ problems that she had to do all day.

She’d found that sometimes bringing flowers to often-left-alone graves, since returning to town. Xóchitl figured it had to have been because she hoped that after everything, after two decades (plus), people still treated Mackenzie’s grave with respect. That maybe her favorite duck plush was still there, or had been replaced with a newer version.

She heard a crunch as she was laying down the flowers of the day (carnations), and Xóchitl turned around to see who was behind her, far too much of a part of her longing for it to somehow be her friend, claiming that everything had all been a joke.

This was the second time that Cassius had found someone too close for comfort at the crypt he spent his time in. At least this time it wasn’t a student, right? Before he gave himself away, he had noticed the woman laying flowers at a grave of someone who had passed away long ago. The crunch of the branch under his foot gave him away before he could leave without being detected. Damn, he really had to get better at his sneaking abilities. Cursing under his breath, he gave a polite smile to the woman. “Apologies, I did not mean to distract you from your mourning.” He spoke in a soft tone, smile going from polite to awkward in a few short moments. 

He wanted to keep walking, but something rooted him in place. He didn’t know what to say, to ask who they were to them, but that felt too personal. “I often come here to read. I find that the dead still deserve to have company.” He found himself saying instead, shifting his feet slightly so he didn’t appear so stock-still. Sometimes it was hard to remember to look as though he were alive. 

Cassius then looked to the flowers, nodding slightly. “Red carnations. They symbolize love and affection.” He noted, remembering the period in his life when he had fixated on flowers and their meanings. His sire had gone through a lot of bouquets of flowers in that time period, he wondered if he had ever appreciated it. Unsure if the woman intended the meaning behind them, he realized it was a rather odd thing to bring up. “I uh, used to study flower meanings when I was younger.” He then explained with a brief smile.

“Oh - no, not mourning. I was merely visiting a grave to ensure that whomever is buried here does not feel alone. Which may sound silly, but it is what I have chosen to do, and so I’d prefer to not hear ridicule.” Xóchitl knew logically that she shouldn’t lie, and yet it felt all too easy to do so. Better than having someone ask questions about why she was visiting the grave of a child, twenty years after the date marked on the stone.

“I find the same. Besides, there is something comforting about cemeteries. It makes the dead feel as though they aren’t as far away as we might think they are.” It sounded like something she’d heard manman’s mom say, once, about someone in her running club. Either way, Xóchitl was still hesitant to let her guard down, but there was something that she could do, and that was offer the stranger a smile, and a gesture to join her, if he so wished.

“That they do - did you really? Can I ask what your favorite flower and meaning is? Or top five, if choosing one is too difficult to do?”

Cassius nodded his head in understanding as the woman explained herself. “A kindred spirit then,” he said in response. “I often find that there are people here who never have flowers, some stones are more worse for wear than the others, those are the ones I choose to visit.” He explained as he put a hand onto the stone of the individual she had chosen to visit. 

“I am Cassius,” he introduced with a soft bow of his head. “I often find comfort in a quote from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughter-House Five.” He spoke, eyes distant as he began to recite a passage. “When a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to die at his funeral. All moments past, present, and future, always have existed, always will exist.” He gave a sad smile for a moment, remembering all the people he had met in his life that got to die when he was stuck in a state of undeath. 

He took her invitation and sat down beside her. “I like the Forget-me-not.” He began with a nod. “It symbolizes true love and memories.” He explained with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “There is also the Greek story behind the hyacinth flower.” He spoke, pressing a finger to his chin as he recalled the tale. “A young Spartan prince that was loved by the Greek god Apollo was struck down by Zephyrus of the West Winds in jealousy. Unable to heal him, Apollo instead turned his body into the hyacinth flower, inscribing the petals with his love for him.” He shook his head, realizing he was rambling on about flowers. “Apologies, I tend to get lost in thought when I talk about things I find passion in.”

“Kindred spirit indeed,” she gave a slight nod of her head. “Yes, I find it sad if a stone is left to get too dirty, or if it looks neglected, though I suppose there comes the chance of a time when no one who knew the person is still around.” Which wasn’t such a pleasant thought at all, and one that Xóchitl did her best to rid herself of the first chance she had.

“I’m Xóchitl,” she responded in turn, “pleasure to meet you, even if it’s not in the most standard of ways.” There was something immediately comforting about his presence, despite him being a complete stranger. “That is a good quote – and — well, I’m sorry to have not been entirely truthful before. I do visit graves of those I don’t know but I - I did know her.” She looked down. “She was my best friend.” Her shoulders dropped, her typical sure sort of stance gone. “I am sorry for not telling you the truth. You are just so kind, so I couldn’t keep lying to you, even if it was only a small lie.”

He claimed apologies for getting lost in his passions, and Xóchitl only shook her head. “That is hardly something to apologize for, I think. I love hearing about what others are passionate about. Are you a florist, or is this simply a passion project of yours?”

His face fell as she spoke about the grave in particular. That she was important to this woman he now knew to be Xóchitl. “I am sorry for your loss.” He spoke, laying a hand down on the top of the stone, as if comforting it. “You have no reason to be sorry,” he began as he looked over to her. “Death is a personal thing. Sometimes it feels too vulnerable to admit the truth. As if speaking it aloud makes it more real.” He gave a sad smile, something he knew from personal experience with living as long as he had. 

“Simply a passion of mine from younger years.” He explained with a shrug of his left shoulder. “The information stuck and never truly left my mind.” He explained with a roll of his eyes at himself. He didn’t share that he had learned this in, quite literally, a different lifetime. Back in a world that no longer existed, where technology wasn’t even thought of, and people communicated their feelings in terms of flowers and hand-written notes.

“I am still sorry, but thank you – for your kindness, and for everything else.” Because he hadn’t had to say any of that, and yet he had, yet he’d stayed so kind, so giving, and just pleasant to talk to. Which wasn’t something Xóchitl always found around here. Or around anywhere, were she honest. “I would’ve thought I’d be used to it by now, but yes, I think you are right.” She offered him a cautious, sad smile back.

“A very neat sort of passion, if I might say so myself.” She nodded. “I think it’s kind of lovely, to be able to tell emotions or stories or any such thing without using spoken words, or even written words. Without words at all.” Xóchitl ran her fingertips along the top of Mackenzie’s grave. “Would a bouquet then show a whole range of things to say? If each flower means something different.”

Cassius felt a pang of sadness for the woman. He remembered when he had lost his mother, the last of his family to pass away and finally leaving him truly alone with no one but his sire to call family. He had gone back to England to check on her every now and again, and the last time he went, he had found that the house they had lived in was then occupied by someone else. He had went to the cemetery where his father was buried, only to find her tombstone next to his. He had never gotten to say goodbye. He frowned, a wave of understanding washing over him. “We live in a culture that does not talk about death. I find it rather normal to not get used to it. Such is the nature of grief.” 

He thought for a moment, the idea of a bouquet of flowers portraying all the things that he couldn’t say out loud, all hidden into different meanings. “I would imagine it would be a beautiful message to send, even if the recipient didn’t fully understand its meaning.” He had given flowers before, only for the message to be lost on deaf ears. He gave a sad smile to the woman. “I apologize for interrupting your mourning.” Cassius then said, taking a step away, not wanting to overstep.

“You make a very good point,” she began, “but still. It happened when I was little. It shouldn’t still impact me so much now.” Even though Xóchitl knew that that wasn’t entirely true. It just somehow, for some reason, felt better to say, even if it was a lie. Which was probably not great, but she’d gotten so used to telling white lies at this point that she was able to shrug it off perhaps more easily than she should have been able to.

“Oh, that does sound lovely, though I suppose I might only want to give them if someone knew the meaning. Otherwise I would just send a bouquet of their favorites.” Xóchitl shook her head, “not interrupting at all. It is rather nice to not be alone, but I am sorry if I’ve interrupted yours.”

Cassius shook his head at the woman’s notion of getting over it. “Please. I’ve lost people many years ago that still effect me to this day.” He insisted, waving a hand through the air. “Just because they left us, doesn’t mean the pain goes away as time goes on. You just learn how to cope with it better. That doesn’t mean there are times when the grief doesn’t take its hold.” He thought back to his family, he had lost them in the 1800s, now it was the 21st century but he still thought about it from time to time. 

“You have not. I simply go for a stroll through the cemetery.” At night. And he doesn’t leave. Oh yes, and he happens to live in the nearby crypt. All things he was thinking about burt didn’t dare to say aloud. “I come rather often,” Cassius confessed, shrugging his shoulders. “I shall bring her flowers from time to time, now that I know she’s here.” He then spoke, a soft smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I shall let you be. I should get back home.” He spoke, gesturing towards the exit of the cemetery, pretending as if he didn’t live in the cemetery. “We shall see each other again, I’m sure.” He spoke, tilting his head to the side with a sly smile. “After all, it’s a smaller town than we give it credit for.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” she offered, genuine. “That’s true – I suppose, or I’ve heard that said enough times that I think it must be.” Or at least, for the time being, Xóchitl could believe it. Even if a good part of her didn’t want to, or fought back and refused to. “You grow around your grief, not away from it.” That was something that some therapist had said to her at one point or another. Probably while they asked her to draw some picture and she drew one of what had to have been hundreds of her and Mackenzie, or her, alone.

None of those had ever ended up on her parents’ fridge. She’d torn them up, many times, crying and screaming about it all. Because the pictures were just a wish, they weren’t real, and it wasn’t good to stare at them all the time. She did that enough with the actual photos she had of her and her best friend. “Okay, it is a beautiful place to stroll through.” Even if Xóchitl was a bit curious about why someone would so willingly and easily go on a stroll through this place. “Thank you. She’s not picky, but she also loves colors and just anything pretty. Even dandelions.” She worried her lip for a moment, desperately wanting her friend back, desperately doing all she could to not cry. “Yes, I’ll – we’ll be – I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” Even if his knowing anything about Mackenzie made part of her never want to see him again.

But maybe it could be something of some sort of comfort, somehow. “I’m glad she’ll have someone else looking after her, too.”

[jaggedwolf]

pll rewatch 2x14

The one where Spencer throws a trash bag at Emily

Because she does do that, and the bag splits open on Emily. Do you think Spencer and Emily discussed boundaries for this fight? Because I think they were just like HELL YEAH WE’LL GO ALL OUT ON EACH OTHER and Hanna and Aria shrugged since they don’t gotta do shit

Anw I love that they decide a brawl is necessary for the scheme.

Ashley must be so bewildered by the cold war going in her own house...did Hanna and Emily talk to each other normally in their bedroom or not even there?

Ezra is walking out of a bike shop and instead of paying attention to anything he is saying I am thinking about whether Paige goes to this bike shop and has had to run into her former teacher who had to de-escalate her dad that one time

Garrett: “You keep saying things to me like they’re supposed to mean something.” LMAO a classic Spencer Hastings experience. 

In googling to confirm the spelling of his name, I’ve learned there is an actual person called Garrett Reynolds. He’s a BMX rider.

She reveals to him that she knows about the NAT club of creepy spying on high schoolers. God does she love poking an enemy

1 month timeskip! I believe we’re in January. No one is dressed for January in Pennsylvania. 

Emily is once more denied swim team because of her community service record D: How much swim team time is she missing her junior year, she should be worried about getting any scholarships tbh.

Emily smacks Spencer’s Carson McCullers book out of her hands. To me this is foreshadowing.

Is it just me, or is Ella noticeably cool towards Spencer before this moment? Is that supposed to about the inter-liar fighting or because of her suspicion of Spencer/Ezra, because I’m a hell of a lot judgier about that if it’s the latter. Ella: very bad mandatory reporter.

Spencer prints PROPERTY OF SPENCER HASTINGS on the top corner of her book. Dork. 

Toby is :( about the girls fighting and :( :( about Spencer’s refusal of his rocking chair gift which I’m sure she would appreciate at literally any other time

Spencer’s parents are out of town because Melissa has a medical thing. They really do not believe in parenting their teenage daughter huh.

The girls are so :D to see each other in the greenhouse and plot. Hanna is the one to express concern on using Emily as bait. Spencer and Emily are most into the plan.

I swear, Emily says “The weakest link wants some payback” with the sweetest smile in her face.

Later I’ll go “I wish the weakest link took some self-defense classes, or at least brought some pepper spray. Maybe a taser.”

Wow, a Toby-Emily interaction. I would maybe sympathize with him going “Don’t you shut me out too 🙁” if it wasn’t for the implication he’s spent the last month trying to reach out to Spencer while this is his first interaction with Emily since the 2A finale.

Love that all the boys are going ???? during this liar fight at the swim meet. Spencer is pretending to go full Ali here....I wonder how she feels about that...does she introspect about this or does she not realize till Toby mentions later

Why are swim meets the social scene of Rosewood High? I’m guessing the school is really fucking good at swimming, probably multiple D1 offers every year.

And not to judge but...why would Jenna go to a swim meet. That has to be one of the less interesting sports for a blind person, right, there's minimally interesting commentary if they even do that for high school meets.

My off-screen opinions of Paige is that even she cannot escape this gossip about the liars because (1) They literally got arrested and had to do community service (2) Emily and Spencer have been fighting in public for a month (3) They do this fight right outside the swim meet

One of her swim teammates is going to ask Paige hey what’s up with Fields weren’t you hanging out with her for a bit last semester and she’s going to BSOD.

Okay I have beef with Aria. She knows they have plans to meet up at the greenhouse. She knows they are using Emily as bait. She does not even think to tell Ezra to wait one more fucking day??? Did she think her parents were gonna throw her a goddamn parade for this news?

Probably, it’s Aria. 

I do enjoy all the Montgomery’s reactions to the Ezria reveal though. Ella goes speechless and grabs on to Byron like she cannot process the information, Byron wants to beat up Ezra so bad, Mike does not want his dad to get in trouble and hey he’s the fuck up anyway, might as well punch Ezra.

Like, you know Ezra has not even been slapped in the face before, let alone punched. 

Oh....it’s the beginning of my Toby dislike...it’s here...

I have a visceral hatred of him grabbing on to Spencer’s wrists and physically not letting her go while she’s begging for him to. Like yeah, I’m sure it sucks dude but you are actually broken up now! Even if you were together you don’t get to limit where she goes with your strength! Fuck off!!!

It’s the start of them making Toby more alpha bc I guess that’s hot to the teenage girls or whatever. 

When I was a teenage girl and on this rewatch, the more alpha they made him the more I hated him.

There’s a great sequence before this when Spencer’s on the phone pondering if she needs anything, her gaze flitting from kitchen knives to fireplace pokers, and then going no, I’m good. Fantastic, no notes.

Isabel must have no self-respect. Why would you still marry a guy who slept with his ex-wife in the last couple of months before your wedding, and worse yet, move to the same fucking town as his ex-wife?? Why would you agree to this??

Then again we saw that original wedding dress, her having no self-respect would not be a surprise.

Emily is the most punctual of the liars. I bet this is not the first or last time this is true for her, given the other three, but this definitely ranks among one of the worst times.

Loved Hanna hitting A with the car, I completely forgot about that payback.

Damn A, you should use a hoodie with zipper pockets. Skill issue.

[goldenworldsabound]

For Clayman: ✍️ and 📊 ?

thank you! :D

ESSAY ASKS

✍️ Describe some of the major themes or motifs apparent in your ship's story or relationship.

Is it a cop out if I say unconditional love and devotion- and I do mean unconditional. From Wendy changing herself (becoming okay with murder and shedding most morals, adjusting to the world they were summoned into, becoming a majin over time) to support Clayman the best they can, to the Bad Path (aka main story) where despite Clayman turning meaner and and making poor decisions and growing distant from them due to his mind control they would still rather die than live without him, and will still do everything in their power for his success...it's, dare I say, the theme. I think that unconditional love changes him.

📊 Compare and contrast the personalities of the characters in your ship. Describe whether you feel it is their similarities or their differences that define the ship.

Okay so one thing about us is we both really like to be praised fdhsafkjds (and so does Yuzu, it runs in the family I guess FHEWKJHFEW) even if the praise is for something basic. One major difference is that Clayman never wants to acknowledge that he had to learn something and prefers to act like it came innately, while Wendy is very much like "I worked hard on this and now I can do it yay!"

Another similarity is that they are very thoughtful towards those they love and care about. Clayman is described in canon as being very kind and affectionate to those in his inner circle, and Wendy shares a similar trait. She is nicer to more people than he is in general, but her station is also lower since she isn't the demon lord, and is technically on the level of the Five Fingers (though clearly above them, as the Beating Heart and also his romantic partner but from an external view that isn't known). I think that similarity is defining for the relationship, as well as the intense loyalty they both have for each other and those close to them.

A difference that does also define the ship to a degree is the ability to process their emotions. Wendy has this ability, though they do struggle with things like PTSD, but they have a strong skill for introspection. Clayman does not in the same way. He gets stuck on his inferiority complex, while at the same time getting overconfident. He's a walking contradiction in that regard. He has trouble talking himself down from either position. Wendy is there for him to help with both, and any other strong emotions that come up that he simple can't process, and tries to hide away instead. He improves over time, and he'll start to return that to Wendy. So it's a difference that develops the relationship, turning weaknesses into strengths.

But overall it feels like it is the similarities more than the differences that make the ship.

[silver--linings]

Step Not Onto A Burnt Bridge

[Crossposted on AO3]

Word Count: 4211

Characters: Rei/Akari (Player Character — Gender Neutral Pronouns but uses name Rei), Braviary, Ingo, Sneasler, Mentions

Rating: Teen and Up (Swearing), Gen

Tags: I wrote this in one go lmao, NOT ship I’ll fucking kill you, Spoilers, not for postgame but for main story, Introspection, Anxiety, Trauma, Talking Through Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, some headcanons, Kamado negative, lmao

Warnings: Brief moments of panic, nondescriptive 

Summary: In the aftermath of the events at the Temple of Sinnoh, the twin gods are quelled, and things seem to be relatively normal again.

But should things truly go back to normal? Can one just pretend it never happened?

—

Or, in which a straw breaks the Camerupt’s back.

Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out.

That’s it, Rei. Don’t take it to heart. In, out. Calm. Smile. Nod.

“Thank you, Rei. I sure am glad you popped out of the sky! You’re such a help around here,” the woman smiled at them, ruffling their hair.

Their chest tightened, and they forced out a laugh, nodding along with her. In, out. In, out. Stay positive. Put on a brave face.

Rei wasn’t sure what, exactly, they’d said to end the conversation. The woman seemed happy enough, though, so they turned away and kept a small smile fixed to their face.

Careful, now. One step, two, three, four. One after the other. Not too fast, not running, don’t run from them. Walk with purpose, too slow and they’ll request something. Remember to smile. You’re here because of Kamado’s grace. Be grateful.

A wave to Ress, a smile, a noncommittal answer. He seemed to accept it. In, out. In, out. No outbreaks. This is not the last time you will walk through this gate. A reach for the flute. A tune.

Wind.

— x — x — 

Braviary didn’t know what to think.

He was called upon frequently, the Celestica Flute’s unique melody for him becoming commonplace, even in his distorted perception of time. This instance should have been no different. Instead, when he alighted on the ground with his back already inclined for his charge to clamber on to, he paused.

They… did not look their normal self. He couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the Steel-y nature in which they walked, or the not-quite-there look on their face. They paused, and for a moment, Braviary wasn’t sure if they’d get on. Just to be sure, he nudged them with his head – gentle, but insistent. The jolt they let out made his eyes narrow, but he held back judgment, at least for now.

Obediently, but slowly, they slid a leg over his back, and then settled with their arms around his neck. If their fingers dug into his feathers more than usual, Braviary would pretend not to notice.

A few beats passed with Braviary not taking off, waiting for them to make a request. Usually, even if they weren’t talkative, they had a series of taps or tugs they’d perform in order to tell him where to go. No such command nor touch followed. Instead, static, rhythmic breathing ruffled his feathers ever-so-faintly.

Ah. Braviary was not well equipped for this, was he? Sabi rarely had moments like this, strange as she was. How does one deal with an upset child?

He wracked his mind and produced… absolutely nothing.

Sneasler had kids, didn’t she? Ursaluna, as well. Although, Ursaluna lived in the Mirelands, and that’s where a Settlement was, wasn’t it? If the child didn’t want to be in the Village, perhaps the Mirelands, and by extension, the Icelands, weren’t the best choices. Braviary took flight, feeling as if he’d lingered by the Village too long.

At random, the Lord picked a direction and flew towards it. Possibly the Fieldlands? No, that was awfully close to the Village. It was hardly half an hour’s flight, at best. That left the Coastlands and the Highlands… well, if Sneasler was in the Highlands, perhaps it’d be best to chart his course there. Maybe she’d know how to communicate with them. Basculegion was remiss when it came to humans, in most cases. At least the Lady liked people.

A slight angle to his wings, and he turned towards the Highlands. Unlike most of his flights, though, his mind stayed on his passenger.

Rei was a kind kid, not demanding, and they even gave him cake treats on rare occasions. They’d fended off both Sinnohs with relative ease, gone toe to toe with rampaging Lords, and almost filled that book of theirs. What had rattled them so? What had brought them to him looking much like a freshly evolved Steelix, hardly holding it together long enough for him to take to the skies?

As their grip tightened in his feathers and their form shook against his back, he felt lost, perhaps for the first time in decades.

— x — x — 

Sneasler stiffened marginally next to Ingo, who was dutifully relighting the torches in Wayward Cave. A glance in her direction awarded no response, so he lit the final torch before returning to her side.

“Lady Sneasler?” Ingo started, his natural lack of volume control startling her from her zoned-out state. He lowered his voice, if only a bit, but the clear confusion in it spoke volumes. “What’s the matter? Has something switched tracks?”

She grunted, then gestured towards the exit. Her claws clacked together once, followed by two more rapid clacks. They’d developed a means of understanding one another – or, rather, for Ingo to understand her better. Sneasler herself had picked up on his metaphors quite quickly. “‘Leave, and I’ll take you to it?’” he double checked, just in case, and she grunted again.

By the time they’d exited, she looked slightly more agitated, and rather than waiting for him to get on her back or simply walk , she tossed him over her shoulder and made for the Stonetooth Rows. Something had her alarmed, and she wanted him along for it? This was certainly abnormal. Lady Sneasler wasn’t as agitated as when Lord Electrode had been frenzied, nor as when she first wanted him to meet her kits, but it certainly was up there. Just what had happened?

Despite his confusion, Ingo did not protest nor squirm. When his Lady was like this, she was single-minded – that, and he trusted her. If she could help it, harm would not come his way. With the speed of both familiarity and perceived necessity, they’d gotten to the Stonetooth Rows in little more than twenty minutes, thirty one seconds. She looked back and forth across the peaks, looking for something, he was sure. She’d not put him down, though, so he was privy to a view of the Rows upside-down.

Before he realized it, she’d found her target and was running towards it – them? He was pretty sure there were two colors on the brown of the earth. Ingo was unceremoniously set on the ground, and he looked to Sneasler. Even if he wasn’t expressive, she was quite adept at understanding his minute facial changes.

Only his brother had been able to do that, previously.

He shook the thought off quickly. As valuable as the scraps of memory were, something far more pressing was at hand. The Lady held up a claw, then clacked them once. No danger. Quiet.  

With little else to do, he kept his mouth shut. Ingo watched her carefully as she approached a Braviary with… a person? Yes, undoubtedly. It wasn’t abnormal to see people riding pokemon, but it was something usually only done by the Wardens. No bracelet adorned their wrist, one of the only things he could see, so that eliminated the possibility. Strange.

Sneasler and the Braviary – was that Lord Braviary? – spoke lowly, his Lady’s frown growing deeper with each passing minute. She kept glancing at the bundle on Braviary’s back, making Ingo divert his attention to them. They seemed to be shaking, if slightly, and made no move to remove themself from the bird’s back. As Ingo thought about it, the bundle did look somewhat familiar… at least, the sleeves did. It wasn’t a Galaxy uniform, nor a Clan uniform, which meant…

On Braviary’s back, Rei hardly said a word as Sneasler helped them down, mindful of her clawtips. Their eyes were downcast, even as they gave Braviary an appreciative stroke. Sneasler led them over to him, as Braviary lingered for one long moment. His gaze was fierce, full of care and rage alike, watching Rei walk like a soldier to their grave. He met Ingo’s eyes, and despite the feeling of crawling Ingo felt at the eye contact, he dared not look away.

Take care of them. Braviary told him, taking flight at last. I will not tolerate any harm coming upon my charge, regardless of the perpetrator.

When the Lord was far enough away, Ingo looked back to Rei, who was now close to the stone on which he sat. Sneasler’s frown had not abated, but she sat them down next to him. Their limbs moved like a Shuppet, or perhaps a Golett – not quite acting of their own accord, instead puppeted by another force. A twinge of concern wormed itself into his chest.

He’d never seen Rei like this. They’d always seemed positive, eager to battle, eager to help, eager to connect with those they met and make friends. They had even managed to befriend Ingo, who had kept to himself beyond Melli, Irida, and Sneasler, the latter being the only one he contacted with relative frequency. Now, they were quiet, hardly responding to his Lady’s gentle prodding.

Ingo looked to his Lady, gesturing softly to get her attention but not startle Rei. She came closer to him, and he tried his hardest to speak quietly (which, in reality, probably was a normal or close-to-normal tone of voice). “Let me try. Emmet had days like this.”

Neither of them commented on the name. It wasn’t the time, nor the place.

“Hey, Rei?” Ingo knelt next to them, and then sat. The two would be there for awhile, he knew. “Do you want to talk? You can shake your head, if you want.”

A period of silence followed, where Rei stared at his shoes and he stared at their hair. A few times, they’d open their mouth, only to close it again. A similar aborted movement would sometimes follow with their head, as if they wanted to shake it, but couldn’t decide whether to or not. That was okay. There was no train to delay here, no course to reroute. It was just Rei and Ingo, with Sneasler keeping close watch nearby.

Finally, they cracked out a “yes,” before rubbing their hands. It seemed to be a nervous tic. Ingo couldn’t blame them. “I… it’ll take awhile. I don’t know where to start, and, and.” A frustrated sigh escaped them, seemingly involuntarily. “I’m having trouble with my words.”

“That’s okay, dear passenger.” Ingo nodded slightly, “the two of us have no set destination at the present moment. It’s just us and Lady Sneasler. We have as much time as we need.”

“Okay. … Okay.” The kid nodded, and Sneasler looked relieved. For a moment there, neither of them had thought they’d get a response.

“Let’s proceed to Lady Sneasler and I’s dwelling. It’s not far, and it’s out of the way. It’s a fine stop here, but something tells me there’s inclement weather.”

Instead of voicing their response, Rei just gave another nod.

— x — x — 

The dwelling was rather nice, Rei thought.

It was in a decently sized cave and tunnel system, seemingly dug out by Sneasler herself, lit by small torches. The area Ingo and Sneasler led them to was cozy, with a pile of various leaves and blankets alike serving as Sneasler’s bed and a few more cushions and blankets littered around for Ingo. It was on one such cushion Rei sat. It was surprisingly warm, as well. Cozy , their mind supplied.

“I will not press you,” Ingo told them, and they could tell he was putting in an effort to lower his volume for them. They appreciated it, despite normally the shouts being easy to handle. Something about the day felt wrong, and too much stimulus spelled trouble. On some level, the man seemed to understand that and adjust accordingly. “It is in your own time. Sneasler may come and go, depending on the timeframe, but I have a considerable amount of resources here. Do not push yourself.”

Rei nodded, again, and felt almost as if their head was a toy bouncing to and fro. Their companion didn’t seem to mind.

They were unsure how much time had passed when they worked up the nerve to speak again. The cave was darker, but that could mean anything. “I didn’t mean anything to them,” they blurted, finally. Ingo started a bit, not expecting the break in the quiet, but turned to them attentively from his spot by the teapot. “I… when I arrived here, they didn’t trust me at all. Kamado-” their voice cracked at his name, “-and Cyllene took a risk allowing me in, probably without the town’s approval. I had to pass an exam, yeah, but it was simple. I feel like you’d understand how easy catching some baby pokemon is. But everyone there was suspicious of me. Even Kamado.”

Ingo gave them a long, neutral look. They appreciated the lack of pity in it. “I was similarly distrusted upon my arrival at this station,” he agreed.

Rei took a deep breath. “I… I wanted them to like me. I was alone, you know? Alone and an outsider. So when the townspeople started talking to me, and asking for help, I jumped at the chance. I thought, ‘hey, maybe if I help around and pull my weight, it’ll help my case.’” They let out a bitter laugh. “And I really thought it worked! For months I did stuff for the townspeople and helped quell the Nobles. Cyllene told me on my first day here that I could die out in the wilds. Them taking me in was a blessing, and I thought that blessing had borne fruit, that I belonged somewhere. The Clans seemed to like me, and I thought I’d made friends. Family, even.”

Another long pause. They could feel a burning behind their eyes and a lump in their throat, and while they knew logically that Ingo wouldn’t judge, a traitorous voice told them that he’d throw them out all the same. They felt a nudge to their hand, and they jerked back reflexively. Ingo jumped a little, as well, two cups of tea in his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he spoke quickly and forgot to regulate his volume, but corrected himself just as fast. “Should’ve asked before. You weren’t responding, I… made tea?”

His clear awkwardness drew a choked laugh from Rei, and they accepted the cup, blowing on its contents before taking a sip. “Thank you.”

The two sat in silence for another undefined period, each drinking at their own pace. Ingo looked contemplative, or at least they thought so. He was hard to read when he wasn’t talking.

“I was blind.” Out of the corner of their eye, they could see Ingo glance up at them. His gaze returned to his cup, though, likely in effort to not stare or overwhelm them. “The requests, the friendliness, all of it. It wasn’t acceptance.” Rei took a deep breath. “They were just using me. Making the most out of the situation. They never wanted me there. It didn’t matter that I ate with them, talked with them, worked with them, nothing. None of it mattered. What I had thought was something was really just wishful thinking.”

They bit their hand to stop the choked sob that tried to force itself from their throat and squeezed their eyes shut. They couldn’t show weakness. Not where others could see. Not now, not now, not now. In, out, in, out, inoutinoutinout.

“Rei? Rei.” Ingo’s voice broke through their mantra. “Hey, Rei. I’m going to touch you, okay? I need you to breathe.” They glanced up, and Ingo rested a hand on their shoulder. “Breathe with me, okay? In, one, two, three, four. Hold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Okay? Let’s do it again.”

They weren’t sure how long the two of them sat and counted, but when they felt less like they’d run a marathon in heels, the two had returned to sitting side by side. “I don’t want you to force yourself,” Ingo began, quieter than they’d heard him be yet. “I want you to be able to talk about it, but don’t work yourself into a panic attack trying to get it all out at once, okay? It’s ultimately up to you what you say and what you don’t. I’m just here to listen.”

Rei rubbed their hands before quietly agreeing. They accepted his offer for more tea, if only to have something to hold on to while they gathered their thoughts. By the time the tea (bitter, but refreshing. Rei idly thought to themself that they must have not had tea, Before ) was ready, they’d somewhat composed themself. “I still want to talk,” they said resolutely, “if I don’t say it now, I never will.”

Ingo seemed to accept that, reclaiming his seat nearby them. “So long as you take breaks when you need them,” he acquiesced.

“I will.” They confirmed, and continued their story, “I, well. The sky went red. And I was exiled.” Ingo’s eyes turned sad, at that. They knew he had a similar experience, if devoid of the details. “When I was leaving… Kamado said he’d known not to trust me, and that I only wasn’t in chains because of my service. That I caused it.” That got a wince out of their companion. “The townspeople agreed. They said they’d never trusted me, I was always an outsider, I should never have been admitted. After everything I’d done, all the friendships I’d thought I’d made, all of it , gone in minutes.

“I was bitter. I was angry. But most of all… I was hurt. I had nowhere to go. I sought out the Diamond and Pearl clans, but they couldn’t help me. Not explicitly, at least, lest Kamado start a war with them over it.” The vitriol in their words left unhindered, at last. It had festered for far too long. “I wasn’t angry with Adaman, nor with Irida. They have people to care for. They came to help me later. But Kamado . He… he represents all of it, to me. I can’t look at him the same way. I can hardly look at him at all.”

Ingo nodded, understanding borne of similar experiences weighing upon his shoulders. “I… well, I’m sure you know I, too, was derailed from my typical Warden’s tracks. It wasn’t as cruel, for me, as I never was close with those of Jubilife. But seeing the way they treated someone kind enough to help strangers in the first place, let alone after they’d been driven from house and home.

“I came back from visiting Lady Sneasler to the red sky. By the time I realized what the town had done, I was en route to the Training Grounds. The way Zisu had looked at me despite our many days training together… it is not one I’ll soon forget.” Ingo looked down at his tea, idly swishing the liquid back and forth in the mug. “I tried the Pearl Settlement, as well, but they could not accept me. They directed me to Lady Sneasler. Lady Irida was furious, she wanted to barge into the Team’s headquarters and take him on herself, but… I am one man. One part of a small whole… hardly a part at all, as an outsider. Even some of the Clan felt indifferent about my exclusion. So… I had Lady Sneasler. Lady Irida visited me, but I laid low here. It… wasn’t too different from before, really. All I could do was hope that you’d found somewhere.” His grip tightened on the teacup. “It wasn’t my proudest moment. I apologize.”

Rei hummed. “It’s okay. I… someone helped me. They took me in. They worked with me, as did Adaman and Irida, to fix things.”

“The fact that you fixed things at all is remarkable, Rei. You had no reason to. Your kindness truly shines in your actions.”

Rei frowned, but they knew Ingo was nothing but honest if he could be. Especially with them, they’d found. Amnesiac solidarity, they supposed. “You know, the chef tried to kill me.”

Ingo choked on the sip of tea he had just started to take, setting the cup down to cough. They patted his back. He didn’t say anything, but the ‘what? ’ was written so clearly on his normally inexpressive face that they couldn’t help but laugh.

“Beni. He’s a ninja, I suppose. Kamado did too, but that’s not as funny.” Ingo hadn’t managed to lose his what the hell expression, yet. “But, yeah. After… everything… with the Sinnohs, they just. They just took me back. They brought me back into the Village as if they hadn’t left a fucking fifteen year old out in the wild to die . They threw a festival , for Arceus’ sake.”

“So…” Ingo’s frown finally made its reappearance. “A ninja chef tried to kill you, and then the Commander tried to kill you, and then two gods tried to kill you, and then they threw a party like nothing happened…? Am I summarizing that correctly?”

For some reason, the utter bafflement in Ingo’s tone was what broke the Camerupt’s back, so to speak. They’d not spoken to anyone about the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, as no one from the town could truly understand how stupid it all sounded – not even their friend nor Laventon would truly grasp it. Tears sprung forth like a deluge, finally bypassing the lump in their throat to allow them a full sob .

Awkwardly, Ingo patted their back. He was better at the talking part of comforting, and less so the actual act , and it showed. The thought just made Rei cry harder, the relief of finally being able to let it out with someone who could understand it overtaking them. They knew it wasn’t pitying, just awkward, and that was so, so, so much better.

Rei had to have cried for awhile, but their friend hardly moved beyond to get them a couple of handkerchiefs to clean their face with. The release of emotion made them exhausted , but they wanted to finish. “I– I’m good now,” they finally managed to say, taking a deep breath. They took a few more for good measure, accepting the water Ingo provided them with.

“I went back and they talked to me as if they hadn’t left me for dead. As if they hadn’t yanked the carpet out from under me. As if I hadn’t been betrayed the second something looked off.

“But… I couldn’t… I couldn’t say anything. At first, there was no time to think about how I felt. Then it was all so fresh and even thinking about it got me worked up to almost hyperventilating. And after that it was too late. Too much time had passed, Rei, why are you still dwelling on it? Aren’t you grateful? ” The spite that dripped from their final word surprised even them.

Sneasler, who had just returned from checking on what Ingo apparently (secretly) called the “sneaslings”, approached them. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps she was unnaturally perceptive, perhaps some combination of the two, but Sneasler took Rei’s head in her carefully turned away claws and rested their forehead on hers. A deep, throaty hum, much like a purr, stemmed from her throat, and Rei relaxed into her makeshift embrace. Even if Sneasler couldn’t hold them fully without risking their health, she could still convey care. It was, somehow, exactly what they needed.

— x — x — 

The kid seemed to be all out of tears, Sneasler noted as they relaxed into her hold. Instead, it seemed like the wind had been taken from their feathers, and they simply held onto her like a lifeline. A sharp spike of fury washed over her, carefully hidden by the purr she let out. Ingo seemed to notice, anyhow – her Warden was extremely perceptive, at times.

Gently, she rocked the child, allowing them to fall asleep against her soft fur. It had been a long day for them, she knew. Braviary was probably plucking his feathers while preening, he’d seemed so concerned, and she finally understood why.

It was not often that Sneasler felt a protective rage for humans. Once, it was for an earlier Warden of hers, a sickly girl whom she guarded more fiercely than any others before her. The next time was for Warden Ingo, a man who’d grown on her like stubborn moss, and was likely the first Warden she’d bonded with in a true fashion. And now, for this small, fragile child, who had saved the world twice over and likely would again.

The child had hurt no soul, displaying no brutality even towards those they defeated. They harbored no resentment for the Clan Heads who turned them away, nor for those who stood idly by whilst they were forced from the only home they remembered. Only the perpetrator of the banishment held their ire, when Sneasler knew she’d have already torn the population to shreds by the time they had the chance to utter the word exile .

This simply wouldn’t do. No kit of hers would remain passively in harm’s way, no matter how feeble they were (and humans were so, so feeble, she mused). Her Warden looked at her, as they both knew what she was thinking.

He could not argue, though. He’d say he didn’t want to wake the child, but they both knew better.

Oh, yes. She and Braviary would be having words.

[deadsetobsessions]

You inspired me!

Danny stared at the actual child in front of him. Yeah, sure, he’s nineteen and over the age of a legal adult. But a year dead in the ground and two in a cult does not make for a healthy functioning adult. Not that a healthy, functioning adult would be doing what Danny’s accidentally found himself doing.

Jason fidgeted the longer Danny stared at him, though those random motions were too fluid to be completely random. He’s trained. Dangerous. Not as dangerous as the new Bats going around yet still enough to make Danny cautious. Relatively, at least.

But Danny could only read sincerity in Jason’s micro expressions.

Why was he even thinking hard about this? Danny frowned at himself, which caused Jason to straighten his posture.

But Danny was preoccupied with how deep he’d fallen, unintentionally. This was the closest thing to liminal someone could get. Danny would have accepted him in no time, back before all of this stuff happened.

Ah, shit, introspection later. Budding crime lord, now.

“Why work under me? Haven’t you been traipsing around Crime Alley and building your own support? What happened to your plans?”

“You killed the Joker.”

Danny waited. If that was the only reason, Danny was going to toss this kid back into school. Danny’s really not that much older but at least he graduated high school.

Actually, he was going to do that regardless. Oh, hey! There’s the soft spot he was waiting for!

“And… it would be more beneficial, if we worked together. You have the Alley’s trust, as much as an outsider could, and I have the Alley’s trust as an insider. This operation could be more efficient.”

“But that’s not all.” Danny said, a smile beginning to tug at his lips. Jason had his head still bowed, even if his posture was more proper now. “All right.”

Jason’s head whipped up, and green-blue eyes met Danny’s blue.

“But you’ll have to do a couple of things first, to prove your… commitment to protecting the people instead of your own interests.”

A glint of determination flashed bright green, and Danny’s eyes glowed briefly in reply.

“Alright. What do I need to do?”

Danny walked past him, Jason tensing as he brushed past but he stayed still. Danny doesn’t make the mistake of thinking Jason isn’t tracking where he is right now, though. Danny reached into the drawer and pulled out a book. Morgan’s light reading, but it’s like 600 pages.

“Hold out your hand,” Danny said, trying to be imposing. It probably didn’t work, since Jason’s almost as tall as he is. Danny missed the tremor in Jason’s hand as the teenager obeyed the command, unknowing of the wild trauma running rampant in Jason’s head, nor the spiraling as Jason imagined the things he thinks Danny will ask him to do.

Danny walked back in front of Jason and plopped the heavy book into Jason’s hand.

“Wha-”

“Read it. Write a book report.”

Jason looked down at the book, expression blank.

“I can be useful. You don’t have to test me like this.”

“I’m aware of your skills,” Danny tossed out casually, mostly done posturing. Ancients, he had so much to do tonight, and he won’t even get to enjoy the moonlight fully. “That book is important to one of the charges in my care. She was rescued from an abusive household.”

“I can take care of-” Jason moved like he was reaching for his guns only to remember his hands were full of his helmet and a heavy ass book.

“They’re taken care of. That’s part one of your test. Read the book, write a report, and talk to Morgan face to face about it.”

What was the phrase? Two birds, one stone? It’s more like four birds, one former Robin. Danny won't have to read the whole book, Jason gets to indulge in his hobby without feeling guilty, Morgan gets to talk about her book, and the kids both get a new friend. Jason needs to be socialized. Desperately so.

"What is this supposed to prove?" Jason asked, becoming slightly visibly agitated.

To me? Nothing. To yourself? That you're capable of being happy again. Danny thought quietly.

Outwardly, Danny made up some plausible sounding bullshit.

"That you can be trusted around the most vulnerable. And that I can read your reports. I'm sure a former Robin-" Danny caught Jason's twitch at the title. "-would be good at giving reports. I already know you're intelligent, but this will allow me to familiarize myself on what you focus on and what you don't."

Danny patted himself on the back. That didn't sound half bad! Go Danny!

"I only need a yes or no." Danny asked firmly.

Jason paused. He nodded, grip tightening on the book. "Yes."

“Good. Second part will have to wait. I have business to attend to tonight. See yourself out, Jason.”

“What time should I come back?”

“I’ll come to you. You’re in my haunt, I’ll find you.”

With that, Jason was shooed out of Danny's "office" for the night.

Now... how to deal with the pesky assassins lurking about his haunt?

Maybe he might want to fight assassins... with more assassins?

No. Yes. Ugh, Danny gave up, going ghost and hamming up the intangibility and invisibility to go stalk the al Ghuls' shadows.

Only in Gotham is it this hard to protect the people from honest to Ancient assassins.

Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.

Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.

Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?

He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??

Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.

The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.

Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??

He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.

Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.

——

“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.

Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.

“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”

Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.

“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”

Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.

Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.

He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.

(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)

“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”

“I kept them in line!”

Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.

“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”

“I-”

“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”

“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.

“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”

“Fine! Fine!”

——

And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.

Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.

In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.

Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…

——

“So, you’re The Phantom.”

“And you’re Sionis.”

Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.

Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.

“How did you get in here?”

Danny shrugged. “Walked.”

Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.

“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“So, you’re a Meta.”

Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”

Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.

“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.

“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”

Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.

“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.

“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”

“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”

Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”

“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”

Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.

“I’ve got her, Phantom.”

Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.

“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”

And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.

But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.

——

Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”

From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?

But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!

Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.

On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.

Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.

Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.

He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.

He sipped his drink as he waited.

“Batman.”

“Phantom.”

“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”

Batman stayed silent.

“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.

“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”

Batman snarled.

“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.

“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”

“You-”

“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”

Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.

“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”

Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.

“… Apologies.”

“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”

Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”

Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.

Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Adam’s effortless psychosis.

Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.

“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”

“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.

Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”

Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.

“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.

Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.

“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”

Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.

“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.

“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.

——

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”

“Hn.”

“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”

Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.

——

The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.

[trcnsfcrmativearchive]

@lukastho

lukas had slipped into her life as easily as breathing; though their friendship was had seemingly come from nothing. now, he looked at home in her apartment and she was all too happy to have him there.

[jalebi-likes]

What the heck? Thoughts about Imlie Show:

(miss the above vibes, just saying)

Just when I was getting invested in the show Imlie with the most brilliant and satisfying introspection of Aryan and an emotional scene of the female lead running free from a forced wedding - which is very powerful considering we’ve always seen women get tied into forced marriages off late - we see her mother (who has been a liberal and pushed her daughter to great heights) FORCE her daughter into a marriage with the male lead cause the mum thinks that the male lead is amazing.

Which he is.

BUT WHEN YOUR OWN DAUGHTER DOESN’T WANT TO MARRY THAT MEANS EVERYTHING! Also considering that Meethi (Imlie’s mum) has been shown to keep her daughter above everything.

It’s so disappointing because there were a THOUSAND reasons to show why Imlie returned to the mandap to marry Aryan.

1) she remembers that Aryan’s aunt is behind Aryan’s wealth and might get him married off the this outer girl she colludes with to get Aryan’s wealth

2) Imlie realizes that even though walking out is her choice, the implications and insult and disrespect to the Rathores who have otherwise shown her kindness is everything and they don’t deserve this disrespect

3) she overhears the people holding the fact two widowed women blessed the marriage for the reason for the wedding to not happen

So she goes back to the Rathores to help them BECAUSE THAT IS WHO IMLIE IS. Her selflessness is her flaw and strength. We would’ve gotten such powerful scenes with that narrative because:

- getting married to Aryan is her choice

- aryan, who has always been bitter and critical about how she sacrifices herself to people who show her bare minimum, is now at the other end of the sacrifice. How does it feel to benefit from someone’s selflessness?

- Imlie telling Aryan that he did get back her trust by actually giving her the choice of the marriage and perhaps he’s going to tell her something about his feelings and she says she’s going to require this marriage to be nullified asap. And she isn’t giving him any threat, she just hopes and trusts he will agree to the divorce because:

1) she’s 19 and she deserves a life outside two marriages

2) she would only ever want to marry out of love - so desperate she was in that correlation that she fell in love with whom she married regardless of the circumstances and the outcomes were horrible and she doesn’t want that to happen again

3) teesri baat udhaar rahi 😉

Imagine the wave of angst of Aryan realizing his denial has no meaning because Imlie will never love him. How do you live with someone you love and come to a realization they’ll never love - and it’s not your fault, it’s their own life experiences.

Ugh imagine them fighting villains together again. Like now with their misunderstandings resolved - I believe Imlie will immediately forgive Aryan for whatever he did even if his actions hurt her because she’s kind and introspective that revenge kills people instead of serving vengeance.

Omg imagine her saying “I never wanted you to pursue revenge not because I had some feelings left for a man who has destroyed my definition of love and marriage. No, it’s that I know you’re a better man, a better friend, and I don’t want to lose you and your goodness in this.”

Imagine Aryan being humbled by her forgiveness. His gadhi isn’t that much a gadhi.

And simply imagine future tracks

- them fighting villain blue kaaki and paapi gudiya cause something was wrong with Imlie getting continuously kidnapped or hurt and something

- Ofc Aditya as an antagonist and maybe malini and Chaturvedi’s make a comeback

- blossoming friendship of Aryan and Imlie again

- Imlie aghast at falling in love! Something she’s always avoided and the fear of falling for Aryan. IMAGINE THE ANGSTTTTTTTT.

Ugh!

Aryan’s one sided love is actually beautiful - not the toxic Ranbir Kapoor brand film type - no it’s mixed with fondness, reverence, a tinge of denial and no rush of making it mutual. It’s a lot of “I like her, that’s my problem.” - reminds me of Aditya from Jab We Met.

But nope we have her becoming a servant in the promo and meethi forcing her daughter to be married off 🤦‍♀️

I do love the sensibilities of Atif Sir and his love for the show is really visible so I truly truly hope that we get something healthy between Aryan and Imlie - that’s my most basic wish. I only hope for the show to remember why Imlie and Aryan are a hit.

Also man… damn their chemistry. That gif above is exactly when I fell for them. That infectious laughter and his admiration - boy fell for her and I felt for them.

[raleighrador]

I don’t disagree with this poster or their articulation of the Jedi Council’s logic. I even get where the Jedi were coming from.

The issue is that there entire relationship with Anakin is basically defined by giving him tests he simultaneously passes and fails. This is because Anakin exists almost entirely outside the Jedi’s conception of what is possible (not to mention they equivocate between moral oughts and factual coulds).

Successfully raising a padawan to knighthood is THE test to be passed in order to be granted mastery. The assumption behind it is that for a knight to have successfully trained a padawan they will have taken years, matured, likely learned to let go of their attachment to the padawan, done a whole lot of introspection etc. The successful training of the padawan is a heuristic for personal growth of the knight, rather than the means of mastery in of itself.

But that’s not what they say. That’s not the process they follow. The definitively set up Padawan -> Knight = Mastery.

And Anakin does - until she walks away - train Ahsoka into a brilliant knight. A prodigy teaching a prodigy creates absolutely wondrous results. Anakin was the youngest knight in memory at 19/20 and Ahsoka was going to be knighted at 17. She exceeds the requirements for knighthood in force ability, diplomacy, combat etc because she’s brilliant and talented and she was taught by the most brilliant and talented Jedi in a 1000 years who had zero conception of limits and so assumed Ahsoka had none either.

(This is in many ways deeply unhealthy but it did mean Ahsoka achieved in 3/4 years what took most padawans 10-15 years).

So judging by the quality of the padawan he trained, by her readiness for Knighthood, Anakin does deserve mastery.

But that’s not the point of Mastery at all. The council look at Anakin and they see a brilliant, talented, powerful (terrifyingly powerful, world endingly powerful) young knight who in normal circumstances would himself be a padawan and say “no way he’s ready” because he’s clearly breaking apart at the seams.

And I get it. He isn’t ready. He also deserves help - which they recognise he needs but are either incapable or unwilling to offer (in anyway that would be accessible or meaningful to him).

I also know that if I was 23 and I’d been told “if you pass every undergraduate course and every master level course and every doctoral level course and write a thesis you get to have a PhD” and I then did that all in 3 years and instead of being awarded a doctorate my advisors all said “damn basically no on has ever done this in such a short period of time and actually there’s an unspoken and unofficial mimimim study time and basically we need to think you have the maturity of a 35 year old. This hasn’t ever come up because literally no one has ever completed the requirements prior to 35 anyway so… bad luck but keep your chin up”…

I’d be PISSED. And if I also had PTSD and hadn’t slept in weeks and my wife was dying and becoming a PhD gave me access to healthcare that would save her life?

This is one of the many ways the Jedi fail Anakin and he fails to understand them. I imagine there’s a general pattern where because he’s more powerful and talented than basically any Jedi before him, Anakin constantly bumps into these missed expectations.

“You have to be calm and centred to access the force. Until you do so you won’t be able to force run/lift rocks/dodge bullets/whatever”. But Anakin doesn’t access the force the same way, that stuff is literally pumping through his veins. So he can run/lift/dodge through sheer will and talent without reaching the peaceful centre that Jedi theory and dogma would suggest is a pre-requisite for doing so. And so he smashes the rest of “do x with the force” but fails the test of “achieve inner peace”.

Instead of recognising that this is their failure - a pedagogical failure - and adapting the lesson for Anakin, they say it is his failure.

It also turns out (thanks Disney!) that the Masters literally had access to a book which taught the ability to bring someone back from the dead and by the time of the Prequels they had Nikea 2 style just banned it as heresy even though it’s part of the original Jedi texts.

And honestly I like to think that’s because short of Anakin/Rey/Ben (sort of) genetic freak 1,000 standard deviations outside the norm levels of raw power it’s a useless technique. Some ancient mega powerful Jedi learned it and wrote it down but didn’t realise it was insanely difficult to teach. And so as those books were passed down over the generations to less talented Jedi who read the books but couldn’t perform the technique it somehow got interpreted as “impossible, probably allegorical, a philosophical lesson in the futility of resisting death”

Here’s the thing about the council denying anakin master despite training Ashoka when the anti Jedi fandom points this out

He was implusive and implusive people don’t make the best decisions

He was way too close to Palpatine. padme they can trust but Palpatine? He was literally curbing the senate’s power to his own benefit and now the chancellor is interfering into a organization he knows have their own power structure and traditions. that sets off alarms in their head

The Jedi knows he fears losing someone and they thought he was talking about Obi wan not padme odds are they know that he’s using the appointment to prevent someone’s death which is a big no no even if it’s understandable who wouldn’t want to prevent someone’s death or bring them back it’s still selfish

He defied his master left and right even in the middle of the clone wars while I don’t expect him to be an obedient robot, That doesn’t sound like he would listen to anyone except the people who he’s close to

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)

ao3

Hugo does not believe in soulmates.

To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.

Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?

Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.

Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.

“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.

She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.

Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.

Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.

He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”

Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”

She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”

“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.

“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”

“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”

“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”

“I don’t have a soul.”

“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”

___

“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.

Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.

Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.

“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”

Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”

Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.

“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.

“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”

“The Snip?”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.

Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”

Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.

“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”

“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.

Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”

___

“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.

Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.

The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.

He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.

Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”

When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.

He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.

“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”

He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”

“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”

Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.

“You could say that.”

“How do-how did you know they were-”

She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”

___

Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.

Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.

So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”

The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.

So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.

“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.

Hugo had scoffed.

Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.

Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.

“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”

Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”

The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”

Hugo swallows.

“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”

___

At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.

It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.

Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.

So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.

“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.

The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.

“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.

Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.

But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”

The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.

“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.

Varian turns back to the stars.

“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”

“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”

“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”

Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”

“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”

He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.

Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yeah? What would I do?”

Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”

He lets go of Hugo.

Hugo immediately misses his warmth.

“And what would be the smart thing.”

“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”

“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.

Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”

“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.

“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”

“Varian.”

Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.

Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.

“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”

“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.

Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.

___

[south-park-meta]

why do you think cartman is abusing stan? they get along ok

I think Cartman's abusive towards everyone with Kyle and Butters getting the worst of it. But I have come around more to the way Cartman's abusive to Stan than when I made my initial analysis of their relationship. I said there that Cartman attacked things that mostly Stan's not bothered by, and some of that's true. Like, attacking him for caring about animals isn't something that affects him very often.

But with that said, there IS a core of attacking Stan for (lacking) masculinity and that actually does seem to be something he's anxious about...just not to Cartman directly. Cartman regularly calls him a pussy, gay, weak, seeming like a girl. The Cissy is probably the best example of the name-calling because it encompasses basically all of it

Do you know your girlfriend's going around tellin' everyone that you're gay?! [Stan looks around] Oh yeah! She's got the whole school believin' that she's attracted to girls, but she's dating you! So what does that make you, Stan?! A girl! STAN-AN'S A GIR-RL! You'd better curb your dog, Stan! You'd better curb your dog before people start ripping on you!

He tells Stan he's too weak to control his girlfriend, that he's gay, and that he's a girl all at once. Stan actually has a reaction (looking around, looking nervous, and he does end up talking to his dad and Principal Victoria. Cartman GOT a reaction, just not one he wanted).

The thing is, Stan's masculinity IS the thing he's most defensive of, and is his 'weak point' in relation to Kyle being Jewish, Kenny being poor, Butters being naive. He gets nervous about seeming gay and has to overcome it. He does get ripped on/ name-called/dismissed for not being manly enough or seeming gay by both his uncle, who he looks up to, and his dad, who he does (for most of the show) have a mutually loving relationship with. MOST of the 'Stan has a moment of character growth in the way of accepting who he is' comes down to him being okay with shirking stereotypical masculinity. Cartman is a master at honing in on weaknesses and he ABSOLUTELY has Stan's down.

So, then, why doesn't Cartman really tear the shit out of him more?

The thing is that Stan doesn't rise to the bait in angry outbursts. Kyle does. Kenny does, sometimes, too. Butters is specifically dismissed as a Kyle punching bag replacement because he doesn't. But Cartman also can't just casually abuse him constantly the way he does Butters, or put Stan's dick in his mouth while he sleeps, or give him a poop moustache, because Stan would up and leave the friendship, or actually physically beat him up. It has to be a verbal or emotional, non-physical attack. Stan doesn't get ripped on by Cartman more because he doesn't tend to take the bait in a way that would be fun and would let Cartman continue to feed off of it and really tear him to pieces.

So why doesn't Stan take the bait? Is he not upset by it?

The thing is he DOES get upset about this kind of thing. He just tends not to confront it directly. Instead he tends to want to compensate for the accusations. He tries to force Sparky to be straight. He doesn't play along at the wild west show because Wendy's there. He shoots and kills Skuzzlebutt. He becomes hypercritical of Gary and chews him out for Mormonism. And in each and every one of these cases, the best choice is consistently for him not to worry about seeming like anything except what he is. I think The Cissy is a step forward for him in, instead of outright denying who he is, he just sits down and questions it instead. Personally I think there hasn't been another comment on it since he came to the conclusion he is a boy (I know there're nb headcanons for him and I won't pick at it too much because I don't think it runs contrary to his character per se, I just don't agree with it. I see it as more of another masculinity introspection than really specifically a gender one), but I think it's a step forward for his character growth. He has multiple times gone through an arc of 'hide who you are, then realize who you are is really an asset', and sometimes that gets to a point of 'fuck what people think' but often it just kind of is what it is and he doesn't really do anything with it. He still cares about not being manly enough, and often the lesson of it is 'yeah you ARE kind of a pussy but it's fine, people will like you anyway, or being a pussy is beneficial to helping people'. While the recent seasons have made Stan more depressed and miserable, he's also FINALLY starting to get to a point of-- instead of worrying what makes other people like him, what makes him an asset to other people-- 'What makes me like myself? What makes me who I am?'

ANYWAY with all that said, the reason Cartman doesn't get much out of moments like this is that Stan often doesn't have a reaction, period. Sometimes it's because he probably literally doesn't care. He doesn't always value Cartman's opinion, and he does seem able to let a lot of comments go as just being bullshit. The other thing is that if it actually gets to the point of GETTING a reaction, it's not one that would be fun for Cartman. Literally the only thing that's ever come out of Stan reacting to the insecurity that Cartman harps on (whether because of Cartman or not) is that he either suppresses or questions it, and decides he likes himself more as he was to start with. Like he very consistently has improved himself through being criticized on this very point.

So does he have a point that Cartman can hurt him on?

Absolutely, and that point is Kyle.

Stan consistently has stronger, more hurt, more violent reactions to Cartman when it's Kyle that Cartman's going after. When Cartman makes a comment that Kyle's going to die, Stan tells him not to say things like that (even though people regularly die or talk about death around them). When Cartman's treating Kyle unfairly and Kyle can't do anything about it himself, Stan rights it. Even when Stan and Kyle aren't getting along, multiple seasons after Stan told Kyle that he was destroying the last thread of friendship they had left by siding with Cartman in the GOT arc, he still takes tit-for-tat revenge on Cartman in Band in China for Kyle's sake.

The way to get Kyle to respond in a fun way is for Cartman to attack Kyle.

The way to get Stan to respond in a fun way is for Cartman to attack Kyle.

I think it's noteworthy that when Cartman checks out on the 'broship' it's after Stan has checked out on Kyle, and pointedly stayed out of Kyle's fight with Cartman even after Kyle asked him to get involved with it. It's not worth keeping Stan tied in to the group because he's not coming to Kyle's defense, so there's no fun to be had in Stan hanging around. It's ALSO noteworthy that Kyle is equally blindsided by both of them.

But, okay, Cartman is nice to Stan sometimes. He's probably nicer to him than he is pretty much any other character. I think Cartman was playing a balancing act and lost.

He wants Stan and Kyle to be friends, because their friendship is important to get them both riled up. But he wants himself to be the most important to both of them, and that means he HAS to knock them down a peg in each other's opinions. They need to be friends with each other, good enough friends that Stan wants to defend Kyle when Cartman's mean to him and Kyle can't defend himself. It's no fun if Kyle's literally defenseless and Cartman gets jack for a reaction. But they have to be best friends with Cartman, because Cartman has a massive ego. This is a pretty damn hard line to walk.

But here are some nice things that Cartman's done for Stan:

-He came and hung out with him on Tegridy, and had solo activities bonding with him through board games and things like that.

-He helped Stan with the drug ring in Hummels and Heroin

-He saved the pangolin

The first two things are a clear spit in Kyle's face. Kyle is the core group who seems most disconnected from what's going on on Tegridy. Cartman is very clearly trying to take Kyle's place as Stan's go-to. Around(ish, keeping in mind the show's internal timeline) the same time, through the GOT arc, he is focusing his attention on bonding with Kyle.

Likewise, Kyle tells Stan outright he's not going to help with the Hummels problem in the second case. Cartman gets involved because Stan says he 'needs' him. He's willing to help because it puts him in direct competition with Kyle; he's helping Stan when Kyle told him to figure it out himself. He is weasling in on the best friend role.

In the last case, I think it's because he still wanted the 'broship' to work, and like I said I think he did up until Stan gave up on his friendship with Kyle. Stan's having a complete mental breakdown, which would cause issues and not be enjoyable on Cartman's end, so he'll give him a bone and let him maintain his sanity so Cartman can keep having fun pitting Stan and Kyle against each other while being besties with them both. He just flew too close to the sun and lost with it because Stan was teetering on the edge for the friendship since YGO and the next episode pushed him over.

In conclusion, Cartman's actions with Stan are 100% meant to manipulate him and emotionally destroy him. It just happens that Stan takes attacks on himself pretty internally and might even come out stronger for it. So for the most part if everything else is going fine, he's a tough nut to crack. The stuff that really fucks him up and tears him apart mentally is attacking Kyle, or attacking his friendship with Kyle.

[7-wonders]

Here's Where She Meets Prince Charming (but she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter 3)

Summary: Thunderstorms do not conjure good memories for Duncan. He finds a kindred spirit in you.

Well, two people sent me asks saying that they liked the Beauty and the Beast AU, and as I am a whore for validation, I wrote an idea I had a while back. Thanks, friends!

Other works in the Beauty and the Beast!Duncan Shepherd AU: Wilted Roses Smell Just as Sweet | This Place of Wrath and Tears | A Gentleman’s Guide to Wooing Your Prisoner | This Cruel Trick of Fate | Down the Rabbit Hole | Hints of Kindness | Days In the Sun

Thunderstorms are not something that Duncan Shepherd is very fond of. While many children have a fear of storms, Duncan was not one of those children. He loved to hear the tremendous crash of thunder, counting the seconds between that and the crackle of lightning across the sky to see how many miles away the storm was. For Duncan, storms meant his mother would read him stories until he fell asleep, faking that he was frightened just so she would spend time with him. As a child, Duncan actually enjoyed storms.

But that was then, and this is now.

Now, thunderstorms conjure memories of the night where his life went to hell. When the winds begin to rage and the house shakes with the force of thunder, when rain demands to be heard and lightning lights up the night, Duncan flinches with the worry that she might be waiting on the other side of the door. After all, the witch who cursed Duncan and his entire household darkened his life on a dark and stormy night. Maybe the forced transformation into a beastly creature, being trapped on the grounds of the secluded manor with a now-invisible staff, and the reminder that he will die unless he manages to fall in love with somebody, and have that somebody fall in love with him wasn’t enough for her.

Staying in one spot is making him nervous, and he wants to make sure that, on the off-chance the Enchantress does decide to come back for him, she can’t catch him by surprise. Duncan begins to walk up and down each of the halls of the manor, checking doors and windows and only slightly flinching at a particularly loud boom of thunder. It’s worth it though, for the peace of mind that this security check provides him.

It’s when Duncan reaches the main floor that all senses are on high alert. There’s music playing from somewhere, actual music. Battery-operated devices had long since died, and electronics could not be charged, which meant that the staff was eventually unable to listen to music, their one lifeline to the outside world that they had once been a part of. When that day arrived, it came as a relief to Duncan, who loathed the tunes and melodies that haunted and teased him. Now, for there to be more than the quiet humming coming from the staff, music surely meant trouble.

He begins to follow the sound down the hall, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of a glowing aura. Eventually he reaches the library, where the source of the music is coming from. However, it’s not a witch that’s set up a perfectly-planned trap and is deviously waiting for Duncan to come to her. Instead, it’s a record player. He’s not sure where the record player came from, but it’s hooked up and spinning a Fleetwood Mac vinyl. You’re on your back next to it, reading a book in front of the fire.

Duncan didn’t think that he was going to go any further into the library, but his legs have a mind of their own. It’s only when you look at him before sitting up that he now realizes he’s halfway into the room.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, turning the volume down on the record player. “I can leave, if you’re wanting to use the library.”

“No!” Duncan realizes that sounded a little forceful, so he clears his throat and tries it again. “No, you’re fine. I just...heard music playing, and it’s been so long since we had music here that I was trying to find the source. Where did you get the record player from?”

“I was bored and looking through closets, and I found this and a bunch of records.”

“And out of all of the records you found, you had to pick Fleetwood Mac?”

“Hey, don’t talk shit about Stevie Nicks.”

You throw your head back in a laugh, and Duncan thinks that he might actually smile. The beginnings of a rare smile are thwarted, however, when an unexpected clap of thunder makes goosebumps rise on his arms. Of course, you notice the grimace on his face.

“You don’t like storms?”

Duncan looks into the fire, not used to somebody looking at him for any amount of time. “Not really, no. Bad experience in the past.”

You nod in understanding, and Duncan believes this is the end of the conversation. Surprisingly, it’s not. “My dad would always tell me that storms weren’t meant to be weathered alone. We would spend thunderstorms together, playing games or watching movies, sometimes even just sitting together, and suddenly, the storms wouldn’t be so bad.”

Duncan hums in acknowledgement, not quite sure what you’re getting at. You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Come and sit with me,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Out of all the things that Duncan had been expecting from you, this was not that. It takes a minute for his brain to cooperate, but he does finally sit down on the couch. It’s not exactly “sitting with you,” but you won’t argue with this. “Is...is this okay?”

“I’m the one that invited you in here, aren’t I?”

“You did.” A long time ago, he would have never been so shy and unsure of himself. If Duncan then were to meet the man beast that he had become, he definitely wouldn’t recognize himself.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“An actual question, smartass, not just permission to ask a question.”

Duncan smirks, but nods. “Why did you save me? That night where I tried to run away, you could have just let me die. That would have solved a number of your problems, but you didn’t let me die. Why?”

How was Duncan supposed to answer this question without sounding like even more of a creep? After all, he couldn’t exactly say that he saved you because you were his last chance to even potentially break the curse and save his life. Even then, he knew that this wasn’t the full answer. Truthfully, he saved you because, for some reason, he couldn’t bear the thought of you dying. It was a split-second decision, and one that had a multitude of reasons behind it.

In the end, he settles for the very beginning of the truth.

“You selflessly gave up your freedom so your friend could have his. I couldn’t let that sacrifice go to waste.” You don’t look extremely satisfied with that answer, but it’s good enough that you don’t ask for further elaboration. “What about you? Why did you give up your freedom for Jim’s?”

You raise your eyebrow. “We’re playing 20 Questions now, are we?” With a sigh, you stand up. “I’m gonna need some alcohol for this.”

//

Duncan has not enjoyed himself like this in a very long time. He’s had so much fun learning about you, from the mundane like your favorite color, to the introspective like if aliens really do exist. Likewise, he’s found himself opening up to you as well. 20 questions had turned into 40, which turned into so many that he’s lost count. With each question you took a sip of wine, leading to personal space becoming nonexistent and your body becoming boneless, that is, you were now lying right up against him and giggling. You aren’t drunk, but you’re definitely tipsy, and the wine has given you a warmth in your veins that heats you up against him.

Most importantly, and something that Duncan won’t note until later that night when he’s alone and missing your warmth, is that the storm hasn’t bothered him since he started talking with you.

“You’re tired,” Duncan states, looking at the way your blinks last longer and longer.

“A little, but ‘m okay. Besides, we’re talking.”

“You should go to bed.” His hand pauses at the last second, and he jarringly realizes that he was about to stroke your hair.

You nod, clumsily sitting up and trying to get your bearings after dozing. Duncan stands with you, beginning to walk with you to your room. “What are you doing?”

“Wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to decide the floor makes a good bed.”

You chuckle. “Y’know, you try to act like you’re a scary guy, but you’re not. You’re actually really thoughtful.”

“I’m not, but thank you.”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” Now, he almost regrets walking you to your room, the door of which you’ve now reached. He stands a respectable distance away, ready to slip off back to his wing and wallow in solitude for the night. “I want to ask you one more question.”

“And what question is that?”

“What’s your first name? Nobody ever says it.”

He could choose to ignore your question, or tell you that that’s something he likes to keep private. He doesn’t feel like he deserves a first name anymore. First names are for people who aren’t monstrous beings cursed by a vengeful witch. But you’re looking at him with a waiting smile, and you’ve both shared so much tonight.

You think this question is a lost cause as the silence continues to stretch on. As you start to turn the doorknob open, ready to mumble apologies, he speaks.

“My name is Duncan.”

You turn around, grinning, and for the second time tonight, the warmth with which you look at him almost takes his breath away. “Goodnight, Duncan.”

Duncan wishes you goodnight as well, waiting until the door shuts before finally going back to his wing. In the empty study that he used to use, the enchanted rose, which wilts more and more each day and continues to lose petals, glows with a long-forgotten hope.

[deathlikelead]

Contact Buzz

Summary: Fiona and Iggy get buzzed at the neighborhood bonfire.

Ship: Fiona Gallagher/Iggy Milkovich

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol, depictions of foreplay, not sfw

Word Count: 2.7k

Read on AO3

The noise should be the first thing that draws Iggy’s attention since it sounds like an end-of-the-world party is taking place a few blocks away from where he’s walking home after his beer run.

It’s not the noise though, it’s the smell. Whoever it is has to have the strongest weed imaginable, and Iggy wants in on that. He only notices the noise once he gets closer, dozens of people whooping and hollering, the dark sky illuminated by the giant plume of flames in the center of them all.

Mickey's boyfriend - the first redheaded Gallagher kid, Iggy can’t remember his name. Evan, Aaron, something monosyllabic like that - is carrying one of his little brothers on his back near the flames. One of their neighbors is waving his shirt into the smoke above the flames then pulling it back to inhale. It looks like the whole of Wallace Street is here, dancing around and shouting along to the song that’s playing loudly over someone’s speakers.

It’s chaotic, and where there’s chaos, there should be Milkoviches. Though he has to admit he doesn’t look very hard, in the quick glance he does give, Iggy notices a distinct lack of anyone from his family.

When he gets close enough, he wades into the crowd. He sets his pack of beer down on the first tailgate he comes to, and a joint appears in his hand as if by magic. He doesn’t know who it was that gave it to him, and they’ve already disappeared by the time he looks up to watch the fire after taking his first hit.

If he could smell it from three blocks away, Iggy’s surprised the cops aren’t here already. Then again, he heard that Fiona Gallagher maybe had a thing with one, so maybe she pulled some strings or some dick that allowed the whole neighborhood to come out and get a contact buzz together.

Iggy’s lived in the Southside his whole life, but he can’t spot a whole lot of people he thinks he knows. Even less he would consider friends.

He takes his magic joint with him and goes to hop up to sit next to his beer in the bed of whoever’s pick-up. He rips the box open and tugs a can out to pop the top on, drinks about half of it before the other side of the truck is dipping down under the weight of someone hopping up to join him on the other side. Iggy looks up, curious, around his beer, lowering it and belching as he makes eye contact with Fiona Gallagher.

The action makes her laugh for some reason, and then before Iggy can process, she’s leaning over and snagging the half-empty can out of his hand to down the rest of it. Iggy isn’t sure what to do with that, but he smirks at her as he goes for another one, asks, “Why you guys burning a giant pile of weed?”

Fiona helps herself to one of his beers, taking several swallows before shrugging. “Had too much. Needed to get rid of it.”

That answer makes Iggy roll his eyes, the gesture almost exaggerated in its obviousness. “Well shit, could have just brought it over to our house. Could have gotten rid of it for you no problem. And would have wasted a lot less.”

Fiona makes a face that Iggy thinks is half disbelief, half amusement. “Meaning what? That you and your brothers would have smoked it all?” And well… yeah, okay, that’s exactly what Iggy meant. But he can’t let her have the last word.

“No, my sister too, don’t be sexist. You should know her. Mandy, about 5’8”, totally banging your brother. Ringing a bell?” Iggy may know a little more than he’d like about Ian and Mickey’s indiscretions, but he isn’t about to make it public knowledge. Too many ears around that might remember overhearing it in the morning. Besides, he didn’t know if Fiona knew. Not his business.

For a second, Fiona looks like she’s about to say something, but after a moment of introspection, she instead finishes her beer and makes a grab for the joint Iggy’s still holding between his fingers. He’s already got a nice buzz going, and his reaction time’s a little slow, so she’s already got in her grip by the time he tries to grab it back. The world tilts off its axis a little bit when he tries to lean over for it, so he gives up and just lets her have it. “Grabby bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, though there’s not any heat behind the words. He sounds as happy and fuzzy as he feels.

Fiona coughs out a smokey laugh around the joint between her lips. “Not sure a Milkovich has any room to talk about ‘grabby’.”

Iggy hums at the dig, but well it’s true. Iggy wonders if he’s really obvious, or if Fiona has mind-reading superpowers. Both seem equally likely.

“Whatever. You may got a yuppie boyfriend buying you whatever you want now, but seems like you’ve got a little southside klepto left in you.”

Fiona takes another hit, nodding to him along with the beat of the music as she blows the smoke away from him - like it would make any difference if she blew smoke in his face at this point. The action makes him laugh. - “Don’t got a boyfriend. Not that it’s your business, fuck you very much.”

Iggy raises an eyebrow at that but leaves it to her to elaborate as he holds out his fingers, making a lazy gesture for the joint. He doesn’t care that much, but he’s pretty sure that girls love to talk, and he doesn’t have anywhere better to be than here - beer, free weed, hot girl as company, and all. Fiona doesn’t elaborate though, just watches him finish off the joint as she’s working on another beer he didn’t notice her stealing.

Once the joint burns down enough that it’s burning his fingers, Iggy squashes it out on the tailgate next to his thigh. There’s a hand around his wrist. Iggy blinks, trying to push through the weed haze settling over his brain, and he realizes that the hand belongs to Fiona, who has hopped down off their shared seat. “Come on, come dance with me.”

Fiona tugs Iggy up close to the blaze that’s going strong, stinking up the empty lot and all the surrounding neighborhoods. There's a lot of bodies thrumming to the beat of the radio around them, but it’s unreasonably hard to focus on more than one thing at once.

Whoever grew this weed knew what the fuck they were doing.

And right in front of everyone, Fiona presses her back against Iggy’s chest and starts rolling her hips against his. Iggy chooses that sensation as his one thing to focus on, resting one hand against her left hip and trying to roll along with her. It takes a moment, but he thinks he gets the hang of it. At least Fiona is laughing, twisting around to wrap an arm around his neck and continuing to grind against him, belly to belly.

Iggy thinks they must spend the entire night dancing pressed against each other like that, but when Fiona pulls away, pulls on his wrist, and tugs him through the fog, he’s surprised to find it’s still dark around them. They’re further away from the fire now, the noise and the heat fading into the distance, the memory of them already faded under the buzzing in his brain.

Fuck, whoever grew this - Kevin, someone said Kevin - really did know what he was doing.

Fiona drags Iggy back to the truck, grabs another beer for each of them, and then again grabs his wrist and tugs him further away from the party, and starts down the block.

Iggy is pretty sure that the house she pulls him into isn’t hers, but he’s never been to hers either, so he can’t exactly swear to it. Fiona kicks her shoes off and flops down on the couch comfortably, grinning up at the ceiling.

He must look confused because, after a moment, she tugs herself into a sitting position and turns to face him. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Iggy blinks. Takes a moment to collect his balance, then makes his way around the couch to sit down next to her. “This your house?” he asks because he’s thinking about it.

“Kev and V’s. too many people at mine.”

Too many people for what, Iggy isn’t sure. He fidgets with the tab on his can of beer and relaxes back into the couch. The two of them sit in fuzzy silence for long enough that it startles Iggy when Fiona is back in his field of vision, up off the couch to turn up a stereo across the room. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “You were more fun when we were dancing,” She declares as she crosses the room and snags his beer, only to set it on the end table and pull him to his feet again.

There's no hesitation from Fiona, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him again, swaying to the end of the slow song playing on the radio. There are fewer things to be distracted by in the pitch black of a stranger’s house than there is at a weed bonfire block party, so while dancing with Fiona is still what he focuses on, Iggy can pause for a moment and think Holy shit.

Fiona Gallagher is dancing with him.

A few hours ago, a few minutes ago, he's not sure, but not long ago, she’d been grinding on him.

The memory of it is hot, and Iggy finds that he’s sliding his hands up under her shirt now. Fiona leans into it, a carefree smile on her face. When the song ends, she pulls away from him and tugs the shirt off. Iggy’s brain short circuits and Fiona has the nerve to press back against him, asking, “This cool with you?” with a smirk on her face.

He manages to stop staring at her chest and pick his eyes up to meet hers long enough to confirm, “Yeah.” It makes her laugh for some reason, and that sound excites him, as does the tone of her following demand of, “Okay, then take yours off, too.”

Having happily gone back to his staring, he doesn’t quite pick up on the actual words, so Fiona decides to help him out, hands coming to either of his hips and tugging upwards on his shirt until all Iggy has to do is lift his arms. He doesn’t see where it is that Fiona throws his shirt too, but he’s not sure that he cares anyway.

He had been expecting her to press into him and start dancing to the beat again, but instead, she’s standing in front of him, undoing her shorts. She struggles a little, buzzed and uncoordinated, but looks up at him once she’s freed of the button, the zipper falling open so that he can see her panties. “You really are just gonna stand there and stare all night, aren’t you?” she asks, laughing when it takes him an inappropriate amount of time to drag his gaze back up to hers.

“No.” He decides, though he still makes no move to do anything but stare.

It's becoming increasingly obvious to Fiona that she’s going to have to guide him through every step she wants to take here, and though the thought makes her roll her eyes, she’s not entirely opposed to it. “Right,” she answers, playful sarcasm dripping from her tone as she steps over to him, repeating the unbuttoning and unzipping with his jeans. Again, she grabs his wrist, this time guiding his hand to her waist and finally resuming their grinding to the middle of a new song playing on the radio.

She thinks he’s starting to get the hint by the time the song ends, so she steps back and shimmies out of her shorts. She stays quiet, looks contemplative at something behind Iggy for a moment.

Kev and V have a ridiculous spiral staircase, and Fiona is not a hundred percent sure that Iggy wouldn’t lose his balance and break his neck on it if she tried to lure him up it. Hell, She’s not a hundred percent sure that she wouldn’t break her neck if she tried to go up it. But after a moment of consideration, she looks back at Iggy and decides she likes the idea of being chased. Kev and Veronica do have a really comfortable bed…

She taps Iggy's chest to get his attention, a suggestive look spreading across her face when his eyes meet hers. “I’m gonna go upstairs. Last door on the right at the end of the hall.” Fiona doesn’t wait for a response, but she does reach up behind herself to unclasp her bra and shrug out of it so she can drop it on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It takes more willpower than she would be happy to admit to force herself not to look back to see if Iggy has caught on that he’s supposed to follow her. When she’s halfway up, she hears the staircase creek behind her and grins.

----

Iggy still feels remarkably fuzzy when he wakes up. Not high, but not exactly not high. It’s mixing wonderfully with the hangover from his beers - Where exactly had he left those? - and making his mouth taste like his head feels, like cotton and fuzz and pressure.

There’s sunlight streaming into the room he’s in, and it smells like flowers, leaving him a little unsure of where he is. He pries his eyes open and looks around, but from where he lays on the bed, he still can’t distinguish where he is. All he can see is an unfamiliar wall, with an unfamiliar window and an unfamiliar dresser pushed against it.

Downstairs, there’s yelling, but there’s also the scent of food, the promise of which is enough to get Iggy to drag his ass out of the comfortable bed. He looks around helplessly for a minute, but unable to locate his boxers, he decides to dig in the dresser for a pair instead.

“In my bed? In my fucking bed, Fiona? Actually,” the yelling gets louder as Iggy approaches the stairs and starts to make his very slow way down them. “Actually, in my house at all? You couldn’t have picked anywhere else in Chicago to take your dirty white boy to hook up?”

Fiona is sitting at the counter with her head in her hands and her back to him, while a very animated woman moves around the kitchen. The woman - Victoria? Has to be something with a V, since everyone calls her that. - hip bumps the great weed curator out of the way of the stove so she can plate a couple of eggs and some toast to bring over to Fiona. “We’re gonna have to burn the sheets now, you know that, right? And for fuck’s sake, Iggy Milkovich-”

Whatever secondary rant she’d been preparing to launch into is cut off momentarily by the question her husband asks after turning around and catching sight of Iggy. “Are those my boxers?”

Iggy looks down at them, shrugs, then looks back up with a dopey grin. “Yeah. Sorry, man. Eggs?” He comes to join Fiona on her side of the little breakfast nook, grinning and digging in when a confused, hesitant-looking Kev sets a plate of eggs down in front of him.

Beside him, Fiona and V have started up again, so he looks up to Kev and asks through his mouthful of eggs, “Are they always this loud when they gossip?”

Neither one of the offending gossips quiet. Either they didn’t hear him, or they just didn’t care.

Kev looks exasperated. “You have no idea, man.” He sets his spatula down next to the stove and reaches behind his ear as he comes to lean across from Iggy. “Joint?”