#Martyr keeps telling me I have to I think he's been watching too many beauty vlogs

[onethousand825days]

Existing™ but feeling weird about it. but that's all normal so. business as usual

[anhed-nia]

So I'm in the middle of this research project centered on Dario Argento's OPERA, for which I have required myself to watch as many screen adaptations of the Gaston Leroux novel The Phantom of the Opera as I can take. What I have determined so far is that the Phantom of the Opera is a story everyone wants to tell, but not very many people are sure of how to tell it. In fact, it's not that easy to say what it is about archetypally. You know, Wolfman stories are typically about "the beast in man" (with femininity positioned as some sort of cure for this personality split), Frankenstein stories are usually about human nature (i.e. an uncanny creature can have more humanity than vain and bigoted humans), Dracula-type vampire stories are most generally about the problems of being an outsider (queer, foreign, etc). But Phantom of the Opera is like...well, everyone likes the love story part of it, which is more or less modeled on Dracula, with a woman torn between seductive darkness and the safety of square society. But then there are all these other parts that seem to flummox people in the retelling.

I haven't read the Leroux novel YET but the first round of movies have been interesting, and also sort of perplexing. The iteration from 1925 holds up, largely due to Chaney's creation of the Phantom which remains a top tier monster. People don't often talk about the mask though! Which looks like a cross between Peter Lorre and the Devo Boogie Boy, it's disturbing and I like it.

This Phantom was born in the dungeons during a revolutionary bloodbath and is disfigured from birth, drawing on the antique idea that a mother's trauma is translated in the deformity of her children; also, compellingly, these dungeons lie fathoms beneath the opera house where the bourgeoisie are witlessly dancing on the graves of martyrs and criminals embodied in the Phantom. The ingenue Christine is an interesting figure who breaks up with her boyfriend at the beginning because she wants to give her whole self to her career; when the Phantom starts murmuring to her through the walls it's as if the spirit of opera itself has chosen her to be its avatar, which she seems to find totally rational. It's sort of cool, what other movie of this era has a likeable heroine choosing her potential for greatness over love? This is the element of the story that is the most interesting, but I'll expand on that in a minute.

The Chaney edition benefits a lot from keeping things simple. The 1943 version with Claude Raines has a little bit too much going on and the story doesn't get a lot of time to congeal between so many long opera sequences; this movie really takes the opera part of the title seriously! Actually they're the best thing about it, mostly because of Nelson Eddy who is extremely beautiful and a real opera singer, and who projects this blazing desire for Susanna Foster that is incredibly convincing. Like I'd normally say they have great chemistry, but I think it's just a lot of power radiating from him specifically.

Ahem.

Uh anyway. This movie picks up the reoccurring (but not universal) idea that the Phantom is a genteel and sophisticated composer who has just fallen on hard times, who goes mad when his latest concerto is stolen. He is disfigured while struggling with the plagiarist and installs himself under the opera house where he can haunt his former protege Christine, who is already torn between dreamy Nelson Eddy and her stuffy cop boyfriend. One of my favorite things here is that even though this film is extremely quaint and old fashioned, everybody hates cops; this Christine is less a self-determined careerist than someone who is under pressure from her artist friends who find it profoundly repulsive that she is dating a policeman. Meanwhile the Phantom is just way too gentle and sappy, which is extra disappointing because Claude Rains's Invisible Man is so fabulously chaotic and sadistic, it made me really aware of the Phantom that could have been. This one doesn't properly represent the high society vs. underworld dichotomy that Christine should be torn between. So what is this movie about? There's so many guys in it and a few different themes flapping in the breeze. Is it about love? Is it about self-actualizing through art? Is it about the cutthroat world of showbusiness? It doesn't have that much to say, ultimately, and it just seems really unmotivated. Also I don't like this mask, sue me.

The Hammer edition is even more disappointing, considering the studio's previous successes with Universal Monster remakes. Here Christine is torn between a suave opera producer, the lecherous composer who has plagiarized the Phantom, and yeah the Phantom. Too many guys, it confuses whatever the dynamic and themes are supposed to be. Michael Gough as the plagiarist is so much more evil and threatening than poor Herbert Lom's Phantom that it's hard to stay focused on the main point here. Curiously the Hammer version is rather unromantic, with the Phantom just slapping Christine around until she sings his tunes right; that is kind of refreshing in a way, although it also means that the film lacks tension, which contributes to its being surprisingly anticlimactic. The best guy in the movie is actually Thorley Walters whose character serves almost no narrative purpose at all, he just hulks around with this WTF? look on his face and it is kind of adorable. I guess I like the gross mask in this one, too.

But the Hammer version has one interesting strength, which is that Christine is singing the lead in a new opera about Joan of Arc. Just like Joan, Christine hears a disembodied voice prophesizing her ascent to power. The best thing about the Phantom lore is the idea that the woman has this latent power that can either be activated by the Phantom, or suppressed by her square boyfriend (the relationship being mutually exclusive with opera stardom in many iterations). She isn't just a love object to be possessed, she herself possesses of some kind of devastating energy that needs to be awakened and channeled--or contained and forgotten, if she decides to get married and stay home or something. This is pretty cool, and it is interestingly realized in Dario Argento's OPERA, in which (spoiler alert I guess) a killer stalks an opera singer with the aim of catalyzing her own latent psychopathy. This idea is at the center of my thesis and I'm looking forward to fleshing it out, although I'm kind of dreading all the other PHANTOMs that I have committed myself to watching. I really don't want to deal with Andrew LLoyd Webber at all, but after I get through at least the Joel Schumacher one of the those I'm going to reward myself with a rewatch of PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE which I'm going to guess right now is the best retelling of this story after the Chaney one. I'm counting on Paul Williams' music to be catchier than Webber's.

I'm whining about my own decisions, I know, but really the main hardship of this project is that now I keep getting the Vandals' punk theme song from PHANTOM OF THE MALL: ERIC'S REVENGE stuck in my head, and let me tell you that is very unwelcome. Here it is, if you've decided you're done being happy and sane:

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Hey Len, did you ever think about wrapping some barbed wire around O2's chest and neck? I wonder if he'd still want to take a deep breath then...

honestly? Len is a cruel cruel motherfucker. I like them. Also part of this was inspired by this from @whumpitisthen which is?? SO GOOD??? ughgh delicious i have read it many times lol also aw feck i think i have to make o2 a masterlist

CW: mentioned strangulation, captivity, breaking Whumpee, restraints, cruel whumper, intimate whumper, blink and you'll miss it religious reference (single word), noncon touching (non sexual), partial nudity (nonsexual), blood mention, sleep deprivation

[Masterlist]

Len glanced over to where they had displayed their boy. He was restrained standing, with his back up against one of the decorative pillars. Steel gray barbed wire wrapped around his neck and chest, forcing him to keep his head perfectly upright. It was tight, digging in enough that rivets of red were dripping down his bare chest and staining the black slacks they had put him in.

Little o2 was shaking.

They hummed and went back to their work, happy to leave him just a bit longer.

O2’s chin was trembling, tears itching on his face. He wanted to wipe them away but couldn’t with his hands pressed together like a prayer and wrapped in the wire. It hurt. It all hurt. He didn’t care if he was a pet, didn’t care what his sadist was doing to him - he wanted it to stop hurting. To sleep.

He was so tired.

Usually, with the collars and corsets and straps there was a sense of blankness that would overtake him. Eventually, the corners of his vision would blur just enough, the world would get just dark enough that time would start to slip. “Sleep” was…. Not right word but the only word he would let himself accept.

But the wire kept jabbing under his skin, kept shifting in farther as he swallowed or tried to breathe. The barbs around his chest kept his breath so shallow. He couldn’t fade away like this, couldn’t “sleep”. If he started to drift away, he would twitch or move or breathe normally and get jolted away with a spark of pain.

It was hard to tell how long he’d been left up there, but his feet and legs were numb from standing so long.

He just wanted to sleep.

Unconsciously, his head slowly melted down, only to jostle the wire around his throat. He jerked back up with a pathetic whimper, every point getting upset by the movement. O2 clenched his jaw and dropped his head back against the pillar. He was in hell. He didn’t know what he had done, didn’t understand how he had deserved this, but he was in hell. It was either not being able to breathe for days on end, or not being able to sleep. There was always something, always some kind of deprivation.

He whimpered again, hoping to get his captor’s attention. They, they liked him like this, he knew that. Distantly, he had always understood it. They liked him limp and pliant and weak. They liked being able to move him however they wished and with no fight. O2 had fought against it time and time and time again, but he wasn’t strong enough anymore.

Len glanced up with a grin and then back to their work.

~~~

O2 fell. More than once. Pain jolted him back awake, but his mind slipped from him slowly. His eyes burned and his head pounded. He was tired and thirsty and hungry. Hunger was usually the easiest to ignore, with the belts wrapped around his stomach so tightly, but there wasn’t any right now and the need was devouring him. Even whimpering pitifully required too much energy. He was drifting, stuck, fading, trapped. All of them - none of them.

The soft hand against his cheek was like ice water over his system. He gasped and twitched weakly, not even strong enough to send new beads of blood across the dried streams.

“Mmmn. My little martyr,” Len mused to themself, admiring how empty and blank his eyes were. It was wonderful, perfect. This had been their own private exhibit, but they would have to repeat it later for their friends. It was beautiful and striking like only the most provocative of art is.

Carefully, they unwound the bloodsoaked wire and caught him as he fell. O2 whined brokenly, grasping onto their shirt with shaking fingers. They smiled and picked him up easily, taking him over to the bed and laying him down. Gently carding through his black hair, Len reminisced about when they first brought their boy home. He was heavier then, harder to control. He broke a guard’s nose. The first time they put the collar on him, the first time they cinched it tight and watched his eyes bulge in fear was something they wouldn’t soon forget.

Now, those green eyes were closed with dark lashes laying against his cheek. With a smirk, Len pressed down cruelly on the half-closed marks. O2 jolted awake with a gasp, eyes only barely able to find him.

“No sleeping, not quite yet. Poor stupid little o2, don’t you realize by now this is how I like you?”

If there had been any water left in him, tears would have spilled from o2’s eyes again. Please, please he just wanted to sleep. He wanted to have them both, he wanted to close his eyes and breathe at the same time. Right now, after hours of pain and exhaustion, after months of suffocation and bruises that request seemed like the world. It seemed impossible, like wishing he could wear the full moon on a chain like a pendant.

“P-Pl-lease?” he whimpered, voice dry and gravelly. He couldn’t keep going like this, not for a moment longer. They smiled down at him.

“No.”

O2 sobbed, curling into himself with his forehead pressed against Len’s knee. He grabbed the sheets in weak fists and pulled them close, just wanting this to be over, to be done.

Len hummed contentedly, gently tapping their fingers along the line of sluggishly bleeding spots along his back.

~

o2 list cause content whooooo @milk-carton-whump @bumpthumpwhump @mysticwhump @whump-it @whump-me-all-night-long @as-a-matter-of-whump

[hela-avenger]

To the Stars Who Listen- Part 16

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1490

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: I’m on a roll so I’m not gonna question it and roll with the creativity and willpower that is flowing through me. Enjoy the read my lovelies!

Tags are open! (Send me an ask/message/response.)

TTSWL Masterlist

You never realized how polluted the world could be. Loud and filled with truths woven with lies. So many emotions. So many white lies and outright misconceptions. You wish you could just cover your ears and mute the sound but it was something you felt through your entire body. 

You pushed and shoved your way out of the crowded sidewalks ignoring the glares and curses directed at you.

All you desired at the moment was silence but the streets of New York have never heard of such a thing.

Leaving the tower had been an impulsive and stupid idea. You were regretting your decision but you had no intention of returning. You just needed to get away and pull yourself together preferably in a quiet and secluded place. 

You turn into the nearest alley and hope that the shadowed and foul smell would deter anyone from going any deeper. 

The sound of traffic and phone conversations whiter away but not enough. You can still detect the truths and lies being spouted.

I’ll be late tonight. Something came up at work. 

It’s really not you, it’s me. 

Of course, I love you. 

You were being tugged in both directions. Mind being split into two. You grip your head hoping the migraine would subside but it gets worse. It reminds you of the pain you felt on the helicarrier before all of this happened. You feared what might come next if you didn’t pull yourself together. 

Please. Please stop. Please everything just stop. 

You crumble to your knees and watch as the siphons light up ready to be used. The metal is overheating and you can feel the stones ready to crack.

Every part of your body begins to hum with power and you are very tempted to let it all out. 

“Don’t do it.” 

You stop shaking and look up to find the last person you ever expected. 

“Are you real?” 

Loki refrains from making a joke seeing how in bad form you were. He nods and tentatively takes a step closer to you and is relieved to see you stay. It’s not like you had much of a choice. You were struggling to remain in control. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he tells you. “Setting your power free. Letting go.”

“It’s too much for me. I can’t do this. I really can’t,” you cry out. “Everyone keeps lying. They just can’t seem to stop. I see it everywhere I go and I can’t block it out.” 

“Yes, I know,” Loki agrees. “I feel it too.”

“How are you still standing?” 

“Years of experience,” Loki reminds you. “You’ll get there eventually but for now… allow me to help you.”

You hesitate and you have every right to. 

“Letting this power go… Releasing it from your being means the end for you. Is your potential death really worth it?”

Realization flickers in your eyes and Loki grasps it. 

“I’ve let go before and it cost me everything,” Loki tells you. “Death seems perfect now. Releases you from your past sins and leaves you as a beautiful martyr for your friends and family but it’s a lie. All of it is a lie. You will cause us the deepest pain and we will not be able to recover from it. Please do not do this to us… to me.” 

He extends his hand out and though you know he’s speaking the utmost truth, you hesitate to take it. Even in pain, you can’t seem to forget everything he’s done to you. 

“I don’t know if I can trust you.” 

“Yes, you do,” Loki answers. “Because you’ll tell that I’m speaking the truth when I say that I will never allow you to come to any harm.”

Truth. 

How refreshing it was to hear it from him. 

You take his hand then and everything seems to settle immediately. You allow him to pull you off the ground and he’s quick to check you for injuries. His hands cradling your face as he looks for non-existent cuts and bruises. His skin feels cool against your skin and you sink into it. 

“I can still see the power flickering in your eyes,” he tells you. “But you are nowhere near danger. Just keep taking deep breaths and focus on me.” 

You nod and Loki finally lets you go. It wasn’t until he steps back that you realize that the world seems to have fallen silent. 

“What-” 

Loki notes your confusion and is quick to offer an explanation. 

“I’m blocking us out of everything,” he tells you. “Until you can center yourself once more.” 

You understand what he means when you see a faint ripple not too far from you. It was as if you were encased in a bubble. 

“You have to teach me how to do…” 

You stop when you remember that things were far from normal between you two. Yes, Loki aided you at the moment but it didn’t excuse him from everything he did to you before. 

“If you wish for me to teach you again then I would be honored to do so.”

You smile faintly at that unsure of how to respond. 

“Loki, I-” 

Words fail you and you look away from him. In the silence, the emotions you had tried so hard to run away from were quick to return.

“I feel… I feel too much,” you whisper. 

“I know,” Loki answers. “So do I.”

You snort at that but know he’s speaking the truth.

“It doesn’t seem like it.” 

“I’m a good liar. I can hide my emotions better than most.” 

“Yeah… yeah, I know.” 

Loki grimaces at that and knew it was time for him to come clean.  

“I shouldn’t use this time to my advantage but I’m a snake and it’s just in my nature to be selfish.” 

He pauses, gaging your reaction. You remain silent because you can feel deeply he’s about to tell some deep and hidden truths.

“There is no excuse for what I’ve done. You trusted me when you had no reason to and I betrayed it out of childish fear of gaining a weakness. I bartered with your life and in the beginning, I couldn’t care less whether you would survive this or not, but as time passed… as I got to know you better I became all consumed by your being and it scared me. You are far stronger than I for your love and care carries you so much further than what my hate and fear ever has. And I…”

He hesitates. Unwilling to speak those words into existence. 

“You what?” you ask.

“I-” 

Loki’s afraid and you feel so drawn to him at the moment. The words he wants to speak next are luring you like a siren would a sailor. 

It seemed like the God of Lies was about to confess some deep truths. 

“I-” 

Loki’s upcoming confession remains unsaid as two black SUV’s park on both ends of the alley. At a moment's notice, Loki’s clothes ripple away into his Asgardian leathers and armor. Two daggers slide into the palm of his hands and he’s suddenly guarding you.

“Loki?” you ask confused. “What the hell is going on?” 

“Something your dear friends hid from you,” Loki explains briefly. “Apparently some very bad people would like to meet you.” 

“Oh, that’s not good,” you mutter recognizing the men who were stepping out of the vehicles. “I’m defenseless and in my pajamas.” 

“You know very well that you are far from defenseless.” 

“Pulling out confessions from these terrorists isn’t gonna help much and if I use these siphons I might want to self-destruct again,” you answer as they surround the bubble you're in. “How long can you hold that up?” 

“For as long as it takes, but that doesn’t matter.” 

“What is?” 

“They have the Book of Veritas,” Loki states. “And if you are so determined to be mortal again then this is our only chance of getting it back and reverting what has been done to you.”

You look up at him in surprise. 

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” 

Loki hesitates feeling deep down into his bones that this was a grave mistake, but he owed you. If mistakes had to be made then it's best he was alongside you to make them. 

“If it is what you so desire, then I will keep my promise of not allowing any harm to come to you. I will follow you until the very end of it.” 

Truth.

“Sounds very gruesome when you put it that way,” you mutter. You take a deep breath and hope for the best for what is to come. “Are you ready?” 

“As ready as I can be.” 

With those last words said, Loki drops the protective bubble. You’re both immediately surrounded. The fight is close and gruesome and though Loki and you fought perfectly together, the conclusion remained as expected. 

You’re both taken.

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen​ @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance​ @missmadwoman​ @smaranshakthi​ @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco​ @like-a-wildfire​ @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck @country-cowgirl-101 @bepo-is-sorry​ @hufflautia @waitforthehurricanrose​ @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @sanniegirl1214 @telenari @anonymouscastiel12 @ddaeing @kanemilove @casualdreamerdreamer @dark-night-sky-99 @nickkie1129 @mischiefmanaged71 @help-i-need-a-social-life @moncheriemoony​ @citrineasguardian @princessslashcrazy​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow-blog @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-nightshade @aoirohi @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @just-a-donut-who-reads @day-dreaming-fox @heykathchuu @is-it-madness @writingletterstothefire @nonsensicalobsessions​

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger​ @thefridgeismybestie @moonlightprime @badhollandfluff @what-a-flammable-heart @fandoms-allovertheplace @polireader @hufflautia

[rainecreatesstuff]

escaping is not the same as running away- chapter 3

thoughts are not for the lonely:

Characters: Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, Michael_Beloved

Relationships: Ranboo & Tubbo (qp), Tommy & Tubbo (p), Tommy & Ranboo (p), Ranboo & Michael_Beloved (f), Tubbo and Michael_Beloved (f)

Warnings: Mentions of martyrdom and martyr ideologies, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks.

Summary: 

Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, and Michael continue their journey to escape the SMP. Includes Bench Trio goofs, Allium Duo heart-to-hearts, and Michael_Beloved. Enjoy! :)

Ranboo glanced up at the sky as he rowed. The moon was reaching its apex, shining down brightly on the waves that surrounded them. A few clouds dotted the sky here and there, but overall, the skies were clear, giving a view of a beautiful starry sky. Tubbo was gazing at the stars with admiration. Ranboo wondered if his husband had ever seen the night sky so clearly before.

“Hey Tubso, you alright there?” Tommy asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” Tubbo glanced back to Tommy for a moment, then returned his gaze to the sky.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ranboo gently poked Tubbo’s foot with his own.

Tubbo pulled his gaze down to Ranboo, and paused for a moment, as if he were recollecting his thoughts.

“Just can’t remember the last time the sky was this clear.”

“God, yeah, last time we saw this many stars must’ve been before L’Manburg, huh?” Tommy rowed a few meters ahead of them, then took his hands off the paddles and stretched.

Looks like they were taking a break, then. Ranboo slowed the boat down, bringing it to float beside Tommy’s.

“Was the light pollution all that bad in early L’Manburg?” Ranboo stretched his back, bringing his hands above his head.

“Eh, early-early L’Manburg not so much, but once the walls were built…”

“Yeah, we had torches on the top, and also buildings n shit were popping up all over the place, so.”

Ranboo hummed.

“Then, of course, Manburg was pretty shit, and there was a bunch of light, and you were there for New L’Manburg, which glowed like a Christmas tree that's been set on fire, so, y’know, not a lot of stars.” Tubbo carefully shifted Michael in his arms as he spoke, laying the toddler down so his head rested on Tubbo’s lap.

“There were a lot of lanterns,” Ranboo stated grimly.

Tubbo laughed.

“Yeah, there were. Gotta admit they were pretty though.”

“Oh, definitely. Definitely fit the aesthetic.”

Tommy snorted.

“‘The Aesthetic.’ You can say spruce wood.”

“Oh shut up, spruce is a great block to build with.” Tubbo cut in.

“You could have chosen oak wood and cobblestone, but you went with spruce.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we didn’t want it to look like an abomination.”

“Oak and cobble are lovely blocks! You know why so many villages are built with them? Because they look good. You know why so few villages are built with spruce? It’s a lesser block.”

“Mhm, you’re one to talk about what looks good. Not like you’ve built several ugly cobblestone railroads.”

“My railroads are beautiful.”

Ranboo laughed as quietly as he could at the back and forth, not wanting to draw their attention away. They continued arguing, and Ranboo saw Michael stir a bit.

“Tubbo.”

Tubbo’s head shot in his husband’s direction, then down at Michael, who was blinking sleepily. Tubbo’s face became one of pure agony.

“It’s alright, go back to sleep. Sorry about that Mikey.” Tubbo gently ran his hand through Michael’s mane, soothing him back to sleep.

The toddler mumbled something half-heartedly, and was out again. Partially against their own wills, Ranboo and Tubbo both let out a sigh of relief.

“Who knew all it took to make Tubbo go soft was a piglin child,” Tommy said, an amused smile on his face.

“You haven’t dealt with a toddler that doesn’t want to sleep before man.” Ranboo gazed at Tommy with what he hoped would be read as horror.

Tubbo laughed quietly as Tommy snorted.

“Can’t be that big of a deal.”

Tubbo perked up.

“Great! Once we’ve got our houses and stuff built, he can stay in yours for a night! I’m sure you’ll have so much fun!” Tubbo spoke with a practiced smile and a faux-cheery tone, his eyes aflame with something sinister.

Sometimes Ranboo was reminded of just how happy he was that he wasn’t Tubbo’s enemy.

“Ahahaaa… yeah… sure…” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, “Let’s keep going, yeah?”

Tubbo cackled, and Ranboo rolled his eyes fondly.

“I thank the gods above every day that you’ll never have the opportunity to be a suburban mom.” Ranboo took the paddles back in his hands and began rowing again, straightening out so he was travelling in the right direction.

“Fuck you, I’d be a great suburban mom.”

“Yeah, that’s my fear.”

“He’d be terrifying. He would rule the neighbourhood with an iron fist. Michael would be an iPad kid.” Tommy tossed in.

“Oh gods, no. Not an iPad kid.”

“Yes, Ranboo, an iPad kid. And you would be a malewife.”

Ranboo spluttered, laughing.

“I- why?”

Tommy levelled him with an unimpressed look.

“Well, look at you.”

Tubbo turned away sharply, holding a fist to his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop himself from laughing. The other hand still ran soothingly through Michael’s hair.

“Gee, thanks, Tommy, really- really means a lot, man.”

Tommy snickered as Tubbo coughed into his fist. Tubbo eventually regained his composure, and turned back to Ranboo.

“Aw, it’s okay Boo. You’d make a great malewife.”

“I hate every part of this. I’m going back.” Ranboo mocked jumping out of the boat.

“Noooo, Boo, I didn’t mean it. You’re not a malewife I promise.”

“When we find land I am throwing you.”

“You will not.”

“I will.”

“No.”

“The decision has already been made, Tubbo. There is no going back now.”

Tubbo groaned lightheartedly as Ranboo laughed quietly to himself. Tommy laughed beside them.

“Tubbo will simply kick you lots. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Tubbo froze, and Ranboo paused, slowly turning to face Tommy.

“Wait, have you never picked up Tubbo before?”

“Not successfully.”

Ranboo grinned. Tubbo glared at him with fire in his eyes.

“Ranboo. I will make you regret every decision you have ever made if you tell him.”

“Jokes on you, I already regret most of my decisions,” Ranboo turned back to Tommy, “So, like he just doesn’t let you, or…?”

Tommy’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I- yeah? Like he just kicks you, right? And then squirms out.”

“Tommy, my friend, you have been going about this the wrong way,”

“Ranboo I swear to all things holy if you mutter another word-“

“So, basically, you kinda just have to-“

“Ranboo-“

“Put your hands under his arms and hold him out, like a-“

“I’m going to kill you-“

“Displeased cat.”

“You’re so dead. You are all types of dead. I am going to push you out of this boat.”

Tubbo reached over and shoved Ranboo as much as he could without waking up the toddler asleep on his lap. Ranboo laughed evilly as Tommy watched the two with confusion.

“What, and he’ll stop kicking?”

“Oh, no, he’ll still kick, but his legs won’t be able to reach you. He’ll just tire himself out until you can carry him normally.”

“I hate you so much.” Tubbo pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

Ranboo giggled, “Aw, thanks, love you too, Bo.”

Tommy was looking between Ranboo and Tubbo with something akin to awe.

“Ranboo. My friend. You have made a revolutionary discovery. You have done the gods’ work.”

“Tommy if you even try to pick me up, I will just kill you in your sleep.”

“Ah, but now I have the knowledge that I can simply just pick you up and you will be rendered defenceless.”

Tubbo huffed.

“You two are lucky you’re my friends.”

“We are,” Ranboo said without thinking.

Tubbo visibly softened, like a switch had been flipped. He looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped himself, tilting his head downwards to look at Michael as his hand combed through the kid’s hair. Tommy fake-gagged, and Tubbo rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Shut up, Tommy.”

Tommy laughed, and a pleasant quiet settled over the trio. Ranboo and Tommy rowed in silence as Tubbo began humming a song Ranboo had never heard before. They continued on until it must’ve been one or two in the morning, what with the moon being where it was. Ranboo was beginning to grow sore, and he was sure Tommy must be as well. Tubbo yawned as Ranboo slowed down the boat, Tommy coming to a drift beside them.

“Should we take a break for now?” Ranboo let go of the paddles, not waiting for an answer.

“Please.” Tommy shook his hands before pulling them to his chest and examining them.

Ranboo hoped he hadn’t gotten any splinters. Those would be a pain to deal with right now.

Tubbo rubbed his eyes before turning his head back up to face Ranboo.

“Do you want me to take over for a while?”

“No, you need sleep too, you haven’t slept well recently.” Ranboo reached across the boat to brush Tubbo’s hair out of his eyes, making eye contact with him briefly.

That was something Ranboo had been noticing recently. As much as Tubbo did try to accommodate for his usual dislike of eye contact, he hadn’t found himself becoming agitated at eye contact with Tubbo for a while. If he held it too long, it became uncomfortable, but he suspected that it was mostly just social awkwardness, nothing Enderman-y. He did find that he enjoyed making eye contact with Tubbo though, just for a couple moments when they were safe at home. It felt the same way that giving a hug did.

Tubbo blinked once, then drew his gaze away from Ranboo’s. Ranboo tried to ignore the disappointment that came with it.

“I’ll be fine if I need to.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to. Get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

Tubbo eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ll wake me if you need anything. Got it?”

“Of course.”

“… Alright.” Tubbo carefully pulled Michael into his arms, then slowly sat down on the floor of the boat.

Ranboo turned around and grabbed a blanket from one of their bags, draping it over Tubbo and Michael. He passed Tubbo a rolled-up hoodie, which Tubbo put behind his head to act as a sort of travel pillow. Tubbo yawned again, pulling a yawn from Ranboo and Tommy as well.

“Goodnight, Boo.”

“Night Bo.”

“Night Toms.”

“Sleep well Tubs.”

And with that, Tubbo promptly passed out. Ranboo quietly giggled to himself at how quickly Tubbo fell asleep. A part of him was glad Tubbo felt so safe around him, but another worried how tired he must have been to have fallen asleep like that. Ranboo turned around, surveying their surroundings.

A shoal was just a hundred or so metres away. He pointed it out to Tommy, who groaned theatrically, then picked his paddles back up and began rowing in the direction of the shoal. Ranboo followed, and they carefully docked their boats as best they could in the sand. Ranboo grabbed a piece of rope from his own bag, and tied his and Tommy’s boats together.

“Just in case.” He smiled, and Tommy nodded.

Tommy stretched, and got into a similar position to Tubbo’s. Instead of falling asleep, though, he turned to the horizon, watching the waves.

Ranboo opened his bag completely, checking on Enderchest, who seemed displeased. The cat meowed unhappily as Ranboo picked her up, placing her on his lap. She stepped off his lap and onto the seat, batting at his hands as he tried to stop her. She settled on the edge of the boat, looking down into the shallow water curiously. With a quick whap at the water, her ears flattened, and she returned to Ranboo’s lap.

He pet her for a while until a loud purr rumbled from her throat. Ranboo opened his inventory, grabbing a couple small fish, and fed her.

“Get why Tubbo calls you a catboy now.”

“C’mon, man, it was so peaceful.”

Tommy cackled.

“You did start purring the second your cat did. You are literally just a big cat.”

Ranboo tried to will his tail to stop hitting the floor in an annoyed manner. It did not work.

“No. Go to sleep.”

Tommy laughed, but pulled a blanket onto himself.

“I take it you don’t plan on sleeping?”

“No. I figure someone should stay awake, just in case something happens. A storm could roll in, or something.” Ranboo idly pet Enderchest as he spoke.

He didn’t mention that being surrounded by water prevented him from calming down enough to sleep, but it seemed like minor enough of a detail to leave out.

Tommy hummed.

“You mentioned… You mentioned Tubbo hasn’t been sleeping?”

Ranboo bit his lip.

“Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s been staying out later, not coming back until well after Michael’s gone to bed. And then he’ll usually stay at his desk for a few hours before I can convince him to come to bed. At least, at least when I’m around.” Ranboo sighed.

“Can’t say I haven’t found him asleep at his desk when I’ve come to visit, though.”

“Really?” Tommy seemed taken aback.

Ranboo frowned.

“I mean, yeah? It’s not really all that surprising that he stays up late, I mean, when I’m there I usually have to like- lure him to bed with promises of like, his favourite breakfast or something in the morning.”

“…Huh.”

“Is that.. abnormal, for him?” Ranboo’s tail swished against the floor.

“Uh, no, not the overworking part. Surprised you find him at his desk though. As long as I’ve known him he’s always woken up at sunrise.”

“Even when he’s been up late?”

“Especially then,” Tommy picked at a loose thread in his blanket, “He slept pretty lightly most nights, but especially when he was up late, so he’d wake up the second the sun got in the windows.”

Ranboo hummed. That was… weird. Since he began staying in the same house as Tubbo, Tubbo usually wouldn’t wake up until at least eight or nine. He told this to Tommy, whose eyebrows raised with surprise. Ranboo watched as Tommy bit his lip, then looked up at Ranboo pensively. Ranboo suddenly felt the urge to sit up straighter.

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You. And Tubbo.” Tommy’s gaze drifted over to the goat hybrid, who was still fast asleep beside his son.

“What about us?”

“… Just that it’s good you help him sleep ‘n take care of himself ‘n shit.”

Ranboo felt his face grow warm against his will.

“Oh, I don’t- I don’t think it’s me, I think it’s probably just ‘cause he’s, he’s uh, not president and stuff anymore? So he’s probably been a lot more relaxed.”

Tommy looked at him amusedly.

“I’ve known Tubbo for a while. When we first met, he’d wake up at sunrise to take care of his bees and check up on his redstone machines. He was a bit like a farm boy in that regard,” Tommy said, turning his gaze back to the ocean.

“Then, the independence war happened, and we were trained to wake up at sunrise every day. Even when we stayed up until ridiculous hours, sitting around a campfire and singing and being dumb, Wilbur would be in our bunks at five in the morning with a bell. You don’t just lose that kind of training. Hell, I didn’t lose it ‘til I stayed with Techno.”

Ranboo wondered a bit where this was going.

“Then of course there was the Schlatt presidency, and Pogtopia. And I think I saw Tubbo sleep a total of three times when he was with us. Then he was president, and I’m not sure his sleep schedule ever improved.”

Ranboo hummed.

“Yeah, I get that. I, um, used to wander around L’Manburg at night sometimes and, and he was usually also out, or his lights were on.” Ranboo recalled.

“Exactly. Even when he first started Snowchester, as far as I know he never stopped waking up at sunrise. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he didn’t sleep much.”

“Yeah. He, uh, he seemed like- gaunt, almost.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy sighed.

“Point is, you’ve gotten him to break that habit, which is pretty fucking awesome, so. Good job, or whatever.”

Ranboo felt distinctly out of his area of expertise. He hadn’t really done anything. If anything, he’d probably annoyed Tubbo into sleeping in.

“I- um, thank you? But honestly, I really didn’t do anything.”

Tommy glanced back over to him for a moment.

“Alright.”

The two fell into a soft silence, the only sound being the waves gently lapping against the side of their boats. Enderchest curled up in Ranboo’s lap, falling asleep quickly as he pet her. Tommy yawned, drawing a yawn from Ranboo as well.

Tommy stared out the side of his boat opposite to Ranboo, his gaze settled on the horizon. Ranboo wondered again how Tubbo had managed to convince Tommy to come with them. Of course, Ranboo was almost certain that if Tommy hadn’t come, they wouldn’t have left in the first place.

Even if he and Tubbo hadn’t been as close recently as they used to be, Tommy was Tubbo’s person. His “other half,” if you want to get cliche. There was no Tubbo without Tommy. At least, not the same Tubbo.

“How are you holding up with… with leaving?”

Tommy rolled his head back in Ranboo’s direction.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Memory Boy?” He grinned.

It was still deflection. Ranboo bit his lip.

“So. Um. I take it not that great, then?”

Tommy laughed quietly to himself.

“I don’t even know at this point. One second I’m over the moon and the next I feel like screaming.”

“I get that,” Ranboo spoke softly, “Or, I guess I don’t get it, really, but I understand. You guys have been there a lot longer than me. There were probably a lot of places and people that were really important to you.”

Tommy hummed.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s weird, innit? Knowing you’ll probably never see some of those people again.”

Ranboo had to agree. The fact that he might never hear Niki’s voice again nibbled at the back of his brain like a mouse. He hoped she’d be open to talk through their communicators, but really, at this point it was a coin toss with most people in the SMP.

“A bit, yeah. It feels kinda odd knowing that I’ll probably never pass by Foolish working on some big project again.”

“Or by Eret’s castle. That’s one of the big ones for me. Don’t know why, honestly.”

“Fair. Her castle was kinda like… a staple of the SMP.”

“The only thing that hasn’t been blown up at some point.”

“Gods bless the power of pride flags.”

Tommy laughed, his head falling back and hitting the seat gently. Ranboo smiled.

“The two greatest powers of the SMP: Withers, and six stripes of colour.” Tommy quipped.

“I mean, Techno’s house was technically blown up.”

Tommy threw him a curious look. Ranboo giggled to himself for a moment.

“Okay so, you know how Phil will like, hyper-focus on things sometimes?”

Tommy nodded.

“So, basically, he was showing his flock something, I think it was some trinket he’d found while he was adventuring. I guess he must’ve left the doors open, because this creeper just walked like, right in, nothing stopping it, and blew up.”

Tommy snorted.

“Dude, Phil was freaking out. Techno was literally on his way home from the Nether and like half of Techno’s chests and paintings and stuff had been blown up. So I go over to see what’s happened, and Phil is just sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of paintings like it’s a puzzle.”

“Oh god, the old man has no spatial reasoning, did he fix it in time?”

“He saw me walk in, yelled ‘Don’t just stand there, help,’ and then threw a box of ripped up paintings at me.”

Tommy laughed, loud and clear, and Ranboo grinned.

“So we’re sitting there on the floor frantically putting these paintings back together, and Phil’s getting messages from Techno saying he’ll be home soon, and that’s just making us mess up more. And you’ve seen Techno’s house, half the paintings have the exact same colour palette, so we end up getting half of it wrong and slapping it on the wall anyways.”

Ranboo laughed quietly as Tommy buried his head in his knees to avoid laughing.

“Long story short, we did eventually get them figured out, and Techno walked in like, literally a minute later. Thing is, we forgot to cover up the scent of gunpowder, so.”

“Oh god, what did the Blade do when he found out?”

“Oh, man, it was terrifying. It was Phil, so of course Techno didn’t care, but Phil was gonna blame it on me. I would’ve died, man, that would’ve been it for me.”

Tommy chuckled.

“Nah, Techno’s got a soft spot for you. No way he’d kill his favourite random teenager he picked up off the street.”

“Oh! Speaking of that!”

Ranboo opened his inventory, carefully pulling out the netherite Techno had given him. He handed the full set to Tommy, who looked at it with awe in his eyes.

“Yoooo…” Tommy whispered, running his hands over it.

His hand paused at the collar of the chest plate, where the enchantments were inscribed.

“Techno made this.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement.

“Oh, yeah, I guess his writing is pretty recognizable.”

“No, I mean,” Tommy began handing it back to Ranboo, “He probably wouldn’t want me to use it, ‘specially if he gave it to you.”

Ranboo frowned, pushing the armour back.

“He gave it to me for you.”

Tommy looked taken aback, his mouth open slightly and his eyebrows high on his forehead. He pulled the armour back to his chest, running his thumb over the engraved enchantments.

“Good thing I left him the axe, then.” Tommy muttered.

Ranboo hummed.

“Do you want to try it on?”

“Nah, it’ll fit.” Tommy stared at the armour a moment longer, then woke from his stupor, opening his inventory and carefully placing the four armour pieces inside it.

If Ranboo didn’t know any better, he’d think Tommy was in shock. He was just kind of staring ahead of himself, a soft frown on his face. His hands fiddled with the blanket at his chest, and he chewed on his lip.

“Tommy? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, just thinking.”

“You seem to do that a lot.”

“Yeah.”

Ranboo continued petting Enderchest, praying silently that the lull in the conversation wasn’t an awkward one. He couldn’t always tell, so moments like these were a bit stressful. He felt like he should be filling it up in some way, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make Tommy talk if he didn’t want to.

“I, um, I know we’re not like, super close or anything, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here to listen.” He offered Tommy a smile, and Tommy smiled back awkwardly.

“Thanks big man.”

“Of course.”

Tommy stared at the water again for a few moments, before drawing in a breath.

“How has Techno been? Since, uh, since Doomsday? Haven’t really spoken to him.”

“Oh! I think he’s been doing pretty well. I uh, know it’s kind of a sore topic, but, uh, I think blowing up L’Manburg kinda got most of the vengeance out of him so, that’s good.”

Tommy snorted.

“Oh, Niki’s kind of been hanging out with us recently. Not a lot, but I think Techno really enjoys having her around. She’s very skilled and I think he respects her a lot.”

Tommy smiled.

“Good for them. He and Niki were friends back in Pogtopia, you know? So it’s nice they’re like, talking again.”

“Yeah. It was nice having Niki around. I think being around us also helped her. She seems happier than when she started coming around.”

“Yeah, Niki’s awesome.”

“Phil really likes having her around too, they’ll bake together some days. The crows love her, but they love pretty much everyone, so.”

Tommy stifled a laugh.

“Please, do not remind me of the birds. I was outside one day and I guess they thought my hair looked like gold because they decided to start plucking it.”

Ranboo laughed.

“You’ll be happy to know I’ve added one more bird to the ranks then.”

“You are everything that is wrong with this world.”

His laugh dissolved into a giggle, and Tommy giggled as well. The air had loosened again, and Ranboo could barely hold back his sigh of relief.

“But uh, yeah, Techno’s been well. He hibernated for a long while, and he’s been training quite a bit, but every time I’ve spoken to him he’s seemed pretty happy. Uh, until today, that is.”

“Did he give you trouble leaving?”

“Not really, but I think before I explained everything he kind of thought I was just leaving them? So he seemed kinda bitter at first, but once I explained everything he seemed fine.” Enderchest nearly rolled off his lap as he spoke, so he gently picked her up and placed her back in his bag, zipping it up halfway.

“That’s probably my fault.” Tommy’s voice was tinted with regret, the emotion evident on his face.

Ranboo bit his lip.

“I don’t think it’s your fault. He kind of put you in a difficult situation. Everyone did, if I’m being honest. You were kinda forced to choose between two people you cared about which pretty much never ends well.”

“I don’t regret choosing Tubbo. Do regret leaving Techno a bit. Weird innit?” Tommy rolled his head back, “That I can both regret and not regret the same decision.”

Ranboo hummed.

“I mean, I don’t think so. You were kinda forced to make two decisions, one being going with Tubbo and the other being leaving Techno. They were on opposite sides.”

“That’s your whole thing, yeah? Choosing people, not sides.”

“Yeah. I try not to choose sides whenever I can. I think it’s unfair to have to choose between people just because their ideologies don’t perfectly match up.”

“Fair. Would’ve been interesting to have you around during the first war. ‘M glad you didn’t come until later.”

Ranboo tilted his head.

“Why’s that?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably.

“There was a lot of choosing. Dream used to be our friend, y’know? Then, of course, Wilbur started L’Manburg and I guess Dream lost it a little bit. It was kinda like, if you weren’t on our side, you were on theirs, which obviously doesn’t make much sense in hindsight.” Tommy sighed.

“Just, you probably wouldn’t have had a very good time. Wilbur was… a little extreme at times. D’you know I died twice during that war?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, once in the final control room, then again in a duel with Dream.” Tommy rubbed his chest as he spoke, like he could still feel the wounds.

“Yeah. Wilbur had a bit of a ‘Your country is more important than your life’ approach to things. Not that he wanted us to die, but. Y’know how it is.”

Ranboo distinctly did not “know how it is.” He wondered how often Wilbur spoke like that. He could feel dots connecting themselves as Tommy spoke.

“Did he say stuff like that a lot?”

Tommy shrugged, “Eh, not all the time, but quite a bit, yeah. You’re leading a war, you kinda have to give the big speeches about martyrdom ‘n all that.”

Part of Ranboo wanted to hop into Tommy’s boat and give him a hug, though he knew Tommy was still re-adjusting to touch and wouldn’t appreciate it. He and Tubbo must have been, what, sixteen? And they had one of the people they looked up to the most telling them their country’s independence was more important than their own lives. Whether he believed it or not, Wilbur must have been a pretty bad guy to even consider putting that thought in their heads.

Ranboo felt a bit ill just thinking about it. He was reminded of all the times he’d panicked at some stupid thought he’d had, and Tubbo had been forced to help him out of it, and felt a bit guilty. Tubbo must have gone through so much worse than anything Ranboo could ever imagine. He deserved to rest. So did Tommy. Everything about the situation was just so messed up.

He was glad they’d gotten out before something else went wrong and added onto the ever-growing list of reasons why Ranboo wanted to protect Tubbo and Tommy.

“Don’t look so upset, man. That’s just how war is.”

“You shouldn’t have been there. You don’t deserve to go through that.”

Tommy’s lips tightened into a line.

“Maybe not. But what’s done is done. Nothing we can do about it now.”

“You know that what he was saying isn’t true though, right? Nothing is more important than you being alive and safe.” Ranboo spoke in a soft tone, his voice quieting even more so than before.

Tommy stared at him.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” His voice went a bit high pitched, and he cleared his throat, “I, uh, yeah, no yeah, it was a bunch of bullshit.”

“M’kay, good,”

Tommy was eyeing him weirdly, he could feel it, even as he didn’t see it. He shifted in his seat, biting his lip. His hands began fidgeting with the hem of his jacket.

“I just, um, know what it’s like, a tiny bit, to have thoughts kinda like that in your head, and it’s not- it’s not fun, so. Just wanted to, uh, make sure you’re okay.” Ranboo smiled as best he could.

Tommy watched him curiously, but didn’t push.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He shrugged.

“Okay.” Ranboo sighed to himself, making sure Tommy wouldn’t hear.

Deep conversations were hard.

“Are you gonna at least get more comfortable? We’re probably gonna be here a while.” Tommy said as Ranboo shifted again.

“Probably a good idea.” Ranboo carefully sat on the floor of the boat, opposite Michael so he could sit comfortably with his knees to his chest.

As he readjusted, Tubbo groaned in his sleep. Ranboo moved carefully, grabbing Tubbo’s hand in his own and holding it. Tubbo squeezed back in his sleep, and Ranboo had to stop himself from audibly cooing.

“Ugh. How long do you think you two are gonna be all gross and husbandy?” Tommy asked with mock disgust.

Ranboo stifled a laugh.

“If all goes according to plan, forever.”

“Ew.”

Ranboo broke into a giggle as Tommy snickered from the other boat.

“Whatever. Just don’t be gross in front of me. Frankly, it’s weird.”

“I literally just held his hand.”

“Disgusting.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Alright Mr. I Built Myself A Girlfriend.”

“I’ll have you know she was wonderful and treated me right.”

“She was a log with a jack o'lantern on top.”

“Small details.” Tommy made a gesture of waving Ranboo off.

“Mhm, mhm.”

“If you were not allergic to water I would be splashing you with it right now.”

Ranboo snickered.

“Aw, you do care.”

“Alright fuck it.”

Tommy made a show of drowsily splashing water against the side of Ranboo’s boat, and Ranboo snorted in amusement. Tommy sighed like he was exasperated, then yawned.

“Try to get some sleep dude.” Ranboo’s tone softened.

“You shouldn’t have to be up all alone,” Tommy mumbled tiredly.

Ranboo made a mental note to himself to write down that tired Tommy was sweeter than awake Tommy.

“It’s alright, if I need anything I’ll wake you up, alright?”

“Wake me up, not Tubbo.”

“Okay, I will.”

Tommy eyed him suspiciously, accidentally making eye contact with Ranboo. Ranboo decided it was definitely worse than eye contact with Tubbo, but nowhere near as horrible as it used to be with Tommy. Slight discomfort, not panic-inducing.

Baby steps, he supposed.

Tommy glanced away quickly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night Ranboob.”

Ranboo sighed loudly and saw Tommy smirk as he closed his eyes.

And then there was one.

Ranboo took the opportunity to write in his memory book. With his luck, he’d wake up at some point in the next few days expecting to be back in the tundra, and he didn’t want Tubbo to have to pull him out of that panic.

He jotted down the events of the day, and some of the things he’d talked about with Tommy. He left himself a small reminder to keep a close eye on Tubbo, to make sure he was doing okay. And on Tommy, as well. And Michael.

He hoped they’d made the right decision by doing this. Maybe it was foolish to run off so quickly, without letting it sink in. It worried him to think that they might regret it later down the line. But right now, at this moment, Ranboo couldn’t find much in him to care. All he could focus on was the fact that now, his family would be safe. No more war bunkers, or TNT cannons (unless Tommy happened to be bored, he supposed). They could just grow up, and raise Michael, and live without the fear of death lurking around every corner.

Maybe they would regret it. One day. But today was not that day.

And so, Ranboo settled into the night, listening to the distant caws of seagulls and the occasional chirp from dolphins. He sat, and listened, and allowed himself to hope and daydream for a while, as the moon shifted in the sky. Eventually, the sky began to turn orange, the early rays of the sun peeking above the horizon.

He watched the sunrise, and for the first time in a while, he felt at peace. Not the faux-peace they had created back in the SMP lands, but really, truly peaceful. He felt as if he was finally coming home after a long day in the mines. Tired, but calm, and warm. And he could be with his family, and laugh, and feel safe.

Safe. What a precious, beautiful thing to feel.

A soft groaning arose from the other side of the boat. Ranboo turned, and saw a pink ear twitch. Soon, a tiny, hoof-like hand rose from the blanket and rubbed his son’s tired eye, who finally blinked his eye open and looked at Ranboo.

“Boo?”

“Hey, bud. Good morning.”

“Good mornin’.” Michael yawned, crawling out from under the blanket carefully, and flopping down beside Ranboo, leaning on his side.

Ranboo gently rubbed Michael’s arm, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you sleep well?”

Michael groaned in response, and Ranboo giggled. He really did take after his other father.

“Do you want some breakfast?”

Michael nodded, and Ranboo opened his inventory, grabbing some bread. He ripped a small piece off for Michael, who looked at it for a moment in contemplation, then promptly shoved it in his mouth. Ranboo sighed.

“You’ve spent too much time around Mimi.” He smiled, petting Michael’s mane.

Michael grinned up at him, taking another bite of bread. Tubbo began to stir across from them, his eyes blinking open slowly.

“Morning Bo.”

Ranboo was met with a groan. He giggled to himself quietly.

“Five more minutes.”

“You can have as many minutes as you need.”

“It’s too early for you being nice, ‘m gonna accidentally tell you to fuck off. Leave me alone for like- just one more minute.” Tubbo mumbled.

Ranboo laughed, and Michael giggled beside him, chewing on his bread. Tubbo stared up at the sky, then glanced around, getting his bearings. Eventually, he brought his gaze back to Ranboo, and Ranboo leaned forward a bit until Tubbo got the hint and moved to bonk their foreheads together.

“Ugh. It’s too early for your husband shit.”

Ranboo sighed good-naturedly.

“Good morning, Tommy.”

He looked over to Tommy’s boat, where Tommy was stretching. He seemed a bit tired, but not as grumpy about waking up as Michael or Tubbo were.

Tubbo stretched as well, then reached into his inventory, retrieving some baked potatoes and steak. He handed them to Ranboo and Tommy, then took some for himself.

The group ate in silence for a while, letting the morning set in. Ranboo finished, and returned to his seat as Tommy did in the boat next to him, grabbing the paddles.

“Ah, no, I’m rowing now. You did it last night.” Tubbo stood carefully, gently kicking Ranboo’s shin.

Ranboo bit his lip. Tubbo had been so tired, and had gotten so little sleep. Ranboo could survive a couple more hours of rowing if it meant Tubbo got a bit more rest.

“Oh, that’s alright. I’ll be fine, I’m not tired.” Ranboo offered him a smile, to which Tubbo raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t care. Sit your bony ass down on the other seat or I’ll skin you.”

“Why do you always jump to skinning me?”

“Ranboo.”

Ranboo sighed. He supposed Tubbo could row for a bit, and then they could trade again…

“Fine.” Ranboo carefully moved around Tubbo, sitting on the seat opposite him.

Michael jumped up, sitting beside Ranboo and leaning into his side again. Tommy reached across the boats and untied them from each other, tossing the rope down onto the floor of his boat. Tommy and Tubbo began rowing, heading North.

“Hey, Tommy, are you sure you don’t want me to row for you for a while? You didn’t get much sleep last night, so…”

“I got enough. Rest, dumbass.”

Ranboo sighed, resigning to spending the next couple of hours doing nothing. He released Enderchest from his duffel, to which Michael squealed with delight. Enderchest purred as the toddler pet her gently, eventually curling up beside him on the seat.

Ranboo retrieved one of Michael’s books from his bag, and read to him for a while as the toddler clutched his plushie with one hand and pet Enderchest with the other. Ranboo finished the book, and returned it to its place in Michael’s bag. He opened his inventory, grabbing a couple small fish, and turning back to Michael.

“Here, can you feed Enderchest for me?”

Michael nodded excitedly. Ranboo smiled warmly.

“Alright. Hold your hand flat, like this.” Ranboo demonstrated with his own hand, holding it flat with his palm facing the sky.

Michael copied his movement, holding his hand out flat towards Ranboo. Ranboo carefully placed the fish on Michael’s hand, and the toddler wrinkled his nose. Ranboo laughed gently.

“Okay, now you can just move your hand in front of her, and she’ll eat them up!” He carefully guided his son’s hand in front of Enderchest, whose ears perked up at the scent of fish.

Her eyes opened, and she gingerly took one of the fish from Michael’s hand. Michael giggled, leaning backwards. Ranboo steadied him from behind, a grin on his face. Tubbo watched across from them, his eyes and smile soft. Ranboo’s tail wagged happily, gently slapping the inside of the boat.

Enderchest plucked the last fish from Michael’s hand, and Michael pulled his hand back, flapping it happily.

“Can I hug you, Mikey?” Ranboo asked.

Michael nodded, and Ranboo scooped him up, enveloping him in a hug. Michael hugged back as tight as he could, then pulled away, bumping his forehead against his dad’s. A soft purr rumbled from Ranboo’s chest, and Michael flopped down beside him again.

Ranboo yawned, and Tubbo lifted an eyebrow.

“Did you not sleep well last night?”

Ranboo paused. The tendrils of anxiety started gently tugging at his stomach and lungs. He could tell Tubbo he hadn’t slept, but then he would ask why, and Ranboo didn’t want him to think they were bothering him in any way…

“Oh, no, I did, I’m all good, just still a bit tired from travelling all night.” Ranboo smiled what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy’s brow furrowed, “You stayed up to keep an eye on the boats.”

“I, um, fell asleep after you did?”

Tubbo frowned.

“That shouldn’t be a question, Boo.”

“Right, um, sorry, but, I really am okay! You know Endermen need less sleep than humans?”

“That’s a lie.”

“…Yeah.”

Ranboo wrung his hands nervously. Shoot, he’d probably just worried Tubbo more, and it wasn’t like there was anything either of them could do about the issue anyways. He didn’t really feel all that tired either, so it wasn’t really a problem. It’s not like he’d continued to travel all night, he had rested, he just hadn’t, y’know, slept.

“Did you not sleep at all? We could have taken turns, if you were worried. You don’t get to sacrifice your sleep just ‘cause you want us to sleep.” Tubbo watched him carefully, as if watching for any tells he might show.

“It’s, it’s not that, well, maybe it is, a bit? But, um not- not totally, at least, um…” Ranboo rubbed the back of his neck as his friends looked at him quizzically.

He really didn’t want to worry them. Or make them feel guilty. But he was probably just worrying them more by lying. Right? Or maybe not, maybe they were just upset that he’d lied, not worried. But Tubbo looked worried. Ugh, this sucked.

“So, you know how we’re, like, surrounded by, by water?” Ranboo began nervously.

Tubbo and Tommy nodded cautiously. Ranboo bit his lip, and saw something click in Tubbo brain.

“Is the water stressing you out?” He asked, slowly coming to a stop.

Ranboo gulped.

“Well, no, not- not really, it’s not like, stressing me out consciously, but, I think it might be an Enderman thing? Like, instinctual, or something. I, uh, I can’t fall asleep in boats, though. There’s just- too much water, like everywhere, and, uh… yeah,”

Tubbo looked at him sadly, and Ranboo felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. Great, now he’s made Tubbo feel bad, and Tommy probably did too, and Michael was probably confused why everyone was upset, and he was just stressing them all out, and they should have just left him behind-

“Woah, Boo, it’s alright, we’re okay, breathe.” Tubbo placed down his paddles, grabbing Ranboo’s hands as Tommy’s boat drifted up beside them.

“I’m sorry.” Ranboo said quietly.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. Breathe. In for four, hold for six, out for seven, remember? Just like you do with me.” Tubbo exaggerated his breathing, and Ranboo copied him as best he could.

Guilt continued to tug at his stomach for making Tubbo deal with him.

“There we go. Alright. We’re not upset, or angry, or anything. I just wish you’d told us sooner so we could’ve figured out a better travel plan.” Tubbo explained, rubbing Ranboo’s hands.

Tommy hummed.

“We should be near land soon enough, so we can take horseback from there. We can probably rest for a while once we get to land too. Tubs and I will be tired from rowing anyways.” Tommy said lightly, gesturing behind him as he spoke.

“Yeah, I- yeah, don’t, don’t worry, I’m all good. I’ve stayed up much longer than this, I’m fine.” Ranboo said nervously.

Tubbo stared at him for a moment.

“You gotta understand why that’s not reassuring.”

Tommy stifled a laugh beside them, and Ranboo huffed.

“It’s true, though. I can, I can handle it, y’know? I’m not gonna, like, break just ‘cause I’m awake for longer than usual.”

“You should still get some sleep.” Tubbo argued.

Ranboo’s ears flattened against his head against his will, and Tubbo noticed, his expression softening. He glanced away for a minute, as if thinking, then snapped his fingers.

“What if we covered your eyes?”

Ranboo frowned.

“That sounds horrible.”

“You mean like with a blindfold?” Tommy asked.

“No, of course not a blindfold. What would he do if we got attacked or something?” Tubbo leaned down grabbing the blanket he and Michael had used to sleep.

“I mean, like, what if you slept with a blanket over your head? That way you wouldn’t be able to see the water, and maybe your Enderman instincts would chill out a bit.”

“Like a parrot.” Ranboo grimaced.

“Uhhh… Sort of, yeah.” Tubbo said, grinning.

“Alright, well, you heard the man, down on the floor with you.” Tommy said, pulling a theatrical groan from Ranboo.

“Seriously, Tubbo, I’m fine, I’d much rather just like, nap, once we find land.”

“Nope,” Tubbo said, popping the ‘p,’ “Sit on the floor.”

Ranboo obeyed hesitantly, and Tubbo tossed the blanket over his head. Ranboo’s tail whipped back and forth across the boat in annoyance, and he could feel himself blushing profusely.

“Is this revenge for something?” Ranboo asked lightheartedly.

Tubbo giggled, and Ranboo smiled, though the other two couldn’t see it. He heard something plop down beside him, and was then greeted by Michael shuffling under the blanket, curling up beside him. Tubbo cooed quietly, and Ranboo heard Tommy scoff. He wrapped an arm around Michael, who gently headbutted his shoulder.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Tommy asked.

Ranboo paused for a moment, biting his lip. As much as he hated to admit it, he could feel the tightness in his stomach alleviating as more time went on under the blanket. His foot was pushed out far enough that it was touching Tubbo’s, and with Michael beside him, the instinctual nervousness he got when he didn’t know where his… his “haunting” was, lessened. Enough that he could actually feel the effects of exhaustion in his muscles.

“It probably will and I hate that.” Ranboo finally said.

Tommy and Tubbo cackled, and Ranboo huffed. They delighted in his suffering, and it was horrible. He could feel the sticky tendrils of anxiety loosening from his throat, though, and he could feel his eyes becoming heavier. Another yawn escaped him, and his tail slowly came to a stop, curling around him and Michael. Tubbo sighed happily.

“Get some sleep, Boo. We’ll keep rowing for a while, and we’ll wake you once we find land, alright?”

Ranboo hummed affirmation, his eyes already sliding closed. He felt something placed behind his head, and leaned against it like he would against a pillow. It was soft, probably one of Tubbo’s hoodies. Distantly, he hoped Tubbo wouldn’t be upset at him for using it as a pillow.

He heard Tommy and Tubbo start bickering about something or other, accompanied only by the waves and, occasionally, the distant squawks of seabirds. His eyes slid shut as his heartbeat slowed, and his brain drifted to thoughts of flower fields and apiaries.

[whump-town]

God’s Gonna Cut You Down

Hear me out: I have no idea what this is but I’ve got three thousand words of this shit and it just keeps coming so before I throw myself into this new project, I’m gonna let you guys dip your toes in and see if you guys like and then I’m going to keep going anyways but-- 

Anyways, stay tuned for my rendition of Hotch’s backstory:

November 2, 1971

Virginia in the fall finds itself choking on tourists ambling about wherever they can find a high spot to rest. Stopping to watch deer jump out from the underbrush or hear receding birds shrieking their discontent at being found. The mountains draw in lots of attention but they’re hard to miss from a distance and there’s something about woods that draw the curious dangerously close. Moths to the light, there’s something about hearing the woods call out that never makes people question things as much as they should. Never thinking to back away until it’s too late. 

In a 50s Crosley station wagon, Aaron Hotchner is born silently. His father’s large hand over his still, pale chest as he makes no move to draw in a breath. It’s the woods calling his unnamed body-- attempting to lure the baby away from the life that awaits him. In the woods, deep where there is no warmth or chills only comfort and ease. Where he’ll never know the sting of the palm urging his little lungs to work across his face. He’ll be safe from the monsters that await him in the future he doesn’t have to have if he just comes to the woods. To their safety and their love. 

Two blue eyes crack open and for a moment all that is shared in that car is silence. Stuck right between life and death, abated breath. A soft whimper leaves the newborn’s bluing lips, squirming his limbs as he struggles on in this life that he has chosen. His mother pulls herself up to look at her son and husband, fearful of both of their silences that seem to continue to stretch dangerously on. She’s meant only with fear and the sight of her baby’s struggling limbs falling limply as his little chest remains still.

“He’s not breathing, Mary.” 

Aaron Hotchner is born during heavy rainfall, a peculiar way to find Virginia in November. The chill of the outside air rests heavily over him and when he is placed on his mother’s chest she recoils from the feeling. Shocked and overcome with fear for the child she has felt grow within her. The baby who delivered such strong kicks to her ribs and bladder now still and unmoving on her chest. 

“We have to go to the hospital.”

Clutched to his mother’s breast, she makes whispered promises. Attempting to lure her baby closer, to be louder than the woods her husband speeds through. Come home. Come home. She brushes her finger through the mess on his face, wet and sticky. His little arms and legs are drawn tightly to his chest as he rocks back and forth as the car barrels down the road. 

“Just stay,” she pleads. “I’ll protect you.”

The hospital tears them three ways.

His father’s angered shout sounding out behind him, making him jump, and for the first time in all his life, he gives a lively jerk. Little eyes peeling back open and lips parting. “Did daddy scare you?” a nurse coos. She rubs her finger along his sternum, making him squirm away from her and the unpleasant feeling. “There you are, sweetie. Go ahead and cry for me. Let me hear those lungs.” They press a stethoscope to his chest, listening to his lungs and attaching wires onto him. Still nothing.

“He’s a little bluish, hands and feet too.” A nurse coos, trying to get some reaction out of the baby seemingly content on just staring back and allowing his limbs to be pulled and moved at their will. “Heart rate is good. Respirations low, no cry. He’s about a four on the Apgar.” Not good but it’s something.

A priest is called in the dead of the night. He comes down the long winding hall, seemingly floating along a breeze as his long coat snaps back from his waist as he walks. The night is unsettled, he can feel it where his ribs meet his sternum. Just over his heart. Death walks alongside him but it’s not a race, it is up to neither to see how tonight turns. 

The priest enters the room without a knock, the room’s occupants wait for him. He can feel their unease fill the room to its brim. What a way, he thinks, to greet a child into the world. No wonder the poor thing finds itself in such trouble so soon. Born to young parents, not the youngest he’s seen but they still carry that light in their eyes he only sees in the young anymore. He officiated their wedding, the first person to greet them into this new world as Mary and Richard Hotchner. Since that day nearly a decade ago, he has been called to their side many times. The Lord has not found this couple as fruitful as their peers. Much younger couples, in and out of wedlock, have conceived and brought babies to term. 

Today, the priest prepares to pray for another poor soul. To recite scripture and confirm that all in due time, Mary and Richard must have faith. God will give them their chance. Maybe not this time or the times before that but in time. Everyone has their time.

The old priest hovers over Aaron, wrinkled hand resting just over where Richard’s had willing life into his little chest. His palm is met with warmth and if there was a diving rod for the religious, he would know it. As he knows here the shaky breathes of the newborn awaiting the most important decisions of his short life. “He has a good heart,” the old priest croaks. He moves from the bassinet, smiling at Mary. 

She’s a beautiful woman, with or without the bruises marring her pale flesh. The old priest takes her hand, stroking the back of her knuckles while she watches him with fear. She already mourns the child, he feels it. “Born into the rain,” he whispers, with a hopeful smile. “A symbol of promising harvest, you know.” He glances at Richard, sees that distrust and anger that burns brightly in the tall, thin man. He speaks to Richard now, draws the young man in with a voice as old as time itself. “God,” the priest promises, “he’ll do right by your family, Richard. Have faith in him, in that boy.” 

Mary sniffles, shooting a glance at her husband before turning to the priest. “We’re going to name him Aaron,” she tells him, shivering as though feverish. With a shaky smile, she pulls her blanket over her arms, hiding them from view under the look of drawing her limbs closer to draw comfort.

The old priest forces a smile, “it’s a good name. Strong. The name of Moses’ older brother, as I’m sure you already know.” There was once a time when Mary was just a girl in his Sunday school classes with lopsided pigtails and a bright, eager smile. Smart as a whip, it’s what he thought would get her out of this suffocating town. She got herself stuck in Richard’s fence, wire cutting down to the bone, and she learned to stop moving. Now they wait for the flies or something bigger, something worse to come along and end her suffering. No farmer with his sawed-off shut gun. A slow, bleeding end.

Aaron, the priest repeats back to himself. Exalted. Enlightened. He looks over at the bassinet, to the little fist the baby has curled around one of the wires snaking in and around his body. 

Bearer of martyrs.

With a sad sigh, the priest already knows that boy’s fate.

[arigatouiris]

an inconvenient crush // kozume kenma x reader (2/2)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the support! I really appreciate people coming in and telling me you liked my story! Makes me feel so loved and valid, I can’t even begin to tell you how special it makes me feel. Here’s the final part! Do let me know what you think! Thank you so much :”)

Word count: 4k+

Pairing: YouTuber! Kenma Kozume x Streamer! Reader

Summary: YouTuber Kozume Kenma has had the biggest crush on Twitch Streamer, (s/n) (y/n), who in actuality simps heavily after Kenma’s secret YouTube persona, puddinghead0.

What happens when their paths cross?

Kuroo is honestly tired of Kenma’s second-guessing, and (y/n) is a bit of a crackhead.

Warnings: unrequited love, one-sided crush, slight angst, pining, crackhead reader, internet bullying, slang, gaming references, haikyuu manga spoilers, fluff

C h a p t e r T w o: kozume in love

Kenma chuckled when he heard you scream over the controller. The both of you were currently fighting a boss named Martyr Logarius, and while you had beaten the game once, playing it in Newgame+ was extra hard. Kenma was certainly helping, but you had made a silly mistake and died for the fourth time in a row.

    "You're dodging too early," Kenma said, still chuckling, "But it is entertaining to see you dodge in such panic."

    "Shut up," You groaned over the microphone, earning more chuckles from him, "I'm trying, okay?"

    "You beat this game, you said?"

    "Ahhh!"

Kenma laughed some more, now covering his face with his hand. He could hear you laugh out of frustration as well, but while this entire orchestration felt funny to both of you, Kenma's heart bubbled dangerously. He loved the sound of your voice, and he absolutely adored the way you groaned and cursed at the bosses each time you died or each time you defeated them. You were good, and even as the game tested you, you trod on. He could see you loved gaming in its entirety, and slowly, he was learning more about you.

    "I need a beer." You sighed.

    "This game does that to you," Kenma leaned back against his bean bag, "I mean... Not to burst your bubble, but you do suck."

    "Oye," You warned playfully, "I'm a streamer."

    "Anyone can stream, (y/n)."

There was silence on the other end after that, but Kenma didn't think it was anything odd. The co-oping between you two was going on for a few days now, and it would last up to 5-7 hours at most. It was strange that despite college, you two managed to find time to sit and play, but after a point, it had become more than just the game. You began to crave his voice, crave the way he'd be there, whenever you were about to run low on health, he'd come over and give you time to heal.

Co-oping with Kenma was fun because it felt, oddly, as if he really cared.

    "(y/n)?"

    "I always thought you sounded familiar," Kenma blinked, "But I think hearing you say more words sort of... gave it away."

    "Gave what away?" Kenma's heart was pounding now.

    "Kozume-kun," He didn't want to hear the rest, "Are you puddinghead0?"

It took him several seconds to process what you said. He could practically feel his heart beat against his ears, and he could sense you getting impatient at him as well.

    "Kozume—"

    "How did you know?"

You took a few moments to answer.

    "I... I've been a fan for too long not to recognize your voice, really. I just... I guess I had to hear you through the microphone to instantly pick it up? I don't know I... Why didn't you tell me?"

    "I didn't want you to know."

    "Oh," His heart broke at how low you sounded. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't ask you because I knew you were him or anything! I asked you as Kozume—"

    "Right."

    "No, listen," You were panicking now, "I assure you, I didn't know until recently. I didn't even think... I never—"

    "What did you picture him as, (y/n)?"

    "What do you—"

    "I'm sure you pictured him as someone different, right? It must disappoint you that someone you admire is in fact, a regular college student—"

    "Don't say that! I really enjoy playing with you, and... I never even pictured how you'd look in the first place!"

    "Sure—"

    "Can we meet? Please, let me just—"

    "Not happening. It was nice playing with you, (y/n). I hope you get the platinum—"

    "Please, don't do this."

When Kenma hesitated, he knew that it was no longer an inconvenient crush. His fingers trembled and he couldn't look away from the television screen. His chest hurt and he was certain that his shirt was drenched.

    "Please, let's—"

    "Where do you want to... meet?"

    "Oh, thank goodness," Your genuine relief made him want to laugh, "I was so certain you'd hang up. Oh, thank god. Uh, I don't know. You live near campus?"

He narrowed his eyes, "What campus?"

    "Tokyo University?"

    "You go here too?"

    "Literature student! You go here? You mean to say the puddinghead0 goes to—"

    "Please, just never call me that, okay?"

    "Where do you want to meet?"

    "I... Just come to campus, we'll figure it out."

What normally took Kenma 12 minutes took him 17 now. He spent some time pacing back and forth on whether to go or not, before understanding that he couldn't back out after assuring you that he'd be there. He wondered if you would come as a fan or as his friend (were you his friend?), but the foremost thing that Kenma worried about was what your interaction with him would be about. Why did you want to meet him? What explanation did you want to give?

Maybe she wants to thank me, he thought as he walked forward, finally bucking up and realizing that he might actually need to meet you alone as himself.

He noticed that you were waiting outside the gates of the campus, airpods plugged in, head rocking lightly to some music that you were listening to. From a distance, you caught sight of him and waved almost hesitantly, shooting his heart to the skies. Your hair was tied in a messy bun and you were wearing anime merch, a Bakugou shirt with regular jeans. No matter what you wore, Kenma thought you were ridiculously pretty. Kenma had always thought you were pretty, from the very first video that you uploaded. He caught your stream in Kuroo's laptop when he had come over, and apparently it was your first time. You were hesitant and shy, but it gradually died down the more you played. Kenma found himself laughing so much that it alerted Kuroo, who had understood right away that you held a special place in Kenma's mind since no one could make Kenma laugh quite like you could.

When he was a few feet away from you, you looked at him awkwardly before he noticed you were red-faced. Is she... blushing?

    "U-Uh, yeah so uh," She was so nervous that it was making him feel weird, "I don't want to treat you differently but I just realized that I was gushing to you about puddinghead not knowing that you are, in fact, puddinghead and god, I feel like an idiot."

Kenma had to laugh at that before shaking his head, "It's fine, I don't get too many compliments anyway."

    "You had me simping all over you and you knock that down as compliments? Please teach me the art of modesty, senpai."

Kenma laughed some more before letting out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. You were taking breaths now yourself; you were standing beside someone who had literally inspired you to start streaming gameplay, and you had no idea that you were playing alongside him all this while until he had practically confirmed it not too long ago. Of course, a part of you felt weird that he never told you himself, but perhaps he wanted to keep it a secret. Also...

He had been watching your streams. Kenma had admitted that as himself the first time you had met. You could practically die.

    "There's this cafe down this road," You said, suddenly feeling a lot bolder, "We won't have to stand around awkwardly then."

    "Alright."

The walk wasn't quiet, you were desperately trying to think of something to talk about, and you were mumbling a few things here and there about Bloodborne, and he commented back; but neither of you found your heart in the conversation and kept going because you didn't know how to handle the silence. While you admired Kenma, Kenma was also aware that you had no idea the feelings he had for you.

It made him feel a bit inadequate, and he wasn't sure how to take it.

When you reached the cafe, Kenma and yourself took the seats outside. You took in his appearance properly for the first time that evening; his hair tied in a messy, loose ponytail and wearing baggy clothing with black jeans and sneakers. Kenma was gorgeous, you wouldn't deny that, especially now that your heart was bubbling with excitement over how he was your YouTube idol. Strangely, his question rang in your mind:

What did you picture him as, (y/n)?

Your eyes softened at Kenma as he checked his phone for a minute; unable to look away. You stared at him the way folks stare at a rainbow, taking in all that unexpected beauty, not wanting to look away in case it might disappear. You felt yourself blushing when he looked up to meet your gaze, almost feeling time stop. But, you were too much of an overthinker to let that happen.

I'm sure you pictured him as someone different, right? It must disappoint you that someone you admire is in fact, a regular college student—

    "Kozume-kun," What am I doing? "I can't picture anyone but you."

He was now staring at you like you were an idiot mumbling rubbish. He gulped, you could see the rise and fall of his adam's apple, but he wasn't saying a word.

    "A few months ago, when I started the channel on Twitch, I could do it only because of you. You inspired me to upload my own gameplay because I now had a platform to be proud of it. But as Kozumu-kun, you gave me the courage to not only be proud of my gameplay but to see what's actually important," You smiled as you said, "Fun."

    "You're giving me way too much credit."

You shook your head, "We don't always realize how little exchanges that we have with people cause ripple effects. Playing with you these past few days reminded me of what streaming for views made me forget. Views don't matter, the fun does. I let those comments get to me because the views mattered to me, and they still do. But, that's not everything. I learned that from you."

Kenma didn't know what to say.

    "So when you figured out that I was... the YouTuber—"

    "Puddinghead—"

    "—Yeah, that. Didn't you think I lied to you?"

You shook your head, "You never had a face reveal, which meant that you wanted to keep it a secret. So why would I feel like you lied? You had every reason to—"

    "Stop being so fucking adorable, it's actually pissing me off." Kenma snapped without realizing.

Both of your eyes widened—Kenma's and yours—at the words that exited his mouth. Your face was flaming at what he said, and Kenma probably felt like a suicidal ostrich. He wanted to bury his head under the ground and never rise, for that would keep him away from the embarrassment that was due; he could hear Kuroo's laughter in the distance, which made it all the worse.

    "I'm... I'm not trying to be cute, you know?" You said, tilting your head a little, playing with a strand of your hair.

Kenma frowned at you, wondering now if you were doing it on purpose.

    "What are you... doing?"

    "There's a word for it!" You pointed an index finger in the air, "Hanker sore."

Kenma scoffed, "What's that?"

    "It's finding someone so attractive that it pisses you off."

Kenma blushed, "Y-You're not all that attractive, you just... come across as cute sometimes."

Your eyes widened, "I'm a catch!"

He bit his lower lip, "Yeah, sure."

    "Hey! I am a total catch, you could like totally fall for me!"

Kenma's heart skipped a beat, "Yeah, sure."

While you were sitting across him having a struggle over how he easily pushed away your claims, Kenma stared at you like you were all he could see, and as if you were a sight that he would forget if he didn't drink in your details at this very second. A moment later, you gasped before leaning forward.

    "I think we should get something."

    "Let's actually... go get your platinum."

Your eyes widened, "You... don't mind?"

He shook his head now that he was absolutely certain, "No, let's go back."

You were beaming and thanking him, acting as if he suddenly wasn't the YouTuber you had been simping after, treating him like a separate individual that he was, behaving as you would with anyone else; Kenma's worries dissipated in thin air, he was now confident that he had fallen in love with you, mind, body, and soul—your voice had ensnared and captured him, and now, your revelation had done the deed of claiming his heart.

    "Oh, and," Kenma said, "No one will know."

You nodded before throwing him a mock salute, "Of course!"

*

You were legitimately freaking out. 

Kenma had followed you as puddinghead on your professional Twitter and you had been staring at the screen for close to an hour now. You weren't sure if the reason for your heart to be beating the way it was was because Kenma was puddinghead or because you had finally learned what puddinghead looked like, but whatever it was, the feeling was intense.

Are these feelings romantic though? You wouldn't lie, before you knew puddinghead's face, you had pictured meeting him and dating him—the regular daydreaming that a person would do for the person they were simping after. And while those thoughts were innocent, now puddinghead had a name. Puddinghead was Kozume Kenma, an attractive college student, CEO of Bouncing Ball Corp, and YouTuber. Your mind was taking you to places, and juxtaposing your previous fantasies now with Kenma's face. No, no, no, you scolded yourself before covering your face with your hand. Yes, discovering his identity is huge, but don't forget, he thinks of you as a friend!

You were about to join his party on the PSN and co-op Bloodborne again, but all you could think about were how long Kenma's fingers were when they were placed on the table before you that day when you met him in the cafe.

You were practically out of it.

    "Hey, Kozume-kun!"

    "You know you can call me Kenma, right? I call you (y/n)."

    "O-Oh," Your face reddened uncharacteristically. "R-Really?"

You heard Kenma chuckle and your heart was ready to combust, "Yeah, what's there to think about?"

Oh dear lord, "Okay. Uh... So..."

     "So."

     "Uh."

    "(y/n)?"

Fuck, "K-Kenma-kun."

Kenma had his hand covering his jaw at how cute you sounded, but you were practically jelly yourself. It wasn't easy learning the identity of your internet crush and having to play with them as friends. It wasn't easy to accept these facts and to admit that maybe, just maybe, the person that they are in real life was equally attractive.

    "We have to beat the Shadows of Yharnam today."

Did his voice always sound like velvet?

    "Hm, I've heard they were relatively easy?"

    "No," He said chuckling, "To you, they're definitely going to be a challenge."

When he chuckles, I feel like I'll die.

    "Didn't you play against them without co-op?"

    "Oh, yeah," You could practically picture him rubbing the back of his neck, "I did co-op for Gherman in the end, though."

Fuck, he's so cute!

    "What?" Kenma asked, sounding confused.

    "What?"

    "You said 'he's so cute', you mean Gherman?" You gasped, "(y/n), he's... he's an old man?"

    "Y-Yeah! Haha, I mean... Yeah. It's... I was..."

Kenma laughed before asking you to continue before you slapped yourself for making such a big fool out of yourself. Snap out of it, you scolded yourself once more. You can't like Kenma-kun just because you know he's puddinghead.

But, did you?

As days passed, you exchanged numbers with Kenma. Texting him was relatively easy since he barely tried to keep the conversation alive and you just had so much to say. Sometimes, Kenma believed he might be boring, but you kept texting him as if his personality wasn't really that much of a bother. He wasn't much of a texter, and you had caught on, a fact that didn't actually bother you. Kenma, however, would never leave you on read, would try to reply within the hour even though he doesn't text as often.

Your mind, however, revolved around the heart he had once sent you as puddinghead.

You were re-reading the tweets almost every night, and juxtaposing the image of an empty face with Kenma's. For some reason, puddinghead's image was slowly erasing itself from your mind; you became less fascinated with the YouTube persona, but instead, looked forward to hearing from his real-life identity, trying to know more about his day, about his other interests, and having learned that he was from Nekoma blew your mind since he was from a rival school.

Kenma and you often met at the cafe again, just to grab a few snacks and talk about games. It would be you most of the time who would be initiating conversation, and Kenma would listen and retort when he felt the need to. However, not once did you feel like he wasn't listening; not once did Kenma make you think you weren't keeping him engaged. His eyes were on you, his intense gaze enough to burn you to the ground. It practically had you shivering.

Your mind, however, still continued to revolve around the heart he had once sent you as puddinghead.

    "I might need to go to a volleyball game soon—"

    "Why did you send me a heart?"

Kenma froze before meeting your gaze. "What?"

You almost wanted to slap yourself but you had said it. You couldn't hold it back, you couldn't keep mulling over your thoughts and therefore, you decided to tell the source of your problems what your problems were.

    "Kenma-kun, I... I had a big crush on puddinghead," Kenma's gaze on you was unwavering, "Now that I know you're puddinghead, and... and you were the one who sent me a heart, I... I've always thought you were cute and all—"

    "(y/n)—"

    "—and it's a bit unfair if I like you only because you're puddinghead, but I gave it a lot of thought—"

    "—(y/n), listen—"

    "—and I don't want you thinking that my feelings are just because you're a famous YouTuber and I just want to like... I don't know... I enjoy every second with you and slowly I just—"

Kenma's finger tapped your forehead, freezing you in position. His cat-like eyes were boring into your soul, and there he was, face inches away from yours, expressionlessly staring into you.

    "I've been in love with you for the longest time," Kenma's voice was gold, "No pressure, though."

    "No..." What the fuck? "N-No pressure?!"

Kenma laughed at your outburst, "Yeah, I mean... I took sometime accepting it, to even think that I liked you over the internet didn't make sense to me. And then we bumped into each other and we started gaming together and I guess I understood that your internet persona was just a part of you I'd liked, and now I like you more."

Oh.

Was it really that simple?

    "So... If I liked you as puddinghead—"

    "Please don't call me that."

    "—and if I like you as Kenma-kun, then..."

Kenma sighed before offering you a sweet smile, "It's probably the same thing, (y/n). Stop worrying."

    "Can I kiss you?" You blurted out, without thought.

God, this woman, Kenma thought, before covering his jaw with his hand.

*

In less than a week, you'd learned the route to Kenma's apartment by heart. You went over to game at his place, and slowly began streaming as (y/n) again on Twitch. You didn't want to stream with Kenma yet, because you guys had just started dating a month ago. For liking you longer than you liked him, Kenma was relatively cool about you hanging over at his, and about initiating any sort of touch—because your thoughts were practically spilling out of you and as cute as he once thought they were, he didn't want you to say 'pinch me' every time he kissed you.

Kenma's hands were buried into your hair as he kissed you fervently, softly at first before pulling back to see how flushed your face was. He'd never really imagined you being here, out of the screen he saw you from, in his arms, kissing him back.

He chuckled at the thought.

    "What's so funny?" You were legitimately a crackhead, but he adored you.

    "I thought having a crush on you was very inconvenient at first."

    "Why?"

He shrugged before pulling you to his chest, your face reddening at the contact. He noticed, but simply shook his head as you buried your face into his chest.

    "Because I thought it was too good to be true."

    "Am I the one freaking out each time or are you?"

    "Yeah, that part even I don't get."

You giggled before wrapping your hands around his neck, bringing yourself closer to him. Your face was at the crook of his neck, eyes closed as his arms were wrapped around your waist. You were both currently on Kenma's couch, nuzzling with each other on a lazy class-less Monday.

Suddenly, the door opened, revealing Kenma's roommate, in all honesty, did not know how to react when a famous Twitch streamer was lying asleep on his roommate. Kenma gave him a nonchalant look before placing a finger on his lips.

    "She's asleep."

    "Y-Yeah, that's definitely what I was thinking." The roommate said before rushing to his room and locking the door.

Well, Kenma thought before bringing his hand back around your waist, That's a problem for another day.

[barricadebops]

As I'm about 99.9% positive you would agree, I will never understand why people say that Enjolras isn't a good friend or wouldn't be a good boyfriend. Like I get that the revolution and his work was important to him (I personally believe that he would balance his friends and work to the best of his ability), but you cannot tell me that he wouldn't drop everything, including his work, at a moment's notice if a friend needed him. This is something that I believe wholeheartedly, and someone would have to pry this head canon/belief/whatever you want to call it out of my cold dead fingers.

Yes, I of course agree with this 100%. I really don't understand why people would say that either, it is just not him! The thing about Enjolras is that he cares so much, enough to the point where it was what got him killed. Some may argue that he cares more for his cause than for people, and I would say that is because they are viewing the cause and people as two different concepts, when, in reality, they are actually one and the same! Because Enjolras' cause is the people and that includes all people—the common man Feuilly, his (probably previously) wealthy friend Combeferre, and even the man who on several occasions has let him down, disappointed him, and given him all the reason not to trust him, Grantaire. If his cause is the people, how could he ever feel cold towards the people who matter most to him?

I think the idea a vast amount of people have that Enjolras doesn't love comes from the fact that canonically Enjolras does not experience romantic love, and frankly, this sort of thinking is rather dangerous, because it erases the fact that love comes in so many more forms than just romance. Enjolras is filled with an incredible amount of love—love for his friends, love for the people around him, and love for the future, and every one of those aspects links back to the love he feels for those who surround him. It is the love for the people he would encounter everyday while walking on the streets, it is the love for the people he would meet when he would go to buy his bread, it is the love for the friends who would look to him as their beloved friend and leader—it is his love for these people that he launches an entire rebellion— and subsequently dies for it, too. His ideals are defined by the motto of France—liberty, equality, and fraternity—but these ideals are driven by his greatest ideal of all, the one he hold key above others: love, and he makes his value of the ideal abundantly evident in his speech following the execution of Le Cabuc when he says:

"This is a bad moment to mention the word 'love.' I mention it anyway, and I glorify it. Love, the future belongs to you... In the future there will be no killing, the earth will be radiant, the human race will love." (5.12.8.)

From this, it is quite clear that Enjolras does not just experience love, but feels one of the highest and most greatest forms of it, so the characterization that he knows not of the feeling of love is quite unfounded.

He absolutely does love his friends to death. The one time we see him ready to forsake his ideals is when rather than keep the valuable spy Javert, who holds information about the rebels at the barricades, he is willing to hold an exchange so that they may bring back Jehan Prouvaire.

"'Yes,' replied Enjolras. 'But not as much as by Jean Prouvaire's life.'" (5.14.5)

He also sees so much good in his friends, he believes in them wholeheartedly, and for Enjolras, his belief is his expression of love.

"He composed, in his own mind, with Combeferre’s philosophical and penetrating eloquence, Feuilly’s cosmopolitan enthusiasm, Courfeyrac’s dash, Bahorel’s smile, Jean Prouvaire’s melancholy, Joly’s science, Bossuet’s sarcasms, a sort of electric spark which took fire nearly everywhere at once." (5.1.6.)

I've always loved this passage because it allows us to glimpse into Enjolras' mind and see how he truly thinks of his friends, and the way he sees them is incredibly sweet. He sees these people as his brothers who are capable of amazing feats, who are just as passionate as he is, and will be the ones to help him fight for the future. The love he holds for them is incredible, and though we get to see inside of Enjolras' head so little, this passage here is quite enough to inform the reader of just how much Enjolras draws joy from his friends.

In terms of the canonicity of the brick, I have always seen Enjolras' final moment as him realizing and accepting Grantaire's love for him (I would also argue that this moment is also when Grantaire himself, having not known exactly what it was he felt for Enjolras, also realized what exactly he felt for him), but dying with him only as a friend, but the fact that he smiles, and that it is him who extends his hand towards Grantaire says a lot about how strong his platonic love for his friends is. And of course, once again it is not just for his friends; far too many people see Enjolras as a man willing to sacrifice whoever and whatever in order to accomplish his goals, but his words once he discovers that Paris has abandoned their barricade say otherwise. When the rebels stubbornly insist that they all remain, no doubt fantasizing of dying "heroic martyr deaths," rather than encourage them, he instead essentially chides them by reminding them that:

"Vain-glory is wasteful[,]" (5.1.14)

so to paint him as merciless holds no merit. I feel as if this image comes from the quote:

"Enjolras was a charming young man capable of being terrible." (4.4.1.)

While yes, it is very capable for Enjolras to turn ruthless, the key word in that sentence is capable. The word that preceeds it, the one that follows after the definite word was, is the word charming, and the fact that charming is put before terrible holds great significance. Enjolras' first instinct, what comes to him naturally, is to do good, to be good, to be charming. He can be terrible, yes, but he must put his mind into doing so, whereas being a good person comes to him without thinking. Many tend to ignore the first part of the sentence in favour of the second, and they twist it to mean that his first instinct is to do bad instead of good, which really does not define his character at all.

Perhaps the biggest contributor to the misinterpretation of Enjolras' character is the way people have read his dynamic with Grantaire, and the way the lines between canon and fanon Grantaire have been so thoroughly blurred that it has ended up distorting Enjolras' image while erasing major parts of Grantaire's character that makes him the character and to a greater extent, metaphorical representation he is. I will not lie; I write fanfiction, and the version of Grantaire that I write into my stories is most definitely his fanon image; in other words, he is a vastly improved version. But it is incredibly important to acknowledge the way the two concepts deviate from each other, or you'll end up with a situation in which the character you have in mind isn't really the original character itself. It's okay for people to have different perceptions! Everyone understand literature differently, and that's the beauty of the arts! I think it's totally cool that everyone believes in characters in different ways! But for me, it really bothers me the way the fandom tends to paint Grantaire as a saint while portraying Enjolras as a character who always seems to know less than Grantaire, always is on a lower platform than Grantaire, and is always harsh and unjust towards Grantaire, because it simply is not true. A lot about Grantaire is ignored in terms of the canonicity of the brick. For example, it is true that Grantaire is, in fact, ugly, and he's described that way for a specific element of the narrative that Victor Hugo is writing in (@lilys-hazel-eyes is writing a great analysis on morality represented by beauty, which is exactly the point here—you should definitely go check it out!) In the brick, Victor Hugo describes Grantaire's cynicsm to be the "dry-rot of intellect" (4.4.1.) Hugo's stance on nihilism and cynicism is made quite evident in the way he portrays Grantaire, a character meant to represent the physical manifestation of cynicism (some say that he's the physical embodiment of Paris itself and I think that's a really neat reading on that!)

"A rover, a gambler, a libertine, often drunk... Grantaire, with insidious doubt creeping through him, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras... his soft, yielding, disclocated, sickly, shapeless ideas..." (4.4.1.)

From these descriptions, it is quite clear what sort of opinion Victor Hugo holds of cynics, which is why Grantaire's characterization is so deliberate. He is trying to make a commentary here about the harm those who do not hold passion or belief can do, to both themselves and society. It is why Grantaire's redeeming moment is the one in which he finally comes to accept the hope of the revolution and proves through action his belief in Enjolras.

In terms of what is presented in the brick, Grantaire does not exactly have much to really defend him. Often drunk, he expends his energy into drunk rambles rather than meaningful meeting contributions, (though admittedly, he does say some rather valid and eloquent things within his rambles—the quote "Take away 'Cotton is King,' what remains of America?" [4.4.4] comes to mind) he deliberately pokes and bothers people as seen when he calls Enjolras "heartless," (5.1.6) and when given a task, does not hold up his end of the deal and ger it done despite having asked for it in the first place. Enjolras' doubt in him is actually entirely understandable; after all, what has Grantaire really done to prove himself trustworthy and reliable? When Enjolras asks if "[he is] good for anything" (5.1.6) the question is, likely in his eyes, genuine rather than insulting. And even when he has every reason not to, Enjolras still puts his faith into Grantaire to get something of extreme importance done for him, which I do think says a lot about Enjolras' willingness to believe in the best in people.

Victor Hugo ends the chapter right before we can see Enjolras' reaction to Grantaire's failure, and while this part, I will say, is up for interpretation, personally I have always extrapolated that the most emotion this would draw from him is disappointment—though it is disappointment that he definitely thinks he should have seen coming, rather than imagining him as getting insanely mad at Grantaire.

Their next interaction is during the rebellion itself, during which Enjolras is put under quite a bit of stress and Grantaire's behaviour really is not helping matters, so him snapping is actually very believable, if a little harsh.

The Enjolras seen in fanon, derived from these interactions, always seems so harsh, so rash when he speaks to Grantaire and therefore is characterized as rash and reckless in general, and generally seems to not understand emotion very well, which is very unlike him. Rather than harsh, I would say that with the exception of course of the rebellion at the barricade and the lead up to that time, Enjolras actually seems to be quite calm.

"All held their peace, and Enjolras bowed his head." (4.4.5.)

Rather than instantly explode at Marius for his rather awful beliefs of Napoleon, instead, Enjolras keeps calm and silent, which demonstrates what an incredible depth of patience he has. And as for Enjolras not understanding emotion, when it comes to fanworks, I'm generally tolerant of people holding different perceptions for different characters, but of all perceptions, this one is one I cannot begin to comprehend, and this is one that I will say that to say he knows not of emotion is to have wrongly read his character.

"And a tear trickled slowly down Enjolras' marble cheek." (5.1.8.)

I simply cannot allow myself to believe that the man who cried at the prospect of having to shoot the artillerman, who calls him his "brother," who is no doubt thinking that had circumstances been different, the action he would be taking would not be necessary—I do not believe this is a man who would not understand feelings and emotions.

The Grantaire in the book who has "the dry rot of intellect," (4.4.1) only ever makes unnecessary rants during meetings, and is very much untrustworthy, is a far outcry from the Grantaire who bases his cyncism on being what he would say is being "well informed," often makes valid points in meetings, and proves himself reliable. Similarly, the Enjolras that is thoughful, as he proves himself to be in his "Outlook from the Top of the Barricade" speech, still chooses to believe in the best in others despite being given every reason not to, and is actually quite patient, is very different from his rash and reckless, short tempered, seems-to-hate-Grantaire, fanon counterpart.

Of course, if you take characters who are shaped by their surroundings and circumstances in the nineteenth century and adapt them to fit the scene of the twenty-first century, it's obvious things are going to change! However, I think it's important to keep these key traits in mind when doing so, and more often than not, it is these key traits that end up getting mangled. When one sticks to these traits, it's easy to say Enjolras would be a wondeful friend/boyfriend (if you see him as having one.) Enjolras' whole deal is loving and caring immensely, and to put his absolute one hundred percent effort into everything he does, and that includes into his friendships and relationships.

Once again, I'm not bashing on the fandom here, I'm part of it. I'll repeat again, I too write with the fanon image of Grantaire in my head. Everyone takes away different things from literature, and that's fine! This is simply how I have interpreted it.

One more note on Enjolras.

Les Amis de l'ABC absolutely love Enjolras. The way Enjolras' character has been misinterpreted has ended up having an effect on the way the Amis are looked at as well. The Amis are all so passionate about the revolution, they attend meetings because they truly do believe in the change they can create in their world, so I'll never truly understand the characterization of the Amis as laughing at Enjolras' devotion to the cause, or finding his passion for it stupid or bothersome. Victor Hugo himself describes just how passionate of a group they are:

"All these young men who differed so greatly, and who, on the whole can only be discussed seriously, held the same religion: Progress... The most giddy of them became solemn when they pronounced that date: '89... the pure blood of principle ran in their veins. They attached themselves, without immediate shades, to incorruptible right and absolute duty." (4.4.1.)

Everyone here, with the exception of Grantaire, is here because they believe wholeheartedly in the revolution. This is not something Enjolras forced upon them, this is not something they groan when thinking about, it is something they all believe in so passionately. It is not something they make fun of him for.

"Affiliated and initiated, they sketched out the ideal underground." (4.4.1.)

They are all here by choice, by will, and by the values they hold close to their heart, and so to say Enjolras is someone who constantly whines about his cause and the others think he needs to lighten up is both an insult to him and the rest. Furthermore, the Amis really love Enjolras, and not just as their leader, but as a beloved friend, and as strongly as I believe Enjolras would drop all of his work to help any of the Amis when they are in need, I believe the Amis would do the same for him. The unity of Les Amis de l'ABC says a lot about the kind of charismatic leader Enjolras is, and his friends most definitely adore him.

So yeah, anon, I 100% agree, and rest assured, if they try and take this canon fact away, they'll have to pry it from both our sets of our cold dead fingers.

[unpaidoscorpintern]

I'll tell you my sins (you can sharpen your knife)

pairing: Harry Osborn (Kindred)/Mary Jane Watson; a hint of Harry Osborn (Kindred)/Peter Parker (Spider-man)

rating: 18+

words: 2400

content warning: exhibitionism, voyeurism, creepy crawlies acting like tentacles for a hot minute, teratophilia since Kindred is a demonic entity

summary: Kindred serves Spider-man his just desserts; or, a p0rn parody of The Amazing Spider-Man #55

disclaimer: The following story was written before the publication of The Amazing Spider-Man #73

Memories are for photo albums. They're impressions on the back of our retinas, polaroids developed in the darkest corners of our minds. Turn on the light and they're forever tainted, a splash of color and a smudge of sentiment. You can't trust memories. Scars, on the other hand? Scars never lie.

I've collected more than a few in my time. That’s why my knees never really looked the same after my first bike ride. Dad was there until he wasn't. You see, he thought that letting go of the bike, letting go of his own son, would break me at first, then thicken my skin. But skin never heals back quite the same way, does it, Pete?

"Did you meet any famous dead people in that hellhole you crawled out of, Har? You know, like Dr. Freud?"

"Easy, Tiger." I can hear Mary Jane hissing beside me, towards you, across the table, through cobweb and candlelight. "Play nice."

"I'm done playing, MJ," you spit, through bloody teeth and dried tears. "There's pieces of my brain still splattered on that far wall over there from our earlier game. I'm done playing his fucking games."

Games? There's no playing at the dinner table, kids. Now, where was I?

"You were just about to let her go." You speak up again, desperation drowning out your ire. "Let them all go. It's me you have unfinished business with, or whatever the dead want outta the living."

Jealous, Pete? I must say, it’s a good look for you. But don't you worry, ol' buddy. I'm not done with you yet. Though Mary Jane and I do have something - what did you call it again? Ah, yes. Unfinished business. I'll get back to you as soon as I-

Is that...is that laughter I hear? Hallow and heaving, it still bounces off these old mausoleum walls, echoing in my ears and scrapping at an old scab. An old scar. What's so funny, huh? You mind sharing with the rest of the table?

"You, ol' buddy. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised since you're one of the only people who made me laugh when I wanted nothing more than to slit my own throat, but, still. Is this about what happened back at ESU? Is this about MJ breaking up with you?"

It's about you, Pete. About the choices you made. Every single one - from coming between Mary Jane and me to hiding my father's issues from his son - were all the wrong ones. If you had chosen otherwise, if you had been any less selfish, Gwen - I can see a blond head bobbing, but I'm talking about my Gwen - well, she wouldn’t be-

"Fuck you, Harry!"

Ah, there it is! Anger looks even better on you, Pete!

"You think I haven't spent every day blaming myself for what happened that night? You think I don't go over my own choices over and over again, questioning every decision I ever made to figure out which domino fell first?"

Yet again, there's nothing that doesn't look good on you, Pete. Why don't you try some responsibility for a change?

"Responsibility? You want to talk about responsibility? You're the one who's dangling the life of the woman I love right in front of me-"

Mary Jane opens her mouth, her sweet breath a summer breeze through the still air. "Peter-"

You're boiling, spilling over. Tears and spit, blood and grime, and you still look good. I bet you could even make maggots look good.

"And you want to act like you're better than me? Look at yourself! You are your father's son! Daddy's little fucking monster-"

If I'm a monster, then it's because that's what you made me.

"Harry," Mary Jane jumps out of her seat, following your lead.

You had help, of course. My help. Every other itsy bitsy gets a hand, too. Well, a centipede. They all get to swing in the air one last time before they-

"Harry!"

Dinner's over, Pete. It's time for your just desserts.

"It's m-me you want, Har-"

When you're right, you're right. I want you to confess your sins.

"So let them-AH! Let them go."

Maybe a little knock on the head will jog your memory. How about another? Now? Confess. Confess your sin. The deadliest. Confess.

"Har-"

"He doesn't remember." Mary Jane, I can see your knees barely keeping themselves from bucking. Yet, here you are, standing between the ol' Pumpkin Eater and me. "Whatever it is that he did, whatever sin he has yet to confess to, he doesn't remember."

Oh, don't you worry your pretty little bottom lip! He will remember, if it's the last thing he'll do! I've got tens of legs to crawl all over him and an eternity to spare. Come the end of time, he will repent.

"How many times have you tried torturing a confession out of him? You should know that hurting him won't work."

What're you suggesting? I can hear the tamed tremor in your voice, the slight shudder running down your spine, the booming beating of your heart. Yet, here you are, approaching me, one steady step in front of the other.

"Hurting me, however-"

"MJ-"

Are you hearing this, Pete, or is the blood already leaking out of your ears?

"Hurting me, the woman he loves, that should do it, right?"

"MJ!"

I’ll take that as a yes. You heard everything, but do you understand what it means? Do you, Mary Jane, understand what this all means? Look at them! It’s hard, I know, but look at them! Look at what I’m doing to them! I’m squeezing the life out of them for now, but centipedes can sting, too. Did you know that? They’re venomous. I could fill them with poison, watch them trash about as it clogs their veins! Is this what you want for them? Is this what you want for yourself? I can see it in your eyes - your beautiful eyes - that you can’t stand the sight of them in pain. So, tell me, Mary Jane, what makes you think that I can stand the sight of you in pain?

“Then you haven’t forgotten-”

That night, on the bridge? Mary Jane, how could I forget?

“I was scared out of my mind, but you said something which calmed me down. Those same words gave me the strength to come here. You remember, don’t you, Harry? Harry, you said that you-”

I loved you, Mary Jane. I said that I loved you, that I’d never hurt you. How could you ask this of me? How could you ask me to take you in his place?

“Because you loved him, too. You loved Peter, and I’m willing to bet my life that you still do.”

It’s true, Pete. I loved you, but I got better. I saw you for who you were after closing my eyes for the last time. And I loved MJ, up until a breath ago. Up until she let out that little surprised gasp she let out. Relax, it’s just an earwig. Oh, but what’s that? Is that an earpiece? And was that Dad on the other line?

“Harry, listen-”

You listen, my dearest friend! I said nothing about you being allowed to bring a plus-one, and, even if I had, Norman Osborn is not welcome here! I won’t allow any party crashers and, just to make sure he won’t be sneaking past the guards, I’ll seal us all in!

“Oh, my God!”

There is no god here! With the only entrance having collapsed in on itself, there is no coming in. But there is no getting out either. Good news, Pete! I’ve decided to lay off you for a while! Take a breather, pal, while I take my time with-

“If you touch her, I swear to God-”

Didn’t you hear me the first time? Here, I’ll loosen up my grip on you, so blood can start rushing back to your ears! There we go! And, since you two insist on bringing up God, Mary Jane offered herself as a sacrificial lamb and I intend to take her up on that offer. Oh, where’s all that fire gone, MJ? Was that all just some bluff, an elaborate scheme, one of Dad’s convoluted plans? Come on, you said you couldn’t wait to play the martyr and we both know how good of an actress you are. Even with your knees knocking against each other, even with your fingers, fidgeting as they reach out to me, you’re still a star.

“You said that you loved me. That you’d never hurt me. So, please, Harry, don’t hurt Peter. It hurts me to see him like this.”

I do love you, and I won’t hurt you. But I don’t love him and made no such promises to him. You did make a promise to me as well, remember? If you recall my love, then you recall me hurting myself with it. And you said it yourself, Mary Jane: he loves you. So you’re going to keep your promise, and you’re going to hurt him. You chose him last time. So, this time, you’re going to choose-

“You.”

“If you fucking touch her-”

She’s the one touching me, ol’ buddy. Yes, her hands are hesitant as they clasp my coat, but she’s all over me. Oh, Mary Jane, is that the perfume I bought for you while we were dating? Did you get a whiff of it, Pete? You probably did! You probably smelt it on one of the shirts you borrowed from me. I shared everything with you, but you just had to have her, too, didn’t you?

“MJ, what are you doing? MJ?”

What are you doing, MJ? You’re driving him mad! Jealousy looks just as good on him as my Armani shirts! He’s thrashing as if poisoned by the pain of seeing us together. I think I’ll loosen up my hold so that he can lift his head and see what you’re doing to me. You’re struggling with the buttons, every last inch of you shivering, but there’s nothing waiting for you beneath. I’m nothing like I used to be. You, on the other hand, are just as beautiful as I remember. I’d rather see what you’re hiding underneath.

“What are you waiting for?” Are you seeing this? Pete, are you seeing this? She’s kissing me! It’s my maggot-infested, bandage-covered jaw - and she’s kissing it! Look at her, Pete! “Undress me.”

“No, no, no-”

If you feel a pair of legs, or ten, crawling up your own, it’s only because I’m holding you close. If you feel a chill run down your spine, it’s only because I’m squeezing you tight. And if you feel a chill running down your spine -well, that’s a multi-legged friend tearing down your dress.

“NO!”

Did you see that, Pete? That almost looked like a pleasant shiver running through her. She almost looked like she enjoyed the cold-blooded embrace. Do you like it, Mary Jane? Do you like it when I touch you like this? Well, I guess you always had a thing for creepy crawlers. I am sorry about the dress. Black looks good on you, but it looks better on this white mausoleum floor. Do you like it when I touch you like this, scraping at that sensitive spot at the back of your head with my crooked claws, wrapping myself around your thighs with tens and tens of little legs, around your middle, squeezing down on your hips?

“Yes.”

Did you hear that-

“MJ, why? Why? Why?”

Did you hear that, MJ?

“W-what?” The heat of your breath hit my senses, what was once my nose, and you smell like freshly brewed coffee. Oh, you taste like life, Mary Jane, and it is sweet. The sweat beading at your forehead - do you mind if I have a taste? And the ones that spilled over, on the side of your face? “Harry.” My tongue is cold, I know. My embrace, the crawlers caressing you across your chest, they’re just as cold. Holding you is like catching a sunbeam: warm and bright. “Harry, aren’t you going to k-kiss me?” I hope you are hearing all of this, Pete, because I see your eyes burning through me, and I feel your body tensing up. Her body is just as tense, nerves knotted tightly from all this teasing. Is there any wonder why she needs my tongue in her mouth right now? She needs something inside her.

“Stop!”

It’s working, Mary Jane! He’s gone half-insane! As for the other half - what do you say? I don’t taste all that bad, do I? If I do, then you are the best actress of your generation! Pete, get over here! Stop struggling against the centipedes or they will have no choice but to stick something inside you, too! And, trust me, this is not the pleasant kind of penetration! Now stand up! Open your eyes and look into hers. Do you see that? Do you see those blown-up pupils? She wants this, and, judging by what’s jutting out of your onesie down there, I say you’re enjoying this, too.

“STOP!”

Well, Mary Jane, it turns out that shame is the shade that suits our Peter the best! He can barely contain his blush - or his erection, but that’s a skintight suit right there - watching snip away your lingerie with my long, sharp claws so wantonly. Seeing you savor every stroke of my tongue across your gooseflesh, past your perked up nipples and the valley of your breasts, and your newfound fetish for feeling creepy crawlers’ caress. He’d rather keep his eyes closed than witnessing any of this. So, what do you think? Is he ready to confess yet?

“Confess? Confess to what? Being sick to my stomach? Feeling disgusted with myself?”

"Tiger," Mary Jane moaned while pawing at my patchy coat, pushing her chest forward into my face. "I never knew...I never knew you liked watching.”

“Goddamn it, MJ!”

The scar from back when you stabbed in the back is a scab I can't help but claw at. The look on your face though? The way your cheeks burn with shame and your eyes are blown in excitement? Well, that's the ointment I needed, Pete.

"Goddamn it, Harry!"

God isn't here, Pete. It's just me. Confess to me. Confess. Confess.

"Playtime's over, kids!"

Did you hear that? Did any of you hear that? Is that-

"Norman?"

"Osborn?"

"That’s right! Daddy's home!"

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #4: Crown of Thorns

Words: ca. 1,600 Setting: Canon Lemon: Lime CW: Mentioned kristanna and elsamaren, pregnancy, language

AN: For those that aren’t aware, crown of thorns is a species of flowering plant that is associated with Jesus. Unfortunately, the plant can’t survive below 50 °F/10 °C so its inclusion as the title is only metaphorical.

–

  Elsa woke, a heavy ache in her chest. She expected it, even felt it last night as declarations of love tumbled from her lips. Her heart was breaking, and she knew she only had herself to blame. She never should have let this happen, never should have given in to her desires. She was corrupted, plagued with vile thoughts, and twice cursed. Her powers may have been accepted by the people of Arendelle and Northuldra, but the feelings she had- that she had acted upon- would never be. As the ache grew into self hatred, she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Morning,” came the soft voice behind her.

  Elsa’s breath hitched as a hand made its way languidly down her naked back. She closed her eyes, briefly allowing the sensation to overcome her senses until a yawn filled her ears.

  “Anna,” she said without looking at the other occupant in her bed, “We can’t do this anymore.” The pain of saying it aloud nearly crippled her. She wanted to fall back into her lover’s arms, to say she didn’t mean it. Instead she braced herself for the protests she knew would come.

  The bed shifted beneath her as her younger sister sat up. Elsa imagined the sight of Anna’s tangled hair, freckled shoulders, pert breasts, and the small swell of her belly. She opened her eyes and reminded herself of their reality. They could not be. Especially now that Anna was with child.

  “Elsa,” Anna’s voice broke through her thoughts as two arms began to snake around Elsa’s abdomen.

  Elsa immediately stood up and walked to a plush reading chair in the corner of the room. She looked up at her sister. Anna looked pained, but Elsa held strong. She knew she was doing the right thing, even if ending their relationship hurt.

    “Els-”

  “No, Anna,” She said firmly. “We cannot keep doing this. You have a husband. You’re expecting a child-”

  When Anna told Elsa she was pregnant, it came as a shock. She had known, in some distant, nebulous way, that Anna would have to produce an heir at some point. As Arendelle’s former sovereign, Elsa once held that burden, even though she had known she never would for fear of passing down her powers. When she stepped down to remain in Northuldra as the Fifth Spirit, that burden fell to Anna. And everything looked to be going well for a time. Anna and Kristoff were engaged, Elsa was happy in Northuldra, and she was even beginning a relationship with Honeymaren.

  Until a few months before Anna’s wedding. Elsa’s visits home increased during the months leading up to her sister’s nuptials to help with work and planning, and something changed between them. After a confession of loving Elsa more than anyone, including Kristoff, Anna realized that her love was both familial and romantic. And Elsa returned those feelings.

  The night of her wedding, Anna excused herself from the ball in order to drag Elsa out to the chapel, a maniacal grin plastered on her face. When they arrived, Elsa completely confused, Anna produced two bouquets of purple and yellow crocuses.

  “If I can’t properly marry you in daylight, then I’ll marry you in secret at night,” she’d said. The vows that followed promised everlasting love and devotion and were sealed with a kiss.

  Even as Anna was whisked away later to fulfill her marital duty, she promised Elsa that they would be together soon. And they had been. For nearly a year, they carried on their affair in secret. Until Anna’s pregnancy reminded them of her obligation to the kingdom.

  The thought of Anna being with Kristoff made her stomach turn. Elsa hated thinking about them together. No matter how many times Anna assured her that she felt nothing but friendly fondness for Kristoff, Elsa’s knowledge of their intimacy caused jealousy, regret, and pain. Elsa pushed those feelings aside now and turned her attention back to her sister as Anna shook her head.

  “I’m doing that for Arendelle, Elsa. I’m doing it for the kingdom; it’s not what I want.” Her younger sister’s eyes pleaded with Elsa to understand. “I want you.”

  Elsa breathed in deeply before exhaling. “Anna, are you telling me that you do not want your child?”

  “I-” Anna’s face contorted into a pained sadness. “I- I do want my child. But why can’t I have you too?” She moved to the chair and kneeled down in front of her older sister, taking Elsa’s cold hands into hers. “Why can’t I have both?”

  Elsa untangled their hands. “Because it isn’t right, Anna. What we’re doing isn’t right.”

  “Why? Why was it okay before but it isn’t now? Help me understand, Elsa, please.” Anna’s teal eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Elsa glanced down at Anna’s belly. “You belong with Kristoff. He’s the father of your child.”

  Anna shook her head again. “You know I want you. Kristoff is… he’ll be a fantastic father, but you know I don’t love him. My heart doesn’t belong to him. It’s yours.”

  Elsa stood and walked back towards the bed. “No, it doesn’t. It can’t. Anna, we can’t stay together.” Each word was like a dagger, especially after Anna’s profession, but she knew it would be for the best.

  “Why are you doing this, Elsa? Why are you taking our happiness away?” Tears rolled down Anna’s cheeks and she stood behind her sister. Elsa anticipated Anna reaching out and turned to stop it. The sight of her sister crying broke her further, but she remained steadfast.

  “Because it was never our happiness to share,” she said coldly as she willed an ice dress to form around her pale body. “We were never meant to be anything but sisters. You may not understand my reasoning, but I am doing this for you. For your family.”

  Anna grabbed a robe from the floor where it’d been discarded the previous night. “You’re my family, Elsa.”

  “No. Your family is here,” Elsa allowed herself to reach out and briefly touch Anna’s cotton covered abdomen before walking to the balcony doors, opening them. “And here.” She looked out upon Arendelle with a sad smile.

  Anna walked over and stood next to her. “You’re also my family, or are you going to deny our sisterly relation too,” she spat, her emotions turning to anger.

  Elsa turned to her. “I could never deny you, Anna.”

  “Then stay with me.” A brief hope filled Anna’s eyes.

  “I must deny that. It’s for your own good, Anna. One day you’ll understand.” Elsa kissed her sister’s forehead before walking back towards the bedroom door.

  “You’re a damn martyr, Elsa. You know that? You are choosing to be unhappy. You’re choosing wrong. What about our vows to each other?” Anna’s anger simmered. “You promised to love me.”

  “And I will always, Anna; but, love isn’t enough for us,” Elsa said from the door.

  “You’re a damn martyr,” Anna repeated.

  Elsa chortled. “Like Joan.”

  “No,” Anna shook her head. “Joan died for what she believed in. I take it back. You’re not a martyr; you’re a goddamn coward.”

  “That may be true,” Elsa frowned. “But my whole life has been about sacrifice, and this is simply another.”

  “Fuck that, Elsa,” Anna stomped to her. “You don’t have to sacrifice this. I can be yours and you can be mine.”

  Elsa sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, her face looked peaceful. “Be good, Anna. I promise to visit when the baby is born.”

  Anna shook her head again, more fervently than before. “No, I don’t accept this. You can’t leave me. You can’t.”

  Elsa smiled softly. “I love you, Anna.” She began to walk down the hall.

  “Fine!” Anna poked her head out, her face red with rage as she cried. “You coward! Coward! Don’t you dare come back. I hate you.”

  Elsa finally allowed her own tears to fall as she left the castle.

  In the months that followed, Elsa tried to move on. She found herself in Honeymaren’s lavvu often, though she always left unsatisfied. As fond as she was of Honeymaren, she wasn’t Anna. Honeymaren eventually realized this and allowed their relationship to fizzle, though they remained friends.

  After learning of her niece’s birth in a note from Kristoff that Gale delivered, and with encouragement from Honeymaren, Elsa got up the courage to visit her sister. She hoped that she would be forgiven.

  Outside of her sister’s bedroom, Elsa fidgeted. What awaited her? Was she doing the right thing? Anna’s words from their last meeting echoed in her mind. She no longer wanted to be a coward. She inspected the purple and yellow crocuses in her hand to make sure they were perfect. Then she lifted her empty hand and knocked.

  “Come in,” came her sister’s lilting voice.

  Elsa opened the door and stepped in. Her eyes met Anna’s, and there was a silent allowance to stay.

  Anna put her daughter down in her bassinet, and Elsa realized for the first time that they were not alone. “May I?” She gestured to her niece.

  Anna nodded.

  Elsa walked forward and peeked into the bassinet, and a smile spread across her face. “Anna, she’s beautiful,” she whispered, looking back up at her sister.

  “Thank you,” Anna smiled back. “I’m biased, but I think so too. Her name is Merit.”

  “Merit,” Elsa repeated. “I love it, Anna. She’s perfect.”

  Anna was silent as she watched Elsa watch her newborn.

  Elsa straightened. “Anna, I’m sorry. I never should have said what I said to you, and I never should have stopped visiting.”

  Anna’s face was unreadable for a moment, and Elsa wasn’t sure if she said the right thing. Just as she opened her mouth to say more, Anna spoke.

  “Are those for me?”

  “What?”

  “The flowers. Are they for me?” Anna prompted gently.

  Elsa nodded and held them out.

  Anna took them with a smile.

[chaotic-txt]

Flowers and Thorns [Hanahaki AU]

— Loving you is like living and dying at the same time. Won't you please love me back?

Yeonjun x Reader | One-shot | Angst

Warning/s: Mentions of blood, surgery and death, implied death

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

All it took was one look.

All it took was one smile.

You didn't even have to do anything, and yet he fell. He fell so deeply, madly in love with you.

Yeonjun never knew when and he also never knew why. All he knew was that he could not stop himself from loving you, and he won't be doing so.

Slowly but surely, he felt it. That fluttering feeling of being hit by the Cupid's arrow made his heart beat so fast, and heat would always rise up on his cheeks. Those sensations were unfamiliar, but it feels so natural for him.

As if he was destined to feel that way.

His love for you grew over time, like a new blossomed flower in the time of spring.

Yet it never occured to him that someday it would happen...literally.

He should've stopped himself while it was still early.

· — ✦ — ·

"Yeonjun, are you alright? You've been having coughs lately."

The blond boy flinched away at your touch. He never wanted to, but he did, afraid that you would find out the truth. He knew you could be so persuasive, and so he never took the risk of letting you know.

It would only worsen his state. It would hurt his heart furthermore. Yeonjun loves you, but he's sick of the pain it brings that were much like thorns that encircled up and around his throat.

It stung, but what could he do? He could only hide it behind his smiles, so that you'll never suspect of it.

"I'm– I'm fine, Y/N...Just let me walk you to your class now."

"Are you really sure though?" you asked while rubbing his back, "We can go to the clinic now while there's still time."

Yeonjun didn't answer, instead he pulled your arm and began to walk towards your classroom.

"Oh– hey, Soobin-ah!"

No wonder you suddenly stopped walking.

The two of you came face to face with a tall boy whose features resembled those of the rabbit's. He approached you two with a beaming smile and dimples that adorned his round face.

If only you knew he was the reason for Yeonjun's misery.

He was the thorns to his throat, the thorns on his flower.

"Junie-yah, just go see yourself to the clinic, okay? I'm worried for you. I have Soobin to walk me to our class anyway, so it's fine."

As much as he wanted to fight back, to insist and be with you, he surrendered in defeat and obliged with your request. His eyes followed the two of you walking away from him.

No matter what he'll do, he would always be weak for you.

· — ✦ — ·

"Hyung, mom's worried about you."

"...Did you tell her?"

The younger one shook his head side to side as a response, "No, you told me you'll tell her yourself."

"I don't think I will," Yeonjun croaked, with blood slightly dripping from his lips, "I don't want her to know."

Beomgyu could only offer a look of sympathy towards his older brother. He knew of his condition, and it pains to see him getting weaker day by day, coughing out petals with the occasional metallic fluid splattered on it.

He realized that love was beautiful like a flower, and deadly like thorns at the same time.

In this harsh world they're living in, if it's not reciprocated, it could lead to losing that certain feeling—just to save yourself, or worse;

It could lead into inevitable death.

Beomgyu doesn't want that. He doesn't want to lose his brother. But Yeonjun was just so hopelessly into you that he really turned a blind eye from what it does to him.

Beomgyu was tired of seeing his brother be a martyr for your love that you won't be able to give him someday, or any day for that matter.

It's why he keeps on insisting the only way that he could think of saving him.

"Why don't you just go into surgery?"

Yeonjun gave a warning glare towards the boy. He was not having this conversation again.

"Why don't you just have that flower be taken out of your system and–"

"Because I don't want to!"

It's funny how he could still raise his voice despite the pain that was still scratching inside his chest. Yeonjun was honestly tired from keeping track of the times his brother had asked that same question.

"I don't– I don't want to lose my feelings for her. You just don't understand how it feels!"

"But what you feel—that's what's going to kill you!"

Tears welled in Yeonjun's eyes as he faced the truth again. The truth that never failed to crush his hopes every single time that it haunted him.

"Believe me, I don't want to say this to you, Hyung," the raven haired boy sighed out, "but I don't think she'll ever love you. You have to stop this, before it gets worse."

With that, he left the room and closed the door, leaving Yeonjun alone within the confinements of those 4 walls, alone with his thoughts.

"...Did you really think I haven't told myself that for so many times, Beomgyu?"

· — ✦ — ·

The days went by quick, they turned into weeks, then months; and so has the suffering that grew even stronger. Small coughs here and there became worse. The condition came to the point of vomiting more blood and petals of what Yeonjun could tell were pansies.

Your favorite flower.

He could feel that flowering plant inside him bloom. The thought may have sounded so figurative, but it was real and a bittersweet experience for him.

Who would've thought that loving someone may cost his life if the feelings were not returned?

Surely not Yeonjun.

He was too busy from torturing himself, thinking of the non-existent chance of you returning his affections. Yeonjun was too busy from hoping that someday, you'd finally come to love him and heal the growing illness inside him.

But you never will, for your heart belonged to someone else now, and that wasn't Yeonjun.

He doesn't hold your heart.

That mere fact had proven itself for so many times, but what did he do? He stood still on his ground, even if he already knew that it's going to hurt him even more.

The prickling pain was tolerable, but the idea of losing what makes him feel barely closer to you wasn't. It's why he kept on pushing himself on the edge, just for you.

Yet all of those finally died—like a withered flower deprived of its basic needs—as he saw you mutter a soft 'yes' to Soobin, who threw a surprise to ask you to be his girlfriend in front of everyone else to see.

That moment had killed him, as the flower inside him painfully grew. It was truly ironic of how it lives on from the pain itself gives.

Yeonjun couldn't bear to watch it any longer, and so he quietly walked out from the scene, with his mind telling him countless of thoughts.

But only one from those was finally clear to him now.

· — ✦ — ·

First thing in the morning, you found yourself opening your eyes to a complete and absolute nothing. You were met with the vast darkness above your head, and it covered the entire area. It left you with nothing but a flower field beneath your feet, just to keep yourself accompanied.

The place you woke up to was truly lovely as you began to realize, with different sorts of flowers in various colors that grew all around you.

The flowering plants extended up to the horizon, where a soft glow of light illuminated a strange figure from afar. The area seemed to be surrounded with much more of nature's blooming treasures in shades of purple, bubbling up an odd excitement from within you.

It reminded you of pansies.

This was too good to be true, but you intended to seize the moment while you still can.

Your eyes lingered upon that sight for far too long. A foreign feeling tugged at your chest, as if it was calling for your name.

As if it was pulling and luring you close to it.

And it successfully did.

You were enchanted by the magical place, and it almost had you wishing to stay there forever. Your legs began to bring you towards where your eyes were fixated, wanting to satisfy the curiosity that flickered inside you.

Each step you took mirrored the pounding feeling of your heart. The unknown suspense rattled through your bones, turning your hands cold and sweaty.

Slowly, you began to see it clearly.

And you wished you hadn't.

As you approached the figure, your vision was immediately clouded by tears. You couldn't tell why, but for some strange reason, you felt like your heart was being squeezed by a fist, squishing and crushing the poor flesh until it could beat no longer.

Your breath hitched with the sudden contraction of your chest due to what you saw.

In the distance, there ᎻᎬ sat still. Eyes closed, head hung low and his arms hang loosely by his sides. His white clothing was severely stained by a dripping purple substance that came from a slash on his neck.

You were shaken by the sight.

Was that supposed to be...blood? You couldn't bring yourself to find out.

Your glance then finally caught a look of his face.

Every little detail never missed your gaze.

Yeonjun's eyes were closed as if he was resting peacefully. He showed no signs of movement at all. With his skin and soft lips looking so pale, he looked utterly lifeless under the light you two basked in. Plenty of flowers adorned his head and some petals littered all over his body.

The sight was picture perfect. A beautiful tragedy was brought to light.

Was this a reality? A sad dream?

What was it telling you?

· — ✦ — ·

Hanahaki disease is something that was truly enamoring. Its beauty—for an illness such as itself—was not like any other, seeing that it feeds and grows from the pain of its victim. Unrequited love therefore must be avoided, for you not to have it and suffer from its slow and painful death.

The chances of surviving from it, however, could be possible. The patient must go through surgery, enabling the excision of the flower's roots from the lungs.

The process was terrifying, but if it saves another hopeless being, then it wouldn't matter so much. At least the patient would still be alive and breathing.

"Yeonjun-hyung,"

The disinfected smell of the air burned through the said boy's nostrils. The cold atmosphere nipped at his skin, leveling with the coldness brought by his nervousness.

"You're aware of what the results might be once it's finished, right?"

"Why do you seem so against this now?" Yeonjun teased with a playful smile displayed, "Aren't you the one who kept on telling me this?"

If only he could joke his way out of this pain.

"Hyung, I'm serious. You heard what the doctor said as he went over the process."

Oh he did, he heard it so loud and clear.

"Should I ever survive from the surgery...these feelings for Y/N will be erased—even those of my memories of hers might be, too."

The impulse to cry came at him again. Yeonjun felt so disoriented with the thought of the surgery. The urge to vomit and cough out blood and petals was way stronger though, so he had to maintain his composure, while Beomgyu rubbed his back soothingly.

"I'm happy now that you're doing this for yourself, Hyung. You've been in pain for too long...it's time to let go now."

The siblings shared a hug with each other as they waited for the time of Yeonjun's surgery. The light contact might be suffocating for the blond boy, but it made him feel better and stronger for what he's about to face.

And as for you, while you were there in your own room, still pondering about the strange dream you had for so long...

...little did you know that the boy who suffered from the excruciating pain, had finally given up.

Yeonjun did not make it through the surgery, for the flowers had caused complications amidst the process.

And you...you just had no single clue about it.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Day and Night

This started out as a rant about no one understanding Nesta, and then I realized I was basically writing in her voice, so.. my first ever Nessian fic was born, be gentle!

______________________________________________________________

“I was in a war, General” she spits his title at him as though the word is acid burning her tongue and she has to get it out of her mouth.

Nesta cuts him off before he can break in with the obvious “we were all in a war. I know that. How could you not think that I fucking KNOW THAT” she shakes her head, because sometimes it shocks her just how little this merry band thinks of her. And they wonder why she doesn’t want to join them.

“You are 500 years old. You are born and bred warriors. You were made for war, you’ve seen it before and you are always prepared to see it again” she holds up her hand as he again tries to break in “I know it wasn’t easy. I know you haven’t always been what you are now. I know that you and everyone else in your little gang that holds themselves together with ribbons of molten brass and codependence has had hard lives and come out the other side. I get it, you are strong, pull yourself up by your bootstraps kind of people.” Nesta grits her teeth, not even wanting to give him the satisfaction of her next words “I am not” it is not a slow moving, whispered confession, it is not  a broken admission that makes her tear up and fall into his arms for support. It is a statement. A fact.

“All of you drinking together and meandering through life in dysfunctional love triangles or sequestering in cabins or smiling through the pain doesn’t make you any better than me and I’m just so SICK of the judgement.” She pauses “I am holding myself together the only way I know how and I don’t want to be shown a new way. You rely on this family that you chose for yourself, but that is not me. That is not how I am coping and I will NOT paste a happy little smile on my face and sit quietly in my sister’s marble palace and pretend that I am ok just to appease you all. I am not Elain”

“I’ve never heard you speak ill of her” Cassian blurts, it’s the only thing he can think to say in that exact moment.

“And you never will. I am not speaking ill of her. That is the whole point. This is how Elain handles things, it always has been and I accept that. She cries sweetly alone in her room and then sits in a corner with a smile so that everyone thinks she is ok. If it was up to her she would never leave that kitchen or her garden. She doesn’t come to your holidays and eat dinner with you all because she’s moved on, forgotten Graysen, and gotten over the war. She does it because the only thing worse to Elain than her own grief is to inflict that grief on others”

Cassian scoffs “maybe you could take a page from her book” he says it low and muttered, but the way that streak of grey flashes across her eyes like liquid steel makes him regret the words the second they are out.

“This is why it is better if I stay on my side of town and you all on yours” the words are clipped. “I will not sit quietly and pretend that everything is alright. When I am alright, should that day ever come, you will know that it is real.”

Cassian sighs “Feyre-”

“Stop” she grits out “do not tell me all of the many virtues and amazing coping skills of my youngest sister. I know them well and I won’t be compared to Feyre curse breaker for my entire gods-forsaken life” Nesta shakes her head “Elian smile through her pain. Feyre grits her teeth through hers. She is a martyr through and through. She runs into dangerous situations without a thought for her own safety and so does her mate. They are perfectly suited.”

“I seem to remember you running into a situation with no regard for your own safety, once”

There it is. The elephant in the room laid bare before her feet.

Nesta narrows her eyes “Just because I don’t love and fight and cope and live the same way that all of you do, does not mean that I don’t feel things, that I don’t care.”

I think Nesta feels everything- sees too much; sees and feels it all. She burns with it

Feyre’s words from months ago flash though his mind and Cassian shakes his head, feeling it all click into place; “do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?” He grins and before Nesta can blink they are in the sky.

*3 months Later*

“I’m not going to apologize” Nesta says stiffly. She can hear her sisters mate growl behind her and it takes everything in her not to turn around and shove him out of the room. She sees Cassian lay a gentle hand on the high lord’s shoulder- a brotherly gesture of warning.

“I never asked you to apologize” Feyre says, giving a glare to Rhys who really needs to learn to stay out of it.

Nesta nods “you seem very happy and I am glad of that. Truly, I am. I wish nothing more than for you and Elian to be so blissfully happy, but I won’t apologize for not being so. I won’t apologize for managing this new life differently than you. I won’t apologize because you think how I chose to cope was unacceptable”

“I never judged you” Feyre says quietly, looking into her sisters eyes. It’s true. She pitied her and wanted to help her and she was so so angry with her at times, but she never judged her.

There is a long pause, Cassian and Rhys both shift uncomfortably behind the Archeron sisters and surprisingly it is the High Lord of the Night Court who breaks the silence “you look well, Nesta” his words are low and Ernest. She has gained some weight back and he can see a thin sheen of muscle through her gown “the Illyrian Mountains suited you”

Nesta’s eyes flare at that comment and Cassian shakes his head. He knows that his brother means well, but in this instance the male really needs to just keep his mouth shut.

“I cannot stay here”

Feyre moves toward her sister “of course you can! Please Nesta, I am so happy that the mountains were good for you. You are welcome to live here or get yourself a home somewhere else in the city or-”

“I don’t belong here” she says quietly “I never have, Feyre. Look around. Look at your walls covered in paintings of your family, every room a shrine to a different person who can’t stand me”

“That’s not-”

“It is true” Nesta cuts her off “I would not fit in here any more than my picture would fit on these walls. You are High Lady of the Night Court. You are calm, calculated night and you always have been. You burst and flash like a star shooting across the sky and your family is the same. Of course your mate and his cousin wouldn’t like me. Even at my best, I just don’t belong here.”

“You are my sister. Of course you belong here”

“I won’t stay in a place that I can be banished from when my actions do not suit you, Feyre” Nesta’s shoulders tense and she feels no guilt at the flash of hurt that crosses her sister’s face “the Ilyrian Mountains were not good for me” she spits “It is a freezing, horrible, bloody, miserable place where nothing is valued above war and you thought that sending me there was the best choice? That training and fighting and becoming a warrior is what would help me get over the trauma of the war? You honestly thought that wielding an Illyrian bow would help me come to terms with the part of me that laughed as I held a man’s decapitated head? The mountains were not where I needed to go.”

“But, Cassian-“

“Yes, Cassian. Of course, Cassian. Let’s send Nesta off with this man to train her and put her back together again. Let’s wait for some supernatural bond to click and make her fall into his arms so that they can return and join the family” Nesta sighs “even Cassian knew that was never going to work. He knew that was not what I needed. He never took me to the mountains.”

Rhys and Feyre both snap their heads to look at the General, who cracks his neck to the side and steps closer to Nesta “She didn’t belong with the soldiers” he says by way of explenation “and she certainly didn’t belong with the women” Cassian feels a shudder run through him at the mere thought of Nesta toiling away on menial chores that the men were too good for. “Nesta never wanted to train, even in the war. She wasn’t like you, Feyre. She didn’t want to be a warrior, but… there was something she needed to face” he stumbles a little over the words, clearly uncomfortable at having disobeyed orders.

“I needed to come to terms with myself, not the war”

“Your birthday cake gave me the idea, Feyre” he says, more collected “Elain said that you were the night sky that held the family up and then I saw flames…and it all made sense.” his eyes start to shine with something that wasn’t there before, a sense of cautious admiration, the way one might look at a dormant volcano. Beautiful and deadly. “Nesta is a burning fire. She has never been a calm, serene night. Everything she does burns with rage or passion like a scorching sun over a dry field.” He pauses “but then I saw… I saw the softer parts of her, the bravest parts. I watched her wrap my wounds and her gentleness warmed everything inside of me like a rising sun over the frozen war camps.” Cassian is barely even speaking to the High Lord and Lady anymore. His eyes are fixed only on Nesta and his words are coming out in a quick, solid, whispered confession “She threw her body over mine and eclipsed the sun in that moment, I almost couldn’t look directly at her as I promised her another world. Catching her stare is like looking directly into an eclipse, but seeing her smile is like… the first burst of sun after the longest night of the year.”

Cassian clears his throat, coming back to himself “she has all of this raw power burning inside of her, especially since the cauldron-“ Nesta winces even hearing the word spoken “so I knew… I knew that the mountains weren’t where she needed to be”

“You took her to Helion” Rhys says quietly. It isn’t a question. He feels like the stupidest male in all of Prythian in that moment, because of course… of course Helion spell cleaver was who she needed to help master her new powers.

“He taught me things, showed me things that I could never imagine myself capable of. I thought this power inside of me was dark and evil. Cassian even told me he thought it might be death itself, but it wasn’t” Nesta’s voice is strong and steady “It was life”

Again Rhys nods “the cauldron created all life”

“and it isn’t how we think. Life starts out with screaming and crying. We fight our way through life. We claw and scratch and fight our own little wars every day that we live. But there is good, of course. There is light and happiness and pleasure. I got caught up in that, the pleasure, because I didn’t want to fight anymore.” She pauses “Helion taught me balance. He taught me when to give in to the fire and when to force it into a dull heat”

Nesta pauses, meeting her sister’s gaze “and then he offered me a position in his circle. As emissary to the Night Court”

“We don’t need an emissary for Day, they are our closest ally’s” Rhysand says with a furrowed brow.

“I know that” Nesta smiles a little “he knows that too. It’s an excuse of course. A way to offer me a position and a place to stay where I truly belong. A way to continue to learn from him… but still be able to come here whenever I want”

A single tear escapes Feyre’s right eye as she accepts the truth of her sister’s statements “I am so happy for you, Nesta. I…”

“Don’t” she says quietly “there will be no sorrow or goodbye’s or apologies or grudges between us. We are sisters, even if we may be night and day” they all give a pained groan at the awful pun and Nesta shrugs.

“Helion has always loved a fiery woman” Rhys smirks and Feyre’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

Cassian’s grin is broad and suggestive “He’s really going to be after Az now that he’s roped 2/3 of our little trio into his bed, albeit not together”

“I’m going to throw up” Feyre deadpans. Rhys just laughs as Nesta shoots a glare at Cassian. He wasn’t exactly supposed to divulge that particular detail of their trip to the day court.

______________________________________________________________

Listen when SJM said there was originally a threesome in the Nessian book I was confused like the rest of you, and then I thought to myself who... who in all of Prythian would be able to get... OH! ;) 

[trustsalvatorewriting]

wasteland, baby! || kol mikaelson - chapter four

Summary: Kol makes a deal with a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, things don’t turn out the way he expects them to.

Word Count: 2,249]

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

_________

❝ you love him despite the burden of atlas resting on his shoulders, and he still loves you despite the death still clinging to your lips, and the blood drying at its corners. what a pair you make ❞

To love young Kol Mikaelson would have been to love the Sun God himself. To love a wildfire -- not quite raging, but refractory; the way martyrs always were. To love the way he held you, provided you with a warmth reminiscent of a winter fire; and to love the way he burned even warmer in the summer months. And gods, you loved the summer months.

To love the young Mikaelson was to love the way his kisses tore the breath from your lungs. Your heart burned when you pulled away, for you knew the smile on his face belonged to you; but it wouldn't be for long. You knew he was never meant to be yours.

To love Kol Mikaelson was to love the burnt embers at the end of the night. Once the bonfire has ended, and everyone has returned home. It was to sit and watch the faint flickering in the dead of night, a bittersweet lingering on the tip of your tongue as you watch the fire that had kept you warm for so many years. You watched it burn out.

"Close your eyes," He'd whispered, hands on Aniya's shoulders as he guided her. He lifted his hands for a moment, waving them in front of her face. "Are they closed?"

"Yes, Kol," She laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Am I to assume you're not going to murder me?"

"I could never murder that beautiful face." He brushed his finger along her face. He smiled gently, and took her hands, leading her once more. "Tell me, darling, do you know what today is?"

"No..." Aniya frowned, trailing off. Her hands gripped Kol's gently. "What day is it, my love?"

She grinned as he placed his hands on her face, fingers coaxing for her to open her eyes. They met eyes, and she swore she could feel her heart leap from her chest. There was no happiness quite like this.

"Sweet Aniya," He whispered, pressing a kiss to her sweet lips. The eighteen-year-old boy rested his forehead against his lover's, mischief flashing in his hazel eyes. "Two years ago today, you agreed to court the most powerful witch in the village."

"Forgive me, but I don't remember ever choosing to court myself."

"Darling, don't fool yourself. I could best you in a duel with my eyes shut."

"I could best you in a duel while in a slumber, Kol."

He smiled happily. If there was one thing Kol Mikaelson adored more than his magic, it was a challenge. "And it is reasons such as that, that are the reason I have fallen so deeply in love with you, Ms. Grover."

She threaded her hands through his dark auburn hair, holding him close to her body. Kol had never made a secret of how much he'd cared for her these past two years. Despite the fact that they were very much a secret in the eyes of the villagers, he'd made sure that no woman or girl had her eyes on him. He belonged to her, and her alone. How wonderful it was to have something that was truly hers -- even if it was just for the time being.

Even as they stood in the middle of the forest, even as Kol whispered sweet nothings in her ears, she knew that she would love him until his face was fogged by distant memory. Yes, she would love him five centuries from now, when his body had returned to ash and she would be standing in a ballroom, surrounded by foolish bastards. Kol wouldn't learn of the rituals she would have to participate in one year from now.

If she was lucky, he would never have to. But then, what were the chances of that?

"Now, I suppose we should focus on the issue at hand. Though, if you were to expose the skin beneath your dress, I wouldn't so much as complain." Kol pulled away, using his thumb to brush away the thin sleeve of Aniya's dress. It exposed her collarbone, and she shuddered a bit at his touch.

She lightly pushed him off, rolling her eyes. "Kol, we haven't even married. It would be sinful."

"Darling, there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin," He responded smoothly. "And that is why I've brought you here."

"To the middle of a forest?"

"Would you let me finish?" Aniya snorted and motioned for him to continue. "Two years ago today, you agreed to court the most powerful male witch in the village, and it was perhaps the best day of my existence. Now, we've reached an age where I think..."

He took a knee, and held Aniya's hand between his fingers.

"I think it's time we get married. Don't you?" Kol placed a kiss to her knuckles, his hazel irises never once leaving Aniya's brown ones.

"Kol, my father..." She trailed off, looking behind her as though she were afraid they'd been followed. Afraid they would be seen. A marriage to a foreigner had never been apart of the rituals.

"Damn your father, and damn mine. All that matters to me is that you become my wife one day. That one day we will grow old together, and have beautiful children we can call our own." Kol stood, arms wrapping around his girlfriend's waist as he held her close. "We could run away together, you and I.

"To a new village, where we could start our own coven and practice magic with our children by our sides." He leaned forward, and Aniya swore she had never seen him so vulnerable. "Don't you want that?"

"Of course I do," She whispered mindlessly, lost in the color in his cheeks and the fire in his eyes. He was always his most beautiful in moments like this.

Kol pulled away, placing his hands on her face as he looked deeply into her eyes. He searched for any trace of regret, or fear. "Marry me."

"Darling, we can't we enjoy life as it is?" She pleaded. She knew in her heart she would never be able to leave the village -- at least, not in her lifetime. "Don't you enjoy this? Courting me? Why ask for a change?"

He sighed, taking a step back. "Will nothing change your mind?" When Aniya shrugged, he smiled, taking her hand in his and running into the nearby lake.

"It's freezing!" She yelped as Kol dragged her beneath the water. Her eyes were sewn shut, terrified that something would crawl into her eyes and she would go blind. Kol only laughed and brushed his thumb over her eyelids, coaxing them open from beneath the water.

A smile formed on his face as he looked into her warm brown eyes. Her usually neatly braided plaits floated in the green waters, and she playfully glared at him, pushing him away. Kol would have sworn she was a goddess right then and there, for the only heaven he'd ever known was the one he'd found in her presence. Their gentle sin had always been his favorite form of mischief.

He pulled on her wrist and placed a soft peck on his lover's lips. Her hand flew to his cheek, and she deepened the kiss, her legs wrapping around his waist despite the wet fabric clinging to her body.

After a few moments, the two teenagers came up for air. They were met with sunlight and songbirds, and a blush creeped onto Aniya's face. Of all the places Kol had brought her two in their two years of courtship, this might have been the most beautiful.

"I found it when Mikael took me hunting," Kol explained, as if reading her thoughts. He wrapped his arms around her body and smiled. "Do you like it?"

"Of course I love it." Aniya laughed, turning her face to the beautiful boy she'd managed to snatch from the girls in the village. His angled jaw and godlike features had never been easy to ignore. "मैं आप से बेहद प्यार करता / करती हूँ. I love you ahead of everything else."

"मैं भी आप से प्यार करता / करती हूँ," He responded. "I love you, too."

Aniya grinned. "Oh? Trying to learn from Vihaan, I see."

"Our children will know every language the world has to offer," Kol boasted. He placed a kiss to Aniya's jaw. "All you'll have to do is say 'yes.'"

"Hmm," Aniya hummed. She pretended to think for a moment, then pushed her lover's head beneath the waters. A laugh left her lips, but she was cut off when a hand grasped her ankle and pulled her under.

Truthfully, she would have given anything to have a future with Kol Mikaelson. As far as she was concerned, he was the love of her life; but it would be one year until the final ritual. One year until she would be resurrected into a new life, with magic she wasn't even sure she could bare to pass onto her children.

And Gods knew she would give birth to witch twins one day. Kol had told her she was being ridiculous -- but in truth, what if she wasn't? Her mother had barely survived giving birth to herself and Vihaan. Her father had to swear a vow to the gods that they would follow the rituals so long as they kept their mother alive. Baba had always been too fearful to see what would happen if he so much as changed his mind.

On the walk back to the village, Kol had given her his shirt to dry herself off. He hadn't wanted her to get sick, so he returned to his home wearing only a pair of pants and a belt. It was ten paces from her doorstep that Aniya had been met with a fuming Vihaan.

"Where have you been all evening? Ae were meant to practice spells with Baba," Vihaan hissed at his younger sister.

"With Kol. You knew that," Aniya responded, as if the answer had been obvious.

"No, Aniya. I don't know that. You've been sneaking off so often that I'm kot even sure how to keep track of you anymore." He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm meant to protect you."

"I understand that."

"No, you don't," Vihaan snapped. "Do you understand what the next ritual is? Baba wishes to have it on the next full moon."

Aniya froze, her breath getting caught in her lungs. "We're not meant to perform that ritual for another few months."

"He wishes to appease the gods. It's a major astrological event. The Gemini moon cycle will begin soon. Mama agrees."

According to the Book of Spells, the witch twins must complete twelve tasks before their eighteenth name day in order to be reborn. Aniya and Vihaan had completed fourteen. The fifteenth through seventeenth had been saved for when the twins were much older. Baba had mentioned it so rarely that Aniya might have forgotten it if she tried. Still, the task was burnt into her memory so deeply that even now she couldn't go into shock.

Task Fifteen: In order to prove that the Witch Twins are worthy of a life among the reborn -- that they share the same passion, drive, and desperation to be blessed with immortality -- the spawns must consummate their love for one another, both physically and spiritually. This act will bind their souls into one. When one child is rebirthed, the other one must be as well.

Aniya shuddered at the passage, and pulled away from Vihaan's touch. He'd always been her brother. The person that looked out for her when no one did. Their souls had always been connected spiritually. They had been brought into the world together, and they would be taken from it together. What was the use in trying to prove it to the gods?

"I'm so sorry," had been the first thing to come out of Vihaan's mouth. The taller boy reached out to his sister, only to be met with air as she pushed him away.

"Our parents wish to wed us into an unhappy marriage and that is all you have to say? I wish to marry for love, brother, not for magic. It's incestuous--"

"And it is the law." Baba pushed open the door to their hovel, and Aniya shrunk back at the sight of their father. "You will marry, and you will be reborn into a new life. You will fulfill the rituals that your mother and I have laid out for you since before your hands knew the feeling of dirt, and you will not fail me. Do you understand?"

Aniya nodded, and followed her brother into the tiny hovel they once called 'home.' Baba would be right, she had told herself. She would marry, and she would know the feeling of rebirth in the arms of the man that loved her the most.

Kol Mikaelson's.

_______________

author's note: for anyone that's confused, basically, one of the rituals that vihaan and aniya had to do in order to be reborn as immortal witches, is they have to marry each other and ensure that the marriage is consumated. trigger warning for future chapters.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

We All Still Die (part three)

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Part 1 Part 2

This part is way shorter than the others, I usually will put in as much content as I can until I reach the word limit, but I felt like it and the events after it deserved its own post.

TW: Beheading, blood

———————

It felt sort of inappropriate how gorgeous and sunny it was outside, an early morning full of whistling birdsong and humming bumblebees among crimson and gold roses.

Thousands of bodies pressed against each other in the yard, fidgeting, quivering, waiting to see the execution that was announced to them. Some didn’t believe it- that there was no possible way the king was really going to send his wife to her death, while others were already praying for the queen’s smooth transition into heaven. But then the executioner took to the scaffold and they all knew that this was going to happen. That this was real, whether they liked it or not.

There are many rumors regarding the dungeon tower. Some say there are ghosts of the people that had been tortured to death inside. Others talk about how the place breaks down a person’s mental stability. Even the guards go mad, they say. After just two weeks of being there, the queen and her ladies start to think they may have a point, whoever they are. Everything about the tiny, grimy cell made them feel miserable.

And yet, Anne emerged from her prison as poised and regal as always.

Joan didn’t walk beside her mistress. She was near the back of the pack, with a few other maids of waiting who were to accompany Anne up on the scaffolding. The girl to her left was already crying- she had been since yesterday. The one to her right was very pale and muttering to herself with her hands clasped together tightly. There was supposed to be another, but she had ran away screaming, unable to go out and watch. Nobody went after her.

Anne was reading a small prayer book as she walked down to her stage. It was similar to the ones she had given all her maids and ladies in waiting, but this one had a beautiful gold covering wrapped all the way around it that glittered in the sunshine. Occasionally, she would glance over her shoulder and Joan so desperately wanted to meet her eyes, but the gaze would always slide right past her. Who was she looking for?

Joan watched as she tucked the prayer book away and began to hand out coins to the poorer people in the crowd. Her heart ached. Even in her final hour, Anne continued to be absolutely lovely.

They soon reached the scaffolding. It was swaddled in expensive black velvet and so built high that all who were present could see the spectacle. Thick clouds of straw were strewn across the ebony-swathed floor to soak up the blood.

Blood. There would be blood.

Anne paused for a moment and then pressed the golden prayer book into Maggie’s hands. She gave her friend a warm smile, then turned away. Joan swore the strangled whine Maggie made could be heard throughout the entire plaza.

The swordsman knelt before the queen, begging for her forgiveness. Joan stared at him as he whispered with her mistress, so desperately wanting to yell, “Don’t do it! If you want to be forgiven, then don’t do it! Don’t take her away!”

But he stood again, now white-knuckling a pouch of coins the queen had passed to him as payment for her own decapitation. He tucked it away. Joan wanted to jam every piece of gold he was given down his throat.

Anne soon began to speak. Her voice was as dignified and confident as it always ways, strong and booming across the crowd of thousands of onlookers. She asked to be pardoned of her sins, praised the king as a fair and gentle man, and requested that the audience prayed for her. Her words never stammered, never quivered- she spoke clearly and smoothly, despite the blunted, gleaming axe mere feet away from her.

Everyone had believed the queen could do anything. Win any battle, settle any argument, simply by appearing and having the innate ability to fix everything. The queen who was never shaken, who never faltered. Maybe sometimes she’d believed it, too. And, as she stood upon that scaffolding announcing her final words to the crowd, that theory was proven.

But nobody had ever told Joan just how much the tears from that fact would hurt, and now as they fell from her eyes in a stream of her anguish and heartache, she could not imagine anything being worse than this. The feeling wracked itself up and down her body. The amount of frustration to have the one thing that was good in your life right in front of you, just an inch or centimeter from a safe grasp, but know that a greater power was keeping it withheld.

It makes Joan detest the court that she had thought saved her from a life of crime and starvation, the sting from her queen’s unjust beheading aiding her wounds to a fiery point. She wanted to blame someone, there must be a way to help the pain, but she knew that her wanting to blame someone for this is exactly the same thing as the people wanting to blame her queen for what happened. It was frustrating that now she knew what it felt like and it would make her a hypocrite to feel so.

There is no possible way to describe in words what it is like to literally watch as someone you looked up to is murdered and know you have absolutely nothing you can do about it. You can try, so Joan does in hopes of averting her mind to something- anything, but after a few moments of coming up blank, she released a quiet sob and wrung her hands together in her dress, leaning against the maid beside her for support. The girl does not mind, in fact she tipped her head and cried into Joan’s hair. Joan doesn’t even know her name.

It’s not right and it’s not fair. In her mind all she can do is imagine the things that went wrong and every little thing she could have done differently to have caused a better outcome of events. All the small trivial matters that she should have done differently, but knowing there is nothing she can do about the past reminded her of the simple fact that she could not have saved Anne even if she had tried and it only made the knots in her chest tighten.

Awareness returned slowly. Joan sniffled through the haze of oncoming tears and saw Anne disrobing on her own. Maggie stood by petrified, too scared and shaking too much to help. Anne knew this, and so she gave her dear friend a warm smile to let her know that it was alright. Maggie nearly wailed.

The ermine-trimmed cloak, necklace, hood, and grey damask gown Anne had been clad in were discarded in a smooth movement. Beneath it, she wore a scarlet kirtle.

Scarlet, the color of martyrs, Joan would later learn.

Scarlet, the color of the queen’s blood, Joan already knew.

Anne tucked her luscious brown hair into a white cap. Joan hoped for a few strands to fall out, to buy her some more time, but she bunched it all away in the headdress, leaving her pale neck bare to the world.

And then, she knelt.

Joan’s insides felt hot, like they were being burnt with coal. She felt the maid at her side reach up weakly and grip onto her arm with both hands. Her nails are digging into the flesh beneath her sleeves, but the pain brought clarity. Awareness that she didn’t really want.

She wished John was there. Not to take the place of the queen’s neck that would soon be beneath a bloodied blade, but so she could have someone to have for support because she felt so weak right now, so damn weak. Weaker and more vulnerable than she had when he disappeared, which had been impossible for her to get over at that time.

But that’s exactly why he wasn’t there. And Joan cursed him for hiding away, wherever he was, and sitting by like a coward as his sister is tortured with the sight of an unjust murder, of an overwhelming anguish and trauma that would infect her mind and soul for the rest of her life.

On the floor before her, knelt on a red cushioned pillow that couldn’t possibly soften the blow they were all about to get, Anne began to pray. Joan couldn’t tell what she was saying- she couldn’t tell if she was whispering too softly to be heard or talking out loud and Joan’s senses were just buzzing too much to understand her. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to hear her mistress’ final words at all.

And then, she heard them. Because, one by one, the thousands of the people in the crowd got on their knees in the grass and prayed with their queen.

Joan watched in morbid awe at the sight set before her. Tears slipped out and ran freely down her face.

They didn’t want Anne to die. These people wanted Anne to live. They wanted her to be forgiven.

But then the executioner took the beheading axe in his hands and stepped towards the queen.

Joan flinched away. The girl hanging onto her flinched, too, then held tighter to her arm.

“Bring me my sword!”

Those words echoed in Joan’s head. For a moment, she didn’t even know if they were real, if they had truly been spoken, but then she saw the executioner sweep up a sword hidden beneath the straw.

Anne was still to die, but at least it would be at the mercy of a stronger blade.

Joan felt a tickle against her palm; an older lady in waiting she’s never spoken to before has grabbed her hands. She stared up at the woman, who glanced back down at her with a somber expression. This one wasn’t crying, but she was very pale.

There was a shift at her side; two other ladies in waiting have covered the eyes of the maids that had come up with Joan. Joan’s eyes are shielded, too, by the woman holding her hand, but she grabbed her fingers and peeked out just in time to see the sword flash in the sun and come down on her mistress’ neck.

Cannons atop the Tower walls boomed to announce the death of the queen of England, but not even they were as loud as the scream Maggie made.

The sound was like nothing Joan had ever heard before. It was an anguished, terrible noise that was so intense and powerful that Maggie blew her voice out within an instant, and even then she kept screaming.

She lunged forward, but the hands of the executioner and semi-calmer ladies in waiting alike grapple her arms, holding her back. She was severely outnumbered, but she fought like a cornered tiger, kicking and punching and scratching and spitting until she wiggled free and collapsed forward as if all her bones had melted. She scampered through the wet straw, which was getting wetter and darker with blood by the second, and grabbed Anne’s rolling head.

Joan wished she had kept her eyes covered.

Maggie was still screaming that terrible, strangled scream, rocking back and forth on the bloody stage, holding her dear friend’s head close to her chest. Someone to Joan’s left tipped to the side and vomited. Another lady in waiting had fainted before the sword even met Anne’s neck and her friend was hunched over her fallen body, weeping, “It’s over, Bea! It’s over! The queen is dead!” The woman holding Joan’s hand just stared at the pandemonium on the scaffolding in pity, shaking her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She didn’t let go of Joan’s hand.

Joan never did get her name.

———

Maggie had carried Anne’s head back to the castle. It had taken four guards to pry it away from her grasp when it was time for the funeral.

Joan was deemed “well enough” by someone with short hair and cruel, wolf-like eyes, so she helped carry the queen’s body. She still remembers the feeling of some of Anne’s blood sliding down her face.

———

Joan spoke no words at Anne’s funeral. She stood near the back, watching as others said their goodbyes. Maggie clung to the casket the longest, making miserable noises and weeping onto the corpse of her dear friend. She kept saying “I’m sorry” over and over again and muttered things in a different language that Joan couldn’t understand. She had to be guided away by another lady in waiting, who rubbed her back and whispered comforting things, but they were unheard in Maggie’s despair-deaf ears.

Before the casket was put in the ground, Joan caught a final glimpse of the queen and the head that had been crudely sewn back onto her neck.

———

“I’m leaving.”

Joan trembled as Maggie told her this. The older woman trembled, too, with permanent anguish that has rooted itself inside of her and with outrage. Joan knew what she was so angry about. They all had heard about how Henry went to celebrate with Jane Seymour after the cannon fires announcing his wife’s death.

“She’s going to have his baby.” Maggie hissed bitterly. “I know she is. And I can’t stay. Not when she—” She shut her eyes tightly for a moment and took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. “I can’t stay.”

“I understand.” Joan whispered. “But don’t you- don’t you want to get revenge?”

For a moment, Maggie almost looked amused. A tiny, ghost of a smile twitched on her lips.

“Silly girl.” She said. “Do you?”

Joan shrugged, looking away.

“She’ll get what’s coming to her.” Maggie said. Something flashed in her eyes- bloodlust? “God won’t let her sins go unpunished. She will pay for what she’s done.”

Joan nodded. She watched as Maggie’s hands slid to her belly, which was slightly swollen. A month prior, she remembered seeing Anne playfully caressing the woman’s stomach, cooing about how she was going to be the best godmother ever.

“I felt a kick!” The queen had exclaimed, peeking up, eyes glowing.

“You jellyfish,” Maggie had flicked her. “I’m not that far along yet.”

“No, I definitely felt something.” Anne had assured her. She gently cupped the small bump, leaning her head in close. “This little one is so excited to meet their god mama that they kick early! Isn’t that right, Maggie Jr.?”

“Maggie Jr.?” Maggie had echoed, giggling. “I am NOT naming my baby Maggie Jr. One of me is enough.”

“Not for me.” Anne had said, flashing her a grin before she went back to gazing at her belly. “Maggie ii. It’s perfect!”

“And what if it’s a boy?”

“Then you name him Hercules! Something strong and powerful!”

“Hercules? Really?”

“What? I read!”

The memory dissolved away, as did the laughter that had bubbled up from the final comment. Joan blinked a few times. In front of her, Maggie was rubbing slow, gentle circles against her stomach.

“If it’s a girl,” She whispered, “I’m going to name her Anne.”

Joan smiled weakly. “I’m sure Anne would be very proud. She’d like that a lot.”

Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes, but she blinked them away.

“You think so?” She asked softly.

“Of course.” Joan answered.

Maggie nodded. “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Joan. And be careful.”

With that, she was gone.

Joan never saw her again.

———

Being the maid of honor to the woman who stole the place of your former employer was sickening and horrifying and awful. When Jane had come to Joan with the offer, she had a sickly sweet smile on her lips, knowing full well that Joan wouldn’t have the courage to say no.

Perhaps that’s why she did it in the first place. Out of spite.

Joan didn’t know the other maids of honor at the wedding. They were all older than her and looked at her as if she were a worm on the end of a fishhook. They sneered at her lingering trauma of Anne’s execution and would mutter about her needing to “get over it” but never said it to her face.

After the ceremony, Joan stood among a crowd of people she didn’t know. Even when she managed to wiggle free into a clearer space, she still couldn’t see anyone she knew. Elizabeth wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Even Mary wasn’t around to mock her or try to swoon with an older man.

She was alone, Joan realized.

As she always would be.

[elizabethsharmon]

Now that s5 has ended what do you think about it? I remember seeing you be quite vocal about the season and then you just stopped and I was just wondering what your general opinion is. Did the fandom scare you away? :(

hey there! I kind of stopped being so loud about the show here cause at some point I just gave up about s5 and don’t worry, it would take a lot for fandom to scare me away and i’ll be back with my usual bullshit in 2 weeks with s6 clip by clip reactions ✌️ anyway, i was going through my archive while writing this to remind myself of what happened in each clip and what were mine and fandom’s reactions to it and somehow when I started writing this, it turned out I can’t stop and it got quite long so I'mputting it under read more:

So first of all may I just say that the trailer/firstclip was one of my favourite clips of all times. It was just SO GOOD and to meit was like a dream come true cause I was talking about dropping a clip andstarting a season on New Year since July AND THEY DID IT AND IT WAS E P I C,such a power move, I love it. Honestly everything worked there, the music wasamazing, it was so wonderful to see both squads partying together, it wasperfect, 11/10.

Then the season started and I absolutely loved thefirst two episodes, we really started to get into Arthur's head, to get to knowhim and his family, find out how insecure he is and how well he's hidingeverything from others, and Arthur and Alexia clips!!!! They worked so welltogether and were so cute and supportive, I said it back then that if they ruinthem I will never forgive them for that because what was the point of makingthem a couple in the first place?? I still don't understand that, I don't thinkI ever will... Fast forward to the first Wednesday of the season aka underwatermale gaze aka the moment I knew we're in for a ride and it won't be a goodone... When the clip started I was over the moon, I'm a swimming hoe myself andI loved that they used the pool for actual swimming, the cinematography wasbeautiful and I loved that they found a way to incorporate Lisa into the story.That was until Arthur dived and saw Noee... and sadly, this was the firstmoment I emotionally yeeted out from the season. Don't even get me started howwrong it was - 1. using the pool which is a sacred place in the show’smythology; 2. using piano music; 3. peak male gaze, objectifying Noee, andArthur staring at her even though HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND; they were setting it upas a love triangle from the beginning and after those 10+ weeks I still havethe same question about it as I had back then: why. It was also the first timefandom started to be hostile and the shipping war began, some people werecoming to my and my friends' inboxes, sending us anons to stop thinking theworse about Arthur, that love triangle will definitely not happen and thatDavid explained on his insta that they used the setting of pool in another waythan it was used in og s3... Well, jokes on you cause we were right. Anyway thatWednesday clip was to me the first red flag of the season, the first momentwhen some people started attacking others, when the fandom police started formingand suddenly you couldn't say anything because someone would jump on you andsend hate.

But I decided to let it slide, hoping that they reallywouldn't go there (spoiler alert: they did) and then we got Friday clips withelu housewarming (i'm still emo!!!) and Arthur losing his hearing permanently.It was absolutely heartbreaking to find out he lost hearing in his left ear 2years ago, it was a real game changer back then and suddenly everything changed- why he was looking at Alexia so intently, why he didn't cover his left ear atnye party, etc. I absolutely LOVED the way they handled the topic at thebeginning with Jerome explaining everything to Arthur and to us and I LOVED thepositive discourse it started within the fandom with deaf/hoh people teachingothers and explaining things without getting mad at silly questions - tbh to meit was one of the best parts of the first half of the season and I'm reallygrateful for it ❤️

Sunday clips with gang were one of my favourite in theseason, I think Arthur took us all by surprise when he went to elu's flat totell the guys that he can't hear and they were chaotic and supporting andamazing and wow, I really don't understand what the fuck happened and wherethey disappeared in the second half of the season. I loved that they hinted aturbex king Eliott and I kinda feel like that might come back in s6....... butanyway. The 7 amclips were absolutely one of the highlights of the season. They helped to buildsome sort of routine and Robin absolutely nailed them, I could feel howpowerless and more frustrated he was feeling AND I also felt betrayed that wedidn't get one on Thursday and Friday. Even though after the first pool clip Iwas dreading every single next clip there, I really liked that they were showingus that Arthur goes there every Wednesday, it really helped to get inside hishead and to understand him more and I kinda wish they hadn't stopped thatbecause it would be a really power move to keep showing that. Alexia in episode2 was just WOW, i can't believe there were people who were saying she andArthur don't have chemistry or that he should break up with her because she'snot supportive - well, she proved you all wrong. Too bad Arthur was too dumband self-absorbed to appreciate that.

BASILE/ARTHUR FRIENDSHIP. All their clips were solovely and heartwarming, I loved how different Basile was in Arthur's pov toBasile we knew at the beginning of s3; when he didn't want to leave Arthuruntil he said back that he loves him :'))) wholesome. I kinda wish we got tosee more of those two, they're definitely hanging out just the two of them andthat's what was lacking for me, those 3 or so clips of just the two of thembeing wholesome buddies were great but they were not enough.

The party clip on Thursday of ep2 was great, I lovedhow they're giving us little insights of deaf/hoh community and showing usArthur getting drawn to it. I wish that it wasn't overshadowed by love triangleand we got more of it, but I'll be back to it later...

Now, episode 3 and 4 were strong in the term of clipsbut those two weeks were incredibly boring when you were watching it in realtime. The breaks were too long, there were three clipless days each episodewith hardly any social media update and at times it made me forget about theshow completely. The bar clip in ep3 was great until they started sayingproblematic shit and tbh I was really starting to stress over Eliott then -first we got a hint that housewarming party was canceled because he wasn't feelingwell, now over a week later he's not feeling well again and Lucas' "he'smy boyfriend and i love him" was very cute and I loved it but it alsostarted to lead to misery porn and this dread didn't leave me until the end ofthe season and I'm still worried that it will play a part in s6 and it won't behandled well (disclaimer: this is not about the fact that they're talking aboutEliott's MI, it's about how Lucas started to act like a martyr and the way theystarted to show him acting almost like Lucille).

Episode 3 was also the time when I think it becameobvious that Arthur's short outburst of communication was gone and we'll haveto deal with next few weeks of miscommunication, sulking and hiding. Beginningof ep4 was another moment for me when I wanted to escape from this seasonbecause of the fandom police - they created as hostile atmosphere for the fanswatching in real time as druck stans did during s3, when you couldn't commentanything or say anything without other people jumping on you, calling you outand hating you, that for a moment again I was ready to give up on the show. Ireally wish I had done it.

As much as I liked stupid gang content in thecafeteria the whole clip was kinda odd and the 1,5 days break between the clipand laser tag was too much. I feel like the pacing in episode 4 really didn'twork in their favour and the clips could've been placed in another order sothat the breaks weren't so long. The laser tag was such a strong clip withbeautiful cinematography and colouring and it showed us Arthur's problems withsensory overload and again - I wish we could find out more about it because inthe end the clip was too short and cut abruptly only for Arthur to go to Noeeto see her dance in a scene that was pure male gaze, where the camera lingeredon her flat, bare stomach, a few times showing close up of her boobs. And yes.I am aware sing language is a bodily language. But the thing is that itcould've been shown differently, without so many objectifying shots, with Noeewearing different clothes, without Arthur staring at her with his jaw dropped.Arthur who - may i remind you - had a girlfriend at that time. I can watchgore, I can watch open surgeries, I can watch blood, and fight, and beating,and all that without the blink of the eye. i could barely watch the clip ofNoee dancing. I've never felt so sick after watching something in my life, Ihad to go offline for a few hours cause I was feeling so unwell. This was sucha fucked up scene to film in such a way, to objectify her, to use male gaze, touse piano music, slow motion, man looking at her in a predatory way, and thisscene was so wrong on so many levels itself but when you add to it the factthat Alexia NEVER got scenes like that and all her dancing scenes showed her basicallyas a quirky friend having fun at parties. And that's disgusting.

But let's move on to episode 5. I loved all the scenesin the asso, I loved that they showed Arthur actually going to LSF classes, Iloved how he confronted his father about it later. Though episode 5 was alsothe start of the boy squad becoming brainless idiots, lying to his friend,plotting behind his back, going to a concert without him. Episode of beautifulcinematography and skating scene that I watched trying not to think about thefact that Arthur is basically having a date with another girl while hisgirlfriend is studying for her bac, of an oblivious guy not wanting to stop itbefore it's too late and everyone's hearts will be broken.... I loved that hesnapped at the guys in the detention clip. I liked the following clip withAlexia, when they made her talk about her insecurities, showed us how strongshe is but also how fragile she is at the same time. But that Sunday of episode6 was the moment I ultimately realized I don't care any more about this season.It was already ruined for me. Alexia opening up, Alexia asking Arthur aboutNoee and him saying the worst ableist shit ever, Arthur breaking Noee'sheart... Those three clips made me realize that for me it's too late, thedamage is done, and I won't be able to enjoy this season for real. Alexia wasbound to get her heart broken, I was pitying Noee because it wasn't her fault aguy she had a crush on kept on leading her for weeks, and Arthur... I dislikedhim more and more and I just wanted it to be over.

I loved all clips with Laura and Melchior, the playfuldynamic in their interactions with Arthur was one of the best things of theseason and I can't stop but think that we could've had the same thing but withArthur, Noee, and Camille. Meanwhile Noee was reduced to manic pixie dreamgirl, a homewrecker, a plot device, and Camille was there only to translate(and later to be Mika's boyfriend). I really liked the clip with Noee andArthur reading her letter about cochlear implant, it was very informative andit was the kind of content I really wanted to see in this season. The onlything I hated about it - which was a recurring theme in clips with Noee... - isthat Arthur kept forgetting about Alexia and this was so unfair to her.

Now. The Valentine's Day. I loved the sourd datingclip, again, it was something that I wanted to see in the season and it was avery strong clip. But then the rest of the episode... I really wish it didn'texist. Jumping to the pool in clothes???? Arthur sharing his deepest trauma andNoee kissing him??? NOEE AND ARTHUR SHIPPERS JUMPING ON PEOPLE SAYING THAT SHEDID IT TO COMFORT HIM???? Sorry guys, I don't know about you but when myfriends are sharing something traumatizing to me I hug them or hold their hand,I don't kiss them with tongue. Also using a flashback??? It doesn’t go wellwith the show’s format, why was it even used???

Episode 8 was... Episode 8 was wild. And weird. Andstrange. And I don't really know what was the point of it. But despiteeverything crackfic farm au was at least entertaining and it was kind ofsomething we needed then after weeks of will they/won't they and hating Arthur.Whipped elu was everything, the fifi saga was hilarious and I rewatched itaround 50 times and it still makes me laugh - Maxence nailed it but ?? what wasthe point? they killed Eliott's bunny so that he would become vegetarian? Theywanted to traumatize him and cause him to have an episode that was cut in theend? (I really wouldn't be surprised, there are 2 clips missing from firstepisodes each, and probably more in the others). I really don't know what wasthe point. The 6h15 or sth clip was funny but if Lucas and Arthur hugging itout cause sorry bro / it's okay bro / bro / bro is what they're considering aproper apology then I'm sorry but it isn't. What's more, the pacing of thisepisode was incredibly off and the clips didn't add up and there wasn't anynatural flow to it - they should've madetwo clips on Sunday - with Arthur getting to the van and them arriving to thecountryside, two clips on Monday with 6 am and then Daphne and Basile, Fifitrilogy on Tuesday and then right after midnight on Wednesday Arthur and Alexiain the barn. Now, the cheating excusing convo... I was absolutelydisgusted by the boy squad and the fact that YANN who was cheated on in s1advised Arthur to not say anything... wow. Also I really don't like what Eliottsaid there, I understood it in that moment that he was mainly talking from aphilosophical pov that humans are never satisfied in general, but he was sayingthat during the cheating convo, right after he said that he cheated on his gfto get with his bf, he said it while Lucas was right there, knowing that he hasdeeply rooted abandonment issues and this is what made the situation worse. Ithink I'll talk more about the fandom reaction and team's comments later causethere will be a lot to unpack there so yeah, I'll leave it for now.

Because now let's move on to February 21, aka theFriday that changed everything. Can I just say that I have never seen a worseclip ever in my life? That wasn't skam. That was soap opera. And not even agood one. I can't even comprehend how they wrote THIS and thought it was good.I despise the choice of making Noee speak out loud with every fiber of mybeing. First they objectified her, reduced her to the plot device and 1/3 ofthe love triangle, and now they stripped her of her integrity for a guy who wasconstantly leading her on, who has a girlfiend. They made her so desperate tomake him stay with her that she lost a part of himself for him. And for who??For a guy who didn't give a fuck about her? Who constantly played with herfeelings? Who mocked her and her language and her culture and didn't do so onlywhen it was convenient for him? Honestly fuck him, fuck Arthur. And then A CARCRASHED INTO HIM LIKE ????????????? Someone please explain to me what was thepoint of that cause the only one I see was to provide a fandom with a greatfree entertainment.

Now, episodes 9 and 10 were overall much stronger thanthe past few weeks but it was already to late to salvage the season. We gotanother cheating apologists scene which was - again - absolutely disgusting,especially coming from Lucas - who gave Arthur the same advice he gave to Emma- and Yann - who was cheated on and knew from his own experience that stufflike that always come out in the end. It's like all their character developmentfrom previous seasons went down the drain. Arthur on the other hand seemed tohave a character regression with each passing week. I'm still appalled by whatLucas said - that Alex is their friend but Arthur is part of the gang. It wasdisgusting. And it was out of the character. And it was the worst possiblething that could've been said.

Coline's song was so beautiful and I was so happy thatArthur finally realized what he's lost, though I feel like all those intensestaring between Arthur and Noee was unnecessary again, it's like they couldn'tjust give us a break for one clip from them, it's like she was constantlystealing Alexia's moments, whether she was on screen at the time or not.

The clip with elu was sweet and gave us greatwholesome content, but it only confirmed that Lucas' abandonment issues woke upfrom their nap and I'm already dreading what they're planning to do with thatin s6, especially that according to the latest news Lucas is not very presentin the next season... The polyamory talk... It was odd. It felt force. Thebuildup to it wasn't done very well and what' more it was built on cheating.And that's doesn't bode well. It's also quite ridiculous how it took 1 minuteconversation with Lucas or even one sentence from him tbh for Arthur to go"oh yeah I'm poly. I think." and tell Noee that he loves her eventhough he spent the last couple of weeks denying that and pushing her away. IHATE that yet again they made her be so desperate and cry when he was tellingher this. That's not Noee they gave us in the first half of the season. Ireally liked the clip of Laura and Melchior and Arthur giving the presentationto the students but Arthur's grandiose speech to students and then to girls wasso strange, there wasn't any buildup to it, or more likely Arthur that we werehaving on screen from the end of ep 4 till the end of ep9 was gone and the oldArthur finally showed up. But nevertheless it was strange and not very fittingto the way how the story progressed.

NOW the last two clips - first was a little bit shortand I can't say I was a huge fan (though Eliott's kermit-like dance waseverything jdskjdkjjd) but the second clip was absolutely beautiful, we finallysaw Daphne talk, I'm still not sure what to think about Noee/Arthur (not reallya fan of how the story was resolved... or how it wasn't resolved), AND THEMURAL! LUCAS CRYING BECAUSE HE'S PROUD OF HIS BOYFRIEND! ELIOTT ONCE A YEARMAKING A MURAL OUT OF PURE LOVE! EVERYONE CRYING! ELIOTT NOT PAINTING HIMSELFBECAUSE HE DOESN'T CONSIDER HIMSELF PART OF THE SQUAD (although he is, I don'tknow why they don't understand it) and... Lola. But I guess I'll be back to itlater.

So now, I can't say I'm a fan of the season. I enjoyedsome of the clips, but overall it was a mess, love triangle and fandom and crewbehaviour ruined the season for me. I was absolutely disgusted but howprivileged fans acted on tumblr and on twitter. And yes. There are privilegedfans, fans who were shutting others up because they "don't want us to getour hopes up when we don't know what might happen", fans who were sayingthat "you don't know anything haha i can promise you don't know shit hahano i don't know anything and no i'm not jealous haha you just don't know buthaha tell me this oh how stupid you are", fans who were acting like afandom police all the freaking time, yelling at everyone to "wait and see!you don't know what will happen!". Well. We didn't. Because contrary to 5%of the "little ones-fans", the rest 95% is not privileged enough toget a special treatment, to be invited on set for filming, to know the detailsof the plot before the season airs, to know the bigger picture. It's not fair.If you really know everything then great, I'm happy for you, but let the otherswatch the show how they like, let them react to it clip by clip. Because mostof us don't know the bigger picture and don't know what will happen and how theissues will be resolved. And you are aware that the format of the show itselfencourages viewers to react to the events of the story as they resolve onscreen and through transmedia content, right? That's the essence of skam.Taking that away from the regular fans because you've been let in to some innercircle and know it all is absolutely disgusting. Don't interact with the fandomif you can't stand seeing people not agreeing with the writing choices,questioning what they watch and theorizing about what will happen. If you're soabove it, then just stick with the people like you, with those 5% or so ofknow-it-all and "enjoy" the show with them. Don't ruin the fun forothers. You're not better than anyone else. Don't act like it. Don't be ahypocrite. Don't act publicly as a fandom police, criticize everyone who sharesspoilers and call them out and write hateful posts, if you're doing the sameprivately, if you can't shut up when someone sends you a dm or a message offanon and suddenly you spill everything. Don't be fake. If you know stuff, thengreat, I don't know admit it and say that you want say anything or don't sayanything but then don't spread the spoilers and don't write cryptic comments inthe tags. It's not helping anyone and it's definitely not doing anything good.And to people on twitter currently posting what I guess they assume are vaguetweets about cast’s personal lives? Fuck you. You’re so loud, you know? Maybeyou think you’re talking in a special code only you and your friends can guessbut it’s so obvious and so disgusting, you really have no shame. Grow up andget a life.

Another thing that ruined the season for me was theway the crew was acting on twitter and instagram and I’m so so so disappointed by their behaviour,especially that I’ve always considered them as one of the most open-mindedteams who respect their fans and their opinions. Turns out they do that butonly when the reactions to the clips are positive. I mean, I kind of get it,obviously everyone wants to hear the praise, but you cannot ignore thenegative comments and fans’ concerns, especially that there were plenty of themthis season. And during social media age when it takes one click to see theliked posts or comments, it becomes obvious that the crew was only interacting (evenin such a passive way like liking comments or tweets) with fanswho were praising the show. All the negative comments and questions werebrushed off, saying that “the season will reveal its own truth” and that iffans will have any questions they will be answered after. Well, franklyspeaking, me and my friends have a list of questions that we’d love to get ananswer for:

- why was love triangle necessary?- why did they make Alexia and Arthur a couple in the first place if theywanted him to go after Noee?- why did Noee say she doesn't like talking out loud cause sign language is howshe communicates only to yell at Arthur to stop him from leaving, losing herintegrity for a guy who doesn't care about her?- car????????????????????????- cheating convos - why are they excusing it like that- treatment of Alexia & why did they include numerous comments about Alexia'sbody?- THE MALE GAZE - why did the camera focus so much on Noee's body, why was sheobjectified and why was she presented as a stark contrast to Alexia?- fifi?- p*trick and why the abuse was introduced so late in the plot and overshadowedimmediately by cheating and then followed by crackfic farm au?- why didn't we see any Arthur centered clips where he shows he likes art?- why did Arthur and space have no relevance in the season???- why are Lucas and Yann saying shit every time they open their mouths and whydid they forgot about everything that happened in s1?- the whole convo with the boy squad on valentine's day and how shitty theirreaction was - why?- why we didn't see any actual squad interactions on holidays and no realapologies?- why does the life of the characters always has to revolve around romanticrelationships?- why can't men and women be friends unless the man is gay?- what was the point of all the ship wars and skamlaserie photo withArthur/Alexia and Arthur/Noee *especially* after all the comments on twitterand on Instagram when fans were fighting already and it only made thingsescalate? Why not stop it, why pit fans against each other, why let it escalatelike that?- why draw parallels between elu and Arthur/Noee?- Why was Noee reduced to love interest and Camille to translator 90% of thetime and why don't give them similar dynamics with Arthur as Melchior and Laurahave?- how can Arthur see underwater?- Catherine - was she just a queerbait?- tuturo comment from the forum and Arthur's 'relationship' with 34 yo - whywasn’t it mentioned ever again?- how could noee not know arthur has a girlfriend since she was following himon instagram and he had photos with alexia there?- what happened with basile's birthday since they never celebrated them??- in samedi 11:04 (5x10) eliott says "i've got some croissants, do youwant me to heat them up?" which implies that he's already bought them andbrought them back to the flat BUT he's putting his jacket on as if he was aboutto leave and then he leaves and slams the door so what's the truth?

The crew completely invalidated the feelings andconcerns of the fans and what added fuel to the flame for me was thatskamlaserie post with Arthur/Noee/Alexia and caption that they can’t choosecause they love them both and… Honestly, who the hell works there. There’s beendrama for the whole week on twitter and under David’s posts on insta andinstead of finally end it, idk block the comments or just make a statement ORWHATEVER, they posted THAT on the official show’s account?? Why haven’t they stopped it? Why did they keep on pitting fans against each other up to the point that one twitter user started getting DEATH THREATS only because they translated some video??? Absolutely disgusting.@skamlaserie and @fr team: hate to break it to you but there's nothing wrong with being single andthere's plenty of teenagers who aren't in relationships in high school andthat's okay... maybe that's how Arthur should've started the season instead ofbecoming a cheater and leading on two girls at the same time just for the sakeof having unnecessary relationship drama which literally only created somepointless ship wars and put half of the fandom off watching the show... just saying.

Then, another things that rubbed me the wrong way werethe whole “canceling” discourse (that never really happened and I still standby what I said in the comments to this post so I’ll just direct you to it) and imposingthe one “right” interpretation on the fans - I specifically have the cheatingconvo from episode 8 in mind now. We all have a right to our owninterpretations of every scene, here many people saw it as Eliott’s commenthaving an effect on Lucas and his abandonment issues and started commenting onthat on twitter and David had to rush to explain that he hadn’t meant Lucas,that Eliott won’t cheat and that they won’t break up and will stay together.Well, the thing is that there’s such a concept as “the death of the author”which I suppose you can already guess from its name says that the author, theirbeliefs, backstory, opinions, etc. shouldn’t be taken into account wheninterpreting the text because writing (or in this case - a show) and creatorare separate entities and shouldn’t be correlated. First of all, thismetaphorical extinguishing of fire seemed pointless and like a mockery, seeinghow two episodes later it turned out people were right and Lucas really tookEliott’s comment personally and his insecurities and abandonment issues wereshowing up again; secondly, after that there were many comments from the crewabout how Elu will stay forever and never break up and maybe it’s just me but Ithink that was obvious, right? So why would they keep repeating that? Unless…something will happen in s6 that will make us doubt that and it’s a preemptive damagecontrol 🙃

So to sum up this monstrosity that I have no idea ifit even makes any sense BUT ANYWAY: I liked some of the things in s5 but overall Ireally really didn’t like it, some people in the fandom were incrediblyannoying and turned out to be fake and complete hypocrites, and the crew’s behaviour on socialmedia leaves a lot to be desired and I can only hope they will acknowledge anycriticism of s6 and won’t blatantly ignore fans’ criticism again. So that’d beit. If you read it till the end then you’re stronger than Sabrina giffingArthur getting hit by a car and I respect you for that cause even I haven’t reread it, have a nice quarantineand stay safe!

[shannygoatgruff]

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter XII

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA+18

Overall Warning:  Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia, and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.  

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other.  Boys will be boys…

Chapter XII

Everything is the way she said she had always pictured it. They even got the table setting right including the fancy dinner plates and the two-toned table cloths she’s always talking about.  So maybe this choosing this expensive ass restaurant wasn’t so bad. 

After all, this place does use the Waterford Crystal glasses that she loves so much. Honestly, I could do without the violins playing in the background, that’s a little pretentious, but these floral arrangements are nice. These people didn’t spare any expense when it came to the ambiance.  At first, I was a little skeptical, but now that I'm here, it’s totally worth maxing out Bishop’s credit card.    

The only thing more beautiful than this place is the woman sitting across from me. Thora’s wearing a new dress. The silver sparkles from it make her blue eyes shine most remarkably.  Plus, she did something different to her hair. It looks terrific. But, I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. It’s all swept up, making her neck look longer and more elegant. She looks pretty like that, but I think I’m just used to her wearing her hair down. When it’s down, her face looks softer; she looks younger. She looks more like my girl, the one that needs me to protect her and less like this woman that’s sitting across from me right now.   

I have to say though, those little whips of hair falling just at the nape of her neck, make me want to kiss her soft shoulders.  At least with her hair up, I get a better view of the solitaire diamond that I got her for her birthday pulsating in the hollow of her throat.  With each tear she tries to suck back, that pendant moves deeper and deeper into the hollow – I have to close my eyes to stop imagining Aud’s throat as she cried.

"Hvitserk," She rests her hands in her lap as the slow tears course down her face.

Those tears do something to me. When they're sad tears they hurt, but these tears bring a smile to my face. "Well?"

It's funny that when I'm around other people I always seem to notice how lonely I am. But, when I'm with Thora I'm too busy making sure that she's happy to pay it much attention. The same thing goes for Ivar. Well, when we're out together, it's usually because we're about to party, but even then I don't seem to mind. Just like with Thora, I know that Ivar will make sure that I'm happy. That feeling of contentment on both sides is enough to drown out anything else that is going on around me.

She swallows hard like there is a lump in her throat. She doesn't say anything. She won't even look at me. Her hands come to the top of the table and I notice that she's been chipping away at her nail polish when they were resting in her lap. Red nails. I don't like red nails on her, but I'm not going to let that spoil the moment. "Why?"

I don't know why. It just feels like what I should do. "Because.”  I can’t say it. I've never said it, not to her. I want to mean it when I say it. No, that's not right. I know I'll mean it, but I want to feel it. I just don't know what it feels like.

I love Thora. At least I think I do. I love the idea of her and spending the rest of my life with her. That's love, right? I mean, what is love anyway? I love Ivar and I love Thora, just not the same way. I know what I mean when I tell Ivar that I love him. I know that I don't question it. There's just this overwhelming feeling of vulnerability, safety, and protection with him. There's a warmth, peacefulness…contentment. I guess with Ivar, I feel… complete. 

With Thora, I feel masculine, like I'm finally in control. I feel empowered because she defers to me and not the other way around. I feel wise, like she's looking to me to guide her. With Thora, I feel, well… happy.

I don't know how much sense it makes. I guess the biggest difference in the way that I love them is with Ivar I feel wanted, with Thora I feel needed. I love them both very much for their roles in my life. Now the question is do I love her the way that I'm supposed to? I just feel like, with her, there's another level to it that I should be on. I just don't know what it is or how to get there. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

I watch her eyes lift to mine and her chin quiver. "Yes, I’ll marry you," she whispers, licking at the gloss on her lips. Her hands are so delicate in mine and I know they haven't seen or felt nearly as much as mine have. The ring slips easily on her dainty finger and she looks at it while my thumb traces over the stone. "It's beautiful."

It is beautiful. This ring is almost as beautiful as Aud was. It was her last gift to me. I didn't know Aud that well, but she did so much that I will always be grateful for it. Aud was the one. I always knew there would be one that would change everything for me. She started me on the path to the life I'm supposed to have. And now it's within my grasp. She wanted me, she cured me and she even gave me something to ensure Thora to me forever. Aud is a martyr in my eyes. "So are you."

Her watery blue eyes meet mine and in that instant, I know that I have to take those tears away. "Ivar isn't going to like this." I barely hear her due to her whispering, but I have a pretty good idea of what she just said. Thora is worried about my relationship with Ivar. She loves me that much that she would rather jeopardize our happiness to make sure that I'm happy.

"This isn’t about Ivar." Everything is about Ivar, even if I don't mean for it to be. Everything I do is for or about him. Is it wrong that I just want something to be about me? No. It's not wrong. I'm done with the partying and whatnot. Ivar will always be a part of my life; he promised that to me. And he'll understand that I can't keep doing what we do, not when I'm going to have a family. Besides, he loves me enough to help me find a balance between what I need and what I want. He knows that I want Thora, but that I need him. "It's about us." I want nothing more than for the two loves of my life to love each other, but that won't happen. They both think the other is trying to take me away.  “Besides, my brother will love you, once he gets to know you.”

It's ridiculous really. I'm not going anywhere. They have nothing to worry about. There's no competition between them. I've managed to divide myself between the two of them this long, what's the rest of my life matter? Still, I know his initial reaction will be nothing like Thora's. I don't think he'll be too happy about it and he most certainly won't be crying tears of joy. If nothing else, after Ivar blows up, he'll come around because he wants me to be happy. And this life with Thora will help me find that.

She stands from her seat still holding my hand and sits herself down on my lap. The warmth from her arms around me isn't as comforting as when Ivar does it, but it's peaceful. Her body shakes with the cry she's been holding in and I trace gentle circles on her back to calm her. This is what I need. There's a settling feeling in me of being the one that takes care of her. "Shh." I can feel her nod against my shoulder and the smell of her apple-scented hair puts my mind at ease.

I'm going to be a husband and eventually a father. That life that my father once had is so appealing. It's what I was always brought up to know is right. I can leave my hobby behind and concentrate on living a real-life now. The only problem is I have no idea how to do it. I'm hoping Thora does. I want that mundane, everyday shit that I see on television. I want to pay the bills while she's in the kitchen making me dinner. After the kids are in bed I'd like to snuggle up on the couch and be able to watch TV without feeling like I'm going to jump out of my damn skin when an actor or actress has that vibe I thrive on.

Of course, we'd have to move away from here for that to happen. There's too much temptation here, too many people. Maybe if we moved out to the country where the closest house is miles away? Yeah. That could work. Nothing but us and isolation.  That far removed from the rest of the world are the perfect places to party…

Stop it. I'm looking forward to my future with Thora and shedding this past. God, I only hope it's as easy as it is in my fantasies.

I feel her weight shift and look up at her as she stands. She takes my hand in an attempt to get me up from the table. I love this look on her face.  It’s the one where she can't meet my gaze because she wants something that she doesn't think that I'll do. Her eyes are fixed on my chest and there is the shyest smile on her face. Curling my finger under her chin I lift her head. Her lips are warm and soft against mine and when I suck in the breath she lets out, I feel goosebumps on my skin.

Normally I would feel awkward or out of place, but right now I don't. Don't get me wrong, I always feel out of place only I don't seem to notice it as much when Thora's in my arms. We make small steps not really going anywhere, but I manage to keep up with her. Her head rests on my shoulder and one arm is safely around my back. Her other hand is holding mine tightly and is wedged between us. My arm around her waist feels the gentle sway of her hips as her weight shifts from one foot to the other.

Ivar would be so proud if he saw me dancing. I can almost imagine his beautiful smile from across the room. For years he's tried to teach me how to fit in. He's told me time and time again to just let go of the fear and to start living. Well, I'm doing it now.

It's amazing how Thora can feel the music. I mean, I can hear it, I can even feel the vibrations from it, but I don't feel it; not throughout my entire body. I’m too busy concentrating on over things. If I overthink this, I'm going to misstep. But the pulse in her neck keeps the rhythm that I'm supposed to follow while my lips are pressed against it. See how she calms me? Everything awkward about me seems to go away around her.

There's something about the fragile that makes me seem like I have it together. I know she's had a rough past and that's made her afraid of something. My job now is to make sure that there's nothing for her to ever fear again. That knowledge is what makes me strong in her eyes. What I'm providing, I know will comfort her for a lifetime. We are going to have that happily ever after.

This is right.

I lift my eyes for the briefest second and notice the hostess walking guests to their table. I can't explain it, but the straight arch of her back and the sway of her hips…I can already feel my mouth get moist. There's something about her, I don't know what it is, but a dull ache starting just below my navel makes me aware of her presence.   There are only fifteen steps between where she’s standing in the restroom.  I could easily pull her in there in under three seconds.  No one would even know.  I could have the hostess and be done in less time than it would take me to have a cigarette.  

But, Thora's hand is on the back of my neck, gently soothing away the chaos that so quickly overcomes me. It forces my eyes away from her. This is what I need. I want to build a normal life with this woman that will teach me how to be normal. Knowing that she needs me and that she is choosing me to protect her can keep me from all of the shit I'm trying to put behind me. My eyes tear away from the hostess and back onto Thora's smiling face. "What?"

She shakes her head but her smile gets wider. "I love you."

I've never said before, but I think I mean it. "I love you, too." No. I know I mean it, but this time, I think I feel it.

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