#Part of me always wants to say unclear - but the other half of me says watch and wait love can always evolve past this as well

[extravagantliar]

“Why does anyone commit acts other consider unspeakable?” “Love. It is always love.”

[runnning-outof-time]

Tommy & His Girls | Tommy Shelby x Reader

read more of the Girl Dad Mini Series — HERE.

request: yes by anonymous

pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

summary: When things get rough, Tommy can most certainly count on the girls in his life to lighten things up.

warnings: drinking, smoking, Tommy being a horsegirl

word count: 2089

a/n: back at it with another girl dad!Tommy fic - I just love using this little family I’ve created (if you couldn’t tell) I hope you like this installment of their story!! p.s…I’m sorry if the ending’s corny…I didn’t know how to, well, end it. Enjoy!! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Tommy barely said a word as he entered Arrow House. He handed his things to Frances and made a b-line to his study. Things with the business were rough today...they'd been rough for as far back as Tommy could remember. It seemed like he was the only one in the family pulling the weight and that left him feeling like there was war happening inside his head as he made the drive home.

He pushed his study's door closed behind him as he walked into the room, not even caring if the door had enough velocity to latch or not. He trudged his way to his desk after pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey. Half of it was downed in the first drink; he really wanted the pain in his head to cease.

Setting the glass down, he went through the motions of lighting himself a cigarette. The first, deep drag he took finally made some of the noise quiet down.

It's unclear how long he sat like that: slumped back on his chair with a cigarette burning between his fingers. The next time he came to, however, was when the office door opened slightly.

"Dad?" a small voice came from the opposite side of the room, making Tommy sit up straighter in his seat.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice not quite audible. He cleared his throat before responding louder, "yes?" He focused in on the doorway, seeing his oldest daughter, Thea, standing in it.

The young girl said nothing else as she fully entered the room and made her way right over to his desk. “You didn’t come to my room to say hello,” she stated, a slight frown present on her face.

She stopped in front of his chair as she finished speaking, her arms open to show him that she wanted a hug. The second he opened his, she fell into them.

Tommy let out a sigh as he felt the weight of his eldest daughter against him. “Hello, Thea,” he breathed, a sigh escaping with his words. He couldn’t deny the fact that he felt terrible in that moment. He always made sure to greet Thea when he returned home from work, no matter what type of day he had.

How could he have gotten so frustrated that he forgot one of the most important parts of his day?

Thea was the one to break away from the hug — Tommy could have sat there like that all evening if she allowed it — and step back to look at her father.

He watched her, waiting to see what she’d do next. To his surprise, she made her way over to one of the seats that faced his desk and sat down.

The two stared at each other for a few moments longer. Thea looked as if she was studying her father; like she was taking notes on the entire situation. Tommy was quite confused as to why the ten year old wanted to stick around after greeting him.

Finally, after several moments of silence, he had to ask her just that, “why have you decided to stay, love?”

“I was able to tell that you’re stressed out over work, dad. I don’t want to leave you alone,” she answered him, sounding simultaneously like a ten year old and like a person who was beyond their years.

Tommy took a moment to let her words sink in. Then he couldn’t help but smile as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. The innocence that his daughters held despite the line of work their father was present in was always something that grounded him, no matter what was going on. He knew that he could count on it to bring him back down from that position of power to just being their dad.

“You can keep working,” Thea’s voice broke through his thoughts, making him realize that he had been sitting there, staring at her for some time.

Tommy glanced down at the papers that were scattered across his desk. They were covered with statements that he truly didn’t want to read anymore. Then he looked to one of the photographs that sat proudly on his desk. It was of Thea, Evie, and Juni. They were all hugging onto each other and smiling their biggest smiles. His eyes finally moved to Thea, who was still sitting with a smile on her face.

“I can’t work any longer,” he said to her then as he stood from his chair, “let’s go and see what your sisters are doing,” he suggested, his statement making Thea rise from her seat as well.

Tommy and Thea found Evie and Juni playing in the front room.

“Dad’s home!” Thea exclaimed, making the two younger girls quickly turn around.

“Dad!” they both cheered in unison, smiles lighting up their faces.

Tommy smiled as they rushed over to hug him. He could slowly feel the stress leaving his body. “Hello, girls,” he greeted them, rubbing both of their backs as they held onto him tightly.

“Come play, dad!” Juni exclaimed as she pulled away from him to go back to the toys they had strewn about on the floor.

“Have you ladies finished your homework?” he asked the older two before making his decision.

“Course I have,” Evie answered in a matter-of-fact tone, “it was too easy.”

“Mine’s finished as well,” Thea answered with a smile.

“Good,” Tommy nodded, smiling at his girls.

“Let’s play!” Juni shrieked from where she was standing by the toys. By this time she already had one leg in one of the ‘princess dresses’ that the girls had specially made for them. Tommy smiled as he saw the one she’d chosen - it was one that Thea had been given when she was little.

“What game?” Tommy asked, watching as his other girls followed suit and grabbed the things they needed from their toy chest.

“Princesses, of course,” Evie answered like it was common sense….well, in this Shelby household it kind of was. Tommy chuckled at that thought.

“Thea’s the queen!” Juni shouted excitedly.

“She’s always the queen though!” Evie protested, a frown on her face as her hands dropped to her hips.

“I’m the queen because I’m the oldest,” Thea calmly explained to her disgruntled sister, “it’s just one of my jobs as the oldest sibling. You and Juni are princesses because you’re my younger sisters, and you’ll get to be queen once I’m older.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile as he listened to her explanation. She was truly wise beyond her years, and she handled everything with such grace.

“Fine,” Evie huffed, deciding to accept the decision even though she sounded a little disappointed.

“What’s my part in this?” Tommy asked the three once their conversation had ended.

“The part you always are, dad,” Evie was the one to answer.

“Got it,” Tommy nodded, surpressing a groan as he lowered himself to the floor. I’m getting too old for this, he thought to himself, but he didn’t dare let that feeling show. He’d never turn down the opportunity to play with his girls.

(Y/N) was finally finished with discussing all of the changes that were to be made with the grounds and house keepers. A lot went into preparing Arrow House as one season rolled into the next. Despite the magnitude of the task and all of the moving parts that were involved, (Y/N) would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy overseeing these changes.

Now, however, she was more than ready to get back to her family.

She was able to hear them before she saw them. The giggles of her girls and one of Tommy’s unmistakable impressions. She laughed to herself just hearing it.

The sight she was met with in the front room brought the widest smile to her face. “What’s going on in here?” she made her presence known with a question.

“Mum!” came as a chorus of yells from the three girls as they forgot what they were doing to run and greet her.

“Hello, my darlings,” she greeted them, eagerly accepting their hugs. “What’re you playing in here with dad?”

“Princesses!” Juniper chirped, holding up her wand excitedly.

“Ahh,” (Y/N) nodded in understanding, “and what part is dad playing?”

“He’s the prized horse,” Evie happily answered.

(Y/N) finally looked to her husband. The sight she was met with had her stifling her laughter. Tommy was still down on all fours, and was wearing a rather strained expression as he looked at her through the longer strands of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

“Of course he is,” she finally responded, grinning at him before focusing her attention on the girls. “How about we give him a break now, hmm? Frances has informed me that dinner is ready,” she then suggested.

No pushback was received from any of the girls, who promptly began making their way to the dining room.

(Y/N) looked over at Tommy again. He was now wearing a look of relief, and he matched his eyes with hers again just briefly before he began the process of standing up. (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle at his predicament, waiting for him to be on his feet again before she started walking to the dining room.

For once, Tommy was actually relieved to have heard that dinner was ready.

After dinner the family decided to go out onto the grounds and enjoy one of the final warm, late fall evenings before winter hit.

Juniper, of course, wanted to go to the stables and check on the horses. Tommy happily took her while the older two stayed back with (Y/N). It wasn’t a surprise, however, when he saw the three cresting the hill to join them in the stables.

Later that night, Tommy was - surprisingly - ready to be in bed at the same time as (Y/N). He helped out with tucking the girls in, wanting to spend as much time with them as he could.

(Y/N) didn’t miss the groan that left his lips as he sat down on his side of the bed. “Not as nimble of a horse as you used to be, huh?” she teasingly commented, biting on her finger to stiffle her giggles when his head snapped to look at her. “Maybe they should put you out to pasture.”

Tommy shot her a look that told her she should watch what she was saying. His look made her giggles escape.

“They’ll still treat you as their prized pony,” she conceded, moving over to where he was so that she could drape her arms over his shoulders. “You know how much they enjoy having you play with them,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.

Tommy smiled at the sentiment, nodding his head slightly as he brought his hand up to set it against the spot her wrists crossed each other.

“I don’t believe I’ve asked you…” (Y/N) started after a few moments had passed. She lifted her head from his neck before continuing, “how was your day?”

A breath of a laugh left his lips and he closed his eyes for a moment, silently recounting his day’s events and deciphering what he wanted to tell her. “I came home stressed, but the girls were able to put me into a better mood,” he decided not to go too far into details, settling with a short summary.

“They’ve stolen my job then, hmm?” her question wasn’t the sort of response that he was excepting, and it was one that had him turning his head in confusion, hoping that she’d offer more explanation. “It used to be my job to put you into a better mood,” she remarked, the smile she was wearing telling him that she wasn’t being completely serious about this.

“All of you girls put me in a better mood,” he responded in a matter-of-fact tone before adding, “don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And that was the truth. Without those girls, he probably would have still been in his office, droning over the same stack of papers and nursing his umpteenth whiskey.

Without those girls, he probably would have had to deal with another night of keeping his demons at bay as the shovels hit against the walls.

Without his girls, he would most certainly be a completely different man than the one he is today.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver

@stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder

@cillmequick @strayrockette @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby

[cutieeva]

My Sweet Little Girl

Female Reader

Warnings : Abusive and toxic relationship. Murder. Attempt Murder. PTSD. Revenge porn.

𝐒���𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 :

Is moving on with life is possible when haunting dead is hot on heels and mind ?

Her finger tips is cool to the touch of the sliver frame that is design in circles like of a bent soft feather could be, beautifully arch and terribly divine. Her (E/C) eyes felt familiar to the beauty, sight following the center of the frame that is wrapped around. A neat huge mirror where her reflection stare back, bearing her nose, her skin, her mouth and eyes and hair. Even her sombre expression that she almost forget she was staring at her own self not at another sad woman she refuse to know.

Her eyes lift to the very above where the mirror's frame hold a diamond— a frown settle on her brows, uncertain if it's real or unsettlingly false from the shine and beauty. Then her eyes stare lower to the mirror, the height of the oval mirror is taller than her own, reminding her of someone. Someone close, dear to her heart once. He might have been perfect tall for the mirror unlike her. He always was she guess.

Her fingers continue to trace the dusty frame, feeling the metal and subtle changes when she caught the feeling of a paper beneath and look to find a white price sticker attached. She titls her head at the one word. Free.

Odd word. She thought. For such a ancient, timeless beauty this should have been placed to sell in an expensive auction at the first place not in an small antique shop let alone be brought free. "Unless something is wrong with the—". Her thoughts cut off.

"Nothing is wrong with the product". His voice startled her, flinching away from the frame and step back a little from the aged grinning man, his slender hands laced behind his back. "The free is because of the one who sold the mirror. Actually the original price of this product could not compare to my humble shop and the car I have brought from loan. Something only filthy rich can buy to show off not common civilians like us..." Grumbling the man said, distasteful in his voice. "But the lady was grieving saying someone close to her heart died belonged the mirror which was one of many things and she wants them to be out of sight however not have the heart to throw them into the trash nor sell them to other uncaring people. So, her only solution was to send all of her expensive products to many antique shop hoping only pure antique lovers would take care of the things that once belonged to her beloved dead". He finished and she raised her eyebrows still unclear why the free tag if it will be eventually sell to the people from antique shops instead of completely zero amount. But she had a hint.

The man notice and cleared his oak throat. "She did not want price attached to the products, the very reason she decided to sell to me, or more like given to me". As she expected, she nod.

"Well, good because I need it". She decide, leaving the part out for her fresh moved house. The man doesn't need to know such private information. The owner's grin wider, nodding and enthusiastically walking to his desk for the package and calling his worker to delivery the fragile mirror.

She step back a little, her red heels shimmers under the golden rays. Face shadowed by a hat as she watched the male worker holding the mirror carefully. It would be a lie if she is buying such fancy thing for mere decoration or in need, rather because deep inside a side of her always love to see the history of an ancient product, touching them, finding the little changes over the course of years. It was fun to collect until it wasn't and so one and half years after she moves to an unfamiliar town along an unfamiliar house leaving her family, friends behind.

She suppose the least she can do is recall her past self. The self she erased and moled into someone her love had loved.

"Mam !" She look at the aged man.

"Yes".  Soft her voice was.

"Please write your address where we can delivery". (Y/N) nod, holding the ball pen between her fingers to write quickly, away from the man's curious eyes, away from the sun's rays, away from everything if possible.

"Here". Hurried she let the pen fall and slide the paper towards him to hide her trembling hands below the wooden desk before his glinting eyes could spot. The man took it and smiled.

"Oh ! What a wonderful place you live in. Only people with enough money can live in Vallancia estate". His smile wider. "No wonder I felt like I didn't saw you in this town because you belonged there". He added causing her to swallow how sharp the man is.

Then she frown. Wait, why is so desperate to hide the fact she is new ? It's not funny. She knows it isn't so does she knows why she is so desperate to hide because she is afraid to be scammed and tear to pieces by the local in name of kindness. She is afraid they will take advantage of her unawareness around here.

She is terribly, terribly scared. All alone. Her chest rose and fell fast and breath heavy. "I-I will take my leave then. I will wait at 2 pm for my product unscathed". Not waiting for his answer she left, patting her chest to calm and hiding her face from the sun by her hat. It's ridiculous, truly is at how little things she has come to be afraid. Little things she loved to befriend once.

━━━━━━━

The mirror stood tall at her bedroom corner, beside her closet. It's magnificent she must compliment. Her eyes slide to the newly hanged clock over the wall. At perfect 2:00 pm did it arrived in it's cleaned glory. A smile lift her lips and that years later proud feeling bubble within her chest.

Still a smile over her lips, she went to unpack the boxes. Sitting on the red carpet on the white tiles beside the boxes, her fingers went though many things she had forgetton like her photo album, her collections of sea shells, her camera and so more. Skimming though the things she once knew feels like an foreign objects now, something she is gliding her eyes for the first time. Like she is knowing a self he had once. Like all her closest people had.

Now all is remain of her past self is hurt, broken and incomplete. Grim at the loathful thoughts she push the box and decide to unpack some other day. She has lots of time in her hand. Standing she went to the bathroom.

"I should take a relaxing bath". Mutter to herself, she choose a loose pair of cloth and enter inside nude, sliding inside the warm bath.

Warm bath are always her favorite, water trickling from her skin, his humming calming her thoughts, smile plaster on her lips she can't remove. Eyes close in the bliss when her legs were pulled, her eyes flutter open watching him holding her tender feet like fragile glass and messaging them. Her smile wider, his grin too.

Slowly little by little her smile wide further at the ticklish sensation of his fingers roaming up to her wet body. She waited, feeling up his childish play how he trace to her thigh, dangerous close to her private part— a part that was not unseen by him, then at her navel he loves to pepper kisses so much, her ribcage his palm always squzze a little before resting on her breast— his favorite to fondle and caress and her buds to engulf within his pair of lips then his fingers went up to her collarbone where the golden necklace of his gift lays. The letter R shines at the light then his fingers slide up to her neck he often licks and finally caress at her chin. Where he often than not lean in to kiss like now. Her ears ignore the splash sound of his leaning to her from the water of his other side to blend their lips one.

For eternal, for now— "Ah !" Her lips grasp and eyes wide open in fear. Shaking pupils stare at the end of bathtub where she felt like her legs were tugged. Slightly. She suppose ? Inhaling deeply she run her fingers in her hair and shake her thought. "I am going crazy". A little her voice echo at the lonely bathroom before she spring up realizing how cold the water had become and numb her body.

Shivering from the cool breeze brushing her skin she wrap a towel around her body, walking to the sink to wash her face clean. Her eyes stare at the mirror for a long time before applying the facewash and splash the water to her face.

A breath of relieve escape as she lift her face to the mirror and a scream tore her lips at the sight of a shadowed tall figure right behind her.

In fear she bent to the sink, tremble her entirety, breath heavy and blurry her vision became. "D-Deep breath. Deep bre-ath". Lifting her face again, slowly, utter slowly and her eyes close in relieve of no one standing this time. Not the shadow figure or anything close still her heart pound.

Stress must be affecting her mind. Wiping the escaped tears and continue her deep breaths, her fingers slide to the vacant neck.

━━━━━━

Fresh aroma of dish travel to the bedroom awakening her eyes as she snuggle more in the comfort of her morning, sliding further to hide away inside the soft blanket, pillow and his spice smell with hint of light cologne.

"Wakey. Wakey". Teasing his creamy voice was, drumming his finger tips over her bare shoulder. "Wakey". He repeat, voice softer at each word and she giggle at his kiss on her skin like he can't get enough of her. Something that always success in fluttering her heart at the new relationship they share.

"Hmm, dear majesty isn't waking up..." He tailed off, acting like he didn't heard her giggles and his finger on his chin. "Let's then—" She waited, closing her eyes in pretense of sleeping when a yelp left her at his sudden attack of fingers ticking her stomach. Her most sensitive part from beneath.

Laughter and chuckle fill the serene silence room. "Okay ! O-okay ! Stop I am wake !" Choked laugher let out, pushing his hands away the more he is nearing. "Stop ! I am awake !" She cries and he laughs, laying on her back, facing her meanie boyfriend. A man who loves to tease her, a lot.

"You are bad". Pouting she said, looking away in act. He tilt his head, smiling on his charming face she still remembers how flustered she had became upon their first meeting.

"Am I ?" He snuck his hands beneath her body to embrace and rest his chin on her chest.

"Yes you are". He made a oh sound.

"Then..." He tail off, climbing over her "If I am bad. I am your bad boy". With his contiguous laughter he begin pepper kisses over all her face, pulling pure happiness out of her. "Don't you love this meanie, badie boy ?" He peck on her eye lids, nose, cheeks, forehead, chin. "Don't you ?"

She wrap her arms around him, pressing their bodies together. "Yes, I do !—

(Y/N) open her eyes to silence. No birds chirping nor the clock alarm she set yesterday.

Beep. Beep. She is earlier than the clock. Unusual for someone who disliked waking up early in the morning. Guess, people grow up and change. Sitting up, her stomach growl. Her feet slide to her slippers, walking to downstairs the open kitchen.

Alone the house is as it should be and her hands open the upper cabinets to reach the box of rainbow cereals she manage to unpack and keep. Within minutes she found a cleaned bowl along cleaned spoon and only bottle of milk in the fridge reminding her to do groceries and begin eating it, leaning her body to the sink and listening to her own munching sounds apart from eerie silence.

Her eyes lay on the kitchen, drafting to the past.

"What did you made ? Masterchef Rylanox" Joking she add the title despite him aiming to become one and to her, he always will be the best chef.

"Nothing much. Egg sandwich, bacons and some salads and milk". She nod, picking the spoon he provide and ate in hurry she almost burned her tongue.

"Ah !" She yelp causing him to near her and caress her cheek.

"Calm down, no one is going to snatch your food away". Rylanox said, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek and brought a tiny piece of ice to put in her mouth. "Swirl around it until it melts or if feel too icy then spit it out. Understood ?" (Y/N) nod like a good girl she was earning a smile.

"My sweet little girl". His favorite endearment to use as if he was older when they were around the same age. 21.

"Ah !" In daze she burned her tongue, spilling the food out in the sink and drinking cold water to numb the pain. She suppose one thing didn't change, her carelessness. She grim hating how if she changed why not change for the better entirely. Sighing she throw the remaining she didn't have appetite to eat anymore.

Ring ! Ring ! Ring ! (Y/N) turn her head to the living room, in front of the sofa is the house telephone ringing. She walk fast to pick and put on her ear.

"Hello". She greet. Silence she heard and she waits and waits for the other person in line to speak. "Hello ?" She gulp hearing nothing apart from silence. "Hello ? I am hanging up if you have nothing so say" She said about to hang up when a loud static ring so hard near her ear she slammed the phone down.

"Goodness". Little buzzes she felt on her right ear. Angrily she wonder who in the earth is pranking so early in the morning. "Must be the little kids". Aren't they little demons as much as little angels.

Ring ! Ring ! Ring ! (Y/N) flinch at the unexpected ring of telephone again. Her (E/C) eyes watched the shivers of red phone as it continue to buzz, filling in the air. Ring ! Ring ! She finally pick up, holding it near her ear without uttering a word, waiting for the other side to say.

However not a single sound came. Not a breathing, not even a breeze of wind and she slam the phone down.

"What was that ?" Her heart skip a beat. Kids these days are becoming bolder she swears.

Ring ! Ring ! Ring ! And the last ring about to close when her fingers pick the green telephone near her ear. "Hello !" She greet knowing already who the otherline was despite silence greeting her.

"You don't have to act when it's October. You know, I am fully aware this is you not some random or Billy Loomis from scream". Leaning on the counter her finger twirl the cords hearing his chuckle.

"Sweetie, you are no fun. Too smart to fool". He compliment, blushing her and stroking her ego.

"I know". Smirking she said.

"Narcissist much ?" She could already image mirth playing around his sky blue eyes.

"No, confident much". She replied earning more of his melody deep voice she loves to hear. "Then..." He tailed off, (Y/N) continue to not pay attention to his words, eyes lift to the kitchen window watching the full beauty of moon, smiling and drinking the fog clouding the night.

"Boo !" Her heart leap and scream tore from watching a figure pop on her window as she fell on her back. "Ah !" She whine, rubbing her back and heart pumping blood to veins faster as eyes look up, little over the counter to see her boyfriend standing, holding his smartphone near his guffaw mouth.

"You bastard !" She cursed.

Standing (Y/N) scan the piles of boxes debating where to unpack now or later. And she decide to procrastinate walking to her laptop sat on the glass tea table.

Comfortably she sit on the lush sofa, pulling the device on her lap, pressing the on button and the moment it lit up, she regret a little staring back at her own alone self, standing while holding her graduate degree in the photo with a forced smile under the scorning sun. Her thought draft to how he should have been beside her, holding his chef degree however he didn't and it satisfy her for hidden reasons.

━━━━━━━

Soft touches brush against her neck. Feather light and gentle they are and awful familiar too. Soon her close eyes discover they are hands, and the fingers hold her soft and (S/C) skin. Tender they were before tighten they become. She whimper at the feeling, breathing hitch and brows furrow as a weight lay over her body, huge than her, deepen the darkness further and the grip tighten, tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter until she couldn't breath, strangled cries let out, eyes barely open as water fill them. Nails harshly scrape the unmovable force, still she dug harder and it tighter, the more she fight, the harder it become that she felt herself floating suspended in a sea of terror.

Cries and tear bleed together.

She open her eyes and...

Nothing.

No tall midnight figure, no distorted monster, no human. Nothing but darkness with hint of moonlight sweeping through the drawn curtain windows. In mist of swallowing her dry throat and restricted chest, her fingers tap the switch of light and her sight glide around finding nothing lurking even under the bed only to rest upon the mirror and for some reason an uneasy feeling slit her stomach.

The more she stare at her self from the bed the more the feeling increase as if entrance she can't look away—. 

I know you. I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.

"What ?" She utter, heart picking up again at the song playing inside her house from downstairs she assume.

And I know it's true, that visions are seldom what they seem

The song continue to play. (Y/N) begin crying again in fear, watching the closed door when a fleeing thought came. Did she lock the door ?"

But if I know you

What if she didn't and the intruder come in ? Someone is in her house. Fist clenched and tears roll down silently she close her eyes and count to three to one to ran.

I know what you'll do

Three.

Two.

One.

She sprinted in silence, her feet pounding the ground, and grasped the golden doorknob, twisting and locking it with a desperate urgency. As she caught her breath, two stark realities dawned on her: the oppressive silence had replaced the sweet serenade, and she was holding her breath in terror.

Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes, exhaustion and fear threatening to consume her. But before she could find solace, a faint whimper pierced the air. The doorknob began to turn, resisted only by the lock's fragile hold. Someone was pushing against the door, their body weight straining the wooden frame, threatening to splinter it.

She recoiled, her back peeling away from the door as if scalded. Turning her face, she clamped her palm over her lips, stifling the cries that trembled on their way out.

You'll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream

The song begin again. Her favorite song she listened with him as they dance, bubbling their little world where only they existed. Him and her only.

(Y/N) quickly pick her phone from the drawer, biting her hand to hold the fearful cries, calling the emergency. "Pick up ! Pick up ! Pick up !"

But if I know you

I know what you do

The haunting melody and the persistent banging at the door transported her back to a day she long tried to forget. The memory of that agonizing wait, clutching her phone as it rang incessantly, with no reassuring voice on the other end to save her, came flooding back. Today, like then, desperation clawed at her soul.

"Please, please, please," she whispered, her pleas lost. She wasn't sure who she begged– the universe, a higher power, or perhaps herself– but she clung to the fragile thread of hope.

You love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream.

"Hello, this is 911. What's your emergency ?" And the ray of hope stretch it's hand from darkness. With a relieve, she cries.

"S-someone, I-I don't know. Som-eone is trying to o-pen the door". She cries, her ears peeking how the song stop, only her strangled cries and the polite mam's voice flowing in.

"Okay, mam. I understand, I will dispatch police cars right away but you have to share your address". The lady's voice went over her head as fears consumed her. Again, again that night repeated the cause of her moving away, staring fresh. "Hello ? Mam ? Please calm down and stay in the line. Please share your address". She cries harder not knowing if she even did the simply task.

━━━━━━

"(Y/N) open the door ! (Y/N) open the door ! (Y/N) open the fucking door". Banging threat to tear the door and she tremble, fearing for her life, hand coming to touch her neck and wince, recoiling her hand when recalling how painful it was. "God damn (Y/N) ! You can't always stay in the bathroom. Come outside I am sorry, it was my fault. Come here darling. I am sorry".

His raging voice scared her more she wanted to yell, but didn't, her back touch the cold wall and she cries silently hoping, praying for him to go when her sight caught the mirror in the bathroom. Her eyes wide in surprise and lips part staring at the mixture of blue and purple hue around her neck. She didn't know how bad it looked, slowly her steps forward to the mirror, fingers gazing to touch because it feels surreal. Not true.

Her boyfriend, her sweet boyfriend that never even raise his voice when angered did this to her is pure nightmare, she isn't ready to face the reality. She isn't. No. No. No. No. No. No. It must be a accident, it must be. No way.

The banging and his voice become a white noise she was too lost to stop her doubt creeping in. Questioning is this his true self ? Is this how he was ? But it slipped ? Evil voices merge together so much when she caught the tall figure right behind her. It was too late, she screamed in horror and tried to ran past him but he was stronger, faster holding her in the place he desired.

She blindly punched, kick his legs, screaming in hopes of someone hears her when Rylanox groans, slamming his hand over her lips and caging her between his body and the sink.

"Shuu". He hushed her, holding her tightly as she cries louder. "Shu ! Shut up ! I am sorry, I am sorry (Y/N), I am sorry I was bad. It was an accident I swear". Apologies in his tip, uttering thousand times that it lose it's meaning now.

"Calm down ! FUCKING CALM DOWN !" He yell, flinch her and scaring her so hard, she stopped, her hands limp on her side and legs stand wobbly, wailing turn to sobbing. "Sorry, sorry. I was angry. I am sorry. Good, my sweet little girl, stay like this". His sweaty palm comb her locks out of face, wipe her tears as the other remove from her lips.

"I am sorry. It was an accident. I was drunk—".

"So you strangled me ?" Angrily she utter, cutting his nonsense to which he deeply inhale.

"I am sorry, okay ? I fucked up. I know that, the alcohol in my system just mess up my brain so—". He pause searching words she knew wasn't enough to justify his actions. "—I am sorry, I truly am". He settle on those words in last.

(Y/N) look away, a shudder ran her body at the image of his crazed eyes loomed over her, haunting her mind's eye—the same eyes that had once gazed at her with affection. His hands, once gentle, grasped her neck like a vice before he was simply kissing her, being sweet to her only to spiral into someone she couldn't recognize, couldn't see for the tears flooding her eyes and black, colorful dots dancing in her vision as she was fighting for her life to the man she thought would fight for her, not from him.

She regrets opening the door when he was drunk, regrets walking the straved lion to her bedroom to sleep together when he push her on the bed gently, she giggled unaware of what about to happen as he press kisses, hands roaming around her body, all at once before gazing at her neck and leading to this.

"(Y/N) ? (Y/N) ? (Y/N) ? Please look at me—".

"Miss. (Y/N) !" She look at the pair of cops in front of her in daze, wrapping the shawl tighter feeling the brown hair-red cop from the black one was gazing at her too intimately.

"Yes". She replied to the black haired cop.

"We searched your entire house and property but unfortunately we found no one". (Y/N) nod hating the distant sound of it. "So, we think it might be the mischief neighbor children". (Y/N) frown, gazing at him.

"How children could easily come in and do such terrible things ? The phone ring—".

"The phone calls ?" He question, hand on his waist belt.

"Yes, today morning I had continuous phone calls but whenever I picked up, no one talked". He nod and she could imagine him believing entirely it's the children unlike her and she hated it.

"So—". The brown haired cop drawls. "—do you live alone ?" Her heart sink to her stomach, his eyes glinting is too familiar to him when he first asked her name. That amusing and excitement locking her in dilemma to say truth or lie.

She listened to her gut feeling. "No. My parents are out of town". She lies watching the glint melt. Police were never her first choice anyways rather she dislike them for not doing their duty that civilians pays taxes for them to keep. It's infuriating.

"Oh". His voice drop and the black haired cop scoff lightly.

"Well, then if anything happens do not hesitate to call us again. We will look out too". Those revised words she excuse she heard when cops can't do anything, watching them leave from the window before drawning the curtains. She could have asked, even pled them to stay if the brown haired cop was not bearing ill intention or at least flirtatious thoughts.

Why men are so greedy she wonder. Always want more than they can chew and she wants to die, wishing to disappear from the surface of the earth if it meant free from the pain, agony fill memories and regret. She wish she had told her parents, friends. Even his parents the truth. She should.

Sitting on the carpet, her eyes roll to the music box the song was haunting her and she went to pull the plug out when something else caught her corner of eyes. The telephone plug. It is not plugged.

And her mind reel and breath halted away. No. No. No. No. No. No. It can't be. If the phone is not plugged then how could it ring— ? It's not possible. It simply not possible. Maybe mice or some animal did it after it rang. Yes, that's the thing right ?

Aside from that there is no evidence how a unplugged telephone ring twice. (Y/N) nod, convincing her because otherwise.....the blood in her veins turn cold.

He isn't dead ?

No. No. No. He has to be dead. Because she with her own bare hands killed her boyfriend Rylanox.

━━━━━━

"You are trying to break up with me ? (Y/N) can you hear yourself ? You, trying to break up with me, Rylanox Slade". He grip her chin hard, daring her to bore her gaze into his angered ones. "And you were fool to think that I would agree and let you fuck someone else !" She cries, pushing him away in disgust of his thought.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you ! How more disgusting can you be ? Rather than trying to know the reason or even understand why we are breaking up, you care more about who I will have sex with ?" Tears swell her red rimmed more yet her voice horse like she cried for hours.

"Of course I will when you are mine !" His large palm hold her wrist tight she wince. "I do care who you fuck and not, whatever nonsense you are coming up to break up with me when we are happy !" He screamed, angering her further.

"Happy ? You say me crying and applying pounds of makeup everyday to hide your little accidents is called happy ? And you say that reasons are nonsense ?" The voices of his sound distant like she can't believe who the person is saying in front, not her beloved boyfriend she knew because he would never, he even swore in their first date to always be there to listen to her, protect her. Not hurt her. But if this is her boyfriend then she was a fool to not notice how a monster he was.

She was also a fool to come to a party of their mutual friend thinking he will not be here after she cowardly in phone announced their break up after that fateful night of him choking her to death. After that she feared for her life more than she loved him. But how ? How did he even know she would be here ? She was not a party person and her thoughts tangled when his grip on her wrist brought her back.

"I am talking to you !" He rest his forehead, jaw clenched and alcohol reek from his mouth she almost turn her head if not for his fingers holding her chin in place. "Look at me. We are not breaking up. We aren't. We never will be". His pled overshadowed the faint loud music from the living room, her (E/C) eyes stare into his teary blue ones and she almost saw the boy she fell for, not the monster that held her.

She swear, she was close to agreeing, close to embracing him and giving him a second chance and turn a blind eye however his words circle around her mind of how not once did he sincerely apologize for his mistakes, acknowledge them as messed up for better and try to be better instead of uttering them when needed and finding justification. If not for her then at least for his sake they need to break up.

She realize she loves him more than she can hate him so she decide to—

"Let's break up". Because if he truly loves her as he says then he will be better and she will take him without a second thought, forgive all his sins.

"What ?" However he did not share the same thought, his eyes disbelief and the grip loose. "What did you say ?" His voice barely above a whisper like he is afraid to hear it himself.

"I said let's break up for real". She repeat, her own heart breaking apart. "We can't stay together. Not when you are like this". Her voice crack in the end and a lonely tear slide. She glance at his clouded face, frown deepen and she move forward to rest their forehead as a unspoken goodbye. "I am sorry". She truly was and with that she walk away as he let her.

Her palm on the doorknob rest, twist it about to open.

"Ah". A moan halt her actions. "Harder ! Harder !" (E/C) eyes wide at her own voice, shamelessly moaning and her warm body turn cold, the air of outside whiff inside.

"Ah !" She moan again, louder than previous. (Y/N) can't believe her ears, her heart heavy, heart ratting like a rat against her cage. Behind her footsteps came, a hand from behind brush past her skin to gently push the door shut with a click.

He stood holding the phone— the source of her nightmare, of all girls horror while he tower over her like he had the power, smirk like the devil incarnation hug her waist. "You can still break up if you want. Unless of course". He chuckle like a joke it was to him. "You want to be the face of whores". Tears descend from her eyes. How low could he go to trap her ? chain her ?

"Aww," he cooed, his voice dripping with false tenderness as she sobbed. "Don't cry, my sweet little girl. I didn't record it secretly to take revenge or exploit you. You know me." His words reeked of insincerity. "I love you too much for that. I just wanted a token of our love, a reminder for when we're apart."

His voice cracked with amusement, sending shivers down her spine. "But who knew it would come in handy?" The laughter that followed was like a devil's chuckle, echoing in her mind, relentless and haunting. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

The sound was like an irritating mosquito buzzing in her ear, a constant reminder of his betrayal. Pain and anguish swirled inside her, threatening to consume her. She had trusted him, loved him, and this was how he repaid her ?

SLAP!

Rylanox's face jerked to the side, his cheek flaming crimson from the force of her blow. The sex tape in his hand seemed to fade into insignificance as her chest heaved with rage, her eyes blazing with betrayal.

"How dare you!" she thundered, her voice shredding the air. "How dare you try to blackmail me? Manipulate me into being your puppet?" Her palm throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the anguish and vulnerability ravaging her soul.

"I loved you," she spat, each word laced with venom. "I gave you everything – my heart, body, and soul. And this is how you repay me? recording our intimate moments without my permission and using them against me?" Her scream tore through the silence, veins bulging in her skin, eyes wide with disgust and hurt. For an instant, Rylanox's expression faltered, revealing a glimmer of remorse.

But anger quickly clouded his face, hardening his features.

"You forced my han—". She cut off his nonsense.

"No ! You fucking coward ! You forced my hand to break up ! I want you to know that we break up is because of you ! And you and you only !" She screamed. "And you know what's funny ? The video serves more prove why I should separate with you". She bitterly laughed at his face. He flinch at the tone. "Upload it. Upload for all the people to see and you will find my dead body to touch". At the word dead red painted his vision so his better judgment.

The next moment all happen in a fleeing motion, (Y/N) was pinned against the wooden door, her back colliding with it so forcefully that a strangled gasp escaped her lips as his both palms wrapped like a venomous snake around his neck, tighten at each passing second. "You know what my (Y/N) ? I want you dead than not being with me. So let's die together". Her eyes wide in that and his smirk grew, loving the fearful power over her. See, it doesn't make sense for both of them to live especially her apart from him let alone with someone else showing such cute expressions that belongs only to him.

"Ah !" With a frightening scream her eyes wide open, grasping for air in her lungs. His wicked smile imprint on her mind. Her eyes roll around finding herself engulf in darkness as her body lay on the carpet of the living room where she saw the— memories flash inside her mind making her crawl back to the wall, staring straight to the innocent unplugged cord. Sweat glisten at the peering moonlight and hand found her flipped smartphone, holding it and surprise to find a day pass since the cops came....yesterday.

She slept a day away ? More like faint.  Confusion greet her as she rarely slept since that day— the day she shut her mouth about despite all know the unhidden part of truth. Not the cloaked part of his dirty, nasty self she choose silence. It's alright thought, as long as her recording none know. She will take to her grave where she was the villain and he was the angel.

Standing up in the shaky legs she went inside her bedroom, locking the door and meeting the mirror and a suddenly doubt made her step towards it. If she carefully think, the moment this mirror grace her house all her paranoi—

Ring! Ring! Ring! The shrill sound pierced the air, shattering her fragile calm. Her thoughts snapped back to reality, and dread washed over her like a cold wave. Her lips quivered, and her eyes snapped shut as if to block out the unbearable truth.

He's not dead. He's come back to haunt her, to claim her as his own in death.

Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Each ring grew louder, more insistent, and she covered her ears, desperate to block out the cacophony. Her hands trembled, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

But it was the impossible truth that made her stomach churn with terror: the telephone was unplugged. Yet, it rang on, a maddening, otherworldly sound that defied logic. This was no ordinary call. This was a summons from beyond the grave.

Silence. The abrupt cessation of the ringing left her breathless. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the eerie stillness that enveloped the house. The sudden quiet was oppressive, heavy with anticipation.

A pin drop would have been deafening in the vacuum of sound. Her ears strained, hyper-vigilant, and then she heard it – the faint click of someone picking up the phone.

The sound was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting her fear. Her heart skipped a beat as she waited, frozen, for the voice on the other end.

The pause seemed interminable, stretching her nerves to the breaking point. And then, a low, raspy breath echoed through the line.

"(Y/N) ! What the hell did you mean in the text let's break up ? Who do you think you are ? Out of nowhere writing something dangerous to get my attention ? This is so petty from you". That same deep voice of his sch the house. She stilled, unable to process how on earth is it speaking the same words he did when she announced their break up on phone following the horrible phone ringing on her house phone as she blocked him on her own. Yet it was before the storm. That incident.

She recalled the terror vividly, like it was yesterday. Days of relentless calls from unknown numbers, forcing her to change phones, only to have him breach the new barrier, invading her landline. "I said what I said, let's break up". The same words he heard to be angered.

"You !! This is about that night ? Isn't it ?" He sounded so, so angry and wounded she wanted to smooth when she was the cause.

"Yes". Said honestly. She heard him exhale.

"Please don't do this to yourself. To me. To us". Pleading his voice, dangerously edge to crying she recalled herself crying with him.

"I'm sorry. No." She whispered to the darkness, tears streaming down her face as remorse and anguish consumed her.

Memories flooded back, transporting her to that fateful day. She relived the horror of holding the phone as he slammed it down, the sound echoing in her mind.

"I'll watch how," his menacing voice still lingered, sending shivers down her spine.

The sudden slam of the phone shattered the silence, making (Y/N) jump. The ensuing stillness was oppressive, a haunting reminder of her isolation.

The silence she had craved now felt suffocating, a desperate loneliness that echoed the terror of being trapped with him in that room. No one to weep to, no one to beg for help.

"I told you we're meant to be together." (Y/N)'s pupils dilated in terror as her legs buckled, sending her crashing to the floor. Her eyes locked onto the mirror, where a dark, bottomless figure emerged, its hand reaching out like a specter.

Her mouth hung agape, frozen in horror, as she stared into the face of death itself – a monstrous, inhuman form that twisted the reflection of her former lover.

Despite her desperate attempts to move, her body remained paralyzed, rooted to the spot like a trapped animal. The darkness seemed to seep from the mirror, step into her bedroom. That's when she sprinted for her life, adrenaline fueling her desperate escape. Once again.

In an instant, the dark figure grasped her body, spinning her around with inhuman strength. (Y/N) crashed into the wood, the impact reverberating through her bones.

A rage-filled slam pinned her against the surface, the air knocked from her lungs. The figure's grip tightened around her neck, a merciless chokehold.

(Y/N)'s vision blurred, her thoughts racing as she struggled to break free. The figure's grip only tightened, its intention clear: to unalive her. Tears dripping and her entire visage red. Lips wide open to earn any or at all air possible as she continue to tug her nails on it's hand finding indeed soft flesh almost like his palms. She cried more at that. Swimming to the past of how twice she is in the same place, suffering for other's anger.

"I fucking hate you!" she screamed with her last shred of strength, defiance burning in her eyes. The figure's response was a grotesque, inhuman screech, its lip tearing apart like ripped fabric. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

"I fucking hate you !" (Y/N) scream loudly not giving the satisfy that if a afterlife exist they will be reunited. Fuling his anger as he screamed, using his force more and tears swell in his own eyes like he was hurting to do this.

(Y/N)'s vision blurred as Rylanox's grip tightened, lifting her off the ground. Feets deattached from the ground as she wailed, kicking frantically, desperation clawing at her chest. With a final burst of strength, she inhaled deeply and launched both legs into his chest.

Rylanox stumbled backward, landing hard on his back, his head thudding against the phone's edge. A groan escaped his lips. (Y/N) crashed to the floor, coughing, gasping for air. Her eyes locked onto a nearby lamp, and with a surge of adrenaline, she seized it.

With a primal urge, she brought the lamp down upon Rylanox's head – again and again and again. Blood splattered across her sky-blue dress, mirroring the hue of his eyes and tainting her (S/C) skin of hands, face. The blows continued, fueled by rage and terror, until his face was unrecognizable, a battered, pulpy mass.

Click— the door opened revealing the terrors painting her friend's and father's face who came to pick her when she didn't pick his calls.

(Y/N)'s feet dangled in mid-air, suspended by the figure's unyielding grip. Her eyes snapped shut, and she kicked wildly, blindly flailing. Her hands swung at the faceless void, desperate to connect. In a flash of hope, she turned to the wooden wardrobe beside her. With a surge of adrenaline, she pushed against it, shaking the sturdy frame, it rattled, teetered, and finally touch the frame of the mirror beside it to collapsed, shattering on the ground.

The figure vanished into thin air, releasing its hold. (Y/N) crashed to the floor with a thud, gasping for breath. Her stomach churned, and she vomited the remains of her last meal, retching violently.

As she stumbled backward, away from the wreckage, she gazed at the shattered mirror. The cracked glass reflected her own fractured reality, a testament to the horror she'd endured.

Cops were called, red and blue highlight her features as the police drag her, handcuffed. Her father furiously speaking to the head cop as she in daze clench his phone on her pocket watching her friends standing with palms pressed on their lips, unable to believe what she was capable of. To be honest so is she.

At the station she utter nothing of the motive, nothing of tale to tell only words echo "Self-defense". The female officer stare at her disheveled self, doubts creeping on her eyes of the possible explanation and her father'a hush money to the higher ups were enough to bail her however when she still painted in her lover's blood was slapped across her face by his mother's sorrowful hand.

"How dare you wretched girl took my son away so terribly ! I thought you were a good girl". Indeed, she was sorry for doing so, his mother was nothing apart shown kindness when introduced to her, always noting her allergies, sliding with her on fights that she almost forget that she wasn't her mother, rather his mother.

So all she did was choose silence, remaining on her father's grip on her shoulder and watching the woman break down to the ground with her husband holding her together, his eyes red and clouded with hatred she often seen held for the murderer of Innocents. But he was no far from one.

Not even when his funeral was held and his father's weeping speech portrait him as one. She watched from the slidelines inside her father's car as her mother hugged her saying "I believe you did that to protect yourself". Without a doubt her mother did when she wasn't known to his abusive side nor her friends who still stood by her side despite being in dark. (Y/N) was so grateful and felt foolish for feeling that way, afraid of if she said to anyone of his behavior they would curl in disgust, stare at her like she was a clown.

Or worse, tell her a liar because as much as she was fooled by him, they were too. All deeply adored him, cared for him and loved him that's why the stares of the university hall felt so heavy, so scary to she endure until she was shallow from the inside holding the degree she needs to run away.

And like a coward she did to another small town she was unknown, leaving behind her loved ones to protect herself.

From the growing guilt of hiding, regret of never revealing, disgust of her nativity and scared of their faiths on her. She really really didn't want to be alone at least left alone in this house with a haunted mirror bringing all the bittersweet memories.

Sometimes a bottle can't keep overflowing water so when one tries to close the cap from dripping down. It has no choice aside from busting like a bomb unless....

"I let the cap lose and spill the water all". Some secrets aren't just meant to keep and she should have known that as she keep her phone and finally called her parents, friends and all the people who have faith of her innocence til the end. She needs to say the cloaked truth. The dirty, nasty truth of how she survived and that was the busting point.

━━━━━━

"And that's why I just smash it again and again and again". She stare at her loved ones, silent tears flowing. "Until he become the mess I always saw". Mother's grasp her mouth, tears of regret roll down.

Little droplet of water fell from father too who is looking at his little daughter and finally saw how big she has become to endure such horrific experience. "My child. This is not your fault". He hugged her tight and she after a long time cried laying herself bare just like the days of childhood when she cries without hiding the reason.

Her friends hold her hands. "You should have told us ! I knew you always had a reason". Rosie, the one who opened the door that night to be witness. "I knew from the sheer despair of your face that someone appalled you to ! But I didn't knew..." She halted, kissing her back of palm.

"It's alright. We are here. Nothing is your fault and will never. He deserved it if I dare say". Jasper said, wiping his tears.

"I know right. I should have at least punched him". Edie, expressed swallowing and leaning on the sofa, drinking the information.

"My child, I am sorry. I failed to protect you". Mother kiss her forehead. "Always remember I love you and always choose you before anyone". She said the oath (Y/N) knew was truth.

Finally the overflowing water from the bottle spill without busting. And to be honest it felt good. Light even.

"This mirror..." (Y/N)'s weary eyes locked onto Rosie's voice laced with a mix of curiosity and dread. "Didn't it belong to... the bastard ?"

The words hung in the air like a revelation, and suddenly, the puzzle pieces fell into place. (Y/N)'s expression transformed from confusion to shock.

She wasn't haunted nor possessed by him. It was the memories that she remember but tries to repressed hard leaving her everything behind to start fresh and when she layed eyes on the mirror. It all begin again surfacing— the feelings, the memories, everything even the emotion of familiar to the beautiful mirror. After all, it was the mirror of Rylanox she always saw, the first thing in his bedroom.

After ending Rylanox's life, (Y/N) mistakenly believed it would bring closure, an end to her suffering. But in reality, it marked the beginning of a new, arduous journey.

The scars he left ran deeper than she imagined. Nightmares lingered, and everyday encounters triggered memories of him: light tugs in the bathroom, shadow figure of the bathroom and the phone rings, door banging, music playing. Each incident convinced her that Rylanox's ghost haunted her. But the truth was more complex even the final, suffocating grasp was not his, but her own recollection. The mirror, once a symbol of elegance, she forgetten had become a portal to her darkest recollections.

Breaking it shattered the cycle she didn't want to face, but true healing required more. Killing Rylanox eliminated the problem, not healing. (Y/N) needed to confront the scars, acknowledge the hurt, and face her emotions head-on. Healing demanded honesty and vulnerability, not just eradication of the source. It was time for (Y/N) to take the first step forward, to confront the shadows and begin her true journey toward recovery.

Ha, even after dying he left her in misery. What a joke because indeed after calling the owner of the antique shop for the name of the grieving lady is Rylanox's mother who couldn't bear to stand his things nor throw heartlessly.

Soon (Y/N) moved out of the house from the uneasy feeling to her parents' house where they took care of her, even her friends come to vist whenever they can if not daily. After few weeks she took the advise of Jasper to see a therapist for the better.

Never once did she met the Slade family thankfully because she doesn't know what to utter. To be honest she still get nightmares but they are much easier and processing in a way she feels light.

She will heal. If not in one year or so, one day she will and that will be the sweetest revenge to him from her. Getting better and live her life without him like he feared and she wants.

FIN

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 ◜⌜ 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ⌟◞

[unhingedangstaddict]

Currently working on my own fix-it fic but man this shit is harder than I thought it'd be- I keep crying and then getting distracted reading other fix-it fics. Thought I'd share this snippet to hopefully motivate myself to keep going???

Hen was starting to wonder if maybe Tommy was out for a run when she heard a faint ‘oh shit’ from inside the house. She banged on the door again. “Come on Kinard! I know you’re in there!” She called out. If Tommy’s neighbors thought she was crazy, oh well, too bad. Hen really didn’t care.

Finally the door was opened by Tommy. His hair was a mess- sticking up as though he’d been running his hands through it far too much-, he had deep dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his eyes were puffy from crying, and frankly, he looked like shit. “What do you want, Hen?” Tommy rasped. Whether his voice was hoarse due to dehydration or yelling and/or crying was unclear.

“To talk about what happened last night.” Hen crossed her arms.

“You mean you’re here to yell at me for what I did?" Tommy guessed. He hadn't forgotten the thinly veiled shovel talk from Hen and Karen months back at the medal ceremony- he wasn't surprised Hen was here now. ��Trust me I hate myself for it enough. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already thought about myself.”

“No. I’m here to try and understand what even happened. According to Eddie, Buck wasn’t making very much sense last night. Eddie would’ve come himself to check on you but he’s got Buck right now. Eddie’s worried about you and frankly, I am too.”

Tommy sighed deeply and stepped aside to let Hen into the house.

Soon they were sitting at Tommy’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee in hand.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened or are you just gonna keep having that staring contest with your coffee?” Hen questioned.

“He asked me to move in with him.” Tommy admitted quietly.

“Okay,” Hen said slowly, waiting for Tommy to explain further why he was upset by it. Beyond the obvious matter of Buck leasing his loft apartment and Tommy owning his house, Hen wasn’t sure what the issue was.

“For a split second, I thought about saying yes.” Tommy confessed. “Then I returned to reality and realized I had to end it.”

“But why?” Hen questioned.

“Even if it was only for a second, Hen, I was ready to, what? Sell my house and more than half my stuff to move in with him? I’m not even mad about that part- I’m upset with myself for considering it. I’ve been in Evan’s position before, first gay relationship, lovesick, you think it’s gonna last forever. And I’ve been the first for guys before too. Like I told Evan last night, I know how it ends. And I guess I’d rather break my own heart than wait around for Evan to do it.”

“If you’ve been so sure all this time that it could never work, why did it take until now for you to call things off?” Hen questioned.

“I think from the start I knew I was playing with fire. After the last guy I was a first for, I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore. Then I met Evan, and he was just so magnetic, I couldn’t stay away even if I wanted to. I couldn't say no to him. I think I always knew my heart would get broken, and I guess I was okay with that all this time, until last night when I realized I love him, and I knew I had to cut myself off before I reached a point of no return.” Tommy explained. “I mean, I’m a fucking a mess right now and I was the one who called it off. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to survive him ending it.”

“Did you really just figure out last night that you love him?” Hen asked.

“I guess I sorta loved him from the start but last night was different, Hen. I’m in love with him, like well and truly love him, in a way I’ve never felt before, about anyone.” Tears filled Tommy’s eyes. “And I’m just his first. And as badly as I want it, I know I don’t get to be his last.”

“What makes you so sure you can’t be his last?” Hen wondered.

“Because I’m not the forever guy." Tommy shrugged slightly as a tear finally escaped and slid down his cheek. "At best I’m the close-to-but-never-quite-enough guy."

[abattre]

I used to like sns but now it's the ship I hate the most, every day is a post how Sasuke is an angry twink whose only cure is naruto dick or calling him a misogynist gay who hates and despises all women

I had sort of the same experience with SNS actually. I used to be pretty into the ship, but the more time I spent looking at the story, the less it appealed to me. I think my initial enjoyment of SNS came mostly out of convenience, in the sense that Naruto used to be my favourite character and the ship leans into a lot of beneficiary elements for him. When you have a character you've become particularly attached to it's sort of intrinsic that you'd want to indulge them, and SNS was a bit of a 'have your cake and eat it too' thing I suppose.

Anyway, I think for a lot of people who aren't really interested in looking at the socio-political framework of Konoha and how Naruto chooses to contribute to it; and moreover don't really care about the context behind Sasuke's actions and the reality of his position in Shinobi society; it's easy to accept and perpetuate the idea that Naruto saved Sasuke from the nebulous darkness of his anti-establishment philosophy because that's what the narrative espouses at the end of the day. I can't really speak on how the anti-Konoha part of the fandom that do ship SNS perceives their relationship because I have no experience really engaging with that content. I do know that it's sort of an accepted condition that their relationship isn't healthy, and I get that that's an attractive factor to people in shipping too, so to each their own I guess.

I wouldn't really say I'm staunchly anti-SNS because, objectively, I can see why it appeals to people. Personally, I just find it a bit off-putting in my perception of the narrative and its conclusion. I honestly dislike how Naruto and Sasuke's relationship is written in the latter half of Shippuden. I feel that purporting the idea that they always perfectly understood each other is kind of counterintuitive to introduce at the end of a story about both of them making choices that separated them because they didn't understand each other. It generally makes no sense to me, and also I think it undermines a lot of the development their relationship had in the original series. I guess what it comes to for me is I can't enjoy a romantic interpretation of Sasuke and Naruto's relationship any more because having the story end with Naruto getting everything he wants while Sasuke loses his autonomy and his pursuit of justice against Konoha to actualise that ending for Naruto makes me uncomfortable. I find it unrealistic to Sasuke's characterisation, and I dislike the narrative that forgiving Konoha is an act of moral absolution that Sasuke has to take part in to better himself.

I do also find the common sentiment that Naruto saved Sasuke from himself discomforting. There's an aspect of considering the harm Sasuke was doing to himself when making the choices he did, but frankly I think that could have been addressed and resolved without Sasuke needing to become an agent of the institution that obliterated his life, it feels like that component was more a benefit to Naruto's happy-ending than anything else. The fandom predominantly has a very strange idea of Sasuke's character, so I guess It's just not really that interesting to most people to question whether Sasuke's concluding compliance with Konoha's ideology actually made sense for his arc. And for the people that do, well again I don't really seek out SNS content any more so I'm a bit unclear on how their relationship works in an anti-Konoha reading of the story. In general, I have no interest in policing what anyone ships, I just can't really see SNS as a gratifying construal of Naruto and Sasuke's relationship.

If you want to read a better analysis, you should check out this post though. It's a lot more in depth than anything I've written here and sums up pretty much my entire stance on SNS in a more articulate way lol.

[from-izzy]

[teaser] love me unconditionally | the boyz kim sunwoo

pairing » the boyz kim sunwoo x fem!reader​

trope/au » ​friends to lovers, non-idol au!, school au!

genre (teaser only) » fluffy fluff fluff, very much hurt and comfort, angst, sunwoo is so patient and loving with the reader, a snippet of an amusement park 'date', sunwoo is whipped for the reader because i love making the idol whipped for the reader (hehe), lots of hand holding because i find that so cute, kim sunwoo who only has eyes for you

word count; estimated reading time » 2438; ~9 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » reader is insecure about her ability to keep friendships (this will be more evident in the full story!!), proofread once with slight jetlag

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

honestly...this is the start of a part of me that not a lot of people (even those in real life) don't know about. this story is so hard to write and i wanted to fully finish this for dbn's love letter event but the nature of the topic in which this story comes from is heavy to write about and it does take a lot of my energy. i decided to post a little bit first to encourage myself that i can do it and in a way, congratulate myself in doing this because this story is the main reason why i started writing from the very beginning. i told myself that i wouldn't stop writing until at least i post this one and i guess that day is slowly coming.

i'm sorry if this short part is unclear and leaves you a lot of questions because as much as i have the whole plot idea, i haven't written some scenes. even this one may change (oh, and the banner as well) but i hope it's somewhat understandable.

i don't want to necessarily say when i'll get the full one out but i will try my very best for those who choose to stick around. and if you do, with all my heart, thank you so much 🫂

The mirror reflects your choice of outfit for the adventure-filled day. In the past, you remember always going after school, paying for the half-day ticket instead of a full one and the drop in price would be the reason that Sunwoo willingly tagged along with you; or at least that’s what he always told you because if you looked behind, you would see Sunwoo looking at the back of your head with sweetness dripping from his eyes. Even with the drop in price, you knew that it could be a somewhat regular trip but you didn’t want to make it too regular or else it would rid you of the fun of the whole amusement park concept. That’s why the consensus was once a month, sometimes more but never less. The food would be the same as the street food but would be different enough to the point that you could taste the difference between inside the park and outside.

You twirled in front of the mirror one last time, checking the back of your outfit. To your eyes, it’s simple but to someone else’s eyes, anything you wear would make his heart melt. It’s unfortunate that you’re unable to feel the same way that other people who love you would, and that’s why love is special but scary at the same time. With a final flick on your room’s light switch and the bag that rested on the curve of your shoulder, you greet your mum and walk towards the meetup place in the amusement park. 

Your choice of outfit elicited a raised eyebrow from your mum, the elder nodding and eyeing your outfit up and down. When asked for thoughts, you found that it was the approval nod that you’re thankful for as you did spend some time ruminating about as you’re used to the old, everyday, boring school uniform. In addition, when your mum heard that you’re out with Sunwoo, she made sure to know that you treat him well. It’s heartwarming to see Sunwoo receiving much love from your mum and with a final ‘have fun’ wish, you’re off for the rest of the day.

Sunwoo sent a text as soon as you stepped out and locked the front door, apologising once more for not being able to pick you up from your house and you couldn't help but stare at the message. On the other side, the ‘read’ notification only made him nervous and his next message of a bunch of crying emojis depicts his apologetic nature. The wind blew your cheeks to cool the heating temperature at his playful nature and you quickly texted reassurance to him.

You couldn't believe that holding a hand out to stop the bus would be so exciting. You couldn't believe that seating on the rarely washed seats could be comfortable. You couldn't believe that you were seeing the familiar pathway to a place you used to visit a dozen times a year and that you remembered the way you let your body sway to the turns of the bus. 

The closer the bus heads towards your destination, the more it gets crowded with differing ages filling the small space. The weekend is bustling and so will the park but at least you have a full day. You didn't need to be the one to indicate the driver to stop at the designated stop as a pair of smaller hands did it for you. You're seated at the front of the bus but you sit patiently and wait for others to board first, not forgetting to thank the driver when you do.

The moment your two feet step out of the bus, you're greeted by your company for the rest of the day. He stood not too far away, occupied by his phone and unoccupied with the wind thrashing his hair strands all messily. Sunwoo is unbothered by the whispers of those who throw compliments at him and bows politely when asked for his number. A comfortable set of denim jacket, black jeans and white shirt is his attire and he chose to wear his black-framed glasses that you remember picking out with him.

As much as Sunwoo has been receiving attention for the past hour, he knows the difference between the attention he wants and the attention that he doesn’t. His gut feeling is never wrong when it comes to looking up to meet your eyes staring back at him. The phone in his hand is pocketed in his pants and he jogs his way to you, fluffy bangs hitting his forehead in excitement at the sight of you.

“You’re here,” he says as he takes a final step in front of you. You didn’t even get a chance to nod or speak anything because he took a hand of yours in his, wrapping his fingers around yours. Your stutter didn’t falter his train of thoughts, “I got the tickets! Let’s go!”

“W-Wait, what?” Eyebrows knitted at the change of routine, “What do you mean you got tickets?” His free hand fishes in his other pocket and he pulls out two official entries to the park, a grin on his face when you stare at the unexpected papers in his hand.

“My turn,” Sunwoo says, knowing what you're about to say next. Because going to the park has always been something that you enjoyed, you've always paid the entry tickets but not this time. “I wanted to be here today.”

“Sunwoo–”

“You can pay next time,” hopeful for your answer. He searches for any signs of happiness in your eyes but yours is still filled with doubt and that made his lower lips droop, “Please let me?” Gulping his nerves down, “Please don’t let this be the last time. I hope this can become routine again.” Sunwoo’s eyebrows form a little mountain-like shape and his pouts stretch into a soft, small smile. 

Before you know it, your neck cranes down and back up, nodding in defeat and taking a mental note to pay for everything else for the day. You didn't expect Sunwoo to be so radiant at your answer for he punches the air with hollers of excitement and hops of joy. You're reminded of how his smile lights up your world and his actions are more than capable of lighting up the world. With the hold of his hand on yours, he leads you to take the tickets to be officially used.

The park changed minimally, with the biggest change being the merch being displayed at the store near the entrance. The lingering buttered popcorn and the spice seasoning of churros stayed the same and you hoped that the recipe was the same as you kept your eyes on it even when your legs moved further in the park. Turning your head to the other side is more merch and cotton candy swirled into animal shapes.

“I want one!” Sunwoo dragging you along to the fluffy sugar. Without hesitation, he chose the bear one contrary to your expectations against the raccoon one, “Bear hugs,” he says once again after reading your mind, “You give me the best bear hugs.”

“Oh…” dazed at the simple but fluttering emotions behind his words.

Sunwoo nods enthusiastically and takes a big chunk of the piece. You failed to hold your laugh when it smeared all over his lower face. 

“It's because I don't have any free hands!” Lifting your joined hands to prove his point, “And I don't want to let go of you.”

When did he learn to sweet talk like this? When did he become so confident and bubbly like this? When did he learn to make your heart beat so fast despite looking like a bit of a mess? When did he become so loving through his actions and words that it's hard for you to let go of his hand even if you wanted to?

Sunwoo pokes his tongue out to retrieve the blue cloud on his nose and you choose to give him an audience about it, chuckling behind your small scarf at his attempts. “Here,” you lightly brush past his skin with your fingers, “All gone.”

Like a deer caught in the headlights and an animated character with his cheeks full of food, Sunwoo tries to register the irregular and fast pace of his beating heart. The sugar in his mouth dissolves quicker than he has been consuming it with how he stuffs his mouth with the fine grains of sugar whenever his mouth is empty. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at how he looked at you with boba-like wide and glossy eyes while you also found it hard to even look away. Sunwoo takes the opportunity of having extended eye contact with you by ducking his head closer to you.

Unconsciously, his throat became dry and his ability to swallow became harder. His eyes trailed from your eyes, following the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow to the gap between your lips. At first, you were slightly slow to follow but when you copied the path of his eyes with your own with Sunwoo’s face, your heartbeat could no longer be controlled. 

No one registered the minimising gap between your two faces, and consequently bodies. Your body froze, not in a bad way because it’s Kim Sunwoo, but in a way where you just don’t want to. If Sunwoo wanted to come closer, you wouldn’t oppose him. The safety that he provided you with is reassured by the way your fingers wrapped his hand tighter. Sunwoo became so close that the overgrown front strands of his hair tickled the tip of your nose with the wind. 

You only watch his lips while he watches yours. His bottom lip is trapped between the rows of his teeth and unconsciously you copy him out of nervousness.

“Come on,” he whispers, still unable to take his eyes off your lips, “Let’s go somewhere first.”

It was hard to pull away first, especially when he knows exactly what he feels for you but for him, your comfortability with him will always come first. He just gained precious time with you, rebuilding your friendship once more and as much as Sunwoo wants to take it a step further, he’s aware of how everything is different to the past. He longs for the same type of relationship once more, but things change and so does time; but never his feelings for you.

The back of Sunwoo’s head became harder to view after that, your mind racing with thoughts as he took you to wherever he said he would take you first. You watch as the ground turns from the beige-bricked floors to the wooden-like installed tiles. Only then did you realise that the light is no longer natural and the outline of your shadow becomes clearer. The familiar scent of the air freshener finally made you look up and you’re faced with a variety of character hand bands arranged on the spinning shelf.

“What about this?” His index points to the raccoon headband on his hair. Your eyes grew wide for the opinion he was asking for and you gave a stuttering nod. Sunwoo pouted, worried about his past actions. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand soothingly, “I’m sorry.”

“What…are you talking about?” Why is he apologising? What for–

Sunwoo lets go of your hand, pocketing his to keep the warmth that you once gave him. Your eyes grew wide, hands still in the position he left you. Looking up from your hand, the boy gives a nervous chuckle.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he tries his best to nonchalantly shrug but you can tell from the way his eyes didn’t even bother to look your way, that it’s weighing on him a lot.

Your fingers curl towards your palm and your lips pinches itself into your mouth. You shake your head, hoping that he’ll be able to see it from his peripheral and you try to refute through voice but nothing is coming out.

“Just…tell me if I’m being too mu–”

You stop him this time by lifting both your palms to cup his cheeks, turning his face away from the mirror to you instead. One shake, two shakes and three from your head, “Never you,” you breathe out softly, “I’m just…nervous…not in a bad way though.”

“Oh…” Sunwoo is glad to hear this insight from you, “Me too. You make me nervous like crazy.” he admitted with a gaze full of affection, “In a good way though,” he quickly added.

“All those years before as well?”

“Yeah,” he nods his head to further prove his point. Both his hand comes up to take your hands away from his face. Sunwoo puts them both between you and he continues his actions from before, gliding his thumbs on the back of your hand. “We never held hands back in the past,” and he stopped for a while, wondering if it was the right time to say this. He shuts his eyes tight and blurts out, “But I wish that we did.”

And you just couldn’t ignore this. You just had to ask with every bit you had in you, “Why…?”

Sunwoo shakes his head again and this time you’re beyond confused about what he’s trying to convey. You’ve never seen him so hesitant about his words before and this new sight made it hard for you to possibly string his thoughts into words, not wanting to say the wrong words and assume wrong assumptions of his feelings. You join as you watch the way Sunwoo smooths the pad of his thumb over you, the corner of your lips rising as you focus on the weighted-like blanket of him.

“When you left, the only thing that could keep my hands warm was my other hand or by stuffing them inside some fabric. Even then, it would never be as comfortable as what you would provide me,” and how badly you wanted to agree with him without words, “And you always said that,” finally his hands stopped moving against yours, “When life gets too much,” stepping next to you so that he could hold your hand better, “That you would always hold my hand,” his grip is more secure now, “And tell me that I don’t have to carry anything alone,” he lifts the alternating view of his fingers with yours, “So just like you’ve done that for me all those times,” bringing the back of your hand to his lips, “Lean on me and let me carry some of yours."

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 'especially to you...'

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @whipped-kpop-creators 📝💛 @blankjournal 💭✒️ @sanaxo-o

[void-my-warranty]

The Hitman (18+)

Pairing: Victor Creed/Fem Reader Content Warnings: Masturbation, thoughts of death Word Count: 3.1k

Safehouse Chapter 2 (all chapters here)

Okay, so your little black dog does have a name, it’s William. Not to be mistaken for Fitzwilliam Darcy, who he isn’t named after. You’ve seen Austenland, and you’re not going down that road for anything. 

You stretch out in bed and think disappointedly that today will be like any other Saturday. A nice latte, a little cereal, and you can go straight to maladaptive daydreaming in your pajamas while you do laundry. There is absolutely no way that anything interesting will happen today, because Plain House Guy does not show up two weeks in a row, let alone two days. 

Well, you end up only accomplishing half of the laundry and half of the dishes, and then two walks and about eighty percent of an organizational project. So when you’re done at the end of the day, standing in the kitchen and eating tortellini, there are regrettably far too many things strewn around the house. 

This is the house you bought with your ex. The house that was probably too big for the two of you, but the market didn’t have much flexibility at the time. Still, you decorated it so pretty… in two rooms. Your ex liked Minimalist Modern style and you’re more… sensible romantic. He always complained about your preferences, so when you moved you informed him you would have free reign over two rooms, the kitchen and the fireplace room. And they turned out so beautiful. Twinkle lights, plants everywhere, antique wall art, cozy throw blankets and moody wallpaper. They’re the only two decorated rooms in the house, because though your ex didn’t like your decor, he didn’t seem to mind blank walls and empty rooms. To him anything was better than your personality, even a void of nothing. 

You moved for him, twice. Once to nowheresville Kentucky for his first field office, and then here for the Attorney General’s detail. The pay was amazing, and he already had his established career, so the move made sense. And now you’re alone in this big house with only two beautiful rooms, eating your dinner out of a pan in front of the stove. 

Your parents have begged you to move back to your home town. It doesn’t make sense, they say, that you’re still on the east coast after the split. You moved out here so recently, what could you possibly be staying for? You’re lonely, you’re depressed, you can’t even afford the house any more.

Your eyes flick down and take in the aftermath of organizational mania. Unshowered body, crumpled shirt, unruly hair. Maybe you should move back. Maybe you should pretend like the last seven years didn’t happen and pick up where you left off, this time divorced and thirty and surrounded by all the people you grew up with who have three kids and careers by now. You can just hear Count Rugen now, in his quivery, creepy voice, “I’ve just sucked seven years of your life away. Tell me, how do you feel?” 

You sigh and grab the leash off the hook, making kissy noises in William’s direction until he comes bounding up to beat you to the door. On the way up the street you crane your neck to check the porch lights, in the unlikely off-chance that Plain House Guy is still in town. As you suspected, his house is just a smudge of dark on the corner of the cul-de-sac, so it’s decided.

You head straight for the public sidewalk and take your usual left turn. Past neighborhood streets and an intersection or two, until you’re walking through the uninhabited portion of sidewalk with fewer lights. It’s a thrill sometimes coming through this section, not because of the danger, but because when it’s all empty like this, you feel like you yourself could actually be the danger. It’s unclear if a part of you wants that, or just craves the proximity to it. Though, conceivably they could become one and the same, if the proximity is—

“What the fuck are you doing?” comes a deep voice from out of nowhere.

Well, first of all, you’re screaming. It’s more of a panicked squeak, right at the first word he says because he’s just scared the ever loving shit out of you. You’re stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, your traitor dog wagging his tail, peering excitedly into the darkness like he’s about to meet his new best friend. 

You should run. Book it back home as fast as you can and hope to god you make it. But instead, paralyzed, you watch the dark form peel away from the tree he was leaning against, and you are just furious with yourself for putting you in this position.

And then what he’s asked you finally begins to sink into your neurotransmitters, and it… it suddenly doesn’t sound as threatening as it should. 

“Ob– Obviously, I’m walking my dog,” you manage to choke out, angry at him for scaring you.

“It’s not safe for you out here.” 

The implicated, ‘not safe only for you,’ is annoying as fuck, so you swing your head around in an exaggerated sweep of the area and say, “I don’t see any danger.”

“Is that a fact?” 

You already know exactly who he is, but still when the shadow materializes into man right in front of you, you have to direct all your efforts to forcing yourself to stay calm. His face is no longer a mystery. He’s tan and bearded, and though you can’t see his eyes in this light, his features are so distinctive that you don’t think you’d ever mistake him for anyone else. He’s probably trying to scare you, but Christ, he’s going about it all wrong. 

“You’re not usually around two days in a row,” you remark, forcing false bravado into your tone. 

Aaaand, maybe that was not the best thing to say. Plain House Guy tucks his hands into his pockets, and you notice for the first time that there’s no pretense of jogging today. He’s wearing black everything. Pants, shirt, jacket. All fucking enormous, fitted perfectly to his body and so expensive looking. The gratification that you were right bubbles up inside of you, and your face splits into a wide grin as your eyes crawl back to his face. Yeah, you’re about to be murdered, but it will be classy. It’ll be a beautifully maintained handgun with a top-of-the-line silencer. Or maybe a shiny piece of wire that he polishes every night, yanked tight around your throat while he murmurs in your ear, telling you exactly how much of an inconvenience you are. Oh yes, there are worse ways to go. 

He’s being the composed professional of the highest caliber that you would only expect him to be. Standing there staring back at you, his expression giving nothing away while he considers what to do. You’re sure you know exactly what he’s thinking: You’re too stupid and small to put up much of a fight. It’ll be quick and easy, but you’re right next to the road, and cars come through here intermittently, even in the middle of the night. In fact, right now you can see headlights glowing onto him from behind you. Your shadow is cast onto his body, closer and closer, his eyes glowing amber in the light, until it suddenly swipes away and everything is dark again when the car passes. 

“Please,” he says in a low voice, and you just about die of shock at hearing the last word you ever expected him to say, “just stay on your street at night. I won’t be here to make sure you’re safe.” 

Your heart is absolutely galloping now, brain scrambling to catch up to this monumental development, but he’s already turning and striding back into the treeline and disappearing from view. That part makes sense, the part where he doesn’t even bother with the sidewalk because he’s basically a ninja. The part that doesn’t make any fucking sense is where he talks to you with no conceivable purpose but to… be nice? Scare you into being safer? Make you that much more enslaved to the improbability of him?

You don’t care that you haven’t gone as far as you planned. You fucking turn your ass around and powerwalk home. The whole way you’re telling yourself that you will not look at his house on the way back, won’t even turn your head in that direction. But of course, when it comes down to it, you look. His house is still dark and plain, and it’s all so stupid and outrageously hot that you let out a growl of irritation and practically drag William the rest of the way home. 

When you’re finally, finally behind your own locked door, you lean against it for a long time, catching your breath. Long enough that your breathing steadies and your heart calms itself, and the tingles of adrenaline have begun to fade away. 

You push yourself off the door and gulp down an entire glass of water in the kitchen. Your dog is following you while dragging his leash along the ground, so you unhook him and coax him into his crate with a loaded Kong. Methodically you walk through your house, closing every curtain and set of blinds you possess, making sure they cover everything entirely without even an inch of peek-through. 

You go into your living room, the one that’s decorated, and turn off all the lights until only the soft glow of the moon through the blinds is visible. One by one you strip off your clothes and then you sit your bare ass on the cold leather couch. You put your feet up on the edge of the cushion, and let your knees fall as far apart as they can. And then you reach down and softly stroke the little aching place between your legs until everything is all better.

So, maybe this obsession is a little bit sexual. 

-------------------------------------

The next morning you blink haziness out of your eyes, and instantly your brain goes right back to the matter at hand: where you will walk tonight. Granted, that dilemma seems unimportant compared to the mystery of Plain House Guy, but they are now inseparably intertwined. He made the leap to first contact, just to convince you.

On one hand, you don’t know this guy, and he doesn’t know you. He sure as hell doesn’t have any grounds to be bossing you around. Also, as he already stated, he won’t be here, so there’s no way for him to actually verify your obedience. 

But on the other hand, he did say please. And he is, well, the crux of your life at the moment.

You decide on a safe-feeling lie. You’ll walk past his house first, and if he’s not home you’ll go out to the public sidewalk. It’s also more or less the perfect excuse to walk by his house every night.

So if you thought yesterday was bad, this day absolutely drags. But the fact that Plain House Guy is actually in your life now does change things. You look around, and can’t help but imagine the what-ifs. What if some day in the distant future, you speak to him again. What if it’s cordial this time, or even friendly? What if you actually, in some impossible, alternate universe, become friends? What if some day he’s here in your house?

That gives you something to do, at the very least. You finish that project, and the dishes, and the laundry, and you even wash your makeup brushes because, well, you’re a woman now. You’re a woman who has deadly conversations with assassins and lives. You have a scrap of consequence. 

Finally at the end of the day, when groceries have been bought and night has fallen, you step outside with William. Your first and only walk today. It’s Sunday night, and the air smells like laundry detergent. People are turning in early and no one is around to observe your madness.

You can tell from your street that his house is dark, but you walk there anyway. He could be smoking in the dark. He’s done it before. You round the familiar cul-de-sac, and it feels an eternity but finally you’re there in front of his house, and right before disappointment can hit you, you see a red dot.

Your stomach does a loop de loop because a second later you realize it’s not a cigarette. It’s the blinking dot of a camera that was never there before. He put up a fucking survalliance camera, aimed directly at the sidewalk, the day after he finally talked to you. 

You laugh in an insane, choked cackle, and you flip that camera the bird, right before heading straight for the public sidewalk. 

It becomes your thing. Every night you go straight to his house and flip off that camera before you start your walk. On weekends you do it during the day as well. Sometimes you have a huge grin on your face, other times it’s just a quick flick of your wrist, like you’re crossing off a chore. But you never fail to check in with that fucking camera, rain or shine, and it never occurs to you that it might be exactly what he’s hoping for. 

It’s on a random Tuesday three weeks later that you’re turning down his stupid street, and it’s so automatic by this point that you barely glance at his house until you’re nearly there. So of course you miss the thing of whopping importance straight ahead, and it has you nearly stumbling over your own feet when you finally notice. His porch light is on. 

Be cool, be cool, for the love of God be cool. Plain House Guy is sitting there in his chair watching you, with no cigarette in sight, as if he has no purpose there but to wait for your sorry ass. Slowly you drag your feet forward until you’re on the square of sidewalk where you’d normally flip off the camera. And then you stop, and stare up at him across the lawn.

In reality, the space of time is no more than ten or so seconds, but it feels like an agonizing forever where you just stand there, hoping he’ll be the one to speak first. He doesn’t.

“Fancy a walk?” you ask in a lighthearted voice, holding up your dog’s leash. You belatedly realize the gesture could be construed as a rude suggestion, and pray he doesn’t make the same mental leap you just did.

Five more excruciating seconds of silence elapse. He pushes himself up from the chair and then turns his back on you, heading straight for his front door. Your heart does a loop de loop this time when instead of going inside, he simply locks up before facing you again, and crosses the porch down to where you’re waiting.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s about to be near you. William is absolutely elated, and you can barely keep him back at a polite distance in his eagerness to inflict love. Plain House Guy stops just a few paces away, and you belatedly take in his clothing. Jeans today, a black tshirt, and, most bizarrely, gloves. Black leather gloves which make no sense given the current weather. That’s the first time you get a little inkling, a tug in the back of your mind that wonders if he might be some kind of mutant. 

But there’s no time to ponder that possibility, because you’re dragging William away and Plain House Guy is silently trailing behind you, because he’s so big that it’s either that, or one of you walks in the grass. Your heart is absolutely galloping, and you’re just scrambling to find something cool to say, or at least something not dumb. 

It’s useless. You have nothing in common with this man besides the address of your mortgages. The longer you wait, the more awkward a conversation starter would feel, so you keep waiting. It’s a horrifying loop of uselessness that gets worse and worse each time around. Normally not having to scan your surroundings would feel like a relief, but you’re so stressed about your current predicament that you can practically feel knots growing under your shoulder blades. 

Why do you fucking do this to yourself? You could have easily walked right past, or better yet, flipped him off in person. Why the fuck did you invite him on a stroll like you’re some garden party socialite, and why the fuck did he say yes?

Still you can’t pass up this opportunity, and refuse to cut it short. You walk in uncomfortable silence the entire distance of the sidewalk, and you walk all the way back. Cars are slowing down a little when they pass by and you can feel their eyes on you, probably wondering why some little idiot like you is hanging out in public with the guy who’s always sent to kill James Bond. 

You finally turn back onto your street, and that’s when the panic really hits. It’s over. You’ve squandered everything again, and this is the last time you’ll ever see him and it will absolutely wreck you. Your steps slow when you get to the juncture between his street and yours, and you look over your shoulder so you can at least get one last view before he turns and walks out of your life once more. 

But he doesn’t. His eyes flick to yours and he keeps walking. He follows you across his street and to the other side, and you finally realize he’s walking you home. You surreptitiously swing glances in his direction every few seconds, but his face is the same. Expressionless. You don’t dare to straight up stare because it would be rude, and you would undoubtedly trip over a raised piece of sidewalk. You do it enough already when you’re just walking normally. 

He stops when you arrive in front of your house, as if he knows exactly where you live. A deep breath, and you open your mouth, and— nothing comes out. 

You’re just standing there in the soft glow of your inadequate garage lights, looking up at him with nothing to say. And then you reach inside and collect your mania, scooping it up carefully a handful at a time until you’re full with it. And you open your mouth again.

“Do you want to come in?” 

He looks blankly at you. “Why?”

“Um… C-coffee?” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He looks around at the very much nighttime sky and the empty street behind him before turning back to you. 

“Okay.”

“It’s okay, you don’t—” 

You both talk at the same time and you don’t register his answer until you’re halfway through yours, when you promptly shut up. Okay. Okay.

Next Part

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Ok, hyper specific concept but. Arcane as a Dofus/Wakfu AU. Best french animation crossover. Let me cook,,

Jinx is half Eliatrope and half Feca. A little disconnected from the rest of the World of Twelve with the knowledge that what she is is so fundamentally alien and rejected by a large portion of the other groups. Strongly defends Eliatrope rights and will fight for them to have their own, independent territory. Really, it's much less about fighting for her people, and much more about her own loneliness. She rejects her feca side, considering it to be part of what ties her to her sister. A wild card and a great engineer like Qilby, and perhaps just as insane as him…

Vi is half Sacrieur and half Feca. She is a goddamn boufbowl PRO. She eats guys like Kriss Lacrass for breakfast. She started out from obligation for money and legal troubles, but she's found genuine success with it. She travels the World of Twelve in search of her long-lost sister, who she rejected upon learning her origins. Is there still a way to apologize, now?

Cait is a Steamer (non-modified). Watches the battlefield from afar, strategizing, but only involving herself when she feels it's the moment to. Comes from a rich family in the main exploration/military float, with her mother being a general close to the Sufukian royals. She's not a fan of boufbowl at all, finding it very distasteful and brutish, but she's always watching when a certain pink-haired Sacrieur is playing….

Ekko is a Sadida. He has a strong link to the Tree of life, and many believe him to be a direct descendant of Sadida himself; he's become a sort of leading figure in the community to make the people's voices heard. What he definitely has is Feca blood, and his engineering skills have become essential in upgrading the rather primitive technology of the people of the forest. He would protect his land and his people with his very life, and dedicates all his time to bettering their day-to-day lives with his creations. But is there anything even he can build to fight against the cataclysmic floods?

Jayce is a Iop because of course he is, look at him. He works as a very successful blacksmith in Bonta, and is often rubbing shoulders with high society. He's created weapons for legendary warriors like Lance Dur and his crew, and the only thing that might surpass his reputation is his award-winning smile, which the monarchy never fails to plaster all over the golden city. But he's starting to become more and more aware of the corruption that has snuck its way into the Bontian higher-ups… will he stay silent to protect his status, or fight for what his heart tells him is right?

Viktor is a Feca of Xelor descent. Very similar to Otomaï in the ‘scientist everyone thinks is a little crazy but is insanely intelligent and powerful’ way. His creations, like his doll automaton Blitzcrank, have made him very influential in the Bonta court; few know he's an orphan from Brâkmar. He was born with a mysterious illness no medicine or magic can cure, but he strictly refuses for others to pity him, studying primal huppermage magic on his own for a solution. Could the answer be hidden in the elemental runes? A true free spirit, he'll create whatever he wants to, even if it doesn't please everyone in the higher circles. He's a non-negligible piece on the board, though it's unclear to say for whom he'll be friend or foe…

Mel is an Huppermage, but hails from Zobal Royalty. Able to switch her visage for any and all discussions, gathering important intel on everyone in the World of Twelve. She doesn't like to flaunt her title of princess or to be associated with her mother's hard regime, often disguising herself to travel freely. She's currently one of the main political figures in Bonta, and takes her job as a leader very seriously. Something is up in the court, and if anyone can find out what it is, it's her…

@ Ankama and @ Fortiche hire me before I sell the script to someone else

[whinlatter]

Hi! I wanted to ask you what's your take on clothes and how wizards dress? I've been thinking about this since the 'gettin ready fot the party' scene. What's a typical wardrobe for typical wizard in te 90's? I always imagined that they just dress like muggles (or maybe the younger generations?), and i when i read the books i always had a hard time imagining them when they are trying to pass as muggles, you know? Like what, they don't understans which clothes are for a specific event? Because Harry says that he could tell thay dress a bit diffrent, like out of place. I mean, it's probably just meant to be funny, but, how isolated are they to not knowwhat muggles wear? I guess it also has to do with how they are raised, i imagine blood-supremacists (is that how it's called?) use only 'robes' (whatever that is, and, also, what's under those robes? like, a thong? do they wear muggle underwear? SO MANY QUESTIONS)

So, i was thinking about this instead of working🤠.

I liiive for that part with tonks' clothes, i even got a litlle "oh i wanna be thereeee and try everything and make everything fit with magic!"

And this how i imagine wizards dress (according to jkr) in the muggle world

ok please know that this image made me howl

thank you for the super interesting question! i have thought a bit about typical wizarding wardrobes and familiarity with muggle fashion among wizards in the 90s as a worldbuilding question in beasts. it's definitely true that wizarding familiarity with muggle dress is another one of those worldbuilding points in canon where the text is unclear and at times inconsistent. i know people have different views on how much wizarding and muggle culture interact, especially in matters of popular culture and fashion. i've heard very convincing arguments that the cultural insularity and physical remove of the wizarding community from muggles would mean most children raised in wizarding households, especially pureblood families like the weasleys, wouldn't know that much about how muggles plausibly dress, what they listen to, or what forms of media are popular (books, music, sports, even less so tv and film).

while i do agree with some aspects of this, in my approach to wizarding youth culture in the 90s, i think young witches and wizards on the left know more about muggle fashion than they do about many other aspects of muggle culture, and that interest and ability to pull off muggle fashion depends on a person's background, politics, gender (because mostly, it does all seem to be about trousers - i reckon pureblood supremacists, as you say, are in their undies most of the time), but especially generation and the politics/patterns of consumption in the time period when they were a teenager. i think your desire and ability to wear muggle clothing varies a lot if you're born in 1950 vs 1980, partly because of changing wizarding politics and the difference between growing up in peacetime vs a world at war, but partly because muggle fashion changes as a market in the second half of the twentieth century.

basically, i think these young progressive millennial wizards would wear more muggle clothing because of changes in muggle fashions/consumption that allow for greater availability and access to muggle clothing by the 1990s, as well as access to information about fashion and trends, and i think they would want to because willingness to embrace muggle fashions would be a way of showing their commitment to their own politics and forms of teenage rebellion that were distinct from those practiced by generations prior living through the first wizarding war. a longer discussion with my reasoning for this is below the cut!

so - in general, in canon, gen X wizards and older (so the youngest of them born in the 1950s thru 70s, and everyone older than that) seem to dress in muggle clothing really only as a protective measure to prevent exposure/risk breaking the statute of secrecy. when bob ogden goes to the gaunts' house in the 1920s, even as the head of a major ministry department dealing with law enforcement, he does a terrible job dressing as a muggle (the bathing suit, pls bob, i beg). if you look at all the wizards trying to dress as muggles for the world cup, it's clear that the adoption of muggle clothing, for most wizards, is a strategic, defensive move more than anything else. in PoS, mcgonagall - herself a progressive woman in her politics - disdains wizards who are celebrating the end of the first wizarding war by celebrating in the street "not even wearing muggle clothes", which she thinks is reckless and risks wizards' exposure (love when mcgonagall dresses like a muggle briefly at grimmauld place in OotP and it freaks harry out lol). there is no enthusiasm or interest in it - there's just conformity for self-preservation.

for that reason, i think you can see why those on the wizarding right in the mid-twentieth century, especially those drawn to pureblood and wizarding supremacy, would come to see dressing like a muggle as a disgrace, a sign of submission to a lesser people, in a way that would become extremely loaded in the years preceding and during the first wizarding war (1970-1981). when harry sees snape in the flashback to his first trip on the hogwarts express in the early 70s, he notices snape is already wearing his wizard robes very early on in the journey, which harry's narration supposes is because snape's happy to be out of his 'dreadful Muggle clothes' (DH). those muggle clothes were a sign both of snape's poverty but also his outsider status in muggle tinworth: special, because he's a wizard, but otherwise socially inferior to other children in every other way. snape, of course, is raised in a wizarding household with knowledge of magic but has been wearing muggle clothing to avoid detection for his entire childhood, in ways that imbue the wearing of wizarding clothes and casting off of muggle garms with great political significance. in canon, we see that the vast majority of wizards, while not death eaters or rabid pureblood supremacists, tend to be small c conservatives in their view of wizarding cultural norms and tend to think they're better than muggles even if they don't necessarily want to go out and kill them all. for that reason, they remain loyal to wizarding traditions, and continue to wear robes, partly as a symbol of their proud cultural identity as wizards, in ways that they would likely only cling to as their society moves towards open war over muggle-wizard relations (as you say, robes seem to be worn without trousers underneath, so most wizards are just wearing underwear under their robes and going about their day. slay, honestly).

so, if the right hate muggle clothes, then the willingness of gen z+ wizards to engage with and adopt aspects of muggle attire and culture might map onto a progressive political outlook and a disavowal of wizards-first ideology. but a person's politics alone doesn't mean they know how to pull off muggle clothing, and in the years of brewing tension then open war, most wouldn't bother risking their lives to be caught wearing a pair of bell bottoms. arthur weasley is the best example of this. arthur is theoretically interested in muggle clothes because he's a progressive man who disavows wizard supremacy and believes in principles of tolerance towards muggles. now, he's not good at knowing how to pair a plausible muggle outfits. this is because he still lives at a reasonable remove from wizards, he's extremely busy with a demanding job and seven children to be staying up to date with changing fashions, and at the end of the day still spends most of his week among wizards in a civil service that demands a certain level of professional conformity. but i think it's also because arthur weasley is born in 1950 and therefore spent his young adulthood trying to raise a young family during a war. arthur instead channels his politics into support for muggle protection legislation rather than in wearing muggle clothing, which he might see as a limited individual act of symbolic resistance that would put his family at risk and also cost time and money he doesn't have. (if we look at the marauders, as an example of a progressive bunch in the interim generation between arthur and arthur's children, especially someone like sirius with greater financial freedom, it's very telling that sirius shows his politics off through riding a cool muggle motorbike and sticking up muggle soft porn on his bedroom walls, but not noticeably through fashion, as far as harry's photographs show).

but if you look at arthur's children, progressive wizarding millennials, it seems like more confident familiarity with muggle fashions and culture is generally more common. i think we can include someone like tonks in this, raised in a mixed marriage household by a blood traitor and a muggleborn dad. harry says that the weasley children are better than their parents at dressing like muggles. when harry sees bill weasley he doesn't think 'this is a man who looks like he's done a bad job dressing for a muggle rock concert' he thinks 'this is a man who looks like he could be going to a rock concert'. this suggests to me a difference, say, between bill and his dad. arthur likes muggles and believes engaging with muggle culture is important, but doesn't really succeed at it, but his eldest son manages to marry both a political commitment to embracing muggle culture with an ability to dress plausibly as a muggle so much so that he's able to ape a subculture in a way his dad doesn't really try to often and has never succeeded at.

why? i think there's a few things going on. one is that the majority wizarding millennials grew up in peacetime, after the fall of voldemort, in the 1980s and 90s, where wearing muggle clothing was less likely to get you killed and more likely to symbolise an individual act of rebellion against more low-level societal norms and cultural pressures rather than against a murderer in a mask. this, plus having the time and disposable income to follow muggle fashions more closely, as well as the opportunity to access about muggle fashions and celebrity styles, has a big part to play. bill weasley has more time and ability than his dad to stay up to date about muggle clothing tastes, as do his siblings. characters who went to hogwarts in the 80s and 90s also did so at the peak of a mass print consumer culture (one that was already on an upward ascent since the 60s) that was designed to be be accessible, inexpensive and create an appetite for following trends among consumers, and that could very easily be of appeal to progressive young witches and wizards. this is why in beasts i have ginny know about the spice girls and their iconic lewks from a copy of smash hits magazine because that seemed like the kind of inexpensive and highly portable source of information about muggle culture that a muggleborn or halfblood student (or even a pureblooded student with a parent with a progressive interest in muggle clothing) would be able to take to school and pass around a dormitory. on the gender point, too - donning muggle clothes, especially the more permissive and sexy clothing of the 80s and 90s would be a great way for a rebellious young woman raised in a wizarding household - eg. tonks or ginny - to stick it to the conservative gender norms in the wizarding world.

moreover, the changes in fashion as a market in the muggle world would make a certain base style of comfortable and inexpensive muggle dress much more readily available to younger witches and wizards than ever before. for kids born in the late 70s/80s, changes in muggle clothes consumption - aka. the globalisation of mass factory production of textiles, especially garments, and the early forms of fast fashion we now recognise today - would also have an impact on the ready availability of certain basic forms of cheap muggle fashion, including the ubiquity of cheap jeans and trainers/sneakers, that emphasise comfort and ease of daily wear at a low cost point produced in such high volumes such that if you wanted a pair of jeans, you could easily get your hands on one. this would have made a plausible muggle clothing a lot more accessible (there's only so wrong you can go if you're just wearing jeans, t-shirt, a jumper, and a pair of trainers, really), and explain why the clothes harry wears in the muggle world don't seem all that different from the clothes he wears in the wizarding world (admittedly usually under his robes), or indeed that different from what ron seems to wear most of the time. passing as a muggle in 1920 with little effort - à la bob ogden - would be a lot harder than doing so in 1990.

so - yeah. that's my take! i think it's mostly about generation, but also about politics, about war and peace, a bit about gender and a lot about capitalism. i hope this helps!

[airshipvalentine]

I have seen you post about it forever and yet I still haven’t been able to parse what it is or what it’s about. What’s Fremont County?

HAHAHAHA i was wondering how long it would take for someone to ask this!!

fremont county monster hunters is a monster of the week rpg campaign i've been playing sporadically for the past 2.5 years. (and when i say sporadically i mean we've played 4 arcs in about 6 or 7 ~6 hour sessions over the past two and a half years). and because of how long we go without playing (and because we are moderately obsessive people), we get reeealll hiatus-brained in the interim. i am irrevocably obsessed with it.

the premise is that the party is a group of people who can see through the Glare (like the Mist from pjo), who all attend fremont county community college in *mumble mumble* pacific northwest america. i always imagine it as northern california but i honestly don't know if there's a more specific location?

there's a prophecy involving the world ending in fire, and the five people who are there for it. (presumably to stop it, but the prophecy is pretty vague and the only person who has access to it recently lost their clairvoyance) but before that happens, we fight vampires and stuff

that's the short version. i'm gonna talk more about it though bc i can talk about this campaign forever

i play shay song, photo/journalism major first, reluctant Chosen One second. he found a meteorite sword in the woods a few weeks after his dad died under mysterious circumstances, and he's been fighting monsters ever since! he's down to earth and moderately neurotic, and desperately wants to just be normal. (sucks for him though, because that is straight up not going to happen)

also in the party are:

shamsiel, the divine. she's a cherubim sent by The Bureaucracy, a consortium of angels that's essentially a corporate office. she's been tasked with protecting shay and ensuring the prophecy comes to pass. she's a fish out of water who doesn't exactly know how to interact with people, and she's devoted to her cause above all else. i talk about her and shay most on here bc her player is also on tumblr (hiiiii sofie)

levi, the monstrous. a obnoxious rich boy and literal demon. he's sent by his demonic father to do ?????? carry out his demonic bidding? it's unclear. he likes to hang around the party and make passive-aggressive comments and be helpful when it's convenient for him. he's also shay's roommate! they had a homoerotic streak going that was probably a thinly veiled excuse for my partner an i to flirt with each other in the most roundabout way possible before we started dating. he also kidnapped a beloved npc in the most recent session! we're gonna beat him up

anna baker, the spellslinger. absolute sweetheart and heart of the party. she started learning magic and took on a superhero moniker to fight monsters and crime! (<- this doesn't come up nearly as much as it should, btw. i want a tales of ba sing se episode about cold turkey asap) oh yeah, that moniker was "cold turkey". her catchphrase is "you're about to quit crime... Cold Turkey." she's the best.

claire fitz, the mundane. currently in the "denial" stage of realizing she's a lesbian. she's a culinary arts major who carries around a fireaxe. she's kind of weirded out that she's part of this prophecy, but she's very capable and helps about as best she can. she's also lying to all her high school friends! they all think she's going to yale right now! what's that about???

and mila, the seeker! former cheerleader, constant conspiracy theory enthusiast. she's 100% convinced that aliens are real and will do her best to make sure you believe too. psyched beyond belief that she was right and monsters are real. will hold your hands and say "i don't need you to believe. i just need you to trust me and open your mind to the possibilities." kind of miffed that she isn't part of the apocalyptic prophecy, but it's fine.

also, notable npcs!

don powers, shay's former soccer nemesis. business major. kind of a dick, but we're trying to reform him. buried the hatchet with shay recently due to, uh, a common enemy forming. canonically in love with alder as of arc 4.

alder caine, don's roommate. my favorite. got into some shady deals with demons, and now they're hunting her down! levi kidnapped her in the most recent session!

nin, former clairvoyant. elected to give up their powers recently, with aid from the bureaucracy. it was sus as fuck! also dating anna. they're cute

there have been four arcs so far

from rush till prom, the vampire frat arc

the vengeful spirit stick, the cheerleader ghost arc

the switching hour, the doppelganger bottle episode

the deck of many flings, the tarot/love spell episode

ok that's the broad overview. i could talk about this for hours but i will leave it at that :) there's an in-character twitter feed i made though

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

Been thinking about a postgame scenario that goes in a direction I don't think canon would ever take in a million years, but like... I think it could be really compelling...

And that's the idea of Chrom becoming Plegia's king after Grima's defeat. And specifically giving up his claim to Ylisse's throne to do it (leaving it to Lucina when she's old enough).

Because here's the thing... The game ends with Grima's defeat/Robin's return in the sacrifice ending. It doesn't address what happens to Plegia at all, and while I personally maintain that Aversa is the most qualified candidate to rule, her canon ending provides that she goes back to the village she was born in. So, fine. Let's give her that.

But SOMEONE has to do SOMETHING because realistically, Plegia is in dire straits. Validar, the king and the leader of the Grimleal, is dead. He gave, like, ALL of Plegia's resources to the Ylissean League (well, okay, we don't know how much, if any, he left in reserve, but... He really needed Walhart gone and it's not like he had any reason to think that anyone would need resources once Grima was running around, so... chances are good there's little to nothing left in the wake of the averted apocalypse). And the population has been utterly devastated, because not only did people (exactly how many is unclear, but presumably it took more than just a couple) have to sacrifice themselves to renew the fell dragon's power, but Grima was also spawning Grimleal onto their back at the final battle. Their losses are so immense...

So first of all, Chrom is definitely responsible for taking all their resources and setting half of them on fire (Now to be fair, Flavia and Basilio are also responsible, but... Idk, I kinda feel like they'd bicker with each other over who has to do the crappy parts of the job and then agree that they should just ask Chrom if he can do it. Like "Haha, if you didn't want to deal with thieves ambushing the Longfort to steal construction supplies, you shouldn't have gone and beaten me at the last tournament!" "Oh, shut up. Let's see if Chrom can send his thief friend over to talk these guys down. Or kill them, whichever." I mean, Chrom is always going to be their guy who knows a guy.) There's just no way Chrom would abandon the surviving Plegians who need help anyway, but especially not when he knows the war with Valm would've ended before it could begin without them.

Of course, there's the historical hostility between Ylisse and Plegia to consider, but... If anyone's protesting, it's probably the Ylisseans. Because the survivng Plegians, uh... probably were never Grima's most devoted followers in the first place (if you really wanted to give Grima your life, you'd rush to the front of the line at the Dragon's Table, right?) and even if they used to consider themselves true Grimleal, the religion's leadership is destroyed, and—for the purpose of this scenario, I'm considering it post-sacrifice ending—the fell dragon is gone and not coming back. These people narrowly avoided becoming Grima's breakfast or Grima's meat shields. They all almost certainly know someone who wasn't as lucky. And the one who saved them... Well, it was Chrom, wasn't it? Because he believed in humanity enough to challenge the concept of fate, a fate that the people of Plegia were surely taught was inescapable. Despite their history with Ylisse, it's hardly unreasonable for them to see Chrom as a savior to them specifically. The second coming of the Hero-King who ought for the lives of all humans, really.

And yeah, I'm going here... Chrom is Marth's descendant. Marth was Altean. Former Altea is is modern Plegia, so technically, the people can argue that he's actually theirs.

Doesn't it sort of make sense, even? Plegia is ruined, the god to whom the theocracy was devoted killed. "What we need is to restore the glory of ancient Altea!" And who better to help them than Chrom, Marth's successor in blood and in spirit?

But Chrom would frown and say no. Of course he's going to help them restore their country to prosperity—or at least to independent, peaceful functioning. But king? Sheesh, that's going too far. Come on guys, you don't really want that. Besides, he's already ruling Ylisse...

Except, he's not ruling it as Exalt. At least, not at first he's not. He forswore the title when he started his rule and in canon he is only official welcomed as Exalt after Grima's defeat. But what if he just... continued to not accept it. It's not like he ever wanted to be Exalt. He only has the right to rule because Emmeryn died—because he failed to protect her. It has nothing to do with any of his successes.

But if the Plegians made him their king, then it would be because of his own accomplishments.

And in a way I also can't help but find it heartwarming, because it was the Plegian people who got him to truly understand Emmeryn's ideals. He wanted peace, he wanted to follow her path, but it wasn't until the Plegians took her sacrifice for the peace offer it was and refused to continue fighting Ylisse that Chrom was finally able to comprehend what it meant that Emmeryn believed that all people wanted the same thing, that peace is something for everyone and not just purehearted saints like her who would never hurt a fly. So wouldn't it be sweet to expand on that existing connection? For the people who once bore a grudge against him and his nation to say, actually, our home is your home and you belong with us... For Chrom to reach back and decide that these are his people and that he will protect them...

Especially because that's what he's always done for Robin. Your father doesn't get to determine your path for you, your past doesn't dictate your future, you always have a place beside me because we are two halves of a greater whole. This AU is definitely a chrobin AU, because when Robin gets back I want them to rule at his side (after all, I do have feelings about Grima's loyalty to a people who have been praying to them to end their suffering for a thousand years).

Now, I do think that Chrom would never leave Ylisse while little Lucina was still growing up, but... Honestly it would probably take quite some time to establish a castle for Plegia's new ruler anyway (especially if they go super hard on the Altean revival theme and want it to be IN former Altean territory, which has become the "border wastes" and undoubtedly needs some help... But EVERYWHERE in Plegia needs help, so what better time to give the land some attention?) So when Lucina is an adult she can take over as Ylisse's true Exalt, and Chrom can focus his efforts on the other side of the border. I think he'd still be awkward about the whole thing, approaching it like "Well, I guess I'm here if you all still want me..." but Robin's there to give him confidence and the people there are SO excited for their hero to come and live with them and together they all usher in a new era of peace and prosperity as Ylisse and Plegia themselves become like two halves of a greater whole.

[my-mt-heart]

Where's Daryl?

This was very difficult to write. It opened up a lot of old wounds for me, so if you read this, thank you. If my thoughts on this show haven’t been your cup of tea, that’ll most definitely be the case here as well, so maybe just move along. ***Trigger warning for discussion of childhood abuse***

For about a year and a half, Caryl fans asked Where's Carol? as a pointed reminder that the spinoff was always meant to be hers just as much as it was Daryl’s. Even though she's back now, her fans didn't always know she would be (nor did the EP's 🙄) so her absence during filming and promotion of the first season was a heavy burden to bear. The irony is, though “Daryl Dixon” sticks out like a sore thumb in that ridiculous font, he's the one who feels absent sometimes, as if important parts of his character development were lost when he washed ashore while other parts come and go as the plot demands.

Zabel talks about swapping Daryl's iconic vest for "old man" suspenders as a matter of pragmaticism i.e. they were the only clean clothes available. Norman says it was a choice he wanted for some unclear reason, but neither of them seem to consider the intelligence of their audience, particularly Carylers, to see it more symbolically. The costume change is our visual reminder that Daryl isn't himself. In some scenes he's chattier than he should be, far more trusting of strangers with personal details, and far more theatrical. Then in others, the differences are even more alarming. He calls a child cruel names, puts his hands on him, and feels conflicted about returning home to his family, to the woman he said he loved.

I mentally prepared myself for retcons, but the one I'm struggling with a lot right now, which I haven't seen anyone bring up yet, is the retcon of Daryl’s childhood abuse. Daryl tells Isabelle that he and Merle had to take apart engines and if they couldn't put them back together, their dad wouldn't let them have dinner. It's a milder version of the stories the scars on his back tell us, though I can buy Daryl omitting the worst of it like he did in the pilot. What I can't buy is Daryl saying his dad was "hardly ever" around and emphasizing it as the main source of his pain growing up. It feels contradictory for one thing. When we see Daryl's scars for the first time in S3 of the flagship show, it's implied Daryl was trapped in an environment that enabled his dad to physically hurt him often. Presumably that's why Merle felt guilty about leaving him behind. The revelation also seems like it's only intended to highlight the consequences of an absent father figure, explaining Daryl's fear of not making it home, but also justifying his "close" bond with Laurent. The best stories allow a character's emotions to drive the plot, but this just does the opposite, twisting Daryl's backstory to fit the current narrative.

Daryl's backstory made so many people root for him in the first place. It allowed Carol to see him when nobody else in the group could. It helped me process my own childhood trauma. The ways I got to watch him overcome his violent past gave me hope that masculinity could mean more than what I grew up around—more than anger, shouting, and swinging fists. Daryl taught me that men could still be tender, kind, and loving even if those closest to them in their childhood never showed them how. I imagine Daryl's representation has been important to boys and men too, specifically to those who were afraid to speak up about their abuse because of the stigma around it. The implications of this scene may not be easily noticeable to some, but they are to me, and I'm deeply offended by it.

I’ve talked at length on this blog about how it takes a village to make or break a show, though it’s usually the showrunner who has to answer for it. I've already mentioned that I do blame Zabel. His knowledge of French history has no value when he obviously didn’t bother to study Daryl’s history aside from reading old scripts and (maybe) watching the first couple seasons. That's incredibly irresponsible and terrifying for S2. I also blame AMC for their short-sightedness and their determination to save face no matter how much it costs them. I blame Gimple for his pettiness. I blame Greg Nicotero for his insensitivity to Melissa and her fans.

As for Norman, he's hinted very loudly that he wants credit for the show being "different," so in theory he should be prepared to take some of the blame too. I can't name all of the decisions he specifically made, but no matter what they were, I can blame him for not speaking up about the shipbaiting, Daryl's wavering loyalty, and the childhood abuse retcon, all things that hurt his character and hurt the fans. I genuinely don't know what else to think other than Norman didn't give either the consideration they deserve. The show has been treated like nothing more than a vanity project, and it’s unfortunate when you think about what he and AMC had to gain from the original Caryl spinoff.

I love the version of Daryl I knew before this whole mess, I love Carol, and I love the relationship between them. I want them to have the story they deserve in S2. At the moment, I don’t know how to reconcile that with the agony I feel over the damages to half of my two favorite characters. If Carol is going to cross the Atlantic ocean to find Daryl, I want him to be the man who threatened to punch holes in all the boats so she couldn’t leave and the man who told her he loved her before—ironically—leaving himself. I need to hear Daryl admit he hasn't been completely honest with the French characters, not because he was afraid of getting too close to them, but because he didn't want to face the pain of potentially living without Carol and TF. I need to hear him say that he can't be Laurent's father, which is okay because the kid has plenty of other family to take care of him. I need to hear him say, out loud, that he could never love another woman romantically because he's already in love with Carol. That's what I need to feel better about this story. That's where my investment is. I feel like Carol is safe in Melissa's hands, but I don't feel like I have anyone to rely on for Daryl. That’s a big problem because their stories are so intertwined. There’s no Daryl without Carol nor Carol without Daryl. If you ruin one of them, you risk ruining both of them, and that’s a possibility I really can’t bear.

[chatterkat]

Saw you in a dream

Are you who you seem?

Was it always in the cards for me to be aimless?

No direction

Nothing pulling me down from the sky

It seems like I always get too high

Ruby in a bit of shock from the vision she got from her mother, questions who she really was. She lied, she wasn’t perfect. Ruby’s been idealizing her mother her whole life , and been trying to be just like her, but Ruby has also struggled with what that means for a long time as well. She thought she needed to be like her mom, but how she doesn’t know what to think.

Oh, the air is cold

I don't know how to breathe

I'm begging, can you

Guide my way out

Of this place?

Ruby wants answers, but she isn’t going to get them from the person she most wants them from.

Red like roses fills my dreams

Calling back to the previous red like roses, we know that this refers to Ruby’s nightmares of her mother’s bloody demise. However it’s also again just representing the nightmare that is Ruby’s struggle with her own identity.

Open wide

You were born to hypnotize them all

They said their prayers

(Can you, can you)

Can you hear me up there?

Now this is interesting! It sounds like a response from Summer. Much like how she responses in Red like Roses II. In that song it’s unclear whether it’s a Summer from elsewhere feeling those regrets (I think there is surely a good chance she had become like the hound) or if it was an imagined response by Ruby. It was almost ghostly, like the dead trying to answer the living but unable to actually communicate with each other.

It’s possible it is Ruby still in this lyric since the can you hear me up there part, might make sense from Ruby having fallen down though the world talking back up towards Remnant. However the other lyrics in this section don’t make sense as much sense then. I think it could easily be Summer again speaking from wherever she is dead or alive? Perhaps she is part of the tree and that is what she means by up there.

Open wide might be a reference to Sky is Falling(as it may be a song for the hound) as the opposite of what the song there says which is to “close your eyes my friend” (and the hound is a SEW so…)

Anyway the usage of the word hypnotize is interesting. It’s not just their silver eyes that hypnotize, it’s their whole self. They may hypnotize their enemies(“they said their prayers”), but also If it’s indeed Summer talking about Ruby, then she has certainly hypnotized the world with her message given what we see in Vacuo. Ruby has that spark that charisma that gets people to follow her. It works too if it were a Ruby to Summer lyric in the sense it could represent Ruby’s idealization of Summer, but again it makes more sense IMO to be from Summer to Ruby.

Alternatively it’s Ruby talking about herself trying to hype herself up. She could be saying “can you hear me up there” as a threat to the cat or to Salem, that’s she’s gonna get them, but it seems too early in the song for that confident conclusion about herself

What survives

After all the dust is gone?

Were you there 'til the end?

(The end)

Were you at least called a friend?

These seem to directly call back to the volume 7 song Until the End which seems to be about Ruby(either from her POV or Summer’s) declaring she would be there until the end. It seems to refer to Ruby giving up briefly this volume with the tea. Would she be called a friend by others after giving up?

Or it could be Ruby questioning if her mom was there until the end, if she was a good person a friend in the end?

Otherside,

Did you mean to make me half or whole?

Will I ever be

(complete?)

When will I become all of me?

This is obviously back to Ruby’s perspective, as she questions whether she can ever truly be herself or always in her mother’s shadow. Ruby questions “otherside” and I’m unclear if that mean the otherside where her mother is or if otherside refers to the Ever After. Where the Ever After has both broken her and pushed her to become something new.

Guide my way out

Of this place

I can't define

Would it even be enough

To change my mind?

Your memory everlasting

At war with my foolish pride

What is left?

I know it's you and I

When I look inside

I'll be who you were

And I'll be even more

Ruby looks into herself and now realizes her idolization of her mother doesn’t gel with reality and her “foolish pride” of trying to live up to a standard that more illusion than reality. Interestingly she realizes she still carries this will or memory of her mother, but she no longer wants to be just like her, but rather both her and something greater…herself. She chooses herself.

A moment of quiet is all it takes

To reclaim a life and a promise made

I am the reflection of who prevails

I'm what inspired the fairytale

The emblem symbolizes the promise made, which Ruby never said what it was when she traded it away, but I have the feeling she thought it was a promise to come back, but in reality it was “I love you, just the way you are” Ruby reclaims the promise, hearing that echoed again from her mom is what let her finally be able to to choose herself. So Ruby also reclaims the emblem when she returns from the tree. I also think it symbolizes that part where she is who her mom was but more. Summer surrenders the emblem, and Ruby is truly defining it as hers now.

A moment of quiet is all it takes

To reclaim a life and a promise made

I am the reflection of who prevails

I'm what inspired the fairytale

(I'm what inspired the fairytale)

I think what is meant by this like is that Ruby is now being the one that would inspire a fairytale, she is being who she wants to be finally, and defining her own story her own fairytale instead of just living through others(her Moms, Alex’s)

Guide my way out

(I'll be free)

Of this place

(I'll escape it, I will guide my way out)

Guide my way out

Of this place

In the end Ruby will guide herself out, with this new understanding of herself and her mother. Her mother still helped guide her in the end with her promise and her truth that broke Ruby’s image of her, but now Ruby is breaking away from that and doing it her way.

If you got his far thanks for reading my analysis. Let me know what you think! I’ll be doing a rewatch soon if the series and hopefully more song analysis so stay tuned!

[1moreff-creator]

Happy Birthday, Veronika Grebenshchikova!

I have a confession to make. Despite my account being themed after Min and having made several posts analyzing her... I may like Veronika just as much, if not more than Min. Ever since her introduction, this Horror Fanatic has brought a smile to my face every time she comes on screen. Literally. Whenever I see her, my face immediately splits into the dumbest grin, I just adore her far too much. There's a lot we still haven't seen about her, but in honor of her birthday, I shall give a few of the reasons I love this freak to the death, and make a sort of birthday playlist as a gift.

+The main motivation for everything she does is boredom, as stated in her conversation with Teruko on Ch 2 Ep 7. Her profile states she took on her talent to seek thrills.

+This obsession with entertainment twists her personality quite a bit. “I don't care about morals. I don’t care whether people get hurt or whether they die. I just need to be entertained”. She’s honestly such a queen.

+Her twisted morals lead to her hanging out with people based on how entertaining they are instead of, like, normal standards for hanging out with people. Arturo is example number one.

"If you become more and more irredeemable, then I'll only love you more. I want to hear all about those horrible things you did with no justification".

She would be a standard Danganronpa fan, is what I get from this line.

+She has claimed she “used to be an outdoors person”, but apparently isn’t anymore. Whether she simply got bored of the outdoors, or there was something more traumatic at play, is still unclear.

+Her profile states she likes skateboarding. I adore this fact. Why there aren’t piles of fanart where she’s skateboarding, I don’t know. Get on it, people! /j. Unless?

(Also, I like to headcanon that she used to skateboard with Whit in their time at Hope’s Peak, but she was actually really bad at it. She constantly fell on her face, but always got back up laughing her ass off)

+The upper part of her dress is black and white, colors associated with the Tragedy and horror in the DRDT universe. This is stated by Veronika herself in Ch 2 Ep 2. However, this color scheme also kickstarts what I like to call:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mastermind Bingo! Ft Veronika

>She wears black and white, like Monokuma and MonoTV.

>She gets bored easily, and it drives her actions, like Junko and especially Izuru.

>She constantly psychoanalizes people, again like Junko.

>She has childish tendencies (read: likes the playground), which can be connected back to the Warriors of Hope and Monaca.

>"If I wore contacts, a wig, and different clothes, would you recognize me?"

So, thinking a bit like Tsumugi there.

>"That's why I liked horror for such a long time. The genre seeks to elicit base, negative emotions out of you, like fear, disgust, or sadness... That's exciting"

She is one step removed from outright claiming she likes despair! What is this?!

Also, liked, horror? As in, past tense? Is that implying she doesn't feel satisfied with horror anymore?

>"But after a while, fiction is only fiction..."

You look me in the eyes and tell me that's not something Tsumugi would say. She has aspects of every main-line mastermind! I wouldn't be surprised if she starts taking notes from other fangans, I'm half expecting her to start talking about "the resurrection of Divine Luck" or something.

>And that's not even mentioning things like her quote for Mai; "A girl who didn't foresee the consequences". Right, because Veronika would be the one to get the most ominous quote after MonoTV's "It's all your fault".

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be clear, I don’t actually think Veronika’s the mastermind. I just find it funny how incredibly suspicious she is, to the point of not being suspicious in the slightest.

+CW for self-harm for this one. It is heavily theorized her secret is "You only took on your talent to distract from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun". After all, she is one of the only remaining characters who covers her wrists and most of her body, and doing something like that "for fun"... sort of only fits Veronika, as far as we know.

+Her secret quote is: "Once something is broken, it can never be pieced together in quite the same way again. The same goes for people." Whether she's talking about herself or someone else is unclear.

+The recent Q&A confirmed the following:

•Veronika is pansexual! Congrats on getting her, pansexual community! A true win for you.

•The earing she wears (a small green triangle) was given to her by her “dearest friend”. This friend's name is apparently Alyssa Belyaeva, taking the dubious honor of having a weirder last name than even Grebenshchikova.

•Her favorite color is white with other colors, since it makes the others stand out more, and her least favorite is white by itself, since it’s “soulless”. That’s… huh. Is that meant to mean anything? Could it be she sees herself as the color white; uninteresting and boring on her own, but helps other people seem more interesting by association? Am I reading too much into this? Probably, but that’s sort of my shtick at this point.

•Her favorite ice cream flavor is funfetti. Based.

•She smells strongly like women’s perfume. I guess, why not, right? Notably, Hu smells like women’s perfume as well, but it’s apparently fainter. Doubt it means anything, but it’s there.

+Veronika can do no wrong. This is an objective truth. Slay queen (but, wait to like, chapter five. I really, really hope you don’t die at three).

And finally, like I did with Min, here's a few songs which remind me of Veronika! And as you're gonna see, my music taste sort of really aligns with the kind of songs one would assign Veronika.

CW, some of these can include topics like murder and extremely disturbing imagery.

-The Chattering Lack of Common Sense, by Ghost & Pals

-End World Normophaty, by Ghost & Pals

-Hide And Seek (English cover by Lizz Robinet), original by Ho-Ong-i

-Corrosion, by Riproducer / RIP

-Chronic Wasting Disease, by Riproducer / RIP

-The Spider and the Kitsune-Like Lion, by MASA Works (CW for this one in particular, it's really fucked up. Cannibalism, torture, necrophilia, etc)

-Hi-fi Evolution Theory, by Keu Studio (probably her character playlist song)

-What Gave it Away, by Riproducer / RIP

-Matryoshka, by Hachi

-Honey I'm Home, by Ghost & Pals

-Entomologists, by Ghost & Pals

-The Experiment, by Steampianist

-The Boy who Went to Hell, by SHUDDER

-Secrets of Wysteria, by Steampianist (CW, this one is based on real events of violent crimes)

-The Dismemberment Song, by Blue Kid

-Mad Hatter, by Melanie Martinez

-Uncanny, by Ghost & Pals

-God-ish, by PinocchioP

-I Can't Fix You, by The Living Tombstone (Veronika loves FNAF, you can’t convince me otherwise)

-Always Wanted, by MiatriSs - SayMaxWell

-The Red Means I Love You, by Madds Buckley

-Already Dead, by KittenSneeze

Alright, I'll stop there. With the final song:

-Happy Birthday! (but, like, a creepy cover or something)

[the-voldsoy]

My current thoughts about Remnants (pod), as of ep10

(a disjointed list of theories, thoughts and opinions that have been bouncing around in my head and need to put down somewhere. A lot of this will likely be disproven when e11 comes out.)

(under the cut because there's a lot)

First of all, Sir. I don't think he knows what he's supposed to be doing, really, either. Or rather, he knows the what but not the why. He might be afraid, and that might be for a lot of reasons. It might be for what they're doing together, it might be for A. It might be something else entirely.

I also have half a theory working right now that Sir was either made with the First And Last Place[which I will be calling TFALP from now] (has always been there, doesn't remember anything from before or why), or was a previous Apprentice. In this case, he could be lying to the Apprentice so that he doesn't try to replace Sir in turn.

Sir is not human, we know that. He might have been, once, but he's not anymore. He seems to have some sort of magic(?) that can make A forget things, and possibly has wings (flapping noise in e6). He also may-or-may-not be something of a biblical angel, in the sense that his true form cannot be comprehended by A without his mind exploding.

The Apprentice. He is there to give (unbiased?) judgement about something he doesn't understand. That is his purpose. His memory is wiped every time he gets too close to understanding what TFALP actually is, although it is unclear whether it is because Sir has an ulterior motive or just because A's mind can't handle it all. I'm leaning more towards the "understanding TFALP causes eldritch madness" idea though, it makes more sense with the evidence we have.

It is possible that neither Sir nor A are actual people, but rather constructs made by a larger force, or simply just concepts given bodies

The code of capitalised letters from the episode captions so far is: HE IA M OR EOR LESS MST HAS ILTOT [spaces separate episodes]. The only clue we have been given is a picture of 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner from Eira. I think this means that it will be able to decode/be separated into words in multiple ways, rather than the words themselves having double meanings, but I have no confirmation for this.

However, I also think it's multiple different codes(?), being separated by every time A is "reset". (look, just hear me out).

The "HEIAMOREORLESS" part came ep1-6, and the "new" A is shown in e7. If we take this as a separation point in the code, then this part reads "He I AMore Or Less" (Am, more). This would make sense in the context of the show itself and other clues we've been given.

But the next part (ep7-10) can't be put into any obvious words (yet). "MSTHASILTOT". This needs to be decoded differently, possibly with an actual cipher.

I don't know, we don't have the whole code yet so it shouldn't make any sense yet so I'm probably completely wrong but you see my point I hope?

So far the morse code reads: Apprentice / reshelve or discard / the question / is not what / it may / first / / appear to / be if indeed / it appears / to be /

I reckon the next parts will say "anything at all". Not a huge theory or anything, I just wanted to guess. However, this does tell us that there is more about "Reshelve or discard" than is immediately obvious. I have so many thoughts about that though, it needs its own post.

The TL;DR of what I think right now is that yes, it is reincarnation, but it's not clear which option makes the person in the Remnant reincarnated -- I think it's the discard option, because reshelve implies that the ones on the shelf can always be moved around but the discarded ones are gone (living a life?).

I am not confident in that though

But if that is the case, then which is worse?

I haven't thought about it very much yet, but all of these Remnants are going to be connected in some way, I just haven't figured out why. It could just be that the show is more fun (on a meta level) when you have to break out the red string, but the fact that Sir seemed to have some sort of investment with e6 makes me think it's more than that.

Or, rather, what was so important about e6? Why did he care so much that A read it? Did it reveal too much too soon, or did Sir have some sort of emotional investment or involvement with it?

If Sir has an involvement with some of the Remnants implies...I don't know what it implies to be honest. That he was a person once? That he does, in fact, feel emotions? That he has read the Remnants? We already know he seen all the Remnants, he's told us that outright, and he says he doesn't remember "the way that you [A] do" (e10). Is Sir God?

That sounds like a joke but I am making faint connections in my mind ok I'll explain that when they're clear enough to see

I think it would be kind of cute if Sir just sort of...went to a jumble sale and bought a bunch of trinkets, and that's why they're all related

Someone in the Discord said those dust-sprite-things might be discarded Remnants also. That doesn't help my theory at all I just wanted to mention it because those Dust Sprites and the letters from e6 and TFALP itself all mean something but I don't know what

When I was reading through the e6 transcript, I forgot that A says he thinks there's something else in there with them. Not sure if he meant the Dust, or TFALP itself, or the Remnants, or something else entirely, but it does intrigue me.

If it is something else, it could be an antagonist of a sort. There seems to be something working against Sir, creating the "paper trails" and showing A e6, which Sir was not happy about. But why was Sir not aware of it happening? He acts as though he should have seen it?? Could it have been left there by A previously, as a clue so that he could try and remember and find answers again?

Why does Sir care so much about A? He apparently has to regularly erase his memories, would it not be easier to get a different random person each time? The fact that it's always the same person makes me think that A was created for specifically this purpose, but he also seems more...human? than Sir, understanding sarcasm and jokes and empathy and that sort of thing. Is A supposed to be a representation of all of humanity? So that he can be a fair judge? Sir does say that A always has the job (e7)

And Sir says that "Things will not change, not until I see fit" in that episode. This implies that he has some level of control over TFALP and the Remnants and how it all works. So the question is, why? Why can he control it, why is it how it is?

Or maybe Sir cares about him because of familiarity, he's gotten used to and fond of A being around, he doesn't want to have to replace him. But that then raises the question of why he kept him around to start, before he got used to him, and it circles back round. Maybe they were both human, once, and they knew each other, and now only Sir remembers for whatever reason.

[dysfunctional-doodle]

Hello, I'm an aspiring fanfic writer and I'm just asking: how do you do it? Like, how do you get the confidence and motivation to write? I'm so worried about making and posting my work after spending hours on it for it to be hated. Another question, how do you write non-dialogue parts so well? I feel like I can write dialogue well, but I'm worried about writing actions and stuff like that will be too difficult and too "non-fluid like"; it just being non descriptive. I'm asking since you are one of my favorite authors on the site, and I want to get your advice on this matter. Thank you for answering if you do!

First of all, I am very flattered you are asking me for advice! It’s wild that people come to me to seek help like this, I still remember when I was 11 writing terrible fanfiction for the first time lol.

Personally, my main piece of advice regarding motivation is this: find an idea you really like, for starters. This may sound obvious but a few times I’ve liked a few things I want to write in theory, but then I sputter out half way through and realise that I was only writing for a small segment and had no idea what to do after this. Obviously, this is still fine, and is what oneshots are for - and it also makes good practice! But motivation wise, always find an idea that really makes you want to sit down and write it all out! I often do fanfictions in one big burst of inspiration in a few hours, but for other people this may be different.

Secondly, never let yourself be talked down out of posting anything! Like I mentioned, I’ve been writing since I was 11, and let me tell you some of those first fics are…interesting, to say in the least. But the act of posting them, even if no one interacts with it, should give you pride and confidence in yourself. Because you’re awesome - you just wrote a story and posted it! People can choose to interact or not, love it or not, but at the end of the day this is still a massive achievement for you.

Try not to get caught up in whether a story is doing “well” or not (for example, views, likes, kudos, etc). This doesn’t matter. If you are happy with your work, this is half the motivation to keep going. You often find one or two people that are really hooked with your story no matter what - personally I think the fanfiction community (at least the ones I’ve been in) are very kind and don’t interact just to hate. The feeling of having even one person loving your story is enough, trust me.

If the performance of the story matters to you, I highly suggest polishing off how you write summaries if you want to grab people. Personally, a confusing summary with excessive emojis or an unclear description makes me less likely to read something. I would advice posting a small snippet of your fic, and then a general summary (this is what I do for all my fics).

If you are struggling, I don’t mind creating summaries/proof reading fics for anyone! It’s hard, especially as a new writer, to do these things. For this, the old saying is the best - practice makes perfect.

You also asked about how I write my descriptions, so I will share my tricks of the trade. Most importantly - visualise the scene in your head.

I mean this literally. Imagine the conversation. How do you want your characters to be acting? Are they standing still? Where are they? How is the environment interacting with them? What are their feelings, and can these be described? Who are they talking to, and what is their relationship with them? Many of these questions can be answered much easier if you picture the entire scene in your head, from start to finish, and then write out all these little actions that you may miss.

Additionally, you also ask about the less literal things, like my descriptions and such - these are actually my favourite parts to write, so much so that I get a little carried away. I cannot really give much advice on this I’m afraid, apart from I write them just by expressing what comes to my mind as it comes. I don’t plan these segments like I do with plot and dialogue, but more so on a whim to extend the characters feelings. Is the character sad? How deep does this go? How does this actually feel? Like churning waters of anxiety that they can’t escape from, or small waves slowly increasing as the tide draws inward? Feelings are very abstract, and so you need to make the most of this. Metaphors are good ways to do this, or descriptions of these feelings also go well. It gives depth to the character and situation they are in, expressing more to the reader exactly how high the stakes are emotionally and physically.

Also, I would advise reading other fics, and picking what techniques you like from those. For example, if you like the way someone describes environments, write down why and then try and replicate this yourself. It helps narrow your writing style, and refine your skills, like finding an art style.

As a final, I would like to say - no one is perfect. No one is amazing at any skill right off the bat. It’s impossible and is never expected from any sane person. What is most important is that you are proud of your work, and this will provide all the motivation you need to keep going and growing as a writer.

For me, personally anyway.

Seriously though, thanks for liking my stuff!