#This is the kind of coincidence that pushes THE CHARACTER forward.

[stromuprisahat]

She’d trusted Kaz Brekker that night. She’d become the dangerous girl he’d sensed lurking inside her. But she’d made the mistake of continuing to trust him, of believing in the legend he’d built around himself. That myth had brought her here to this sweltering darkness, balanced between life and death like the last leaf clinging to an autumn branch. In the end, Kaz Brekker was a just a boy, and she’d let him lead her to this fate. She couldn’t even blame him. She’d let herself be led because she hadn’t known where she’d wanted to go. The heart is an arrow. Four million kruge, freedom, a chance to return home. She’d said she wanted these things. But in her heart, she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to her parents. Could she tell her mother and father the truth? Would they understand all she’d done to survive, not just at the Menagerie, but every day since? Could she lay her head in her mother’s lap and be forgiven? What would they see when they looked at her?

Six of Crows- Chapter 25 (Leigh Bardugo)

This is such a beautiful moment.

Inej admits to herself she's been lying to everyone. That she's too afraid to risk doing what is supposed to motivate her. And thanks to a stroke of luck, divine intervention or simply her faith, she uses it to find a new goal and strength to finish her climb.

She had to move now, quickly, before the stones grew slick and the rain became an enemy. She forced her muscles to flex, her fingers to seek, and pulled herself up one foot, then another, again and again, murmuring prayers of gratitude to her Saints. Here was the rhythm that had eluded her before, buried in the whispered cadence of their names. But even as she gave thanks, she knew that the rain was not enough. She wanted a storm—thunder, wind, a deluge. She wanted it to crash through Ketterdam’s pleasure houses, lifting roofs and tearing doors off their hinges. She wanted it to raise the seas, take hold of every slaving ship, shatter their masts, and smash their hulls against unforgiving shores. I want to call that storm, she thought. And four million kruge might be enough to do it. Enough for her own ship—something small and fierce and laden with firepower. Something like her. She would hunt the slavers and their buyers. They would learn to fear her, and they would know her by her name. The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true. She clung to the wall, but it was purpose she grasped at long last, and that carried her upward. She was not a lynx or a spider or even the Wraith. She was Inej Ghafa, and her future was waiting above.

[dabisqueen]

trick or treat

Trick or Treat

Ghost/Dabi x fem!Reader x Konig/Shigaraki

⇢ word count: roughly 3.2K ⇢ plot: It's Halloween and you make the mistake of knocking at the wrong door.  ⇢ warnings: Minors DNI, tw smoking, consensual rough sex, rough kissing, rough manhandling, a bit of degradation, slapping, oral sex (m receiving), deep throating, cum in throat, unprotected PIV-sex, anal fingering, deep creampie, Ghost and Konig aka Dabi and Shiggy are actual sweethearts and take care of the reader later ⇢ A huge shoutout to my beta @blankexpressions-and-falsefires. without you, this wouldn't happen. without you, this wouldn't be as great. i am forever grateful for your help!

You and your friends were on your way to a Halloween party, which was going to take place in an old warehouse. The invites had been distributed months ago already, and everyone had been looking forward to it. 

What you were wearing wasn't very unique at all: Black high-heel boots combined with a short, ruffled red velvet skirt, a black petticoat underneath, and a matching red underbust corset. It pushed your boobs up so high that they nearly popped out any time you bent over. Thankfully, a white, off-shoulder blouse helped to keep a little bit of your decency intact. The last finishing touch was a red velvet cape. 

You guessed it—you'd picked the Little Red Riding Hood as this year's costume.

Getting off the subway station, your group walked down the dimly lit street, the wind blowing leaves and scraps of garbage along the street. The clacking sound of your high heels echoed off the walls and you wrapped your cape tighter around you and hoped that the warehouse would offer some shelter from the cold. Trying to avoid the cracks in the concrete with your pointy heels, you followed the rest of the crowd—as something off to the side caught your attention. 

A lone, lit pumpkin sat at a shabby door, a flickering lamp above it shedding just a bit of light.

“Hey girls!” you called out. “There's someone inviting trick-or-treaters over here!”

Your friends stopped and looked at the door you were pointing at. Nonetheless, they turned while your best friend called over “It's just a prank, forget about it!”

“I want some candy, though.” Pursing your lips into a pout, you stalked over to the other side of the street, calling over to the rest of your small crowd, “Go on ahead. I'll catch up to you later!” 

You didn't mind them rolling their eyes at you—cause you have been known to have the sweetest tooth of them after all.

Taking a deep breath you raised your hand and knocked on the door. Once. Twice.

No answer. 

Okay, you reason, it was just a prank. Just as you were about to turn, you heard voices closing in behind the door.

"Didn't think anyone would fall for this shit.” A dark voice hissed. “What kind of dumbass are they?"

"Beats me." Another husky voice spoke.

The door swung open and you inhaled sharply. Before you stood two men dressed head to toe in combat suits, one of them wearing a sniper hood, the other a Balaclava complete with a hard plastic skull attached to the disguise. 

Each of them was a character from the game Call of Duty– Konig and Simon “Ghost” Riley. 

The one dressed as Ghost casually leaned against the door frame. His eyes scanned over you, and your gut tightened, watching the brilliant cerulean of his irises take you in. His skull Balaclava, obscuring any other feature on his face, sent chills down your spine. The other's smoldering amber gaze grazed the curves of your body and lingered especially long on your décolleté before stopping back at your face. As far as you could make out, they both looked well-toned, and your gut instinct told you that they were stunningly attractive underneath those masks. Your heart started beating faster.

“Oh, look what we have here.” The man dressed as Konig mused in a sneering tone. “If it ain't Little Red Riding Hood.”

“What a coincidence—" his friend chuckled, his voice low and husky. "Cause you can consider us the Big Bad Wolves—”

It sent goosebumps crawling up your spine,  but you still bravely muttered with a shaky voice, “T-trick or t-treat?”

Konig and Ghost looked at one another, chuckling, before their gazes went back to you. 

"You really looking for a treat, little red?" Ghost cocked his head, brilliant blue seemingly burning into you.

Both men's lustful stares were unmistakable as they looked at your body with a desire mirroring the feeling that rose quickly in your chest.

"U-uhm, I guess?" You stuttered, heat rising into your ears now.

“Treat it is,” he said. With that, his strong fingers circled your wrist and he pulled you inside, Konig slamming the door shut behind you.

A shriek left your throat when he pressed you against the wall, his ghostly mask hovering right in front of you.

"You really want this?" He asked, tilting his head, "We'll only proceed if you do."

One hand propped him against the wall, the other trapped your jaw between thumb and forefingers. His hips wedged you in place and it sent a jolt of pleasure right between your thighs. You shamelessly squeezed them together, cheeks starting to glow with fear—and excitement.

"I-I don't know," you licked your lips as subtly as you could, and you could swear you felt him twitch in his pants. 

His eyes fixated on your lips as he pulled the Balaclava down from beneath the skull, tucking the fabric under his chin to reveal the lower half of his face. His lips alone, sharp and sultry, had you aching for more.

"I think you do," Ghost chuckled, his warm breath fanning your lips, the hard plastic of his mask almost brushing against your nose. His fingertips felt scorching yet delicate when he pulled you in for a kiss.

His tongue pushed past your lips, moving languidly around yours. The kiss turned raw and bruising, growing rougher by the second. His cold mask dug into your skin but the thrill of it all made you forgive it easily. Groaning into his mouth, your hands ghosted over his chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath his clothes. Your legs buckled, but Ghost was quick to react and slip a leg between your thighs to hold you in place. His firm thigh pressed right against you, delivering much-needed friction to stimulate your growing desire. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, half-lidded eyes smoldering with desire when he broke the kiss. He pulled the Balaclava back and straightened up, chuckling at the sight of a wet spot left on his pants. "You really love this, don't you?"

You nodded hazily. You were given no chance to catch your breath as he dragged you to a small, square table nearby. His grip was rough but gentle enough not to hurt you. You shrieked again when Ghost pressed your chest flat against the surface. Konig stepped close, his hand stroking the heavy and full shape of the growing bulge beneath his clothes. Ghost clasped his hand tightly around your wrists, pinning them against your back, holding you down. 

“P-please be gentle,” you pleaded, having seen both outlines of their dicks —not small in size—  strain against their boxers, ready to be strangled by your tight pussy.

"Don't be a chicken. You agreed to this.” Konig rasped. “So, we get to destroy you, corrupt your little pussy—" 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and your heartbeat started to pick up as you struggled against Ghost's iron grip.

"Aw, don't scare our little bunny, Shigaraki" Ghost tutted, stroking your back with his free hand. "We aren't gonna hurt you, doll."

Something in his voice made you feel like you could trust him — you felt that he meant it — and your body relaxed, your breath evening out.

"Party pooper–" Konig grumbled behind his hood, as he rounded the table to stop right in front of your face. 

"W-what are you gonna do to me–" You swallowed thickly, thrill shooting through your body in a rush of  adrenaline. 

“You want us to be gentle,” his voice suddenly deepened, “Or should we treat you like the little tramp you are?” 

“I am no tramp—” you replied breathily.

“Hm— Am I wrong to think that this turns you on?” Ghost chuckled. “The idea of getting fucked by two strangers just like this?” 

Ghost's hand trailed up your thigh, hiking up your skirt and petticoat to reveal the curves of your perfect ass cheeks. A growl erupted in the back of his throat at the sight, his hand stroking the soft skin he found there. The coil inside your stomach tightened as you felt his crotch grind against you from behind. You realized he was giving you a small taste of just how much of a treat you would be getting. Trying to push yourself back against his thick meat, though, earned you a harsh slap against your ass with his tactical leather gloves.

“Ow!” you cried out, the stinging pain driving tears to your eyes.

"Fucking lay still." Ghost growled and you instantly froze at the sheer authority in his tone, a hot pulse shooting straight between your legs.

He leaned over, whispering against the shell of your ear. "So, little Red, what's it gonna be for you?”

Your lips parted in a strangled whimper. You didn’t want them to be gentle. You didn’t want them to be respectful. This was thrilling, you've always dreamed about being roughly taken, about being manhandled. 

“Fuck me, please.” You pleaded.

“It's Sir to you!” Ghost slapped you again, the pain searing this time.

"Yes—Sir—treat me like your cumdump!” You choked out, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes.

"Atta girl." He purred and you could almost hear the amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Ghost pulled your soaked panties down until they dangled between your ankles and dropped to the floor with a wiggle of your heels.

"Why do you always get to use the pussy, Dabi?" Konig whined, annoyed even as he unzipped his combat pants.

"Cause you only know how to fuck, boss." Ghost chuckled behind you. "Not how to please."

You swallowed thickly, feeling your heart beating so fast.

His hand gently stroked your ass again as he hummed. "This is supposed to be a treat after all."

A sense of comfort washed through you but you knew better than to rely on it. And oh boy, were you right.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, moving to stand in between them as you eagerly complied.

Konig freed his hard cock from his pants. It was so thick and heavy that it was hanging low even though it was fully erect. 

"Open up. I’m gonna fuck your face," giving it a few lazy pumps, he closed in on your face. His shameful words sent electricity to your nerves, and your mouth started to water as you opened it in eager anticipation.

Konig slipped the fingers of his free hand into your strands, holding your head still as he slotted himself at your lips before pushing his length between them. His spongy tip quickly slipped in and he let it rest on your tongue for a brief moment before pressing deeper.

Groaning against Konig's cock, you barely made out the sound of a zipper being undone behind you. Ghost lined up his cock with your soaked cunt, gathering your slick on his spongy tip, and only then was it that you knew that this really was going to happen. He snapped his hips forward without warning, quickly hitting resistance. 

The force pushed you down on Konig’s length further until its tip hit the back of your throat. He was breathing hard, bucking his hips forward, loving the way you loosened your jaw and let him fuck your mouth.

The man behind you slowly started thrusting into you, the metal barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder continuously stroking your insides, his Prince Albert piercing kissing your cervix and making you tighten and flutter around him. Each time he pulled out, his cock was covered in more of your glistening juices.

“Ah—fuck—look at that dripping cunt—” Ghost growled, rocking his hips against your behind, watching how your greedy, sloppy pussy kept taking him, even if he could only fit halfway.

They filled you up so perfectly—Ghost’s thick, pierced cock stretched your whole pussy without getting close to being balls deep, Konig’s heavy one sitting deep in your mouth, his fat testicles slapping against your drool-covered chin with each thrust forward. A gargled moan bubbled up your throat, feeling so stuffed from both ends, with Ghost's piercings rubbing perfectly against the spot that made stars erupt before your eyes.  

Goosebumps erupted all over your body as your mind began to swim.

"Aw, are you enjoying yourself?” Ghost leaned forward. "We'll make you feel even better soon...”

Then he started pounding into you, again and again until your brain was shut down. You choked between gasps as every thrust he made knocked the air from your lungs and forced Konig’s cock to slide deeper than before– until it was buried deep down your throat. You struggled to take it, breathing heavily through your nose, pleading watery eyes shooting up to his face to silently beg for a second of reprieve. 

"You look so beautiful, stuffed with my cock like this–” Ghost said in a voice that was just a low rasp. 

You were dizzy, breathless as he kept filling up your pussy with short, harsh strokes. He watched you writhe in pleasure on the table, your sloppy mouth stuffed with Konig’s dick. Ghost bent his head down and you could feel his breath on your neck as he inhaled your scent. 

"You're taking both of us so well, little cockslut." Konig's words made you whimper even louder, glistening eyes meeting his as you struggled to breathe.

With Ghost’s hand still pinning your wrists behind your back, there was no escaping the assault. He slammed his hips harder against your pussy until you mewled out in pleasure, his piercings rubbing your g-spot just right.

The feeling of both men relentlessly working themselves in and out of you was overwhelming. Heavy grunts and growls accompanied the wet sounds of your sloppy holes getting fucked as they worked themselves into a frenzy. Ghost's cock drove deep, but you knew with a little effort, you could accommodate more of him. You parted your legs further to give Ghost even more access to your cunt. His dick began to throb and twitch, his hips bucking back and forth to find the perfect angle to thrust into you. 

And he did find it. Your body shook with pleasure, making you squeal deliciously around Konig's length. Ghost let out a breathless chuckle and spread your ass cheeks, wetting his thumb before sticking it into your puckered hole.

His friend watched the scene before him, half-lidded crimson eyes glazed with lust and desire. The sight before him turned him on so much that his hips stuttered and he came without warning. He let out a strangled groan, his hand grabbing your hair tightly as he forced you to take his entire length, his tip slipping past the back of your throat. You moaned, feeling him twitch on your tongue, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you. His free hand rose to massage your throat, savoring the way you gulped and swallowed around his twitching meat.

“That's it, baby, take every drop of his cum," Ghost praises you. "Fuck– you're such a good girl.” He looked down to where you two were connected, his thumb buried deep in your ass, a sticky wet mess covering the base of his cock.

You tried to breathe but Konig didn’t budge, staying buried deep inside of you as Ghost picked up the pace now. He gave you strong thrusts that grazed the right spot, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. You moaned, your vision turning blurry. The lack of oxygen, the continuous onslaught from behind— it was too much. it pushed you over the edge and you came, clamping around his dick while your sounds of pleasure remained muffled by Konig's cock still buried deep inside your throat. 

Ghost kept pounding into you while you rode out the high of your orgasm and finally, Konig pulled his softening cock from your mouth, letting you sputter and gasp for the air he'd denied you. He let himself fall back against the table behind him, his flaccid, drool-covered cock still massive in size and twitching slightly. Reaching out, he pushed your hair behind your ear before wiping off the saliva dribbling down your chin as you frantically gasped for air.

Ghost behind you kept up the pace, rutting his thumb in and out of your little pink hole in a contrasting beat to his thrusts. It became too much— you completely lost it, overstimulated and moaning unabashedly like a porn star now. Your cunt spasmed around his cock for a second time and you threw your head back in ecstasy, crying out through your climax.

“There you go, you're so fucking hot coming for us, doll." Ghost praised, continuing to rock his hips against yours. His deep thrusts grew messier and messier, being himself close to his release. 

Konig watched, eyes glowing with re-awakening desire as he tucked himself away.

"I'm gonna fucking cum inside of you." Ghost let out with a low growl in his throat, sending goosebumps along your body. “Gonna fill you up, gonna breed you so good—”

He gained speed and with a final snap of his hips, he groaned out loud when he came, his hips stuttering as he shot ropes of hot cum against your womb. You could feel his cock throb with each shot, before he plummeted forward, breathing heavily. His chest pressed against your spine, and you felt his semen seep out, dripping onto the floor below. Silence took over the room while all of you tried catching your breath, hair sticking to sweaty foreheads, cocks sticky with release. 

Ghost started chuckling, pulling out of you with an obscene pop. His eyes were still glazed with desire as he watched how your pussy struggled to contain the load of his release. "You look so damn pretty filled up with my cum." he said with a hidden smirk as he kept pushing it back into you with his fingers. 

He stepped back to tuck himself away, and you stood back up on wobbly feet, brain foggy from the orgasms. Carding your fingers through your messed up hair, you reached for your panties but Ghost was quick to grab and stuff them into his pant pocket.

"Nu-uh," he tutted, his brilliant azure eyes twinkling with mischief. You sighed in defeat, trying your best to smooth down your skirt.

He pulled his balaclava down, slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, and lit himself one. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled slowly. “So, what were you doing here anyway?”

“I was on my way to a Halloween party with my friends.” You coyly replied, carding your fingers through your hair. 

“Ya still wanna go?” He cocked his head, smoldering azures taking you in.

“What do you mean?" You looked up at him through thick lashes, still damp with the heavy tears that had sprung from your eyes in the struggle to keep down Konig’s cock.

“What Dabi wants to know is if you wouldn't rather continue our little party.” Konig snickered.

“Oh.” Was your simple reply. 

“C’mon doll, let's get ya cleaned up," Ghost pressed a kiss against your forehead. "In the meantime, Shigaraki is gonna get us some  drinks.” 

He swung an arm around your shoulder, leading you toward the door next to the dimly lit bar on the far side of the room. “We still have more treats for you…”

Happy Halloween and thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! If you comment or reblog, you'll make my day!

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter four

“take what you want.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: blood, flies, poisoning, mentions of nausea, descriptions of: violence ; cannibalism. ; suffocation ; and murder, kinda angsty?, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 3.4k

author’s note: just a quick little note here for something i felt the need to clarify. there’s a moment that would have been perfect for alastor’s microphone but i am working under the fact that it’s still broken, which (to me) carries too much significance for his character and i don’t know how to magically fix it for him 🥲 i just realized i haven’t explicitly addressed why it hasn’t been mentioned at all and wanted to explain myself lol

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Seeing the distress on your face, Angel put a hand on your shoulder and tried to do damage control. “Whoa, babe, it’s okay! It’s probably just a coincidence — forget I said anything, all right? It was a gag!” 

You had been doing so well at keeping Donny from your mind today, but you could feel the panic welling up again. As the blood drained from your face, your mind raced with questions. How did Angel know it was Donny that you had attacked yesterday? How did they know each other — through work? Was someone looking for whoever had been responsible for it? What would happen if they found out it was you?

He peered over you and gave Alastor a nervous look. If you were shrinking against the static you felt building behind you, you didn’t even want to know what his face was looking like right now. But the thought of Angel being in Alastor’s line of fire was worse.

“But that was his name,” you said, giving them each a quick look. “Or at least that’s what I heard his friend call him.”

“Perhaps the elevator isn’t the best place for this,” Alastor said cooly, stepping forward to push the button that re-started your descent. He pivoted to face you and Angel and you felt admonished under his gaze. “Sylvie and I are on our way out, but if you’re free this evening Angel, we can discuss this more in private. I have some questions of my own.”

“It’s a date, Smiles,” Angel cooed, happy to diffuse the tension, and you felt yourself relax when he gave your shoulder a little squeeze. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d invite me up to your room.”

Alastor’s smile strained as his gaze wandered from Angel to you, leering. “Who said anything about my room?” 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The walk into the city had been quiet, the tension from the elevator ride not yet fully gone. You knew Alastor’s good mood from yesterday wouldn’t last forever, but nothing could have prepared you for Angel’s ambush. How were you just supposed to sit with this until tonight? Your mind was still going in circles with questions, but what you really couldn’t let go of was how upset you had gotten at the sound of Donny’s name. Last night you thought you had made some kind of peace with your actions, but apparently you weren’t quite there yet.

It wasn’t so much the murder that bothered you, since you knew he’d eventually recover. Besides, it’s not like it was something you technically hadn’t done before. Though what happened with your grandmother was different; you’d poisoned her for starters. The rest was damage control and you died in the process so… karma. 

It was the rage you displayed that was chilling. You had never lost control like that before, no matter how upset you had been. And even though you had thrown up, you never thought — no. It was still too much to think about and your stomach turned in response, threatening to evacuate what little was in there.

You were so lost in thought it wasn’t until you were nearly standing in it that you realized Alastor had brought you to the alley. He really was such a menace. Donny was nowhere to be seen but the large pool of blood left behind had baked into the concrete. The bag with the liver was there as well, rotting in the afternoon sun.

“Is this the bag you were muttering about earlier?” Alastor asked, leaning over it with his arms crossed behind his back. You had forgotten about letting that slip while you were cleaning, your headache getting the best of you in a moment of weakness. Alastor hadn’t been moved.

He seemed unbothered by the putrid smell that you were actively trying not to gag on. Flies escaped the bag as he inspected it with the tip of his shoe and you grit your teeth in disgust at the sight. Alastor looked over at you when you didn’t respond right away, his neck bent at an unnatural angle to make eye contact. You managed a nod in confirmation, too nauseous to dare open your mouth to answer. Had he really brought you here just to see if you had been lying about it? Or did he just want to see you squirm? Probably both.

You nearly fainted when he reached inside the bag, sending more flies on their way, and held the soggy, rancid parcel in his hand. Enjoying your repulsion, he made a show of inspecting it. The glittering smile on his face one of the more genuine displays you’d witnessed. 

“Such a shame. This would have made a great surprise,” he said as his hand turned over, the liver falling to the ground in a resounding, wet slap. 

Almost instinctually, your hand went to your mouth, drawing out a lighthearted chuckle from Alastor. He wiped off his hand and made his way back to you then, and you trailed slightly behind him down the street. Neither of you noticed the drone.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor was beginning to feel… impatient.

Considering the ordeal yesterday, he hadn’t expected you to be in the best of moods but you had started the morning off with some promise until Angel Dust appeared in the elevator. His lip twitched at the thought. What a fucking disaster that had turned out to be! The gray cloud hanging over you since then had only seemed to build, despite his effort to snap you out of it by popping into the alley.

Of course that had been mostly, if not solely, for his own pleasure. It was disappointing but not surprising that your victim Donny had been retrieved. Alastor had recognized the name of course, recalling how Valentino was shouting at his phone as he left the dry cleaners. It just had to be one of his little toys that you messed with, didn’t it? Not that you had known, but it was only a matter of time before that garish buffoon would find out about you. And despite it all, the dried blood that nearly reached from wall-to-wall was such a marvelous sight — what a mess you had made! A job well-done indeed, though it had put him in a bind. 

He knew you weren’t going to have the same appreciation for it that he did, and your disgust at his performance with the spoiled liver had been fun enough. He hadn’t been lying when he said it would have made a great surprise. But none of that had done anything to cheer you, and now you weren’t even keeping pace, walking behind him like a kicked dog. Hell, you certainly looked like one, the sullenness on your face threatening to break his own composure by the second. This wouldn’t do, not for the last free afternoon that he had you at his disposal. 

Alastor paused, ignoring how you ran into him and cursed, his attention on a cafe across the street he was fairly certain he had visited before. Perhaps sitting down to chat would help. It was lunchtime, anyway.

“Let’s stop in there,” he said, looking down at you, taking care to point out the cafe. Lord knows your poor soul needed all the direction it could get right now.

“I thought you wanted something from the butcher?” you questioned, eyeing him and the cafe with suspicion. 

The Radio Demon narrowed his eyes, smile tight, his shadow pulling free of him for a moment. If he wasn’t on the verge of being pissed off your question would’ve been funny; a feeble attempt at seeming to know his mind. And as of now, he was not in a laughing mood. Were you really so self-absorbed that you couldn’t tell you were on thin ice? A reset was definitely in order.

“Can’t a fellow change his mind? That rigidity of yours puts such a sour mood on everything! You seem to be full of nasty little habits,” Alastor sneered, pleased to have gotten under your skin as you scowled at him.

He didn’t wait for you as he made his way across the street, knowing you’d follow whether you wanted to or not.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Being treated to lunch wasn’t something you had ever expected from Alastor. Impossible didn’t even begin to describe this scenario. It was just so… cordial. He always took his meals alone at the hotel, making Rosie the only person you knew he would willingly dine with. And there was no way sitting down to a table with you would equate to that. Rosie was a peer — a friend! You were not and never would be.

That much was evident when he had held the door open for you, clearly forcing his hand. Outwardly, it would have appeared a genteel act but you knew better, even without the self-righteousness on his face as you quietly entered the cafe. What else could you have done but obey? It’s not like you could run away, having already felt the ominous tug on your neck as he walked across the street. 

He had left you at the table to order at the counter, and you watched as the cashier struggled to maintain his composure in Alastor’s presence, seemingly scared to death. It was the first time you had ever seen someone outside of the hotel interact with him, you realized. Alastor was being polite enough, though nothing seemed to reign in his air of superiority. The look in his red eyes told you all you needed to know: he loved having power over others. Whether it came from a place of fear or respect didn’t matter as long as he had the upper hand. This was the demon you belonged to.

When he joined you at the table, you could tell he was in a bit of a better mood. Despite the means to get here, you silently thanked the cashier for cowering. Hopefully he had softened whatever blow Alastor had in store for you. Though the placid look Alastor was giving you made you fidgety. Could be the calm before the storm…

“You’ve been testing my patience,” he finally said, waiting for the boy from the register to leave the table after dropping off two coffees. “But luckily for you, there are more important things I’d like to discuss. I’ve had quite a busy morning, not that you bothered to ask.”

It took all you had not to roll your eyes but you managed to keep a straight face, feeling his temper writhing just under the surface of his calm facade. But you had been with him nearly all morning. Or did his suite magically clean itself? What could possibly have happened in between those few gaps? Especially something you’d want or even know to ask about. And if I’d asked, you wouldn’t have told me, you thought indignantly.

“I’m sorry… the whole thing with Angel just really threw me off,” you said as sincerely as you could. It wasn’t a lie, after all. “And I don’t think going to the alley helped, either,” you added, eyes flitting from him to your coffee. Bold, but also not a lie.

He chuckled into his cup. “I’ll concede to that. I thought it would be funny, but I shouldn’t expect you to share my taste in humor. You’re still so new, and all that. But I worry if you don’t shake that mortal way of thinking you’ll wither, my dear, and that would be a shame. If you’ll allow me, I’d take great pleasure in helping you fix that.”

You were unsure of how to react. Technically, he didn’t need to ask your permission for anything, so was this just the illusion of giving you a choice only to end up as a trap? It felt as if there was always something just out of reach whenever he spoke to you like this, like the fine print in a contract. He was only direct when he was upset, which you’d prefer if you were being honest. Anger you could take — understand, even. But this? You were just spinning your wheels. 

“So, what, I’m not doing the afterlife right, or something?” It had been somewhat of a joke, but the look he gave you was smug.

“That’s precisely what I’m saying. You’ve been dead a few months now, yes? But the moral compass you’re adhering to won’t benefit you here. Take Donny for instance,” he said, eyes brightening as you flinched at the name. “What’s bothering you so much about it? He provoked you, didn’t he? Regale me with your account!”

He made a show of settling in his chair, adjusting his coat and crossing his legs, apparently content to sit for hours if that’s what it took for you to open up. You remembered him asking you to tell him what Donny had done when you were walking back to the hotel yesterday, but wasn’t that just teasing? The expectant look on Alastor’s face begged to differ. 

So you told him.

To your surprise, he sat there and listened as the words spilled from your mouth. Your intent hadn’t been to ramble, but he didn’t seem bothered by it as you took him through the events of yesterday morning. Eventually getting to how you had been so close to making it back in time, only to be cornered and harassed; a sick twist of fate just for wanting to be prepared. He was calm as you told him how Donny had grabbed you and licked the tears off your face, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eye twitch.

“And then I just… lost it, I don’t know,” you sighed, hiding your face in your hands. “I was just so mad! Like who the fuck did he think he was, touching me like that? And my body just reacted before my mind could catch up. But then when it was all over, I…,” you paused and let out a breath, fighting against the turmoil in your stomach from what you were preparing to say next. “I can still feel how my teeth punctured his skin. I can hear the sound it made, even more than the screaming. I didn’t even know I was swallowing it all until…”

You stopped then, the tingling in your throat painful, your coffee long forgotten and cold. He had been there for the rest of it, what more was there to say? Did he really want to know how every sip of liquid or bite of food since then had been nearly-impossible tasks? How you had sobbed in the shower as you watched the blood stream down your legs and into the drain? Or how you barely managed to look yourself in the mirror because it felt like someone else was looking back? Those didn’t seem like details he’d be interested in.

In fact, weren’t they the very things he was inferring your morality had burdened you with? You’d only be making his point for him, and somewhere in your mind you concurred. You didn’t want to be saddled with this misery forever, but the person you always thought you were was slipping away, and you just wanted to cling to whatever pieces you had left. Horror was a welcome pill to swallow. It meant that you hadn’t completely enjoyed what you had done. 

Because part of you had enjoyed it.

You thought of your grandmother again. In life, there had been countless times you made yourself small for the sake of accommodation. No telling how many words had died in your throat because it was easier not to say them. So as you watched her fall out of that godforsaken chair she loved so much, gasping for air that wouldn’t come as she crawled on her hands and knees, you relished it. She had pushed you to your limit and was finally paying the price. Appalling as it was, for the first time in your life you had felt strong. 

Killing Donny hadn’t left you with the same feeling of victory as killing your grandmother had, though. What his intentions for you had been, you’d probably never know, but they definitely weren’t anything good. In that sense you were very glad to have gotten to him first and, to a certain extent, would do it all over again if need be. But none of this was information you felt like confessing to Alastor.

“And here I was, hoping that the cannibals had rubbed off on you,” Alastor mourned, resting his chin in his hand. “So eating him is what’s upset you, not the murder?” You couldn’t ignore the glimmer in his eye or the insinuation behind it.

“You’re generalizing,” you chided, sighing as you crossed your arms. You were feeling very tired now. “But yes, if that answers your question. He’ll heal eventually and he would have hurt me if I hadn’t done what I did.”

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, pushing back from the table to stand. He offered you a hand and you took it, feeling slightly stiff from sitting so long. “I suppose you’re not as hopeless as I thought, but my offer still stands. I think under the right circumstance, you could learn to enjoy it.”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Was that really what you wanted to talk to me about? I’m not trying to eat people for fun.”

Alastor didn’t answer, but his smile was wicked as he took your arm in his as you left the cafe. You did your best not to imagine what thoughts could be passing in his mind, but felt relief all the same seeing him in a better mood again.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The two of you had barely entered the lobby when Angel sprang off the couch in the parlor, looking irritated and worn out. “Fucking finally! We need to—”

Alastor couldn’t help but wonder if he was the only creature in this realm that understood the art of subtlety. Hadn’t the debacle in the elevator been enough for one day? Was he doomed forever to salvage any bit of decorum that he could come across? It was truly lamentable.

“Sylvie, why don’t you go prepare my room for the evening? I’d prefer to speak with Angel alone,” Alastor said, removing your arm from his as he turned to face Angel Dust. He could feel his shadow threatening to separate from him, but scaring the boy would be counterproductive. “Shall we head to yours?”

He ignored your huff of frustration at being dismissed, but was grateful you didn’t fight him on it. It’s not a battle you would have won anyway. As soon as he saw that you were in the elevator, Alastor’s shadow enveloped the two of them, re-materializing in Angel’s room.

“Remind me to never let you do that again,” Angel grimaced, rubbing his arms squeamishly. “I feel dirty, and that’s sayin’ a lot.”

Alastor’s patience was threatening to snap, and he didn’t succeed in maintaining a pleasant tone when he spoke. “Why don’t we discuss whatever it was you were about to shout in the lobby? Or was the urgency just an act?”

Angel scoffed. “Hey, fuck you, all right? I was just tryin’ to help, and now I’ve been roped into your bullshit! Val’s been blowin’ up my fuckin’ phone all afternoon — he said a drone caught you and Sylvie in an alley or some shit?”

Alastor’s eyes went black, his pupils switched to dials. Fuck. This was all happening much sooner than Alastor had planned for. He had originally planned to ask Angel what Valentino had known in regard to Donny, hoping to have the upper hand and confront the cretin on his own terms. But now the ball was in Valentino’s court… and he had brought it upon himself. He just had to go back to that fucking alley earlier, didn’t he? Alastor could feel the rage threatening to consume him, but that would have to wait until he had a moment to himself. 

“What does he want?” he managed to ask without venom, antlers growing despite himself.

“I don’t know, but he won’t quit houndin’ me,” Angel huffed, sitting on the edge of his bed. “He wasn’t even pissed off about Donny, he thought it was funny! That piece of shit barely gets work anyway. But now he knows you’re involved and said he wants to meet up you know where. Whatever the fuck that means…” 

Alastor sighed, eyes returning to red, and wiped off his monocle if only to keep his hands busy. He’d hate to strangle Angel Dust by mistake. It would be difficult to explain, and besides, he wasn’t one to shoot the messenger.

“Tell him I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. I’ll do what I can to ensure he keeps you out of it going forward,” Alastor said in a clipped voice, blood dripping down the corner of his mouth. He disappeared from the room before Angel could respond.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold

[michwritesstuff]

It’s Not All In Your Head (Teen Wolf: Stiles Stilinski)

I KNOW THIS IS KIND OF A DYING FANDOM SO IF YOU LIKE THIS PLEASE REBLOG/SHARE/LIKE!! IM CURRENTLY REWATCHING SO IM FEELING QUITE INSPIRED BY THESE CHARACTERS!

this was formerly posted on my blog as “Unexpected” with a 1.5k word count, but I wrote it over two years ago and wanted to rewrite some things and add some more plot. So this really is a different story now, deserving of a new title and song that fits the vibe

pairing: female reader (she/her) x Stiles Stilinski

summary: When you find yourself mixed up in the mysterious supernatural world of Beacon Hills, a town you’ve grown up in your whole life, you find an unlikely ally in the form of Stiles Stilinski. The boy you’ve despised and admired for the last half of your life.

notes/warnings: small mentions of familial death, mention of dead body

word count: 3.3k

Getting out of bed this morning was rough.

Head rushing and pounding with the adrenaline from the night before.

It couldn’t be, right?

Everything you experienced last night wasn’t real, or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

You couldn’t explain how you ended up in the woods in the middle of the night.

Hearing voices in your head, it was almost as if you had been summoned there.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

This was the second time in your life that you couldn’t push the voices away.

It had only happened once before this, right before your grandmother passed.

She had been in hospice for the last few months and hadn’t been doing well.

You begged your mom to let you skip school that day to visit her, but she insisted that the last time she had spoken to the nurse, everything was fine.

You got called out of class early that day, your mother rushing you over to the nursing home so that your grandmother would be surrounded by family in her last moments.

Neither of you had brought up how you somehow knew you needed to be there, but the coincidence never left your mind.

Tonight felt like that day from a few months ago.

As you sat at your desk doing homework you could hear distant muffled voices, the words weren’t clear, but they started getting louder.

You huffed, pushing your chair back as you got up.

Walking down the hallway you expected to turn the corner and see your younger brother blasting the tv at the highest volume, but you were met with the deafening silence of the dark and empty living room.

The voices continued as you wandered around the house, growing louder as you followed them outside into the back yard.

You looked back at your house before sneaking out the side gate.

The streets were empty as you walked down the sidewalk, making left and right turns when they felt right.

It wasn’t until you reached the entrance to the Beacon Hills Preserve that you snapped back to reality and truly took in your surroundings.

You barely enjoyed running through here when it was cross country season, you certainly wouldn’t have chosen to come here in the middle of the night.                                                

Walking further into the woods, you reached a small clearing.

A large wood trunk sat in the middle of the clearing, a sizeable figure laying on top of it.

As you got closer you began to make out shapes; an arm, a leg, it was a body.

You stopped a few feet short of the stump, your eyes widening in horror as they focused in on the lifeless eyes of the body before you.

It was a dead body.

You couldn’t do anything but scream at the top of your lungs.

The murmured voices quickly stopped and were soon replaced by a different set of voices.

They grew louder as did the footsteps as they approached.

 “Y/N!” Scott and Lydia exclaimed at the same time.

You turned around quickly, fear painted on your features as you attempted to speak.

“I—I don’t…”

Lydia stepped forward, wrapping her arm around your shoulder as she walked you away from the body.

“Y/L/N?” you heard another voice arise.

 It was the first time you really noticed that he was there.

“Stilinski,” you greeted back.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“You know the usual, finding dead bodies in the woods, you?”

 Hearing his scoff, you smirked to yourself, it was so easy to rile him up.

It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to be making jokes, but with Stiles the sarcasm and witty comebacks were hard to swallow back.

It was almost refreshing to be joking with him in that moment.

Whispering among themselves, you stood quietly looking around, of course your attention still drawn to the body splayed on the trunk a few feet behind them.

Their whispering soon came to an end and Lydia and Stiles stepped forward.

Taking your arm again, Lydia turned you around so that you were now walking in the direction that you came from.

“Y/N, did you walk here?” Lydia asked concernedly.

“Yeah, I—” you were about to explain how you felt drawn here.

“…yeah” you answered quietly.

She turned her head to give Scott and Stiles a worried look.

You know what this might have looked like to your classmates.

Standing over a dead body in the middle of the woods, late at night.

“C’mon, Stiles will take us home. It’s probably not the safest idea to be out now.”

 “What about Scott?” you asked unsurely.

 “Believe me, Scott knows how to handle his own,” Stiles replied while slightly increasing his speed so that he was now walking in front of you and Lydia.

You weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but you chose not to ask too many questions.

As you crawled into the back of Stiles’s Jeep you didn’t know what to think.

You were terrified about the discovery you made in the woods and the unexplainable feeling that you had that could have possibly led you there.

Terrified at the thought of your classmates, also walking around the woods at the same time and seemingly not as concerned about a body as you were.

The low hum of the radio filled the awkward silence as they drove you home, only speaking up when you had to direct Stiles.

As he pulled up in front of your driveway, you quickly thanked them and got out, trying your best to get to the front door.

Stiles was quick to shut off the car and follow you.

“Y/LN!” he called.

You brushed it off as if you had not heard him, quickening your steps as you got closer.

“Y/N!” he called again.

You rounded on your feet quickly, Stiles stopping abruptly as he almost ran into you.

“What?” you exhaled tiredly, your eyes watering slightly as they met with his.

“What could you possibly say right now?” you asked.

“I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he spoke up.

“No Stiles, I am not okay. None of this is okay.”

He nodded understandingly.

He reached up slightly, so that his hand was barely hovering above your elbow.

You swore you could feel the heat radiating from his body being so close.

As you glanced down, he quickly dropped his hand back down to his side.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he stated matter of factly.

You looked back up to give him a small nod.           

He waited for you to go inside and only turned to leave when he heard the lock click.

You did not see it, but Lydia gave him a pointed look as he walked back to the car.

“Shut up,” he said as he started the jeep.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lydia smiled back.

That night you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Every time you closed your eyes you saw the lifeless eyes of the body staring back at you.

Before you knew it, sleep had consumed your whole body and your thoughts and fears of the night slowly melted away.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

You quickly awoke to the sound of your alarm clock blaring.

Immediately hitting snooze, you debated skipping school all together.

It’s not like you didn’t like school, it was quite the opposite.

You were doing extremely well in all your classes, involved in every club and team you thought would make your college application stand out, and you had a great group of supportive friends.

Thinking about the possible run in with Scott or Lydia and the inevitable run in with Stiles, since you shared so many classes, was more than your anxiety allowed you to handle.

Grabbing your bag, you headed to the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar and your keys from the counter as you said goodbye to your mom.

Walking to the driver’s door you were startled when a car horn honking caught your attention.

Looking up you were shocked to see Stiles and his infamous jeep, windows down as he blocked your driveway.

 “Stilinski, get the hell out of the way. You’re going to make me late for school.”

 “Yup, that’s the plan. Get in Y/L/N,” he replied.

Rolling your eyes, you walked over to his car. He nodded at you to get in.

You stood, looking unamused.

He huffed before getting out the driver’s side and walking around the front of the car.

He brushed past you, opening the passenger door, his eyes silently pleading with you to get in.

“Okay, okay!” you exclaimed, climbing into the passenger seat.

The radio was low, and you quietly hummed along as you passed the houses on your street.

After a few wrong turns you had finally turned to Stiles,

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“I thought you were taking me to school,” you huffed, annoyance clear in your voice.

“I never said that, I said I was going to make you late,” Stiles replied, an attitude in his voice similar to yours.

Rolling your eyes, you turned in your seat, resuming the activity of watching the world outside the car window quickly pass.

After about another 10 minutes you had pulled into a driveway of a cute looking house.

“Is this your house?” you asked confused.

“Yeah, now c’mon,” he answered, quickly turning off the car and getting out.

You followed him into the house and to his room.

Your eyes scanned his room, blue walls littered with posters and clothes thrown on the floor with little regard.

Typical, you thought to yourself.

If you looked under the bed you were sure you would probably find playboy magazines covered in some sort of body fluid.

You shivered at the thought.

What was strange was the wall by his desk.

Red yarn creating a maze as it led from one photo to another. Confusing words and maps printed alongside.

You watched as Stiles threw his backpack onto the chair.

“Don’t worry my dad isn’t home, so no one will interrupt us.”

You gave him a surprised and teasing look, insinuating that his words were some sort of innuendo, before he quickly spoke again.

 “Jesus Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that.”

 You chuckled softly, before letting your eyes roam around some more.

“I just meant, there’s some things I need to ask you about, you know, about last night?” he continued.

Stiles noticed you visibly harden at the mention of last night.

He knew why Scott and them were there.

But you?

That was a question still left unanswered.

 Taking a seat on his bed, you sighed.

“What were you doing in the woods Y/N?” he asked more directly.

“I honestly don’t know,” you said unconvincingly.

 “I mean, I could be asking you the same thing. Your dad’s the Sheriff, right? I wonder what he would have to say about you and your friends hanging around dead bodies in the woods.”

This caught Stiles’s attention.

“Ok, let’s not get crazy. And don’t forget, we found you over the dead body,” he reminded you.

“And what exactly were the three of you doing out there? Taking a late-night stroll in the moonlight,” you remarked accusingly.

 “Listen Y/N. This is serious, there’s a lot going on in Beacon Hills. A lot that I can’t really explain right now. So please, let’s try and be honest with one another.”

“I don’t know how to be honest without sounding absolutely crazy,” you confessed.

“I promise you, nothing that you say to me right now will sound crazy. Just try me,” he smiled reassuringly.

He kneeled in front of you, now at eye level as you slowly nodded.

“Well, like you said, there’s a lot that can’t be explained, and I can’t really explain what happened. I was at home all night when I started hearing these voices—I.”

Stiles grabbed your hand as you stuttered, a silent comfort urging you to continue.

“It was like they were calling me. I mean I’ve heard voices before, they’re always different. Most of the time I can convince myself that I’m just imagining things, but this time was different. This time they wouldn’t stop. So, I just walked and walked, and next thing I knew I was in the woods and the voices had stopped. And that’s when I ran into you guys,” you said, finishing your account of events.

Stiles seemed less surprised and confused than you had thought he would.

“Y/N, do you know what this means!” he said, realization settling in his eyes as he started piecing things together.

You got up quickly, dropping his hand as you began pacing his room, the fear and confusion of the night before flooding back.

“No, Stiles, not really. I have no idea what any of this means,” you exclaimed, the fear evident in your voice.

His eyes softened as he took in your state.

“Okay, hey! It’s ok. We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to help you figure this out.”

“Figure out what? Stiles, this really isn’t making sense,” you exclaimed as you stopped pacing to face him.

“You said you’ve heard these voices before, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, once…”

“When?”

“What?” you looked at him confusedly.

“When did you hear these voices?” he pressed.

“Right before my grandmother passed,” you confessed smally.

“This is going to sound insane,” Stiles started.

“More insane than a girl who hears voices?” you interrupted.

“I think I know what’s going on.”

He got up from the bed, motioning for you to follow him to the desk, rifling through papers and a big leather-bound book, before stopping on a page.

Across the top you read Banshee.

You had read about Banshees before when you took a dual enrollment literature and folklore class.

You looked at Stiles with an angry and pointed look.

“Stilinski what the fuck is this?”

He was taken aback by your shift in demeanor.

“Is this funny to you?”

“What? No, Y/N, just list—"

“No, this is just too much. I thought you really cared about how I was feeling and if this is just you and your friend’s idea of a twisted joke, I don’t want any part of this.”

“Y/N I CAN EXPLAIN!” he continued.

You grabbed your stuff and ran out of the room, letting your long strides carry you further and further away from Stiles’s house.

As you walked through the school parking lot, you turned to find that stupid blue jeep following behind you.

Pulling up next to you, Stiles rolled his window down.

“Y/N!”

You stopped abruptly, causing him to slam on the brakes.

“Stiles, leave me alone.”

“Please Y/N, if you won’t talk to me just, please talk to Lydia or Scott. They’ll explain everything.”

You shook your head at him before walking away.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You had gone almost the rest of the day, successfully avoiding Stiles and his friends.

There was a close call at lunch when you saw Scott and Stiles standing on opposite sides of you a few feet away. Your friend was a saving grace as she appeared next to you, demanding to know why you were so late as she yanked you away to a table across the cafeteria.

However, as you sat in AP Government, your luck was wearing thin when Stiles chose to sit right next to you.

You glanced over to him, an annoyed look covering your face. To which he gave a cocky smirk and wave.

You angled yourself slightly so that you were facing away from him while still being able to sit forward in your desk.

As your teacher began the lesson you did your best to ignore Stiles’ constant attempts to get your attention.

From excessively tapping his foot and pencil, nudging the edge of your desk with his shoe, and leaning over the aisle so that he was now in your personal space.

“Y/N, c’mon,” he pleaded quietly.

“I’m trying to learn about our constitutional right to contraceptives, shut up,” you angrily whispered back.

“Y/N—” he continued.

“STILES SHUT UP!” you exclaimed.

Your teacher fell silent as she looked up to see you and Stiles sheepishly sinking into your seats.

“Ms. Y/L/N and Mr. Stilinski, am I interrupting your social time?”

“No, Mrs. Thomson,” you answered embarrassedly.

“Right, well if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to teaching. The two of you can catch up in detention.”

You groaned, turning to look at Stiles who had a satisfying grin on his lips.

After a grueling 40 more minutes, class ended, and you were reminded of your unfair punishment as you watched your classmates pack up around you.

Mrs. Thomson wrote an assignment on the board, before packing her bag to leave.

As she walked out of the class, she gave the both of you a pointed look, a silent threat that you would be in more trouble if you did not actually stay to finish the assignment.

You were surprised to find that Stiles remained silent for the first couple minutes of detention.

He seemed preoccupied with whoever he was texting.

Unfortunately, the silence was short-lived when Lydia, quickly followed by Scott and Kira, walked in.

This wasn’t just any detention; this was an ambush.

“This cannot be happening right now,” you sighed, your hands rubbing your face as Stiles chuckled.

“Brought reinforcements this time,” he joked.

Your eyes quickly darted to his, shutting him up instantly.

“Y/N—” Lydia started.

“Look, I’m not sure how you got involved with these two idiots,” you motioned to Scott and Stiles before continuing.

“But I’m not sure what else to say about last night.”

“We understand that this is confusing,” Kira spoke up.

“I really don’t know what you guys keep referring to.”

“Y/N YOU’RE A BANSHEE,” Lydia spoke next.

Your eyes widened at her statement.

“ARE YOU ALL ON DRUGS?” you exclaimed.

“Like me…you’re a banshee like me,” she finished quietly.

They must be on drugs.

“The supernatural, it exists, we exist…” Scott spoke up, looking around the group as he finished.

“We?” you questioned; confusion clearly etched on your face.

“Banshee” Lydia raised her hand, answering with a sense of confidence as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You turned to Kira, her eyes turning a fiery orange as she answered, “Kitsune, it’s from Ja—”

“Japanese culture, I know,” you quickly finished for her. Your eyes softened as you shifted your focus to Scott.

“Werewolf,” Scott answered, his eyes glowing a bright red as he looked at you.

“Okay…so, what are you, a life-sucking vampire?” you asked, turning to Stiles with a mocking grin.

“I’m—I’m nothing,” Stiles replied.

“So, the body in the woods? They were killed by something supernatural?” you questioned.

They all nodded their heads.

“And I was called to it because, I’m a Banshee?” you tried clarifying.

“Pretty much,” Stiles replied smartly.

“And what are you guys, some sort of super squad?” you joked.

“We help people who can’t help themselves,” Scott answered earnestly.

A moment of silence passed over the group as they allowed you to process all the new information you had learned.

“Can I drive you home?” Stiles asked.

You looked around before nodding, a small grin on your face before you spoke up.

“I would hope so, you kind of kidnapped me this morning.”

He rolled his eyes before letting out a genuine laugh.

“C’mon loser,” he said, as he started getting out of his seat.

“What about detention? You are the reason we got it in the first place?”

“Me? You were the one screaming in the middle of class!”

“Because you were bothering me!”

Lydia, Kira, and Scott looked to one another, silently agreeing to leave the two of you to figure it out.

There was a lot you didn’t know about the supernatural world in Beacon Hills, but what you did know was that you now had a group of people committed to helping you figure it out.

check out the rest of my stuff here

[dutchdread]

Ouch, that's gotta hurt.

Watching Cleriths celebrate NPTK these past weeks, knowing they'll, as always, be proven incorrect has been an exercise in patience. Sometimes it's just clear that you won't be able to convince people of a complex truth when so often discourse is limited to 280 characters. The reason Clerith exists is that people are unable to see the big picture, it survives by people squinting and not seeing the "but" that's located right after every piece of evidence they put forward. This means that you'll often be perceived to be arguing against what is to them the blatantly obvious. It's futile, nuanced argument never wins from emotion, so often you just have to take solace in the idea that "well, it will be fun to see their surprise 4 years from now". So when you get an interview like this, mere weeks after the game releases, which confirms everything that Clotis had been saying about, and had been mocked for, NPTK, you can't help feel a sense of schadenfreude.

Man that's gotta hurt. This is the difference between Clotis and Cleriths. Cleriths don't really like Aerith, because they want to assassinate her character. Rather than a sad tragic tale of a lifetime of love and loss they want to reduce her character to a shallow cliche rom-com about a capricious girl whose fickle affections change by the hour. The fact that the first person Aerith starts developing feelings for after 5 years of pining after Zack is a man who is almost literally channeling Zack becomes a meaningless coincidence in the story. The fact that she knows Cloud for 2 weeks, most of which is also spent pining over Zack is viewed as confirmation of how special their love is. It doesn't matter that Aerith doesn't even know who Cloud is. It doesn't matter that Cloud is shown to very obviously be in love with another woman. It doesn't matter that Cloud is clearly losing his mind. It doesn't matter that Cloud is constantly show as being apathetic towards her advancements. Even them fighting is recontextualized as "good chemistry" just to avoid facing reality. Usually nonsensical romances are seen as bad-writing, but here the cope makes people excuse all the nonsense as "how brilliantly written is this story? They love each other despite it making no sense, now THAT is romance". Zack is called irrelevant, CC is a "ret-con" and can be ignored, ACC is about how romantic it is to want to die to be with someone. The reason Zack is so predominant in Rebirth is in no way connected to Aerith yearning for exactly the bond he's constantly showing to have with her. The contrast with Clouds apathy means nothing, he definitely isn't there to have some sort of pay-off with Aerith in part 3. Nah, he's just there to give Cloud and Aerith his blessing and to F-off. The reason Tifa is silent and heartbroken at the end has nothing to do with her best friend dying and the man she loves losing his mind. The distance between her and Cloud at that moment is totally not used to illustrate the severity of the situation, or to set-up Tifas importance in the events for part 3. Nah, she doesn't get lines because she's just a side character duh!. That is how they think, every single character and story is assassinated, everything happens only to service Cloud and Aeriths romance, even Cloud and Aerith themselves are pushed through the mud. Screw the death of Ifalna, screw the death of Zack, screw the complexity surrounding Clouds Zack shaped psychology, screw Aeriths childhood and desire for real bonds of friendship, screw even the story of Aerith dying and how maybe, JUST MAYBE, the scenes surrounding Aeriths death have SOMETHING to do with the strong emotions surrounding death rather than just being "a cute romance scene uwu". Never have I seen any story interpretation reveal such rampant hatred for a character as Cleriths reveal for Aerith. To them, Aerith is totally the kind of person who would bond with Tifa, hear the very personal and intimate story about the promise shared between her and Cloud, hear that Cloud thinks that Zack is dead, and not 5 minutes later write a story about how "she loves Cloud and they wouldn't need no promises like that other girl". But sure, I'm the one who hates Aerith, not the people who think this is who she is, but me, the person who assumed she'd be less vile than that and that any song she'd write would encompass more than that. I stand up for her character and get mocked, called an Aerith hater, and called "toxic"....and then you get an interview like this. God it feels good to always have all your positions validated by future content. One has to wonder if the people still arguing for Clerith ever sit back and think "wait, the last 100 times I dismissed these peoples arguments I was proven wrong almost immediately, I am constantly having to shift my goalposts while they're just happily sitting there laughing as they consume media about Cloud kissing Tifa, or proclaiming to become her special existence....maybe I am the delusional one...." God I can't wait for part 3, it will be hilarious.

[riverkingmarley]

My kind of core reason I didn’t like season 2 was the lack of political backdrop for the show.

Something I loved about the original was how all the characters seemed to like and care about each other but were torn apart by politics. Vander and Silco being close until whatever happened at the protest tore them apart. Jinx and Vi being ripped apart by Silco’s power grab and later by Vi’s unwillingness to stay with her sister when she kills cops. Jinx and Ekko basically fighting for the same general goal but Ekko refusing to ally with Silco’s methods. Jayce and Victor torn apart by Jayce’s loyalty to power and victor’s deteriorating health caused by Piltover’s pollution.

None of these people really hated each other personally but we’re all fighting because of the pre-existing political situation putting them at odds.

But in season 2 arc 1 they fight because Cait wants to kill Jinx. This wouldn’t be a problem in itself if they didn’t have this be shown to lead Cait down a path of police brutality and dictatorship that is never dealt with outside of her feeling kind of bad at the end.

Then arc 3 has everyone fighting Victor and Ambessa.

I have no idea what politics Victor is suppose to represent if any so that part isn’t compelling. Especially because it ignores that Victor was dying and it was implied his illness was caused by pollution. His whole story around wanting to help Zaun is twisted into being a bad thing. Which again isn’t awful except that nothing is done for Zaun in the end and they just act like all the problems were resolved.

I found everything with Ambessa really interesting though. Not just because she’s a compelling villain but because I found Mel’s story baffling. Why did she take over her mothers position in the end? Why did she say “you are no Medarda” to her mother? Wasn’t the point to show that her mothers facist ‘we are all equal on the battlefield’ ideology was wrong? Was the lesson just that Medarda wasn’t doing a good enough job? Is Mel just going to do the same stuff her mother did now? That all felt like it came out of nowhere.

The lack of solid politics in the show made it feel like a lot of the characters were just going through the motions rather than a real plot pushing the narrative forward.

Other assorted thoughts:

Did that child know she was going to suicide bomb Jinx’s dad at the end of arc 2? Why did she do that? Was she worried Vander was going to kill the soldiers? Did she just want to disrupt the battle to save Jinx? If so, why did she stand next to Vander when she did it? Not super clear what happened there.

At the beginning of arc 2 when the have that black and white sequence that ends on a shot of caits face I though the shadow on her lapels were suppose to make it look like she had swastikas on her shoulders but I guess that was just a coincidence lol.

Cait and Vi broke up with Cait hitting Vi hard enough to bring her to her knees. Then Cait has a training montage where she learns to fight more and be more like Ambessa. Then when Cait and Vi reunite the first thing that happens is Cait uses the techniques Ambessa taught her to hurt Vi. And somehow this is framed like a meet cute moment where they get back together and not showing how Cait has sunken further and further under Ambessas influence. And then the next part of Vi’s plan involves Cait hitting Vi again.

It’s crazy that Cait is just hanging around at the end after gassing civilians in arc 1. That’s such an anti climactic conclusion. I would have had her living in a cave for a decade to try and come to terms with what she did or something. You can’t gas kids then just walk that off.

Jinx is going to kill herself and then Ekko stops her and they have some sort of heart to heart off screen. But then at the end jinx uses the same weapon she built to kill herself with to explode Vander and herself to save Vi. So the message is… suicide is good? If I were writing it I would not have the suicidal character use their suicide weapon of choice to kill herself in a heroic moment.

I think there was a missed opportunity in showing how Maddie is presented as super pro cop and then becomes a spy for Ambessa as a way to show how Piltovers and Noxus aren’t that different despite their more liberal front.

We’re the purple bleeding Noxians the ones upgraded by Victor? That wasn’t super clear. Purple hadn’t really been victors colour for a while.

It’s weird that they brought back the woman that Jayce killed the child of but it didn’t really affect him or the story. Like when Jayce killed that kid it made him realize that Piltover was wrong and he tried to give up power to resolve things peacefully but he has basically no opinion or impact on Zaun in season 2. Jayce was confronted by the fact he murdered a child and the fact a statue of Caitlyn’s mother got caught in the middle had more of an impact.

The dialog in arc 1 didn’t feel right to me. Did anyone else have that thought? Idk it just felt too cutesy and self referential for coming right after the episode where jinx bombs the council. Maybe that was just me though. I thought it was much better in arc 2.

I though Vi’s ‘i choose wrong every time’ line was a little weird. I feel like all her wrong choices in the show were abandoning Jinx. 1. After jinx bombed the factory 2. After jinx bombed the bridge 3. When Vi became a cop to hunt down jinx. What other bad choices did she make? I feel like the other stuff wasn’t in her control. And then trusting Jinx and letting her out of the cell is framed as the wrong choice? Idk.

Can’t believe they had the sex scene happen in a prison cell. Awful optics with the massive amount of sexual violence perpetrated by cops in cells and the back of Cop Cars. They should have just gone to Caits office or something.

Did Sevika talk at all post arc 2?

I thought Sevika’s arm was a little too silly. I’ve seen some people point out the whole gambling aspect of it which I cool but I think the shark face is just a little too wacky for her character. I cringe every time I see the design.

I cant believe they brought Sky back and still didn’t give her a character outside of ‘woman who exists to impact Victors arc’. It was one of the worsts parts of season 1 and now it’s bad in season 2 as well.

I don’t know why they killed Heimerdinger. They already had a way to write him out of the story by dropping him in the other dimension and I didn’t feel anything when he died. Falls flat.

[paintedscales]

Highlight a FFXIV blogger who is always a joy to interact or RP with.

Man...there's really just more than one, and I wish I could interact more with them all. So in that vein, I'll highlight those that I've talked to more frequently than I might have expected.

First off, @ainyan -- who I actually just met IRL literally yesterday by pure coincidence on both our parts in learning where we'd be at the same time. We had a wonderful lunch with along with her husband and my partner. They were both absolute sweethearts, and Ainyan is as much a sweetheart online as she is in person. An absolute joy for sure. :>

@sasslett -- who has given me a wonderful opportunity with the FFXIV Swap Discord. She's been so lovely to me, and I've been having a lot of fun hanging out with her, Ainyan, and Sylaurin (+ their partners who I'm not sure have tumblrs?) playing games I normally wouldn't be playing.

@sylaurin of course, because I can't just mention them and then not tag them. Sylaurin has also been very sweet, and a lot of fun. I appreciate the invitations to come out and have fun with all of them. :> I think it's helping me be braver about playing scary games, haha.

For the above three especially, I am always so tickled and grateful when you hype up my art. Like, especially on days when I'm looking at it and feel like I just...am not sure about where I am in terms of feeling like it's good enough. All three of you have been so kind to me artistically, and it does help with picking myself up and pushing forward to making more.

@ubejamjar has been an absolute joy. Like, there are so many factors in the fact that it's clear both of us have so many ideas and stories that just align with one another's thoughts and how we perceive FFXIV that it's really fun to talk about characters with her. Our Discord conversations are literally paragraphs upon paragraphs bouncing back between one another. We literally have, like, three to four different discussions in succession and can keep up with that.

@finishing-touch MAN...I'm always just so grateful that there's this patience that finishing-touch has. They are a fantastic person -- extremely kind and has reached out to me when I was kind of getting kicked around this year (I'm still getting kicked around this year, let me be real). I'm happy that this also led into being able to RP with Theralt and seeing this creative storytelling process that finishing-touch has as well. I'm genuinely so inspired after years of this RP rust building up.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life part 4

Warnings: violence, bleeding, near-death experience, captivity whump, cruel Villain whumper

Amber stayed quiet. Zack's frustration bubbled to the surface. All he wanted was an explanation. Was that too much to ask for?! With a growl, he suddenly reached out and pushed her against the wall, pinning her there, before digging his fingers straight into one of her bandaged wounds.

An agonized scream of pain tore loose from her, and she doubled over, coughing violently and shaking all over.

"Let's try again, shall we?" Zack's voice dripped with venom.

"OKAY, okay! You win..." Amber rasped weakly, head drooping. "The enemy I faced... was like no one I've ever met before. He was so, unnaturally strong..." She trailed off, gaze growing distant and foggy. "His power... he had powers like mine. Which should be impossible, considering he was merely human. Only people like me have that kind of magic potential." She leaned back against the wall with a wince to rest.

"He wasn't alone, either. I walked straight into an ambush. And his henchmen... there were only three of them, but they were strong. Strong as I was. And I..." She hesitated. "I... I got in over my head, okay?" She finally spat.

"Huh. And I never thought I'd see the day a normal human laid you low..." Zack scoffed.

A long silence fell between them, before Amber spoke again. "If I may ask... Why did you save me?" She croaked, changing the subject.

"Because I've seen you fight before... I've fought you before. I know how powerful you are. And how much it takes to truly hurt you. So seeing you so gravely wounded... I knew that whoever inflicted the damage must have been pretty darn strong." Zack got up and started pacing.

"And the problem is, I'm smart enough to know my own limits. I accept and acknowledge that you can usually beat me in battle. In the past I've only escaped you because of sheer luck, nothing more, hard as it is to admit. Which means... that if someone strong enough to nearly kill you is out there, I better make sure they're not my enemy. And if they are..." He paused, fixing her with a grave look.

"I might need extra firepower to eliminate them. I might need a weapon like you."

"I'm not a weapon," Amber spat. "I'm a person with powers that can be used to either help or hurt."

"Power is power." Zack shrugged indifferently. "Basic point is that saving you might be worthwhile for me. On any other day I wouldn't care less if you live or die... but now, we might have a common enemy, one that I may not be strong enough to take out on my own. I look forward to seeing how the situation plays out."

"And how do you plan to proceed, now that all cards are on the table?" Amber challenged.

"I'm going to see if I can track down this new character, determine for myself if they are friend or foe. Who knows, maybe I won't need you alive after all! How fun would THAT be?" Zack cackled darkly, a loud, cruel sound, before becoming serious again. "Oh, and one more question... how did you find me? The alley you were in was only a block away from my hideout. If that's a coincidence, I'll be darned. Were you trying to find me to help you or something?"

Amber averted her gaze, shifting uncomfortably.

"Answer me!" He snapped, and she winced.

"Fine. Yes, I knew where your hideout was. I also knew I wouldn't make it back to my headquarters, as injured as I was. My only hope was to try and make it to your hideout and beg for help, pathetic as that is. I've been keeping tabs on you for longer than you realize," she replied, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

"W-What?" Zack sputtered. "That's impossible! My security is impenetrable!"

"Clearly not, because the proof is sitting right in front of you." Amber gestured meaningfully to herself.

"Then why not strike sooner? If you knew where I was hiding, why didn't you attack?"

"Because I had larger threats to deal with at the time. So I had to prioritize. Also, I couldn't risk you moving to a new location. I knew where you were, so I decided to let you stay there until I could find time to swing by. Didn't imagine it would be quite like this, though." She let out a single wheezing laugh but clutched her side at the pain it cost her.

"I'm not sure if I should be offended that I'm not higher on your threat list." Zack folded his arms over his chest and glowered.

"Believe me, in the kind of life I live, you're the least of my worries. Fighting you is a walk in the park compared to some of the other villains I'm up against."

"Mmhmm..." Zack tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And why me?"

"What?"

"Why did you come to me for help? I mean, what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," Amber admitted grimly. "I only knew I was too injured to make it back to my headquarters, and your hideout was the closest place I knew of. I obviously couldn't show up at a random civilian's house. Imagine the chaos that would cause." She shuddered.

"...So your plan was seriously to just hand yourself over to your greatest enemy and hope they didn't kill you?" Zack gawked at her in disbelief.

"Pretty much. And it worked, didn't it? I understand your thought process. I know how you work. You're an analytical thinker. Always analyzing possibilities and outcomes, inquisitive by nature. I hoped that you would want to keep me alive for questioning, thus creating internal conflict between killing me or satisfying curiosity." Amber quirked an eyebrow. "Your mind is your greatest tool, but also your greatest weakness. You're more predictable than you think."

Zack was seething mad, but also deeply unsettled by how accurate it was. She knew him better than he thought.

"Hmph. Clever," he snorted. "You're lucky my curiosity won out in the end."

"I suppose I am," Amber answered smugly.

He bristled even more. He hated it when people agreed with his barbed remarks. Took all the satisfaction out of it. He spun on his heel and started stalking out of the room.

"H-Hey! Wait! You can't leave me here! My team members will be searching the whole city for me! And if they find me here--"

Zack cut off Amber's protests with a raised hand, turning back to look at her with a smug, wolf-like grin. "I don't think I have anything to worry about. They don't know where my hideout is, do they?" Her reaction confirmed his suspicion. He was always five steps ahead.

"Ha! I knew it! You're not the only one who does their homework. You like to categorize information on your enemies by yourself, leaving your 'team members' out of the majority of your plans. They don't have a clue I live here, do they?" He laughed at her dry scowl. "Classic uno-reverse." He chuckled to himself as he turned and walked out of the room, even as Amber shouted threats after him.

"You're in MY house, so you better follow my rules! Keep yelling, and I'll gag you!" Zack called over his shoulder. He smiled at the immediate silence his words created. She knew him well enough to know he wasn't joking.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[defectivevillain]

forgone faith

pairing: Monsignor/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

summary: It’s too late to go back now. You might as well continue pushing forward. “Some part of you, however small, lays its eyes on me and finds belonging and understanding.” The chess game has been neglected since you first accused the Monsignor of being threatened by you, and you can’t attribute that to mere coincidence. “Your desires are much like mine,” you elaborate, your heart hammering in your chest. “I see the way you look at other men, the way you look at me. You don’t practice what you preach… and you are no saint.” You finish.

You're a patient at Briarcliff Manor, and your simple chess matches with the Monsignor quickly escalate into something more.

notes: The reader was born a woman, but is under the trans/nonbinary umbrella. Their identity isn’t explicitly stated, so feel free to imagine however you’d like. (I usually write the reader from my perspective as a transmasc person, if that’s helpful to know.) Otherwise, no pronouns or physical descriptors are used; race is kept ambiguous.

word count: 3.9k | ao3 version

warnings: period-typical transphobia (not the focus of this fic in the slightest), the questioning/scrutiny of religion (mostly just American Catholicism), conversations about gender identity (grounded in the time period and its prejudiced beliefs, unfortunately), canon-typical violence, electroshock therapy, torture, loss of consciousness, canonical Nazi character

“You have the devil in you.”

You look up from the chess game. In a different time, with different people, that kind of remark would have sent your heart racing. You would’ve been terrified at the thought of your identity being thrust into the open so easily, despite your seemingly endless attempts to keep the skeletons in your dusty closet. Now, as you sit in the Briarcliff Manor Sanitarium across from a priest, the remark only makes you huff a laugh. 

You’re not sure how these chess games started, in all honesty. As the director of the Sanitarium, Monsignor Timothy Howard presides over the entire building. You hadn’t spoken to him much, save for one fateful day when you found yourself cleaning the kitchen. The priest had walked in with a slight pull to his lips, before requesting your company in a game of chess. You—desiring something else to do—agreed within moments. From there, one chess game turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into games once or twice a week. 

You’re abruptly thrown back to reality as the priest successfully takes one of your pieces. It takes you a few moments to remember what he just said—You have the devil in you—and several more moments to respond. 

“And how about you?” You remember to ask, moving your chess piece before leveling the Monsignor with an intent look. You’re glad this conversation is occurring behind closed doors. While your first games had occurred in the kitchens, they soon migrated to the priest’s office. “I’ve seen you observing me, watching me.”

The man is entirely silent. His brows are furrowed and he’s staring at the board in concentration, but you know he isn’t thinking about chess. He’s contemplating what you’ve just said and, admittedly, you’re surprised. You had fully expected him to deny the accusation immediately. Sensing that he will remain silent for a while longer, you continue talking. “Do you think I haven’t noticed? The preferential treatment? I haven’t had a beating in weeks, and I definitely deserve it—according to Sister Jude, at least.”

The Monsignor stiffens. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he replies lightly, finally making his move. 

You decide to be straightforward. You don’t have much to lose, after all (no one at Briarcliff does). “Does your god care about people like me?” You hum. You don’t need to elaborate any further for him to understand what you’re alluding to. After all, your identity is the reason you’re locked behind these walls. You were born a woman. You are not one. It should be quite simple, but to everyone else, it is not. 

“God accepts all of His children into heaven,” the Monsignor says in a practiced recitation. You wonder how many people have been fed that lie. From what you’ve seen and experienced, American Catholicism has traditionally repelled queerness in any form.

“Even the broken ones?” You ask, watching as his eyebrows furrow for a fraction of a second. You don’t think yourself to be broken—you’re simply borrowing the words from accusations that have been hurled at you over the years. “The deluded ones?” You raise your eyebrows and look at him expectantly. 

“Even them,” the Monsignor says, suddenly breaking eye contact to look down at his pieces. You don’t think you’re imagining how he dodged your gaze, or the raspy quality his voice adopted.

“Even me,” you supplement. A fleeting smile crosses your face. You clasp your hands. “How I wish that were true.” 

“You do not need to wish for it,” the Monsignor remarks, clasping his hands in a mimicry (unconscious or conscious, you’re not quite sure) of your own posture. “You need only… believe it.” His statement is punctuated by the move he makes with his rook. 

“Even when you don’t?” You ask, moving your bishop in response. 

“I believe you are misguided,” the Monsignor says. Irritation prickles along your skin. You don’t care what a man like him thinks of you. And yet… the accusation still hurts. 

“And I believe that you are threatened by me,” you blurt out, before you can contemplate the consequences of speaking so freely. Perhaps a small part of you is feeling vindictive. 

“Threatened?” The Monsignor laughs in evident amusement. It’s not hard to notice that his laugh sounds strained. He wouldn’t be so vehemently opposed to this turn in conversation unless he had something to hide. And you know all about hiding—you were forced to hide who you were for nearly your entire life, just to survive. It’s frighteningly easy to peel back the layers of the Monsignor’s disguise and dig your fingers into the essence of his being. 

It’s too late to go back now. You might as well continue pushing forward. “Some part of you, however small, lays its eyes on me and finds belonging and understanding.” The chess game has been neglected since you first accused him of being threatened by you, and you can’t attribute that to mere coincidence. 

“Your desires are much like mine,” you elaborate, your heart hammering in your chest. “I see the way you look at other men, the way you look at me. You don’t practice what you preach… and you are no saint.” You finish. 

Suddenly, the Monsignor slams his hands on the table. The chessboard rattles and some of the pieces tip over, terminating your game. You hardly have the time to regret what you’ve done before you’re being yanked up by the collar of your shirt and shoved into the wall. 

There’s a dangerous look in the Monsignor’s eyes. You’ve hit a nerve, it seems. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again,” the priest hisses, his calm mask slipping right off. There’s a hint of a snarl on his lips. His fist is tightened around your collar, turning his knuckles white with exertion. “Or I will ensure that you never see the light of day.”

You remain silent, your objections unspoken. You could never do that to me, because you know, deep down, that what I’m saying rings true, you recite in your mind. The Monsignor’s grip tightens and his fingers claw at your shirt, to the point that you have to stand up taller to avoid losing your breath. 

“Do you understand?” He hisses, his breath hitting your neck. 

“I understand,” you say, if only to placate him. You’ve said all that you wanted to say, and that is more than enough. You can already tell that the priest is ruminating on your conversation, picking it apart within the darkest corners of his mind. That’s the best you can hope for. 

The Monsignor’s grip finally leaves your collar and you cough at the stress placed on your throat. Your vision momentarily blurring, you can’t see the emotions running across his face: rage, irritation, fear, regret. “Leave.” He demands. 

You turn on your heel and leave without hesitation.

In hindsight, you should’ve prioritized self-preservation over trying to prove a point to the Monsignor. Although, in the time immediately following your conversation, you do not see any repercussions. You go to meals, sit in the common room, and return to your cell. Everything is normal, unchanged. 

Then you mouth off to Sister Jude, and you’re roughly dragged into her office. You had gotten too confident, you think to yourself as you’re punished. Sister Jude’s arm winds back again and again. At some point, your vision spirals and you lose consciousness. It’s a small mercy. 

When you wake up, you find yourself in solitary. You sit in the unassuming cell, bruises forming along your skin from Sister Jude’s harsh punishment. When you’re finally released, you make your way back to your cell mechanically. Where you had felt fury and determination before, you only feel empty. You’re starting to slip off the deep end, you think. 

Unsurprisingly, your chess games are no more. You catch glimpses of the Monsignor around the building, but you don’t speak to him. Sometimes, you get a prickling feeling—as if there are eyes on your back. But when you turn around, you don’t find anyone there. 

It’s rather easy to fade behind the walls of the Sanitarium. That is what the building is designed for, essentially. There is no color, no life inside these walls. The medications you’re given certainly don’t help in that regard, either. You soon find yourself trapped in a never-ending cycle of acting out, being punished, getting thrown in solitary, and returning to your cell. Indeed, you’re finding yourself in Sister Jude’s office more often than not these days. And you don’t enjoy the pain—not necessarily. But it does make you feel alive—more alive than you’ve felt in a long time. Regrettably, it doesn’t take the nun very long to catch on.  

“We may have to resort to… other forms of rehabilitation,” Sister Jude murmurs, hovering in front of her assorted canes before turning to you. There’s nothing in her eyes—no glimmer of emotion for you to latch onto. “You’re dismissed.” You can’t summon the courage to question her about just what is happening or why she’s dismissing you, so you leave with trepidation curdling in your chest. Sister Jude is many things, but merciful is not one of them. Your punishment hasn’t come yet. 

You’re reminded of Sister Jude’s merciless nature when you’re tugged off your mattress in the middle of the night by two staff members, carelessly manhandled through the halls until you’re shoved on a cot and tied down with leather restraints. You try to fight back, but you’re outnumbered. You strain against your bonds, but they don’t budge—instead burning into your skin and leaving irritated marks. 

Dr. Arthur Arden strolls in, and any hope you had for escape swiftly dies in your chest. Evidently, your dread and disgust show on your face, because the doctor smiles menacingly. He moves to stand at the side of the bed, and your heart drops to your stomach as you see the machinery and begin to connect the dots. You’re going to undergo electroshock therapy. Your movements grow more frantic as you try to kick out, pull your restraints off, do anything other than lie helplessly on the bed. Something is shoved in your mouth, inhibiting your ability to speak, and a headpiece is forced on your forehead. You stare up at the ceiling, a tear falling down your face as you try to come to terms with what’s about to happen. In all your time at Briarcliff, you’ve never had to undergo this particular treatment. You’ve seen the impact it can have on patients—turning the most headstrong and individualistic people into shivering wrecks. 

You try one last time to rip yourself free, but the restraints don’t budge. Dr. Arden looms over you and you feel your hands shaking in horrid anticipation. Sister Jude is standing on the other side of the bed, looking entirely unaffected by the prospect of causing you irreparable damage. Arden says something to Sister Jude—something you can’t quite make out—and he twists the knob of one of the machines. Immediately you feel as if your body is connected with raw electricity, as pain surges up your limbs, through your skin and into your very core. 

You have a somewhat high pain tolerance. You survived Sister Jude’s cruel punishments. But this? This is too much. You hear someone screaming—loud, raw, broken. It takes you a moment to realize the screams are crawling up your throat and spilling from your own lips. Flickers of life pass before your eyes. 

“Even the broken ones?” A shadowed form asks. 

The Monsignor stares at you, his form blurring and his eyes melting into tears that fall from his empty eye sockets. “Even them.” 

There’s a hand on your forearm, holding you down as you practically levitate with how hard you’re shaking and trembling. The pain is blinding, creating patterns that float before your eyes and run down your skin. Arden’s blurred figure hovers over you, disappearing for a moment before returning to look down at you. The pressure is like nothing you have ever felt before, and there isn’t a part of your body that doesn’t hurt. 

You’re shivering now, your teeth chattering around the mouthpiece. Another tear slips down your face. You’re struck with one awful realization: you’re going to die. You’re going to rot in Briarcliff—your body dumped somewhere to decay and disintegrate. Another desperate scream falls from your lips, but you know it’s far too late to do anything. Sister Jude and Arden show no sign of stopping. Your vision is swirling before you, shadows creeping from the corners of your eyes and oozing down the walls.

Idly, you hear raised voices. You can’t see much of anything, and you can’t make out the conversations that are occurring over the horrible static and high-pitched ringing echoing in your ears. Your eyes are blurring with unshed tears. You blink to clear your vision, only to find a dark shadow on your left. It looks like an angel, its eyes gleaming as it stares down at you. It has some sort of mass behind it—feathered wings, you realize. It regards you with a sad smile, slowly rounding the bed to stand at your side. Your teeth are aching, your head feels as if it’s about to burst, and your chest has never felt so tight. Your heart is racing in your ears, and you feel your fingers clenching against your will. Just as you try to reach out to the figure next to you, there’s a harsh bang and the demon—angel?—disappears. The last thing you see before you’re blissfully brought into unconsciousness is a new blurry silhouette hovering over you, a concerned expression on their face. 

You float in and out of consciousness, inhabiting an eerie middle ground between wakefulness and slumber. Pain is a constant companion, forcing you down into what you can only assume is a mattress. Your skin feels too tight; your eyes feel as if they’re going to pop out of your head; and your temple feels as if someone has been consistently hammering at it. You can’t even move and, amidst your best efforts, your eyes refuse to open. 

There are brief traces of what you can assume to be happening around you. A stinging pain tingles and burrows into your forearm. Sometimes, you can catch hints of voices speaking over you. Occasionally, there is the steady pressure of a hand on your wrist. 

When you finally wake, your mouth is so dry that you nearly choke on your own breath. The nurse standing at your side is quick to hand you a cup of water, which you gulp down eagerly. You cough and make several attempts to clear your throat, only for nothing to come out. The nurse informs you that you’ve been unconscious for several days following the electroshock therapy. You nod, having expected as much. The ward is entirely empty, save for you and the nurse standing across from you. You take a look at the table next to your bed, huffing an amused breath as your eyes catch on the small figurine on the side table. Upon closer examination, it appears to be… the Virgin Mary? The thought fills you with inexplicable amusement. Although, above all, the figurine provokes your curiosity: who brought it here? 

As if sensing your thoughts, the nurse answers your question. “The Monsignor has been visiting rather frequently,” she states. Her tone is clinical, but her expression betrays a little of her confusion. Evidently, she’s wondering why he has made multiple visits. 

On the one hand, you’re not surprised—you’re sure the Monsignor visits any patients in the ward to pray for them. On the other hand, you’re certain that you would’ve lost that privilege after your quarrel weeks ago. The idea that the Monsignor has gone out of his way to visit you multiple times… You don’t know what to make of that.

Your recovery is slow going and dreadfully boring. When you’re finally moved out of the ward, you don’t return to your cell—to your surprise. Instead, you’re given a room on a different floor—one with an actual bed and a window. 

And if you had special privileges before, you’re not even sure what you have now. It’s like you have some sort of… diplomatic immunity. Where the guards were harsh and rough with you before, they now hesitate to even touch you. You don’t have to do any chores, you don’t have to take any pills aside from the ones the nurse gives you to take away the pain. You spend nearly all of your time in your new room.

You’re still slipping away. 

The Monsignor visits as you’re growing restless with boredom. He knocks once, twice on the door. After a few moments, you give him permission to enter. The priest opens the door with tremendous speed, his eyes immediately finding you and latching onto you with feverish intensity. He grabs a chair from the table in the corner of the room and sets it near your bedside, before taking a seat. 

For several moments, there is nothing but silence. The Monsignor seems to be contemplating his next words, as he stares down at his clasped hands with a blank expression. When he finally looks up at you, you’re surprised to see a remorseful expression on his face. “I am sorry,” he murmurs. “I only wish I could have arrived earlier, before the damage was done.” His fingers move along the beads of his rosary in an unconscious gesture.

Realization crashes down on you, as you realize that the Monsignor must’ve been the person looking down at you as you lost consciousness. He must’ve been the cause for the raised voices you were hearing as you underwent the procedure. 

Admittedly, you don’t know what to say. Your eyes are suddenly incredibly dry and you reach up to rub at them, taking a bit longer than normal to complete the action. Monsignor’s eyes track your hands even as you place them in your lap. 

“Let me see,” the priest says. You bring your hands up to show him. Indeed, they’re fidgeting and trembling. You’ve long given up on trying to get them to stop, recognizing the ailment as a side effect to the torture you went through. He brings his hands under yours and clasps them with incredible gentleness. 

The Monsignor’s eyes look glassy and his lips are pressed in a thin line, as if he’s troubled. His hands slip from yours as a frown overtakes his face. “You must excuse me,” he says, averting his gaze and fleeing the room. You blink at him in confusion. It’s not like him to simply… end a conversation like that. You watch his retreating back, taking note of how tight his shoulders are drawn and the way his fists are clenched at his sides. He looks strangely rattled. 

You’re left to contemplate his sudden departure in solitude. As you think back to the look on the Monsignor’s face, you rationalize that his concern was of a professional nature. He doesn’t care about you—he just cares about the implications of a patient being harmed under his leadership. You shake your head. That excuse sounds flimsy, even to you. 

In light of his unexplained exit, you don’t expect to see the Monsignor for several days. When he walks into your room at approximately the same time the next day, you can’t quite conceal your surprise. If he senses your confusion, he ignores it—instead deigning to sit at the table in the corner of the room. 

“Care to join me?” The Monsignor asks, motioning to the chess set he brought with him. You nod and get up from your bed, walking over to take a seat across from him. For a while, there’s nothing but a tense silence. Once it is broken, you find that the conversation is easy and quiet. There is still that lingering tension settling in the air—especially when you consider the accusations you hurled at him—but it doesn’t hamper the mood considerably. 

Your hands continue to shake when you go to make a move, but the Monsignor steadies your hand and ensures you don’t knock over any other pieces. He doesn’t bring up your conversation all that time ago, yet it clings to the air around you like a vice.  Surprisingly, the two of you mostly talk about inane things. You find it strangely refreshing—you can’t remember the last time you were treated like a person in Briarcliff. 

When he leaves for the day after a successful few chess games, you think you may finally be getting better. You lie in bed that night for a bit longer than normal, unable to chase thoughts of the Monsignor away from your waking mind. When you finally do fall asleep, he follows you to your dreams. 

Any trace of hope you had quickly fades as you wake the next morning; you’re immediately greeted with a ringing sound in your ears and a pounding headache. When you get out of bed, you find that the world is spinning beneath you. One moment, you’re standing up; the next, you’re lying on your side on the ground. You’re shivering and shaking with phantom bursts of electricity. Your teeth are chattering and clacking; your hands are trembling uncontrollably. It’s been weeks since the procedure, yet its aftereffects are still persistent. 

Your collision with the ground must be loud, because within moments, the Monsignor is walking into the room. He looks worriedly around the space, his eyes settling on you and his expression falling to something far too close to worry as he sees you on the floor. The priest kneels down at your side and helps you up to a sitting position. You think he’s saying something to you, but it’s too hard to make out amidst the tunneling in your ears and the jackhammering sensation ripping at your temple.

The expression on the Monsignor’s face is so open and honest. Confused and in pain, you can’t help but reach out to him. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to breathe. To your surprise, Timothy doesn’t push you away. Instead, he embraces you back—with a reassuringly strong grip, as if he’s afraid to let you go. You lean into his shoulder, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you hug him. Your body is still wracked with tremors. If he notices that his shoulder is growing damp with your tears, he doesn’t comment on it. 

When he finally does speak, it’s with a frightening amount of sincerity. “Tell me what I can do,” the man implores you, briefly leaning back and bringing his hands up to cradle your cheeks. His eyes are gleaming with unapologetic affection—a sentiment you still refuse to believe you’re provoking in him. “Anything. I’ll do it.” 

“Just…” You break off, lost for words. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been treated with such kindness. Briarcliff has molded you into someone who only knows cruelty. Now that you’re being shown compassion, you don’t know what to do with it.  “...Sit with me.” You eventually request. The Monsignor leans closer and holds you tighter. 

In the coming days, Timothy will enlist the help of a doctor with vast experience treating patients with similar side effects from electroshock therapy. In the coming days, Timothy will grow more and more hesitant to leave your side. Your chess games will morph into matches, and you will soon be unable to deny that the Monsignor truly cares for you. 

In the meantime, you’re content to sit on the floor, safely shielded from the world’s harms in his embrace.

endnotes: this was fun to write. and yes, this was born out of my religious trauma. i will not be fielding criticisms, concerns, or questions about that at this time. LOLLL

peep the shachath reference, mwahahhahaha. also, it/its pronouns for shachath, 'cause i said so!!!!

obligatory fic playlist

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

[oh-katsuki]

for the ask game: tendou satori with the forced proximity trope?? (flirting but sfw)

moans out loud. i love love LOVE this hnggggg. NOT GONNA LIE THO im finding it SO difficult to keep my thoughts sfw im so-

send me a character and a fic idea / trope and ill write a snippet of it!

cw: flirting, consensual touching but it's sfw kinda....., forced proximity trope, tendou flirts with reader when they can't go anywhere (but we're into it OBVIOUSLY), uhhh mentions of his creepiness being hot (it is), this is not as sfw as i intended and i apologize for that... nothing happens tho... but im still sorry for being a degenerate.

it's bad luck. that's all that it is. you happened to be grabbing some art supplies from your university's storage closet and tendou happened to show up needing some paintbrushes for some banners a few minutes later. it's an unfortunate coincidence that the door closed behind him, leaving you both locked in and without a key.

the closet you both sit in now is no more than 5 meters across and 5 meters deep, wall to wall. there are shelves taking up even more of that minimal space and in the middle of the room is a bin full of rolled newspaper used for sketching. both you and tendou are a little too close for comfort. even when you stand on opposite ends of the room, your knees still touch in the middle.

he's got his hands buried deep in his pockets, pressing them down so that the fabric pulls around them. every now and then, he will look up and you and offer a sly grin over the apples of his cheeks. you think he seems remarkably relaxed for the situation.

you're not uncomfortable because you don't like tendou. in fact, it's most likely the opposite. you think that part of it is owed to the fact that you do like him. mostly though, tendou creeps you out just a little. his big, heavily-creased eyes, his thin upper lip and the way it curls up in the corners when he smiles. you feel like, if you were to look at him in the dark, his eyes would glow.

there's just something about him that raises the hair at the back of your neck. what's worse is that you don't dislike it. in fact, he creeps you out just enough that it's kind of hot. the way he hunches over himself across from you, hands shoved into his pockets, makes for a posture you find difficult to look away from.

"staring?" he says, his eyes still trained at the ceiling above him.

"huh?" you snap out of it, shaking your head as if that would hide the fact that you were caught.

"it's fine," he grins, looking down at you. his lips curl in the corners in that characteristic way and he gives you a knowing smile. "you can look all you want."

"i wasn't staring," you pout slightly, crossing your arms over your chest. he makes you feel so exposed.

"mmm, you sure?" tendou pushes off of the wall in front of him, taking a single step toward you. "kinda seems like you want to look at me."

you scoff a little, laughing and avoiding looking at him. if you did, your noses would be less than an inch apart. "well, there's not much else in here to look at."

tendou's eyes drop down to the neckline of your shirt and then back up to your face. "i think there's stuff to look at."

when you don't answer, tendou gives you space to breath and leans back against the shelf he'd been sitting on. his knee knocks yours as he settles.

you calm the heat rising on your face, chewing the inside of your mouth as you try top calm the way you drip with desire.

"hey," he says, tiling his chin forward.

"what?"

"you like me?" he asks plainly, tilting his head to the side.

everything about his mannerism is odd, right down to the casual way he pops the question. you widen your eyes and refuse to answer, looking up to the ceiling with am embarassed sigh.

"i like you," he says, stepping forward and giving you a lopsided grin as he steps across the space again, crouched so that he's eye-level. "i think you're interesting. easy to play with. you wanna play with me, doll?"

so fucking weird. you clench your thighs together. tendou tilts his head to the side like a predator watching it's prey. playing with his food. you nod slowly, wanting so desperately to "play" that it makes you feel crazy.

"let's play then," he says, placing his hands on the side of your hips and stepping between your now parted legs.

you pant lightly under his gaze, pressing your back into the shelf behind you as he makes his way closer to you.

"so pretty..." he murmurs to himself.

then, from the other side of the door, you hear the distinct sound of footsteps. his mouth is no farther than an inch from yours, but he turns his head to face the door before tilting it sideways to give you a mock sad smile.

"looks like this might have to wait," he clicks his tongue, not stepping back from you before he calls, "hey! could someone open the door?"

you blink up at him as someone exclaims softly on the other side and he steps away from you at the last moment. they open the door and you recognize the man as someone from the volleyball team. their eyes flit between you and the odd man beside you before they let out a breath.

"dude!" he says, "have you been in here the whole time?"

"heyyyyy, thanks," he drawls, giving him a smile and clapping him on the back. "we really thought we were done for."

"coach is going crazy," the second boy adds.

tendou just shrugs in response, sticking his tongue out a little and tossing you a sideways wink. you shrivel into yourself. even the way he interacts with his friends is creepy.

"well," he sighs, stretching his arms above his head. "let's play later, 'kay?"

you nod, eyebrows furrowed as you try to gather what just happened. tendou blushes and gives you a little smile before he loops his arm around his friend's neck and starts walking out of the door.

"they play volleyball?" you hear his friend ask.

"nah," tendou responds. you can hear the distinct sound of his smirk as he does.

it sends a rush of heat to your face and stomach. so fucking creepy.

[decepti-thots]

for character ask: minimus

First impression: I legitimately don't remember super clearly! I liked him first readthrough, but was really focused on Rodimus so it wasn't til the second or third time I reread the series I was super paying attention to his arc ngl.

Impression now: favourite boy. favouritest boy. picks him up and holds him up like that one lion king shot. Look At My Boy. Okay, but for real, he is now tied for joint favourite character and I love him sooo much.

Favorite moment: I mean. Has to be "fully deserved" right. It's so good. But I think a close second is actually from the prose stories, the bit where he just neatly eviscerates Rodimus' failings to Rung in that matter-of-fact way. Absolutely BRUTAL.

Idea for a story: god I really need to write something with that glaring massive gap of him and Verity working together on his ship some time. Like we do not poke at that incredibly huge hole in canon enough. It's such a WILD thing to be canon the longer you think about it.

Unpopular opinion: Minimus is kind of an asshole and this is really important to his character. Any discussion of him which smol-bean-dad-ifies him is just complete fanon, tbh. He takes his issues out on the people around him extensively in series one, he is distrustful and judgemental of basically all his peers, and he refuses to be straightforward with people- his arc requires he start from this point so it can be an arc.

Favorite relationship: him and Rodimus. Like I ship it but it doesn't even HAVE to be a ship to be clear; their canon dynamic is just really interesting and fruitful. There's just so much more tension there which pushes the story forward than there is when it largely gets replaced with the Rodimus-Megatron dynamic later on, IMO.

Favorite headcanon: I have no idea if the timeline actually fits, but I like to think that Rewind got his official combat exemption, at least, around the time Minimus got the role as Magnus, what a funny coincidence.

[lover-of-mine]

Hi! This is long, but just some Inside Baseball-y theorizing/thoughts on LFJ... I don't have any insider info or anything lol but I know a bit about how the business side of the industry works.

So, he would have been brought back as either a recurring guest star or a recurring co-star (co-stars are usually minor characters who basically serve to push other characters to where they need to be, which is probably what he was in S2. Guest stars have a bigger role and are usually a little more central to the story they're being used in). The distinction is a little fluid and can be up for negotiation by your agent (guest stars get paid a higher rate), but I think Tommy lands pretty solidly into recurring guest category for S7, so that's my guess as to what he was contracted as. (The step above that but before main cast is series regular, which is where Karen and Ravi etc fall)

From what we now know, his original arc was only supposed to be 4 episodes, and he was there for Eddie. Then Natalia's actress became unavailable (I think she was doing a play?) and their original plan sort of fell apart, because if Eddie had his gay awakening in 704 and Buck was single (since Natalia wouldn't be there) the rest of whatever they had planned for the season would stop making sense... hence the switch, and imo you can see some traces of the original plan in the version that eventually made it to air.

And then they were renewed for S8-9, which realistically would have been very much up in the air at the time the season was originally being written. They'd just come off the strikes, they were on a new network, they had a shortened season, they were planning a BIG swing by bringing at least one of their long-term characters out of the closet, so I don't think it's a coincidence that the renewal news came in the wake of those eps airing. I think the network was probably waiting to see how they'd do in the ratings once that happened before they decided how to move forward.

So once they were renewed, they decided to slow down the pace of whatever story they had planned since they now had more or less guaranteed time to do it. The back half of S7 was a hasty rewrite and suffered for it – I think that's been made obvious in interviews and just from what you see on-screen lmao

LFJ was probably asked back for a handful of 7B scenes because of the rewrites – most of his "presence" was done without him actually needing to be on-screen. A couple references to him here and there and one or two scenes in an episode, and that was kind of all they needed story-wise to keep Buck busy while Eddie started down his spiral. I don't think his "popularity" or "fanbase" or whatever had much at all to do with him staying longer. BIG fandom pushes can sometimes sway things, but I think people generally overestimate their influence on these kinds of decisions. It ultimately comes down to money and viewership and story needs, and it made sense for him to stay longer than expected, so he stayed.

When it stops making story or business sense to keep him, he'll be gone, which might have already happened if they think he's caused more trouble than he's worth. There's also the possibility that he'll be promoted to a main on SWAT or get booked for something else and become unavailable just like Natalia's actress did. That happens super frequently.

Or maybe not! If they have a plan for the wrap-up of that storyline that requires him to be physically present, or even if they want to keep him around off and on all next season, then he'll probably be back for a couple episodes, but they're definitely not going to be writing full independent storylines for him. If you pay attention, he (and Buck!) stopped being the focus of any of the plotlines as soon as the bulk of that story was resolved (Buck realizing he's bi and coming out to the rest of the team). Whatever their plan, his function is/was to push Buck to where he needs to be for whatever's next in his story, because Buck is the one who's part of the main cast. He's the one who gets storylines written about him.

I agree with a lot of this, really. I say his approval made him stay, but I kinda mean in the sense that Buck being bi was well received and unlike other love interests, he was well received, so keeping him in the background wasn't creating problems as they set up whatever it was they wanted to do with season 8 using the remainder of s7 after the renewal. I don't think his purpose on the narrative is completely done yet, so I do think he could be back to further Buck in whatever way they need him to, because like you said, he exists to push Buck somewhere and they stopped using Buck on his own after he came out and that's definitely not something that's gonna transfer into s8, so whatever plan they have for Buck is probably going to use him. I think the question is if the chaos that's been going on lately makes it worth it to drag out his presence or if they'll choose to get over with it quickly because while he still makes sense narratively, he might be stopping making sense from a business perspective. But we don't know, this is all speculation at this point. There's a chance he's already written off and there's a chance they are planning on keeping him as a presence for longer. We'll have to wait and see I guess. But this is a very detailed view, thank you for sharing it.

[peppertaemint]

How graphic/provocative/suggestive do you think is taemin going to go for his next album(s)? I've been wondering about this and I feel like if it weren't for censorship in korea he'd do a LOT more. With provocative I mean provocative themes of all kinds (...but mostly I'm asking how sexual do you think he's willing to get because let's be real a lot of us enjoy that in particular)

Hi Anon,

If it weren’t for the censorship and conservative culture in SK, I think TM would do a hell of a lot more. He’s basically said that he has a tread a really fine line with what he wants to do, and I think that the offensive Hybe report on him more or less confirms that. They labelled the Guilty concept problematic and called into question the entire direction of his artistry. And remember, it was after the “TM is copying V” stuff failed that online forums started trying to say the Guilty concept is promoting paedophilia. Do we really think that is a coincidence?

Anyhow, he walked back on some of the proactiveness with SITA, but he went further with the lyricism “sex is in the air” etc. I think Eternal as an entire album was rather safe. He didn’t push the gender fuckery too far (like Advice) and the choreography wasn’t overly provocative for any of the pieces. What he did do, was cement his dedication to the craft and worked with a lot of Beyoncé’s dancers, which is a statement in itself regarding multiculturalism and internationality.

So, what will he do in the future? I’m really not sure. I am always hoping he’ll take things further when it comes to gender and the sensuality/sexuality. I don’t think Eternal quite did that, but it added new dimensions. He’s unpredictable, and that’s part of the reason it’s fun following him. I can’t guess what he’ll do next.

In terms of his concerts, I think he’s taking leaps forward. The production of “Heaven” for Ephemeral Gaze is incredible; it’s theatrical and bold. The performance he did of “Strings” for Metamorph took things pretty far in terms of sensuality and sexuality in performance but I can’t say that has really extended to Ephemeral Gaze. I did miss some of the stream, though, due to a migraine, so I’ll reserve judgement for when I’ve seen it again.

Basically, I think he would go really crazy if given the chance on stage, and especially when performing in Japan. I think it will be harder to see in just the album concepts. His best moments have been in concert, I think, with Advice as an exception. And I can’t imagine what he has up his sleeve. I hope he can get his Japanese back catalogue back, though, because so many of those songs add a fun, sexy and spicy character that doesn’t come through with his tortured sinner acts.

[breserker]

it's kind of a funny thing winding up with eileen galvin of all characters being one of my all time favorites when she's a supporting character of one of the pushed-aside silent hill games that's found its footing it later years but i remember the pre-homecoming days of vitriol towards sh4. because like, it's really difficult to describe in some manner why she's a favorite and while i think my fics over the years have said much, both about how i feel about her and how that feeling has changed as i've grown up, but, and forgive the sincerity and cheesiness i do think it's because i look at her when times are...gestures. like these.

it's easy to say "well she dies in half the endings of the game" and sure yeah but also she just survives up to that point anyway. it's harrowing and bleak and she's surrounded by imagery that is viscerally unkind and hateful towards women, towards her, and towards the forced representation she's burdened with (that of motherhood when she herself is not actually a mother, but the ideal of a mother, becoming a mother, and being forced to against any will she might've had before--then that will itself is stripped via total possession of her body and mind.) and like. that's scary! that's so fucking scary because a lot of life for ciswomen is that, but even worse, was that.

reading Shirley Jackson for Halloween gave me both this harrowed and elated terror in my chest -- harrowed because of how flinchingly real this horror being a woman trapped in the 50s' ideal for women (perhaps the best and most hauntingly captured in "Of Course", a story with no supernatural throughline and no knowledge of what happened after). this of course (of course...) coincided with finishing up Blink, Snow, Corduroy as fast as i could so i could move back to bookwriting (and the other personal hell the book represents) and then this whole, whatever the fuck's happening right now, i don't know, i look at eileen and go she made it.

like. she could die at the end, or she could live, but she made it there anyway. we could pedantically argue if it was really her, or walter possessing her, or how "you can't say that because henry got her there", but a pedant's argument is all that's going to be to me, because I see her beaten and bruised and not even offered the dignity of comfortable clothing beating the ever loving fuck out of monsters and making damn well sure henry doesn't leave her behind and pushing forward despite her injuries and fear and i just go "Yeah, that. She made it, man." live or die she gave it her fucking best shot possible with a whole fucking world against her in every possible way and she made it. y'know?

i think it's easy to look at the trope eileen fulfills and write it off as something tinged with misogyny -- injured woman has to be saved by man and can't do jack shit otherwise and like yeah sure i can't exactly disagree what with the nurse outfit and such but i also think that doesn't negate taking her as the game represents and going "this is just what i too have to go through, just made literal and with pain exuberantly expressed whereas i have to hide mine" and finding a LOT of comfort in that

i thought i had a better conclusion prepared but i think it's just going to leave on that note. i don't know if it helps me to say it even, but like. idk. that perseverence, that will, despite the lack of hope. i don't know!! i don't know why it brings me so much comfort, but it does.

[seth-shitposts]

I need to ask this, as I'm listening to the defectors au playlist, who did you think of when you put Billie Eilish's "what was I made for?" Because it makes me think of Kallus slowly unraveling after Lasan and realising just what kind of government he put his whole trust in to do the right thing, or is it Ezra dealing with his feelings after being essentially abandonded by yet another parental figure? and then having to battle with those feelings after Twilight of the Apprentice? what were your thoughts on this because it's just plagueing my mind right now

(What a motherfucking coincidence you ask this because i was thinking over it not even an hour ago-) (and thank you so much again for making the playlist, i have been listening to it every day since youve created it-)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING- (warning, I have rambled nonsensically a lot, apologies-) (edit: FUCK ALRIGHT- I got distracted and accidentally swiped out of the app without saving so I have to rewrite it-)

The answer is both.

Now, I did first think of Kallus for it, but I've been think of a lot of Ezra during it as well.

This is a story with multiple moving parts, some songs are applied to more than one character or instance. And some songs are stretched over the course of an arc, whether that arc is as long as a few years or as short as an instant. This one is not an exception to that.

In Kallus’s case, it's part of his slow crash and burn with his faith to the empire, as well as period of time that follows after Lasan. As time goes on and events happen and seeds take root, there are moments. Moments of creeping doubt and dread.

Kallus has multiple goals, objectives, near the beginning of the story. The established duty to the empire; being a part of doing something far greater than himself. Making a difference for those who need it across the galaxy. The decision to take care of Ezra; a direct impact. Not taking action and not taking initiative can and would be just as detrimental as taking a misaction. And then his choice to help Mira and Ephraim; he thinks they're simply misguided or a miscommunication led to a severe misunderstanding. Because they very much have the same desire to help others and to help uplift that got him to join the empire.

As the years go on, it all starts to wear harder on him, especially in moments.

Mmm I look forward to writing out that in one particular scene, as Kallus is watching Ezra filling a room with such joy during a party, such light-hearted warmth, Kallus has to step away from the event for a moment. Because it's been about three years and Ezra is growing and it's so fast, too fast, and Mira and Ephraim are missing it. He's been fighting tooth and nail for them to be here and they aren't because despite all the work being done on both ends, the appeal for their situation just got pushed again. And now they've lost three years of watching Ezra grow into such a bright kid and it's leaving a sour taste in Kallus’s mouth.

At one point, he starts to realize that he doesn't think they actually plan on releasing the bridgers, but he realizes that the day before he is shipped off to lasan. Lasan cements the cumulation of the past five years to him. Everything he's dedicated himself to, he was lied to, led on. A d he complied to it. This, all round him- the smoke and ash and dead silence, is what has come from his dedication to the empire.

---

And then with Ezra, near the end of the five years, he senses a dread a sadness that hangs in the air.

He feels it too. Because even though he sees his parents and that they are safe, it's not the same. They aren't home. Kallus doesn't know that he knows, but Ezra knows that Kallus has been working almost every day to see through to the release of his parents. Something about it has made Kallus more frustrated than before.

Ezra continues on though, because Kallus has never once broken his word to Ezra. At least not until he returns after a mission that took over two weeks because it was across the whole galaxy. Kallus returns home to Lothal, and everything changes over night. Kallus finally realizes what the empire is but he isn't leaving, and he isn't leaving with Ezra. And Ezra knows exactly why even though Kallus still isn't saying it. And Ezra wants to ask for him not to return to the empire, but he knows that Kallus isn't going to leave without his parents, and he wants his parents back. He wants his parents and Kallus.

So he does as Kallus instructs, but something still pulls at him. He's in a bit of a daze by the time he makes it to the port where he's supposed to meet Tseebo. He sees Tseebo for a split moment and then he doesn't. He doesn't know where Tseebo ran off to, he doesn't know how long Kallus is going to take finding his parents, he doesn't know if kallus is going to find them or of they're going to come back.

In this moment he feels like he's lost everything he never even had to begin with. His parents, only ever having seen them in the walls of an imperial compound. Tseebo, who was only ever present to assist and is still so fearful that he choose to run after his parents and Kallus were depending on him, and is the one person Kallus would actually listen to. And Kallus. Who was always so dedicated him but was never really his, the man's faith to the empire has been dying but now that it's gone Ezra still doesn't have him because now he's run off to go find his parents.

And this grief hits him all over again when Kanan distants himself. And Ezra feels that it's his fault because of how trusting he was of Maul. Kanan got hurt and lost his sight and he's pulling away from Ezra and no matter what Ezra tries, there's nothing he's able to do to stop Kanan from slipping away and Ezra can't do this again.

I hope this made sense and I hope it answers your question! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING I LOVED IT.

[amelikos]

As soon as Liko was teased to be getting a new Pokemon, my train of thought was that Amethio would probably appear in some capacity in that episode since he has been deeply linked and involved with Liko's important steps as a trainer and journey as a character so far.

So, it's not a coincidence that Amethio is brought back in the narrative specifically after Liko gets her first Pokemon and after she pondered about the kind of trainer she wants to be and ultimately affirming a new desire for herself (to be a trainer who understands the feelings of Pokemon)!

Some character notes and episode notes for HZ021, mostly centered on Liko and Amethio for this post. Writing them down for future reference!

Liko and Mibrim

I wrote a few things about why Mibrim seemed to be an interesting choice for Liko specifically given the theme of emotions this Pokemon has and they delivered. Liko and Mibrim are both sensitive to emotions, and Liko felt an affinity for Mibrim and wanted to take care of her. Liko is also a calm person and Mibrim usually feel at ease and relaxed around such people, so this was fitting. Mibrim had trouble dealing with arguments on the ship (when Orio and Murdock argued), and seemed a bit shy to approach other Pokemon.

I am glad that Liko asked Dot for advice (and it's interesting how both Liko and Roy asked Dot for advice when it came to Kaiden and Mibrim respectively but for different reasons). The similarities between Dot and Mibrim were also brought up.

Dot felt like she could understand where Mibrim was coming from and offered her perspective, which gave Liko a push in the right direction.

In fact, Liko trying to connect with Mibrim reminded me of when she was trying to do the same with Dot initially. Plus, Mibrim and Dot look a bit similar since we don't see their eyes (and Mibrim's smile after Liko took her to bring her to the ship made me think of Dot's smile when she realized Liko considered her a friend).

The visuals showing a separation between characters (in Dot's case, the door of her room was the visual "wall" between her and Liko), but Liko still trying to talk and connect with the other. I also found it interesting that Liko thought back about the first time she arrived on the ship (especially since Amethio was involved at that moment), and tried to use her experience to understand Mibrim.

Liko wanted to leave Mibrim in the forest because she thought she'd struggle living in a place where people feel strong emotions, but she didn't seem to want to say goodbye just yet (which Nyahoja saw). She eventually caught Mibrim and told her that she'd send lots of happy thoughts her way which was just... such a wonderful thing to say and made me love Liko even more. I just really enjoyed that Liko's calm and quiet nature and Mibrim feeling emotions were taken into consideration to make them partners. Liko thought that meeting Mibrim allowed her to know more about herself and understand herself more in the process.

Liko and Nyahoja

I feel like the anime played more on Liko and Nyahoja being similar at the beginning, but now their differences are highlighted and it's interesting. Liko wondered what kind of trainer she wanted to become, and wondered if Nyahoja wanted to become stronger as well. Nyahoja was also very observant this episode and paid close attention to Liko and her reactions.

Nyahoja is actually the one who encouraged Mibrim to go back to Liko at the end (and was the one who found Mibrim in the first place and drew Liko's attention to her). She saw Liko's expression and probably guessed that she didn't want to leave Mibrim and since neither Liko nor Mibrim were going to do anything about it out of consideration towards each other, Nyahoja talked to Mibrim. It's especially sweet, given how Liko told Nyahoja not to be jealous in the episode since she was going to take care of Mibrim for a while.

I was reminded of how Nyahoja gave Liko a push forward in HZ002 as well (against Amethio at the end), and encouraged her to be more honest. I like how Nyahoja seems determinate and I wonder how it'll affect Liko going forward.

(Also, Nyahoja playing with boxes like a cat would was adorable.)

Liko's path

It was brought up in the previous episodes that dealt with Liko's kindness and how it could be a strength or a weakness depending on the situation. I'm glad that this episode showed that all the moments that were there from the start were deliberate and became a pattern building up to this. Liko's considerate nature was brought up by several characters and complimented and it's considered a strength of character.

Roy recalled the time with Oliva.

Which I'm glad he did, because the time with Oliva was the first one which made me think that they seemed to be going somewhere with the theme of emotions in regards to Liko (given how Liko noticed Oliva's feelings and couldn't leave it alone).

Liko shared her story to Orio and Mollie and they gave her their thoughts as well. Orio thought that Liko used to be overly considerate at the start, but it turned out to be what Mibrim needed. Mollie reassured Liko that being able to show compassion was something to be proud of.

Friede also noted that getting through Mibrim is quite impressive.

And that, in fact, it might be her strongest point and talent. Liko probably didn't realize it. While she admired people like Roy and An for being straightforward and advancing without hesitation towards what they want to do, others also think there are admirable traits in her. I really like the ways they show different personalities and ways to approach life and that there is no one right way to be a trainer.

Liko had a newfound resolve at the end, which is to be a trainer that understands the feelings of Pokemon, because she loves them. I do feel like this could be relevant in regards to the Six Heroes Pokemon in the future.

Liko and Amethio

Amethio has been connected to Liko and some of her pivotal steps from the start. To sum up:

Amethio is the first main character Liko meets in the story (HZ001).

He is the one who activated the pendant's protective powers for the first time onscreen albeit accidentally since his Pokemon's attack missed Friede's Lizardon (HZ001).

He is the one who brings up in-universe the fact that the pendant seems to have mysterious powers and that Liko is connected to it, which makes her aware of it (HZ002). If it weren't for his involvement, Liko wouldn't have known.

In turn, this knowledge makes Liko want to keep traveling with Friede and the others to know what her pendant truly is and why the Explorers are after her because of it (HZ003).

Amethio was also Liko's incentive to become stronger to protect what she holds dear in the first place (HZ007) as she felt frustrated at not being able to do much against him. He was what motivated her and she brought him up specifically.

Now that Amethio is back after Liko found a new resolve, I do wonder how they'll both challenge each other and impact each other's actions especially since Amethio isn't on the pendant mission anymore. Will he make it clear that he isn't after the pendant?

I think that Liko wanting to understand the feelings of Pokemon might be key to find out more about the Explorers, potentially connecting with them through their partners Pokemon? Liko has been shown to connect with isolated people or Pokemon (Dot and Mibrim, for example), so I wonder if that theme of connection will extend to the antagonists side given how they have been involved from the start (just like in my magical girls shows).

I also found it noteworthy that this episode highlighted Liko's considerate nature, and while Amethio's scene was short, it highlighted the same quality on his side?

Amethio's thoughtfulness was conveyed in this scene, as he is willing to handle things by himself as he fully knows that he is acting beyond orders at this point and his line implies that Zir and Conia may suffer consequences if they keep following him. He knows this, and he is being considerate in his own way by being willing to go alone and not put them in a difficult situation. However, Zir and Conia are willing to follow him and seem personally loyal to him.

Overall, Liko and Amethio have been shown to be more similar than they think they are, and I wonder where this will lead. They are integral to each other's stories so far (kind of kickstarting each other's personal journeys).

As a side note: With Mibrim's addition to Liko's team, she and Amethio both have a Paldean and Galarian Pokemon in their teams respectively.